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ELEGANT  EXTRACTS 
Knox  -  Percival 

Lincoln,  with  his  family,  spent 
three  weeks  of  the  year  1347 
visiting  his  wife' s  people  in 
Lexington,  Ky.  Here  was  a  period 
of  leisure  which  he  employed  in 
"browsing  among  the  books  in  the 
Todd  library. 

"Poking  about  in  these  well- 
stocked  bookcases  was  one  of  his 
chief  diversions.  Absorbed  in 
some  interesting  volume,  he  would 
sit  for  hours  in  the  rear  parlor 
or  in  the  passageway  up- stairs 
v/here  some  of  the  books  were  kept, 
wholly  oblivious  of  the  romping 
and  chatter  of  Bob  and  Emilie  and 
the  other  little  Todds. 

"But  the  book  that  Lincoln  read 
more  than  all  the  rest  was  a 
volume  of  verse  entitled  'Elegant 
Extracts,  or  Useful  and  Entertaining 
Passages  from  the  best  English 
Authors  and  Translations,1  and  he 
marked  or  underscored  heavily  with 
a  lead  pencil  such  of  these  poems, 
or  excerpts  thBEefrom,  as  particularly 
struck  his  fancy.  He  committed 
Bryant1 s  ' Tnanatopsis'  to  memory  and 
repeated  it  to  members  of  the  Todd 
household. I 

(See  Townsend1 s  "Lincoln  and  His 
Wife's  Home  Town",  page  156). 

H.  E.  Barker 


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ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  in  POETRY. 


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ADVERTISEMENT 

TOTHE     PRESENT     EDITION. 


CT*H  ERE  cannot  be  a  doubt  but  that  a  Book,  like  this,  purpofcly  adapted  to 
the  ufe  of  young  per  fans  of both  fexes,  copious  beyond  former  examples,  fin gu- 
larly  various  in  its  contents,  felctled from  writers  whofe  characlers  are  cflablijhed 
without  controverfy,  abounding  with  entertainment  and  ufsfiil  information,  incul- 
cating the  pur efi  principles  of  morality  and  religion,  av.d  dij playing  excellent  models 
offlyle  and  language,  mi'fl  contribute  mcjl  effeclually  to  the  improvement  of  the 
&ISING  GENERATION  in  knowledge,  tofle,  and  virtue.  It  muft  form  at 
once  the  elegant  fckolar  and  the  enlightened  member  of  civil  feci cty.  The  public 
have  indeed  already  felt  and  acknowledged  by  the  leaf  fallible  proof,  their  general 
reception  of  it,  its  great  utility.  It  has  been  diffujed  throughout  all  the  mcfl  re- 
fpeclable  places  of  education  in  the  kingdom,  and  doubt  lefs  Jcwn  the  feeds  of  ex~ 
cellence,  which  may  one  day  arrive  at  maturity,  and  add  to  the  happinefs  of  the 
community  and  of  human  nature.  Infufng  virtuous  and  liberal  ideas  at  the 
mofl  fufceptible  age  into  the  minds  of  a  whole  nation,  its'  effill  mufl  be  in  the  highefl 
degree  falutary,  on  the  rif.ng  race,  and  on  late  poflerity. 

What  English  book  fimilar  to  this  volume,  calculated  entirely  for  the  ufe  of 
young  fludents  at  fchcols,  and  under  private  tuition,  was  to  be  found  in  the  days  of 
our  fathers?.   None  certainly.   The  confequence  was,  t/iat  the  English  PART  of 
education  (to  many  the  mo  ft  important  part)  was  deft  c7  he  even  in  places  mofl  ce- 
lebrated for  clafjlc  difciplinc  \   and  boys  were  often  enabled  to  read  Latin  perfcclly, 
and  write  it  tolerably,  who,  from  difufe  of  the  v.-ant  of  models  for  praclicc,  were 
wretchedly  qualified  to  do  either  in  their  native  language.  From  this  unhappy 
circumjlance,  clajfical  education  was  brought  into  fome  degree  of  dijgrace  \  and 
it  was  certainly  prepoflerous,  to  jludy  during  many  of  the  befl  years  of  life,  foreign 
and  dead  languages,  with   the  mojl  fcrupidous  accuracy,  and  at   the  fame   time 
entirely  to  neglctt  that  mother  tongue,  which  is  in  daily  and  hourly  requiftio?i ;   to 
he  well  read  in  Cicero,  and  a  total  ftranger  to  Addifon ;  to  have  Homer   and 
Horace  by  heart,  and  to  know  little  more  than  the  names  of  Milton   and 
Pope. 

Learning,  thus  defeilive  in  a  point  fo  obvious  to  dcteilion,  incurred 'the  imputation 
ef  pedantry  It  was  obferved  to  a  fume  great  pride,  the  important  air  of  fupe- 
riority,  without  difplaying  to  the  common  obfervcr  any  jufl  pretenfons  to  it.  It 
even  appeared  with  marks  cf  inferiority  when  brought  into  occajional  coll'fion 

A  with 


ii  ADVERTISEMENT. 

with  well-informed  under/landings  cultivated  by  Englijli  literature  alone,  hut 
improved  in  the  fchool  of  experience.  Per  Ions  who  had  never  drunk  at  the  clajpc 
fountains,  but  had  been  confined  in  their  education  to  EnglifJi,  triumphed  over  the 
fcholar  ;  and  learning  often  hid  her  head  in  confiufion,  when  pointed  at  as  pe- 
dantry by  the  finger  of  a  dunce. 

It  became  highly  expedient  therefore  to  introduce  more  of '  EngUfli  reading  intt 
our  claffical  fchools ;  that  thofie  who  went  out  into  the  world  with  their  coffers 
richly  Jlored with  the  golden  medals  of  antiquity,  might  at  the  fame  time  be  fur- 
nijhedwith  afufflciency  of  current  coin  from  the  modern  mint,  for  the  commerce  of 
daily  ufe  :  but  there  was  no  fchool  book,  copious  and  various  enough,  calculated 
entirely  for  this  purpofe.  The  Grecian  and  Roman  Hi/lory,  the  Spectators,  and' 
Plutarch's  Lives,  were  indeed  fometimes  introduced,  and  certainly  with  great 
advantage.  But  ftill,  an  uniformity  of  Englifh  books  in  jchools,  was  a  de- 
fidcratum.  It  was  definable  that  all  the  ftudents  of  the  fame  clafs,  provided 
with  the  fame  book,  containing  the  proper  variety,  might  be  enabled  to  read  it  to- 
gether, and  thus  benefit  each  other  by  the  emulous  JIudy  oj  the  fame  jubjetl  or  com- 
paction, at  the  fame  time,  wider  the  eye  of  their  common  majier. 

For  this    important  purpofe,    the   large    collections    entitled  "  ELEGANT 
EXTRACTS,"  both  in  Prcfe  and  Verfe,  were  projected  and  completed  by  the 
prefent  Editor.      Their  reception   is  the  fullejl  teflimony  in  favour  both  of  the 
defign  and  its  execution.     Several  editions,  confifiing  of  very  numerous  impreffions, 
have  been  rapidly  circulated,  and  a  new  one  is  now  demanded.     Public  encourage- 
ment has   not  operated  on  the  Editor  as  a  f education  to  indolence,  but  as  a  fpur  to 
freJJi  exertion  ;  and  as  the  prefis  proceeded,  great  additions,  alterations,  and  im- 
provements,   have  been  made  in  every  Edition,  without  regard  to   encrcafing  ex- 
pence  or  trouble.      The  advantage  has   hitherto  chiefly  redounded  to  the  public  ; 
for  thoje  who  are  able  to  eflimate  the  expence  offuch  works  as  thefie,  and  are  ac- 
quainted with  the  embarrajjhicnts  that  fometimes  impede  their  progrefs,  or  render 
them  unproductive,  will  readily  believe  it  may  happen,    that  the  reward  of  the 
Projeclor,  Editor,  and  FfilabliJher,fiJiall  be  little  more  than  the  amufement  arijing 
from  his  invention  and fiuperintendance. 

The  labour  of  a  Compiler  of  a  book  like  this  is  indeed  humble ;  but  its  utility 
is  cxtenfivc ;  and  he  feels  a  pride  and  plea  fur  e  in  the  refleflion  that  he  has 
been  fierving  his  country  mojl  effectually,  in  fierving  the  rifing  generation  by 
fiuch  books  as  this,  without  facrificing  either  to  avarice  cr  to  vanity.  The  renown 
attending  a  public  work,  is  indeed  Jeldom  proportioned  to  its  utility.  Glitter  is  not 
always  the  mofii  brilliant  on  the  fur  face  of  the  mcfl  valuable  fubjlance.  The  load- 
jionc  is  plain  and  unattractive  in  its  appearance,  while  the  pajie  on  the  finger  of  the 
beau  fpdrkles  with  envied  lu fire.  The  fpade,  the  plough,  the  Jliuttle,  have  no 
ornament  beflowed  on  them,  while  the  /word  is  decorated  with  ribbands,  gold, 
and  ivory.  }<./  reason,  undazzlcd  in  her  deciflons,  dares  to  pronounce,  while 
fhe  holds  the  fc ales,  that  the  USEFUL,  though  little  praifed,  preponderates,  and 
that  thefhewy  and  unfubftantial  kicks  the  team  of  the  balance,  while  it  attracts 
ihe  eye  of  inc  on  fid  crate  admiration. 

Things 


* 


ADVERTISE  ME  N  T, 


m 


Things  intrinjically  good  and  valuable  have  however  the  advantage  offecurhig 
■permanent  ejlcem,  though  they  may  lofe  the  eclat  of  temporary  applaufe.  They 
carry  with  them  to  the  clofet  their  oivn  letters  of  recommendation.  This  volume 
confidently  claims  the  character  of  good  and  valuable,  and  therefore  wants  net  the 
pajjport  ofpraife.  Every  page  [peaks  in  its  oivn  favour,  in  the  mode  ft  language 
of  merit,  which  has  no  occajion  to  boafl,  though  it  cannot  renounce  its  right  tojufi 
ejleem.  The  mojl  valuable  woods  ufed  in  the  fine  cabinet  work  of  the  artifan,  re- 
quire neither  paint  nor  varnifli,  but  appear  beautiful  by  their  own  variegated 
veins  and  colours. 

As  it  is  likely  that  the fludent  who  reads  this  volume  of  Profe  with  pleafuref 
may  alfopojpfs  a  tafiefor  Poetry,  it  is  right  to  mention  in  this  place,  that  there 
is  pnblijhed  by  the  fame  Proprietors,  a  volume  of  Poetry,  fimilar  in  fze  and 
form  ;  and  as  he  may  alfo  wifh  to  improve  himfelf  in  the  very  ufeful  art  of 
Letter- Writing,  that  there  is  provided  a  mofl  copious  volume  of  Letters  from 
the  befl  authors,  under  the  title  of  Elegant  Epistles. 

This  whole  Set  of  Collections,  more  copious,  convenient,  and  valuable,  than 
my  which  have  preceded  it,  certainly  conduces  in  a  very  high  degree^  to  that  great 
national  objed,  the  PUBLIC  INSTRUCTION. 

&EPT-EMBER,    1794. 


Aa  PREFACE 


(    iv    ) 


PREFACE    TO    THE    FIRST    EDITION. 


*~jr~  HIS  book  derives  its  origin  from  a  with  expreffed  by  perfons  who  have  the 
J|  conduct  of  fchools,  that  fuch  a  compilation  might  be  pubhihed,  as  by  means 
of  a  full  page,  and  a  fmall,  yet  very  legible  type,  might  contain,  in  one  volume,  a 
little  English  library  for  young  people  who  are  in  the  courie  of  their  education.  A 
common-fizcd  volume,  it  was,  found,  was  loon  perufed,  and  laid  afide  for  want  of 
novelty  ;  but  to  Supply  a  large  fchool  with  a  great  variety,  and  cenftant  fucceffion 
of  English  books,  is  too  expenfive  and  inconvenient  to  be  generally  practicable; 
fuch  a  quantity  of  matter  is  therefore  collected  in  this  volume  as  mult  of  neceffity 
fill  up  a  good  deal  of  time,  and  furniih  a  great  number  of  new  ideas  before  it  can 
be  read  to  fatiety,  or  entirely  exhaufted.  It  may  therefore  very  properly  consti- 
tute, what  it  was  intended  to  be,  a  Library  for  Learners,  from  the  age  of  nine  or 
ten  to  the  age  at  which  they  leave  their  fchool  :  at  the  fame  time  it  is  evident, 
upon  infpedtion,  that  it  abounds  with  fuch  extracts  as  may  be  read  by  them  at  any 
age  with  pleaSure  and  improvement.  Though  it  is  chiefly  and  primarily  adapted 
to  fcholars  at  fchool;  yet  it  is  certain,  that  all  readers  may  find  it  an  agreeable  com- 
panion, and  particularly  proper  to  fill  up  fhort  intervals -of  accidental  leifure. 

As  to  the  Authors  from  whom  the  extracts  are  made,  they  are  thofe  whofe 
characters  want  no  recommendation.  The  Spectators,  Guardians,  and  Tatlers, 
have  been  often  gleaned  for  the  purpofe1  of  feledtions ;  but  to  have  omitted  them, 
in  a  work  like  this,  for  that  reafon,  would  have  been  like  rejecting  the  pureft  coin 
of  the  falleft  weight,  becaufe  it  is  not  quite  frelh  from  the  mint,  but  has  been  long 
in  circulation.  It  ought  to  be  remembered,  that  though  the  writings  of  Addifon 
and  his  coadjutors  may  no  longer  have  the  grace  of  novelty  in  the  eyes  of  veteran 
readers,  yet  they  will  always  bj  new  to  a  rifmg  generation. 

The  greater  part  of  this  book,  however,  confifts  of  extracts  from  more  modern 
books,  and  from  lome  which  have  not  yet  been-  ufed  for  the  purpofe  of  felections. 
It  is  to  be  prefumed  that  living  authors  will  not  be  difpleafed  that  ufefol  and 
elegant  paffages  have  been  borrowed  of  them  for  this  book;  fince  if  they  fincerely 
meant,  as  they  profefs,  to  reform  and  improve  the  age,  they  muft  be  convinced, 
that  to  place  their  rooft  faiutary  admonitions  and  fentences  in  the  hands  of  young 
perfons,  is  to  contribute  moil  effectually  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  benevolent 
defign.  The  books  themfelves  at  large  do  not  in  general  fall  into  the  hands  of 
fchool-boys ;  they  are  often  too  voluminous,  too  large,  and  too  expenfive  for 
general  adoption;  they  are  foon  torn  and  disfigured  by  the  rough  treatment  which 
they  ufually  meet  with  in  a  great  fchool;  and  indeed,  whatever  be  the  caufe  of  it,- 
they  feldom  are,  or  can  be  conveniently  introduced :  and  therefore  Ext  r  a  c  ts  are 
highly  expedient;  or  rather  abfolutely  neceflary. 


ADVERTISE- 


(     v     ) 

ADVERTISEMENT    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION. 

THE  approbation  with  which  the  firft  edition  of  this  book  has  been  re- 
ceived by  the  Public,  has  operated  as  an  encouragement  to  improve-  it. 
It  has  been  judged  proper  to  change  the  form  and  fize  from  a  duodecimo  to  an 
o£tavo\  not  only  for  the  fake  of  giving  it  a  more  agreeable  appearance,  but  alfo 
of  adding  to  the  quantity  and  variety  of  the  contents.  Some  extracts  have  in- 
deed been  omitted,  to  make  room  for  new  matter ;  but  the  additions,  upon  the 
whole,  are  very  confiderable. 

The  utility  of  the  collection  is  obvious.  It  is  calculated  for  claflical  fchools, 
and  for  thofe  in  which  Engliih  only  k  taught.  Young  perfons  cannot  read 
a  book,  containing  fo  much  matter,  without  acquiring  a  great  improvement  in 
the  Engliih  Language;  together  with  ideas  on  many  pleaiing  fu 'ejects  of  Taite 
and  Literature;  and,  which  is  of  much  higher  importance,  they  will  imbibe 
with  an  increafe  of  knowledge,  the  pureft  principles  of  Virtue  and  Religion. 

The  book  may  be  employed  in  various  methods  for  the  ufe  of  learners,  ac- 
cording to  the  judgment  of  various  inftrudtors.  The  pupils  may  not  only  read 
it  in  private,  or  in  the  fchool  at  Mated  times,  but  write  out  paragraphs  in  their 
eopy  books;  commit  paflages  to  memory,  and  endeavour  to  recite  them  with 
the  proper  action  and  pronunciation,  for  the  improvement  of  their  powers  of 
utterance.  With  refpecT:  to  the  Art  of  fpeaking,  an  excellence  in  it  certainly 
depends  more  on  practice,  under  the  ihperintendance  of  araalter,  than  on  written 
precepts;  and  this  book  profelfes  to  offer  matter  for  praclice,  rather  than  fyliematic 
inftruftions,  which  may  be  more  advantagcoufly  given  in  a  rhetorical  treatife  or 
viva  voce.  To  learn  the  practical  part  of  fpeaking,  or  the  art  of  managing  the 
voice'and  gelture,  by  written  rules  alone,  is  like  learning  to  play  upon  a  mufi- 
cal  initrument,  with  the  bare  aiiiilance  of  a  book  of  directions  without  a 
mafter. 

The  books  from  which  thefe  Extracts  are  taken,  are  fit  for  the  young  readers 
libraries,  and  may  be  made  the  companions  of  their  lives;  while  the  prelent 
compilation  offers  itfelf  only  as  an  humble  companion  at  fchool.  In  the  cha- 
racter of  a  companion,  it  has  a  great  deal  to  fay  to  them;  and  will  probably 
improve  in  the  power  of  affording  pleafure  and  inftrucUon,  the  more  its  acquaint- 
ance is  cultivated.       , 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  THIRD  AND  FOURTH  EDITIONS. 

DESIRE  to  render  this  Book  Angularly  ufeful,  and  to  deferve  a  continu- 
ance of  that"  approbation  with  which  it  has  been  already  received,  has  induced 
the  Editor  to  enlarge  and  improve  it  in  the  prefent,  as  well  as  in  every  preceding 
edition. 

To  the  firft  book  a  great  variety  of  moral  and  religious  extracts  has  been  added, 
with  a  defign  to  furniih  a  falutary  employment  for  fchools  and  families  on  a  day 
which  affords  peculiar  leilure.  in  the  fubfequent  books  have  been  inferted  Ora- 
tions, Characters,  entertaining  Efiays  on  men  and  manners,  pleaiing  paflages  on 
Natural  Hiitory,  a  collection  of  old  Proverbs,  and  other  pieces,  conducive  to  the 
prime  purpofe  of  uniting  .the  ufeful  with  the  agreeable. 

The  volume  thus  improved,  together  with  the  enlarged  edition  of  ELEGANT 
EXTRACTS  IN  VERSE,  will,  it  is  hoped.be  highly  agreeable  to  young  perfons 
in  their  vacant  hours,  as  well  as  ufeful  to  them  in  the  claffes  of  a  fchool,  and  under 
the  tuition  of  a  preceptor. 

As  the  book  unavoidably  became  large  by  fucceffive  additions,  it  was  judged  pro- 
per to  infert  a  Title  Page  and  ornamental  Defign,  nearly  in  the  middle,  that  ic  may 
be  optional  to  the  purchafer  to  bind  the  Collection  either  in  one,  or  in  two  volumes, 
as  may  belt  correfpond  with  his  own  ideas  of  convenience. 

A3  INTRO- 


INTRODUCTION. 

0  N 
PRONUNCIATION,    OR    DELIVERY, 

FROM    DR.    BLAIR's    LECTURES. 


I. 

HOW  much  ftrefs  was  laid  upon  Pro- 
nunciation, or  Delivery,  by  the  moft 
eloquent  of  all  orators,  Demofthenes,  ap- 
pears from  a  noted  faying  of  his,  related 
both  by  Cicero  and  Quinttilian ;  when  be- 
ing afked,  What  was  the  firft  point  in  ora- 
tory ?  he  anfwered  Delivery;  and  being 
afked,  What  was  the  fecond  ?  and  after- 
wards, What  was  the  third  ?  he  ftill  an- 
fwered, Delivery.  There  is  no  wonder, 
that  he  mould  have  rated  this  fo  high,  and 
that  for  improving  himfelf  in  it,  he  mould 
have  employed  thofe  ailiduous  and  painful 
labours,  which  all  the  Ancients  take  fo 
much  notice  of;  for,  beyond  doubt,  no- 
thing is  of  more  importance.  To  fuperfi- 
cial  thinkers,  the  management  of  the  voice 
and  gefture,  in  public  fpeaking,  may  ap- 
pear to  relate  to  decoration  only,  and  to  be 
one  of  the  inferior  arts  of  catching  an  au- 
dience. But  this  is  far  from  being  the  cafe. 
It  is  intimately  connected  with  what  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  the  end  of  all  public  fpeak- 
ing, Perfuafion;  and  therefore  deferves 
the  ftudy  of  the  moft  grave  and  ferious 
fpeakers,  as  much  as  of  thofe,  whofe  only 
aim  it  is  to  pleafe. 

For,  let  it  be  confidered,  whenever  we 
addrefs  ourfelves  to  others  by  words,  our 
intention  certainly  is  to  make  ibme  impref- 
fion  on  thofe  to  whom  we  fpeak ;  it  is  to 
convey  to  them  our  own  ideas  and  emo- 
tions. Now  the  tone  of  our  voice,  our 
looks  and  geftures,  interpret  our  ideas  and 
emotions  no  lefs  than  words  do;  nay,  the 
impreffion  they  make  on  others,  is  fre- 
quently much  ftronger  than  any  that  words 
cv.n  make.     We  often  fee  that  an  expref* 


Ave  look,  or  a  paffionate  cry,  unaccom- 
panied by  words,  conveys  to  others  more 
forcible  ideas,  and  routes  within  them 
ftronger  pa/lions,  than  can  be  communicat- 
ed by  the  moft  eloquent  difcourfe.  The 
fignification  of  our  fentiments,  made  by 
tones  and  geftures,  has  this  advantage 
above  that  made  by  words,  that  it  is  the 
language  of  nature.  It  is  that  method  of 
interpreting  our  mind,  which  nature  has 
dilated  to  all,  and  which  is  understood  by 
all;  whereas,  words  are  only  arbitrary, 
conventional  fymbols  of  our  ideas ;  and, 
by  confequence,  muft  make  a  more  feeble 
impreffion.  So  true  is  this,  that,  to  render 
words  fully  fignificant,  they  tnuit,  almoft 
in  every  cafe,  receive  fome  aid  from  the 
manner  of  Pronunciation  and  Delivery, 
and  he  who,  in  fpeaking,  mould  employ 
bare  words,  without  enforcing  them  by 
proper  tones  and  accents,  would  leave  us 
with  a  faint  and  indiitindt  impreffion,  often 
with  a  doubtful  and  ambiguous  conception 
of  what  he  had  delivered.  Nay,  fo  clofe 
is  the  connection  between  certain  fenti- 
ments  and  the  proper  manner  of  pro- 
nouncing them,  that  he  who  does  not  pro- 
nounce them  after  that  manner,  can  never 
perfuade  us,  that  he  believes,  or  feels,  the 
fentiments  themfelves.  His  delivery  may 
be  fuch,  as  to  give  the  lye  to  all  that  he 
aflerts.  When  Marcus  Callidius  accufed 
'one  of  an  attempt  to  poifon  him,  but  en- 
forced his  accufation  in  a  languid  manner, 
and  without  any  warmth  or  earneftnefs  of 
delivery,  Cicero,  who  pleaded  for  the  ac- 
cufed perfon,  improved  this  into  an  argu- 
ment of  the  falfity  of  the  charge,  "  An 
"  tu,  M.  Callidi  nifi  iingeres,  fc  ageres  ?** 

In 


On  Pronunciation,  or  Delivery, 


In  Shakefpear's  Richard  II.  the  Dutchefs 
of  York  thus  impeaches  the  fincerity  of 
her  hufband  : 

Pleads  lie  in  earnefl  .'—Look  upon  his  face, 
His  eyes  do  drop  no  tears ;  his  prayers  are  jeft ; 
His  words  come  from  his  mouth  ;   ours,  from 

our  breaft : 
He-prays  but  faintly,  and  would  be  denied  ; 
We  pray  with  heart  and  foul. 

But,  I  believe  it  is  needlefs  to  fay  any 
more,  in  order  to  fhew  the  high  impor- 
tance of  a  good  Delivery.  1  proceed, 
therefore,  to  fuch  obfervations  as  appear 
to  me  mofl  ufeful  to  be  made  on  this 
head. 

The  great  objects  which  every  public 
fpeaker  will  naturally  have  in  his  eye  in 
forming  his  Delivery,  are,  nrft,  to  fpeak 
fo  as  to  be  fully  and  eafily  understood  by 


VJl 

fpeaker  may  render  his  voice  louder,  with- 
out altering  the  key  ;  and  we  fhall  always 
be  able  to  give  molt  body,  molt  perfever- 
ing  force  of  found,  to  that  pitch  of  voice, 
to  which  in  converfation  we  are  accuftom- 
ed.  Whereas,  by  fetting  out  on  our  high- 
eft  pitch  or  key,  we  certainly  allow  our- 
felves  lefs  compafs,  and  are  likely  to  ftrain 
our  voice  before  we  have  done.  We  fhall 
fatigue  ourfelves,  and  fpeak  with  pain  ;  and 
whenever  a  man  fpeaks  with  pain  to  hiin- 
felf,  he  is  always  heard  with  pain  by  his 
audience.  Give  the  voice  therefore  full 
ftrength  and  fwell  of  found;  but  always 
pitch  it  on  your  ordinary  fpeaking  key. 
Make  it  a  conltant  rule  never  to  utter  a 
greater  quantity  of  voice,  than  you  can  af- 
ford without  pain  to  y  ourfelves,  and  with- 
out any  extraordinary  effort.  As  long  as 
you  keep  within  thefe  bounds,  the  other 


all  who  hear  him  ;  and  next,  to  fpeak  with     organs  of  fpeech  will  be  at  liberty  to  dif- 

orrarp     arm     fnrrp.    in    as    tr»    nlpaf^    nnrl     tr>       _i_  _ .._  _    .1      •      r  10.-  .   .       ', 


grace  and  force,  fo  as  to  pleafe  and  to 
move  his  audience.  Let  us  confider  what 
is  mod  important  with  refpecl  to  each  of 
thefe  *. 

In  order  to  be  fully  and  eafily  under- 
ftood,  the  four  chief  rcquifites  are,  A  due 
degree  of  loudnefs  of  voice  ;  Diftinclnefs ; 
Slownefs;  and,  Propriety  of  Pronuncia- 
tion. 

The  firft  attention  of  every  public  fpeak- 
er, doubtlefs,  muft  be,  to  make  himfelf  be 
heard  by  all  thofe  to  whom  he  fpeaks.  He 
muft  endeavour  to  fill  with  his  voice  the 
fpace  occupied  by  the  affembly.  This 
power  of  voice,  it  may  be  thought,  is 
wholly  a  natural  talent.  It  is  fo  in  a  good 
meafure ;  but,  however,  may  receive  con- 
fiderable  affiitance  from  art.  Much  de- 
pends for  this  purpofe  on  the  proper  pitch, 
and  management  of  the  voice.  Every  man 
has  three  pitches  in  his  voice;  the  high, 
the  middle,  and  the  low  one.  The  high, 
is  that  which  he  ufes  in  calling  aloud  to 
fome  one  at  a  diftance.  The  low  is,  when 
he  approaches  to  a  whifper.  The  middle 
is,  that  which  he  employs  in  common  con- 
verfation, and  which  he  fhould  generally 
life  in  public  difcourfe.  For  it  is  a  great 
millake,  to  imagine  that  one  muft  take  the 
higheft  pitch  of  his  voice,  in  order  to  be 
well  heard  by  a  great  affembly.  This  is 
confounding  two  things  which  are  diffe- 
rent, loudnefs,  or  ftrength  of  found,  with 
the  key,  or  note  on  which  we  fpeak.     A 

*  On  this  whole  fubjecl,  Mr.  Sheridan's  Lec- 
tures on  Elocution  are  very  wwt-hy  of  hz'w.* 
confulted  ;  and  lcvcrai  hints  ace  litre  'taken  from 
thetn. 


charge  their  feveral  offices  with  eafe ;  and 
you  will  always  have  your  voice  under  com- 
mand. But  whenever  you  tranfgrefs  thefe 
bounds,  you  give  up  the  reins,  and  have  no 
longer  any  management  of  it.  It  is  an 
ufeful  rule  too,  in  order  to  be  well  heard, 
to  fix  our  eye  on  fome  of  the  moll  diftant 
perfons  in  the  affembly,  and  to  confider 
ourfelves  as  fpeaking  to  them.  We  natu- 
rally and  mechanically  utter  our  words 
with  fuch  a  degree  of  ftrength,  as  to  make 
ourfelves  be  heard  by  one  to  whom  we  ad- 
drefs  ourfelves,  provided  he  be  within  the 
reach  of  our  voice.  As  this  is  the  cafe  in 
common  converfation,  it  will  hold  alfo  in 
public  fpeaking.  But  remember,  that  in 
public  as  well  as  in  eonverfation,  it  is  pof- 
fible  to  offend  by  fpeaking  too  loud.  This 
extreme  hurts  the  ear,  by  making  the 
voice  come  upon  it  in  rumbling  indiftincT; 
maffes  ;  befides  its  giving  the  fpeaker  the 
difagreeable  appearance  of  one  who  endea- 
vours to  compel  affent,  by  mere  vehe- 
mence and  force  of  found. 

In  the  next  place,  to  being  well  heard, 
and  clearly  underftood,  diftindtnefs  of  arti- 
culation contributes  more,  than  mere  loud- 
nefs of  found.  The  quantity  of  found  ne-. 
ceffary  to  fill  even  a  large  fpace,  is  fmaller 
than  is  commonly  imagined ;  and  with 
diftincl  articulation,  a  man  of  a  weak  voice 
will  make  it  reach  farther,  than  the  ftrong- 
eft  voice  can  reach  without  it.  To  this, 
therefore,  every  public  fpeaker  ought  to 
pay  great  attention.  He  muft  give  every 
found  which  he  utters  its  due  proportion, 
and  make  every  fyllable,  and  even  every 
letter  in  the  word  which  he  pronounces, 


A 


be 


Vlll 


INTRODUCTION. 


be  heard  diftintlly  ;  without  ilurring,  whif- 
pering,  or  fupprefling  any  of  the  proper 
founds. 

In  the  third  place,  in  order  to  articulate 
diftinclly,  moderation  is  requifite  with  re- 
gard to  the  fpeed  of  pronouncing.  Preci- 
pitancy of  fpeech  confounds  all  articula- 
tion, and  all  meaning.  I  need  fcarcely  ob- 
ierve,  that  there  may  be  alfo  an  extreme 
on  the  opnofite  fide.  It  is  obvious,  that  a 
lifelefs,  drawling  pronunciation,  which  al- 
lows the  minds  of  the  hearers  to  be  always 
outrunning  the  fpeaker,  muft  render  every 
difcourfe  infipid  and  fatiguing.  But  the 
extreme  of  fpeaking  too  fail  is  much  more 
common,  and  requires  the  more  to  be 
guarded  againft,  becaufe,  when  it  has 
grown  up  into  a  habit,  few  errors  are  more 
difficult  to  be  corrected.  To  pronounce 
with  a  proper  degree  of  ilownefs,  and  with 
full  and  clear  articulation,  is  the  nrft  thing 
to  be  ftudied  by  all  who  begin  to  fpeak  in 
public  ;  and  cannot  be  too  much  recom- 
mended to  them.  Such  a  pronunciation 
gives  weight  and  dignity  to  their  difcourfe. 
It  is  a  great  aftlilance  to  the  voice,  by  the 
paufes  and  reils  which  it  allows  it  more 
eafily  to  make ;  and  it  enables  the  fpeaker 
to  fwell  all  his  iounds,  both  with  more 
force  and  more  mufic.  It  affifts  him  alfo 
in.  preferving  a  due  command  of  hirofelfj 
whereas  a  rapid  and  hurried  manner,  is  apt 
to  excite  that  flutter  of  fpirits,  which  is  the 
greater!:  enemy  to  all  right  execution  in  the 
way  of  oratory.  "  Promptum  fit  os,"  fays 
QuincUlian,  "  non  proeceps,  moderatum, 
non  lentum." 

.After  thefe  fundamental  attentions  to 
the  pitch  and  management  of  the  voice, 
to  diftinft  articulation,  and  to  a  proper  de- 
gree of  ilownefs  of  fpeech,  what  a  public 
fpeaker  mull,  in  the  fourth  place,  ftudy,  is 
Propriety  of  Pronunciation  ;  or  the  giving 
to  every  word,  which  he  utters,  that  found, 
which  the  moll  poke  ufage  of  the  language 
appropriates  to  it;  in  op/ofuion  to  broad, 
vulgar,  or  provincial  pronunciation.  This 
is  requifite,  both  for  fpeaking  intelligibly, 
and  for  fpeaking  with  g.-ace  or  beauty. 
Inftructicns  concerning  this  article,  can  be 
given  by  the  living  voice  only.  But  there 
is  one  obfervation,  which  it  may  not  be 
improper  here  to  make.  In  the  Engliih 
language,every  word  whichconfiils  of  more 
fyllablcs  than  one,  has  one  accented  fyl- 
lable.  The  accent  reils  fometimes  on  the 
vowel,  fometimes  on  the  confonant.  Sel- 
dom, or  n^ver,  is  there  more  than  one  ac- 
■       d  fy liable  in  any  Engliih  word,  how- 


ever long  ;  and  the  genius  of  the  language 
requires  the  voice  to  mark  that  fyllable  by 
a  ftronger  percuflion,  and  to  pafs  more 
flighdy  over  the  reft.  Now,  after  we  have 
learned  the  proper  feats  of  thefe  accents,  it 
is  an  important  rule,  to  give  every  word 
juil  the  fame  accent  in  public  fpeaking,  as 
in  common  difcourfe.  Many  perfons  err  in 
this  refpect.  When  they  ipeak  in  public, 
and  with  folemnity,  they  pronounce  the 
fyllables  in  a  different. manner  from  what 
they  do  at  other  times.  They  dwell  upon 
them,  and  protract  them  ;  they  multiply 
accents  on  the  fame  word  ;  from  a  miftaken 
notion,  that  it  gives  gravity  and  force  to 
their  difcourfe,  and  adds  to  the  pomp  of 
public  declamation.  Whereas,  this  is  one 
of  the  greateft  faults  that  can  be  committed 
in  pronunciation ;  it  makes  what  is  called  a 
theatrical  or  mouthing  manner  ;  and  gives 
an  artificial  affected  air  to  fpeech,  which 
detracts  greatly  both  from  its  agreeablenefs, 
and  its  impreffion. 

I  proceed  to  treat  next  of  thofe  higher 
parts  of  Delivery,  by  ftudying  which,  a 
ipeaker  has  fomething  farther  in  view  than 
merely  to  render  himfelf  intelligible,  and 
feeks  to  give  grace  and  force  to  what  he 
utters.  Thefe  may  be  compriied  under  four 
heads,  Emphafis,  Paufes,  Tones,  and  Ges- 
tures. Let  me  only  premiie  in  general,  to 
what  I  am  to  fay  concerning  them,  that  at- 
tention to  thefe  articles  of  Delivery,  is  by 
no  means  to  be  confined,  as  fome  might  be 
apt  to  imagine,  to  the  more  elaborate  and 
pathetic  parts  of  a  difcourfe  ;  there  is,  per- 
haps, as  great  attention _req>:ifite,  and  as 
much  fltill  difplayed,  in  adapting  emphafes, 
paufes,  tones,  and  geilures,  properly,  to 
calm  and  plain  fpeaking  :  and  the  effect  of 
a  juft  and  graceful  delivery  will,  in  every 
part  of  afubjeel,  be  found  of  high  impor- 
tance for  commanding  attention,  and  en- 
forcing what  is  Ipoken. 

Firil,  let  us  confider  Emphafis ;  by  this 
is  meant  a  ftronger  and  fuller  found  of 
voice,  by  which  we  diftinguiih  the  accent- 
ed fyllable  of  fome  word,  on  which  we 
defign  to  lay  particular  ftrefs,  and  to  fhow 
how  it  affects  the  reft  of  the  fentence. 
Sometimes  the  emphatic  word  muil  be  dif- 
tinguifhed  by  a  pa:  ticular  tone  of  voice,  as 
well  as  by  a  ftronger  accent.  Cn  the  right 
management  of  the  emphafis,  depends  the 
whole  life  and  fpirit  of  every  difcourfe. 
If  no  emphafis  be  placed  on  any  words, 
not  only  is  difcourfe  rendered  heavy  and 
lifelefs,  but  the  meaning  left  often  ambi- 
guous.    If  the  emphafis  be  placed  wrong, 

we 


On  Pronunciation,  or  Delivery* 


iX 


we  pervert  and  con-found  the  meaning 
wholly.  To  give  a  common  inftance  ;  fuch 
a  fimple  queftion  a?  this:  "  Do  you  ride 
to  town  to-day?"  is  capable  of  no  fewer 
than  four  different  acceptations,  accord- 
ing as  the  emphafis  is  differently  placed 
on  the  words.  If  it  be  pronounced  thus : 
Do  you  ride  to  town -to-day?  the  anfwer 
may  naturally  be,  No  ;  1  fend  my  few  ant  in 
my  Head.  If  thus ;  Do  you  ride  to  town 
to-day  ?  Anfwer,  No ;  1  intend  to  walk. 
Do  you  ride  to  town  to-day  ?  No;  I  ride 
out  into  the  fields.  Do  you  ride  to  town 
to-day  f  No  ;  but  I  ihall  to-morrow.  In 
like  manner,  in  folemn  dilcourfe,  the  whole 
force  and  beauty  of  an  expreffion  often 
depend  on  the  accented  word;  and  we 
may  prefent  to  the  hearers  quite  different 
views  of  the  fame  fentiment,  by  placing 
the  emphafis  differently.  In  the  follow- 
ing words  of  our  Saviour,  obferve  in  what 
different  lights  the  thought  is  placed,  ac- 
cording as  the  words  are  pronounced. 
"  Judas,  betrayed  thou  the  Son  of  Man 
with  a  kifs  I"  Betrayefi  thou — makes  the 
reproach  turn,  on  the  infamy  of  treachery. 
— Betrayer!  thou — makes  it  reft,  upon  Ju- 
das's  connection  with  his  mailer.  Betrayed, 
thou  the  Son  of  Man — refts  it,  upon  our 
Saviour's  peribnal  character  and  eminence. 
Betrayeft  thou  the  Son  of  man  with  a 
kifs?  turns  it  upon  his  proftituting  the  fig- 
nal  of  peace  and  friendthip,  to  the  purpofe 
of  a  mark  of  deftruction. 

In  order  to  acquire  the  proper  manage- 
ment of  the  emphafis,  the  great  rule,  and  in- 
deed the  only  rule  poffible  to  be  given,  is, 
that  the  fpeaker  ftudy  to  attain  a  juft  con- 
ception of  the  fo  ce  and  fpirit  of  thofe 
fentiments  which  he  is  to  pronounce.  For 
to  lay  the  emphafis  with  exact  propriety,  is 
a  conftant  exercife  of  good  fenie  and  at- 
tention. It  is  far  from  being  an  incon- 
iiderable  attainment.  It  is  one  of  the 
greateft  trials  of  a  true  and  juft  tafte  ;  and 
muft  arife  from  feeling  delicately  our- 
felves,  and  from  judging  accurately  of 
what  is  fitteft  to  ft: ike  the  feelings  of 
others.  There  is  as  great  a  difference  be- 
tween a  chapter  of  the  Bible,  or  any  other 
piece  of  plain  profe,  read  by  one  who 
places  the  feveral  emphafes  every  where 
with  talte  and  judgment,  and  by  one  who' 
neglects  or  miftakes  them,  as  there  is  be- 
tween the  fame  tune  played  by  the  mod 
Sttafterly  hand,  or  by  the  moil  bungling 
performer. 

In  all  prepared  difco  lrfes,  it  would  be 
of  great  ufe,    if  they  wjre  read  over  or 


rehearfed  in  private,  with  this  particular 
view,  to  fearch  for  tbe  proper  emphafes 
before  they  were  pronounced  in  public  ; 
marking,  at  the  fame  time,  with  a  pen, 
the  emphatical  words  in  every  fentence, 
or  at  leaft  the  moil  weighty  and  affect- 
ing parts  of  the  difcourfe,  and  fixing  thern 
well  in  memory.  Were  this  attention 
oftener  bellowed,  were  this  part  of  pro- 
nunciation ftudied  with  more  exactnefs, 
and  not  left  to  the  moment  of  delivery,  as 
is  commonly  done,  public  fpeakers  would 
find  their  care  abundantly  repaid,  by  the 
remarkable  effects  which  it  would  produce 
upon  their  audience.  Let  me  caution,  at 
the  fame  time,  a^ainft  one  error,  that  of 
multiplying  emphatical  words  too  much. 
It  is  only  by  a  prudent  referve  in  the  ufe 
of  them,  that  we  can  give  them  any 
weight.  If  they  recur  too  often  ;  if  a 
fpeaker  attempts  to  render  every  thing 
which  he  fays  of  high  importance,  by  a 
multitude  of  ftrong  emphafes,  we  foon 
learn  to  pay  little  regard  to  them.  To 
crowd  every  fentence  with  emphatical 
words,  is  like  crowding  all  the  pages  of  a 
book  with  italic  characters,  which,  as  to 
the  effect,  is  juft  the  fame  with  uiing  no 
fuch  diftinctions  at  all. 

Next  to  emphafis,  the  Paufes  in  fpeak- 
ing  demand  attention.  Thefe  are  of  two 
kinds ;  firft,  emphatical  paufes  ;  and  next, 
fuch  as  mark  the  diftinctions  of  fenfe. 
An  emphatical  paufe  is  made,  after  fome- 
thing  has  been  faid  of  peculiar  moment, 
and  on  which  we  want  to  fix  the  hearer's 
attention.  Sometimes,  before  fuch  a  thin* 
is  faid,  we  ulher  it  in  with  a  paufe  of  this 
nature.  Such  paufes  have  the  lame  effect 
as  a  ftrong  emphafis,  and  are  fubject  to 
the  fame  rules;  elpecially  to  the  caution 
juft  now  given,  of  not  repeating  them  too 
frequently.  For,  as  they  excite  uncom- 
mon attention,  and  of  courfer-a'.fe  expecta- 
tion, if  the  importance  of  the  matter  h; 
not  fully  anfwcrable  to  fuch  expectation, 
they  occafion  difappointment  and  diiguft. 

But  the  mot  frequent  and  the  principal 
ufe  of  paufes,  is  to  mark  the  divifions  of 
the  fenie,  and  at  the  fame  time  to  allow 
the  fpeaker  to  draw  his  breath;  and  the 
proper  and  graceful  adjuftment  of  fuch 
paufes,  is  one  of  the  moil:  nice  and  difficult 
articles  in  delivery.  In  all  public  fpeak- 
ing,  the  management  of  the  breath  re- 
quires a  good  deal  of  care,  fo  as  not  to  be 
obliged  to  divide  words  from  one  another, 
which  have  fo  intimate  a  connection,  that 
they  ought  to   be   pronounced   with  the 

fame 


INTRODUCTION. 


fame  breath,  and  without  the  leaft  repara- 
tion. Many  a  fentence  is  miferably  man- 
gled, and  the  force  of  the  emphafis  to- 
tally loft,  by  divifions  being  made  in  the 
wrong  place.  To  avoid  this,  every  one, 
while  he  is  fpeaking,  fhould  be  very  careful 
to  provide  a  full  fupply  of  breath  for  what 
h^  is  to  utter.  It  is  a  great  miflake  to 
imagine,  that  the  breath  mud  be  drawn 
only  at  the  end  of  a  period,  when  the  voice 
is  allowed  to  fall.  It  may  eafily  be  ga- 
thered at  the  intervals  of  the  period,  when 
the  voice  is  only  fufpended  for  a  moment ; 
and,  by  this  management,  one  may  have 
always  a  fufficient  flock,  for  carrying  on 
the  longed  fentence,  without  improper  in- 
terruptions. 

If  any  one,  in  public  fpeaking,  mail 
have  formed  to  himfelf  a  certain  melody 
or  tune,  which  requires  red  and  paufes  of 
its  own,  didinct  from  thofe  of  the  fenfe, 
he  has,  undoubtedly,  contracted  one  of  the 
word  habits  into  which  a  public  fpeaker 
can  fall.  It  is  the  fenfe  which  mould  al- 
ways rule  the  paufes  of  the  voice ;  for 
wherever  there  is  any  fenfible  fufpenfion 
of  the  voice,  the  hearer  is  always  led  to 
expect  fomething  correfponding  in  the 
meaning.  Paufes  in  public  difcoflrfe,  mult 
be  formed  upon  the  manner  in  which  we 
utter  ourfelves  in  ordinary,  fenfible  con- 
•verfation  ;  and  not  upon  the  ftifF,  artificial 
manner  which  we  acquire  from  reading 
books,  according  to  the  common  punctua- 
tion. The  general  run  of  punctuation  is 
very  arbitrary  ;  often  capricious  and  falfe  ;' 
and  dictates  an  uniformity  of  tone  in  the 
paufes,  which  is  extremely  difagreeabie : 
ior  we  are  to  obferve,  that  to  render  paufes 
graceful  and  expreifive,  they  mud  not  only 
be  made  in  the  right  place,  but  alfo  be 
accompanied  with  a  proper  tone  of  voice, 
by  which  the  nature  of  thefe  paufes  is  in- 
timated;  much  more  than  by  the  length 
of  them,  which  can  never  be  exactly  mea- 
sured. Sometimes  it  is  only  a  flight  and 
fimple  fufpenfion  of  voice  that  is  proper ; 
fometimesa  degree  of  cadence  in  the  voice 
is  required;  and  fometimes  that  peculiar 
tone  and  cadence,  which  denotes  the  fen- 
tence finifhed.  In  all  thefe  cafes,  we  are  to 
regulate  ourfelves,  by  attending  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  nature  teaches  us  to  fpeak 
when  engaged  in  real  and  earned  dif- 
courfe  with  others. 

When  we  arc  reading  or  reciting  verfe, 
there  is  a  peculiar  difficulty  in  making  the 
paufes  judly.  The  difficulty  arifes  from 
the  melody  of  verfe,  which  dictates  to  the 


ear  paufes  or  reds  of  its  own  ;  and  to  ad- 

jud  and  compound  thefe  properly  with  the 
paufes  of  the  fenfe,  fo  as  neither  to  hurt 
the  ear,  nor  offend  the  underdanding,  is  fo 
very  nice  a  matter,  that  it  is  no  wonder  we 
fo  feldom  meet  with  good  readers  of  poe-  ] 
try.     There  are  two  kinds  of  paufes  that 
belong  to  the  mufic  of  verfe;  one  is,  the 
paufe  at  the  end  of  the  line ;  and  the  other,  j 
the   caefural  paufe   in  the    middle   of  it.  j 
With  regard  to  the  paufe  at  the  end   of ; 
the  line,  which  marks  that  drain  or  verfe  J 
to  be  finifhed,  rhyme  renders  this  always  j 
fenfible,  and  in  fome  meafure  compels  us 
to  obferve  it    in    our  pronunciation.     In  j 
blank  verfe,  where  there  is  a  greater  li-  j 
berty  permitted  of  running  the  lines  into  j 
one  another,  fometimes  without  any  fuf- 
penfion in  the  fenfe,  it  has  been  made  a  j 
queftion,  Whether,  in  reading  fuch  verfe] 
with  propriety,  any  regard  at  all  fhould  be' 
paid  to  the  clofe  of  a  line  ?     On  the  ftage,  \ 
where  the  appearance  of  fpeaking  in  verfe 
fhould  always    be  avoided,    there  can,  I.j 
think,  be  no  doubt,  that  the  clofe  of  fuch 
lines  as  make  no  paufe  in  the  fenfe,  fhould 
not    be  rendered   perceptible  to    the  ear. 
But  on  other  occafioTfs,  this  were  impro- 
per :  for  what  is  the  ufe  of  melody,  or  for 
what  end  has  the  poet  compofed  in  verfe, 
if,    in  reading  Iris  lines,  we  fupprefs    his 
numbers ;  and  degrade  them,  by  our  pro- 
nunciation, into  mere  profe  ?     We  ought, 
therefore,  certainly  to  read  blank  verie  fa 
as  to  make  every  line  fenfible  to  the  ear. 
<At  the  fame  time,  in  doing  fo,  every  ap- 
pearance of  fing-fong  and  tone  mull   be 
carefully  guarded  againft.     The    clofe  cf 
the  line,  where  it  makes   no  paufe  in  the 
meaning,  ought  to  be  marked,  not  by  fuch 
a  tone  as  is  nfed  in  finifhing  a  fentence, 
but  without  either  letting  the  voice  fall  or  j 
elevating  it,  it  fhould  be  marked  only  by  | 
fuch  a  flight  fufpenfion  of  found,  as  may 
didinguifh    the  paffage  from  one  line  tO' 
another,  without  injuring  the  meaning. 

The  other  kind  of  mufical  paufe,  is  that 
which  falls  fomewhere  about  the  middle 
of  the  verfe,  and  divides  it  into  two  hemi- 
ftichs;  a  paufe,  not  fo  great  as  that  which 
belongs  to  the  clofe  of  the  line,  but  flill 
fenfible  to  an  ordinary  ear.  This,  which 
/is  called  the  caefural  paufe,  in  the  French 
'  heroic  verfe  falls  uniformly  in  the  middle 
of  the  line,  in  the  Englifh,  it  may  fall  after 
the  4th,  5th,  6th,  or  7th  fyllables  in  the 
line,  and  no  other.  Where  the  verfe  is  fo 
conflructed  that  this  caefural  paufe  coin- 
cides with  the  flighted  paufe  or  divifion  in 

the 


'■"<?•©■ 


On  "Pronunciation,  §r  Delivery* 


the  fenfe,  the  line  can  be  read  eafily  ;  as 
in  the  two  firft  veries  of  Mr.  Pope's  Mef- 
iiah, 

Ye  nymphs  of  Solyma  !  begin  the  fong  j 

To  heavenly  themes,  f  ublimer  ftiains  belong  ; 

But  if  it  fhall  happen  that  words,  which 
have  fuch  a  ftrict  and  intimate  connection, 
as  not  to  bear  even  a  momentary  fepara- 
tion,  aredivilcd  from  one  another  by  this 
casfural  paufe,  we  then  feel  a  fort  of  ltrug- 
gle  between  the  fenfe  and  the  found, 
which  renders  it  difficult  to  read  fuch  lines 
gracefully.  The  rule  of  proper  pronun- 
ciation in  fuch  cafes  is,  to  regard  only  the 
paufe  which  the  fenfe  forms;  and  to  read 
the  line  accordingly.  The  neglect  of  the 
.csfural  paufe  may  make  the  line  found 
fomewhat  unharmonioufly  ;  but  the  effect 
would  be  much  worfe,  if  the  fenfe  were  fa- 
crificed  to  the  found.  For  inllance,  in  the 
following  line  of  Milton, 


-What  in  me  is  dark, 
Illumine ;  what  is  low,  raife  and  lupport. 

The  fenfe  clearly  dictates  the  paufe  after 
"  illumine,"  at  the  end  of  ufre  third  fylla- 
ble,  which,  in  reading,  ought  to  be  made 
accordingly;  though,  if  the  melody  only 
were  to  be  regarded,  "  illumine"  fhould  be 
connected  with  what  follows,  and  the  paufe 
not  made  till  the  4th  or  6th  fyllable.  So 
in  the  following  line  of  Mr.  Pope's  (Epiille 
to  Dr.  Arbuthnot) : 

I  fit,  with  fad  civility  I  read: 

The  ear  plainly  points  out  the  csfural  paufe 
as  falling  after  "  fad,"  the  4th  fyllable. 
But  it  would  be  very  bad  reading  to  make 
any  paufe  there,  fo  as  to  feparate  "  fad" 
and  "  civility."  The  fenfe  admits  of  no 
other  paufe  than  after  the  fecond  fyllable 


tfe 


only 


"  fit,"  which  therefore  mult  be 
paufe  made  in  the  reading. 

I  proceed  to  treat  next  of  Tones  in  pro- 
nunciation, which  are  different  both  from 
emphafis  and  paufes;  confuting  in  the  mo- 
dulation of  the  voice,  the  notes  or  varia- 
tions of  found  which  we  employ  in  public 
fpeaking.  How  much  of  the  propriety,  the 
force  and  grace  of  difcourfe,muit  depend  on 
thefe,  will  appear  from  this  Angle  conside- 
ration; that  to  almoft  every  fentiment  we 
utter,  more  efpecially  to  every  ftrong  emo- 
tion, nature  hath  adapted  fome  peculiar  tone 
of  voice ;  infomuch,  that  he  who  ihouki  tell 
another  that  he  was  very  angry,  or  much 
grieved,  in  a  tone  which  did  not  fuit  fuch. 
emotions,  inftead  of  being  believed,  would 


XI 

be  laughed  at.  Sympathy  is  one  of  the 
molt  powerful  principles  by  which  perfua- 
five  difcourfe  works  its  effect.  Thefpeaker 
endeavours  to  transfufe  into  his  hearers  his 
own  fentiments  and  emotions ;  which  he  can 
never  be  fuccefsful  in  doing,  unlefs  he  ut- 
ters them  in  fuch  a  manner  as  to  convince 
the  hearers  that  he  feels  them*.  The  pro- 
per expreffion  of  tones,  therefore,  deferves 
to  be  attentively  ftudied  by  every  one  who 
would  be  a  fuccefsful  orator. 

The  greatefl  and  molt  material  inflruc- 
tion  which  can  be  given  for  this  purpofe  is, 
to  form  the  tones  of  public  fpeaking  upon 
the  tones  of  fenfible  and  animated  conver- 
fation.  We  may  obferve  that  every  man, 
when  he  is  much  in  earner!  in  common  dif- 
courfe,  when  he  is  engaged  in  fpeaking  on 
fome  fubject  which  interefts  him  nearly,  has 
an  eloquent  orperfuafive  tone  and  manner. 
What  is  the  reafon  of  our  being  often  fo 
frigid  and  unperfuafive  in  public  difcourfe, 
but  our  departing  from  the  natural  tone  of 
fpeaking,  and  delivering  ourfelves  in  an 
affected,  artificial  manner?  Nothing  can  be 
moreabfurd  than  to  imagine,  that  as  foon  as 
one  mounts  a  pulpit,  or  rifes  in  a  public  af- 
fembly,  he  is  inftantly  to  lay  afide  the  voice 
with  which  he  expreffes  himfelf  in  private; 
to  afiume  a  new,  ftudied  tone,  and  a  ca- 
dence altogether  foreign  to  his  natural 
manner.  This  has  vitiated  all  delivery ;  this 
has  given  rife  to  cant  and  tedious  mono- 
tony, in  the  different  kinds  of  modern  pub- 
lic fpeaking,  efpecially  in  the  pulpit.  Men 
departed  from  nature  ;  and  fought  to  give 
a  beauty  or  force,  as  they  imagined,  to  their 
difcourfe,  by  fubflituting  certain  ftudied 
mufical  tones,  in  the  room  of  the  genuine 
expreffions  of  fentiment,  which  the  voice 
carries  in  natural  difcourfe.      Let  every 

*  "  All  that  palfes  in  the  mind  of  man  may  be 
"  reduced  to  two  claffes,  which  J  call,  Ideas,  and 
*'  Emotions.  By  Ideas,  I  mean  all  thoughts 
"  which  rife  and  pafs  in  fuccelTion  in  the  mind: 
"  By  Emotions,  all  exertions  of  the  mind  in  ar- 
"  ranging,  combining,  and  feparating  i;s  ideas; 
"  as  well  as  all  the  effedts  produced  on  the  mind 
"  itfelf  by  thofe  ideas,  from  the  more  violent 
"  agitation  of  the  paffions,  to  the  calmer  feelings 
<c  produced  by  the  operation  of  the  intellect  and 
"  the  fancy.  In  fhort,  thought  is  the  objedr.  of 
'*  the  one,  internal  feeling  of  the  other.  That 
"  which  ferves  to  exprefs  the  former,  I  call  the 
"  Language  of  Ideas ;  and  the  latter,  the  Lan- 
"  guage  of  Emotions.  Words  are  the  figns  of  the 
"  one,  tones  of  the  other.  Wi.hout  the  life 
"  of  thefe  two  forts  of  language,  it  is  impoffible 
"  to  communicate  through  the  ear  all  that  paifes 
«•  in  the  mind  of  man." 

Sheridan  on  the  Art  of  Reading. 


public 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION. 


public  fpeaker  guard  againft  this  error. 
Whether  he  fpeak  in  a  private  room,  or  in 
a  great  afTemb'y,  let  him  remember  that  he 
ftill  fpeaks.  Follow  nature  :  confidcr  how 
fhe  teaches  yen  to  utter  any  fentiment  or 
feeling  of  your  heart.  Imagine  a  fubject  of 
debate  ftarted  in  converfation  among  grave 
and  wife  men,  and  yourfelf  bearing  a  fhare 
in  it.  Think  after  what  manner,  with  what 
tones  and  in  flexions  of  voice,  you  would  on 
fuch  an  occahon  exprefs  yourfelf,  when  you 
were  mod  in  earneft,  and  fought  moil  to  be 
liftened  to.  Carry  thefe  with  you  to  the 
bar,  to  the  pulpit,  or  to  any  public  affem- 
bly;  let  thefe  be  the  foundation  of  your 
manner  of  pronouncing  there;  and  you  will 
take  the  fureft  method  of  rendering  your 
delivery  both  agreeable  and  pei  fuafive. 

I  have  faid,Let  thefe  converfation  tones 
be  the  foundation  of  public  pronunciation; 
for,  en  fome  occaflons,  folemn  public  fpeak  - 
ing  requires  them  to  be  exalte. 1  beyond  the 
ftrain  of  common  difcourfe.  In  a  formal, 
ftudied  oration,  the  elevation  of  the  ftyle, 
and  the  harmony  of  the  fentences,  prompt, 
aim  oft  neceftarily,  a  modulation  of  voice 
more  rounded,  and  bordering  more  upon 
Etufic,  than  converfation  admits,  This  gives 
rife  to  what  is  called,  the  Declaiming 
Manner.  But  {.hough  this  mode  of  pro- 
nunciation runs  considerably  beyond  ordi- 
dinary  difcourfe,  yet  itill  it  mu ft  have,  for  its 
bafis,  the  natural  tones  of  grave  and  dig- 
nified converfation.  I  muft  obferve,  at  the 
feme  time,  that  the  conftant  indulgence  of 
.  a  declamatory  manner,  is  not  favourable 
either  to  good  composition,  or  good  deli- 
very ;  and  is  in  hazard  of  betraying  public 
fpeakers  into  that  monotony  of  tone  and  ca- 
dence, which  is  fo  generally  complained  of. 
Whereas,  he  who  terms  the  general  run  of 
liis  delivery  upon  a  fpeaking manner,  is  not 
likely  ever  to  become  difagieeable  through 
irrort©tony.  He  will  have  the  fame  natural 
variety  in  his  tones,  which  a  perfon  has  in 
converfation.  Indeed,  the  perfection  of 
deliver)  requires  both  thefe  different  man- 
Biers,  that  of  i  caking  with  livelinefs  and 
ea-fe,  ai  d  that  or  declaiming  with  itatelinefs 
and  dignity,  to  be  pofleffed  by  one  man; 
and  to  be  employed  by  him,  according  as 
the  different  parts  of  his  difcourfe  requiie 
cither  ihe  one  or  the  o  her.  ']  his  is  a  per- 
fection which  is  not  attained  by  many; 
the  g  rented  part  of  public  fpeakers  allowing 
their  delivery  to  be  formed  altogether"  ac- 
cidentally, according  as  fome  turn  cf  voice 
appears  to  them  moft  beautiful,  or  feme 
a;  tificial  model  has  caught  their  fancy;  and 


acquiring,  by  this  means,  a  habit  of  pro-' 
nunciation,  which  they  can  never  vary. 
But  the  capital  direction,  which  ought  ne- 
ver to  be  forgo'ten,  is,  to  copy  the  proper 
tones  for  exprefung  every  fentiment  from 
thofe  which  nature  dictates  tons,  in  conver- 
fation with  others ;  to  fpeak  always  with 
her  voice;  and  not  to  form  to  ourfelves  a 
fantaftic  public  manner,  from  an  abfurd 
fancy  of  its  being  more  beautiful  than  a 
natural  one  *. 

Jt  now  remains  to  treat  of  Gefture,  or 
what  is  called  Action  in  public  difcourfe. 
Some  nations  animate  their  words  in  com- 
mon converfation,  with  many  more  motions 
of  the  body  than  others  do.  The  French 
and  the  Italians  are,  in  this  refpect,  much 
more  fprightly  than  we.  But  there  is  no 
nation,  hardly  any  perfon  fo  phlegmatic,  as 
not  to  accompany  their  words  with  fome 
actions  and  gefticulations,  on  all  occafions, 
when  they  are  much  in  earneft.  It  is 
therefore  unnatural  in  a  public  fpeaker,  it 
is.inconfiftent  with  that  earneilnefs  and  fe- 
rioufnefs  which  he  ought  to  fhew  in  all  af- 
fairs of  moment,  to  remain  quite  unmoved 
in  his  outward  ,  ppearance ;  and  to  let  the 
words  drop  from  his  mouth,  without  any 
exprefhon  of  meaning,  or  warmth  in  his 
gefture. 

The  fundamental  rule  as  to  propriety  of 
action,  is  undoubtedly  the  fame  with  what 
I  gave  as  to  propriety  of  tone.  Attend  to 
the  looks  and  geftures,  in  which  earneftnefs, 
indignation,  compaihon,  or  any  other  emo- 
tion, difcovers  itfelf  to  moft  advantage  in 
the  common  intercourfe  of  men  ;  and  let 
thefe  be  your  model.  Some  ofthefe  locks 
and  reftures  are  common  to  all  men  ;  and 
there  are  alfo  certain  peculiarities  of  man- 
ner which  diflinguifh  every  individual.  A 
public  fpeaker  muft  take  that  manner  which 
is  moft  natural  to  himfelf.  For  it  is  here  juft 
as  in  tones.  It  is  not  the  bufinefs  of  a 
fpeaker  to  form  to  himfblf  a  certain  fet  of 
motions  and  geftures,  which  he  thinks  moft 
becoming  and  agreeable,  and    to  practife 

*  ':  Loquere,"  (fays  an  author  of  the  Lift  cen- 
tury, who  has  u  ritten  a  Treatife'iii  Verfe,  de 
Geilu  et  Voce  Oratoris) 

"  Loquere;   hoc  vitium  commune,  loqmtur 

"   Ut  nemo  ;  at  tenfa  declamaret  omnia  voce. 

"  Tu  loquere,  ut  mos  eft  hominum ;  Boat  &  latrat 

ille  : 
«  Illeululat  ;  rudit  hie  (fari  fi  talia  digmim  eft)  ; 
"   Is  on  hoini.-em  vox  u!la  fonat  ratione  loquen- 
cem." 

Joannes  Lucas,  de  Geftu  et  Voce, 
Lib.  II.  Paris  1675. 

thefe 


On  Pronunciation^  or  Delivery.  xiii 

thefe  in  public,  without  their  having  any  I  fhall  only  add  further  on  this  head 
correfpondence  to  the  manner  which  is  na-  that  in  order  to  fucceed  well  in  delivery* 
Jural  to  him  in  private.  His  geflures  and  nothing  is  more  neceffary  than  forafpeaker 
motions  ought  all  to  carry  that  kind  of  ex-  to  guard  againft  a  certain  flutter  of  fpirits, 
preflion  which  nature  has  dictated  to  him  ;  which  is  peculiarly  incident  to  thofe  who 
and,  unlefs  this  be  the  cafe,  it  is  impoffible,  begin  to  fpeak  in  public.  He  mull  endea- 
by  means  of  any  ftudy,  to  avoid  their  ap-  vour  above  all  things  to  be  recollected,  and 
pearing  ftiff  and  forced.  mafter  of  himfelf.  For  this  end,  he  will 
|  However,  although  nature  muft  be  the  find  nothing  of  more  ufe  to  him,  than  to 
ground-work,  I  admit  that  there  is  room  ftudy  to  become  wholly  engaged  in  his 
in  this  matter  for  fome  ftudy  and  art.  For  fubjeel ;  to  be  peffeffed  with  a  fenfe  of  its 
many  perfons  are  naturally  ungraceful  in  importance  or  ferioufnefs ;  to  be  concerned 
the  motions  which  they  make ;  and  this  un-  much  more  to  perfuade  than  to  pleafe.  He 
gracefulnefs  might,  in  part  at  leait,  be  re-  will  generally  pleafe  moft,  when  pleaiing  is 
formed  by  application  and  care.  The  not  his  fole  nor  chief  aim.  This  is  the  only 
ftudy  of  action  in  public  fpeaking,  conflils  rational  and  proper  method  of  railing  one'i 
chiefly  in  guarding  againft  awkward  and  felf  above  that  timid  and  balhlul  regard  to 
difagreeable  motions,  and  in  learning  to  an  audience,  whioh  is  fo  ready  to  diiconcert 
perform  fuch  as  are  natural  to  the  fpeaker,  a  fpeaker,  both  as  to  what  he  is  to  fay, 
in  the  moft  becoming  manner.  For  this  and  as  to  his  manner  of  faying  it. 
end,  it  has  been  advifed  by  writers  on  this  I  cannot  conclude,  without  an  earneft 
fubjeel:,  to  practife  before  a  mirror,  where  admonition  to  guard  againft  all  affectation, 
one  may  fee,  and  judge  cf  his  own  geftures.  which  is  the  certain  ruin  of  good  delivery. 
■'But  I  am  afraid,  perlons  are  not  always  the  Let  your  manner,  whatever  it  is,  be  vour 
beft  judges  of  the  gracefulnefs  of  their  own  own;  neither  imitated  from  another,  nor 
motions:  and  one  may  declaim  long  e-  affumed  upon  feme  imaginary  model,  which 
nough  before  a  mirror,  without  correcting  is  unnatural  to  you.  Whatever  is  native, 
any  of  his  faults.  The  judgment  of  a  even  though  accompanied  with  feveral  de- 
friend,  whofe  good  talte  they  can  truft,  will  fects,  yet  is  likely  to  pleafe  ;  becaufe  it 
be  found  of  much  greater  advantage  to  be-  fhovvs  us  a  man;  becaufe  it  has  the  ap- 
ginners,  than  any  mirror  they  can  ufe.  pearance  of  coming  from  the  heart. 
With  regard  to  particular  rules  concerning  Whereas,  a  delivery  attended  with  feveral 
aftionand  geiticulation,Q-uinc~t.ilian  has  ds-  acquired  graces  and  beauties,  if  it  be  not 
(livered  a  great  many,  in  the  laft  chapter  of  ealy  and  free,  if  it  betray  the  marks  of  art 
the  i  ith  Book  of  his  Institutions ;  and  all  and  affectation,  never  fails  to  difgult.  To 
the  modern  writers  on  this  fubject  have  done  attai  n  any  extremely  cor  reft,  and  perfectly 
'little  elfe  but  tranflate  them.  I  am  not  of  graceful  delivery,  is  what  few  can  expect  ; 
opinion,  that  fuch  rules,  delivered  cither  by  fo  many  natural  talents  being  requiiite  to 
the  vojee  or  on  paper,  can  be  of  much  ufe,  concur  in  forming  if.  But  to  attain,  what 
unlefs  perlons  faw  them  exemplified  before  as  to  the  effect  is  very  little  inferior,  a  for- 
their  eyes  *.  cible  and  perfuaiive  manner,  is  within  the 


*  The  few  following  hints  only  I  fhall  adven- 
ture to  throw  out,  in  cafe  they  may  be  of  any  fer- 
vice.  When  fpeaking  in  public,  one  fhould  ftudy  to 
preferve  as  much  dignity  as  poffible  in  the  whole 
attitude  of  tiie  body.  An  erect  pofture  is  gene- 
rally to  be  chofen  :  {landing  firm,  fo  as  to  have  the 
fulleft  and  frei.ft  command  of  al!  his  motions ;  any 
inclination  which  is  nfed,  fhould  be  forwards  to- 
wards the  hearers,  which  is  a  natural  expreifion  of 
earneftnefs.  As  for  the  countenance,  the  chief 
rule  is,  that  it  fhould  correfpond  with  the  nature 
ef  the  difcourfe,  and  when  no  particuler  emotion 
is  expreired,  a  ferious  and  manly  look  is  always  the 
heft.  The  eyes  fhould  never  be  fixed  clofe  on  any 
ene  object,  but  move  eafily  round  the  audience. 
In  the  motions  made  with  the  hands,  confilts  the 
chief  part  of  gefture  in  fpenking.  The  Ancients 
condemned  all  motions  performed  by  the  left  hand 
alone  ;  but  I  am  not  fenfible.  that  thefe  are  always 
«ffenfive,,*hou£h  it  is  natural  for  the  right  hand  to 


be  more  frequently  employed.  Warm  emotions 
demand  the  motion  of  both  hands  correfponding 
together.  But  whether  one  gefticulates  with  one 
or  with  both  hands,  it.  is  an  important  rulej  that 
all  his  motions  fhould  be  free  and  eafy.  Narrow 
and  ftraitened  movements  arc  generally  ungrace- 
ful;  for  which  reafon,  motions  made  with  the 
hands  are  directed  to  proceed  from  the  (houlder, 
rather  than  from  tne  elbow.  Perpendicular 
movements  too  with  the  hands,  that  is,  in  the 
flraight  line  up  and  down,  which  Shakefpeare,  in 
Hamlet,  calls,"  fawing  the  air  with  the  hand,*' 
are  feldom  good.  Oblique  motions  are,  in  general, 
the  moft  graceful.  Too  fi.ddcn  and  nimble  mo- 
tions fhould  be  likewife  avoided.  Earneftnefs  can 
be  fully  expreffed  without  them.  Shakefpear's 
directions  on  this  head,  are  full  of  good  fenfe  ; 
"  ufe  all  gently,"  fays  lie, "  and  in  the  very  tor-  . 
"  rent  and  tenipeft  of  paffion,  acquire  a  tempe- 
*f  ranee  that  may  give  it  l'moothnefi." 

nower 


XIV 

power  of  moll  perfons ;  if  they  will  only  un- 
learn falfe  and  corrupt  habits ;  if  they  will 
allow  themfelves  to  follow  nature,  and  will 
fpeak  in  public,  as  they  do  in  private,  when 
they  fpeak  irl  earneft,  and  from  the  heart. 
If  one  has  naturally  any  grofs  defects  in  his 
Voice  or  geftures,  he  begins  at  the  wrong 


INTRODUCTION. 


and  fupported  alfo  by  the  exterior,  yet  im- 
portant qualifications,  of  a  graceful  man- 
ner, a  prefence  not  ungainly,  and  a  full  and 
tuneable  voice.  How  littla  reafon  to  won- 
der, that  a  perfect  and  accomplifhed  orator 
mould  be  one  of  the  characters  that  is  moft 
rarely  to  be  found  ! 


end,  if  he  attempts  at  reforming  them  only  /^  Let  us  not  defpair,  however..    Between 


when  he  is  to  fpeak  in  public  :  he  mould 
begin  with  rectifying  them  in  his  private 
manner  of  fpeaking;  and  then  carry  to  the 
public  the  right  habit  he  has  formed.  For 
when  a  fpeaker  is  engaged  in  a  public  dif- 
courfe,  he  mould  not  be  then  employing  his 
attention  about  his  manner,  or  thinking 
©f  his  tones  and  his  geftures.  If  he  be  io 
employed,  ftudy  and  affectation  will  ap- 
pear. He  ought  to  be  then  quite  in  earneil; 
wholly  occupied  with  his  fuhjedt  and  his 
fentiments;  leaving  nature,  and  previoufly 
formed  habits,  to  prompt  and  fuggeii  his 
manner  of  delivery. 


mediocrity  and  perfection  there  is  a  very 
wide  interval.  There  are  rriany  interme- 
diate fpaces,  which  may  be  filled  up  with 
honour;  and  the  more  rare  and  difficult 
that  complete  perfection  is,  the  greater  is 
the  honour  of  approaching  to  it,  though  we 
do  not  fully  attain  it.  The  number  of 
orators  who  Hand  in  the  higheft  elafs  is, 
perhaps,  fmaller  than  the  number  of  poets 
who  are  foremoit  in  poetic  fame;  but  the 
ftudy  of  oratory  has  this  advantage  above 
that  of  poetry,  that,  in  poetry,  one  mufl  be 
an  eminently  good  performer,  or  he  is  not 
fupportable  ; 

>     •      Mediocribus  effe  poetis 

Non    homines,  non  Di,    non    concentre  co- 


II. 

Means  of  improving  in  Eloquence. 

I  have  now  treated  fully  of  the  different 
kinds  of  public  fpeaking,  of  the  compofi- 
tion,  and  of  the  delivery  of  a  difcourfe. 
Before  I  finifh  this  fubject,  it  may  be  of  ufe 
to  fuggeft  fome  things  concerning  the  pro- 
pereft  means  of  improvement  in  the  art  of 
public  fpeaking,  and  the  moft  neceffary 
ftudies  for  that  purpofe. 

To  be  an  eloquent  fpeaker,  in  the  proper 
fenfe  of  the  word,  is  far  from  being  either 
a  common  or  an  eafy  attainment.  Indeed, 
to  compofe  a  florid  harangue  on  fome  po- 
pular topic,  and  to  deliver  it  fo  as  to  amufe 
an  audience,  is  a  matter  not  very  difficult. 
But  though  fome  praife  be  due  to  this,  yet 
the  idea,  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  give 
of  eloquence,  is  much  higher.  It  is  a  great 
exertion  of  the  human  powers.     It  is  the 

art  of  being  perfuafive  and  commanding  ;  ^atory,  than  they  are  m  poetry 
the  art,  not  of  pleafing  the  fancy  merely, 
but  of  fpeaking  both  to  the  underftanding 
and  to  the  heart;  of  interefting  the  hearers 
in  fnch  a  degree,  as  to  fcizc  and  carry  them 
along  with  us;  and  to  leave  them  with  a 
deep  and  ftrong  impreffion  of  what  they 
have  heard.  How  many  talents,  natural 
and  acquired,  muft  concur  for  carrying  this 
to  perfection  !  A  fcrong,  lively,  and  warm 
imagination;  quick  fenfibility  of  heart, 
joined  with  folld  j udgment,  good  fenfe,  and 
prefence  of  mind;  all  improved  by  great 
and  long  attention  to  ftyle  and  compofttion; 
9 


lumne  *. 

In  Eloquence  this  does  not  hold.  There 
one  may  poffefs  a  moderate  itation  with 
dignity.  Eloquence  admits  of  a  great 
many  different  forms ;  plain  and  fimple, 
as  well  as  high  and  pathetic ;  and  a  genius 
that  cannot  reach  the  latter,  may  fhine 
with  much  reputation  and  ufefulnefs  in 
the  former. 

Whether  nature  or  art  contribute  moft  to 
form  an  orator,  is  a  trifling  enquiry.  In  all 
attainments  whatever,  nature  muft  be  the 
prime  agent.  She  muft  beftow  the  origi- 
nal talents.  She  muft  fo.v  the  feeds;  but 
culture  is  requifite  for  bringing  thofe  feeds 
to  perfection.  Nature  muft  always  have 
donefomewhat;  but  a  great  deal  will  always 
be  left  to  be  done  by  art.  This  is  certain, 
that  ftudy  and  difcipline  are  more  neceffary 
for  the  improvement  of  natural  genius  in 

What  I 
mean  is,  that  though  poetry  be  capable  of 
receiving  affiftance  from  critical  art,  yet  a 
poet,  without  any  aid  from  art,  by  the  force 
of  genius  alone,  can  rife  higher  than  a  pub- 
lic fpeaker  can  do,  who  has  never  given  at- 
tention to  the  rules  of  ftyle,  compofition, 
and  delivery.  Homer  formed  himfelf;  De- 
mofthenes  and  Cicero  were  formed  by  the 
help  of  much  labour,  and  of  many  affift- 
ances  derived  from  the  labour  of  others. 

*  For  God  and  man,  and  lettered  poft  denies, 
That  poets  ever  are  of  middling  l,ze. 
Francis. 

After 


/After  thefe  preliminary  observations,  let 
US  proceed  to  the  main  deiign  of  this  lec- 
ture j  to  treat  of  the  means  to  be  ufed  for 
improvement  in  eloquence. 

In  the  firft  place,  what  ftands  higheft  in 
the  order  of  means,  is  perfonal  character 
and  difpofition.  In  order  to  be  a  truly  elo- 
quent or  perfuafive  fpeaker,  nothing  is 
more  neceffary  than  to  be  a  virtuous  man. 
This  was  a  favourite  pofition  among  the 
ancient  rhetoricians:  "  Non pofTe  oratorem 
"  efTe  nifi  virum  bonum."  To  find  any 
fuch  connection  between  virtue  and  one  of 
the  higheft  liberal  arts,  muff  give  pleafure  ; 
and  it  can,  I  think,  be  clearly  fhewn,  that 
this  is  not  a  mere  topic  of  declamation,  but 
that  the  connection  here  alledged,  is  un- 
doubtedly founded  in  truth  and  reafon. 

For,  confider  firft,  Whether  any  thing 
contributes  more  toperfuafion,  than  the  opi- 
nion which  we  entertain  of  the  probity,difin- 
tereftednefs,  candour,  and  other  good  moral 
qualities  of  the  perfon  who  endeavours  to 


On  Pronunciation,  or  t)elivery,  xv 

"  agrorum  nimia  cura,  et  follicitior  rei  fa- 
"  miliaris  diligentia,  et  veliandi  voluptas, 
«*  et  dati  fpectaculis  dies,  multum  ftudiis- 
"  auferunt,  quid  putamus  facturas  cupidi- 
"  tatem,  avaritiam,  invidiam  ?  Nihil  enim 
"  eft  tarn  occupatum,  tarn  multiforme,  tot 
"  ac  tarn  variis  aftecYibus  concifum,  atque 
"  laceratum,  quam  mala  ac  improba  mens. 
'.«  Quis  inter  haec,  Uteris,  aut  ulii  bona; 
"  arti,  locus  ?  Non  hercle  magis  quam 
"  frugibus,  in  terra  fentibus  ac  rubis  oc- 
**  cupata*." 

But,  befides  this  confideration,  there  is 
another  of  ftiil  higher  importance,  though 
I  am  not  fure  of  its  being  attended  to  as 
much  as  it  deferves ;  namely,  that  from  the 
fountain  of  real  and  genuine  virtue,  are 
drawn  thofe  fentiments  which  will  ever  be 
mod  powerful  in  affecting  the  hearts  of 
others.  Bad  as<  the  world  is,  nothing  has 
fo  great  and  univerfal  a  command  over  the 
minds  of  men  as  virtue.  No  kind  of  lan- 
guage is  fo  generally  underftood,  and  fo 


perluade  ?    lhefe  give  weight  and  force  to     powerfully  felt,  as  the  native  language  of 

PVPrv   rhino-  u/liirh  !i=>  dm-o™  .   ,-..,,.    i-l. —  .JJ       ...«_*' — )   ..:„* r__i!  tt  , 


every  thing  which  he  utters;  nay,  they  add 
a  beauty  to  it ;  they  difpofe  us  to  liften  with 
attention  and  pleafure ;  and  create  a  fecret 
partiality  in  favour  of  that  fide  which  he 
efpoufes.  Whereas,  if  we  entertain  a  fuf- 
picion  of  craft  and  difingenuity,  of  a  cor- 
rupt, or  a  bafe  mind,  in  the  fpeaker,  his 
eloquence  lofes  all  its  real  effect.  It  may 
entertain  and  amufe;  but  it  is  viewed  as 
artifice,  as  trick,  as  the  play  only  of  fpeech ; 
and,  viewed  in  this  light,  whom  can  it  per- 
fuade?  We  even  read  a  book  with  more 
pleafure,  when  we  think  favourably  of  its 
author;  but  when  we  have  the  living  fpeak- 
er before  our  eyes,  addrefting  us  perfonally 
en  fome  fubject  of  importance,  the  opinion 
we  entertain  of  his  character  mull:  have  a 
much  more  powerful  effect. 

But,  left  it  fhould  be  faid,  that  this  relates 
only  to  the  character  of  virtue,  which  one 
may  maintain,  without  being  at  bottom  a 
truly  worthy  man,  1  muft  obferve  farther, 
that,  befides  the  weight  which  it  adds  to 
character,  real  virtue  operates  alfo  in  other 
ways,  to  the  advantage  ofeloquence. 

Firft,  Nothing  is  fo  favourable  as  virtue 
to  the  profecuticn  of  honourable  ftudies.  It 
prompts  a  generous  emulation  to  excel ;  it 
inures  toinduftry;  it  leaves  the  mind  va- 
cant and  free,  mailer  of  itfelf,  difencum- 
bered  of  thofe  bad  paifions,  and  difengaged 
from  thofe  mean  purfuits,  which  have  ever 
been  found  the  greateft  enemies  to  true 
proficiency.  QuincHlian  has  touched  this 
eonfideration   very  properly:  «  Quod   ft 


worthy  and  virtuous  feelings.  He  ~on]y, 
therefore,  who  pofleffes  thefe  full  and  ftrong, 
can  fpeak  properly,  and  in  its  own  lan- 
guage, to  the  heart.  On  all  great  fubjedts 
and  occafions,  there  is  a  dignity,  there  is 
an  energy  in  noble  fentiments,  which  is, 
overcoming  and  irrefiftible.  They  give 
an  ardour  and  a  flame  t«  one's  difceurfe, 
which  feldom  fails  to  kindle  a  like  flame  in 
thofe  who  hear;  and  which,  more  than  any 
other  caufe,  beftows  on  eloquence  that 
power,  for  which  it  is  famed,  of  feizing 
and  tranfporting  an  audience.  Here  art 
and  imitation  will  not  avail.  An  afllimed 
character  conveys  nothing  of  this  powerful 
warmth.  It  is  only  a  native  and  unaffected 
glow  of  feeling,  which  can  tranfmit  the 
emotion  to  others.  Hence  the  moft  re- 
nowned orators,  fuch  as  Cicero  and  De- 
mofthenes,  were  no  lefs  diftinguifhed  for 
fome  of  the  high  virtues,  as  public  fpirh  and 
zeal  for  their  country,  than  for  eloquence. 

*  "  If  the  management  of  an  eftate,  if  anxious 
"  attention  to  domeftic  (Economy,  a  paflioo  for 
"  hunting,  or  whole  days  given  up  to  public 
"  places  and  amufements,  confume  fo  mnch  time 
"  that  is  due  to  ftudy,  how  much  greater  wafta 
"  muft  be  occafioned by  licentiousdefj res,  avarice, 
"  or  envy  !  Nothing  is  fo  much  hurried  and  agV- 
'<  tated,  fo  contradictory  to  itfelf,  or  fo  violently 
"  torn  and  mattered  by  conflicting  paffions,  as  a 
c:  bad  heart.  Amidft  the  diffractions  which  ft 
"  produces,  what  room  is  left  for  the  cultivation 
"  of  letters,  or  the  purrait  of  any  honourable  art  > 
•<  No  more,  affuredly,  than  there  is  for  the  growth 
"  of  corn  in  a  field  that  is  over- run  with  thorns 
"  and  brambles." 

Beyond 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


Beyond  doubt,  to  thefe  virtues  their  elo- 
quence owed  much  of  its  tiled ;  and  thofe 
©rations  of  theirs,  in  which  there  breathes 
moil  of  the  virtuous  and  magnanimous  fpi- 
rit,  are  thofe  which  have  moll  attracted  the 
admiration  of  ages. 

Nothing,  therefore,  is  more  neceiTary  for 
thofe  who  would  excel  in  any  of  the  higher 
kinds  of  oratory,  than  to  cultivate  habits  of 
the  feveral  virtues,  and  to  refine  and  im- 
prove all  their  moral  feelings.  Whenever 
thefe  become  dead,  or  callous,  they  may 
be  allured,  that  on  every  great  occafion, 
they  will  fpeak  with  lefs  power,  and  lefs 
iiiccefs.  The  fentiments  and  difpofitions 
particularly  requiiite  for  them  to  cultivate, 
are  the  following  ;  the  love  of  juilice  and 
order,  and  indignation  at  infolence  and  op- 
preffion;  the  love  of  honeity  and  truth,  and 
deteiiation  of  fraud,  meannefs,  and  cor- 
ruption ;  magnanimity  of  fpirit;  the  love 
of  liberty,  of  their  country  and  the  public  ; 
zeal  for  all  great  and  noble  defigns,  and 
reverence  for  all  worthy  and  heroic  cha- 
racters. A  cold  and  fceptical  turn  of  mind 
is  extremely  adverfe  to  eloquence;  and  no 
lefs  (o,  is  that  cavilling  difpofition  which 
takes  pleasure  in  depreciating  what  is  great, 
and  ridiculing  what  is  generally  admired. 


Such  a  difpofition  befpeaks  one  not  very 
likely  to  excel  in  any  thing;  but  lead  of 
all  in  oratory.  A  true  orator  mould  be  a 
perion  of  generous  lentiments,  of  warm 
feelings,  and  of  a  mind  turned  towards  the 
admiration  of  all  thofe  great  and  high  ob- 
jects which  mankind  are  naturally  formed 
to  admire.  Joined  with  the  manly  virtues, 
he  mould,  at  the  fame  time,  polTefs  ilrong 
and  tender  fenfibility  to  all  the  injuries, 
dillrefles,  and  forrows,  of  his  fellow-crea- 
tures ;  a  heart  that  can  eafily  relent ;  that 
can  readily  enter  into  the  circumflances  of 
others,  and  can  make  their  cafe  his  own. 
A  proper  mixture  of  courage,  and  of  mo- 
deity,  mufl  alio  be  iludied  by  every  public 
fpeaker.  Modeily  is  eifential;  it  is  al- 
ways, and  juftly,  fuppofed  to  be  a  conco- 
mitant of  merit;  and  every  appearance  of 
it  is  winning  and  prepoiTeffmg.  But  mo- 
deily ought  not  to  run  into  excefTive  timi- 
dity. Every  public  fpeaker  mould  be  able 
to  refl  fomewhat  on  himfelf ;  and  to  aiTume 
that  air,  not  of  felf-complacency,  but  of 
firmnefs,  which  befpeaks  a  confeioufnefs  of 
his  being  thoroughly  perfuaded  of  the  truth 
or  juilice,  of  what  he  delivers;  a  circum- 
ilance  of  no  fmall  confequence  for  making 
impreffion  on  thofe  who  hear. 


CONTENTS. 


CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION:    On  Pronunciation,  or  Delivery  :   from  Dr.  Blair's  Ledures      —    Pag.  U 


Connoijf. 

Guard. 

Spea. 


BOOK     I. 

Sect.  Authors.  Pa 

i    OpHE  Vifion  of  Mirza  SpeBatcr. 

2  JL     Voyage  of  Life;  an  Allegory     Ramb. 

3  Journey  of  a  Day ;  Story  of  Obidah      

4  P  relent  Life  conducive  to  the  Happinefs  of  a 

future  one              —                   —  SpcB. 

5  Advantages  of  a  good  Education  ■■ 

6  Difadvantages  of  a  bad  Education  Ramb. 

7  Omnifcience,  &c.  of  the  Deity  Sfe3. 

8  Motives  to  Piety  and  Virtue  ■ 

9  On  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  — — ■ 
io  Duty  of  Children  to  their  Parents  — — ■ 

11  Strength  of  Parental  Affection  

12  Remarks  on  the  Swiftnefs  of  Time  Idler. 

13  Folly  of  mif-fpending  Time       —  Ramb. 

14  Importance  of  Time         -          —  SpeR. 
1^  Puniihment  of  mif-fpent  Time  Guard. 

16  Importance  of  Time  to  Youth  Chejierf. 

17  On  a  lazy  and  trifling  Difpoficion 

18  Bad  Effects  of  Indolence        — 

19  Innocent  Pleafures  of  Childhood 

20  Chearfulnefs  recommended  - 

21  Advantages  of  a  cheerful  Temper 

22  On  Truth  and  Sincerity  —  — - 

23  Rules  for  the  Knowledge  of  One's  Self — — . 

24  No  Life  pleafing  to  God,  but  that  which  is 

ufeful  to  Mankind  -  Adven. 

2;  Providence  proved  by  Animal  Inftindf.  Spetf. 

26  Neceifity  of  forming  Religious   Principles 

at  an  early  Age  —  -         Blair, 

27  — —  of  early  acquiring  virtuou?  Difpo- 

fitions  and  Habits 

28  Happinefs    and    Dignity   of  Manhood 

depend  on  youthful  Conduct       —       ■    ■    ■ 

29  Piety   to  God  the  Foundation  of  good 

Morals  -  -  — — 

30  Religion  neverto  be  treated  with  Levity 

31  Modefty  and  Docility  joined  to  Piety   

32  Sincerity  and  Truth  recommended  — — 

33  Benevolence  and  Humanity         —  — — 

34  Courtefy  and  engaging  Manners  ■ . 

35  Temperancein  Pleafure  recommended 

36  Whatever    violates  Nature  cannot   af- 

ford true  Pleafure  —  ■ 

37  Irregular  Pleafures,  bad  Effects  of 

38  Induitry  and  Application  in  Youth         — — 

39  Employment  of  Time  —  ■ 

40  Succefs  depends  on  Heaven's  Blelling     

41  Neceffiry  of  an  early  and  clofe  Application 

to  Wifdom  -  -  Seed. 

42  Unhappinefs   of    not   early    improving 

the  Mind  -  -  

43  Greitt    Talents    not  requifite    for   the 

common  Duties  of  Life          -           — — 
,  44  AfRuence  not  to  exempt  from  Study 

45  Pieafures  refulting  from  a  prudent  Uk 

of  our  Faculties            —           —  . 

46  Advantages  of  a  Place  of  Education  — — 

4-  Difcipline  cf  a  Place  of  Education  

4^  Ivregula.it  es  bring  Centre          —  . 

49  Diffidence  of  one  s  Abilities  approved 

50  Temperance  in  Piaces  cf  Education 

51  Lo     Opportunities  cannot  be  recalled 

52  Begin  lags  of  Evil  to  be  refifted 


Moral  and  Religious. 

Sect.  Authors,  Pag. 

53   Order  to  be  obferved  in  Amufements    Blair.  50 

54 to  be  preferved  in  your  Society      — —  51 

55  — —  necelfary  in  Bufinefs,  Time,  &c.  51 

56  — —  Idlenefs  avoided  by  obferving         — —  51 

57  — —  effential  to  Self-enjoyment,  &c.  — —  52 

58  Suppreffion  of  criminal  Thoughts  ■  .  ra 

59  Experience  anticipated  by  Reflection    ■  c% 

60  Beginnings  of  Paffion  to  be  oppoled 

61  Government  of  the  Temper 

62  A  peaceable  Temper  recommended 

63  Exertions  of  a  benevolent  Temper 

64  Bleffings  of  a  contented  Temper 

65  Ufefulnefs  of  a  Defire  of  Praife 

66  Effect-:  of  exceffive  Defire  of  Praife 

67  Ufefulnefs  of  virtuous  Difcipline 

68  Confolation  of  religious  Knowledge 

69  Senfe  of  Right  and  Wrong,  &c. 

70  Caufe  of  Infidelity  — 

71  Religion  not  founded  on  Weaknefs  of 
Mind  _ 

72  Effects  of  Religion,  Scepticifm,  &c.       — 

73  Comforts  of  Religion  —  — 

74  Caufe  of  Zeal  to  propagate  Infidelity     — 

75  Propagating  Infidelity  inexcufable  — 

76  Religion  confidered  as  a  Science  — 
77 as  a  Rule  of  Life  and  Manners     — 

78  cures  the  Difeafes  of  the  Mind    — 

79  On  public  Preaching  -  _ 
So  Religion    confidered   as   exciting  Devo- 
tion                  —                  — .  _ 

81    Advantages  of  Devotion  —  _ 

S2  True  and  falfe  Politenefs  — .         H. 

83  On  Religious  Principles         —         G/w 

84  Beauties  of  the  Pfalms  —  Ha 

85  Temple  of  Virtuous  Love  Ta 

S6  of  Luff:  — 

87  of  Virtue  — 

SS  of  Vanity  — 

89  of  Avarice  —  _ 

90  Gentlenefs  not  to  be  confounded  with 
fincere  Politenefs  —  Bl 

91  Opportunities  for  Benevolence  rare,  for 
Gentlenefs  continual  —  _ 

92  Gentlenefs  conducive  to  our  Intereft     — 

93  Superiority  of  gentle  Manners  - 

94  Bad  Effects  of  Pride  — 

95  Violence    and    Contention   caufed    bv 
Trifles  —  _ 

96  Gentlenefs  promoted  by  Religion 

97  Gentlenefs    the    Ornament    of   every 
Age  and  Station  —  —         _ 

981  Pungency  of  guilty  Paffions  -  - 

99   Balance  of  Happinefs  equal  — 

ico  Mifery  arifes  from  the  Paffions 

101  Nature  reftored  by  Revelation 

102  Dep?ndance  of  Man's  Happinefs 

103  Caution  on  feducing  Appearances 

104  Religious  Enthufi  ifm,  &C. 

105   Rigour   and  Negligence 

106  Yirtuj  Man's  true  Iniereil 

107  On  Gratitude  — . 

108  Religion  the.  Foun  Uc 

109  Bad   Company  — 
b  1  i  o  Ridic^ie 


Cbapcne. 


71 
"3 


Harris.    80 
SpeB.  8a 
of  Cunt  n    Adven.  Si 
'"'  'pin.   S3 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


Beyond  doubt,  to  thefe  virtues  their  elo- 
quence owed  much  of  its  el  Feet ;  and  thofe 
©rations  of  theirs,  in  which  there  breathes 
moll  of  the  virtuous  and  magnanimous  fpi- 
rit,  are  thofe  which  have  moll  attraded  the 
admiration  of  ages. 

Nothing,  therefore,  is  more  neceffary  for 
thofe  who  would  excel  in  any  of  the  higher 
kinds  of  oratory,  than  to  cultivate  habits  of 
the  feveral  virtues,  and  to  refine  and  im- 
prove all  their  moral  feelings.  Whenever 
thefe  become  dead,  or  callous,  they  may 
be  allured,  that  on  every  great  occafion, 
they  will  fpeak  with  lefs  power,  and  lefs 
iuccefs.  The  fentiments  and  difpofitions 
particularly  requifite  for  them  to  cultivate, 
are  the  following  ;  the  love  of  juitice  and 
order,  and  indignation  at  infolence  and  op- 
preffion;  the  love  of  honefty  and  truth,  and 
deteilation  of  fraud,  meannefs,  and  cor- 
ruption ;  magnanimity  of  fpirit ;  the  love 
of  liberty,  of  their  country  and  the  public  ; 
zeal  for  all  great  and  noble  defigns,  and 
reverence  for  all  worthy  and  heroic  cha- 
raders.  A  cold  and  fceptical  turn  of  mind 
is  extremely  adverfe  to  eloquence;  and  no 
lefs  fo,  is  that  cavilling  difpofition  which 
takes  pleafure  in  depreciating  what  is  great, 
and  ridiculing  what  is  generally  admired. 


Such  a  difpofition  befpeaks  one  not  very 
likely  to  excel  in  any  thing;  but  lead  of 
all  in  oratory.  A  true  orator  fhould  be  a 
peribn  of  generous  lentiments,  of  warm 
feelings,  and  of  a  mind  turned  towards  the 
admiration  of  all  thofe  great  and  high  ob- 
jeds  which  mankind  are  naturally  formed 
to  admire.  Joined  with  the  manly  virtues, 
he  fhould,  at  the  fame  time,  poflefs  ftrong 
and  tender  fenfibility  to  all  the  injuries, 
diitrefies,  and  forrows,  of  his  fellow-crea- 
tures; a  heart  that  can  eafily  relent;  that 
can  readily  enter  into  the  circumflances  of 
others,  and  can  make  their  cafe  his  own. 
A  proper  mixture  of  courage,  and  of  mo- 
defly,  mufl  alio  be  fludied  by  every  public 
fpeaker.  Modefly  is  elTential;  it  is  al- 
ways, and  juftly,  fuppofed  to  be  a  conco- 
mitant of  merit;  and  every  appearance  of 
it  is  winning  and  prepofieirmg.  But  mo- 
defly ought  not  to  run  into  exceffive  timi- 
dity. Every  public  fpeaker  lhould  be  able 
to  refl  fomewhat  on  himfelf ;  and  to  affume 
that  air,  not  of  felf-complacency,  but  of 
firmnefs,  which  befpeaks  a  confeioufnefs  of 
his  being  thoroughly  periuaded  of  the  truth 
or  jullice,  of  what  he  delivers;  a  circum- 
ilance  of  no  fmall  confequence  for  making 
impreffion  on  thofe  who  hear. 


CONTENTS. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION;    On  Pronunciation,  or  Delivery  :   from  Dr.  Blair's  Lectures      —    Pag.  1, 


BOOK      I.         Moral  and  Religious. 


Sect.  Authors.  Yi 

1  rpHE  Vifion  of  Mirza  Spetlatcr. 

2  JL      Voyage  of  Life  ;  an  Allegory     Ramb. 

3  Journey  of  a  Day;  Story  of  Obidah       

4  Prefent  Life  conducive  to  the  Happinefs  of  a 

future  one  —  —         SpcB. 

5  Advantages  of  a  good  Education  ■ 

6  Difadvantages  of  a  baJ  Education         Ramb. 

7  Omnifcience,  &c.  of  the  Deity  SpeSl. 

8  Motives  to  Piety  and  Virtue  ■ 

9  On  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul              •— — ■ 
io  Duty  of  Children  to  their  Parents  

11  Strength  of  Parental  Affection  — — 

12  Remarks  on  the  Swiftnefs  of  Time       Idler. 

13  Folly  of  mif-fpending  Time       —        Ramb. 

14  Importance  of  Time         —  —         Spec!. 
j  5  Punifhment  of  mif-fpent  Time  Guard. 

16  Importance  of  Time  to  Youth  Cbejierf. 

17  On  a  lazy  and  trifling  Difpofition  

1 8  Bad  Effects  of  Indolence         —  Conncijjf. 

19  Innocent  Pleafures  of  Childhood         Guard. 

20  Chearfulnefs  recommended  —         Spcc7. 

21  Advantages  of  a  cheerful  Temper  . 

22  On  Truth  and  Sincerity  —  — — 

23  Rules  for  the  Knowledge  of  One's  Self — — 

24  No  Life  pleafmg  to  God,  but  that  which  is 

ufeful  to  Mankind  —  Adnjen. 

2;  Providence  proved  by  Animal  Inftindf.  Spec!. 

26  NccetTity  of  forming  Religious   Principles 

at  an  early  Age  —  -         Blair. 

27  — —  of  early  acquiring  virtuous  Diipo- 

fitions  and  Habits 
aS  Happinefs   and    Dignity  of  Manhosd 

depend  on  youthful  Conduct       —  1 

29  Piety   to  God  the  Foundation  of  good 

Morals  -  -  — — 

30  Religion  neverto  be  treated  with  Levity  — ■ — 

31  Modefly  and  Docility  joined  to  Piety   

32  Sincerity  and  Truth  recommended  — — 

33  Benevolence  and  Humanity  —  

34  Courtefy  and  engaging  Manners  ■ 

35  Temperance  in  Pleafure  recommended 

36  Whatever    violates  Nature  cannot   af- 

ford true  Pleafure  —  — - — 

37  Irregular  Pleafures,  bad  Effects  of  —— - 

38  Indurtry  and  Application  in  Youth        — — 

39  Employment  of  Time  -  — — 

40  Succefs  depends  on  Heaven's  Blclfing     

41  Neceflity  of  an  early  and  clofe  Application 

to  Wifdom  -  -  Seed. 

42  Unh^ppinefs   of    not   early    improving 

the  Mind  -  —  

43  Greut    Talents    not   requifite    for   the 

common  Duties  of  Life          -           — — — 
,  44  Affluence  not  to  exempt  from  Study 

45  Pieafures  refulting  from  a  prudent  Ufe 

of  our  Faculties  —  —  — 

46  Advantages  of  a  Place  of  Education     — — 
4-   Difcipline  cf  a  Place  of  Education 
4^  Lregulant'es  bring  Cenl'iire  — 

49  Diffidence  of  one  s  Abilities  approved 

50  Temperance  in  Piaces  cf  Education 

51  Lo     Opportunities  cannot  be  recalled 

52  Begin,  ings  of  Evil  to  be  refitted 


Grero 


Sect.  Authors.  Pag, 

53   Order  to  be  obfervedin  Amufements    Blair.  50 
54 to  be  preferved  in  your  Society      — —  51 

55  necelfary  in  Bufinefs,  Time,  &c.  51 

56  1.       Idlenefs  avoided  by  obferving         — —  51 

57  — —  effential  to  Self-enjoyment,  &c.  — —  52 

58  SuppreiTion  of  criminal  Thoughts  .  ra 

59  Experience  anticipated  by  Reflection  ■   ?z 

60  Beginnings  of  Paffion  to  be  oppoled 

61  Government  of  the  Temper 

62  A  peaceable  Temper  recommended 

63  Exertions  of  a  benevolent  Temper 

64  Bleffings  of  a  contented  Temper 

65  Ufcfulnefs  of  a  Defire  of  Praife 

66  Effect-:  of  exceflive  Defire  of  Praife 

67  Ufefulnefs  of  virtuous  Difcipline 

68  Confolation  of  religious  Knowledge 

69  Ssnfe  of  Right  and  Wrong,  &c. 

70  Caufe  of  Infidelity  — 

71  Religion  not  founded  on  Weaknefs  of 

Mind  -  - 

72  Effects  of  Religion,  Scepticifm,  &c. 

73  Comforts  of  Religion  — 

74  Caufe  of  Zeal  to  propagate  Infidelity 

75  Propagating  Infidelity  inexcufable 

76  Religion  confidered  as  a   Science 
77 as  a  Rule  of  Life  and  Manners     • 

78  cures  the  Difeafes  of  the  Mind    . 

79  On   public  Preaching  — 

80  Religion    confidered  as   exciting  Devc 

tion  —  — » 

81  Advantages  of  Devotion  — 
S2  True  and  falfe  Politenefs 

83  On  Religious  Principles 

84  Beauties  of  the  Ffalms 

85  Temple  of  Virtuous  Love 

S6  of  Luft  — 

87  of  Virtue  —  , 

SS  of  Vanity  —  . 

89  of  Avarice  —  

90  Gentlenefs  not  to  be  confounded  with  in- 

fincere  Politenefs  —  Blair. 

91  Opportunities  for  Benevolence  rare,  for 

Gentlenefs  continual  —  " 

92  Gentlenefs  conducive  to  our  Interefl     . 

93  Superiority  of  gentle  Manners  

94  Bad  Effects  of  Pride  —  

95  Violence    and    Contention   caufed    bv 

Tritfes  —  —  ' 

96  Gentlenefs  promoted  by  Religion  - 

97  Gentlenefs    the    Ornament    of    every 

Age  and  Station  —  — 

981  Pungency  of  guilty  PafTions         - 
99   Balance  of  Happinefs  equal  — 

ico  Mifery  a  rife  s  from  the  PafTions 

101  Nature  reftored  by  Revelation 

102  Dep^ndance  of  Man's  Happinefs 

103  Caution  on  feJucing  Appearances 

104  Religious  Enr.hufi.ifm,  Sec. 

105  ^— —  Rigjur   and  Negligence 

106  Virtue  Man's    true  Iriiereft 

107  On  Gratitude  — •  -—■ 

108  Relig'i'n  the  Foun  l.a  0    of  Cont  n 

109  Bad   Company  —  — 

b  110  Rldicu 


5  + 
55 
55 
55 
56 
56 
57 

53 

53 
5* 
59 
59 
60 
60 
62 
62 
63 


64 

64 

Hurd.   6? 

Gregory . 
Home. 


66 

67 
67 
63 
63 
69 
69 


O      N      T 


Set*. 


Authors.  Pn 
i'0  Ridicule  one  of  the  chief  Arts  of  Cor- 
uption 


—  —  Gilpin. 

in   Religion    the    bed    and   only    Support   in 
Cafes  of  real  Strefs  — 


112  Ridicule  dangerous  to  Morality 

113  On  Prodigality  - 

1 14  On  Honour  - 
j  15  On  Modefty 
Ii6  On  dilinterefted  Friendship 
117  The  Art  of  Happinefs 

115  Happinefs  founded  in   Reditude   or 

Condud  — ■ 

119  The  Choice  of  Hercules 


Sterne-  86 

Smollett.  87 

Ramb.  8q 

Guard.  90 

Upecl.  91 

Melmoth.  93 

Harris.  93 


95 
Taller.  95 


Extracts  from  DEAN  BQLTON's  Works. 

120 129  Letters  on  the  Choice  of  Com- 

pany        _  —  _  96—110 

I*o 134  On  Intemperance  in  Eating      112— .117 

j-<r — iai   On    Intemperance    in    Dunk- 
ing —  —         120—129 
j 42— 145  On  Pleafure               — .  131  — ]37 

146  A  Letter  to  a  Young  Nobleman 139 

147  —  150   Effiys      on     Employment     of 

Time.  —  142—164 


CATECHETICAL  LECTURES. 
151  Introdudion  to  the  Catcchifm  Gilpin. 
1  52  On  the  Creed — the  Belief  of  God 

153  On  the  Belief  of  Jefus  Chrift        .     — — 

154  On  the  Conception  and  Birth  of  Chrift 
j  55  OnChrift's  Afcenfion  ;   Belie  fin  the 

Holy  Ghoft  —  

156  On  the  Holy  Catholic  Church  — — 

157  On  the  Refurredion  of  the  Body 

158  On  the  Ten  Commandments  — — 

159  WorShip  and  Honour  of  God  

160  Honour  due  to  God's  Word  ■ 

]6i   Duties  owing  to  particular  Perfons       

162  Duty  in  our   Teachers  and  Inftruc 

tors,  Src.  -  - 

163  Behaviour  to  Superiors  — 

164  Againft  wronging  our  Neighbour  by 

injurious  Words  —  — — 

165  — —  by  injurious  Actions         —        — — — 

j66  Duties  to  ourf-kes 

167  On  coveting  other  Men's  Goods         — — 

368   On  the  Sacrament  of  B.'ptifm  

169  OntheSacrarnent'of  the  Lord's  Supper    — 

3^0   Expostulation  with  Believers     M.  Pafcal. 

,ti    Of  the  Temper  of  Mind  neceffary  for  the 

Diffovery  of  Divine  Truth        fVhifion. 

17a  The  Divine  Legation  of  Mofes  Lord  Forbes. 

173  On  the  Old  and  NewTeftanvnc     V/ilkins. 

174  Dcfign  and  Intention  of  the  Hebrew  Go- 

vernment        —  — 


171 

172 

174 

177 

180 
1S2 
184 
185 
1S8 
190 
192 


193 


195 
399 

201 

204 

2CJ- 


t-5  Fulfilmentofthe  Prophecies,  an  Argument 
for  the  Truth  of  the  Bible    Bp.  Nov  ton. 
1  76  The  Excellence  of  Scripture      Stillingfieet 

177  Prevalence  of  Chriftianity,  an  Argument 

of  its  Diviniry       —         —      Fenelon. 

178  Arguments  for  the  Truth  of  the  Gofpel 

H.Ditton. 

179  Fads  related  in  the  Evangelists  to   'e  re- 

lied on  —  —  Abf.   Singe. 

150  Superiority  of  the  Gofpel,  an  Argumc nt  of 

its  Truth         —  —  Seed. 

151  Reafoninga    in    Favour  of    Chriftianity 

lip.  Porttut. 


E 

Seel. 
182 

,83 
184 
185 

1S6 

187 

1  S3 

189 

190 

191 

192 
193 

194 

195 
196 

197 
ig3 

199 

200 

201 

202 

203 

204 

205 
206 

207 

2CS 
2C9 


N 


s. 


255 
263 

263 
265 


266 

267 


21  I 

2  1  8 

212 

22  1 

"3 

223 

214 

230 

236 

2!  5 
2  16 
217 

244 

2lS 

244 

219 
220 

244 

PI-T 

245 

24C 

Authors.  Pag. 
Dutyof  examining  Difficulties  inthe  Word 

of  God  —  —         Butler.  248 

Gofpel  Information  moft  de  fir  zbk  Sherlock.  249 
Chrift  and   Mahomet  compared  —  2C.O 

Madnefs     and    Abfurdity    of    Infidelity 

Bentlew  251 
The  New  Testament  could  not  be  forged 

Micbaelis.  25! 
Extent,  Object,  and  End  of  the  Prophetic 

Scheme  -  .  .  Hurd.  253 

Fhilofophic  Principles  to  be  learnt  from 

Nature,  Religious  from  Grace  Hallifax.  254 
Comparifon     between    Heathenifm     and. 

Chriftianity  —         —         Saurbi. 

Gofpel  Oratory  fuperior  to  Heathen   Writ- 

ingS  —  ~~  Baxter. 

Obfcuritles  in  Scriptures  no  Proof  of  their 

not  being  genuine  —  Edivardz. 

Bible  fuperior  to  all  other  Books         

Religious  Knowledge  derived  from  Revela- 
tion —  —  Drydcn.   265 
Weaknefs  of  Infidels — Unbeliever's  Creed 

Anon. 
Moral  Demonstration  of  the  Truth  of  the 

Christian  Religion  Bp.  Tayloi  . 

Considerations    refpeding   the   Perfon   of 

Jefus  Chrift  —  268 

refpeding  his  Dodrine        273 

refpeding  the  Efled  and 

Instruments  of  his  Religion  ___  275 

— on  the  weak  Pretences  of 

other  Religions  — 

To  the  Sceptics  and  Infidels  of  the  Ape 
Bp.  Watjon. 
Mistakes  in  judging   of  Scripture   Style, 

&c  —  —  Stackboufe. 

A  Prayer  or  Pfalm  —  Ld.  Bacon 

Dodrine  of  Chrift,  a  Dodrine  of  Truth 

and  Simplicity  -—  Dr.  Clark.  295 

Superiority  of  Sacred  Hiftory  and  Christian 

Philofophy        —  —         Martlkn,  295 

Light  of  Reafon  imperfed  Ld.  Littleton.  297 
Simplicity  of  the  Sacred  Writers  Weft,  297 
Superiority  of  Christian    Philofophy   over 

Stoical         —         —  Mifi  Carte.  299 

Scriptures  to  be  admired  the  more  they 

are  itudied  —  —  Rhiliips.  301 

Inftances     of    Friendship    in    the     Scrip- 
tures —  —  Mtlmotb.  30a 
Fine  Morality  of  the  Gofpel  Beattie.   303 
Beneficence  to  the  Poor  enjoined  by  the 

Gofpel.  —  —  Palty.  304 

Simplicity  of  the  Gofpel  gives  it  an  Air  of 

Sublimity.  —  Maintvaring.  304 

Bible,  as  a  curious  ancient  Hiftory,  worthy 

Attention  —  —  Croxall.   304 

Excellence  of  the  Sacred  Writings  Bicwn.  305 

Queen  Anne's  Prayer  —  305 

Prince  Eugene's  Prayer         — 306 

The  gay  young  Altamont  dying  Young.  306 
Majefty  and  Supremacy  of  the  Scriptures 

confefled  by  a  Sceptic  —  Roufl'cau.  307 
Earl  of  Rochester's  dying  Recantation  308 
To  the  Biograplvr  of  Hume  Home.  309 


281 

290 
294 


PHYSICO-THEOLOG1CAL  REFLECTIONS 

1  Reftcdions  on  the  Heavens        Fergufon.    31O 

2  . ;«   on  the  Ii.u-:h   and  S.a       —   314 

o   _-_^™ — —.  on  the  Atmofphere  —  ;ao> 

4  Refledioos 


C      O       N  T 

Sect.  Authors.  Pag. 

4  Reflexions  on   the  Vegetable   Creation 

Fergufon.  322 

5  On  Beads,  Birds,  Fi flies,  &c. 326 

6  Obfervations  on  the  Difference  between 

Natural  and  Artificial  Things        — —  334 

7  Confiderations  on  the  Nature  of  Man  —  335 
8 — ■ on  the  Chain  of  Being  342 


N 


s. 


221 

222 

*23 

224 

225 

326 

227 

228 
229 

230 

231 
232 
233 

234 

*35 

236 
237 
2l8 


Pa 

239 

240 
241 
242 
243 
244 
245 
246 
247 


Scriptures  the  Rule  of  Life            Cbapone.   344 
Of  Generis  —  — 344 

—  Exodus  -  -  345 

—  Leviticus,    Numbers,    Deutero- 
nomy —  -  ■  346 

— Jofhua  -  -  — —  34^ 

—  Judges,  Samuel,  and  Kings         347 

—  Chronicles,  Erra,  Nehemiah,  and 

Either  —  — 347 

—  Job  —  —  343 

—  the  Pfalms  —  348 

—  Proverbs,  Ecclefiafles,  Solomon's 

Song,  Pi" phefies,  Apocrypha  349 

—  the  New  Testament  — 349 

—  our  Saviour's  Example,  &c.  — —  350 
Comparative  View  of  the  Bleffed  and 

Curled  —  — 351 

Character  of  St.  Paul  -  352 

Of  the  Epiftles  —  352 

E  pi  (lie  of  St.  James  — —  353 

Epiftle^of St.  Peter,  &C, 353 

— — —  Revelation  -  —  —   354 

ECONOMY  of  HUMAN   LIFE. 
rt  I.     Duties  that  relate  to  man. 
Introduction 
Confideration 
Modefty 
Application 
Emulation 
Prudence 
Fortitude 
Contentment 
Temperance 


The  P 


248  Hope  and  Fear 
2.49  Joy  and  Grief 

250  Anger  • 

251  Pity  — 

252  Defire  and  Love 

253  Woman 


•0* 


354 
354 
355 
355 
355 
35o 
356 
357 
357 

35? 
355 
5  59 
360 
360 
360 


Sea 
2  54 
255 
256 

a57 

258 

259 
260 
261 

262 
263 

264 
265 
266 

267 


268 
269 

270 
271 

272 
273 
274 
275 
276 
277 
278 

279 

280 
281 
282 

2S3 
284 


286 
287 
2S8 


Confanguinity  or  Natural  Relations. 

Authors. 
Hufband  —  —  »■   «  — 

Father  —  —  — — 

Brothers              —                  —  — — 

Pro-videmce,  or  Accidental  Differences. 

Wife  and  Ignorant              —  '- 

Rich  and  Poor                  —  ■ 

Mailers  and  Servants           —  ■ 

Magistrates  and  Subjects         —  ■  ■ 

The  Social  Duties. 

Benevolence                      —  ■  ■ 

Juftice                —              —  — — 

Charity                 —                —  — — 

Gratitude              —              —  

Sincerity               —              —  ■ 

Part  II.     Man"  considered. 

Man  cenfdered  in  the  General. 

Of  the  Human  Frame  and  Structure   — 

Of  the  Uie  of  the  Senfes  

The  Soul   of   Man  — ■» 

The  Period  of  Human  Life 

Man   confidered  in  regard  to  his  Irfirmities. 

Vanity  —  —  — — 

Inconstancy  —  —  — — 

Insufficiency  of  Knowledge  — — 

Mifery  .—  —  

Judgment  —  —  — — • 

Prelumption  —  —  — — 

Of  the  AfetJiotis  of  Man: 

Covetoufnefs  —  —  ■ 

Profusion  —  —  — — — 

Revenge  —  —  »    ■ 

Cruelty,  Hatred,  Envy  — 

Heavinefs  of  Heart  —  — — 

The  Advantages  Man  may  acquire 

Nobility  and  Honour  —  — — 

Science  and  Learning  —  — — 

Of  Natural  Accidents. 
Profperity  and  Adversity  —  ■ 

Pain  and  Sicknels  —  — — 

Death  —  —  


Pa?. 

31 

361 
362 
362. 

36a 
363 
363 
364 

364 
^65 
365 
365 
■;66 
366 


367 

368 

36S 

-  369 


371 
37i 
373 
373 
375 
375 
376 

37S 
378 
379 
3»o 
3S1 

382 

3'33 

3S4 
3S5 
3S5 


Prays 


289  A  Morning  Prayer  for  a  Young  Student. —  385 

290  An  Evening  Prayer  —  —  3S6 

291  The  Lord's  Prayer         — 3S6 


BOOK       II.  Claffical  and  Hiftorical. 


Enrfirial   Effects   of  a   Tafle   for 
Belles  Lettres  —  B 

2  Effects  of  the  Cultivation  of  Tafle       - 

3  Improvement  of  Tal'te  — 

4  On  Style  —  — 

5  —  Perfpicuity  — 

6  —   Purity  and  Propriety  - 

7  —   Precision  —  — 

2  LTfe  and  Importance  of  Precision  - 

9  Caufes  of  a  loofe  Style  — 

10  Style,  general  (Jharatlers  of 

11  Aufteie,  Florid,  and  Middle 

pi  — —  Cor.cile  —  — 

13  Diffule  — 

14  Nervous  and  Feeble 

15  Harthnefs  of  — 

16  the  Dry         —  - 

17  — —  the  Plain  — 


the 

'air. 


337 
387 
3S8 
388 
389 
3S9 
39° 
39° 
391 
391 


592 

393 

394 

~»—  394 


the  Neat  —  —  Blair 

the  Elegant  —  

the  Florid  —  — 

Simplicity,  different  Kinds  of  ■ 

.ip pears  ealy  — ■  

Naivete  —  

Ancients  eminent  for  

Characterise  of  Tillotfon's  Style 

of  Sir  W.  Teople's  Style  — —  398 

of  Mr.  Addition's  Style  359 

399 

399 
400 
401 
401 
4c  1 


395 
395 
395 
396 

397 
397 

39S 
398 


27 

2.8 of  Style  never  wearies 

29 Lor.)  Shafteibu<y  deficient  in       — 

30  On  the  Vehement  Style  —  — 

31  Lord  Bolingbroke  excelled  in   it  — 

32  Directions  for  forming  a  Style  — 

33  Practice  necefi'aiy  for  farming  a  Style  — 

34  Words,  too  anxious  a  Care  about  co 

be  avoided 


bl 


402 

35  Acquaintance 


O      N 


E      N 


S. 


Sect.  Authors. 

35  Acquaintance  with    the  bed   Authors 

necefTary  t:>  form  a  Style       —     Blair. 

36  A  ferv'Ie  Imitation  to  be  avoided         

y   Style  malt  be  adapted  to  the  Subject 

33  Attention  to   Style   muft    not  detract 

from  \  tent;o,i  to  Thought 

39  Of  th    Rle  of  Poetry  among  the  Ro- 

mans —  —  S pence 

40  Of  Livius,  Nsevius,  and  Ennius  

41  —  Plaurus  -  -  

4a  —  Terence  _  _—— 

43  —  A '"rani  us  —  —  

44  —  Pacuvius  and  Adtius  -         

45  —  the  Rile  of  Satire  ;  of  Lucilius,  &c. 

46  — the  Criticifms  of  Cicero,  &c.  

47  • — the    fliurifhing    State    of     Poetry 

among  the  Romr.ns 
4S   OSfe  va  ions  on  'he  yEneid 
40   Of  H  race  -  _  

50  —  Tibullus,  Propertius,  and  Ovid       

51  — Phsedrus  —  

^2   —  Minilius  —  —  

53  —  the    Poets   whofe  Works   have  not 

c  mc  down  to  us  — 

54  —  Fall  of  Poetry  armng  the  Romans 

55  —  Lucan  -     " 

56  His  Defcription  of  a  S^a-fight  

57  Of  Pe.iius  _  

58  —  ci  ius,  Statius,  and  Val.  Fiaccus 

55  —  Martial  -  -         1_ 

63  —  Juvenal  —  —  

61  the  Introduction,  Sec.  of  Arts  at  Rome 

62  The  Condition  of  the  Romans  in  the 

fecond   Punic  War  -  

63  Marcellus's   Attack   on  Syracufe ? 

64  Conquefts  of  the  Roman  Generals 

65  Introduction  into  Italy  of  the  Works 

of  the  ancient  Artifts  

66  Decline  of  the  Aits,  Eloquence,  and 

P  etry,  on  Auguftus's  Death 

67  On  Demofthenes  -  Blair. 

6&   Demofthenes  imitated  Pericles  

69 controlled  with  /Efchines  —— • 

70  On  the  Style  of  Demofthenes  

71  Cicero,  his  Eloquence  —  — — 

72 his  Defects  -  — 

73 and  Demofthenes  compared         

74  Means  of  improving  in  EIoqucr.se 

75  Induftry  recommended  to  a  Speaker 

76  Attention  to  the  heft  Models  

77  Caution  in  ehufing  Models  ■ 

7S   Style  of  Bolingbroke  and  Swift 

79  Eloquence  requires  frequent  Exercife     

80  Ufe  of  Critical  and  Rhetorical  Writers 

81  Ufe  of  the*  original  ancient  Writers 

?z  Necsffiry  ox  a  Claffical  Education      Felton. 

2>3  On  the  Entrance  to  Knowledge  

£4  The  daffies  recommended  

£5  Greekand  Roman  Writers  compared 

86  Commendation  of  the  Latin  Tongue 

87  Directions  in  reading  the  ClafTics 

88  The  Method  of  Schools  vindicated 

89  Commendation  of  Schools                    — _ 
'  :     formin     i  Style  —  

91  Expreffion  fui  ted  to  the  Thought         — 

92  On  Embellishments  of  Style  

«)3  —  Mafte  y  of  Language  . 

94  —  the  Purity  and  Idipm  of  Language     

05  —  Plainncfs  and  Perfpicuity  

96   —  the  Decorations,  Sec.  of  Style        ■■-  ■— 


Pag. 

402 

402 
403 


40  3 


403 
404 
405 
405 
406 
406 
407 
407 


4c  3 

410 
410 
41 1 
411 


412 
4i3 


4i5 
41 6 
4,6 

4i7 
417 
41S 

419 


421 
421 
422 
422 
42- 
4=3 
4-4 
4-5 
426 
426 
426 
427 

427 
438 
428 

429 

429 

4.30 

432, 
432 

433 
433 
434 
434 


43  5 
456 


Se£t.  Authors,  Pag. 

97  On  Metaphors  and  Similitudes  Felton.  437 

9S  —  Metaphors  —  — —  477 

99  —  Epithets  —  — —  438 

00  —  Allegories  —  ■  438 

01  —  the  Sublime  —  438 

02  P.  u!cs  of  Order  and  Proportion  ■  4^9 

03  A  Recapitulation  —  — —  440 

04  Plow  to  form  a  right  Tafte  440 

05  Tafte  to  be  improved  by  Imitation      441 

06  On  the  Historical  Style 442 

07  Of  Herodotus  aid  Thucydides 442 

08  —  Sa'luft  and  Livy  -  442 

09  Their  Vi's  in  Style  —  444 

10  On  Spencer  and  Shakefpeare  — ■*—  444 

11  —  Milton  ar.d  Philips  — —  444 

12  Great  Men  ufually  coremporary         Blair.  445 

13  Four  Aces  marked  out  by  the  Learned        445 

14  Reputation  of  the  Ancients  445 

15   no':  owing  to  Pedantry  _— _  446 

id   Moderns  excel  the  Ancients  446 

17  Excellencies    of  the    Ancients     and 

18  Affiduous   Study   of  the  Greek  and 

Roman  Ciaffics  recommended        447 

19  Excellencies  of  the  ancient  Hiftorians 44S 

22  On  the  Bi  auty  of  Epiftolary  Writing 449 

23  Carelefihefs  in  it  to  be  avoided 4^3 

24  On  Pliny's  Letters  —  — —  449 

25  —  Ciceio's  —  —  — —  449 

26  —  Pope's  and  Swift's  —  — —  450 

27  On  the  Letters  of  Balzac,  Voiture,  Sec. 450 

28  Pindar  the  Father  of  Lyric  Poetry      — — ^^i 

29  On  Horace,  as  a  Lyric  Poet  451 

30  —  Cafimir,  and  other  modern  Ly- 

ric Poets  — 

31  —  the   different  Kinds  o;   Poet'cat 

Composition       in       the       Sacred 
Books;  1  ft.  of  the  Did  attic 

32  Of  the  Elegiac  and  Paftoral 

33  On  the  Lyric  - 

34  A  Diverfky  of  Style  and  Manner   in 

the  different  Compofers  of  the  la- 
ne J  Books.  ., 
On  Job,  David,  and  Ifaiah 

35  —  Jeremiah 

36  —  the  Book  of  job  — 


—  45  ' 


451 
452 

452. 


the  Iliad  of  Homer 

G.;j  T  •'.-  of  Homer 

sauties  of  Virgil 


40   Homer  and  Virgil  compared 


.——  45  5 


On  Che  ancient  Writers  Blackmail. 

42  —  Homer  —  — —  4^7 

43  —  Theocritus  -  457 

45  —  Livy  -  -  458 

46  Beauties  of  Herodotus  and  Livy  4^8 

47  Perfpicuity    a   principal    Beauty    of 

the  Ciaffics  —  458 

48  On  Cicero  —  -  4^9 

49  On  the  Obfcurities  in  tlie  Claflics  — —  4-9 
jo   Advantages  enjoyed  by  them  — —  460 

51  Ancients  Care  in  felecring  Numbers  462 

52  On  their  making  Sound  an  Echo  to 

the  Senfe  —  —  462 

53  Translations  from  them  imperfect 463 

54  Peculiar  Excellence  of  the  Speeches 

of  the  Greeks  and  Romans  464 

155  On  the  Funeral  Oration  of  Pericles    465 

j  <6  Oa 


O      N      T 


N 


S. 


SeCt 
56 
'57 
=  58 
t59 

iOO 

1G1 
162 

E63 

164 
r65 
E65 

.67 

[63 

:ho 
170 
[71 

17a 

'73 
■74 
175 
176 
177 
i78 

'70 
tJ8o 


183 


i8S 
r86 

-87 

r';J 
i29 

too 

[91 

192 

m 

[94 

'95 
.96 

'97 
[98 

99 

2CO 
2PI 
5.02 
2C3 
204 
205 
206 

207 

a?8 


Authors.  Pag. 
On  Mucian's  Speech  in  Tacitus  Black-zvall.  466 

Morals  of  the  Claflics  -  4°6 

Xenophon's  Memoirs  of  Socrates       467 

On  the  Morality  of  Juvenal  467 

Rules  of  the  Claflics  for  Con  verfation 468 

Directions  for  reading  the  Claflics     468 

The  fubordinate  Claflics  not  to    be 

negleCted  -  -  469 

The  Greek  and  Latin  Writers  to  be 

compared  -  —  — —  47° 

On  the  Study  of  the  New  Teftament  47  1 

The  old  Critics  to  be  ftudied  471 

The  beft  Authors  to  be  often  read 472 

Rife  of  PhilofophicalCriticifm        Harris.  472 

Greek  Authors  of  Ditto  473 

Roman  Authors  of  Ditto  473 

Greek  and  Roman  Hiftorical  Critics 474 

Modern,  Philofophic.il,  and  Hiftorical 

Critics  -  -  ■■  474 

Lexicon   and    Dictionary  Compilers, 

and  Grammarians  —  

Modern  Critics,  Writers,  &c.  

On  Tranflators  -  

Rife  of  Corrective  Criticifm  — — 

Criticifm  of  Ufe  to  Literature  

The  Epic  Writers  came  firft  — — 

Chance    produces    no    Literary  Ex- 
cellence -  — — 
Caufes  or  Reafons  of  fuch  Excellence  — — 
Why  Contraries  have  this  Effect        — — 

Advice  to  a  Beginner  in  Criticifm       

On  Numerous  Compofition  — — 

On  other  Decorations  of  Profe  ;   as 
Alliteration  -  — — 

The  Period  -  

Monofyllables  -  ■ 

Authorities  alledgcd  -  

ObjeCtors  anfwercJ  —  — — — 

Habit  makes  Practice  eafy  

The    Constituent     Parts     of    every 
Whole  merit  our  Regard  ■ 

Verbal  Decorations  not  Minutiae 

Ad /ice  to  Readers  —  

Constituent  Parts   of  a  Whole  ;  ex- 
empt.fied  in  Virgil's  Georgics         — — 

And  in  the  Menexenus  of  Plato 

On  the  Theory  of  Whole  and  Parts    

—  Accuracy  —  — — 

—  Diction  —  ■ 

— -  the  M'etaphor  -  

What  Metaphors  the  beft  — — 

On   Enigmas   and    Puns  

Rules  defended  -  — — 

Fallacy  of  the  Sufficiency  of  Genius 

No  Genius  without  Rules         -         

Rules  did  always  exiit  -  

Connexion  between  Rules  and  Genius 
Difficulty  in  knowing  how  to  like        ■ 
Character  of    the  Englifll,  Oriental, 

Latin,  and   Greek  Languages 

Hiftory,  &c.  of  the  Middle  Age         

Account  of  the   DeftruCtion  of  the 

Alexandrian  Library  —         — —  495 


475 
475 
475 
476 

477 
477 

478 
A78 
478 
480 
480 

480 

481 
482 
482 
4S2 
482 

483' 
483 
483 

483 
485 
486 
486 
486 
486 
4S7 
488 
48  s 
11S9 

489 

489 

/ICO 


491 

494 


SeCt. 
209 


21 1 

212 
213 
214 

215 
2l6 


217 

2lS 
219 

220 
221 
222 
-23 
224 
225 
226 
227 
228 
229 
23O 
23I 

2;2 

233 

234 
235 

236 

237 

238 

239 

24G 

241 

242 
243 
244 

245 

246 
247 
248 
249 

2C0 
251 
252 
253 

-55 
256 

-57 
25S 

?59 
260 
261 
262 
263 


Authors. 
Athens,  an  hiftorical  Account  of    Harris. 
— —  Syneiius's       fublequcnt      Ac- 
count of  -  —  — - 
Anecdote  of  the  Modern  Greeks        — — — 

On  the  different  Modes  of  Hiftory     

Univerfal  Ideas  of  Na:ural  Beautv     

Superior  Literature    and    Knowledge 

of  the  Greek  and  Latin  Clergy 

Opinions  on  paft  and  prefentAges      ■ 

Character  of    the   Man   of   Bufmefs 

often    united    with    that    of  the 

Scholar  and  Philofopher  . 

Progreffions  of  Art   difguftful,    the 

Completions  beautiful         —  — 

Thoughts  on  Elegance  —  TJJhcr. 

On  Perfonal  Beauty  —  

On  Converfation  —  — — 

On  Mufic  -  -  — — 

On  Sculpture  and  Painting  - 

On  Architecture  —  ■ 

Thoughts  on  Colours  and  Light         — — 
On  Uniformity  —  — — 

On   Novelty  —  — 

Origin  of  our  general  Ideas  of  Beauty  — — 
Senfe,  Tafte,  and   Gen'us  difhnguifhed 
Thoughts  en  the  Human  Capacity      — — 
Tafte,  how  depraved  and  loft  ■ 

Some  Reflections  on  the  Human  Mind 
General  Reflections  on  Good  Tafte  Rollin. 
Dr.  Johnson's  Preface  to  his  Edition  of 

Sliakefpear  —  

Pope's  Preface  to  his  Homer  

An  Effay  on  Virgil's  Georgics,  prefixed  to 
Mr.  Dryden's  Tranfiation         Addifon. 
Hiftory  of  the  Heathen  Deifies  Anon. 

NegleCt  of  Oratorical  Numbers      Fuxojb. 
Upon  Grace  in  Writing  — — . 

Style  of  Horace  in  his  Moral  Writings 

Criterion  of  Tafte  —  

On  Mr.  Pope's  Houfe  at  BinSeld        • 

Ufe  of  Ancient  Mythology  

Delicacy  of  Authors  of  Genius  - 

ReflCtions  upon  Style  —  

On  Thinking  —  — — 

Advantages  of  Converfation  

On  the  great  Hiftorical  Ages  Voltaire. 

On  the  Englifll  Constitution,  Mwttfq. 

Of  Columbus,  and  America  Voltaire. 

Influence  of  Science  on  Men  Robert/. 

Refpeft  paid  to  Old  Age  Spea. 

On  Psetusand  Arria  —  P/itty. 

Sidonians  Choice  of  a  King  ®-  Cutt. 

Resignation  of  Charles  V.  Robertf. 

Account  of  Muli  Moluc        —        Speil. 

Valentine  and  Unnion  Tatler. 

Example  of  Hiftorical  Narration  Sail. 

Story  of  Damon  and  Pichius  Cicero. 

D'.onyfius  the  Tyrant  

Remarkable  Inftance  or  Filial  Duty  Pliny. 
Continence  of  Scpio  Africanus  Liv;. 

Private  L:fe  of  viimilius  Sc'pio        Rollin. 
On  Punctuation  —  Loivtb, 


Pag« 
495 

498 
499 
500 
500 

502 
5°5 


508 

509 

5C9 
5'4 
516 

5*7 

518 

520 
520 

521 
521 
Sii 

5^4 

524 

525, 
526 


•GKS&EBanm 


BOOK       III.  Orations,   Charafters,  and  Letters. 


1  THIRST    Oration    againft   Philip 

JL  Leland.  613 

2  The  firft  Olynthiac  Oration     —       620 

3  The  lecond  ditto     —  —         — _  624 


4  The  third  ditto                   — 

Lelar.J.   629 

5    Oration  againft  Catiline 

Wbitivortb.   632 

6   Ditto                —                    — 

639 

7  Ditto                  —                — 

645 

8   Orat;on 

O      N 


E      N 


S. 


Seft. 

S  Oration  againir  Catiline 

9  for  Archias  — 

lo  fur  T.  Annius  Milo 


11  Cicero's  Oration  againft  Verres 

12  Oration  of  Pericles      — 
33   H   mlet  t  I  the  PI  :yers  — 1 

14  Charaftei  o.   Marius  — 

15  Romulus  ro   he  Romans         — 
J 6  Charaft-r  or  Sylla  — 
17   Hannibal  to  Scipio  Africanus 
38  S  ;pio's  Anfwer  >— 

19  Char.iif'er  of  Pompey  — 

20  Speech  of  Semcato  Nero 
ai Charidemus  — . 

22  harnfter  of  Julius  Caef.ir 

23  CalUftheres's  R- -proof  of  Cleon 
C.4  Charafterof  Cato  — 

25  PrutusvindicatesCaefar's  Murder 

26  Caefar  compared  with  Cato 

27  C  ma  M  ir  us  to  the  Romans 

28  Character    f  Catiline  — 

29  itiis  Qu  niiius  to  the  Romans 
go  f.  ic  p  a  to  Jugurtha  — 
31      uhl  us  Sc  p;r  t    the  Roman  Army    Hooke.   702 


Author?.  Pag. 

Wbitwortb  652 

659 

664 

Cic.  Or  at.  685 

-    Tbucyd.  687 

Sbakff.  691 

Middl  691 

H  oke  692 

Mtddl.  692 

Hake.  693 

694 

Middl.  694 

Corn.  Tacit.  695 

£\  Curt.  696 

Middl.  697 

^.  CW.  697 

Middl.  698 

s<fcfl*f/:  608 

&//«/?.  699 

609 

700 

Hooke.  701 

Saliuft.  702 


3:   Hannitrl  to  the  Carthaginian  Army 


703 
705 
705 
706 

7C7 


33  Character  of  Hannibal  —  Lh-y 

34  Scj  thian  ArribafE  to  Alexander  ^.  Curt, 
•?  Junius  Brutus  over  Lucrc-tia  Livy, 
36  Adherbal  to  the  Roman  Senate           Sailu/l, 

1  37  Cam  leius  to  the  Roman Confuls         Hooke. 

1 38  Life  of  Cicero         —  —  Middl.  710 

39  Character  of  Martin  Luther  Robert/.  731 

40  Character  of  Alfred  K.  of  England     Hume.  732 

41  Another  —  -  Smollett.  733 

42  Charafterof  William  the  Conqueror    Hume.  733 


43  Another 

44  Another 

45  Charafterof  William  Rufus      - 

46  Another  -  — 

47  Character  of  Henry  I.  — 

48  Another  -  - 

49  Charafter  of  Stephen.  - 

50  Another  - 

51  Charafter  of  Henry  II.  - 
t|2  Another              -                - 
53  Charafter  of  Richard  I.  - 
<;4  Another                   -                - 

55  Charafter  of  John  — 

56  Another  -  - 

57  Charafter  of  Henry  III.  - 

58  Another 

59  Charafter  cf  Edward  I.         '- 
to  Another  -  — 

61  Charafterof  Edward  I!.  - 

(>2  Another  -  - 

63  Charafter  of  Edward  III.  — 

64  A'o.her  - 

£5  Charafter  of  Richard  II.         — 

66  Another  - 

C7  An  ther  —  - 

63  Charafter  of  Henry  IV. 

( 9  Another  -  - 

70  Cha  after  of  Henry  V.  — 

71  Ait  other  -  — 
-1  Account  of  Henry  VI.  — 

73  De.th  of  Henry  VI. 

74  Chaafte.  of  Edward  I    ,         «. 


734 
734 
73  • 
736 
736 


Smollett 
Lyttle   .-: 

Hume. 
Smollett, 
■  Hume, 
Smollett.  736 

Hume.   737 
Smollttt.  737 

Hume.   737 
Smollett, 

Hume,   " 
Smollett.  738 

II urn.  730 
Smollett,  739 

Hume. 
Smollett. 

Hume. 
Smollett. 

Hume. 
Smell, it. 

Hume. 
Si 

Heny. 
1 
Sm  Hen 

Hume. 

Sr  oi/ett 

Hume, 

Smollct 

Hume 


7-;o 


me 


7-14 
"  \ 
744 
745 
7  A  5 
74< 


Seft, 

75 
76 

77 
78 

79 


Authors. 
Another  -  -  Smollett. 

Another  —  —  Rapin. 

Edward  V.  —  —  — — 

Charafter  of  Richard  III.         —       Hume. 
Another  -  -  Smollett. 

Charafter  of  Henry  VII.         —         Hume. 
Another  —  —  Smollett. 

Charafter  of  Henry  VIII.       —       Hume. 
Another  —  —  Smollett. 

Charafter  of  Edward  VI.       —      Burnet. 
Another  —  —  Hume, 

Another  —  —  Smollett. 

Charafterof  Mary  —  Hume. 

Another  —  —  Smollett. 

Charafter  of  Queen  Elizabeth  Rapin. 

Another  —  —  Hume. 

Another  —  —  Smollett. 

Charafter  of  James  I.        —      Macauhy. 
Another  —  —  Smollttt. 

Another  —  —  Hume. 

Another  —  —  Rapin. 

Charafter  of  Charles  I.        —        Smollett. 
Another  —  —  Hume. 

Another  —  —  Macauley. 

Charafterof  Oliver  Cromwell  Noble. 

Charafterof  Charles  II.  Hume. 

Another  —  —  Smollett. 

Another  —  —  Burnet. 

Another  —  Macpberfon. 

Charafter  of  James  II.  —  — — 

Another  —  —  Macauley. 

Charafter  of  William  III.  Smollett. 

Another  —  Macpberjon. 

Charafter   of  Mary,   Queen  Confort 

of  William  III.  —  Smollett. 

Charafter  of  Anne  —  — — 

Another  —  Cbnrr.lerltine. 

Another  —  Macpherfon. 

Charafterof  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  Robert. 
fter  of  Francis'I.         -  ■     — 

■  Ep-iir.inondas  -  Lcl.ind. 

Comparifon   or"    Political   Principles    and 

Conduct  of  Cato.   Atticus,  and  Cicero 

Middkton. 

Charafter  of  Lord  Townfend  CI  efierf. 


Mr.  Pope 

19  — —  Lord  Bolingbroke  -  — — 

20 Mr.  Pulteney  —  — 

Zi Sir  1  role  -  

23  __   Mr.  Peiham       -  -  

24 Earl  of  Scarborough  —       

26 Duk  iftle         -        

27 Duke  of  E  -  

£8  Anotl  sr  Charafter  of  him  J:u:ii:s. 

29  Charafter  of  Mr.  Henry  Fox  Cbefterf. 

30 Mr.  Pitt  -  

31  Another  Charafterof  him  Smollett. 

32  Another               —                   -  Ar.:n. 

33  Another  -  -  Burke. 
34,  Speech  on  reducing  the  Army  Pulteney. 
:.-  for   repealing  the  Septennial 

Aft  — "  A'/>  John  St.  Aubin. 

-6  The Minifter'a Reply  to  Ditto  Walpoh. 
.  ;■   Speech  on  luteal  oi  the  Jew  Bill       Lytt. 


Pap. 

746 
746 
746 
747 
747 
747 
748 
748 
749 
749 
749 
750 
750 
750 
750 
751 
75* 
753 
75+ 
754 
754 
755 
755 
756 

757 
757 
758 
758 
759 
760 
760 
76a 
763 

764 
764 
764 

765 
765 
766 
767 

768 


770 

77i 
771 


774 
7"4 
774 
-6 
—6 
776 
777 
778 
778 
7-9 
7  So 
'780 
78r 

785 

785 
7S7 


BOOK 


O      N 


N 


S. 


BOOK    IV. 


Seft. 


Narratives,   Dialogues,    &c.    with    other    humourous,  facetious,   and 
entertaining'  Pieces. 


Authors. 

Sterne. 


Pag. 

789 

793 
794 
795 

797 
793 

800 
801 
803 
805 
806 
808 
810 
811 


H  E  Story  of  Le  Fevre 
Yorick's  Death  — 

3  Alcander  and  Septimius  Byzant.  Hi/i. 

4  The  Monk  -  -  Sterne. 

5  Sir  Bertrand  ;  a  Fragment  Aikin. 

6  On  Human  Grandeur  —  Goldjmitb. 

7  Dialogue  between   Mr.   Addifon    and  Dr. 

Swift         „—  Dialogues  of  the  Dead. 

8  The  Hill  of  Science  ;   a  Vrfion         Aikin. 

9  On  the  Love  of  Life  —  Goldf. 

10  The  Canal  and  the  Brook  .  Aikin. 

11  The  Story  of  a  difabled  Soldier         Goldf  in. 

12  Ulyffes  and  Circe  —  Dial.  Dead. 

13  Love  and  Joy  ;  a  Tale  -  Akin. 

14  Scene  between  Coi.  Rivers  and  Sir  Harry 

15  On  Dignity  of  Manners         -         Cbefterf.    8  12 

16  On  Vulgarity  -  812 

17  On  Good-breeding  —  — —  Si  3 

18  Dialogue    betwixt    Mercury,    an    Englifh 

Duellift,   and   a  North  American    Sa- 
vage —  Dialogues  of  the  Dead.  815 

19  Bayes's  Rules  for  Compofitio.n         Bucking.  8:7 

20  The  Art  of  Pleafing  -  Chef  erf.   818 

21  Dialogue  between  the  Plinys     Dial.  Dead.  818 

22  Scene  between  Boniface  and  Aimwell 

Farquhar.   820 

23  Endeavours   to    pleafe  are  fcarcely   u'nfuc- 

cefsful  —  —  Chejhrf  S21 

24  A    Dialogue    between    M.    Apicius     and 

Darteneuf  -  Dial.    Deed.  822 

25  Scene  between  Iago  and  Caffio  Sbakef.  S25 

26  Dialogue  between  Mercury  and  a  Modern 

Fine  Lady  -  Dial.  De-.-d.  826 

27  Scene  between  Shylock  and  Tubal     Sbakef.   S27 
2S  Seene  betweeen  P.  Henry  and  Falftaff   '•  8-28 

29  Scene  between  Moody  and  Manly 829 

30  Management  of  Wit             —          Cbefterf.  830 
3c   Egotifm  to  be  avoided  —  831 

32  Letter  to  Lord  *  *  *  *  -         Baling.  832 

33  The  Birth  of  Martinus  Scriblerus        Pope.  833 

The  Dodor  and  his  Shield  833 

The  Nutri  ion  of  Scriblerus  835 

Play  Things  —  -  '    — — -  835 

Muiic  —  —  837 

Logic  -  -  838 

The  Seat  of  the  Soul  -  838 

The  Sou!  a  Quality  -  — —  839 

34  Diverfity  of  Geniufes              -  — —  839 
The  Advancement  of  the  Bathos  — —  840 

Dedications  and  Panegyrics  841 

A  Recipe  to  makean  Epic  Poem .  841 

To  make  an  Epic  Poem           -«  — — —  842 

75  The  Duty  of  a  Clerk  —  843 

36  Cruelty  to  Animals  —  — —843 

37  Paftoral  Comedy  ~  — — —  844 

38  Dogs  -  -  845 

39  Ladv  Mary  Wortley  Montague  — —  845 

40  The  Manners  of  a  Bookfeller  846 

41  Defcription  of  a  Country  Seat  — —  848 

42  Apology  for  his  Religi  >us  Tenets 850 

43  Defence  agiinft  a  Noble  Lord's  Reflexions  851 

44  The  Death  of  Mr  Gay .  853 

45  Envy  -  -  Rambler.  853 

46  Epicurus's  Character  -  .        Orrery.   854 


859 

Boling.  8s9 
86a 


Sect.  Authors.  Pag. 

47  Example,  its  Prevalence         —        Boling.  S55 
dangerous  when  copied  without 

Judgment  -  — — -  855 

48  Exile  only  an  imaginary  Evil  — —  855 
—  cannot  hurt  a  reflecting  Man  856 

49  Love  of  Fame  —  Fitzojb.  856 

50  Enthufiafm         —  —  857 

51  Free-thinking,  Abufes  of       —      Cohnoiff".  S5S 
The  Unbeliever's  Creed 

52  Fortune  not  to  be  fruited         — 
her  Evils  difarmed  by  Patience 

53  Delicacy    conftitutional  —  Hume.  860 

of  Tafte  dellrable        860 

■ teaches  us  to  feledt  our  Company         S6  c 

54  Detraction  a  deferrable  Vice  Rambler 

55  Learning,  its  Application 

its  Progrefs 

ufelefs  without  Tafte        — 

its  Obirructions  ■ — 

56  Mankind,  a  Portrait  of         — 

57  Manors,  their  Origin,  &c. 
5S  Hard  Words  defended  — 

59  Difcontent,  its  common  Lot 

60  Feodal  Syftem,  Hiltory  of 
Ci   Of  Britifh  Juries  — 

62  Juftice,  its  Nature,  &c.  defined 

63  Habit,  Difficulty  of  conquering 


861 


—  II 


862 
S5« 

Idler.   863 

Sterne.  864 

Blacujlune.   865 

Idler.  863 

Rambler.  869 

Blaekfone.  870 

Orrery.    873 

Galdjm.   ~ 

Idler. 


>74 
574 

^75 


876 
2-7 
S77 

87S 


64  Halfpenny,  its  Adventures         Adventurer. 
65,  Hiftory,  our  natural  Fondnefs  for  it,   and 

its  true  Ufe  —  Boling. 

65  Human" Nature,  its  Dignity  Hume. 

67  — — •  Operations  of  coniidered         Orrery. 

68  Oeconomy,    Want    of  it    no    Mark   of 

Genius  —  Adventurer. 

69  Operas  ridiculed  —  Lyttelton.  879 

70  Patience  recommended  Edirgbrokc.  8S0 

71  — —  exemplified     in    the    Stoiy    of    an 

Afs  —  —  Sterne.   8C0 

72  Players  in  a  Country  Town  defcribed     Conn.  83  e 

73  often  miflake  the  F-ffect  882 

74  True  Pleafure  defined  —  Seed.   883 

75  Politenefs,  how  manifested  Hume. 

76  Poet,   Bufinefs  and   Qualifications   of    de- 
fcribed —  fohnfo;:. 

— —  Remarks  on  fome  of  the   bell,  both 
Ancient  and  MoJern  — -       Drydcn. 

•  Remarks    on  fome  of  the  beft  En- 

glifh  Dramatic  ones  —  — — 

Property,    Origin    and    Right    of,     ex- 
plained —  —  Blaekfone.. 

80  Retirement  of  no  Ufe  to  fome  Baling. 

81  Revolution  of  1688,  its  Ccnfequences 

82  Riddles  defended  —  Fitxaib. 

83  Senfes  perverted  by  Fafhion  Smollett. 

84  Simplicity,  its  Beauty  in  Writing     BroKvn. 

85  — —  confpicuous  in  the  Scriptures 

06 preferable  to  Refinement    in  writing 

Hume. 
87  Suicide,  Effay  on  —  Connoiff.   h'97 

38   Enumeration  of  Superftuions  obferved 

in  the  Country  —  — — 

S9   Swearing,  indelicate  and  wicked  — ■*- 

go  Sympathy,-  a  Source  of  the  Sublime 
91 Effects    in  the   Diftfelles  of  other: 

Burke 
Q2  Tears  not  unworthy  cf  an  Hero  Dryder. 
93  Terror,  a  Source  or  the  Sublime        Burke 

94  Tragedy 


8V3 
884 
?Q ' 
S86 
8S7 

s9; 
s9i 
891 
S92 
894 
0^4 

"95 


9c  2 

9°  3 

9-4 


C      O      N      T 

Sect.  Authors.  Pag. 

94  Tragedy  comparedwith  Epic  Poetry  Dryden.  904 

95  Tranflatioris,  Hiflory  of        —         Idle 

96  Talents  to  form  a  good  Tranflator,  Dryden.   907 

97  Wit,  the  Nature  of  in  writing  

9S  Examples    that   Words    may    affect 

without  raifing  Images       —        Burke. 
99  Characteristics  of  Whig   and   Tory 

Parties  —  —  Hume. 

00  Painting  difagreeahle  in  Women     Connoijf. 

01  Advantages  of  Satire  pointed  out  Fitxijb.  913 

02  Juvenal  and  Horace  compared        Dryden.   913 

03  Delicate  Satire  not  eafily  hit  off 

04  Works  of  Art  defective         —         Sfeer. 
Advantages     from     their     Si- 
milarity to  tliofe  of  Nature  

On  the  Progrefs  of  the  Arts  —  Idler. 
Afh-onomy,  Study  of,  delightful  Tatler. 
The  Planetary  and  Tcrreftrial  Worlds 
comparatively  considered  —  Spell. 
Character  of  Toby  Bumper  -  Cor.noif. 
Caufes  of  National  Characters  Hume. 
Chaflity  an  Ornament  to  Beauty     Spec!.   92 

a  valuable  Virtue  in  a  Man     Guard.  920 

Characters  of  Gameflers       —       ConvciJ.  921 
Tatler's  Advice   to  his  Sifter  Tatler. 

On  Curiofiry  —  —  Sterne. 

Contrcverfy       feldom        decently       con- 
ducted —  —  Browne. 
Converfation,  how  to  pleafe  in      Rambler. 

various  Faults  in         —        Conno'iJ.  925 

Citizen's  Country  Houfe  defcribed 927 

Humorous    Scene    between    Dennis    the 

92S 
930 
930 
oto 


E      N 


S. 


905 
907 
909 

910 

911 

912 
913 

913 

-  9*5 
9r5 

916 
916 

917 

918 
919 


922 
923 


925 
92 


„<?™; 


Jir.on. 
Spec. 
Stake;'. 


Thornton. 


Critic  and  the  Doclor         — 

The  Two  Bees         —  — 

Pleafant  Scene  of  Anger  — 

FalftafPs  Encomiums  on  Sack 

Hotfpur  reading  a  Letter         — 

FalftafTs  Soliloquy  on  Honour 

The  perfect  Speaker  — 

D>  (tempers  of  the  Mind  cured 

Character  of  a  Choice  Spirit 

A  Citizen's  Family  letting  out  for 
Brighthelmftone  — 

Character  of   a    mighty   ?ood  Kind 

of  Man  —      '     —  935 

Character  of  a  mighty  good  Sort  of 

Woman  —     '         —  937 

On  the  allected  Strangeneis  of  lome 

Men  of  Quality  —  939 

On  the  Arrogance  of  younger  Bro- 
thers of  Quality  —   ,         939 


934 


'-:-7 


Authors. 
Perfonsof  Quality  proved  Traders  Thornton. 

On  Pedantry  —  —  

A  Sunday  in  the  Country  — — 

On  the  Militia  —  

On  going  to  Bath,  &c.  — — 

The  faint-hearted  Lover  —  — — 
Coronation,  Detail  of  —  — — 

Letter  from  a  fuccefsful  Adventurer 

in  the  Lottery  —  — — 

Characters  of  Camilla  and  Flora     Gre-ville. 

A  Fable,  by  Linnajus  —  

Mercy  recommended  —  Sterne. 

The  S'ailing  —  — 

The  Captive  —  —  

Trim's    Explanation   of   the    Fifth 

Commandment  —  

Health  —  —  


Pa?. 

941 

943 
944 

945 
947 
943 
949 

9 '4 
955 
956 1 

('-"7 
957 
9  5  8 

95S 

95^ 


148  A  Voyage  to  Lit.  liput.  Swift. 
Chap.  I.   Author's  Account  of  himfelf        958 

. II.     The  Emperor  1  f  Lihiput  viiits 

the  Author  in  h'.ii  Confinement  963 
III.     The  Emperor  and  his  No- 
bility diverted  by  him                       — —  967 

IV.     Metropolis  defcribed  —     971 

— —  V.     Author  prevents  an  Invafion     973 

1 VI.     Inhabitants  of  Lllliput  976 

— __  VII.  Author's  Efeape  to  BSefufcu  9S0 
VIII.     Return  to  h's  nativeCountry  9S4 

149  A  Voyage  to  Brob  ding  nag 

Chap.  I.  A  great  Storm  defcribed  -  986 
II.     Delcription  of  the  Farmer's 

Daughter         —  —  —  992 

— —  III.  Author  fent  for  ro  Court  995 
■  IV.     The  Country  defcribed      —     999 

— —  V.      Adventures  that  happened  to 

the  Author  —  —     icor 

— —  VI.     Contrivance?  of  the  Author 

to  pleafe  the  King  and  Queen  —  1006 
— —  VII.  Author's  Love  of  his  Country  ICC9 
i VIII.     His  Return  to  England         1012 


150  Detached  Sentences  — 

151  Proverbs  —  — 

152  Old  Italian  Proverbs  — 
1^3  Old  Spanifh  Proverbs  — 
134  The  V\  av  to  WeaLh         — 
155  In  Praife  of  Virtue              — 

1  56  On  Cruelty  to  inferior  Animals 

157  On  the  Duties  of  School  Boys 


Various.  ioiS 

—  1028 

—  1034 
Franklin.  1040 

Price.  1044 

Jenytit.  1044. 

Rodin.  1046 


A 

HE  Calendar  of  Flora 

Stillingfeet.    1 04S 
NATURAL  HISTORY. 
The   Hovfe         Pennant.   icGo 

—  Dog  -         . 10C7 

—  Wild  Cat 1071 

—  Domeftic  Cat     1071 

Explanation  of  Term?  in 

Ornithology 1072 

The  pigeon     -       — —   1073 

—  B  c-ckbiid      -    — —  1074 

—  Bulfii  ch 1C74 

—  Goldfinch  • 1075 

—  Linnet  1C,75 

—  Canaiy  Eird       — —    1070 


P      P      E      N      D      I 

14  The  Sky  Lark  Pennant.    1076 

15  —  Nightingale 1077 

16  —  RedBreaft 1078 

18  —  Swift  1079 

19  Of    the   Difappearance 

of  Swallows  — —  1080 

20  Of    Small    Birds     of 

Flight  Barrington.    icSj. 

21  ■ —  Singing  Birds     — — -  1085 

22  The  Eel       -       Pennant,    koc 

23  —  Perch  —  —   1002 

24  —  Trout       -         1C92 

25  —  Pike  or  Jack      — — •   ic.94 

27   —  Barbel 1  cq  q 

2S  —  Tench         -     — —  1096 


V 


29  The  Gudgeon  Pennant. 

30  —  Bream        — 

j  1    —  Crucian       —      — — 
3;  —  Roach      — 

36  — ■  White  Bait 

37  —  Mjnow 

38  —  Gold  Fiih     -     

Chronological  Table  of  re- 
markable Events,  Dif- 
coveries,  and  Inven- 
tions —         Guthrie. 

Men  of  Learning  and  Ge- 
nius — 


IC96 
IC97 
ic97 
1097 

1097 
1097 
1098 
1098 
1098 
IC99 


ICS9 
1115 


ELEGANT 


E   L 


ANT       EXTRACTS 
I  N      P  R  O  S  E. 


BOOK     THE     FIRST. 
ORAL      AND      RELIGIOUS. 


§  1 .  The  Vifion  of  Mirza,  exhibiting  a  Pic- 
ture of  Human  Life. 

N  the  fifth  day  of  the  moon,  which, 
according   to  the  cufcom   of  my 
forefathers,  I   always  keep  holy, 
after  having  warned  myfelf,  and   offered 
up  my  morning  devotions,  I  afcended  the 
high  hills  of  Bagdat,  in  order  to  pafs  the 
reil  of  the  day  in  meditation  and  prayer. 
As  I  was  here  airing  myfelf  on  the  tops  of 
the  mountains,  I  fell  into  a  profound  con- 
templation on  the  vanity  of  human  life ; 
and  palling  from  one  thought  to  another, 
Surely,  faid  I,  man  is  but  a  fhadow,  and 
life  a  dream.     Whilft  I  was  thus  mufmg,  I 
cait  my  eyes  towards  the  fumrnit  of  a  rock 
that  was  not  far  from  me,  where  I  difco- 
.  vered  one  in  the  habit  of  a  fhepherd,  with 
a  little  mufical  inftrument  in  his  hand.    As 
I  looked  upon  him,  he  applied  it  to  his  lips, 
and  began  to  play  upon  it.    The  found  of  it 
was  exceeding  iweet,  and  wrought  into  a 
variety  of  tunes  that  were  inexpreiiibly  me- 
lodious, and  altogether  different  from  any 
thing  I  had  ever  heard :  they  put  me  in 
mind  of  thofe  heavenly  airs  that  are  played 
to  the  departed  fouls  cf good  men  upon  their 
firft  arrival  in  Paradife,  to  wear  out  the  im- 
prefiions  of  the  lait  agonies,  and  qualify 
'  them  for  the  pleafures  cf  that  happy  place. 
My  heart  melted  away  in  fecret  raptures. 

I  had  been  often  told,  that  the  rock  be- 
fore me  was  the  haunt  of  a  genius ;  and 
that  feveral  had  been  entertained  with  that 
mufic,  who  had  palled  by  it,  but  never 
heard  that  the  mufician  had  before  mads 
himfelf  vifible.  When  he  had  railed  my 
tfieughts,  by  thofe  tranfporting  airs  which 


he  played,  to  tafte  the  pleafures  of  his  con 
verfation,  as  I  looked  upon  him  like  one 
ailoniihed,  he  beckoned  to  me,  and,  by  the 
waving  of  his  hand,  directed  me  to  ap- 
proach the  place  where  he  fat.  I  drew  near 
with  that  reverence  which  is  due  to  a  fupe- 
rior  nature  ;  and  as  my  heart  was  entirely 
fubdued  by  the  captivating  llrains  I  had 
heard,  I  fell  down  at  his  feet,  and  wept. 
The  genius  frniled  upon  me  with  a  look  of 
companion  and  affability  that  familiarized 
him  to  my  imagination,  and  at  once  dis- 
pelled all  the  fears  and  apprehenfions  with 
which  I  approached  him.  He  lifted  me 
from  the  ground,  and  taking  me  by  the 
hand,  Mirza,  faid  he,  I  have  heard  thee  in 
thy  foliloquies  ;  follow  me. 

He  then  led  me  to  the  higheft  pinnacle 
of  the  rock,  and  placing  me  on  the  top  of 
it,  Cad:  thy  eyes  eaftward,  faid  he,  and  teli 
me  what  thou  feeft.  I  fee,  faid  I,  a  huge 
valley,  and  a  prodigious  tide  of  water  rol- 
ling through  it.  The  valley  that  thou  feeft, 
faid  he,  is  the  vale  of  mifery  ;  and  the  tide 
of  water  that  thou  feeft,  is  part  of  the  great 
tide  of  eternity.  What  is  the  reafon,  faid 
I,  that  the  tide  I  fee  rifes  out  of  a'  thick 
mift  at  one  end,  and  again  lofes  itfelf  in  a 
thick  miit  at  the  other  ?  What  thou  feeft, 
faid  he,  is  that  portion  of  eternity  which  is 
called  Time,  meafured  out  by  the  fun,  and 
reaching  from  the  beginning  of  the  world 
to  its  consummation.  Examine  now,  faid 
he,  this  fea,  that  is  bounded  with  darknefs 
at  both  ends,  and  tell  me  what  thou  difco- 
vereil  in  it.  I  fee  a  bridge,  faid  I,  Hand- 
ing in  the  midft  of  the  tide.  The  bridge 
thou  feeft,  faid  he,  is  human  life ;  confider 
it  attentively.  Upon  a  more  leifurely  fur- 
ls vev 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


vey  of  it,  I  found  that  it  confuted  of  three- 
fcore  arid  ten-  entire  arches,  with  feveral 
broken  arches,  which,  added  to  thofe  that 
were  entire,  made  up  the  number  about  an 
hundred.  As  I  was  counting  the  arches, 
the  genius  told  me  that  this  bridge  confift- 
ed  at  flrfl  of  a  thoufand  arches;  but  that  a 
great  flood  fwept  away  the  reft,  and  left  the 
bridge  in  the  ruinous  condition  I  now  be- 
held it :  but  tell  me  further,  faid  he,  what 
thou  difcovereft  on  it.  I  fee  multitudes  of 
people  paffing  over  it,  faid  I,  and  a  black 
cloud  hanging  on  each  end  of  it.  As  I 
looked  more  attentively,  I  faw  feveral  cf 
the  palfengers  dropping  through  the  bridge 
into  the  great  tide  that  flowed  underneath 
it;  and  upon  further  examination,  per- 
ceived there  were  innumerable  trap-doors 
that  lay  concealed  in  the  bridge,  which 
the  paflengers  no  fooner  trod  upon,  but 
they  fell  through  them  into  the  tide,  and 
immediately  difappeared.  Thefe  hidden 
pit-falls  were  fet  very  thick  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  bridge,  fo  that  throngs  of 
people  no  fooner  broke  through  the 
cloud,  but  many  of  them  fell  into  them. 
They  grew  thinner  towards  the  middle, 
but  multiplied  and  lay  clofer  together 
towards  the  end  of  the  arches  that  were 
entire. 

There  were  indeed  fome  perfons,  but 
their  number  was  very  fmall,  that  conti- 
nued a  kind  of  hobbling  march  on  the 
broken  arches,  but  fell  through  one  after 
another,  being  quite  tired  and  fpent  with 
lb  long  a  walk. 

I  pafled  fome  time  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  this  wonderful  ftruifture,  and  the 
great  variety  of  objects  which  it  prefented. 
My  heart  was  rilled  with  a  deep  melan- 
choly, to  fee  feveral  dropping  unexpectedly 
in  the  midfl  cf  mirth  and  jollity,  and  catch- 
ing at  every  thing  that  flood  by  them,  to 
fa^e  themfelves.  Some  were  lookinf  up 
towards  the  heavens  in  a  thoughtful  pof- 
ture,  and,  in  the  midfl  of  a  fpeculation, 
flumbled  and  fell  out  of  light.  Multitudes 
were  very  bufy  in  the  purfuit  of  bubbles, 
that  glittered  in  their  eyes,  and  danced  be- 
fore them;  but  often,  when  they  thought 
themfelves  within  the  reach  of  them,  their 
footing  failed,  and  down  they  funk.  In 
this  cor.fuflon  of  objects,  I  obferved  fome 
with  fcimitars  in  their  hands,  and  others 
with  urinals,  who  ran  to  and  fro  upon  the 
bridge,  thrufting  feveral  perfons  on  trap- 
doors which  did  not  feem  to  lie  in  their 
way,  and  which  they  might  have  efcaped 
had  they  not  been  thus  forced  upon  them. 


The  genius  feeing  me  indulge  myfelf 
in  this  melancholy  pfofpect,  told  me 
had  dwelt  long  enough  upon  it :  Take 
thine  eyes  oft"  the  bridge,  faid  he,  and  tell i 
me  if  thou  feeft  any  thing  thou  doft  not 
comprehend.  Upon  looking  up,  What 
mean,  faid  I,  thofe  great  flights  of  birds 
that  are  perpetually  hovering  about  the 
bridge,  and  fettling  upon  it  from  time  to 
time?  I  fee  vultures,  harpies,  ravens,  cor- 
morants, and,  among  many  odier  feathered 
creatures,  feveral  little  winged  boys,  that 
perch  in  great  numbers  upon  the  middle 
arches.  Thefe,  faid  the  genius,  are  envy, 
avarice,  fuperftition,  deipair,  love,  with 
the  like  cares  and  paifons  that  infeft  hu- 
man life. 

I  here  fetched  a  deep  f;gh :  Alas,  faid  I, 
man  was  made  in  vain !  how  is  he  given 
away  to  mifery  and  mortality  !  tortured  in 
life,  and  fwallowed  up  in  death !  The 
genius  being  moved  with  compaflion  to- 
wards me,  bid  me  quit  fo  uncomfortable  a 
profpect.  Look  no  more,  faid  he,  on  man 
in  the  firft  rtage  of  his  exiflence,  in  his  fet- 
ting  out  for  eternity ;  but  caft  thine  eye 
on  that  thick  mifl  into  which  the  tide  bears 
the  feveral  generations  of  mortals  diat  fall 
into  it.  I  directed  my  fight  as  I  was  or- 
dered, and  (whether  or  no  the  good  genius 
flrengthened  it  with  any  fupernatural  force, 
or  diflipated  part  of  the  mill  that  was  be- 
fore too  thick  for  the  eye  to  penetrate)  I 
faw  the  valley  opening  at  the  farther  end, 
and  fpreading  forth  into  an  immenfe  ocean, 
that  had  a  huge  rock  of  adamant  running 
through  the  midfl  of  it,  and  dividing  it 
into  two  equal  parts.  The  clouds  flill 
refled  on  one  half  of  it,  infomuch  that  1 
could  difcover  nothing  in  it:  but  the  other 
appeared  to  me  a  vafl  ocean,  planted  with 
innumerable  iflands,  that  were  covered 
with  fruits  and  iiowers,  and  interwoven 
with  a  thoufand  little  ftrining  feas  that 
ran  among  them.  I  could  fee  perfons  dref- 
fed  in  glorious  habits,  with  garlands  upon 
their  heads,  pairing  among  the  trees,  lying 
down  by  the  fides  of  fountains,  or  refling 
on  beds  of  flowers ;  and  could  hear  a  con- 
fufed  harmony  of  finging  birds,  falling 
waters,  human  voices,  and  mulical  inftru- 
ments.  Gladnefs  grew  in  me  at  the  dis- 
covery of  fo  delightful  a  fcene.  I  wifhed 
for  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  that  I  might  fly 
away  to  thofe  happy  feats ;  but  the  ge- 
nius told  me  there  was  no  paiTage  to  them, 
except  through  the  gates  of  death  that 
I  faw  opening  every  moment  upon  the 
bridge.      The  iflands.    faid  he,    that   lis 

fo 


BOOK    L       MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


fo  frefh  and  green  before  thee,  and  with 
:  which  the  whole  face  of  the  ocean  appears 
;fpotted  as  far  as  thou  canft  fee,  are  more 
tin  number  than  the  fands  on  the  ica-fhore  ; 
{there  are  myriads  of  iflands  behind  thofe 
which  thou  here  difcovereft,  reaching  fur- 
ither  than  thine  eye,  or  even  thine  iniagi- 
: nation,  can  extend  itfeif.  Thefe  are  the 
.maniions  of  good  men  after  death,  who, 
according  to  the  degree  and  hinds  of  vir- 
tue in  which  they  excelled,  are  diftributed 
among  thefe  feveral  i Hands,  which  abound 
with  pleafures  of  different  kinds  and  de- 
igrees,  fuitable  to  the  reliihes  and  perfec- 
tions of  thofe  who  are  fettled  in  them ; 
every  iiland  is  a  paradife  accommodated  to 
.its  respective  inhabitants.  Are  not  thefe, 
'O  Mirza,  habitations  worth  contending 
(for?  Does  life  appear  miferable,  that  gives 
ithee  opportunities  of  earning  fuch  a  re- 
iward  ?  Is  death  to  be  feared,  that  will 
•convey  thee  to  fo  happy  an  exiftence  ? 
Think  not  man  was  made  in  vain,  who 
has  fuch  an  eternity  referved  for  him.-— I 
gazed  with  inexpreffible  pleafure  on  thefe 
happy  iflands.  At  length,  faid  I,  Shew  me 
inow,  I  befeech  thee,  the  fecrets  that  lie 
hid  under  thofe  dark  clouds,  which  cover 
the  ocean  on  the  other  fide  of  the  rock  of 
adamant.  The  genius  making  me  no  an- 
swer, I  turned  about  to  addrefs  myfelf  to 
him  a  fecond  time,  but  I  found  that  he  had 
left  me  :  I  then  turned  again  to  the  vifion 
which  I  had  been  fo  long  contemplating; 
but  inftead  of  the  rolling  tide,  the  arched 
bridge,  and  the  happy  iflands,  I  law  no- 
thing but  the  long  hollow  valley  of  Bagdat, 
with  oxen,  fheep,  and  camels,  grazing  upon 
the  fides  of  it.  Spectator. 

§  2.  The  Voyage  of  Life',  an  Allegory. 

'  Life,'  fays  Seneca,  '  is  a  voyage,  in 
the  progrefs  of  which  we  are  perpetually 
changing  our  fcenes :  we  Aril  leave  child- 
hood behind  us,  then  youth,  then  the  years 
of  ripened  manhood,  then  the  better  or 
more  pleafing  part  of  old  age/ — The  pe- 
rufal  of  this  paffage  having  excited  in  me  a 
train  of  reflections  on  the  ftate  of  man,  the 
inceflant  fluctuation  of  his  wifhes,  the  gra- 
dual change  of  his  difpoiition  to  all  external 
objects,  and  the  thoughtlefsnefs  with  which 
he  floats  along  the  itream  of  dine,  I  funk 
into  a  flumber  amidft  my  meditations,  and, 
on  a  fudden,  found  my  ears  filled  with  the 
tumult  of  labour,  the  fhouts  of  alacrity,  the 
fhrieks  of  alarm,  the  whittle  of  winds^  and 
the  daih  of  waters. 

My  aftcnifhment  for  a  time  reprefl'ed 


my  curioiity ;  but  fcon  recovering  myfelf 
fo  far  as  to  enquire  whither  we  were  going, 
and  what  was  the  eaufe  of  fuch  clamour 
and  confuflon ;  I  was  told  that  they  were 
launching  out  into  the  ocean  of  Life ;  that 
we  had  already  palled  the  ftreights  of  In- 
fancy, in  which  multitudes  had  perifhed, 
feme  by  the  weaknefs  and  fragility  of  their 
veffels,  and  more  by  the  folly,  perverfenefs, 
or  negligence  of  thofe  who  undertook  to 
fteer  them ;  and  that  we  were  now  on  the 
main  fea,  abandoned  to  the  winds  and  bil- 
lows, without  any  other  means  of  fecurity 
than  the  care  of  the  pilot,  whom  it  was  al- 
ways in  our  power  to  chufe,  among  great 
numbers  that  offered  their  direction  and 
aililtance. 

I  then  looked  round  with  anxious  eager- 
nefs  ;  and,  firft  turning  my  eyes  behind 
me,  faw  a  Itream  flowing  through  flowery 
iflands,  which  every  one  that  failed  along 
Teemed  to  behold  with  .pleafure ;  but  no 
fooner  touched,  than  the  current,  which, 
though  not  rioify  or  turbulent,  was  yet  ir- 
reiiftible,  bore  him  away.  Beyond  thefe 
iflands,  all  was  darknefs  ;  nor  could  any  of 
the  paifengers  defcribe  the  lhore  at  which 
he  firft  embarked. 

Before  me,  and  on  either  flde  was  an 
expanfe  of  waters  violently  agitated,  and 
covered  with  fo  thick  a  mill:,  that  the  moft 
perfpicacious  eyes  could  fee  but  a  little  way. 
It  appeared  to  be  full  of  rocks  and  whirl- 
pools, for  many  funk  unexpectedly  while 
they  were  courting  the  gale  with  full  fails, 
and  infulting  thole  whom  they  had  left  be- 
hind. So  numerous,  indeed,  were  the  dan- 
gers, and  fo  thick  the  darknefs,  that  no 
caution  could  confer  fecurity.  Yet  there 
were  many,  who,  by  falfe  intelligence,  be- 
trayed their  followers  into  whirlpools,  or 
by  violence  pufhed  thofe  whom  they  found 
in  their  way  againft  the  rocks. 

The  current  was  invariable  and  infur- 
mountable ;  but  though  it  was  impoffible  to 
fail  againft  it,  or  to  return  to  the  place  that 
was  once  pafled,  yet  it  was  not  fo  violent 
as  to  allow  no  opportunities  for  dexterity 
or  courage,  fince,  though  none  could  re- 
treat back  from  danger,  yet  they  might 
often  avoid  it  by  oblique  direction. 

It  was,  however,  not  very  common  to 
fleer  with  much  care  or  prudence  ;  for,  by 
fome  univerfal  infatuation,  every  man  ap- 
peared to  think  himfelf  fafe,  though  he  faw 
his  conforts  every  moment  finking  round 
him ;  and  no  fooner  had  the  waves  clofed 
over  them,  than  their  fate  and  their  mif- 
conduct  were  forgotten;,  the  voyage  was 
JS  2  purfued 


4 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE.  • 


purfued  with  the  fame  jocund  confidence  ; 
every  man  congratulated  himfeif  upon  the 
foundnefs  of  his  vefiel,  and  believed  him- 
feif able  to  Stem  the  whirlpool  in  which  his 
friend  was  fwallowed,  or  glide  over  the 
rocks  on  which  he  was  dafhed  :  nor  was  it 
often  obferved  that  the  fight  of  a  wreck 
made  any  man  change  his  courfe ;  if  hg 
turned  afide  for  a  moment,  he  foon  forgot 
the  rudder,  and  left  himfeif  again  to  the 
difpofal  of  chance. 

This  negligence  did  not  proceed  from 
indifference,  or  from  wearinefs  of  their  pre' 
dent  condition  ;  for  not  one  of  thole  who 
thus  rufhed  upon  destruction  failed,  when 
he  was  finking,  to  call  loudly  upon  his  af- 
foeiates  for  that  help  which  could  not  now 
be  given  him  :  and  many  fpent  their  laft 
moments  in  cautioning  others  againft  the 
folly  by  which  they  were  intercepted  in  the 
midit  of  their  courfe.  Their  benevolence 
was  fometimes  praifed,  but  their  admoni- 
tions were  unregarded. 

The  vefiels  in  which  we  had  embarked, 
being  corifefledly  unequal  to  the  turbulence 
of  the  itream  of  life,  were  vifibly  impaired 
in  the  courfe  of  the  voyage,  fo  that  every 
pafTenger  was  certain,  that  how  long  fo- 
cver  he  might,  by  favourable  accidents,  or 
by  inceflant  vigilance,  be  preferved,  he 
mufc  fink  at  laft. 

This  necefllty  of  perilling  might  have 
been  expected  to  fadden  the  gay,  and  in- 
timidate the  daring,  at  leaft  to  keep  the 
melancholy  and  timorous  in  perpetual  tor- 
ments, and  hinder  them  from  any  enjoy- 
ment of  the  varieties  and  gratifications 
which  nature  offered  them  as  the  folace  of 
their  labours ;  yet  in  effect  none  feemed 
lefs  to  expect  destruction  than  thofe  to 
whom  it  was  moil:  dreadful ;  they  all  had 
the  art  of  concealing  their  danger  from 
themfelves  ;  and  thofe  who  knew  their  in- 
ability to  bear  the  fight  of  the  terrors  that 
embarrafled  their  way,  took  care  never  to 
'look  forward,  but  found  fome  amufement 
'  of  the  prefent  moment,  and  generally  en- 
tertained themfelves  by  playing  with  Hope, 
who  was  the  conilant  aflbciate  of  the  voy- 
age of'Life. 

Yet  all  that  Hope  ventured  to  promife, 
civen  to  thofe  whom  fhe  favoured  moil, 
was,  not  that  they  ihould  efcape,  but  that 
•they  Should  fink  kft ;  and  with 'this  pro- 
mife every  one  was  fatisfied,  though,  he 
laughed  at  the  reft  for  feeming  to  believe 
it.  Hope,  indeed,  apparently  mocked  the 
credulity  of  her  companions ;  for,  in  pro- 
portion   a."    their  vefiels- grew  leaky,  ihe 


redoubled  her  aflurar.ces  of  fafety ;    and 
fione.  were  more  bufy  in  making  provisions  > 
for  a  long  voyage,  than   they  whom    all  \ 
but  themfelves  faw  likely  to  perifii  foon  by 
irreparable  decay. 

In  the  midft  of  the  current  of  Life,  was 
the    gulph    of  Intemperance,    a  dreadful 
whirlpool,    interfperfed     with     rocks,    of> 
which   the   pointed  crags  were  concealed  ; 
under  water,  and   the   tops  covered  with! 
herbage,  on    which  Eafe    Spread   couches 
of  repofe  ;  and  with  (hades,  where  Plea- J 
fure  warbled  the  fong  of  invitation.    With-  j 
in  fight  of  thefe  rocks,  all  who  failed  onl 
the  ocean  of  Life    mult   neceffarily  pafs. 
Realbn  indeed  v/as  always  at  hand  to  iteer 
the  paffengers  through  a  narrow  outlet,  by.a 
which  they  might  efcape  ;    but  very  few  i 
could,  by  her  entreaties  or  remonftrances, ; 
be  induced  to  put  the  rudder  into  her  hand, 
without  Stipulating  that  fhe-fhould  approach] 
fo  near  unto  the  rocks  of  Pleafure,  thatj 
thev  mieht  folace  themfelves  with  a  Short! 
enjoyment  of  that  delicious   region,  arcer] 
which  they  always    determined  to  puriue 
their  courfe  without  any  other  deviation.     I 

Reafon  was  too  often  prevailed  upon  fo 
far  by  thefe  promifes,  as  to  venture  her] 
charge  within  the  eddy  of  the  gulph  of  In-j 
temperance,  where,  indeed,  the  circmruo-j 
lution  was  weak,  but  yet  interrupted  the  J 
courfe  of  the  veiiel,  and  drew  it,  by  in  fen- > 
fible  rotations,  towards  the  centre.  She] 
then  repented  her  temerity,  and  with  alii 
her  force  endeavoured  to  retreat ;  but  the! 
draught  of  the  gulph  was  generally  tool 
Strong  to  be  overcome ;  and  the  pauengerJ 
having  danced  in  circles  with  a  pleafingi 
and  giddy  velocity,  was  at  laft  overwhelm-! 
ed  and  loit.  Thofe  few  whom  P.eafon  was;, 
able  to  extricate,  generally  Suffered  fo 
many  (hocks  upon  the  points  which  fhotj 
out  from  the  rocks  of  Pleafure,  that  thejn 
were  unable  to  continue  their  courfe  with^ 
the  fame  Strength  and  facility  as  before,, 
but  floated  along  timoroufiy  and  feebly, 
endangered  by  every  breeze,  and  Shattered;; 
by  everv  ruffle  of  the  water,  till  they  funk,;' 
by  flow  degrees,  after  long  Struggles,  anffl 
innumerable  expedients,  always  repining  at 
their  own  folly,  and  warding  others  againft 
the  firit  approach  of  the  gulph  of  Intem- 
perance. 

There  were  artiits  who  profefied  to  re- 
pair the  breaches  and  Stop  the  leaks  of  the 
vcffels  which  had  been  Shattered  on  the 
rocks  of  Pleafure.  Many  appeared  to 
have  great  onfidence  in  their  Skill,  and 
-fome,.  nde-ed,  were  preferved  by  it  from 
z  finking* 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


finking,  who  had  received  only  a  fmgle 
blow ;  but  I  remarked,  that  few  veflels 
kited  long  which  had  been  much  repaired, 
nor  was  it  found  that  the  artifts  themfelves 
continued  afloat  longer  than  thofe  who  had 
leaft  of  their  aflirtance. 

The  only  advantage  whxh>  in  the  voyage 
of  Life,  the  cautious  had  above  the  neg- 
ligent, was,  that  they  funk  later,  and  more 
fuddenly;  for  they  parted  forward  till  they 
had  fometimes  feen  all  thofe  in  whofe  com- 
pany they  had  ifi'ued  from  the  ftreights  of 
Infancy,  perifh  in  the  way,  and  at  laft 
were  overfet  by  a  crofs  b.eeze,  without 
the  toil  of  refiftance,  or  the  anguifh  of  ex- 
pectation. But  fuch  as  had  often  fallen 
againft  the  rocks  of  Pieafure,  commonly 
ftibfided  by  feniibie  degrees,  contended  long 
with  the  encroaching  waters,  and  harafled 
themfelves  by  labours  that  fcarce  Hope 
herfelf  could  flatter  with  -fuccefs. 
•  As  I  was  looking  upon  the  various  fate 
of  the  multitude  about  me,  i  was  fuddenly 
alarmed  with  an  admonition  from  fome 
unknown  power,  *  Gaze  not  idiy  upon 
others  when  thou  thyfelf  art  linking. 
Whence  is  this  thoughtlefs  tranquillity, 
when  thou  and  they  are  equally  endan- 
gered ?'  I  looked,  and  feeing  the  gulph 
of  Intemperance  before  me,  ftarted  and 
awaked.  Rambler. 

§  3.  "The  Journey  of  a  Day,  a  Piilure  of 
Hujna/i  Life;  the  Story  of  Obidab. 

Obidah,  the  fon  of  Abenfina,  left  die 
earavanfera  early  in  the  morning,  and  pur- 
sued his  journey  through  the  plains  of  In- 
dolhn.  He  was  frefh  and  vigorous  with 
reft ;  he  was  animated  with  hope ;  he  was 
incited  by  defire ;  he  walked  fwiftly  for- 
ward over  the  vailies,  and  faw  the  hills 
gradually  rifing  before  him.  As  he  parted 
along,  his  ears  were  delighted  with  the 
morning  fong  of  the  bird  of  paradife,  lie 
was  fanned  by  the  laft  flutters  of  the  fink- 
ing breeze,  and  fprinkled  with  dew  by 
groves  of  fpices ;  he  fometimes  contem- 
plated the  towering  height  of  the  oak,  mo- 
narch of  the  hills ;  and  fometimes  caught 
the  gentle  fragrance  of  the  primrole,  eldeft 
daughter  of  the  fpring  :  all  his  fenfes  were 
gratified,  and  all  care  was  banifhed  from 
the  heart. 

Thus  he  went  on  till  the  fun  approached 
his  meridian,  and  the  increaling  heat  prey- 
ed upon  his  ftrength;  he  then  looked 
round  about  him  for  fome  more  commo- 
dious path.  He  faw,  on  his  right  hand, 
a  grove  that  feemed  to  wave  its  fhades  as 


a  ftgn  of  invitation  ;  he  entered  it,,  and 
found  the  coolnefs  and  verdure  in-efrftibby 
pleafant.  •  He  did  not  however,^  forget 
whither  he  was  travelling,  but  fouuG.  a 
narrow  way  bordered  with  hewers,  v  i  . 
appeared  to  have  the  fame  direction  with 
the  main  read,  and  was  pleafed  that,  by 
this  happy  experiment,  he  had  found  me:  s 
to  unite  pieafure  with  bufinefs,  and  to  gain 
the  rewards  of  diligence,  without  fufteri  ig 
its  fatigues.  He,  therefore,  ftill  continued 
to  walk  for  a  time,  without  the  leaft  re- 
mirtion  of  his  ardour,  except  t;:at  he ^ was 
fometimes  tempted  to  ftop  by  the  murtc  of 
the  birds,  whom  the  heat  had  aftembled  in 
the  fhade,  and  fometimes  amufed  mmlelf 
with  plucking  the  flowers  that  covered  thy 
banks  on  either  fide,  or  the  fiuits  that 
hung  upon  the  brancnes.  At  laft  the  green 
path  began  to  decline  from  its  hrft  ten- 
dency, and  to  wind  among  hills  and  thick- 
ets, cooled  with  fountains,  and  murmur- 
ing with  water-fails.  Here  Obiddh  paufed 
for  a  time,  and  began  to  conftder  whether 
it  were  longer  fate  to  forfake  the  known 
and  common  track  ;  but  remembering  that 
the  heat  was  now  in  its  greateft  violence, 
and  that  the  plain  was  dufty  and  uneven,  he 
refolved  to  purfue  the  new  path,  which  he 
fuppofed  only  to  make  a  few  meanders,  in 
compliance  with  the  varieties  of  the  ground, 
and  to  end  at  laft  in  the  common  road. 

Having  thus  calmed  his  iblicitude,  he 
renewed  his  pace,  though  he  fuipected  that 
he  was  not  gaining  ground.  This  uneafi- 
nefs  of  his  mind  inclined  him  to  lay  hold 
on  every  new  objeft,  and  give  way  to 
every  fenfation  that  might  footh  or  divert 
him.  He  liftened  to  every  echo,  he  mount- 
ed every  hill  for  a  frefh  profpecd,  he  turn- 
ed afide  to  every  cafcade,  and  pleafed  him- 
felf  with  tracing  the  courie  of  a  gentle  ri- 
ver that  rolled  among  the  trees,  and  wa- 
tered a  large  region  with  innumerable  cir- 
cumvolutions. In  thefe  amufements  die 
hours  patted  away  uncounted,  his  devia- 
tions had  perplexed  his  memory,  and  he 
knew  not  towards  what  point  to  travel. 
He  ftood  penfive  and  cenfufed,  afraid  to 
go  forward  left  he  fhould  go  wrong,  yet 
confeious  that  the  time  of  loite.ing  was 
now  part.  Whi.e  he  was  thus  tortuixd  with 
uncertainty,  the  fky  was  overiprcad  vyidi 
clouds,  the  day  vanifhed  from  before  him, 
and  a  fudden  'tempeft  gathered  round  hi* 
head.  He  was.  now  'routed  by  his  danger, 
to  a  quick  and  painful  remembrance  of  his. 
folly;  he  now  faw  hew  happinefs  is  loft, 
when  eafe  is  coniulted.j  he  lamented  the 
]3  ,  unmanly 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


unmanly  impatience  that  prompted  him  to 
feek  fhelter  in  the  grove,  and  defpifed  the 
petty  curio fity  that  led  him  on  from  trifle 
to  trifle.  While  he  was  thus  reflecting,  the 
air  grew  blacker,  and  a  clap  of  thunder 
broke  his  meditation. 

He  now  refolved  to  do  what  remained' 
yet  in  his  power ;  to  tread  back  the  ground 
which  he  had  pafted,  and  try  to  find  fome 
iffue  where  the  wood  might  open  into  the 
plain.  He  proftrated  himfelf  on  the  ground, 
and  commended  his  life  to  the  Lord  of 
nature.  He  rofe  with  confidence  and  tran- 
quillity, and  prefled  on  with  his  fabre  in  Jus 
hand,  for  the  hearts  cf  the  defert  were  in 
motion,  and  on  every  hand  were  heard  the 
mingled  howls  of  rage  and  fear,  and  ra- 
vage and  expiration ;  all  the  horrors  of 
darknefs  and  folitude  furrounded  him;  the 
winds  roared  in  the  woods,  and  the  torrents 
tumbled  from  the  hills. 
Work'd  into  fudden  rage  by  wint'ry  fhow'rs, 
Down  the  fteep  hill  ths  roaring  torrent  pours ; 
The  mountain  fhepherd  hears  the  diftant  noife. 

Thus  forlorn  and  diftrefTed,  he  wander- 
ed through  the  wild,  without  knowing 
whither  he  was  going,  or  whether  he  was 
every  moment  drawing  nearer  to  fafety  or 
to  deftrudlion.  At  length,  not  fear,  but 
labour,  began  to  overcome  him;  his  breath 
grew  fhort,  and  his  knees  trembled,  and 
he  was  on  the  point  of  lying  down  in  re- 
fignation  to  his  fate,  when  he  beheld 
through  the  brambles  the  glimmer  of  a 
taper.  He  advanced  towards  the  light, 
and  finding  that  it  proceeded  from  "the 
cottage  of  a  hermit,  he  called  humbly  at 
the  door,  and  obtained  admifiion.  The  old 
man  fet  before  him  fuch  proviiions  as  he 
had  collected  for  himfelf,  on  which  Obidah 
fed  with  eagernefs  and  gratitude. 

When  the  repaft  was  over,  <  Tell  me,' 
faid  the  hermit,  '  by  what  chance  thou  hall 
been  brought  hither;  T  have  been  now 
twenty  years  an  inhabitant  of  the  vvilder- 
nefs,  in  which  I  never  faw  a  man  before.' 
Obidah  then  related  the  occurrences  of  his 
journey,  without  any  concealment  or  pal- 
liation. 

'  Son,'  faid  the  hermit,  '  let  the  errors 
and  follies,  the  dangers  and  efcape  of  this 
day,  fink  deep  into  thy  heart.  Remem- 
ber, my  fon,  that  human  life  is  the  jour- 
ney of  a  day.  We  rife  in  the  morning  of 
youth,  full  of  vigour,  and  full  of  expecta- 
tion ;  we  fet  forward  with  fpirit  and  hope, 
with  gaiety  and  with  diligence,  and  travel 
on  a  while  in  the  ftrait  road  bf  piety  towards 
the  mamions  of  reft.     la  a  fhort  time  we 


remit  our  fervour,  and  endeavour  to  find 
fome  mitigation  of  our  duty,  and  fome 
more  eafy  means  of  obtaining  the  fame 
end.  We  then  relax  our  vigour,  and  re- 
folve  no  longer  to  be  terrified  with  crimes- 
at  a  diltance,  but  rely  upon  our  own  con- 
ftancy,  and  venture  to  approach  what  we 
refolve  never  to  touch.  We  thus  enter  the 
bowers  of  eafe,  and  repofe  in  the  fhades 
of  fecurity.  Here  the  heart  foftens,  and 
vigilance  fflbfides ;  we  are  then  willing  to 
enquire  whether  another  advance  cannot 
be  made,  and  whether  we  may  not,  at 
leaft,  turn  our  eyes  upon  the  gardens  of 
pleafure.  We  approach  them  with  fcruple 
and  hefitation ;  we  enter  them,  but  enter 
timorous  and  trembling,  and  always  hope 
to  pafs  through  them  without  loiing  the 
read  cf  virtue,  which  we,  for  a  while,  keep 
in  our  fight,  and  to  which  we  propofe  to 
return.  But  temptation  fucceeds  tempta- 
tion, and  one  compliance  prepares  us  for 
another ;  we  in  time  lofe  the  happinefs  of 
innocence,  and  folace  our  difquiet  with 
feniual  gratifications.  Ey  degrees  we  let 
fall  the  remembrance  of  our  original  in- 
tention, and  quit  the  only  adequate  object, 
cf  rational  defire.  We  entangle  ourfelves 
in  bufnefs,  immerge  ourfelves  in  luxury, 
and  rove  through  the  labyrinths  of  incon- 
ftancy,  till  the  darknefs  of  old  age  begins 
to  invade  us,  and  diieafe  and  anxiety  ob- 
ftruft  our  way.  We  then  look  back  upon 
our  lives  with  horror,  with  forrow,  with 
repentance ;  and  wifh,  but  too  often  vainly 
wifh,  that  we  had  not  forfaken  the  ways  of 
virtue.  Happy  are  they,  my  fon,  who  fhall 
kam  from  thy  example  not  to  defpair,  but 
ihall  remember,  that  though  the  day  is 
paft,  and  their  ftrength  is  wafted,  there  yet 
remains  one  effort  to  be  made;  that  re- 
formation is  never  hopelefs,  nor  fincere  en- 
deavours ever  unaffifted ;  that  the  wanderer 
may  at  length  return,  after  all  his  errors ; 
and  that  he  who  implores  ftrength  and  cou- 
rage from  above,  fhall  find  danger  and 
difficulty  give  way  before  him.  Go  now, 
my  fon.,  to  thy  repofe  ;  commit  thyfelf  to 
the  care  of  Omnipotence;  and  when  the 
morning  calls  again  to  toil,  begin  anew 
thy  journey  and  thy  life.'  Rathhler* 

§  4.  The  prefent  Life  to  he  conjidered  only  as 
it  may  conduce  to  the  Happinefs  cf  a  future 
one. 

A  lewd  young  fellow  feeing  an  aged  her- 
mit go  by  him  barefoot,  "Father,'"  fays 
he,  «  you  are  in  a  very  miferable  condiffi?n. 
if  there  is  not  another  world."     "  True, 

fon," 


BOCK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


ion,"  faid  the  hermit:  "  but  what  is  thy 
condition  if  there  is  ?'■ — Man*  is  a  creature 
defigned  for  two  different  ftates  of  being, 
or  rather,  for  two  diiferent  lives.  His  firit 
life  is  fhort  and  tranhent ;  his  fecond,  per- 
manent and  Jailing.  The  queftion  we  are 
all  concerned  in  is  this,  In  which  of  thofe 
two  lives  is  it  our  chief  intereft  to  make 
ourfelves  happy  ?  or,  in  other  words,  whe- 
ther we  mould  endeavour  to  fecure  to  our- 
felves the  pleafures  and  gratifications  of  a 
life  which  is  uncertain  and  precarious,  and, 
at  its  utmoft  length,  of  a  very  inconsider- 
able duration;  or  to  fecure  to  ourfelves  the 
pleafures  of  a  life  that  is  fixed  and  fettled, 
and  will  never  end  ?  Every  man,  upon  the 
firit  hearing  of  this  queftion,  knows  very 
well  which  iide  of  it  he  oughc  to  clofc  with. 
But  however  right  we  are  in  theory,  it  is 
plain  that,  in  practice,  we  adhere  to  the 
wrong  fide  of  the  queftion.  We  make  pro- 
vifions  for  this  life,  as  though  it  were  never 
to  have  an  end ;  and  for  the  other  life,  as 
though  it  were  never  to  have  a  beginning. 

Should  a  fpirit  of  fuperior  rank,  who  is 
a  ftranger  to  human  nature,  accidentally 
alight  upon  the  earth,  and  take  a  furvcy 
of  its  inhabitants,  what  would  his  notions 
of  us  be  ?  Would  not  he  think,  that  we  are 
a  fpecies  of  beings  made  for  quite  different 
ends  and  purpofes  than  what  we  really  are  ? 
Mult  not  he  imagine  that  we  were  placed 
in  this  world  to  get  riches  and  honours  ? 
Would  not  he  think  that  it  was  our  duty 
to  toil  after  wealth,  and  ltation,  and  title  ? 
Nay,  would  not  he  believe  we  were  for- 
bidden poverty  by  threats  of  eternal  pu- 
niihment,  and  enjoined  to  purfue  our  plea- 
fures under  pain  of  damnation  ?  He  would 
certainly  imagine,  that  we  were,  influenced 
by  a  fcheme  of  duties  quite  oppofite  to 
thofe  which  are  indeed  preferibed  to  us. 
And  truly,  according  to  fuch  an  imagina- 
tion, he  mult  conclude  that  we  are  a  fpecies 
of  the  molt  obedient  creatures  in  the  uni- 
verfe ;  that  we  are  confhnt  to  our  duty ; 
and  that  we  keep  a  iteady  eye  on  the  end 
for  which  we  were  fent  hither. 

But  how  great  would  be  his  aftonifh- 
ment,  when  he  learnt  that  we  were  beings 
not  defigned  to  exift  in  this  world  above 
threefcore  and  ten  years ;  and  that  the 
greatelt  part  of  this  bufy  fpecies  fall  fhort 
even  of  that  age !  How  would  he  be  loft 
in  horror  and  admiration,  when  he  lhould 
know  that  this  fet  of  creatures,  who  lay  out 
all  their  endeavours  for  this  life,  which 
fcarce  deferves  the  name  of  exiftence ; 
when,  I  fay,  he  fhould  know  thai  this  fet 


of  creatures  are  to  exift  to  all  eternity  in 
another  life,  for  which  they  make  no  pre- 
parations ?  Nothing  can  be  a  greater  dif- 
grace  to  reafon,  than  that  men,  who  are 
perfuaded  of  thefe  two  different  ftates  of 
being,  fhould  be  perpetually  employed  in 
providing  for  a  life  of  threefcore  and  ten 
years,  and  neglediing  to  make  provifion- 
for  that  which,  after  many  myriads  of 
years,  will  be  ftill  new,  and  ftill  beginning ; 
efpccially  when  we  confider  that  our  en- 
deavours for  making  ourfelves  great,  or 
rich,  or  honourable,  or  whatever  elfe  we 
place  our  happinefs  in,  may,  after  all,  prove 
unfuccelsful;  whereas,  if  we  conftantly  and 
fmcerely  endeavour  to  make  ourfelves  hap- 
py in  die  other  life,  we  are  fure  that  our 
endeavours  will  fucceed,  and  that  we  fhall 
.  not  be  difappointed  cf  our  hope. 

The  following  queftion  is  ttarted  by  one 
of  the  fchoolmen.  Suppofing  the  whole 
body  of  the  earth  were  a  great  ball  or  mafs 
of  the  fineft  fand,  and  that  a  fmgle  grain 
or  particle  of  this  fand  fhould  be  annihila- 
ted every  thoufand  years  :  Suppofing  then 
that  you  had  it  in  your  choice  to  be  happy 
all  the  while  this  prodigious  mafs  of  fand 
was  confuming  by  this  flow  method  till 
there  was  not  a  grain  of  it  left,  on  condi- 
tion you  were  to  be  miferable  for  ever  after ; 
or  fuppofing  you  might  be  happy  for  ever 
after,  on  condition  you  would  be  miferable 
till  the  whole  mafs  of  fand  were  thus  anni- 
hilated, at  the  rate  of  one  fand  in  a  thou- 
fand years  :  which  of  thefe  two  cafes  would 
you  make  your  choice  ? 

It  muft  be  confefled  in  this  cafe,  fo  many 
thoufands  of  years  are  to  the  imagination 
as  a  kind  of  eternity,  though  in  reality  they 
do  not  bear  fo  great  a  proportion  to  that 
duration  which  is  to  follow  them,  as  an 
unit  does  to  the  greateft  number  which 
you  can  put  together  in  figures,  or  as  one 
of  thofe  lands  to  the  fuppofed  heap.  Rea- 
fon therefore  tells  us,  without  any  manner 
of  hefitation,  which  would  be  the  better 
part  in  this  choice.  However,  as  I  have 
before  intimated,  our  reafon  might  in  fuch 
a  cafe  be  fo  overfet  by  the  imagination,  as 
to  difpofe  fome  perfons  to  fink  under  the 
confideration  of  the  great  length  of  the 
firft  part  of  this  duration,  and  of  the  great 
diftance  of  that  fecond  duration  which  is 
to  fucceed  it.  The  mind,  I  fay,  might 
give  itfelf  up  to  that  happinefs  which  is  at 
hand,  confidering  that  it  is  fo  very  near, 
and  that  it  would  laft  fo  very  long.  But 
when  the  choice  we  actually  have  before 
US  is  this,  whether  we  will  chufe  to  be 
B  4.  happy 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


happy  for  the  fpace  of  only  threefcore  and 
ten  years,  nay,  perhaps,  of  only  twenty  or 
ten  years,  I  might  fay,  of  only  a  day  or 
an  hour,  and  miferable  to  all  eternity;  or, 
on  the  contrary,  miferable  for  this  fhort 
term  of  years,  and  happy  for  a  whole 
eternity ;  what  words  are  fufficient  to  ex- 
prefs  that  folly  and  want  of  conhderation 
which  in  fuch  a  cafe  makes  a  wrong 
choice  ! 

I  here  put  the  cafe,  even  at  the  worft, 
by  fuppofmg  (what  feldom  happens)  that 
a  courie  of  virtue  makes  us  miferable  in 
tins  life ;  but  if  we  fuppofe  (as  it  gene- 
rally happens)  that  virtue  will  make  us 
more  happy,  even  in  this  life,  than  a  con- 
trary courfe  of  vice ;  how  can  we  fufhcient- 
ly  admire  the  ftupidity  or  madnefs  of  thole 
perfo':s  who  are  capable  of  making  fo  ab- 
iurd  a  choice  ! 

Every  wife  man,  therefore,  will  confider 
this  life  only  as  it  may  conduce  to  the  hap- 
pinefs  of  the  other,  and  chearfully  facrifice 
the  pleafures  of  a  few  years  to  thofe  of  an 
eternity.  SpeJIator. 

§  5 .  The  Advantages  of  a  good  Education. 

I  confider  an  human  foul  without  edu- 
cation like  marble  in  the  quarry,  which 
ihews  none  of  its  inherent  beauties,  until 
the  fkil}  of  the  poliiher  fetches  out  the  co- 
lours, makes  the  furface  ihine,  and  difco- 
vers  every  ornamental  cloud,  lpot,  and  vein, 
that  runs  through  the  body  of  it.  Educa- 
tion, after  the  fame  manner,  when  it  works 
upon  a  noble  mind,  draws  out  to  view  every 
latent  virtue  and  perfection,  which,  with- 
out fuch  helps,  are  never  able  to  make 
their  appearance. 

If  my  reader  will  give  me  leave  to 
change  the  ajlufion  fo  foon  upon  him,  I 
fhall  make  life  of  the  fame  inflance  to  il- 
lustrate the  force  of  education,  which  Arif- 
totle  has  brought  to  explain  his  doctrine 
of  fubftantial  forms,  when  he  tells  us  that 
a  itatue  lies  hid  in  a  block  of  marble  ;  and 
that  the  art  of  the  ftatuary  only  clears 
away  the  fuperfluous  matter,  and  removes 
the  rubbifh.  The  figure  is  in  the  Hone, 
and  the  fculptor  only'' rinds  it.  What  fculp- 
ture  is  to  a  block  of  marble,  education  is 
to  an  human  foul.  The  philofopher,  the 
faint,  or  the  hero,  the  wiie,  the  good,  or 
the  great  man,  very  often  lie  hid  and  con- 
cealed in  a  plebeian,  which  a  proper  edu- 
cation might  have  dif-interred,  and  have 
brought  to  light.  I  am  therefore  much 
delighted  witnr.  adiig  the. accounts  of  fa- 
vage  natior.s,  and  wiu  contemplating  thofe 


virtues  which  are  wild  and  uncultivated ; 
to  fee  courage  exerting  itfelf  in  fiercenefs, 
refolution  in  obflinacy,  wifdom  in  cunning, 
patience  in  fullennefs  and  defpair. 

Men's  paflions  operate  variously,  and 
appear  in  different  kinds  of  anions,  ac- 
cording as  they  are  more  or  lefs  rectified 
and  fwayed  by  reafon.  When  one  hears  of 
negroes,  who  upon  the  death  of  their  maf- 
ters,  or  upon  changing  their  fervice,  hang 
themfelves  upon  the  next  tree,  as  it  fre- 
quently happens  in  our  American  planta- 
tions, who  can  forbear  admiring  their  fide- 
lity, though  it  expreffes  itfelf  in  fo  dread- 
ful a  manner  ?  What  might  not  that  fa- 
vage  greatnefs  of  foul,  which  appears  in 
thefe  poor  wretches  on  many  occalions,  be 
raifed  to,  were  it  rightly  cultivated  ?  And 
what  colour  of  excufe  can  there  be  for  the 
contempt  with  which  we  treat  this  part  of 
ourfpecies;  that  we  mould  not  put  them 
upon  the  common  foot  of  humanity  ;  that 
we  Should  only  fet  an  iniignificant  fine  up- 
on the  man  who  murders  them  ;  nay,  that 
we  mould,  as  much  as  in  us  lies,  cut  them 
off  from  the  profpects  of  happinefs  in  ano- 
ther world,  as  well  as  in  this,  and  deny 
them  that  which  we  look  upon  as  the  pro- 
per means  for  attaining  it ! 

It  is  therefore  an  unfpeakable  bleffing 
to  be  born  in  thofe  parts  of  the  world 
where  wifdom  and  knowledge  flourilh ; 
though  it  mull  be  confeffed  there  are,  even 
in  tiide  parts,  feveral  poor  uninftructed 
perfons,  who  are  but  little  above  the  inha- 
bitants of  thofe  nations  of  which  I  have 
been  here  {peaking ;  as  thofe  who  have 
had  the  advantages  of  a  more  libera!  edu- 
cation, rife  above  one  another  by  feveral 
different  degrees  of  perfection.  For,  to 
return  to  our  ftatue  in  the  block  of  marble, 
we  fee  it  fome times  only  begun  to  be 
chipped,  fometimes  rough-hewn,  and  but 
jull  Sketched  into  an  human  figure;  fome- 
times we  fee  the  man  appearing  distinctly 
in  all  his  limbs  and  features :  fometimes  we 
find  the  figure  wrought  up  to  great  ele- 
gancy ;  but  feldom  meet  with  any  to 
which  the  hand  of  a  Phidias  or  a  Praxiteles 
could  rot  give  feveral  nice  touches  and 
finifhings.  Spectator. 

§  6.  The  Difadu  ant  ages  of  a  had  Educa- 
tion. 
Sir,  I  was  condemned  by  fome  difaf- 
trous  influence  to  be  an  only  ion,  born  to 
the  apparent  proipect  of  a  large  fortune, 
and  allotted  to  my  parents  at  that  time  of 
life  when  fatiety  of  common  diversions  al«, 

lows 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


lows  the  mind  to  indulge  parental  affec- 
tion with  greater  intenfenefs.  My  birth 
was  celebrated  by  the  tenants  with  feaits, 
and  dances,  and  bagpipes ;  congratulations 
were  Tent  fom  every  family  within  ten 
miles  round ;  and  my  parents  difco  vered, 
in  my  firft  cries,  fuch  tokens  of  future 
virtue  and  underftanding,  that  they  decla- 
red themfelves  determined  to  devote  the 
remaining  part  of  life  to  my  happinefs  and 
the  encreafe  of  their  eftate. 

The  abilities  of  my  father  and  mother 
were  not  perceptibly  unequal,  and  educa- 
tion had  given  neither  much  advantage 
over  the  other.  Tney  had  both  kept  good 
company,  rattled  in  chariots,  glittered  in 
playhoufes,  and  danced  at  court,  ana  were 
botn  expert  in  the  games  that  were  in  their 
times  called  in  as  auxiliaries  againft  the 
intrufion  of  thought. 

When  there  is  fuch  a  parity  between 
two  perfons  affociated  fo"  life,  the  dejec- 
tion which  the  hufband,  if  he  be  not  com- 
pletely llupid,  muft  always  fuffer  for  want 
of  luperiority,  finks  him  to  fubmiflivenefs. 
My  mamma  therefore  governed  the  family 
without  controul ;  and,  except  that  my  fa- 
ther {till  retained  fome  authority  in  the 
ftables,  and  now  and  then,  after  a  fuper- 
numerary  bottle,  broke  a  looking-glafs  or 
china-dim  to  prove  his  fovereignty,  the 
whole  courfe  of  the  year  vyas  regulated  by 
her  direction,  the  fervants  received  from 
her  all  their  orders,  and  the  tenants  were 
continued  or  difmiiled  at  her  difcretion. 

She  therefore  thought  herfelf  entitled  to 
the  fuperintendance  of  her  fon's  education  ; 
and  when  my  father,  at  the  inftigation  of 
the  parfon,  faintly  propofed  that  I  mould 
be  fent  to  fchool,  very  pofitively  told  him, 
that  lhe  would  not  fuffer  a  fine  child  to  be 
ruined ;  that  lhe  never  knew  any  boys  at 
a  graramar-fchool,  that  could  come  into 
a  room  without  blufhing,  or  fit  at  the 
table  without  fome  aukward  'uneafinefs ; 
that  they  were  always  putting  themfelves 
into  danger  by  boifterous  plays,  or  vitiat- 
ing their  behaviour  with  mean  company ; 
and  that,  for  her  part,  lhe  would  rather 
follow  me  to  the  grave,  than  fee  me  tear 
my  cloaths,  and  hang  down  my  head,  and 
fneak  about  with  dirty  fhoes  and  blotted 
fingers,  my  hair  unpowdered,  and  my  hat 
uncocked. 

My  father,  who  had  no  other  end  in  his 
propoial  than  to  appear  wife  and  manly, 
fpon  acquiefced,  fince  I  was  not  to  live  by 
my  learning;  for  indeed,  he  had  known 
very  few  Undents  that  had  not  feme  iliff- 


nefs  in  their  manner.  They  therefore 
agreed,'  that  a  domeffic  tutor  mould  be 
procured ;  and  hired  an  honeft  gentleman 
of  mean  converfation  and  narrow  fend- 
ments,  but  whom  having  palled  the  com- 
mon forms  of  literary  education,  they  im- 
plicitly concluded  qualified  to  teach  all  that 
was  to  be  learned  from  a  fcholar.  He 
thought  bimfelf  fufficiently  exalted  by 
being  placed  at  the  fame  table  with  his 
pupil,  and  had  no  other  view  than  to  per- 
petuate his  felicity  by  the  utmoft  flexibility 
of  iubmiflion  to  all  my  mother's  opinions 
and  caprices.  He  frequently  took  away 
my  book,  left  I  mould  mope  with  too  much 
application,  charged  me  never  to  write 
without  turning  up  my  raffles,  and  gene- 
rally brufhed  my  coat  before  he  difmiffed 
me  into  the  parlour. 

He  had  no  occafion  to  complain  of  to» 
burthenfome  an  employment ;  for  my  mo- 
ther very  judiciouily  confidered,  that  I 
v/as  not  likely  to  grow  politer  in  his  com- 
pany, and  fuffered  me  not  to  pafs  any 
mere  time  in  his  apartment  than  my  leflbn 
required.  When  I  was  fummoned  to  my 
tafk,  lhe  enjoined  me  not  to  get  any  of  my 
tutor's  ways,  who  was  feldom  mentioned 
before  me  but  for  practices  to  be  avoided. 
I  was  every  moment  admonilhed  not  to 
lean  on  my  chair,  crofs  my  legs,  or  fwing 
my  hands  like  my  tutor ;  and  once  my 
mother  very  feriouily  deliberated  upon  his 
total  difmiiiion,  becaufe  I  began,  lhe  faid, 
to  learn  his  manner  of  flicking  on  my  hat, 
and  had  his  bend  in  my  Ihoulders,  and  his 
totter  in  my  gait. 

Such,  however,  was  her  care,  that  I 
efcaped  all  thefe  depravities ;  and  when  I 
was  only  twelve  years  old,  had  rid  myfelf 
of  every  appearance  of  childifh  diffidence. 
I  was  celebrated  round  the  country  for  the 
petulance  of  my  remarks,  and  the  quick- 
nefs  of  my  replies  ;  and  many  a  fcholar 
five  years  older  than  myfelf,  have  I  dafh- 
ed  into  confufion  by  the  fteadinefs  of  my 
countenance,  filenced  by  my  readinefs  of 
repartee,  and  tortured  with  envy  by  the 
addrefs  with  which  I  picked  up  a  fan,  pre- 
fented  a  fnuff-box,  or  received  an  empty 
tea-cup. 

At  fourteen  I  was  compleatly  flailed 
in  all  the  niceties  of  drefs,  and  I  could 
not  only  enumerate  all  the  variety  of 
filks,  and  diltinguiih  the  product  of  # 
French  loom,  but  dart  my  eye  through 
a  numerous  company,  and  obierve  ev.iry 
deviation  from  the  reigning  mode.  I  was 
univerfally  fkilful  in  ail   tiie  changes  of 

expenuVe 


IO 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


expenfive  finery ;  but  as  every  one,  they 
fay,  has  fomething  to  which  he  is  parti- 
cularly born,  was  eminently  knowing  in 
Brufiels  lace. 

The  next  year  faw  me  advanced  to  the 
iruft  and  power  of  adjufting  the  ceremo- 
nial of  an  affembly.  All  received  their 
partners  from  my  hand,  and  to  me  every 
ftranger  applied  for  introduction.  My 
heart  now  diidained  the  inftruftions  of  a 
tutor;  wlio  was  rewarded  with  a  fmali  an- 
nuity for  life,  and  left  me  qualified,  in  my 
own  opinion,  to  govern  myfelf. 

In  a  fhort  time  I  came  to  London,  and 
as  my  father  was  well  known  among  the 
higher  clafies  of  life,  foon  obtained  ad- 
miffion  to  the  moll  fplendid  aiTemblies, 
and  moft  crowded  card-tables.  Here  I 
found  myfelf  univerfally  carefled  and  ap- 
plauded ;  the  ladies  praifed  the  fancy  of 
my  clothes,  the  beauty  of  my  form,  and 
the  foftnefs  of  my  voice ;  endeavoured  in 
every  place  to  force  themfelves  to  my  no- 
tice; and  invited,  by  a  thoufand  oblique 
folicitations,  my  attendance  to  the  play- 
houfe,  and  my  ialutations  in  the  Park.  I 
was  now  happy  to  the  utmoft  extent  of 
my  conception ;  I  palled  every  morning 
in  drefs,  every  afternoon  in  vifits,  and 
every  night  in  fome  felecT:  afiemblies,  where 
neither  care  nor  knowledge  were  fuftered 
to  moleft  us. 

After  a  few  years,  however,  thefe  de- 
lights became  familiar,  and  I  had  leifure 
to  look  round  me  with  more  attention.  I 
then  found  that  my  flatteiers  had  very  little 
power  to  relieve  the  languor  of  fatiety,  or 
recreate  wearinefs,  by  varied  amufernent; 
and  therefore  endeavoured  to  enlarge  the 
fphere  of  my  pleafures,  and  to  try  what 
/atisfaclion  might  be  found  in  the  fociety 
of  men.  I  will  not  deny  the  mortification 
with  which  I  perceived  that  every  man 
whole  name  J  had  heard  mentioned  with 
refpecL  received  me  with  a  kind  of  ten- 
derneis  nearly  bordering  on  compafhon ; 
and  that  thofe  whofe  reputation  was  not 
well  eftablilhed,  thought  it  neceflary  to 
juftify  their  underftandings,  by  treating 
me  with  contempt.  One  of  thefe  witlings 
elevated  his  creft,  by  afking  me  in  a  full 
coffee-houfe  the  price  of  patches:  and  ano- 
ther whifperedjthat  he  wondered  Mil's  Frifk 
did  not  keep  me  that  afternoon  to  watch 
her  ffjidrrel. 

Wnen  I  found  myfelf  thus  hunted  from 
all  mafeuline  converfation  by  thofe  who 
were  themfelves  barely  admitted,  I  return- 
ed to  the  ladies,  and  refcived  to  dedicate 


my  life  to  their  fervice  and  their  pleafure." 
But  J  find  that  I  have  now  loft  my  charms. 
Of  thofe  with  whom  I  entered  the  gay 
world,  fome  are  married,  fome  have  re- 
tired, and  fome  have  fo  much  changed 
their  opinion,  that  they  fcarcely  pay  any 
regard  to  my  civilities,  if  there  is  any  other 
man  in  the  place.  The  new  flight  of  beau- 
tics,  to  whom  I  have  made  my  addreffes, 
fuffer  me  to  pay  the  treat,  and  then  titter 
with  boys.  So  that  I  now  find  myfelf  wel- 
come only  to  a  few  grave  ladies,  who,  un- 
acquainted with  all  that  gives  either  ufe  or 
dignity  to  life,  are  content  to  pafs  their 
hours  between  their  bed  and  their  cards, 
without  eftcem  from  the  old,  or  reverence 
from  the  young. 

1  cannot  but  think,  Mr.  Rambler,  that 
I  have  reafon  to  complain  ;  for  furely  the 
females  ought  to  pay  fome  regard  to  the 
age  of  him  whofe  youth  was  pafied  in  en- 
deavours to  pleafe  them.  They  that  en- 
courage folly  in  the  boy,  have  no  right  to 
punifh  it  in  the  man.  Yet  I  find,  that 
though  they  laviih  their  frit  fondnefs  upon 
pertnefs  and  gaiety,  they  foon  transfer  their 
regard  to  other  qualities,  and  ungratefully 
abandon  their  adorers  to  dream  out  their 
lait  years  in  ftupidity  and  contempt. 

I  am,  Sec.  Florentulus, 
Rambler, 

§  7.  OmnifcienfC  and  Omniprefence  cf  the 
Deity,  together  with  the  bnmenjity  cf  his 
Works. 
I  was  yefterday,  about  fun-fet,  walking 
in  the  open  fields,  till  the  night  infenfibly 
fell  upon  me.  I  at  frit,  amufed  myfelf  with 
all  the  richnefs  and  variety  of  colours 
which  appeared  in  the  wefcern  parts  of 
heaven  :  in  proportion  as  they  faded  away 
and  went  out,  feveral  ftars  and  planets 
appeared  one  after  another,  till  the  whole 
firmament  was  in  a  glow.  The  bluenefs 
of  the  aether  was  exceedingly  heightened 
and  enlivened  by  the  feafon  of  the  year, 
and  the  rays  of  all  thofe  luminaries  that 
palled  through  it.  The  galaxy  appeared 
in  its  moft  beautiful  white.  To  complete 
the  fcene,  the  full  moon  rofe  at  length  in 
that  clouded  majefty  which  Milton  takes 
notice  cf.  and  opened  to  the  eye  a  new 
picture  of  nature,  which  was  more  finely 
{haded,  and  difpofed  among  fofter  lights, 
than  that  which  the  fun  had  before  difco- 
vered  to  us. 

As  I  was  furveying  the  moon  walking 
in  her  brightnefs,  and  taking  her  progrefs 
among  the  conftellations,  a  thought  arofe 

in 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


in  me,  which  I  believe  very  often  perplexes 
and  difturbs  men  of  ferious  and  contem- 
plative natures.  David  himfelf  fell  into 
it  in  that  reflexion,  '  When  I  ccnfider  the 

*  heavens  the  work  of  thy  fingers,  the  moon 
'  and  the  ftars  which  thou  haft  ordained, 

*  what  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of 
'  him,  and  the  fon  of  man  that  thou  re- 
'  gardeft  him  !'  In  the  fame  manner,  when 
I  confider  that  infinite  hoft  of  ftars,  or, 
to  fpeak  more  philofophically,  of  funs, 
which  were  then  mining  upon  me,  with 
thofe  innumerable  fetsof  planets  or  worlds, 
which  were  moving  round  their  refpective 
funs  ;  when  I  ftill  enlarged  the  idea,  and 
fuppofed  another  heaven  of  funs  and  worlds 
rifmg  ftill  above  this  which  we  difcovered, 
and  thefe  ftill  enlightened  by  a  fuperior 
firmamcrt  of  luminaries,  which  are  planted 
at  {o  great  a  diftance,  that  they  may  ap- 
pear to  the  inhabitants  of  the  former  as 
the  ftars  do  to  us ;  in  fhort,  while  I  pur- 
fued  this  thought,  I  could  not  but  reflect 
on  that  little  infignificant  figure  which  I 
myfelf  bore  amidft  the  immenfity  of  God's 
works. 

Were  the  fun,  which  enlightens  this 
part  of  the  creation,  with  all  the  hoft  of 
planetary  worlds  that  move  about  him,  ut- 
terly extinguiihed  and  annihilated,  they 
would  not  be  miffed,  more  than  a  grain 
of  fand  upon  the  fea-fhore.  The  fpace 
they  poffefs  is  fo  exceedingly  little  in  com- 
parifon  of  the  whole,  it  would  fcarce  make 
a  blank  in  the  creation.  The  chafm  would 
be  imperceptible  to  an  eye,  that  could 
take  in  the  whole  compafs  of  nature,  and 
pafs  from  one  end  of  the  creation  to  the 
other :  as  it  is  poffible  there  may  be  fuch  a 
fenfe  in  ourfelves  hereafter,  or  in  creatures 
which  are  at  prefent  more  exalted  than 
ourfelves.  We  fee  many  ftars  by  the  help 
of  glaffes,  which  we  do  not  difcover  with 
cur  naked  eyes ;  and  the  finer  our  telefcopes 
are,  the  more  ftill  are  our  difcoveries. 
Huygenius  carries  this  thought  fo  far,  that 
he  does  not  think  it  impoflible  there  may 
be  ftars  whofe  light  is  not  yet  travelled 
down  to  us  fince  their  firft  creation.  There 
is  no  queftion  but  the  univerfe  has  certain 
bounds  fet  to  it;  but  when  we  confider 
that  it  is  the  work  of  infinite  power, 
prompted  by  infinite  goodnefs,  with  an  in- 
finite^ fpace  to  exert  itfelf  in,  how  can  our 
imagination  fet  any  bounds  to  it  ? 

To  return,  therefore,  to  my  firft  thought, 
I  could  not  but  look  upon  myfelf  with  fe- 
cret  horror,  as  a  being  that  was  not  worth 
the  fmalleft  regard  of  one  who  had  fo  great 
a  work  under  ids   care   and    fuperinten- 


II 

dency.  I  was  afraid  of  being  overlooked 
amidft  the  immenfity  of  nature,  and  loft 
among  that  infinite  variety  of  creatures, 
which  in  all  probability  fwarm  through  all 
thefe  immeafurable  regions  of  matter. 

In  order  to  recover  myfelf  from  this 
mortifying  thought,  I  confidered  that  it 
took  its  rife  from  thofe  narrow  conceptions, 
which  we  are  apt  to  entertain  of  the  di- 
vine nature.  We  ourfelves  cannot  attend 
to  many  different  objects  at  the  fame  time. 
If  we  are  careful  to  infpeft  fome  things, 
we  muft  of  courfe  neglect  others.  This 
imperfection  which  we  obferve  in  ourfelves, 
is  an  imperfection  that  cleaves  in  fome  de- 
gree to  creatures  of  the  higheft  capacities, 
as  they  are  creatures,  that  is,  beings  of 
finite  and  limited  natures.  The  prefence 
of  every  created  being  is  confined  to  a 
certain  meafure  of  fpace^  and  confequent- 
ly  his  obfervation  is  ftinted  to  a  certain 
number  of  objects.  The  fphere  in  which 
we  move,  and  act,  and  underftand,  is  of 
a  wider  circumference  to  one  creature 
than  another,  according  as  we  rife  one 
above  another  in  the  fcale  of  exiftence. 
But  the  wideft  of  thefe  our  fpheres  has  its 
circumference.  When  therefore  we  reflect 
on  the  divine  nature,  we  are  fo  ufed  and 
accuftomed  to  this  imperfection  in  our- 
felves, that  we  cannot  forbear  in  fome  mea- 
fure afcribing  it  to  him  in  whom  there  is 
no  fhadow  of  imperfection.  Our  reafon 
indeed  affures  us,  that  his  attributes  are 
infinite  :  but  the  poornefs  of  our  concep- 
tions is  fuch,  that  it  cannot  forbear  letting 
bounds  to  every  thing  it  contemplates,  till 
our  reafon  comes  again  to  our  fuccour,  and 
throws  down  all  thofe  little  prejudices  which 
rife  in  us  unawares,  and  are  natural  to  the 
mind  of  man. 

We  fhall  therefore  utterly  extinguifh  this 
melancholy  thought,  of  our  being  over- 
looked by  our  Maker  in  the  multiplicity  of 
his  works,  and  the  infinity  of  thofe  ob- 
jects among  which  he  feems  to  be  incef- 
fantly  employed,  if  we  confider,  in  the  firft 
place,  that  he  is  omniprefent ;  and  in  the 
fecond,  that  he  is  omnifcient. 

If  we  confider  him  in  his  omniprefence : 
his  being  paffes  through,  actuates,  and  fup- 
ports  the  whole  frame  of  nature.  His  crea- 
tion, and  every  part  of  it,  is  full  of  him. 
There  is  nothing  he  has  made,  that  is 
either  fo  diftant,  fo  little,  or  fo  inconfider- 
able,  which  he  does  not  eflentially  inhabit. 
His  fubftance  is  within  the  fubftance  of 
every  being,  whether  material  or  immate- 
rial, and  as  intimately  prefent  to  it,  as  that 
being  is  to  itfelf.  It  would  be  an  imper- 
fection 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fection  in  him,  were  he  able  to  move  out 
of  one  place  into  another,  or  to  draw  him- 
ielffirom  anything  he  has  created,  or  from 
any  part  of  that  fpace  which  he  diftufed 
and  Spread  abroad  to  infinity.  In  fhort, 
to  fpeak  of  him  in  the  language  of  die  old 
philofophers,  he  is  a  being  whofe  centre 
is  every  where,  and  his  circumference  no 
where. 

In  the  fecond  place,  he  is  omnifcient  as 
well  as  omniprefent.  His  omnifcience  in- 
deed necefiarily  and  naturally  flows  from 
his  omniprefence.  He  cannot  but  be  con- 
scious of  every  motion  that  arifes  in  the 
whole  material  world,  which  he  thus  eflen- 
tially  pervades ;  and  of  every  thought  that 
is  furring  in  the  intellectual  world,  to  every 
part  of  which  he  is  thus  intimately  united. 
Several  moralists  have  confidered  the  crea- 
tion as  the  temple  of  God,  which  he  has 
built  with  his  own  hands,  and  which  is  filled 
with  his  prefence.  Others  have  confider- 
ed infinite  fpace  as  the  receptacle,  or  ra- 
ther the  habitation  of  the  Almighty  :  hut 
the  nobleft  and  moll  exalted  way  of  consi- 
dering this  infinite  fpace,  is  that  of  Sir  Iiaac 
Newton,  who  calls  it  the  fenjbrium  of  the 
Godhead.  Brutes  and  men  have  their  Jen- 
foriola,  or  little  fenforiums,  by  which  they 
apprehend  the  prefence  and  perceive  the 
actions  of  a  few  objects,  that  lie  contiguous 
to  them.  Their  knowledge  and  observa- 
tion turn  within  a  very  narrow  circle.  But 
as  God  Almighty  cannot  but  perceive  and 
know  every  thing  in  which  he  reiides,  infi- 
nite fpace  gives  room  to  infinite  knowledge, 
and  is,  as  it  were,  an  organ  to  omniSci- 
ence. 

Were  the  foul  feparate  from  the  bodv, 
and  with  one  glance  of  thought  mould 
ftart  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  creation, 
Should  it  for  million:,  of  years  continue  its 
progrefs  through  infinite  fpace  with  the 
fame  activity,  it  would  ftill  find  itfelf  within 
the  embrace  of  its  Creator,  and  encom- 
pafibd  round  with  the  immenfity  of  the 
Godhead.  While  we  are  in  the  body  he 
is  not  lefs  prefent  with  us,  becaufe  he  is' 
concealed  from  us.  '  Oh  that  I  knew  where 
'  I  might  find  him  !  (fays  Job.)  Behold 
'  I  co  forward,  but  he  is  not  there ;  and 
•backward,  but  I  cannot  perceive  him: 
'  on  the  left  hand,  where  he  does  work, 

•  but  I  cannot  beheld  him :  he  hideth  him- 

•  fclf  on  the  right  hand  that  I  cannot  fee 

•  him.'  In  fhort,  reafon  as  well  as  reve- 
lation, allures  us,  that  he  cannot  be  abfent 
from  us,  notwithstanding  he  is  undifcover- 
td  by  us. 


In  this  confideration  of  God  Almighty's 
omniprefence  and  omnifcience,  every  un- 
comfortable thought  vanishes.  He  cannot 
but  regard  every  thing  that  has  being,  ef- 
pecially  fuch  of  his  creatures  who  fear 
they  are  not  regarded  by  him.  He  is  privy 
to  all  their  thoughts,  and  to  that  anxiety  of 
heart  in  particular,  which  is  apt  to  trouble 
them  on  this  occafion;  for,  as  it  is  iiripoffi- 
blc  he  mould  overlook  any  of  his  crea- 
tures ;  fo  we  may  be  confident  that  he  re- 
gards, with  an  eve  of  mercy,  thofe  who 
endeavour  to  recommend  themfelves  to  his 
notice,  and  in  unfeigned  humility  of  heart 
think  themfelves  unworthy  that  he  Should 
be  mindful  of  them.  Spectator. 

§  S.  Motives  to  Piety  and  Virtue,  drawn  from 
the  Omnifcience  and  Omniprefence  of  the 
Deity. 

In  one  of  your  late  papers,  you  had  oc- 
cafion to  confider  the  ubiquity  of  the  God- 
head, and  at  the  fame  time  to  (hew,  that  as 
he  is  prefent  to  every  thing,  he  cannot 
but  be  attentive  to  every  tiling,  and  privy 
to  all  the  modes  and  parts  of  its  exiflence  : 
or,  in  other  words,  that  his  omnifcience  and 
omniprefence  are  co-exiftent,  and  run  to- 
gether through  the  whole  infinitude  of 
Space.  This  confideration  might  furnilh 
us  with  many  incentives  to  devotion,  and 
motives  to  morality;  but  as  this  fubjedl 
has  been  handled  by  feveral  excellent  wri- 
ters, I  (hall  confider  it  in  a  light  in  which 
I  have  not  feen  it  placed  by  others. 

Firft,  How  difconfolate  is  the  condition  of 
an  intellectual  being,  who  is  thus  prefent 
with  his  Maker,  but  at  the  fame  time  re- 
ceives no  extraordinary  benefit  or  advan- 
tage from  this  his  prefence  ! 

Secondly,  How  deplorable  is  the  condi- 
tion of  an  'intellectual  being,  who  feels  no 
other  effects  from  this  his  prefence,  but 
fuch  as  proceed  from  divine  wrath  and  in- 
dignation ! 

"Thirdly,  How  happy  is  the  condition 
of  that  intellectual  being,  who  is  fenfible 
of  his  Maker's  prefence  from  the  fecret 
effects  of  his  mercy  and  loving -kind- 
nefs ! 

Firft,  How  difconfolate  is  the  condition 
of  an  intellectual  being,  who  is  thus  pre- 
fent with  his  Maker,  but  at  the  fame  time 
receives  no  extraordinary  benefit  or  advan- 
tage from  this  his  prefence!  Every^ par- 
ticle of  matter  is  actuated  by  this  Almighty 
Being  widen  pafi'es  through  it.  The  hea- 
vens" and  the  eaith,  the  ftars  and  planets, 
move  and  gravitate  by  virtue  of  this  great 

princi; ' 


BOOK  ■  I. 


MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


1$ 


principle  within  them.  All  the  dead  parts 
of  nature  are  invigorated  by  the  pretence 
of  their  Creator,  and  made  capable  of 
exerting  their  refpective  qualities.  The 
feveral  inftincts,  in  the  brute  creation,  do 
likewife  operate  and  work  towards  the'  fe- 
veral ends  which  are  agreeable  to  them, 
by  this  divine  energy.  Man  only,  who 
does  not  co-operate  with  his  holy  fpirit., 
and  is  unattentive  to  his  prefence,  receives 
jione  of  thefe  advantages  from  it,  which 
are  perfective  of  his  nature,  and  ncceffary 
to  his  well-being.  The  divinity  is  with 
him,  and  in  him,  and  every  where  about 
him,  but  of  no  advantage  to  him.  It  is 
the  feme  thing  to  a  man  without  religion, 
as  if  there  were  no  God  in  the  world.  It 
is  indeed  hnpoflible  for  an  iniinite  Being  to 
remove  himfclf  from  any  of  his  creatures  ; 
•but  though  he  cannot  withdraw  his  eiTence 
from  us,  which  would  argue  an  imperfec- 
tion in  him,  he  can  withdraw  from  us  all 
the  joys  and  confolations  of  it.  His  pre- 
fence may  perhaps  be  neceffary  to  fupport 
us  in  our  exigence ;  but  he  may  leave  this 
our  exigence  to  itfelf,  with  regard  to  its 
happinefs  or  mifery.  For,  in  this  {eni'e,  he 
may  cait  us  away  from,  his  prefence,  and 
take  his  holy  fpirit  from  us.  This  fingle 
conhderaiion  one  would  think  fufficient  to 
make  us  open  our  iiearts  to  all  thofe  infu- 
fiGns  of  joy  and  gladnefs  which  are  fo  near 
at  hand,  and  ready  to  be  poured  in  upon 
us ;  efpecially  when  we  conhder,  Second- 
ly, the  deplorable  condition  of  an  intellec- 
tual being,  who  feels  no  other  effects  from 
his  Maker's  prefence,  but  fuch  as  proceed 
from  divine  wrath  and  indignation  ! 

We  may  allure  curfelves,  that  the  great 
Author  of  nature  will  not  always  be  as  one 
who  is  indifferent  to  any  of  his  creatures. 
Thofe  who  will  not  feel  him  in  his  love, 
will  be  fure  at  length  to  feel  him  in  his 
difpleafure.  And  how  dreadful  is  the  con- 
dition of  that  creature,  who  is  only  fenfible 
of  the  being  of  his  Creator  by  what  he 
■fuffers  from  him  !  He  is  as  effentially  pre- 
fent  in  hell  as  in  heaven ;  but  the  inhabi- 
tants of  thofe  accurfed  places  behold  him 
only  in  his  wrath,  and  ftirink  within  the 
flames  to  conceal  themielves  from  him. 
•It  is  not  in  the  power  of  imagination  to 
conceive  the  fearful  effects  of  Omnipo- 
tence incenfed. 

But  I  mail  only  confidar  the  wretched- 
Hefs  of  an  intellectual  being,  who,  in  this 
life,  lies  under  the  difpleafure  of  him,  that 
at  all  times,  and  in  all  places,  is  intimately 
united  with  him.     He  is  able  to  dHquiet 


the  foul,  and  vex  it  in  all  its  faculti--',-  He 
can  hinder  any  of  the  greateft  comforts  of 
life  from  refreshing  us,  and  give  an  edge 
to  every  one  of  its  flightelt  calamities. 
Who  then  can  bear  the  thought  of  being 
an  out-cart  from  his  prefence,  that  is,  from 
the  comforts  of  it,  or  of  feeling  it  only  in 
its  terrors  ?  How  pathetic  is  that  expoituT 
lation  of  Job,  when  for  the  real  trial  of  hi* 
patience,  he  was  made  to  look  upon  him- 
felf  in  this  deplorable  condition !  «  Why 
'  haft  thou  fet  me  as  a  mark  againft  thee, 
•  fo  that  I  am  become  a  burden  to  my- 
'  felf  ?'  But,  thirdly,  how  happy  is  the 
condition  of  that  intellectual  being,  who  i* 
fenfible  of  his  Maker's  prefence  from  th* 
fecret  effects  of  his  rnercy  and  loving- 
kindnefs ! 

The  bleffed  in  heaven  behold  him  face 
to  face,  that  is,  are  as  fenfible  of  his  pre- 
fence as  we  are  of  the  prefence  of  any  per* 
fon  whom  we  look  upon  with  our  eyes. 
There  is  doubtlefs  a  faculty  in  fpirits,  by 
which  they  apprehend  one  another,  as  our 
fenfes  do  material  objects ;  and  there  is  ho 
queftion  but  our  fouls,  when  they  are  dif- 
embodied,  or  placed  in  glorified  bodies,  will 
by  this  faculty,  in  whatever  part  of  fpace 
they  refide,  be  always  fenfible  of  the  di- 
vine prefence.  We,  who  have  this  veil  of 
fiefh  Sanding  between  us  and  the  world  of 
fpirits,  mult  be  content  to  know  the  fpirit 
of  God  is  prefent  with  us  by  die  effects 
which  he  produceth  in  us.  Our  outwar4 
fenfes  are  too  grofs  to  apprehend  him ;  we 
may  however  tafte  ajjd  fee  how  gracious  he- 
is,  by  his  influence  upon  our  miads,  .by 
thofe  virtuous  thoughts  which  he  awakens 
in  us,  by  thofe  fecret  comforts  and  refreih- 
ments  which  he  conveys  into  our  fouls.,  and 
by  thofe  ravifhing  joys  and  inward  fatis- 
ficlions  which  are  perpetually  fpringing 
up,  and  diffufmg  themfelves  among  all  ths 
thoughts  of  good  men.  .He  is  lodged  in 
our  very  effence,  and  is  as  a  foul  within 
the  foul,  to  irradiate  its  underftanding,  rec- 
tify its  will,  purify  its  paffions,  and  enliven 
all  the  powers  of  man.  How  happy  there- 
fore is  an  intebeflual  being,  who  by  prayer 
and  meditation,  by  virtue  and  good  works, 
opens  this  communication  between  God 
and  his  own  foul !  Though-the  whole  crea- 
tion frowns  upon  him,  and  all  Mature  looks 
black  about  him,  he  has  his  light  and  fup- 
port within  him,  that  are  able  to  c!  e-er  his 
mind,  and  bear  him  up  in  the  midft  of  all 
thofe  horrors  which  encamp  lis  Lim,  He 
knows  that  his  helper  is  at  hand,.,and  is 
always  nearer  to  ivim  than,  any  thing  elfe 

can 


H 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


can  br,  which  is  capable  of  annoying  or 
terrifying  him.  In  the  midft  of  calumny 
or  contempt,  he  attends  to  that  Being  who 
whifpers  better  things  within  his  foul,  and 
whom  he  looks  upon  as  his  defender,  his 
glory,  and  the  lifter-up  of  his  head.  In 
his  deepeft  fclitude  and  retirement,  he 
knows  that  he  is  in  company  with  the 
greateft  of  beings ;  and  perceives  within 
lumfelf  fuch  real  fenfations  of  his  prefence, 
as  are  more  delightful  than  any  thing  that 
can  be  met  with  in  the  converfation  of  his 
creatures.  Even  in  the  hour  of  death,  he 
confiders  the  pains  of  his  dilTolution  to  be 
nothing  elfe  but  the  breaking  clown  of  that 
partition,  which  Rands  betwixt  his  foul,  and 
the  fight  of  that  being  who  is  always  pre- 
fent  with  him,  and  is  about  to  manifeft  it> 
felf  to  him  in  fulnefs  of  joy. 

If  we  would  be  thus  happy,  and  thus 
fenhble  of  our  Maker's  prefence,  from  the 
fecret  effects  of  nis  mercy  and  goodnefs, 
we  mull  keep  fuch  a  watch  over  all  our 
thoughts,  that  in  the  language  of  the  fcrip- 
ture,  his  foul  may  have  pleafure  iir  us. 
•We  mtfft  take  care  not  to  grieve  his  holy 
fpirit,  and  endeavour  to  make  the  medita- 
tions of  our  hearts  always  acceptable  in 
his  fight,  that  he  may  delight  thus  to  refide 
and  dwell  in  us.  The  light  of  nature  could 
direct;  Seneca  to  this  doctrine,  in  a  very 
remarkable  paflage  among  his  epiftles; 
Saccr  incjl  in  nobis  Jpiritus,  bonorum  malor  urn- 
cue  cujlos  ct  olfewator ;  el  quemadmodum  nos 
ilium  trr.SIamus,  it  a  et  ilk  nos.  '  There  is 
c  a  holy  fpirit  refiding  in  us,  who  watches 

*  and  obferves  both  good  and  evil  men, 
c  and  will  treat  us  after  the  fame  manner 
«  that  we  treat  him.'  But  I  fhall  conclude 
this  difcourfe  with  thofe  more  emphatical 
words  in  divine  revelation ;  <  If  a  man  love 

*  me,  he  will   keep  my   words ;    and   my 

*  Father  will  love  him,  and  we  will  come 

*  unto   him,   and   make    our    abode   with 

*  him.'  Spectator. 

§  9.  On  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul. 

I  was  yeftcrday  walking  alone  in  one  of 
Jny  friend's  woods,  and  loft  myfelf  in  it 
very  agreeably,  as  I  was  running  over  in 
my  mind  the  feveral  arguments  that  efta- 
blifh  this  great  point,  which  is  the  bafis  of 
morality,  and  the  fource  of  all  the  pleafing 
hopes  and  fecret  joys  that  can  arife  in  the 
heart  of  a  reafonable  creature.  I  confi- 
dered  thofe  feveral  proofs  drawn, 

Firft:,  from  the  nature  of  the  foul  itfelf, 
and  particularly  its  immateriality  ;  which, 
though  not  abfolutely  neceftary  to  the  eter- 


nity of  its  duration,  has,  I  think,  been 
evinced  to  almoft  a  demonftrat-ion. 

Secondly,  from  its  paffions  and  fenti- 
ments,  as  particularly  from  its  love  of  ex- 
igence, its  horror  of  annihilation,  and  its 
hopes  of  immortality,  with  that  fecret  fa- 
tisfaetion  which  it  finds  in  the  practice  of 
virtue,  and  that  uneafmefs  which  follows  in 
it  upon  the  cornmifiion  of  vice. 

Thirdly,  from  the  nature  of  the  Supreme 
Being,  whofe  juftice,  goodnefs,  wifdom, 
and  veracity,  are  all  concerned  in  this 
point. 

But  among  thefe  and  other  excellent  ar- 
guments for  the  immortality  of  the  foul, 
there  is  one  drawn  from  the  perpetual  pro- 
grefs  of  the  foul  to  its  perfection,  without 
a  pofiibility  of  ever  arriving  at  it ;  which 
is  a  hint  that  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
feen  opened  and  improved  by  others  who 
have  written  on  this  fubject,  though  it 
feems  to  me  to  carry  a  very  great  weight 
with  it.  How  can  it  enter  into  the  thoughts 
of  man,  that  the  foul,  winch  is  capable  of 
fuch  imrnenfe  perfections,  and  of  receiving 
new  improvements  to  all  eternity,  fhall  fall 
away  into  nothing  almoft  as  foon  as  it  is 
created  ?  Are  fuch  abilities  made  for  no 
purpofe  ?  A  brute  arrives  at  a  point  of 
perfection  that  he  can  never  pafs  :  in  a  few 
years  he  has  all  the  endowments  he  is  ca- 
pable of;  and  were  he  to  live  ten  thoufand 
more,  would  be  the  fame  thing  he  is  at 
prefent.  Were  a  human  foul  thus  at  a 
ftand  in  her  accomplilhments,  were  her  fa- 
culties to  be  full  blown,  and  incapable  of 
farther  enlargements,  I  could  imagine  it 
might  fall  away  infenfibly,  and  drop  at 
once  into  a  ftate  of  annihilation.  But  can 
we  believe  a  thinking  being,  that  is  in  a 
perpetual  progrefs  cf  improvements,  and 
travelling  on  from  perfection  to  perfection, 
after  having  juft  looked  abroad  into  the 
works  of  its  Creator,  and  made  a  few  dif- 
coveries  of  his  infinite  goodnefs,  wifdom, 
and  power,  muft  perifh  at  her  firft  fetting 
out,  and  in  the  very  beginning  of  her  en- 
quiries ? 

A  man,  confidered  in  his  prefent  ftate, 
feems  only  fent  into  the  world  to  propagate 
his  kind.  He  provides  himfelf  with  a  fuc- 
cefTor,  and  immediately  quits  his  poft  to 
make  room  for  him. 


•Ha 


Haredtm  alter iusf  velut  unda  fupervenit  undam. 

Kor.  Ep.  ii.  1.  2.  v.  175* 

Heir  crowds  heir,  as  in  a  rolling  flood 
Wave  urges  wave.  Creech. 

x  He 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


1$ 


He  does  not  feem  born  to  enjoy  life,  but 
to  deliver  it  down  to  others.  This  is  not 
furprizing  to  coniider  in  animals,  which  are 
formed  for  our  ufe,  and  can  finiih  their 
bufmefs  in  a  fhort  life.  The  filk-worm, 
after  having  fpun  her  talk,  lays  her  eggs 
and  dies.  But  a  man  can  never  have 
taken  in  his  full  meafure  of  knowledge, 
has  not  time  to  fubdue  his  paffions,  efta- 
blifh  his  foul  in  virtue,  and  come  up  to  the 
perfection  of  his  nature,  before  he  is  hur- 
ried off  the  ftage.  Would  an  infinitely 
wife  being  make  fuch  glorious  creatures 
for  fo  mean  a  purpofe  ?  Can  h?  delight  in 
the  production  of  fuch  abortive  intelli- 
gences, fuch  fhort-lived  reasonable  beings  ? 
Would  he  give  us  talents  that  are  not  to  be 
exerted?  capacities  that  are  never  to  be 
gratified  t  How  can  we  find  that  wifdom 
which  mines  through  all  his  works,  in  the 
formation  of  man,  without  looking  on  this 
world  as  only  a  nurfery  for  the  next,  and 
believing  that  the  feveral  generations  of 
rational  creatures,  which  rife  up  and  difap- 
pear  in  fuch  quick  fucceffions,  are  only  to 
receive  their  firft  rudiments  of  exiitence 
here,  and  afterwards  to  be  tranfplanted 
into  a  more  friendly  climate,  where  they 
may  fpread  and  fiourifh  to  all  eternity  I 

There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  more 
pleafmg  and  triumphant  coniideration  in 
religion,  than  this  of  the  perpetual  progrefs 
which  the  foul  makes  towards  the  perfec- 
tion of  its  nature,  without  ever  arriving  at 
a  period  in  it.  To  look  upon  the  foul  as 
going  on  from  ftrength  to  nrength,  to  con- 
fider  that  fhe  is  to  fhine  for  ever  with  new 
acceffions  of  glory,  and  brighten  to  all 
eternity ;  that  fhe  will  be  (till  adding  vir- 
tue to  virtue,  and  knowledge  to  know- 
ledge; carries  in  it  fomething  wonderfully 
agreeable  to  that  ambition  which  is  natural 
to  the  mind  of  man.  Nay,  it  muft  be  a 
profpecf  pleafmg  to  God  himfelf,  to  fee  his 
Creation  for  ever  beautifying  in  his  eyes, 
and  drawing  nearer  to  him,  by  greater  de- 
grees of  refemblance. 

Methinks  this  fingle  coniideration,  of 
:he  progrefs  of  a  finite  fpirit  to  perfection, 
ivill  be  fufficient  to  extinguish  all  envy  in 
inferior  natures,  and  all  contempt  in  fupe- 
"ior.  That  cherubim,  which  now  appears 
9.S  a  God  to  a  human  foul,  knows  very 
■veil  that  the  period  will  come  about  in 
Eternity,  when  the  human  foul  fhai!  be  as 
serfect  as  he  himfelf  now  is :  nay,  when  (he 
ball  look  down  upon  that  degree  of  par- 
action  as  much  as  fhe  now  falls  fhort  of  it. 
It  is  true,  the  higher  nature  ftill  advances, 


and  by  that  means  preferves  his  diftanee 
and  fuperiority  in  the  fcale  of  being ;  but 
he  knows  that,  how  high  foever  the  fhtion 
is  of  which  he  ftands  poflefled  at  prefent, 
the  inferior  nature  will  at  length  mount  up 
to  it,  and  fhine  forth  in  the  fame  degree  of" 
glory. 

With  what  aftonifhment  and  veneration 
may  we  look  into  our  own  fouls,  where 
there  are  fuch  hidden  flores  of  virtue  and 
knowledge,  fuch  inexhaulted  fources  of 
perfection !  We  know  not  yet  what  we  (hall 
be,  nor  will  it  ever  enter  into  the  heart  of 
man  to  conceive  the  glory  that  will  be  al- 
ways in  referve  for  him.  The  foul,  confi- 
dered  with  its  Creator,  is  like  one  of  thofe 
mathematical  lines  that  may  draw  nearer 
to  another  for  all  eternity  without  a  pofft- 
bility  of  touching  it :  and  can  there  be  a 
thought  fo  tranfporting  as  to  coniider  our- 
felves  in  thefe  perpetual  approaches  to  him, 
who  is  not  only  the  ftandard  of  perfection, 
but  of  happinefs  !  Spectator. 

§  10.  The    Duty    of  Children    to  their 
Parents. 

I  am  the  happy  father  of  a  very  toward- 
ly  fon,  in  whom  I  do  not  only  fee  my  life, 
out  alfo  my  manner  of  life  renewed.  It 
would  be  extremely  beneficial  to  fociety, 
if  you  would  frequently  refume  fubjefts 
which  ferve  to  bind  thefe  fort  of  relations 
falter,  and  endear  the  ties  of  blood  with 
thofe  of  good-will,  protection,  obfervance, 
indulgence,  and  veneration.  I  would,  me- 
tiunks,  have  this  done  after  an  uncommon 
method ;  and  do  not  think  any  one,  who  is 
not  capable  of  writing  a  good  play,  fit  to 
undertake  a  work  wherein  there  will  ne- 
ceffarily  occur  fo  many  fecret  inftinfts  and 
biafles  of  human  nature,  which  would  pafs 
unobferved  by  common  eyes.  I  thank 
Heaven  I  have  no  outrageous  offence  againft 
my  own  excellent  parents  to  anfwer  for ; 
but  when  I  am  now  and  then  alone,  and 
look  back  upon  my  paft  life,  from  my  ear- 
lieft  infancy  to  this  time,  there  are  many 
faults  which  I  committed  that  did  not  ap- 
pear to  me,  even  until  I  myfelf  became  a 
father.  I  had  not  until  then  a  notion  of 
the  yearnings  of  heart,  which  a  man  has 
when  he  fees  his  child  do  a  laudable  thing,, 
or  the  fudden  damp  which  feizes  him  when 
he  fears  he  will  ad  fomething  unworthy. 
It  is  not  to  be  imagined  what  a  remorfe 
touched  me  foralon-;-  train  of  cri.'difnneP■- 
ligences  or  my  mctner,  v/nen  I  raw  my 
wife  the  other  day  look  out  of  the  window,, 
and  turn  a;  pale  as  afhes  upon  feeing  my 

younger 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


younger  boy  Aiding  upon  the  ice.     Thefe 
flight  intimations  will  give  you  to  under- 
hand, that  there  are  numberlefs  little  crimes, 
which  children  take  no  notice  of  while  they 
are   doing,  which,    upon   reflexion,  when 
they  mail  themfelves  become  fathers,  they 
will  look  upon  with  the  utmoft  forrow  and 
contrition,  that  they  did  not  regard,  before 
thofe  whom  they  offended  were  to  be  no 
more  {een.      How  many  thoufand  things 
do  I  remember,  which  would  have  highly 
pleafed  my  father,  and  I  omitted  for  no 
other  reafon  but  that  I  thought  what  he 
propofed  the  effetl  of  humour  and  old  age, 
which  I  am  now  convinced  had  reafon  and 
good  fenfe  in  it !  I  cannot  now  go  into  the 
parlour  to  him,  and  make  his  heart  glad 
with  an  account  of  a  matter  which  was  of 
no  confequence,  but  that  I  told  it  and  acted 
in  it.     The  good  man  and  woman  are  long 
fince  in  their  graves,  who  ufed  to  fit  and 
plot  the  welfare  of  us  their  children,  while, 
perhaps,  we  were  fometimes  laughing  at 
the  old  folks  at  another  end  of  the  houfe. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  were  we  merely  to  fol- 
low nature    in  thefe  great  duties  of  life, 
ihough  we  have  a  ftrong  inftincl  towards 
the  performing  of  them,  we  mould  be  on 
both  fides  very  deficient.     Age  is  fo  un- 
welcome to  the  generality  of  mankind,  and 
jrrowth  towards  manhood   fo  defirable  to 
all,  that  refignation  to  decay  is  too  difficult 
a  taflc  in  the  father  ;  and  deference,  amidit 
"the  impulfe  of  gay  defires,  appears  unrea- 
sonable to  the  fon.     There  are  fo  few  who 
can  grow  old  with  a  good  grace,  and  yet 
fewer  who  can  come  flow  enough  into  the 
world,  that  a  father,  were  he  to  be  actuated 
by  his  defires,  and  a  fon,  were  he  to  con- 
fult  himfelf  only,  could  neither  of  them  be- 
have himfelf  as    he   ought   to  the  other. 
But  when  reafon  interpofes  againit  inftinct, 
where  it  would  carry  either  out  of  the  in- 
terefls  of  the  other,  there  arife.s  that  hap- 
.pielt  intercourfe   of  good  offices  between 
thofe  deareit  relations  of  human  life.     The 
father,  according  to  the  opportunities  which 
are  offered  to  him,  is  throwing  down  blef- 
fings  on  the  fon,  and  the  fon  endeavouring 
to  app^i'  the  worthy  offspring  of  fuch  a 
father.     It  is  after  this  manner  that  Ca- 
millus   and  his  firft-born   dwell    together. 
Camillas  enjoys  a  pleafing  and  indolent  old 
aire,  in  which  pailion  is  fubdued  and  rea- 
fon exalted.     He  waits  the  day  of  his  dif- 
folutian  with  a  refignation  mixed  with  de- 
light, and    the  fon   fears"  the  acceffion'of 
his  father's  fortune  with  diffidence,  left  he 
mould  not  enjoy  or  become  it  as  well  as 


his  predeceffor.  Add  to  this,  that  the  fa- 
ther knows  he  leaves  a  friend  to  the  chil- 
dren of  his  friends,  an  eafy  landlord  to  his 
tenants,  and  an  agreeable  companion  to 
his  acquaintance.  He  believes  his  fon's 
behaviour  will  make  him  frequently  re- 
membered, but  never  wanted.  This  com- 
merce is  fo  well  cemented,  that  without 
the  pomp  of  faying,  Son,  be  a  friend  to 
fuch  a  one  when  I  am  gone ;  Camillas 
knows,  being  in  his  favour  is  direction 
enough  to  the  grateful  youth  who  is  to 
fucceed  hbn,  without  the  admonition  of  his 
mentioning  it.  Thefe  gentlemen  are  ho- 
noured in  ail  their  neighbourhood,  and 
the  fame  effect  which  the  court  has  on  the 
manners  of  a  kingdom,  their  characters 
have  on  all  who  live  witlvin  the  influence 
of  them. 

My  fon  and  I  are  not  of  fortune  to 
communicate  our  good  actions  or  inten- 
tions to  fo  many  as  thefe  gentlemen  do ; 
but  I  will  be  bold  to  fay,  my  fon  has,  by 
the  applaufe  and  approbation  which  his 
behaviour  towards  me  has  gained  him, 
occafioned  that  many  an  old  man,  befides 
myfelf,  has  rejoiced.  Other  men's  chil- 
dren  follow  the  example  of  mine ;  and  I 
have  the  inexpreffible  happinefs  of  over- 
hearing our  neighbours,  as  we  ride  by, 
point  to  their  children,  and  fay,  with  a1 
voice  of  joy,  "  There  they  go." 

Spectator. 

§11.  The  Strength  of  parental  AffeBion. 
I  went  the  other  day  to  vifit  Eliza,  who, 
in  the  perfect:  bloom  of  beauty,  is  the  mo- 
ther of  feveral  children.     She  had  a  little 
prating  girl  upon  her  lap,  who  was  beg- 
ging to  be  very  fine,  that  fhe  might  go 
abroad  ;  and  the  indulgent  mother,  at  her  ■ 
little  daughter's  requefl,  had  juit  taken  the  j 
knots  off  her  own  head  to  adorn  the  hair  of  i 
the  pretty  trifler.     A  fmiling  boy  was  at; 
the  fame  time  carefling  a  lap-dog,  which  is. 
their  mother's  favourite,  becaufe  it  pleafes  . 
the  children:   and  fhe,  with  a  delight  in; 
her  looks,  which  heightened  her  beauty,  fo 
divided  her  converfation  with  the  two  pret- 
ty prattlers,  as  to  make  them  both  equally 
chearful. 

As  I  came   in,  fhe  faid  with    a    blnti, 
«  Mr.   Ironfide,  though    you    are    an    old 
batchelor,  you  mult  not  laugh  at  my  ten-  i 
dernefs  to  my  children.'     I  need  not^tell: 
my  reader  what  civil  things  I  faid  in  anfwer  i 
to  the  lady,  whofe  matron-like  behaviour 
gave  me  infinite  fatisfa&ion :  fince  I  my- 
felf take  great  ple-afure   in  playing  with 

child  ren> , 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


*7 


jthildren,  and  am  feldom  unprovided  of 
plums  or  marbles,  to  make  my  court  to 
fuch  entertaining  companions. 

Whence  is  it,  faid  I  to  my felf  when 
•I  was  alone,  that  the  affeftion  of  parents 
is  fo  intenfe  to  their  offspring  ?  Is  it  be- 
caufe  they  generally  find  fuch  refemblan- 
Sces  in  what  they  have  produced,  as  that 
'thereby  they  think  themfelves  renewed 
!in  their  children,  and  are  willing  to  tranf- 
imit  themfelves  to  future  times  ?  or  is  it  be- 
caufe  they  think  themfelves  obliged  by  the 
diftates  of  humanity  to  nouriih  and  rear 
what  is  placed  fo  immediately  under  their 
protection;  and  what  by  their  means  is 
brought  into  this  world,  the  fcene  of  mi- 
sery, of  neceffity  ?  Thefe  will  not  come  up 
'to  it.  Is  it  not  rather  the  good  provi- 
dence of  that  Being,  who  in  a  fupereminent 
:degree  protefts  and  cherifhes  the  whole 
face  of  mankind,  his  fons  and  creatures  ? 
'How  lhall  we,  any  other  way,  account  for 
this  natural  affection,  fo  fgnally  difplayed 
[throughout  every  fpecies  of  the  animal 
creation,  without  which  the  courfe  of  nature 
[would  quickly  fail,  and  every  various  kind 
pe  extindt  r  Inftances  of  tendernefs  in  the 
imoft  favage  brutes  are  fo  frequent,  that 
quotations  of  that  kind  are  altogether  un- 
Bieceflary. 

If  we,  who  have  no  particular  concern 
in  them,  take  a  fecret  delight  in  obferving 
the  gentle  dawn  of  reafon  in  babes ;  if  our 
ears  are  foothed  with  their  half-forming 
-and  aiming  at  articulate  founds ;  if  we  are 
charmed  with  their  pretty  mimickry,  and 
ifurprifed  at  the  unexpected  ftarts  of  wit  and 
cunning  in  thefe  miniatures  of  man  :  what 
ftranfport  may  we  imagine  in  the  breafts  of 
thofe,  into  whom  natural  inftincT:  hath 
poured  tendernefs  and  fondnefs  for  them  ! 
how  amiable  is  fuch  a  weaknefs  of  human 
Inature  !  or  rather,  how  great  a  weaknefs 
is  it  to  give  humanity  fo  reproachful  a 
•name !  The  bare  consideration  of  pa- 
ternal affedtion  mould,  methinks,  create  a 
imore  grateful  tendernefs  in  children  to- 
wards their  parents,  than  we  generally  fee  ; 
land  the  filent  whifpers  of  nature  be  at- 
tended to,  though  the  laws  of  God  and  man 
did  not  call  aloud. 

Thefe  filent  whifpers  of  nature  have 
pad  a  marvellous  power,  even  when 
pieir  caufe  hath  been  unknown.  There 
'are  feveral  examples  in  ftory,  of  tender 
iriendfhips  formed  betwixt  men,  who  knew 
not  of  their  near  relation  :  Such  accounts 
Confirm  me  in  an  opinion  I  have  long  en- 
tertained, that  there  is  a  fympathy  betwixt 


fouls,  which  cannot  be  explained  by  the> 
prejudice  of  education,  the  fenfe  of  duty,  or 
any  other  human  motive. 

The  memoirs  of  a  certain  French  noble- 
man, which  now  lie  before  me,  furnifh  me 
with  a  very  entertaining  inftance  of  this 
fecret  attraction,  implanted  by  Providence 
in  the  human  foul.  It  will  be  neceilary  to 
inform  the  reader,  that  the  perfon  whofe 
ftory  I  am  going  to  relate,  was  one,  whofe 
roving  and  romantic  temper,  joined  to  a 
difpofition  Angularly  amorous,  had  led  him 
through  a  vaft  variety  of  gallantries  and 
amours.  He  had,  in  his  youth,  attended  a 
princefs  of  France  into  Poland,  where  he 
had  been  entertained  by  the  King  her  huf- 
band,  and  married  the  daughter  of  a  gran- 
dee. Upon  her  death  he  returned  into  his 
native  country ;  where  his  intrigues  and 
other  misfortunes  having  confuined  his  pa- 
ternal eftate,  he  now  went  to  take  care  of 
the  fortune  his  deceafed  wife  had  left  hint 
in  Poland.  In  his  journey  he  was  robbed 
before  he  reached  Warfaw,  and  lay  ill  of  a 
fever,  when  he  met  with  the  following  ad- 
venture ;  which  I  fhall  relate  in.  his  own 
words. 

"  I  had  been  in  this  condition  for  four 
days,  when  the  counters  of  Venofki  pa/Ted 
that  way.  She  was  informed  that  a  ftran- 
ger  of  good  fafhion  lay  fick,  and  her  cha- 
rity led  her  to  fee  me.  I  remembered  her, 
for  I  had  often  feen  her  with  my  wife,  to 
whom  fhe  was  nearly  related ;  but  when  I 
found  fhe  knew  me  not,  I  thought  fit  to 
conceal  my  name.  I  fold  her  I  was  a  Ger- 
man ;  that  I  had  been  robbed ;  and  that  if 
fhe  had  the  charity  to  fend  me  to  Warfaw, 
the  queen  would  acknowledge  it,  I  having 
the  honour  to  be  known  to  her  Majefty. 
The  countefs  had  the  goodnefs  to  take 
companion  of  me,  and  ordering  me  to  be 
put  in  a  litter,  carried  me  to  Warfaw,  where 
I  was  lodged  in  her  houfe  until  my  health, 
fhould  allow  me  to  wait  on  the  queen. 

"  My  fever  increafed  after  my  journey 
was  over,  and  I  was  confined  to  my  bed  for 
fifteen  days.  When  the  countefs  firft  faw 
me,  fhe  had  a  young  lady  with  her,  about 
eighteen  years  of  age,  who  was  much 
taller  and  better  fhaped  than  the  Polifh 
women  generally  are.  She  was  very  fair, 
her  fkin  exceedingly  fine,  and  her  air  and 
fhape  inexpreffibly  beautiful.  I  v/;\s  not  fo 
fick  as  to  overlook  this  young  beauty  ;  and 
I  felt  in  my  heart  fuch  emotions  at  the  firfl 
view,  as  made  me  fear  that  all  my  misfor- 
tunes had  not  armed  me  fufiiciently  againft 
the  charms  of  the  fair  lex, 

C  <<  The 


1§ 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


"  The  amiable  creature  feemed  afiiicled 
at  my  ficknefs ;  and  fhe  appeared  to  have 
fo  much  concern  and  care  for  me,  as  raifed 
in  me  a  great  inclination  and  tendernefs  for 
her.  She  came  every  day  into  my  chamber 
to  inquire  after  my  health;  I  afked  who  fhe 
was,  and  I  was  anfwered,  that  fhe  was  niece 
to  the  countefs  of  Venolki. 

"  I  verily  believe  that  the  conflant  fight 
cf  tliis  charming  maid,  and  the  pleafure  I 
received  from  her  careful  attendance,  con- 
tributed more  to  my  recovery  than  all  the 
medicines  the  nhyficians  gave  me.  In  fhort, 
ir.y  fever  left  me,  and  I  had  the  fatisfadtion 
to  fee  the  lovely  creature  overjoyed  at  my 
recovery.    She  came  to  fee  me  oftener  as  I 


my  own  features,  and  at  that  moment  I 
faid  to  myfelf,  Are  not  thefe  my  children? 
The  tears  came  into  my  eyes,  and  I  was, 
about  to  run  and  embrace  them  ;  but  con- 
itraining  myfelf  with  pain,  I  afked  whofe 
piclure  it  was  ?  The  maid,  perceiving 
that  I  could  not  fpeak  without  tears,  fell  a 
weeping. .  Ker  tears  abfolutely  confirmed 
me  in  my  opinion  ;  and  falling  upon  her 
neck,  <  Ah,  my  dear  child,'  faid  I,  <  yes,  I 
'  am  your  father  !'  I  could  fay  no  more. 
The  youth  feized  my  hands  at  the  fame 
lime,  and  kiffing,  bathed  them  with  his 
tears.  Throughout  my  life,  I  never  felt  a 
joy  equal  to  this ;  and  it  muft  be  owned, 


,.  ~     thaf.  nature  infpires  more  lively  emotions 

grew  better ;  and  I  already  felt  a  ftronger  .  and  pleafmg  tendernefs    than  the  paffions 
more  tender  afteaion  for  her,  than  I     can  pollibly  excite."  Speaator. 


ever  bcrc  to  any  woman  in  my.  life .:  when 
I  began  to  perceive  that  her  conflant  care 
.  cf  me  was  only  a  blind,  to  give  her  an 'op- 
'  portunity  of  feeing'  a  young  Pole  whom  I 
took  to  be  her  lover.  He  feemed  to  be 
much  about  her  age,  of  a  brown  complex- 
ion, very  tall,  but  finely  fhaped.  Every 
time  fhe  came  to  fee  me,  the  young  gentle- 
man came  to  find  her  out;  and  they  ufualiy 
retired  to  a  corner  of  the  chamber,  where 
they  feemed  to  converfe  with  great  earner! - 
tiefs.  The  afpecl  of  the  youth  pieafed  me 
wonderfully ;  and  if  I  had  not  fuipected 
that  he  was  niy  rival,  I  mould  have  taken 
delight  in  his  perfon  and  friendfliip. 

"  They  both  of  them  often  afked  me  if 
I  were  in  reality  a  German?  which  when  I 
continued  to  affirm,  they  feemed  very  much 
troubled.  One  day  I  took  notice  that  the 
young  lady  and  gentleman,  having  retired 
to  a  window,  were  very  intent  upon  a  pic- 
ture;  and  that  every  now  and  then  they 
cad  their  eyes  upon  me,  as  if  they  had 
found  forne  refemblance  betwixt  that  and 
my  features.  I  could  not  forbear  to  aft 
the  meaning  of  it ;  upon  which  the  lady  an- 
fwered  that  if  I  had  been  a-Frenchman, 
Ihe  fhould  have  imagined  that  I  was  the 
perfon  for  whom  the  pidlure  was  drawn,  be- 
caufe  it  exactly  refembled  me.  I  defircd 
to  fee  it.  But  how  great  was  my  furprife, 
when  I  found  it  to  be  the  very  painting 
which  I  had  fent  to  the  queen  five  years  be- 
fore, and  which  fhe  commanded  me  to  get 
drawn  to  be  given  to  my  children  !  After 
1  had  viewed  the  piece,  I  cafe  my  eyes 
upon  the  young  lady,  and  then  upon  the 
gentleman  I  had  thought  to  be  her  lover. 
My  heart  bear,  and  I  felt  a  fecret  emotion 
which  filled  me  with  wonder.  I  thought  I 
traced  in  the  two  you::&  perform  fame  of 


§  12.  Remarks  on  the  Siuiftiiefs  of  Time. 

The  natural  advantages  which  arife 
from  the  poation  of  the  earth  which  we 
inhabit,  with  refpecl:  to  the  other  planets, 
afford  much  employment  to  mathematical 
fpeculation,  by  which  it  has  been  difcovered, 
that  no  other  conformation  of  the  fyftem 
could  havegiven  fuch  commodious  diftribu- 
tions  of  light  and  heat,  or  imparted  ferti- 
lity and  pleafure  to  {o  great  a  part  of  a 
revolving  fphere. 

It  may  be  perhaps  obferved  by  the  mo- 
ralift,  with  equal  reaibn,  that  our  globe 
feems  particularly  fitted  for  the  refidence 
of  a  Being,  placed  here  only  for  a  fhort 
time,  whofe  talk  is  to  advance  himfelf 
to  a  higher  and  happier  ftate  of  exiftence, 
by  unremitted  vigilance  of  caution,  and 
activity  of  virtue. 

The.  duties  required  of  man  are  fuch 
as  human  nature  does  not  willingly  per- 
form, and  fuch  as  thofe  are  inclined  to  de- 
lay who  yet  intend  fome  time  to  fulfil 
them.  It  was  therefore  neceffary  that  this 
univenal  reluctance  fhould  be  counteracted, 
and  the  drowfmefs  of  hefitation  wakened 
into  refclve ;  that  the  danger  of  procraf- 
tination  fhould  be  always  in  view,  and  the 
fallacies  of  fecurity  be  hourly  detedled. 

To  this  end  all  the  appearances  of  na- 
ture uniformly  confpire.  Whatever  we 
fee  on  every  fide,  reminds  us  of  the  lapfe 
of  time  and  the  flux  of  life.  The  day  a'nd 
night  fucceed  each  other,  the  rotation  of 
feafons  diverfifies  the  year,  the  fun  rifes, 
attains  the  meridian,  declines  and  fets ; 
and  the  moon  every  night  changes  ite 
form. 

The   day  has   been   confidered   as   an 

i;r :?.(rc  of  the  year,  and  a  year  as  the  repre- 

?  fentation 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


*9 


testation  of  life.  The  morning  anfwers 
to  the  fpring,  and  the  fpring  to  childhood 
fend  youth;  the  noon  corresponds  to  the 
fummer,  and  the  fummer  to  the  ftrength 
of  manhood.  The  evening  is  an  emblem 
of  autumn,  and  autumn  of  declining  life. 
The  night  with  its  filence  and  darknefs 
fhews  the  winter,  in  which  all  the  powers 
of  vegetation  are  benumbed ;  and  the 
winter  points  out  the  time  when  life  mall 
ceafe,  with  its  hopes  and  pleafures. 

He  that  is  carried  forward,  however 
fwiftly,  by  a  motion  equable  and  eafy,  per- 
ceives not  the  change  of  place  but  by  the 
variation  of  objects.  If  the  wheel  of  life, 
which  rolls  thus  filently  along^  paffed  on 
through  undiftinguifhable  uniformity,  we 
ihould  never  mark  its  approaches  to  the 
end  of  the  courfe.  If  one  hour  were  like 
another ;  if  the  paflage  of  the  fun  did  not 
ihew  that  the  day  is  wafting ;  if  the  change 
of  feafons  did  not  imprefs  upon  us  the 
flight  of  the  year ;  quantities  of  duration 
equal  to  days  and  years  woidd  glide  unob- 
served. If  the  parts  of  time  were  not  va- 
Tioufly  coloured,  we  mould  never  difcem 
their  departure  or  fucceffion,  but  mould 
live  thoughtlefs  of  the  paft,  and  carelefs  of 
the  future,  without  will,  and  perhaps  with- 
out power  to  compute  the  periods  of  life, 
or  to  compare  the  time  which  is  already 
loft  with  that  which  may  probably  re- 
main. 

But  the  courfe  of  time  is  fo  vifibly 
marked,  that  it  is  even  obferved  by  the 
paflage,  and  by  nations  who  have  raifed 
'their  minds  very  little  above  animal  in- 
ftinft :  there  are  human  beings,  whofe 
language  does  not  fupply  them  with  words 
by  which  they  can  number  five,  but  I  have 
read  of  none  that  have  not  names  for  Day 
and  Night,  for  Summer  and  Winter. 

Yet  it  is  certain  that  thefe  admonitions 
•of  nature*  however  forcible,  however  im- 
portunate, are  too  often  vain;  and  that 
many  who  mark  with  fuch  accuracy  the 
courfe  of  time,  appear  to  have  little  fen- 
fibility  of  the  decline  of  life.  Every  man 
has  fomething  to  do  which  he  neglects ; 
every  man  has  faults  to  conquer  which  he 
delays  to  combat. 

So  little  do  we  accuftom  ourfelves  to 
confider  the  effects  of  time,  that  things  ne- 
ceflary  and  certain  often  furprife  us  like 
unexpected  contingencies.  We  leave  the 
beauty  in  her  bloom,  and,  after  an  abfence 
of  twenty  years,  wonder,  at  our  return,  to 
find  her  faded.  We  meet  thofe  whom  we 
left  children,  and  can  fcarcely  perfuade 


ourfelves  to  treat  them  as  men.  The 
traveller  viflts  in  age  thofe  countries 
through  which  he  rambled  in  his  youth, 
and  hopes  for  merriment  at  the  old  place. 
The  man  of  bufinefs,  wearied  with  unsatis- 
factory profperity,  retires  to  the  town  of  his 
nativity,  and  expects  to  play  away  the  kit 
years  with  the  companions  of  his  child- 
hood, and  recover  youth  in  the  fields  where 
he  once  was  young. 

From  this  inattention,  fo  general  and 
fo  mifchievous,  let  it  be  every  man's  ftudy 
to  exempt  himfelf.  Let  him  that  defircs 
to  fee  others  happy,  make  hafte  to  give 
while  his  gift  can  be  enjoyed,  and  remem- 
ber, that  every  moment  of  delay  takes 
away  fomething  from  the  value  of  his  be- 
nefaction. And  let  him  who  propofes  his 
own  happinefs,  reflect,  that  while  he  forms 
his  purpofe  the  day  rolls  on,  and  '  the 
night  cometh,  when  no  man  can  work.' 

Idler. 

§  15.  The  Folly  of ' mif-fperJing  Time. 

An  ancient  poet,  unreafonably  difcon- 
tented  at  the  prefent  ftate  of  things,  which 
his  fyftern  of  opinions  obliged  him  to  re- 
prefent  in  its  worft  form,  has  obferved  of 
the  earth,  "  That  its  greater  part  is  co- 
vered by  the  uninhabitable  ocean ;  that  of 
the  reft,  fome  is  encumbered  with  naked 
mountains,  and  fome  loft  under  barren, 
fands ;  fome  fcorched  with  unintermitted 
heat,  and  fome  petrified  with  perpetual 
froft;  fo  that  only  a  few  regions  remain 
for  the  production  of  fruits,  the  pafture  of 
cattle,  and  the  accommodation  of  man." 

The  fame  obfervation  may  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  time  allotted  us  in  oar  pre- 
fent ftate,  When  we  have  deducted  all 
that  is  abforbed  in  fleep,  all  that  is  in- 
evitably appropriated  to  the  demands  of 
nature,'  or  irrefiftibly  engrofl'ed  ly  the  ty- 
ranny of  cuftom ;  all  that  partes  in  regu- 
lating the  fuperfkial  decorations  of  life, 
or  is  given  up  in  the  reciprocations  of  ci- 
vility to  the  difpofal  of  others  ;  all  that  is 
torn' from  us  by  the  violence  of  difeafe*  or 
ftolen  imperceptibly  away  by  latitude  and 
languor;  we  (hall  find  that  part  of  our  du- 
ration very  fmall  of  which  we  can  truly 
call  ourfelves  mafters,  or  Which  we  can 
fpend  wholly  at  our  own  choice.  Many  of 
our  hours  are  loft  in  a  rotation  of  petty 
cares,  in  a  conftant  recurrence  of  the  fame 
employments ,  many  of  our  provifions  for 
eafe  or  happinefs  are  always  exhaufted  by 
$he  prefent  day  j  and  a  great  part  of  our 
q  2  exigence 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


exigence  ferves  no  other  pnrpofe,  than  that 
of  enabling  us  to  enjoy  the  reft. 

♦  Of  the  few  moments  which  are  left  in 
Cur  difpofal,  it  may  reafonably.  be  ex- 
pected, that  we  mould  be  fo  frugal,  as  to 
let  none  of  them  flip  from  us  without  fomc 
equivalent;  and  perhaps  it  might  be  found, 
that  as  the  earth,  however  flraitened  by 
xock  and  waters,  is  capable  of  producing 
more  than  all  its  inhabitants  are  able  to 
confume,  our  lives,  tho'  much  contra-died  by 
incidental  diftradtion,  would  yet  afford  us 
a  large  ipace  vacant  to  the  exercife  of  rea- 
fon  and  virtue;  that  we  want  not  time, 
but  diligence,  for  great  performances  ; 
and  that  we  fquander  much  of  our  allow- 
ance, even  while  we  think  it  fparing  and 
inefficient. 

This  natural  and  neceflary  comminution 
Of  our  lives,  perhaps,  often  makes  us  in- 
fenfible  of  the  negligence  with  which  we 
fuifer  them  to  Hide  away.  We  never  con- 
fider  ourfelves  as  pofteffed  at  once  of  time 
fuiiicient  for  any  great  defign,  and  there- 
fore indulge  ourfelves  in  fortuitous  amufe- 
ments.  We  think  it  unneceffary  to  take 
an  account  of  a  few  fupernumerary  mo- 
ments, which,  however  employed,  could 
have  produced  little  advantage,  and  which 
were  expofed  to  a  thoufand  chances  of  dif- 
turbance  and  interruption. 

It  is  obfervable,  that,  either  by  nature 
Or  by  habit,  our  faculties  are  fitted  to 
images  of  a  certain  extent,  to  which  we 
adjure  great  things  by  divifion,  and  little 
things  by  accumulation.  Of  extenfive 
furfaces  we  can  only  take  a  furvey,  as  the 
parts  f ucceed  one  another ;  and  atoms  we 
cannot  perceive,  till  they  are  united  into 
maffes.  Thus  we  break  the  vail  periods 
of  time  into  centuries  and  years  ;  and 
thus,  if  we  would  know  the  amount  of 
moments,  we  mull  agglomerate  them  into 
days  and  weeks. 

The  proverbial  oracles  of  our  parfi- 
monious  anceftors  have  informed  us,  that 
the  fatal  waft*  of  fortune  is  by  fmall  ex- 
pencc-5,  by  the  profufion  of  fums  too  little 
singly  to  alarm  our  caution,  and  which 
we  never  fuffer  ourfelves  to  confider  toge- 
ther. Of  the  fame  kind  is  the  prodiga- 
lity of  life;  he  that  hopes  to  look  back 
hereafter  with  fatisfacfion  upon  pair,  years, 
muff:  learn  to  know  the  prefent  value  of 
fing^e  minutes,  ana  endeavour  to  let  no 
pa  le  of  time  fall  ufelefs  to  the 
ground.    ' 

it  is  afual  for  thofe  who  are  advifed  to 
tli?  attainment  of  uny  new  qualifications,  to 


look  upon  themfelves-  as  required  t&t 
change  the  general  courfe  of  their  cpn-f 
duel,  to  difmifs  their  bufinefs,  and  exclude 
pleafure,  and  to  devote  their  days  or 
nights  to  a  particular  attention.  But  all 
common  degrees  of  excellence  are  attain- 
able at  a  lower  price  ;  he  that  fhould  flea- 
dily  and  refolutely  affign  to  any  fcience  or 
language  thofe  interftitial  vacancies  which- 
intervene  in  the  moil  crowded  variety  of 
diverfion  or  employment,  would  find  every 
day  new  irradiations  of  knowledge,  and 
difcover  how  much  more  is  to  be  hoped 
from  frequency  and  perfeverance,  than 
from  violent  efforts  and  fudden  defires ; 
efforts  which  are  foon  remitted  when  they 
encounter  difficulty,  and  defires  which,  if 
they  are  indulged  too  often,  will  fhake  off 
the  authority  of  reafon,  and  range  capri- 
cioufly  from  one  object,  to  another. 

The  difpofition  to  defer  every  important 
defign  to  a  time  of  leifure,  and  a  ffate  of 
fettled  uniformity,  proceeds  generally  from 
a  falfe  eftimate  of  the  human  powers.  If 
we  except  thofe  gigantic  and  ftupendous 
intelligences  who  are  faid  to  grafp  a  fyC- 1 
tern  by  intuition,  and  bound  forward  from 
one  feries  of  conclufions  to  another,  with- 
out regular  fteps  through  intermediate  pro- 
portions, the  moll  fuccefsful  fludents 
make  their  advances  in  knowledge  by 
fhort  flights,  between  each  of  which  the 
mind  may  lie  at  reft.  For  every  fingle  act 
of  progreffion  a  fhort  time  is  fufficient ; 
and  it  is  only  neceflary,  that  whenever  that 
time  is  afforded,  it  be  well  employed. 

Few  minds  will  be  long  confined  to 
fevere  and  laborious  meditation  ;  and  when 
a  fuccefsful  attack  on  knowledge  has  been 
made,  the  ftudent  recreates  himfelf  with 
the  contemplation  of  his  conquefl,  and 
forbears  another  incurfion  till  the  new-ac- 
quired  truth  has  become  familiar,  and  his 
curiofity  calls  upon  him  for  frefh  gratifica- 
tions. Whether  the  time  of  intermifiion  is 
fpent  in  company,  or  in  folitude,  in  necef- 
fary  bufinefs,  or  in  voluntary  levities,  the 
underftanding  is  equally  abllracted  from 
the  object  of  enquiry ;  but,  perhaps,  if  it 
be  detained  by  occupations  lefs  pleafing,  it 
returns  again  to  fludy  with  greater  alacrity 
than  when  it  is  glutted  with  ideal  pleafures, 
and  furfeited  with  intemperance  of  appli- 
cation. He  that  will  not  fuller  himfelf  to 
be  difcouraged  by  fancied  impoffibilitiesj 
may  fometimes  find  his  abilities  invigo- 
rated by  the  neceflity  of  exerting  them  in 
fhort  intervals,  as  the  force  of  a  current  is 
increafed  by  the  contraction  of  its  channel. 

FiVm 


BOOK    T.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


ti 


From  fome  caufe  like  this,  it  has  pro- 
fcably  proceeded,  that  among  thofe  who 
have  contributed  to  the  advancement  of 
learning,  many  have  rifen  to  eminence,  in 
opposition  to  all  the  obilacles  which  exter- 
nal circumflances  could  place  in  their  way, 
amidft  the  tumult  of  bufinefs,  the  diftrefles 
of  poverty,  or  the  diffipations  of  a  wander- 
ing and  unfettled  Hate.  A  great  part  of 
the  life  of  Erafmus  was  one  continual  pere- 
grination :  ill  fupplied  with  the  gifts  of 
fortune,  and  led  from  city  to  city,  and  from 
kingdom  to  kingdom,  by  the  hopes  of  pa- 
trons and  preferment,  hopes  which  always 
flattered  and  always  deceived  him;  he  yet 
found  means,  by  unfhaken  conftancy,  and  a 
vigilant  improvement  of  thofe  hours,  which, 
in  the  rnidil  of  the  moll:  refllefs  activity,  will 
remain  unengaged,  to  write  more  than 
another  in  the  fame  condition  would  have 
hoped  to  read.  Compelled  by  want  to  at- 
tendance and  folicitation,  and  fo  much 
verfed  in  common  life,  that  he  has  tranf- 
mitted  to  us  the  moll  perfect  delineation  of 
the  manners  of  his  age,  he  joined  to  his 
knowledge  of  the  world  fuch  application  to 
books,  that  he  will  Hand  for  ever  in  the 
hrfl  rank  of  literary  heroes.  How  this 
proficiency  was  obtained,  he  fufficiently  dif- 
covers,  by  informing  us,  that  the  Praife  of 
Polly,  one  of  his  moil  celebrated  perform- 
ances, was  compofed  by  him  on  the  road  to 
Italy;  ne  totutn  illud  tempi!  s  quo  equo  fuit 
infdendum,  illiteratis  fabulis  tereretur,  left 
the  hours  which  we  was  obliged  to  fpend  on 
horfeback  mould  be  tattled  away  without 
regard  to  literature. 

An  Italian  philofopher  expreffed  in  his 
motto,  that  time  <vjas  his  efate;  an  eflate 
indeed,  which  will  produce  nothing  without 
cultivation,  but  will  always  abundantly  re- 
pay the  labours  of  induftry,  and  fatisfy  the 
moil  extenfive  defires,  if  no  part  of  it  be 
fuffered  to  lie  waile  by  negligeuce,  to  be 
over-run  with  noxious  plants,  or  laid  out 
for  mew  rather  than  for  ufe.      Rambler. 

§14.    The    Importance    of  Time,    and    the 
proper  Methods  of /pending  it. 

We  all  of  us  complain  of  the  fhortnefs 
of  time,  faith  Seneca,  and  yet  have  much 
more  than  we  know  what  to  do  with.  Our 
lives,  fays  he,  are  fpent  either  in  doing 
nothing  at  all,  or  doing-  nothing  to  the  pur- 
pole,  or  in  doing  nothing  that  we  ought  to 
do.  We  are  always  complaining  our  days 
are  few,  and  acting  as  though  there  would 
be  no  end  of  them.  That  noble  philofo- 
pher has  defcnbed  our  jnconfiitency  with 


ourfelves  in  this  particular  by  all  thofe  va- 
rious turns  of  exprefiion  and  thought  which, 
are  peculiar  in  his  writings. 

I  often  confider  mankind  as  wholly  in* 
confluent  with  itfelf,  in  a  point  that  bears 
fome  affinity  to  the  former.     Though  wo 
feem  grieved  at  the  fhortnefs  of  life,  in  ge- 
neral, we  are  wifliing  every  period  of  it  at 
an  end,     The  minor  longs  to  be  at  age, 
then  to  be  a  man  of  buiinefs,  then  to  make 
up  an  eflate,  then  to  arrive  at  honours,  then 
to   retire.     Thus,  although  the  whole  of 
life  is  allowed  by  every  one  to  be  fhort,  the : 
feveral  divifions  of  it  appear  long  and  te- 
dious.    We  are  for  lengtnening  our  fpan' 
in   general,  but  would   fain    contract  the' 
parts  of  which  it  is  compofed.     The  ufurer 
would  be  very  well  fatished  to  have  all  the' 
time  annihilated  that  lies  between  the  pre- 
fent  moment  and   the    next  quarter-day. 
The    politician   would    be    contented    to 
lofe  three  years  in  his  life,  could  he  place 
things  in  the  poflure  which  he  fancies  they 
will  ftand   in   after  fuch  a  revolution    of 
time.     The  lover  would  be  glad  to  ftrike 
out  of  his  exiitence  all  the  moments  that 
are  to  pafs  away  before  the  happy  meeting. 
Thus,  as  fait  as  our  time  runs,  we  mould  be- 
very  glad,  in  moll  parts-  of  our  lives,  that 
it  ran  much  falter  than  it  does.     Several 
hours  of  the  day  hang    upon  our  hands  ;• 
nay,  we  wiih  away  whole  years,  and  travel : 
through  time,  as  through  a  country  filled 
with  many  wild  and  empty  wailes  which 
we  would  fain  hurry  over,  that  we  may  ar- 
rive at   thofe  feveral  little  fettlements  or" 
imaginary  points   of  reft  which  are  dif- 
perfed  up  and  down  in  it. 

If  we  divide  the  life  of  mofl  men  int9: 
twenty  parts,  we  fhall  find  that  at  leaft' 
nineteen  of  them  are  mere  gaps  and  chafms, 
which  are  neither  filled  with  pleafure  nor 
buiinefs.  I  do  not  however  include  in  this 
calculation  the  life  of  thofe  men'who  are  in 
a  perpetual  hurry  of  affairs,  but  of  thofe 
only  who  are  not  always  engaged  in  fcenes. 
of  action;  and  I  hope  I  ihall  not  do  an 
unacceptable  piece  of  fervice  to  thefe  per- 
fons,  if  I  point  out  to  them  certain  me- 
thods for  the  filling  up  their  empty  fpaces 
of  life.  The  methods  I  fhall  propofe  to 
them  are  as  follow  : 

The  firll  is  the  exercife  of  virtue,  in  the 
moil  general  acceptation  of  the  word. 
That  particular  fcheme  which  compre- 
hends the  focial  virtues,  may  give  employ- 
ment to  the  mofl  induitrious  temper,  and 
find  a  man  bufinefs  more  than  the  moil  ac- 
tive ilation  of  life,     Tq  advife  the  ignorant, 


c 


relieve 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


relieve  the  needy,  comfort  the  affli&ed,  are 
dudes  that  fall  in  our  way  almolt  everyday 
of  our  lives.  A-  man:  has  frequent  oppor- 
tunities of  mitigating  the  ftercenefs  of  a 
party  ;  of  doing  juftice  to  the  character  of 
a  deferving  man  ;  of  foftening  the  envious, 
quieting  the  angry,  and  rectifying  the  pre- 
judiced ;  which  are  all  of  them  employ- 
ments fuitabie  to  a  reafonable  nature,  and 
bring  great  fatisfaction  to  the  perfon  who 
can  bmy  himfelf  in  them  with  difcretion. 

There  is  another  kind  of  virtue  that 
may  find  employment  for  thofe  retired 
hours  in  which  we  are  altogether  left  to 
curfelves,  and  deititute  of  company  and 
converiation  ;  I  mean  that  intercom- ie  and 
communication  which  every  reafonable 
creature  ought  to  maintain  with  the  great 
Author  of  his  being.  The  man  who  lives 
under  an  habitual  fenfe  of  the  divine  pre- 
sence, keeps  up  a  perpetual  chearfuluefs  of 
temper,  and  enjoys  every  moment  the  fa- 
tisfaction of  thinking  himfelf  in  company 
with  his  dearelt  and  belt,  of  friends.  The 
time  never  lies  heavy  upon  him  :  it  is  im- 
poffible  for  him  to  be  alone.  His  thoughts 
and  pallions  are  the  molt  bufied  at  fuch 
hours  when  thofe  of  other  men  are  the  molt 
unactive.  He  no  fooner  fteps  out  of  the 
world  but  his  heart  burns  with  devotion, 
fwells  with  hope,  and  triumphs  in  the  con- 
fcioufnefs  of  that  prefence  which  every 
where  furrounds  him ;  or,  on  the  contrary, 
pours  out  its  fears,  its  forrows,  its  apprr- 
henfions,  to  the  great  Supporter  of  its  ex- 
igence. 

I  have  here  only  conndered  the  neceiliu- 
of  a  man's  being  virtuous,  that  he  may  have, 
Something  to  do ;  but  if  we  confider  fur- 
ther, that  the  exercife  of  virtue  is  not  only 
an  amufement  for  the  time  it  Ms,  but  that 
its  influence  extends  to  thofe  parts  of  our 
■exillence  which  lie  beyond  the  grave,  and 
that  our  whole  eternity  is  to  take  its  colour 
from  thofe  hours  which  we  here  employ 
in  virtue  or  in.  vice,  the  argument  redou- 
bles* upon  us,  for  putting  in  practice  $his 
method  of  pazTing  away  our  time. 

When  a  man  has  but  a  little  Hock  to 
improve,  and  has  opportunities  of  turning 
it  all  to  good  account,  what  fhall  we  think 
of  him  if  he  fuffers  nineteen  parts  of  it  to 
lie  dead,  and  perhaps  employs  even  the 
twentieth  to  his  ruin  or  tfifadvantage  ? — > 
But  becaufe  the  mind  cannot  be  always  in 
its  fervours,  nor  ftrained  up  to  a  pitch  of 
virtue,  it  is  neccflary  to  find  out  proper 
*mr''o/menfs  for  it,  in  its  relaxations. 
The  next  method  therefore  that  I  would 


propofe  to  fill  up  our  time,  mould  be 
ful  and  innocent  diverfions.  I  mull  con- 
fefs  I  think  it  is  below  reafonable  creatures 
to  be  altogether  converfant  in  fuch  diver- 
lions  as  are  merely  innocent,  and  have  no- 
thing elfe  to  recommend  them,  but  that 
there  is  no  hurt  in  them.  Whether  any 
kind  of  gaming  has  even  thus  much  to  fay 
for  itfelf,  I  fhall  not  determine;  but  I  think 
it  is  very  wonderful  to  iee  perfons  of  the. 
belt,  fenfe  paifing  away  a  dozen  hours  toge- 
ther in  fhufrling  and  dividing  a  pack  of 
cards,  with  no  other  converfation  but  what 
is  made  up  of  a  few  game  phrafes,  and  no- 
other  ideas  but  thofe  of  black  or  red  fpots 
ranged  together  in  different  figures.  Would 
not  a  man  laugh  to  hear  any  one  of  tliia 
fpecies  complaining  that  life  is  lhort  I 

The  Mage  might  be  made  a  perpetual 
fource  of  the  molt  noble  and  ufeful  enter- 
tainments, were  it  under  proper  regu- 
lations, 

But  the  mind  never  unbends  itfelf  fo 
agreeably  as  in  the  converfation  of  a  well- 
choftn  friend.  There  is  indeed  no  bleffing 
of  life  that  is  any  way  comparable  to  the 
enjoyment  of  a  difcreet  and  virtuous  friend. 
It  eafes  and  unloads  the  mind,  clears  and 
improves  the  underitanding,  engenders 
thought  and  knowledge,  animates  virtue 
and  good  resolution,  foothes  and  allays  the 
paflions,  and  finds  employment  for  molt  of 
the  vacant  hours  of  life. 

Next  to  fuch  an  intimacy  with  a  parti- 
cular perfon,  one  would  endeavour  after  a 
more  general  converfation  with  fuch  as  are 
capable  of  edifyhig  and  entertaining  thofe 
with  whom  they  converfe,  which  are  qua- 
lities that  feldom  go  afundcr. 

There  are  many  other  ufeful  amufe- 
ments  of  life,  which  one  would  endeavour 
to  multiply,  that  one  might,  on  all  occa- 
fions,  have  recourfe  to  lomething  rather 
than  fuffer  the  mind  to  lie  idle,  or  run 
adrift  with  any  paffion  that  chances  to  rife 
in  it. 

A  man  that  has  a  tafte  in  mufic,  paint- 
ing, or  architecture,  is  like  one  that  has 
another  fenfe,  when  compared  with  fuch 
as  have  no  relifk  of  thofe  arts,  The  flo- 
rill,  the  planter,  the  gardener,  the  hulband- 
man,  when  they  are  only  as  accomplifh- 
ments  to  the  man  of  fortune,  are  great  re- 
liefs to  a  country  life,  and  many  ways  ufe- 
ful to  thofe  who  are  poifefled  of  them, 

SpeSlator. 

§  15.  Mif-fpentTnnc,  /jozv  yunijhed. 
I  was  yefterday  comparing  the  induftry 

©f 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS.  a.| 


«f  man  with  that  of  other  creatures ;  in 
which  I  could  not  but  obferve,  that  not- 
withstanding we  are  obliged  by  duty  to 
keep  ourfelves  in  conilant  employ,  after 
die  fame  manner  as  inferior  animals  are 
prompted  to  it  by  inilincT:,  we-  fall  very 
Short  of  them  in  this  particular.     We  are 
here  the  more  inexcusable,  becaufe  there 
is  a  greater  variety  of  bufmefs  to  which 
we  may  apply  ourfelves.     Reafon  opens 
to  us  a  large  field  of  affairs,  which  other 
creatures  are  not  capable  of.     Beafts  of 
prey,  and  I  believe  of  all  other  kinds,  in  their 
natural  ftate  of  being,  divide  their  time  be- 
tween a&ion  and  reft.   They  are  always  at 
work  or  afleep.     In   fhort,  their  waking 
hours  are  wholly  taken  up  in  feeking  after 
their  food,  or  in  confuming  it.   The  human 
fpecies  only,  to  the  great  reproach  of  our 
nature,    are    filled   with    complaints,   that 
v  The  day  hangs  heavy  on  them,"  that 
*'  They  do  not  know  what   to  do  with 
themfelves,"    that    "  They  are  at  a  lofs 
how  to  pafs  away  their  time,"  with  many 
of  the  like  fhameful  murmurs,  which  we 
often  find  in  the  mouths  of  thofe  who  are 
{Hied  reafonable  beings.     How  monftrous 
are  fuch  expreflions  among  creatures  who 
have  the  labours  of  the  mind,  as  well  as 
thofe  of  the  body,  to  furnifh  them  with 
proper  employments ;  who,  befides  the  bu- 
ftnefs  of  their  proper  callings  and  profef- 
iions,  can  apply  themfelves  to  the  duties  of 
religion,  to  meditation,  to  the  reading  of 
ufeful  books,  to  difcourfe  ;  in  a  word,  who 
may  exercife  themfelves  in  the  unbounded 
purfuits  of  knowledge  and  virtue,  and  every 
hour  of  their  lives  make  themfelves  wifer 
or  better  than  they  were  before! 

After  having  been  taken  up  for  fome 
time  in  this  courfe  of  thought,  I  diverted 
myfelf  with  a  book,  according  to  my  ufual 
cuftom,  in  order  to  unbend  my  mind  before 
I  went  to  fleep.  The  book  I  made  ufe  of 
on  this  occafion  was  Lucian,  where  I  amu- 
fid  my  thoughts  for  about  an  hour  among 
the  dialogues  of  the  dead,  which  in  all  pro- 
bability produced  the  following  dream. 

I  was  conveyed,  methought,  into  the  en- 
trance of  the  infernal  regions,  where  I  faw 
Rhadamanthus, 'one  of  the  judges  of  the 
dead,  feated  on  his  tribunal.  On  his  left- 
hand  Hood  the  keeper  of  Erebus,  on  his 
right  the  keeper  of  Elyfium.  I  was  told 
he  fat  upon  women  that  day,  there  being  fe- 
veral  of  the  Sex  lately  arrived,  who  had  not 
yet  their  maniions  affigned  them.  I  was 
furprifed  to  hear  him  afk  every  one  of  them 
the  fame  queflioiij  namely,  "  What  they 


had   been  doing  ?"     Upon  this   queftion 
being  propofed  to  the  whole  aflembly,  they 
flared  one  upon  another,-  as  not  knowing 
what  to  anfwer.  He  then  interrogated  each 
of  them  feparately.'    Madam,  fays  he  to 
the  firft  of  theni,  you  have  been  upon  the 
earth  about  fifty  years ;  what  have  you  been 
doing  there  ail  this  while  ?     Doing  !   fays 
fhe,  really  I  do  not  know  what  I  have  been 
doing :  I  defire  I  may  have  time  given  me 
to  "recollect.     After  about  half  an  hour's 
paufe,  fhe  told  him  that  fhe  had  been  play- 
ing at  crimp  ;  upon  which  Rhadamanthus 
beckoned  to  the  keeper  on  his  left  hand,  to 
take  her  into  cuftody.'    And  you,  madam, 
fays  the  judge,  that  look  with  fuch  a  foft 
and  languiihing  air;  I  think  you  fet  out 
for  this  place  in  your  nine-and-tvventieth- 
year,  what  have  you  been  doing  all  this 
while  ?  I  had  a  great  deal  of  bufmefs  on 
my  hands,  fays  fhe,  being  taken  up  the  firur:. 
twelve  years  of  my  life  in  dreffing  a  jointed  . 
baby,  and  all  the  remaining  part  of  it  in 
reading  plays  and  romances.     Very  well, 
fays  he,  you  have  employed  your  time  to 
good  purpofe.    Away  with  her.    The  next 
was  a  plain  country-woman :  Well,  miffcrefs, 
fays  Rhadamanthus,  and  what  have  you  been 
doing?   An't  pleafe  your  worfhip,  fays  the, 
I  did  not  live  quite  forty  years ;  and  in  that 
time  brought  my  hufband  feven  daughters, 
made  him  nine  thoufand  cheefes,and  left  my 
eldeft  girl  with  him,  to  look  after  his  houfe 
in  my  abfence,  and  who,  I  may  venture  to 
fay,  is  as  pretty  a  houfewife  as  any  in  the 
country.      Rhadamanthus   fmiled    at    the 
fimplicity  of  the  good  woman,  and  ordered 
the  keeper  of  Elyfium  to  take  her  into  his- 
care.     And  you,  fair  lady,  fays  he,  whaf 
have  you  been  doing  thefe  five-and-thirty 
years?  I  have  been  doing  no  hurt,  I  aflure- 
you,  fir,  faid  fiie.     That  is  well,  faid  he',--' 
but  what  good  have  you  been  doing  ?  The 
lady  was  in  great  confufiOn  at  this  quefiion,' 
and  not  knowing  what  to  anfwer,  the  two-" 
keepers  leaped  out  to  feize  her  at  the  fame 
time;  the  one  took  her  by  the  hand  to  con- 
vey her  to  Elyfium,  the  other  caught  hold  of 
her  to  carry  her  away  to  Erebus.  But  Rha- 
damanthus obferving  an  ingenuous  modeity 
in  her  countenance  and  behaviour,  bid  them 
both  let  her  loofe,  and  fet  her  alide  for  a  re- 
examination when  he  was  more  at  leiiure. 
An  old  woman,-  of  a  proud  and  four  look, 
prefented  herfelf  next  at  the  bar,  and  being 
afked  whit  fhe  had  been  doing?     Truly, 
faid  fhe,  I  lived  threefcore-and-ten  years  in 
a  very  wicked  world,  and  was  fo  angry  at 
the  behaviour  of  a  parcel  of  young  flirts, 
C  4  that 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


that  I  paffed  moil  of  my  laft  years  in  con- 
demning the  follies  of  the  times ;  I   was 
every  day    blaming  the    filly   conduct  of 
people  about  me,  in  order  tp  deter  thofe 
I  converfed  with  frcm  failing  into  the  like 
errors  and  .mifcarriages.     Very  well,  fays 
Rhadamanthus;  but  did  you  keep  the  fame 
v.:;    iful  eye  over  your  own  actions  ?  Why 
truly,  lays   me,  I  was   fo  taken  up  with 
publifhing  the  faults  of  others,  that  I  had 
no  lime  to  confider  my  own.    Madam,  fays 
Rhadamanthus,  be  pleafed  to  ff:e  off  to 
the  leit,  and  make  room  for  the  venerable 
matron  that  ftands  behind  you.     Old  gen- 
tlewoman, lays  he,  I  think  you  are  four- 
fcore  :  you  have  heard  the  queition,  what 
have  ycu  been  doing  fo  long  in  the  world  ? 
Ah,  Sir !   lays  Jhe,  1  have  been  doing  what 
I  ihould  not  nave  done,  but  I  had  made  a 
firm  refolution  to  have  changed  my  life, 
if  I  had  not  been  matched  oif  hy  an  un- 
timely end.      Madam,  fays  he,  you  will 
pleafe  to  follow  your  leader :  and  fpying 
another  of  the  fame  age,  interrogated  her 
in  the  fame  form.     To  which  the  matron 
replied,  I  have  been  the  wife  of  a  huf- 
band  who  was  as  dear  to  me  in  his  old 
age  as  in  his  youth.     I  have  been  a  mo- 
ther, and  very  happy  in  my  children,  whom 
I  endeavoured  to  bring  up  in  every  thing 
that  is  good.     My  eldeft'  fon  is  bleft  by 
the  poor,  and  beloved  by  every  one  that 
knows  him.     I  lived  within  my  own  fa- 
mily, and  left  it  much  more  wealthy  than 
I  found  it.     Rhadamanthus,  who  knew  the 
value  of  the  old  lady,  fmiled  upon  her  in 
fuch  a  manner,  that  the  keeper  of  Ely- 
ilum,  who  knew  his  ofhce,  reached  out  his 
hand  to  her.     He  no  fooner  touched  her, 
but  her  wrinkles  vaniihed,  her  eyes  fpark- 
led,  her  cheeks  glowed  with  blufhes,  and 
Jhe  appeared  in  full  bloom  and  beauty.    A 
young  woman  obferving  that  this  officer, 
who  conduced  the  happy  to  Elyjium,  was 
fo  great  a  beautifier,  longed  to  be  in  his 
hands;  fo  that  pre  Ming  through  the  crowd, 
fhe  was  the  next  that  appeared  at  the  bar. 
And  .being  aficed  what  ihc  had  been  doing 
the    five -and- twenty    years    that   ihe  had 
paffed  in  the  world  ?  I  have  endeavoured, 
fays  ihe,   ever  fincc  I   came  to  years   of 
difcretion,  to  make  myfelf  lovely,  and  gain 
admirers.      In  order  to  it,    I  palled  my 
tin  e  in  bottling  up  May-dew,  inventing, 
white  walhes,  mixing  colours,  cutting  out 
patches,  confuhing  my  glafs,  halting  my 
complexion,  tearing  off  my  tucker,  fink- 
ing   my    hays.  —  Rhadamanthus,   without 
fee;  ring  her  out,  gave  the  %n  to  take  her 


off.     Upon  the  approach  of  the  keeper  of 
Erebus,  her  colour   faded,  her  face  waa^ 
puckered  up  with  wrinkles,  and  her  whole  ■ 
perion  loil  in  deformity, 

I  was  then  furprifed  with  a  diflant; 
found  of  a  ole  troop  of  females,  that 
came  forward  laughing,  fr.gi.ng,  and  danc- 
ing. I  was  very  defirous  to  know  the  re-, 
ception  they  would  meet  with,  and  withal 
was  very  apprehenfive,  that  Rhadaman- 
thus would  fpoil  their  mirth  :  But  at  their 
nearer  approac  the  noife  grew  lo  very 
great  that  it  awakened  me. 
.  I  lay  fome  time,  reflecting  in  myfelf  on 
the  oddnefs  of  this  dream,  and  could  no$ 
forbear  a-king  my  own  heart,  what  I  was 
doing?  I  aniwered  myfelf  that  I  was.  writ- 
ing Guardians.  If  my  readers  make  as, 
good  a  ufe  of  this  work  as  I  defign  they. 
Ihould,  I  hope  it  will  never  be  imputed  to 
me  as  a  work  that,  is  vain  and  unproiit? 
able. 

I  ihall  conclude  this  paper  with  recom- 
mending to  them  the  fame  fhort  felf-exa- 
mination.  If  every  one  of  them  frequently 
lays  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and  confiders 
what  he  is  doing,  it  will  check  him  in  air 
the  idle,  or,  what  is  worfe,  the  vicious 
moments  of  life,  lift  up  his  mind  when 
it  is  running  on  in  a  feries  of  indifferent 
actions,  and  encourage  him  when  he  is  en- 
gaged in  thofe  which  are  virtuous  and  lau- 
dable. In  a  word,  it  will  very  much  alle- 
viate that  guilt  which  the  bell  of  men  have 
reafon  to  acknowledge  in  their  daily  con- 
feffions,  of  «  leaving  undone  thofe  things 
which  they  ought  to  have  done,  and  of 
doing  thoie  things  which  they  ought  not; 
to  have  done.'  Guardian* 

§  1 6>  A  Knowledge  of  the  Ufe  and  Value  of 
'Time  very  important  to  Youth. 
There  is  nothing  which  I  more  wilh  that 
you  fhould  know,  and  which  fewer  people 
do  know,  than  iliQ  true  ufe  and  value  of 
time.  .  It  is  in  every  body's  mouth;  but  in 
few  people's  practice.  Every  fool  who 
flatterns  away  his  whole  time  in  nothings, 
utters,  however,  fome  trite  ccmmon-place 
fentence,  of  which  there  are  millions,  to' 
prove,  at  once,  the  value  and  the  fleetnefs 
of  time.  The  fun-dials,  likewife,  all  over 
Europe,  have  fome  ingenious  infeription  ta 
that  effect;  fo  that  nobody  fquanders  away 
their  time,  without  hearing  and  feeing, 
daily,  how  neceffary  it  is  to  employ  it  well, 
and  how  irrecoverable  it  is  if  loll.  But 
all  thefe  admonitions  are  ufelefs,  where 
there  is  not  a  fund  of  good  fenfe  and  rea- 
fon 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


25 


fon  to  faggeft  them,  rather  than  receive 
them.  By  the  manner  in  which  you  now 
tell  me  that  you  employ  your  time,  I  flat- 
ter myfelf,  that  you  have  that  fund :  that 
is  the  fund  which  will  make  you  rich  in- 
deed. I  do  not,  therefore,  mean  to  give 
you  a  critical  efTay  upon  the  ufe  and  abufe 
of  time ;  I  will  only  give  you  fome  hints, 
with  regard  to  the  ufe  of  one  particular 
period  of  that  long  time  which,  I  hope, 
you  luve  before  you;  I  mean  the  next 
two  years.  Remember  then,  that  whatever 
knowledge  you  do  not  folidly  lay  the  foun- 
dation of  before  you  are  eighteen,  you 
will  never  be  mailer  of  while  you  breathe. 
Knowledge  is  a  comfortable  and  neceffary 
retreat  and  fhelter  for  us  in  an  advanced 
age ;  and  if  we  do  not  plant  it  while  young, 
it  will  give  us  no  ihade  when  we  grow  old. 
I  neither  require  nor  expect  from  you 
great  application  to  books,  after  you  are 
once  thrown  out  into  the  great  world.  I 
know  it  is  impoffible ;  and  it  may  even,  in 
fome  cafes,  be  improper :  this,  therefore, 
is  your  time,  and  your  only  time,  for  un- 
wearied and  uninterrupted  application.  If 
you  fhould  fometimes  think  it  a  little  la- 
borious, confider,  that  labour  is  the  una- 
voidable fatigue  of  a  neceflary  journey. 
The  more  hours  a  day  you  travel,  the 
foQner  you  will  be  at  your  journey's  end. 
The  fooner  you  are  qualified  far  your  li- 
berty, the  fooner  you  ihall  have  it;  and 
your  manumifiion  will  entirely  depend  up- 
on the  manner  in  which  you  employ  the 
intermediate  time.  I  think  I  offer  you  a 
very  good  bargain,  when  I  promife  you, 
upon  my  word,  that,  if  you  will  do  every 
thing  that  I  would  have  you  do,  till  you 
are  eighteen,  I  will  do  every  thing  that 
you  would  have  me  do,  ever  afterwards. 

Lord  Cbejierfield, 

§  17.  On  a  lazy  and  trifling  Dijpofition. 
There  are  two  forts  of  underftandings  ; 
one  of  which  hinders  a  man  from  ever  be- 
ing confiderable,  and  the  other  commonly 
makes  him  ridiculous ;  I  mean  the  lazy 
mind,  and  the  trifling  frivolous  mind. 
Yours,  I  hope,  is  neither.  The  lazy  mind 
will  not  take  the  trouble  of  going  to  the 
bottom  of  any  thing;  but,  difcouraged  by 
the  firft  difficulties  (and  every  thing  worth 
knowing  or  having  is  attended  with  fome) 
flops  fliort,  contents  itfclf  with  eafy,  and, 
fonfequently,  fuperficial  knowledge,  and, 
prefers  a  great  degree  of  ignorance,  to  a 
fmall  degree  of  trouble.  Thefe  people 
cither  think,  or  reprefent,  ruofl  things  as 


impoffible;  whereas  few  things  are  lb  to 
induihy  and  activity.  But  dilficulties  feem 
to  them  irnpoffibilities,  or  at  leaff.  they 
pretend  to  think  them  fo,  by  way  of  excufe 
for  their  lazinefs.  An  hour's  attention  to 
the  fame  object  is  too  laborious  for  them  ; 
they  take  every  thing  in  the  light  in  which 
it  at  firil  prefents  itlelf,  never  confider  it 
in  all  its  different  views ;  and,  in  fhort, 
never  think  it  thorough.  The  confequence 
of  this  is,  that  when  they  come  to  fpeak 
upon  thefe  fubjects  before  people  who  have 
confidered  them  with  attention,  they  only 
difcover  their  own  ignorance  and  lazinefs, 
and  lay  themfelves  open  to  anfwers  that 
put  them  in  confufion. 

Do  not  then  be  difcouraged  by  the  firfr. 
dilficulties,  but  contra  audcntior  ito :  and 
refolve  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  all  thofe 
tilings,  which  every  gentleman  ought  to 
know  well.  Thofe  arts  or  fciences,  which 
are  peculiar  to  certain  profefficns,  need  not 
be  deeply  known  by  thofe  who  are  not  in- 
tended for  thofe  profeffions.  As,  for  in- 
ftance,  fortification  and  navigation ;  of  both 
which,  a  fuperficial  and  general  knowledge, 
fuch  as  the  common  courfe  of  converfation, 
with  a  very  little  enquiry  on  your  part, 
will  give  you,  is  fufhcient.  Though,  by 
the  way,  a  little  more  knowledge  of  forti- 
fication may  be  of  fome  ufe  to  you ;  as  the 
events  of  war,  in  lieges,  make  many  of  the 
terms  of  that  fcience  occur  frequently  in 
common  converfations  ;  and  one  would  be 
forry  to  fay,  like  the  Marquis  de  Maf- 
carille,  in  Moliere's  Precieufes  Ridicules, 
when  he  hears  of  nne  dernie  Lime  :  Ma  foi, 
c'etoii  bien  nne  Lune  toute  entiere.  But  thofe 
things  which  every  gentleman,  indepen- 
dently of  profeffion,  fhould  know,  he  ought 
to  know  well,  and  dive  into  all  the  depths 
of  them.  Such  are  languages,  hiflory,  and 
geography,  ancient  and  modern;  philofo- 
phy,  rational  logic,  rhetoric ;  and  for  you 
particularly,  the  conftitutions,  and  the  ci- 
vil and  military  fiate  of  every  country  in 
Europe.  This,  I  confefs,  is  a  pretty  large 
circle  of  knowledge,  attended  with  fome 
difficulties,  and  requiring  fome  trouble, 
which,  however,  an  active  and  induftrious 
mind  will  overcome,  and  be  amply  re- 
paid. 

The  trifling  and  frivolous  mind  is  always 
bufied,  but  to  little  purpofe ;  it  takes  little 
objects  for  great  ones,  and  throws  away 
upon  trifles  that  time  and  attention  which 
only  important  things  deferve.  Knick- 
knacks,  butterflies,  fhells,  infects,  &c.  are 
the  objects  of  their  moil  ferious  refearches. 

They 


iQ 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


They  contemplate  the  drefs,  not  the  cha- 
racters, of  the  company  they  keep.  They 
attend  more  to  the  decorations  of  a  play, 
than  to  the  fenfe  of  it ;  and  to  the  cere- 
monies of  a  court,  more  than  to  its  politics. 
Such  an  employment  of  time  is  an  abfolute 
jofs  of  it.     '       Lord  Chef  erf  eld's  Letters, 

§  1 8.  The  bad  Effefts  of  Indolence. 

No  other  difpofition,  or  turn  of  mind,  fo 
totally  unfits  a  man  for  all  the  focial  offices 
of  life,  as  Indolence.  An  idle  man  is  a 
mere  blank  in  the  creation:  he  feems  made 
for  no  end,  and  lives  to  no  purpoic.  Ke 
cannot  engage  himfelf  in  any  employment 
or  profeffion,  becanfe  he  will  never  have 
diligence  enough  to  follow  it :  he  can  fuc- 
ceed  in  no  undertaking,  for  he  will  never 
purfue  it ;  he  mall  be  a  bad  hufband,  fa- 
ther, and  relation,  for  he  will  not  take  the 
leail  pains  to  preferve  his  wife,  children, 
and  family,  from  itarving ;  and  he  mud  be 
aworthlefs  friend,  for  he  would  not  draw 
Ms  hand  from  his  bpfom,  though  to  pre- 
vent the  deilru&ion  of  the  univerfe.  If  he 
is  born  poor,  he  will  remain  fo  all  his  life, 
whicli  he  will  probably  end  in  a  ditch,  or 
at  the  gallows :  if  he  embarks  in  trade,  he 
will  be  a  bankrupt :  and  if  he  is.  a  per- 
son of  fortune,  his  ftewards  will  acquire 
immenfe  eftates,  and  he  himfelf  perhaps 
will  die  in  the  Fleet. 

It  ihould  be  confidered,  that  nature  did 
not  bring  us  into  the  world  in  a  ftate  of 
perfection,  but  has  left  us  in  a  capacity  of 
improvement ;  which  Ihould  feem  to  inti- 
mate, that  we  ihould  labour  to  render  our- 
felves  excellent.  Very  few  are  fuch  ab- 
folute idiots,  as  net  to  be  able  to  become 
at  leaft  decent,  if  not  eminent,  in  their 
feveral  flations,  by  unwearied  and  keen 
application  :  nor  are  there  any  pofierTed  of 
fuch  tranfeendent  genius  and  abilities,  as 
to  render  all  pains  and  diligence  unnecef- 
fary.  Perfeverance  will  overcome  diffi- 
culties, which  at  firfl  appear  infuperable ; 
and  it  is  amazing  to  confider,  how  o-reat 
and  numerous  obflacles  may  be  removed 
by  a  continual  attention  to  any  particular 
point.  I  will  not  mention  here,  the  trite 
example  of  Demofthenes,  who  got  over 
the  greateil  natural  impediments  to  oratory, 
but  content  myfelf  with  a  more  modern 
and  familiar  inftance.  Being  at  Sadler's 
Wells  a  few  nights  ago,  I  could  hot  but 
admire  the  furprifmg  feats  of  activity  there 
exhibited;  and  at  the  fame  time  reflected, 
what  incredible  pain-;  and  labour  it  muft 


have  coll  the  performers  to  arrive  at  tfi 
art  of  writhing  their  bodies  into  fuch  vay 
rious  and  unnatural  contortions.  '"But  I" 
was  moil  taken  with  the  ingenious  artifly 
who,  after  fixing  two  bells  to  each  foot, 
the  fame  number  to  each  hand,  and  with 
great  propriety  placing  a  cap  and  bells  on; 
his  head,  played  feveral  tunes,  and  wenta 
through  as  regular  triple  peals  and  bob-' 
majors,  as  the  boys  of  Chriil-church  Hof- 
pital;  all  which  he  effected  by  the  due 
jerking  of  his  arms  and  legs,  and  nodding 
his  head  backward  and  forward.  If  this" 
artiil  had  taken  equal  pains  to  employ  his 
head  in  anodier  way,  he  might  perhaps 
have  been  as  deep  a  proficient  in  numbers 
as  Jedediah  Buxton,  or  at  leafi  a  tolerable 
modern  rhymer,  of  which  he  is  now  no  bad 
emblem :  and  if  our  fine  ladies  would  ufe 
equal  diligence,  they  might  faihion  their 
minds  as  fuccefsfully,  as  Madam  Catharina 
diftorts  her  bod)'. 

There  is  not  in  the  world  a  more  afelefsJ 
idle  animal,  than  he  who  contents  himfelf 
with  being  merely  a  gentleman.  He  has 
an  eftate,  therefore  he  will  not  endeavour 
to  acquire  knowledge  :  he  is  not  to  labour 
in  any  vocation,  therefore  he  will  do  no- 
thing. But  the  misfortune  is,  that  there' 
is  no  fuch  thing  in  nature  as  a  negative 
virtue,  and  that  abfolute  idlenefs  is  im- 
practicable. He,  who  does  no  good,  will 
certainly  do  mifchief;  and  the  mind,  if  it 
is  not  ilored  with  ufeful  knowledge,  will  - 
neceffarily  become  a  magazine  of  nonfenfe 
and  trifles.  Wherefore  a  gentleman,  though 
he  is  not  obliged  to  rife  to  open  his  ihop, 
or  work  at  his  trade,  mould  always  find 
fame  ways  of  employing  his  time  to  ad- 
vantage. If  he  makes  no  advances  in. 
wifdom,  he  will  become  more  and  more 
a  Have  to  folly  ;  and  he  that  does  nothing, 
becaufe  he  has  nothing  to  do,  will  become 
vicious  and  abandoned,  or,  at  bell,  ridicu- 
lous and  contemptible. 

I  do  not  know  a  more  melancholy  ob- 
ject, than  a  man  of  an  honeil  heart,  and 
fine  natural  abilities,  whofe  good  qualities 
are  thus  deilroyed  by  indolence.  Such  a 
perfon  is  a  conitant  plague  to  all  his  friends 
and  acquaintance,  with  all  the  means  in  his 
power  of  adding  to  their  happinefs ;  and 
(lifters  himfelf  to  take  rank  among  the 
loweil  characters,  when  he  mi?ht  render 
himiel?  conspicuous  among  the  higheil. 
Nobody  is  more  univerfally  beloved  and 
more  univerfally  avoided,  than  my  friend 
Carelefs.  He  is  an  humane  man,  who. 
never  did  a  beneficent  action  ;  and  a  man 

of 


BOOK    I:      MORAL    AND    RELJQIOUS. 


2f 


| f  unfhaken  integrity,  on  whom  it  is  im- 
poflible  to  depend.  With  the  beft  head, 
and  the  beft  heart,  he  regulates  his  con- 
duct in  the  moft  abfurd  manner,  and  fre- 
quently injures  his  friends;  for  whoever 
neglects  to  do  juftice  to  himfelf,  mult  ine- 
vitably wrong  thofe  with  whom  he  is  con- 
nected ;  and  it  is  by  no  means  a  true  max- 
im, that  an  idle  man  hurts  nobody  but 
.himfelf. 

Virtue  then  is  not  to  be  considered  in 
the  light  of  mere  innocence,  or  abftaining 
from  harm;  but  as  the  exertion  of  our 
faculties  in  doing  good:  as  Titus,  when 
he  had  let  a  day  flip  undiftinguiihed  by 
fome  aft  of  virtue,  cried  put,  c  I  have  loft 
a  day.'  If  we  regard  our  time  in  this 
light,  how  many  days  Shall  we  look  back 
upon  as  irretrievably  loft  !  and  to  how  nar- 
row a  cpmpafs  would  fuch  a  method  of 
calculation  frequently  reduce  the  longeft 
jife  !  If  we  were  to  number  our  days,  ac- 
cording as  we  have  applied  them  tp  vir- 
tue, it  would  occafion  ftrange  revolutions 
in  the  manner  of  reckoning  the  ages  of 
men.  We  Should  fee  fome  few  arrived  tp 
a  good  old  age  in  the  prime  of  their  youth, 
and  meet  with  feveral  young  fellows  of 
fourfcore. 

Agreeable  to  this  way  of  thinking,  I 
remember  to  have  met  with  the  epitaph  of 
an  aged  man  four  years  old ;  dating  his 
exiftence  from  the  time  of  his  reformation 
from  evil  courfes.  The  infcriptions  on  moft 
tomb-ftones  commemorate  no  acts  of  vir- 
tue performed  by  the  perfons  who  lie  un- 
der them,  but  only  record,  that  they  were 
born  one  day,  and  died  another.  But  I 
would  fain  have  thofe  people,  whofe  lives 
have  been  ufelefs,  rendered  of  fome  fer- 
yice  after  their  deaths,  by  affording  leflbns 
of  instruction  and  morality  to  thofe  they 
leave  behind  them.  Wherefore  I  could 
wilh,  that,  in  every  parish,  feveral  acres 
were  marked  out  for  a  new  and  fpacious 
burying-ground  :  in  which  every  perfon, 
whofe  remains  are  there  depofited,  fhould 
have  a  fmall  ftone  laid  over  them,  reckon- 
ing their  age,  according  to  the  manner  in 
which  they  have  improved  or  abufed  the 
time  allotted  them  in  their  lives.  In  fuch 
circumstances,  the  plate  on  a  coffin  might 
be  the  higheft  panegyric  which  the  deceaf- 
ed  could  receive  ;  and  a  little  fquare  ftone 
infcribed  with  Ob.  Ann.  JEta..  80,  would 
be  a  nobler  eulogium,'than  all  the  lapidary 
adulation  of  modern  epitaphs. 

ConnoKJcur* 


§  19.  The  innocent  Pleafures  of  'Childhood, 

As  it  is  ufual  with  me  to  draw  a  fecret 
unenvied  pleafure  from  a  thoufand  inci- 
dents overlooked  by  other  men,  I  threw 
myfelf  into  a  fhort  transport,  forgetting  my 
age,  and  fancying  rnyfelf  a  fchcol-boy. 

This  imagination  was  Strongly  favoured 
by  the  prefence  of  fo  many  young  boys, 
in  whofe  looks  were  legible  the  fprightly 
paffions  of  that  age,  which  raifed  in  me  a 
fort  of  fympathy.  Warm  blood  thrilled 
through  every  vein ;  the  faded  memory 
of  thofe  enjoyments  that  once  gave  me 
pleafure,  put  on  more  lively  colours, 
and  a  thoufand  gay  amuSements,  filled  my 
mind. 

It  was  not  without  regret,  that  I  was 
forfaken  by  this  waking  dream.  The 
cheapnefs  of  puerile  delights,  the  guiltlefs 
joy  they  leave  upon  the  mind,  the  bloom- 
ing hopes  that  lift  up  the  foul  in  the  a  Scent 
of  life,  the  pleafure  that  attends  the  gra- 
dual opening  of  the  imagination,  and  the 
dawn  of  reafon,  made  me  think  moft  men 
found  that  ftage  the  moft  agreeable  part  of 
their  journey. 

When  men  come  to  riper  years,  the  in- 
nocent diversions  which  exalted  the  Spirits, 
and  produced  health  of  body,  indolence  of 
mind;,  and  refreshing  (lumbers,  are  too  of- 
ten exchanged  for  criminal  delights,  which 
fill  the  foul  with  anguifh,  and  the  body 
with  difeafe.  The  grateful  employment 
of  admiring  and  raifing  themfelves  to  an 
imitation  of  the  polite  ftile,  beautiful  images, 
and  noble  fentijnents  of  ancient  authors,  is 
abandoned  for  law-latin,  the  lucubrations 
of  our  paltry  news-mongers,  and  that 
fwarm  of  vile  pamphlets  which  corrupt 
our  tafte,  and  infeft  the  public.  The  ideas 
of  virtue  which  the  characters  of  heroes 
had  imprinted  on  their  minds,  infenfibly 
wear  out,  and  they  come  to  be  influenced 
by  the  nearer  examples  of  a  degenerate 
age. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  the  foul 
firft  makes  her  entrance  into  the  world,  alt 
things  look  frefh  and  gay ;  their  novelty 
furprifes,  and  every  little  glitter  or  gaudy 
colour  tranfports  the  Stranger.  But  by 
degrees  the  fenfe  grows  callous,  and  we 
lofe  that  exquifite  reliSh  of  trifles,  by  the 
time  our  minds  Should  be  fuppofed  ripe 
for  rational  entertainments.  I  cannot  make 
this  reflection  without  being  touched  with 
a  ccmmiSeration  of  that  fpecies  called  beaus, 
the  happinefs  of  thofe  men  neceflarily  ter- 
minating 


%% 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


minating  with  their  childhood,  who/ from 
a  want  of  knowing  other  purfuits,  continue 
a  fondnefs  for  the  delights  of  that  age, 
after  the  relifh  of  them  is  decayed. 

Providence  hath  with  a  bountiful  hand 
prepared  a  variety  of  pleafures  for  the  va- 
rious ftages  of  life.  It  behoves  us  not  to 
be  wanting  to  ourfelves  in  forwarding  the 
intention  of  nature,  by  the  culture  of  our 
minds,  and  a  due  preparation  of  each  fa- 
culty for  the  enjoyment  of  thofe  objects  it 
is  capable  of  being  affected  with. 

As  our  parts  open  and  difplay  by  gen- 
tle degrees,  we  rife  from  the  gratifications 
of  fenfe,  to  relifh  thofe  of  the  mind.  In 
the  fcale  of  pleafure,  the  Ioweft  are  fen- 
fual  delights,  which  are  fucceeded  by  the 
more  enlarged  views  and  gay  portraitures 
of  a  lively  imagination ;  and  thefe  give 
way  to  the  fublimer  pleafures  of  reafon, 
which  difcover  the  eaufes  and  deiigns,  the 
frame,  connection,  and  fymmetry  of  things, 
and  till  the  mind  with  the  contemplation 
of  intellectual  beauty,  order,  and  truth. 

Hence  I  regard  our  public  fchools  and 
univerfities,  not  only  as  nurferies  of  men 
for  the  fervice  of  the  church  and  ftate, 
but  alfo  as  places  defigned  to  teach  man- 
kind the  mofl  refined  luxury,  to  raife  the 
mind  to  its  due  perfection,  and  give  it  a 
tafte  for  thofe  entertainments  which  af- 
ford the  higheft  tranfport,  without  the 
grofihefs  or  remcrfc  that  attend  vulgar  en- 
joyments. 

In  thofe  bleffed  retreats  men  enjoy  the 
fveets  of  folitude,  and  yet  converfe  with 
the  greateft  genii  that  have  appeared  in 
every  age  ;  wander  through  the  delightful 
mazes  of  every  art  and  fcience,  and  as 
they  gradually  enlarge  their  fphere  of 
knowledge,  at  once  rejoice  in  their  pre- 
fent  pofleffions,  and  are  animated  by  the 
boundlefs  profpect  of  future  difcoveries. 
Thc*re,  a  generous  emulation,  a  noble 
third:  of  fame,  a  love  of  truth  and  honour- 
able regards,  reign  in  minds  as  yet  un- 
tainted from  the  world.  There,  the  flock 
of  learning  tranfmitted  down  from  the  an- 
cients, is  preferved,  and  receives  a  daily 
increafe  ;  and  it  is  thence  propagated  by 
men,  who  having  finifhed  their  ftudies,  go 
into  the  world,  and  fpread  that  o-eneral 
knowledge  and  good  tafte  throughout  the 
land,  which  is  fo  diftant  from  the  barba- 
rian of  its  ancient  inhabitants,  or  the  fierce 
genius  of  its  invaders,  And  as  it  is  evi- 
dent that  our  literature  is  owing  to  the 
fchools  and   univerfities;   fo  it  cannot  be 


denied,  that  thefe  are  owing  to  our  re* 
ligion. 

It  was  chiefly,  if  not  altogether,  upon 
religious  confederations  that  princes,  as  -: 
well  as  private  perfons,  have  erected  col- 
leges, and  affigned  liberal  endowments  to 
ftudents  and  profeflbrs.  Upon  the  fame 
account  they  meet  with  encouragement  and 
protection  from  all  chriftian  ftates,  as  being 
eiteemed  a  ntcefr.uy  means  to  have  the 
iacred  oracles  and  primitive  traditions  of 
chriftian  ity  preferved  and  underftood.  And 
it  is  well  known,  that  after  a  long  night  of 
ignorance  and  fuperftition,  the  reforma- 
tion of  the  church  and  that  of  learning 
began  together,  and  made  proportionable 
advances,  the  latter  having  been  the  effect 
of  the  former,  which  of  courfe  engaged 
men  in  the  ftudy  of  the  learned  languages 
and  of  antiquity.  Guardian, 

§  20.    On  Chearfulnefs. 

I  have  always  preferred  chearfulnefs  to 
mirth.  The  latter  I  confider  as  an  act, 
the  former  as  a  habit  of  the  mind.  Mirth 
is  fhort  and  tranfient,  chearfulnefs  fixed 
and  permanent.  Thofe  are  often  raifed 
into  the  greateft  tranfports  of  mirth,  who 
are  fubject  to  the  greateft  depreffions  of 
melancholy  :  on  the  contrary,  chearfulnefs, 
though  it  does  not  give  the  mind  fuch  an 
exquifite  gladnefs,  prevents  us  from  falling 
into  any  depths  of  forrow.  Mirth  is  like 
a  flafh  of  lightning,  that  breaks  through  a 
gloom  of  clouds,  and  glitters  for  a  mo- 
ment; chearfulnefs  keeps  up  a  kind  of  day- 
light in  the  mind,  and  fills  it  with  a  fteady 
and  perpetual  ferenity. 

Men  of  auftere  principles  look  upon 
mirth  as  too  wanton  and  diffolute  for  a 
ftate  of  probation,  and  as  filled  with"  a 
certain  triumph  and  infolence  of  heart  that 
is  inconfiftent  with  a  life  which  is  every 
moment  obnoxious  to  the  greateft  dangers. 
Writers  of  this  complexion  have  obferved, 
that  the  facred  Perfon  who  was  the  great 
pattern  of  perfection,  was  never  feen  to 
laugh. 

Chearfulnefs  of  mind  is  not  liable  to 
any  of  thefe  exceptions ;  it  is  of  a  ferious 
and  compofed  nature ;  it  does  not  throw 
the  mind  into  a  condition  improper  for  the 
prefent  ftate  of  humanity,  and  is  very  con- 
fpicuous  in  the  characters  of  thofe  who 
are  looked  upon  as  the  greateft  philofophers 
among  the  heathens,  as  well  as  among 
thofe  who  have  been  defervedly  efteemed 
as  faints  and  holy  men  amonjr  Chriilians. 

If 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


29 


If  we  confider  chearfulnefs  in  three 
lights,  with  regard  to  ourfelves,  to  thofe 
we  converfe  with,  and  to  the  great  Author 
of  our  being,  it  will  not  a  little  recom- 
mend itfelf  on  each  of  thefe  accounts.  The 
man  who  is  poflefled  of  this  excellent  frame 
of  mind,  is  not  only  eafy  in  his  thoughts,  but 
a  perfect  mailer  of  all  the  powers  and  facul- 
ties of  the  foul :  his  imagination  is  always 
clear,  and  his  judgment  undifturbed;  his 
temper  is  even  and  unruffled,  whether  in 
a&ion  or  folitude.  He  comes  with  a  relifh 
to  all  thofe  goods  which  nature  has  pro- 
vided for  him,  taftes  all  the  pleafures  of 
the  creation  which  are  poured  about  him, 
and  does  not  feel  the  full  weight  of  thofe 
accidental  evils  which  may  befal  him. 

If  we  confider  him  in  relation  to  the 
perfons  whom  he  converfes  with,  it  natu- 
rally produces  love  and  good-will  towards 
him.  A  chearful  mind  is  not  only  dif- 
pofed  to  be  affable  and  obliging,  but  raifes 
the  fame  good-humour  in  thofe  who  come 
within  its  influence.  A  man  finds  himfelf 
pleafed,  he  does  not  know  why,  with  the 
chearfulnefs  of  his  companion :  it  is  like 
a  fudden  funfhine,  that  awakens  a  fecret  de- 
light in  the  mind,  without  her  attending  to 
it.  The  heart  rejoices  of  its  own  accord, 
and  naturally  flows  out  into  friendftiip  and 
benevolence  towards  the  perfon  who  has  fo 
kindly  an  effect  upon  it. 

When  I  confider  this  chearful  ftate  of 
mind  in  its  third  relation,  I  cannot  but  look 
upon  it  as  a  conftant  habitual  gratitude  to 
the  great  Author  of  nature.  An  inward 
chearfulnefs  is  an  implicit  praife  and  thankf- 
giving  to  Providence  under  all  its  difpen- 
fations.  It  is  a  kind  of  acquiefcence  iu 
the  ftate  wherein  we  are  placed,  and  a  fe- 
cret approbation  of  the  divine  will  in  his 
conduct  towards  man. 

There  are  but  two  things,  which,  in  my 
opinion,  can  reafonably  deprive  us  of  this 
chearfulnefs  of  heart.  The  firfl  of  thefe  is  the 
fenfe  of  guilt.  A  man  who  lives  in  a  ftate 
of  vice  and  impenitence,  can  have  no  title 
to  that  evennefs  and  tranquillity  of  mind 
which  is  the  health  of  the  foul,  and  the  na- 
tural effect  of  virtue  and  innocence.  Chear- 
fulnefs in  an  ill  man  deferves  a  harder  name 
than  language  can  furnilh  us  with,  and  is 
many  degrees  beyond  what  we  commonly 
call  folly  or  madnefs. 

Atheifm,  by  which  I  mean  a  difbelief  of 
a  Supreme  Being,  and  confequentiy  of  a 
future  ftate,  under  whatfoever  title  it  fhel- 
itfelf,   may  likewife  very  reafonably 


ter 


deprive  a  man  of  this  chearfuiaefs  of  tem- 


per. There  is  fomething  fo  particularly 
gloomy  and  offenfive  to  human  nature  in 
the  profpect  of  non-exiftence,  that  I  can- 
not but  wonder,  with  many  excellent  wri- 
ters, how  it  is  pdflible  for  a  man  to  out- 
live the  expectation  of  it.  For  my  own, 
part,  I  think  the  being  of  a  God  is  fo 
little  to  be  doubted,  that  it  is  almoft  the 
only  truth  we  are  fure  of,  and  fuch  a  truth 
as  we  meet  with  in  every  object,  in  every 
occurrence,  and  in  every  thought.  If  we 
look  into  the  characters  of  this  tribe  of  in- 
fidels, we  generally  find  they  are  made  up 
of  pride,  ipleen,  and  cavil :  it  is  indeed 
no  wonder,  that  men,  who  are  uneafy  to 
themfelves,  fhould  be  fo  to  the  reft  of  the 
world ;  and  how  is  it  pofiible  for  a  man 
to  be  otherwife  than  uneafy  in  himfelf, 
who  is  in  danger  every  moment  of  lofing 
his  entire  exiftence,  and  dropping  into 
nothing  ? 

The  vicious  man  and  Atheift  have  there- 
fore no  pretence  to  chearfulnefs,  and  would 
act  very  unreasonably,  fhould  they  endea- 
vour after  it.  It  is  impoflible  for  anv  one 
to  live  in  good-humour,  and  enjoy  his  pre- 
fent  exiftence,  who  is  apprehenfive  either 
of  torment  or  of  annihilation  ;  of  being 
miferable,  or  of  not  being  at  all. 

After  having  mentioned  thefe  two  great 
principles,  which  are  deftructive  of  chear- 
fulnefs in  their  own  nature,  as  well  as  in 
right  reafon,  I  cannot  think  of  any  other 
that  ought  to  banilh  this  happy  temper 
from  a  virtuous  mind.  Pain  and  ficknef-, 
fhame  and  reproach,  poverty  and  old-age, 
nay  death  itfelf,  considering  the  lhortnefs 
of  their  duration,  and  the  advantage  we 
may  reap  from  them,  do  not  defer ve  the 
name  of  evils.  A  good  mind  may  bear 
up  under  them  with  fortitude,  with  indo- 
lence, and  with  chearfulnefs  of  heart.  The 
toffing  of  a  tempeft  doea  not  difcompoie 
him,  which  he  is  fure  will  bring  him  to  a 
joyful  harbour. 

A  man,  who  ufes  his  belt  endeavours  to 
live  according  to  the  dictates  of  virtue  and 
right  reafon,  lias  two  perpetual  fources  of 
chearfulnefs,  in  the  confideration  of  his 
own  nature,  and  of  that  Being  on  whom 
he  has  a  dependence.  If  he  looks  into 
himfelf,  he  cannot  but  rejoice  in  that  ex- 
iftence, which  is  fo  lately  beftowed  upon, 
him,  and  which,  after  millions  of  ages, 
will  be  ftill  new,  and  ftill  in  its  beginning. 
How  many  feif-congratalations  naturally 
arife  in  the  mind,  when  it  reflects  on  this 
its  entrance  into  eternity,  when  it  takes  a 
view  of  thofe  improveable  faculties,  which 

in 


3a 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


in  a  few  years,  and  even  at  its  firft  fetting 
out,  have  made  fo  confiderable  a  progrefs, 
and  which  will  be  itill  receiving  an  increafe 
of  perfection,  and  confequently  an  increafe 
of  happinefs !  The  confcioufnefs  of  fuch  a 
being  fpreads  a  perpetual  diifufion  of  joy 
through  the  foul  of  a  virtuous  man,  and 
makes  him  look  upon  himfelf  every  mo- 
ment as  more  happy  than  he  knows  how 
to  conceive, 

The  fecond  fource  of  chearfulnefs  to 
a  good  mind  is,  its  confideration  of  that 
Being  on  whom  we  have  our  dependence, 
and  in  whom,  though  we  behold  him  as  yet 
but  in  the  firft  faint  difcoveries  of  his  per- 
fections, we  fee  every  thing  that  we  can 
imagine  as  great,  glorious,  or  amiable, 
We  find  ourfelves  every  where  upheld  by 
his  goodnefs,  and  furrounded  with  an  im- 
menlity  of  love  and  mercy.  In  fhort,  we 
depend  upon  a  Being,  whofe  power  qua- 
lifies him  to  make  us  happy  by  an  infinity 
of  means,  whofe  goodnefs  and  truth  en- 
gage him  to  make  thofe  happy  who  defire 
it  of  him,  and  whofe  unchangeablenefs 
will  fecure  us  in  this  happinefs  to  all  eter- 
nity. 

Such  confiderations,  which  every  one 
fhould  perpetually  cherifh  in  his  thoughts, 
will  banifh  from  us  all  that  fecret  heavinefs 
cf  heart  which  unthinking  men  are  fubject 
to  when  they  lie  under  no  real  affliction, 
all  that  angui'h  which  we  may  feel  from 
any  evil  that  actually  oppreffes  us,  to  which 
I  may  likevvife  add  thofe  little  cracklings 
of  mirth  and  folly,  that  are  apter  to  be- 
tray virtue  than  fupport  it ;  and  eftabliih 
in  us  fuch  an  even  and  chearfol  temper,  as 
makes  us  pleafmg  to  ourfelves,  to  thofe 
with  whom  we  converfe,  and  to  him  whom 
we  are  made  to  pleafc.  Spefiator. 

§21.  On  the  Advantages  cf  a  chearful 
Temper. 
Chearfulnefs  is,  in  the  firft  place,  the 
beft  promoter  of  health.  Repinings  and 
fecret  murmurs  of  heart  give  impercepti- 
ble ftrokes  to  thofe  delicate  fibres  of  which 
the  vital  parts  are  compofed,  and  wear  out 
the  machine  infenfibly;  not  to  mention 
thofe  violent  ferments  which  they  ftir  up 
in  the  blood,  and  thofe  irregular  difturbed 
motions,  which  they  raife  in  the  animal 
fpirits.  I  fcarce  remember,  in  my  own 
obfervation,  to  have  met  with  many  old 
men,  or  with  fuch,  who  (to  ufe  our  Eng- 
lifh  phrafe)  wear  well,  that  had  not  at  leaft 
a  certain  indolence  in  their  humour,  if  no(t 


a  more  than  ordinary  gaiety  and  cheanu?* 
nefs  of  heart.  The  truth  of  it  is,  health 
and  chearfulnefs  mutually  beget  each  ether; 
with  this  difference,  that  we  feldom  meet 
with  a  great  degree  of  health  which  is  not 
attended  with  a  certain  chearfulnefs,  but 
very  often  fee  chearfulnefs  where  there  is 
no  great  degree  of  health. 

Chearfulnefs  bears  the  fame  friendly  re- 
gard to  the  mind  as  to  the  body  :  it  ba- 
nifhes  all  anxious  care  and  difcontent, 
foothes  and  compofes  the  pafiions,  and 
keeps  the  foul  in  a  perpetual  calm.  But 
having  already  touched  on  this  lad  consi- 
deration, I  fhall  here  take  notice,  that  the 
world  in  which  we  are  placed,  is  filled 
with  innumerable  objects  that  are  proper 
to  raife  and  keep  alive  this  happy  temper 
of  mind. 

If  we  confider  the  world  in  its  fubfer- 
viency  to  man,  one  would  think  it  was 
made  for  our  ufe ;  but  if  we  confider  it 
in  its  natural  beauty  and  harmony,  one 
would  be  apt  to  conclude  it  was  made  foi* 
our  pleafure.  The  fun,  which  is  as  the 
great  foul  of  the  univerfe,  and  produces  all 
the  necefiaries  of  life,  has  a  particular  in- 
fluence in  chearing  the  mind  of  man,  and 
making  the  heart  glad. 

Thofe  feveral  living  creatures  which  are 
made  for  our  fervice  or  fuftenance,  at  the 
fame  time  either  fill  the  woods  with  their 
mufic,  furnifh  us  with  game,  or  raife  pleaf- 
ing  ideas  in  us  by  the  delightfulnefs  of 
their  appearance.  Fountains,  lakes,  and 
rivers,  are  as  refrefhing  to  the  imagina- 
tion, as  to  the  foil  through  which  they 
pafs. 

There  are  writers  of  great  diftinction> 
who  have  made  it  an  argument  for  Provi- 
dence, that  the  whole  earth  is  covered 
with  green,  rather  than  with  any  other 
colour,  as  being  fuch  a  right  mixture  of 
light  and  fhade,  that  it  comforts  and 
Strengthens  the  eye  inftead  of  weakening 
or  grieving  it.  For  this  reafon,  feveral 
painters  have  a  green  cloth  hanging  near 
them,  to  eafe  the  eye  upon,  after  too  great 
an  application  to  their  colouring.  A  fa- 
mous modern  philofopher  accounts  for  it 
in  the  following  manner  :  All  colours  that 
are  more  luminous,  overpower  and  diffi- 
pate  the  animal  fpirits  which  are  employed 
in  fight ;  on  the  contrary,  thofe  that  are 
more  obfeure  do  not  give  the  animal  fpi- 
rits a  fufficient  exercife ;  whereas,  the  rays 
that  produce  in  us  the  idea  of  green,  fall 
upon  the  eye  in  fuch  a  due  proportion, 

that 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


1* 


that 'they  give  the  animal  fpirits  their  pro- 
per play,  and,  by  keeping  up  the  ftruggle 
in  a  juit  balance,  excite  a  very  pleaiing 
and  agreeable  fenfation.  Let  the  caufe  be 
what  it  will,  the  effect  is  certain ;  for  which 
reafon,  the  poets  afcribe  to  this  particular 
colour  the  epithet  of  chearful. 

To  confider  further  this  double  end  in 
the  works  of  nature,  and  how  they  are,  at 
the  fame  time,  both  ufeful  and  entertain- 
ing, we  find  that  the  moll  important  parts 
in  the  vegetable  world  are  thofe  which  are 
the  moil  beautiful.  Thefe  are  the  feeds 
by  which  the  feveral  races  of  plants  are 
propagated  and  continued,  and  which  are 
always  lodged  in  flowers  or  bio  Moms.  Na- 
ture feems  to  hide  her  principal  defign, 
and  to  be  induftrious  in  making  the  earth 
gay  and  delightful,  while  fhe  is  carrying 
on  her  great  work,  and  intent  upon  her 
own  prefervation.  The  hulbandman,  after 
the  fame  manner,  is  employed  in  laying 
out  the  whole  country  into  a  kind  of  gar- 
den or  landikip,  and  making  every  thing 
fmile  about  him,  whilit,  in  reality,  he  thinks 
of  nothing  but  of  the  harveft,  and  increafe 
which  is  to  arife  from  it. 

We  may  further  obferve  how  Provi- 
dence has  taken  care  to  keep  up  this 
chearfulnefs'  in  the  mind  of  man,  by  hav- 
ing formed  jt  after  fuch  a  manner,  as  to 
make  it  capable  of  conceiving  delight  from 
feveral  objects  which  feem  to  have  very 
little  ufe  in  them;  ai  from  the  wildnefs  of 
rocks  and  deferts,  and  the  like  grotcfque 
parts  of  nature.  Thofe  who  are  verfed  in 
philofophy  may  ftill  carry  this  confidera- 
tion  higher,  by  obferving,  that  if  matter 
had  appeared  to  us  endowed  only  with 
thofe  real  qualities  which  it  actually  pof- 
fefles,  it 'would  have  made  but  a  very  joy- 
lefs  and  uncomfortable  figure;  and  why 
has  Providence  given  it  a  power  of  pro- 
ducing in  us  fuch  imaginary  qualities,  as 
taftes  and  colours,  founds  and  fmells,  heat 
and  cold,  but  that  man,  while  he  is  con- 
verfant  in  the  lower  (rations  of  nature,  might 
have  his  mind  cheared  and  delighted  with 
agreeable  fenfations  ?  In  fhort,  the  whole 
univerfe  is  a  kind  of  theatre  filled  with 
objects  that  either  raife  '  in  us  pleafure, 
amufement,  or  admiration. 

The  reader's  own  thoughts  v/ill  fuggefl 
to  him  the  viciffitude  of  day  and  night,  the 
change  of  feafons,  with  all  that  variety  of 
fcenes  which  diverfify  the  face  of  nature, 
and  fill  the  mind  with  a  perpetual  fuccef- 
iion  of  beautiful  and  pleafing  images. 

I  lhall  not  here  mention  the  feveral  en- 


tertainments of  art,  with  the  pleafures  of 
friendfhip,  books,  converfation,  and  other 
accidental  diverfions  of  life,  becaufe  I 
would  only  take  notice  of  fuch  incitements 
to  a  chearful  temper,  as  offer  themfelves 
to  perfbns  of  all  ranks  and  conditions,  and 
which  may  fufficiently  fhew  us,  that  Provi- 
dence did  not  defign  this  world  fhould  be 
filled  with  murmurs  and  repinings,  or  that 
the  heart  of  man  ihould  be  involved  in 
gloom  and  melancholy. 

I  the  more  inculcate  this  chearfulnefs 
of  temper,  as  it  is  a  virtue  in  which  our 
countrymen  are  obferved  to  be  more  defi- 
cient than  any  other  nation.  Melancholy 
is  a  kind  of  demon  that  haunts  our  ifland, 
and  often  conveys  herfelf  to  us  in  an  eaf- 
terly  wind.  A  celebrated  French  novelilr, 
in  oppofition  to  thofe  who  begin  their  ro- 
mances with  a  flowery  feafon  of  the  year, 
enters  on  his  ilory  thus  :  '  In  the  gloomy 

*  month  of  November,  when  the  people  of 

*  England  hang  and  drown  themfelves,  a 
'  difconfolate  lover  walked  out  into  the 

*  fields,'  &c 

Every  one  ought  to  fence  againft  the 
temper  of  his  climate  or  conftitution,  and 
frequently  to  indulge  in  himfelf  thofe  con- 
fiderations  which  may  give  him  a  ferenity 
of  mind,  and.enable  him  to  bear  up  chear- 
fully  againft  thofe  little  evils  and  misfor- 
tunes which  are  common  to  human  nature, 
and  which,  by  a  right  improvement  of  them, 
will  produce  a  fatiety  of  joy,  and  an  unin-. 
terrupted  happinefs. 

At  the  fame  time  that  I  would  engage 
my  reader  to  confider  the  world  in  its  moil 
agreeable  lights,  I  mull  own  there  are  many 
evils  which  naturally  fpring  up  amidll  the 
entertainments  that  are  provided  for  us ; 
but  thefe,  if  rightly  confldered,  ihould  be 
far  from  overcailing  the  mind  with  forrow, 
or  deftroying  that  chearfulnefs  of  temper 
which  I  have  been  recommending.  This 
interfperfion  of  evil  with  good,  and  pain 
with  pleafure,  in  the  works  of  nature,  is 
very  truly  afcribed  by  Mr.  Locke,  in  his 
Efiay  upon  Human  Underftanding,  to  a 
moral  reafon,  in  the  following  words  : 

'  Beyond  all  this,  we  may  find  another 
'  reafon  why  God  hath  fcattered  up  and 
*■  down  feveral  degrees  of  pleafure  and 
'  pain,  in  all  the  things  that  environ  and 
'  affect  us,  and  blended  them  together,  in 
'  almoll  all  that  our  thoughts  and  fenfes 
'  have  to  do  with ;  that  we,  finding  imper- 

*  feclion,  difiatisfattion,  and  want  of  com- 

*  plete   happinefs  in   all  the   enjoyments 

*  which  the  creatures  can  afford  us,  might 

*  be 


3* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


*  be  led  to  feek  it  in  the  enjoyment  of  him, 

*  with  whom  there  is  fulneis  of  joy,  and 

*  at  whofe   right  hand  are  pleasures   for 
'  evermore.'  Spectator* 

§  22.  On  Truth  and  Sincerity, 
Truth  and  reality  have  all  the  advantages 
cf  appearance,  and  many  more.  If  the 
ihew  of  any  thing  be  good  for  any  thing, 
I  am  fure  fincerity  is  better:  for  why  does 
any  man  diffemble,  or  feem  tc  be  that  which 
he  is  not,  but  becaufe  he  thinks  it  good  to 
have  fuch  a  quality  as  he  pretends  to  ?  for 
to  counterfeit  and  difTemblc,  is  to  put  on 
the  appearance  of  fome  real  excellency. 
Now  the  bell  way  in  the  world  for  a  man 
to  feem  to  be  any  thing,  is  really  to  be 
what  we  would  feem  to  be.  Befides,  that 
it  is  many  times  as  troublciome  to  make 
good  the  pretence  of  a  good  quality,  as  to 
have  it;  and  if  a  man  have  it  not,  it  is  ten 
to  one  but  he  is  difcovered  to  want  it, 
and  then  all  his  pains  and  labour  to  feem 
to  have  it  is  loft.  There  is  fomething  un- 
natural in  painting,  which  a  fkilful  eye  will 
eafily  difcern  from  native  beauty  and  com- 
plexion. 

It  is  hard  to  perfonate  and  adt.  a  part 
long ;  for  where  truth  is  not  at  the  bottom, 
nature  will  always  be  endeavouring  to  re- 
turn, and  will  peep  out  and  betray  herfelf 
one  time  or  other.  Therefore,  if  any  man 
think  it  convenient  to  feem  good,  let  him 
be  fo  indeed,  and  then  his  goodnefs  will 
appear  to  every  body's  fatisfaction ;  fo 
that,  upon  all  accounts,  fincerity  is  true 
wifdem.  Particularly  as  to  the  affairs  of 
this  wcild,  integrity  hath  many  advantages 
over  all  the  fine  and  artificial  ways  of  dif- 
ifimulation  and  deceit ;  it  is  much  the 
plainer  and  carter,  much  the  fafer  and  more 
fecure  way  of  dealing  in  the  world;  it  has 
lefs  of  trouble  and  difficulty,  of  entangle- 
ment and  perplexity,  of  danger  and  ha- 
zard in  it;  it  is  the  fhorteft  and  neareft 
way  to  our  end,  carrying  us  thither  in  a 
ilrait  line,  and  will  hold  out  and  laft  long- 
eft.  The  arts  of  deceit  and  cunning  do 
continually  grow  weaker  and  lefs  effectual 
and  ferviceable  to  them  that  ufe  them ; 
whereas  integrity  gains  ftrength  by  ufe ; 
and  the  more  and  longer  any  man  pradti- 
feth  it,  the  greater  fervice  it  does  him,  by 
confirming  his  i  eputation,  and  encouraging 
thofe  with  whom  he  hath  to  do  to  repole 
the  greateft  trufi  and  confidence  in  him, 
"..  .  i  is  an  unfpeakable  advantage  in  the 
.  ind  fl  "  s  of  life. 
Truth  is  always  confiitent  with  itfelf*. 


and  needs  nothing  to  help  it  out ;  it  xS 
always  near  at  hand,  and  fits  upon  out* 
lips,  and  is  ready  to  drop  out  before  we 
are  aware ;  whereas  a  lie  is  troublefome, 
and  fets  a  man's  invention  upon  the  rack; 
and  one  trick  needs  a  great  many  more  to 
make  it  good.  It  is  like  building  upon  a 
falfe  foundation,  which  continually  ftands- 
in  need  of  props  to  fhore  it  up,  and  proves 
at  laft  more  chargeable  than  to  have  raifed 
a  fubftantial  building  at  firft  upon  a  true  and 
folid  foundation;  for  fincerity  is  firm  and 
fubftantial,  and  there  is  nothing  hollow  or 
unfound  in  it,  and  becaufe  it  is  plain  and 
open,  fears  no  difcovery ;  of  which  the 
crafty  man  is  always  in  danger,  and  when 
he  thinks  he  walks  in  the  dark,  all  his  pre- 
tences are  fo  tranfparent,  that  he  that  runs 
may  read  them  ;  he  is  the  laft  man  that 
finds  himfelf  to  be  found  out,  and  whilft  he 
takes  it  for  granted  that  he  makes  fools 
of  others,  he  renders  himfelf  ridiculous. 

Add  to  all  this,  that  fincerity  is  the  mofl 
compendious  wifdom,  and  an  excellent  in- 
ltrument  for  the  fpeedy  difpatch  of  bufi- 
nefs ;  it  creates  confidence  in  thofe  we  have  • 
to  deal  with,  faves  the  labour  of  many  in- 
quiries, and  brings  things  to  an  ifiue  in 
few  words ;  it  is  like  travelling  in  a  plain 
beaten  road,  which  commonly  brings  a  man 
fooner  to  his  journey's  end  than  bye-ways, 
in  which  men  often  loie  themfelves.  In 
a  word,  whatfoever  convenience  may  be 
thought  to  be  in  fallhood  and  diffimuia- 
tion,  it  is  foon  over;  but  the  inconvenience 
of  it  is  perpetual,  becaufe  it  brings  a  man 
under  an  everlaiting  jealoufy  and  fufpicion, 
fo  that  he  is  not  believed  when  he  fpeaks 
truth.,  nor  trufted  perhaps  when  he  means 
honeitly.  When  a  man  has  once  forfeited 
the  reputation  of  his  integrity,  he  is  fet 
fa  ft,  and  nothing  will  then  ferve  his  turn, 
neither  truth  nor  faifhood. 

And  I  have  often  thought  that  God  hath, 
in  his  great  wifdom,  hid  from  men  of  falfe 
and  diihoneft  minds  the  wonderful  advan- 
tages of  truth  and  integrity  to  the  prof- 
perity  even  of  our  worldly  affairs ;  thefe 
men  are  fo  blinded  by  their  covetoufnels 
and  ambition,  that  they  cannot  look  be- 
yond a  prefent  advantage,  nor  forbear  to 
feize  upon  it,  though  by  ways  never  fo  in- 
diredt;  they  cannot  fee  fo  far  as  to  the  re- 
mote confequences  of  a  fteady  integrity, 
and  the  valt  benefit  and  advantages  which 
it  will  bring  a  man  at  laft.  Were  but  this 
fort  Oi  men  wife  and  clear-lighted  enough 
to  difcern  this,  they  would  be  honeil  out 
of  very  knavery,  not  cut  of  any  love  to 

hbnefty 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


33 


hbnefty  and  virtue,  but  with  a  crafty  de- 
sign to  promote  and  advance  more  effec- 
tually their  own  interefts ;  and  therefore 
the  juftice  of  the  divine  providence  hath 
hid  this  trueft  point  of  wifdom  from  their 
eyes,  that  bad  men  might  not  be  upon 
equal  terms  with  the  juft  and  upright,  and 
ferve  their  own  wicked  defigns  by  honeft 
and  lawful  means. 

Indeed,  if  a  man  were  only  to  deal  in 
the  world  for  a  day,  and  fhould  never  have 
oecafion  to  converfe  more  with  mankind, 
never  more  need  their  good  opinion  or 
goud  word,  it  were  then  no  great  matter 
(fpeaking  as  to  the  concernments  of  this 
world)  if  a  man  fpent  his  reputation  all  at 
once,  and  ventured  it  at  one  throw :  but  if 
he  be  to  continue  in  the  world,  and  would 
have  the  advantage  of  converfation  whilft 
he  is  in  it,  let  him  make  ufe  of  truth  and 
fincerity  in  all  his  words  and  actions ;  for 
nothing  but  this  will  laft  and  hold  out  to 
the  end  :  all  other  arts  will  fail,  but  truth 
and  integrity  will  carry  a  man  through, 
and  bear  him  out  to  the  laft. 

Spectator. 

§  23.  Rules  for  the  Knowledge  of  One's 
Self. 

Hypocrify,  at  the  fafhionable  end  of  the 
town,  is  very  different  from  that  in  the 
city.  The  modiih  hypocrite  endeavours 
to  appear  more  vicious  than  he  really  is ; 
the  other  kind  of  hypocrite  more  virtuous. 
The  former  is  afraid  of  every  thing  that 
has  the  fliew  of  religion  in  it,  and  would  be 
thought  engaged  in  many  criminal  gallan- 
tries and  amours,  which  he  is  not  guilty 
of;  the  latter  aflumes  a  face  of  fandtity, 
and  covers  a  multitude  of  vices  under  a 
feeming  religious  deportment. 

But  there  is  another  kind  of  hypocrify, 
which  differs  from  both  thefe,  and  which 
I  intend  to  make  the  fubject  of  this  paper: 
I  mean  that  hypocrify,  by  which  a  man 
does  not  only  deceive  the  world,  but  very 
often  impofes  on  himfelf;  that  hypocrify 
which  conceals  his  own  heart  from  him, 
and  makes  him  believe  he  is  more  virtuous 
than  he  really  is,  and  either  not  attend  to 
his  vices,  or  miftake  even  his  vices  for  vir- 
tues. It  is  this  fatal  hypocrify  and  felf- 
deceit,  which  is  taken  notice  of  in  thefe 
words,  "*  Who  can  underftand  his  errors  ? 
*  cleanfe  thou  me  from  my  fecret  faults.' 

If  the  open  profeffbrs  of  impiety  deferve 
the  utmoft  application  and  endeavours  of 
moral  writers,  to  recover  them  from  vice 
and  folly,  how  much  more  may  thofe  lay 


a  claim  to  their  care  and  companion,  who 
are  walking  in  the  paths  of  death,  while 
they  fancy  themfelves  engaged  in  a  courfe 
of  virtue!  I  lhall  therefore  endeavour  to 
lay  down  fome  rules  for  the  discovery  of 
thofe  vices  that  lurk  in  the  fecret  corners 
of  the  foul ;  and  to  fhew  my  reader  thofe 
methods,  by  which  he  may  arrive  at  a 
true  and  impartial  knowledge  of  himfelf. 
The  ufual  means  prefcribed  for  this  pur- 
pofe,  are  to  examine  ourfelves  by  the  rules 
which  are  laid  down  for  our  direction  in 
facred  writ,  and  to  compare  our  lives  with 
the  life  of  that  perfon  who  afted  up  to  the 
perfection  of  human  nature,  and  is  the 
ftanding  example,  as  well  as  the  great 
guide  and  inftructor,  of  thofe  who  receive 
his  doctrines.  Though  thefe  two  heads 
cannot  be  too  much  infilled  upon,  I  lhall 
but  juft  mention  them,  fince  they  have 
been  handled  by  many  great  and  eminent 
writers. 

I  would  therefore  propofe  the  following 
methods  to  the  confideration  of  fuch  as 
would  find  out  their  fecret  faults,  and  make 
a  true  eftimate  of  themfelves. 

In  the  firft  place,  let  them  confider 
well,  what  are  the  characters  which  they 
bear  among  their  enemies.  Our  friends 
very  often  flatter  us  as  much  as  our  own 
hearts.  They  either  do  not  fee  our  faults, 
or  conceal  them  from  us,  or  {often  them  by 
their  reprefentations,  after  fuch  a  manner, 
that  we  think  them  too  trivial  to  be  taken 
notice  of.  An  adverfary,  on  the  contrary, 
makes  a  ftridter  fearch  into  us,  difcovers 
every  flaw  and  imperfection  in  our  tem- 
pers ;  and,  though  his  malice  may  fet  them 
in  too  ftrong  a  light,  it  has  generally  fome 
ground  for  what  it  advances.  A  friend 
exaggerates  a  man's  virtues,  an  enemy  in- 
flames his  crimes.  A  wife  man  mould 
give  a  juft  attention  to  both  of  them,  fo 
far  as  they  may  tend  to  the  improvement 
of  the  one,  and  the  diminution  of  the  other. 
Plutarch  has  written  an  eilay  on  the  bene- 
fits which  a  man  may  receive  from  his  ene- 
mies ;  and  among  the  good  fruits  of  en-> 
mity,  mentions  this  in  particular,  "  that, 
by  the  reproaches  which  it  caffs  upon  us, 
we  fee  the  worft  fide  of  ourfelves,  and  open 
our  eyes  to  Several  blemiihes  and  defects 
in  our  lives  and  converfations,  which  we 
fhould  not  have  obferved  without  the  help 
of  fuch  ill-natured  monitors." 

In  order  likewife   to  come  to   a   true 
knowledge  of  ourfelves,  we  fhould  confi- 
der, on  the  other  hand,  how  far  We  may 
deferve  the  praifes  and  approbations  which 
D  the 


34 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

our  fouls   in  fuch   a   folid  and  fubftantial 


the  world  beftow  upon  us ;  whether  the 
aftions  they  celebrate  proceed  from  lau- 
dable and  worthy  motives ;  and  how  far 
we  are  really  ponefied  of  the  virtues,  which 
gain  us  applaufe  among  thofe  with  whom 
we  converfe.  Such  a  reflection  is  abfo- 
liitely  neceiTary,  if  we  confider  how  apt 
we  are  either  to  value  or  condemn  ourfelves 
by  the  opinion  of  others,  and  to  facririce 
the  report  of  our  own  hearts  to  the  judg- 
ment of  the  world. 

In  the  next  place,  that  we  may  not  de- 
ceive ourfelves  in  a  point  of  fo  much  im- 
portance, we  fhould  not  lay  too  great  a 
ftrefs  on  any  fuppofed  virtues  we  poffefs, 
that  are  of  a  doubtful  nature  :  and  fuch 
we  may  efteem  all  thofe  in  which  multi- 
tudes of  men  difl'ent  from  us,  who  are  as 
good  and  wife  as  ourfelves.  We  fhould 
always  adt  with  great  cautioufnefs  and  cir- 
cumfpe&ion,  in  points  where  it  is  not  im- 
poffible  that  we  may  be  deceived.  Intem- 
perate zeal,  bigotry,  and  perfecution,  for 
any  party  or  opinion,  how  praife-worthy 
ibever  they  may  appear  to  weak  men  of 
our  own  principles,  produce  infinite  cala- 
mities among  mankind,  and  are  highly  cri- 
minal in  their  own  nature  ;  and  yet  how 
many  perfons,  eminent  for  piety,  fuller 
fuch  monftrous  and  abfurd  principles  of 
aftion  to  take  root  in  their  minds  under 
the  colour  of  virtues  ?  For  my  own  part, 
I  muft  own,  I  never  yet  knew'  any  party 
fo  juft  and  reafonable,  that  a  man  could 
follow  it  in  its  height  and  violence,  and  at 
the  fame  time  be  innocent. 

We  Jhould  likewife  be  very  apprehen- 
sive of  thoie  actions,  which  proceed  from 
natural  conftitution,  favourite  paffions,  par- 
ticular education,  or  whatever  promotes 
our  worldly  intereft  or  advantage.  In 
thefe  or  the  like  cafes,  a  man's  judgment 
is  eafily  perverted,  and  a  wrong  bias  hung 
upon  his  mind.  Thefe  are  the  inlets  of 
prejudice,  the  unguarded  avenues  of  the 
mind,  by  which  a  thoufand  errors  and  fe- 
cret  faults  find  admiihon,  without  beina 
ohferved  or  taken  notice  of.  A  wife  man 
will  fufpecfc  thefe  actions  to  which  he  is  di- 
rected by  fomelhing  beiides  reafon,  and 
always  apprehend  feme  concealed  evil  in 
every  refolution  that  is  of  a  difputable  na- 
ture, when  it  is  qonformab  e  to  his  parti- 
cular temper,  his  age,  or  way  of  life,  or 
When.it  favour?  his  pleafure  or  his  profit. 

There  is  nothing  of  greater  importance 
to    us,    than    thus    diligently    to    lift    our 
thoughts,  and  examine  alj  thefe  dark   re- 
pi'  the  mind,  if  we  would  eftablifh 


virtue  as  will  turn  to  account  in  that  great 
day,  when  it  muft  Hand  the  teft  of  infinite 
wifdom  and  juftice. 

I  fhall  conclude  this  effay  with  obferv- 
ing,  that  the  two  kinds  of  hypocrify  I 
have  here  fpoken  of,  namely,  that  of  de- 
ceiving the  world,  and  that  of  impofmg 
on  ourfelves,  are  touched  with  wonderful 
beauty  in  the  hundred  thirty-ninth  pfalm. 
The  folly  of  the  firft  kind  cf  hypocrify  is 
there  fet  forth  by  reflections  on  God's  om- 
nifcience  and  omniprefence,  which  are  ce- 
lebrated in  as  noble  ftrains  of  poetry  as  any 
other  I  ever  met  with,  either  facred  or  pro- 
fane. The  other  kind  of  hypocrify,  where- 
by a  man  deceives  himfelf,  is  intimated  in 
the  two  laft  veries,  where  the  pfalmill  ad- 
drefles  himfelf  to  the  great  fearcher  of 
hearts  in  that  emphatical  petition;  "  Try 
"  me,  O  God,  and  feek  the  ground  of  my 
"  heart ;  prove  me  and  examine  my 
"  thoughts:  look  well  if  there  be  any  way 
"  of  wickednefs  in  me,  and  lead  me  in  the 
"  way  everlafting."  Speiiator. 

§   24.     No  Life  f leafing  to  Got/,    hit  that 

which  is  vfeful  to  Mankind,     Jin  Eajiertt 

Story. 

It  pleafed  our  mighty  fovereign  Abbas 
Carafcan,  from  whom  the  kings  of  the 
earth  derive  honour  and  dominion,  to  fet 
Mirza  his  fervant  over  the  province  of 
Tauris.  In  the  hand  of  Mirza,  the  ba- 
lance of  diftribution  was  impended  with 
impartiality  ;  and  under  his  adminiitration, 
the  weak  were  protefted,  the  learned  re- 
ceived honour,  and  the  diligent  became 
rich :  Mirza,  therefore,  was  beheld  by 
every  eve  with  complacency,  and  every 
tongue  pronounced  bleflings  upon  his  head. 
But  it  was  obferved  that  he  derived  no  joy- 
from  the  benefits  which  he  difTufed ;  he 
became  penfive  and  melancholy ;  he  fpent 
his  leifure  in  folitude ;  in  his  palace  he  fat 
motionlefs  upon  a  fcfa;  and  when  he  went- 
out,  his  walk  was  flow,  and  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  ground :  he  applied  to  the 
bufinefs  of  llate  with  reluctance ;  and  re- 
folved  to  relinquish  the  toil  of  government, 
of  which  he  could  no  longer  enjoy  the  re- 
ward. 

He,  therefore,  obtained  permiflion  to  ap- 
proach the  throne  of  our  fovereign ;  and 
being  afked  what  was  his  reoueft,  he  made 
this  reply :  "  May  the  Lord  of  the  world 
"  forgive  the  flave  whom  he  has  honour-i 
**  ed,  if  Mirza  prefume  again  to  lay  the 
V  bounty  of  Abbas  at  his  feet,    Thou  haft 

<<  givei 


OOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


3> 


**  given  me  the  dominion  of  a  country, 
"  fruitful  as  the  gardens  of  Damafcus; 
«*  and  a  city  glorious  above  all  others,  ex- 
<l  cept  that  only  which  reflects  the  fplen- 
**  dour  of  thy  prefence.  But  the  longed 
"  life  is  a  period  fcarce  fuflicient  to  pie- 
<e  pare  for  death:  all  other  bufine/s  is  vain 
w  and  trivial,  as  the  toil  of  emmets  in  the 
"  path  of  the  traveller,  under  whofe  foot 
"  they  perilh  for  ever;  and  all  enjoyment 
"  is  unfubftantial  and  evanefcent,  as  the 
**  colours  of  the  bow  that  appears  in  the 
**  interval  of  a  ilorm.  Suffer  me,  there- 
**  fore,  to  prepare  for  the  approach  of 
"  eternity;  let  me  give  up  my  foul  to 
"  meditation ;  let  folitude  and  file  nee  ac- 
<(  quaint  me  with  the  myiieries  of  devo- 
"  tion ;  let  me  forget  the  world,  and  by 
"  the  world  be  forgotten,  till  the  moment 
K  arrives  in  which  the  veil  of  eternity  mail 
**  fall,  and  I  fhall  be  found  at  the  bar  of 
"  the  Almighty."  Miiza  then  bowed 
hirnfelf  to  the  earth,  and  flood  filent. 

By  the  command  of  Abbas  it  is  record- 
ed, that  at  thefe  words  he  trembled  upon 
tne  throne,  at  the  footftool  of  which  the 
world  pays  homage ;  he  looked  round 
upon  his  nobles  ;  but  every  countenance 
v/as  pale,  and  every  eye  was  upGn  the  earth. 
iNo  man  opened  his  mouth;  and  the  king 
jjirfr  broke  filence,  after  it  had  continued 
jnear  an  hour. 

"  Mirza,  terror  and  doubt  are  come 
«*  upon  me.  I  am  alarmed  as  a  man  who 
"  fuddenly  perceives  that  he  is  near  the 
'f*  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  is  urged  for- 
W  ward  by  an  irrefillible  force  :  but  yet  I 
*'  know  not  whether  my  danger  is  a  rea- 
**'  lity  or  a  dream,  I  am  as  thou  art,  a 
|*f  reptile  of  the  earth :  my  life  is  a  mo- 
ra inent,  and  eternity,  in  which  days,  and 
""  years,  and  ages,  are  nothing,  eternity  is 
"  before  me,  for  which  I  alfo  ihould  pre-- 
«  pare:  but  by  whom  then  muft  the  Faith-' 
"  ful  be  governed  r  by  thofe  only,  who 
"  have  no  fear  of  judgment  ?  by  thofe 
K  only,  whofe  life  is  brutal,  becaitfe  like 
j*<  brutes  they  do  not  confider  that  they 
i"  fhall  die?  Or  who,  indeed,  are  the 
M  Faithful  ?  Are  the  bufy  multitudes  thaf 
"  crowd  the  city,  in  a  irate  of  perdition? 
¥'  and  is  the  cell  of  the  Dervife  alone  the 
g  gate  of  Paradife  ?  To  all,  the  life  of  a 
I"  Dervife  is  not  poffible  :  to  all,  there- 
of fore,  it  cannot  be  a  duty.  Depart  to 
I  the  houfe  winch  has  in  this  city  been 
ff  prepared  for  thy  refidence  ;  I  will  me- 
"  ditate  the  reafon  of  thy  requert;  and 
**  may  He  who  illuminates  the  mind  of  the 


"  humble,  enable  me  to  determine  with 
"  wifdom." 

Mirza  departed ;  and  on  the  third  day, 
having  received  no  command,  he  again 
requeued  an  audience,  and  it  was  granted. 
When  he  entered  the  royal  prefence,  his 
Countenance  appeared  more  chearful ;  he 
drew  a  letter  from  his  bofom,  and  having 
kiffed  it,  he  prefented  it  with  his  right- 
hand.  "  My  Loral"  faid  he,  "  I  have 
"  learned  by  this  letter,  which  I  received 
"  from  Cofrou  the  Iman,  who  ltands  now 
"  before  thee,  in  what  manner  life  may 
'*'  be  beft  improved.  I  am  enabled  to 
"  look  back  with  pleafare,  and  forward 
"  with  hope ;  and  1  fhall  now  rejoice  Hill 
"  to  be  the  ihadow  of  thy  power  at  Tauris, 
<f  and  to  keep  thofe  honours  which  I  fo 
"  lately  wifhed  to  refign."  The  king, 
who  had  lifter.ed  to  Mirza  with  a  mixture 
of  furprize  and  curiofity,  immediately  gave 
the  letter  to  Cofrou,  and  commanded  that 
it  fhould  be  read.  The  eyes  of  the  court 
were  at  once  turned  upon  the  hoary  lage, 
whofe  countenance  was  fuffufed  with  an 
honeft  blufh ;  and  it  was  not  without  fome 
hefitation  that  he  read  thefe  words. 

"  To  Mirza,  whom  the  wifdom  of  Ab- 
"  bas  our  mighty  Lord  has  honoured  with 
"  dominion,  be  everlafting  health !  When 
"  I  heard  thy  purpofe  to  withdraw  the 
"  bleffings  of  thy  government  frcm  the 
"  thoufands  of  Tauris,  my  heart  was 
"  wounded  with  the  arrow  of  affliction, 
"  and  my  eyes  became  dim  with  forrow. 
"  Eut  who  fhall  fpeak  before  the  king 
"  when  he  is  troubled;  and  who  fhall  boaffc 
"  of  knowledge,  when  he  is  diftreffed  by 
**  doubt  ?  To  thee  will  I  relate  the  events 
"  of  my  youth,  which  thou  halt  renewed 
"  before  me  ;  and  .thofe  truths  which  they 
"  taught  mc,  may  the  Prophet  multiply  to 
"  thee  ! 

"  Under  the  inftruction  of  the  phyfician 
cf  Aluzar,  I  obtained  an  early  knowledge 
"  of  hi:,  art.  To  thofe  who  were  fmitten 
if  with  difeafe,  I  could  adminifter  plants, 
"  which  the  fun  has  impregnated  with  the 
"  fpirit  of  health.  Bat  the  fcenes  of  pain, 
"  languor,  and  "mortality,  which  were  per- 
"  petually  riling  before  me,  made  me  of- 
"  ten  tremble  for.  myfelf.  I  faw  the  grave 
"  open  at  my  feet :  I  determined,  there - 
"  fore,  to  contemplate  only  the  regions 
"  beyond  it,  and  to  defpife  every  acquifi- 
"  tion  which  I  could  not  keep.  I  con- 
"  ceived  an  opinion,  that  as  there  was  no 
"  merit  but  in  voluntary  poverty,  and 
"  filent  meditation,  tiiofe  who  defired  mo- 
D  z  *'  ney 


35 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


"  ney  were  not  proper  objecls  of  bounty  ; 
'«  and  that  by  all  wno  were  proper  objedls 
«  of  bounty  money  was  delpiied.  I, 
««  therefore,  buried  mine  in  the  earth  ; 
"  and  renouncing  fociety,  I  wandered 
"  into  a  wild  and  fequeftered  part  of  the 
*«  country  :  my  dwelling  was  a  cave  by 
"  the  fide  of  a  hill ;  I  drank  the  running 
"  water  from  the  fpring,  and  ate  fuch 
«  fruits  and  herbs  as  I  cculd  find.  To 
"  increafe  the  aufterity  of  my  life,  I  fre- 
"  quently  watched  all  night,  fitting  at  the 
'«  entrance  of  the  cave  with  my  face  to 
"  the  eaft,  refigning  myfelf  to  the  fecret 
"  influences  of  the  Prophet,  andexpecling 
"  illuminations  from  above.  One  morn- 
"  ing  after  my  noclurnal  vigil,  juft  as  I 
"  perceived  the  horizon  glow  at  the  ap- 
«  proach  of  the  fun,  the  power  of  fleep 
"  became  irrefifxible,  and  1  funk  under  it. 
"  I  imagined  myfelf  full  fitting  at  the 
"  entrance  of  my  cell ;  that  the  dawn  in- 
«*  creafed ;  and  that  as  I  looked  earneftly 
"  for  the  firfl  beam  of  day,  a  dark  fpot 
"  appeared  to  intercept  it.  I  perceived 
"  that  it  was  in  motion ;  it  increafed  in 
"  fize  as  it  drew  near,  and  at  length  I  dif- 
"  covered  it  to  be  an  eagle.  I  ilill  kept 
*'  my  eye  fixed  ftedfaftly  upon  it,  and  faw 
"  it  alight  at  a  fmall  diftance,  where  I  now 
"  defcried  a  fox  whofe  two  fore-legs  ap- 
"  peared  to  be  broken.  Before  this  fox 
"  the  eagle  laid  part  of  a  kid,  which  fhe 
"  had  brought  in  her  talons,  and  then  dif- 
"  appeared.  When  I  awaked,  I  laid  my 
"  forehead  upon  the  ground,  and  blefTed 
"  the  Prophet  for  the  inftruftion  of  the 
"  morning.  I  reviewed  my  dream,  and 
"  faid  thus  to  myfelf:  Cofrou,  thou  haft 
*«  done  well  to  renounce  the  tumult,  the 
tc  bufmefs,  and  vanities  of  life  :  but  thou 
tc  haft  as  yet  only  done  it  in  part ;  thou 
"  art  ftill  every  day  bufied  in  the  fearch 
tc  of  food,  thy  mind  is  not  wholly  at  reft, 
"  neither  is  thy  truft  in  Providence  com- 
**  plete.  What  art  thou  taught  by  this 
"  vifion?  If  thou  haft  feen  an  eagle  com - 
"  miihoned  by  Heaven  to  feed  a  fox  that 
**  is  lame,  fhall  not  the  hand  of  Heaven 
"  alfo  fupply  thee  with  food ;  when  that 
"  which  prevents  thee  from  procuring  it 
"  for  thyfelf,  is  not  neceffity  but  devotion? 
"  I  was  now  fo  confident  of  a  miraculous 
"  fupply,  that  I  negledled  to  walk  out  for 
"  my  repaft,  which,  after  the  firft  day,  I 
"  expected  with  an  impatience  that  left 
"  me  little  power  of  attending  to  any  other 
*'  object :  this  impatience,  however,  I  la- 
"  boured  to  fupprefs,  and  perlifted  in  my 


"  refolution ;  but  my  eyes  at  length  bagatt 
"  to  fail  me,  and  my  knees  fmote  each 
"  other;  I  threw  myfelf  backward,  and 
"  hoped  my  weaknefs  would  foon  increafe 
»  to  infenfibility.  But  I  was  fuddenly 
"  roufed  by  the  voice  of  an  invifible  being, 
"  who  pronounced  thefe  words  :  '  Cof- 
rou, I  am  the  angel,  who  by  the  command 
of  the  Almighty,  have  regiftered  the 
thoughts  of  thy  heart,  which  I  am  now 
commirTioned  to  reprove.  While  thoiT 
waft  attempting  to  become  wife  above  that 
which  is  revealed,  thy  folly  has  perverted 
the  inftruftion  which  was  vouchfafed  thee.' 
Art  thou  difabled  as  the  Fox  ?  haft  thou' 
not  rather  the  powers  of  the  Eagle?  Arife," 
let  the  Eagle  be  the  objecl  of  thy  emula- 
tion. To  pain  and  ficknefs,  be  thou  agaift 
the  meflenger  of  eafe  and  health.  Virtue 
is  not  reft,  but  action.  If  thou  doft  good 
to  man  as  an  evidence  of  thy  love  to  God, 
thy  virtue  will  be  exalted  from  moral  to 
divine ;  and  that  happinefs  which  is  the 
pledge  of  Paradife,  will  be  thy  reward 
upon  earth.' 

"  At  thefe  words  I  was  not  lefs  afto- 
"  niihed  than  if  a  mountain  had  been 
<f  overturned  at  my  feet.  I  humbled  my- 
"  felf  in  the  dull ;  I  returned  to  the  city  ; 
"  I  dug  up  my  treafure ;  I  was  liberal,  yet  I 
"  became  rich.  My  Ikill  in  reftoring  health 
"  to  the  body  gave  me  frequent  opportu- 
"  nities  of  curing  the  difeafes  of  the  foul. 
"  I  put  on  the  facred  vcftments ;  I  grew 
"  eminent  beyond  my  merit ;  and  it  was 
"  the  pleafure  of  the  king  that  I  fhould 
"  ftand  before  him.  Now,  therefore,  be 
"  not  offended ;  I  boaft  of  no  knowledge 
"  that  I  have  not  received  :  As  the  fands 
"  of  the  deiert  drink  up  the  drops  of  rain, 
"  or  the  dew  of  the  morning,  fo  do  I 
"  alfo,  who  am  but  dull,  imbibe  the  in-' 
"  ftruftions  of  the  prophet.  Believe  then 
"  that  it  is  he  v/ho  tells  thee,  all  know- 
"  ledge  is  prophane,  which  terminates  in 
"  thyfelf;  and  by  a  life  wafted  in  fpecu- 
'*  lation,  little  even  of  this  can  be  gained. 
"  When  the  gates  of  Paradife  are  thrown 
"  open  before  thee,  thy  mind  fhall  be  irra- 
"  diated  in  a  moment ;  here  thou  canft 
"  little  more  than  pile  error  upon  error; 
"  tliere  thou  fhalt  build  truth  upon  truth. 
"  Wait,  therefore,  for  the  glorious  vifion ; 
"  and  in  the  mean  time  emulate  the  Ea- 
"  gle.  Much  is  in  thy  power;  and, there- 
"  fore,  much  is  expected  of  thee.  Though 
"  the  Almighty  only  can  give  virtue, 
"  yet,  as  a  prince,  thou  may'fc  ftimulate 
"  thofe  to  beneficence,  who  adl  from  no 

"  higher 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


37 


&  higher  motive  than  immediate  intereft : 
f*  thou  canit  not  produce  the  principle,  but 
"  may'ft  enforce  the  practice.  The  re- 
tc  lief  of  the  poor  is  equal,  whether  they 
"  receive  it  from  orientation,  or  charity  ; 
"  and  the  effect  of  example  is  the  famer 
*'  whether  it  be  intended  to  obtain  the  fa- 
"  vour  of  God  or  man.  Let  thy  virtue 
**  be  thus  diffufed ;  and  if  thou  believell 
u  with  reverence,  thou  (halt  be  accepted 
£  above.  Farewell.  May  the  fmile  of 
"  Him  who  refides  in  the  Heaven  of  Hea- 
"  vens  be  upon  thee  !  and  againfl  thy 
*'  name,  in  the  volume  of  His  will,  may 
f(  Happinefs  be  written  !" 

The  King,  whofe  doubts  like  thofe  of 
Mirza,  were  now  removed,  looked  up  with 
a  fmile  that  communicated  the  joy  of  his 
mind.  He  dilmifled  the  prince  to  his  go- 
vernment ;  and  commanded  thefe  events 
to  be  recorded,  to  the  end  that  pofterity 
may  know  "  that  no  life  is  pleaiing  to 
"God,  but  that  which  is  ufeful  to  Man- 
"  kind."  Ad-venturer. 

§  25.     Providence  proved  from  Animal 
Injiind. 

I  mufl  confefs  I  am  infinitely  delighted 
with  thofe  fpeculations  of  nature  which  are 
to  be  made  in  a  country  life  ;  and  as  my 
reading  has  very  much  lain  among  books  of 
natural  hiftory,  I  cannot  forbear  recollect- 
ing, upon  this  cccafion,  the  feveral  remarks 
Which  I  have  met'  with  in  authors,  and 
comparing  them  with  what  falls  under  my 
own  obfervation ;  the  arguments  for  Pro- 
vidence, drawn  from  the  natural  hiftory  of 
animals,  being,  in  my  opinion,  demonftra- 
tive. 

The  make  of  every  kind  of  animal  is 
different  from  that  of  every  other  kind  ; 
and  yet  there  is  not  the  leait  turn  in  the 
mufcles  or  twift  in  the  fibres  of  any  one, 
which  does  not  render  them  more  proper 
For  that  particular  animal's  way  of  life, 
than  any  other  call  or  texture  of  them 
would  have  been. 

The  moll:  violent  appetites  in  all  crea- 
tures are  luji  and  hunger :  the  firft  is  a  per- 
petual call  upon  them  to  propagate  their 
kind ;  the  latter  to  preferve  themfelves. 

It  is  alloniihing  to  confider  the  different 
degrees  of  care  that  defcend  from  the  pa- 
rent of  the  young,  fo  far  as  is  abfolutely 
neceffary  for  the  leaving  a  pofterity.  Some 
creatures  caft  their  eggs  as  chance  directs- 
them,  and  think  of  them  no  farther,  as  in- 
fects and  feveral  kind  of  fifh ;  others,  of  a 
nicer  frame,  find  out  proper  beds  to  depofit 


them  in,  and  there  leave  them,  as  the  fer- 
pent,  the  crocodile,  and  oftrich;  others 
hatch  their  eg-o-s  and  tend  the  birth,  until 
it  is  able  to  ihift  for  itielf. 

What  can  we  call  the  principle  which 
directs  every  different  kind  of  bird  to  ob- 
ferve  a  particular  plan  in  the  ftructure  of 
its  neit,  and  directs  all  of  the  fame  fpecies 
to  work  after  the  fame  model  r  It  cannot 
be  imitation  ;  for  though  you  hatch  a  crow 
under  a  hen,  and  never  let  it  fee  any  of  the 
works  of  its  own  kind,  the  neft  it  makes 
lhall  be  the  fame,  to  the  laying  of  a  ltick, 
with  all  the  nefts  of  the  fame  fpecies.  It 
cannot  be  reafon;  for  were  animals  endued 
with  it  to  as  great  a  degree  as  man,  their 
buildings  would  be  as  different  as  ours,  ac- 
cording to  the  different  conveniences  that 
they  would  propofc  to  themfelves. 

Is  it  not  remarkable  that  the  fame  tem- 
per of  weather  which  raifes  this  general 
warmth  in  animals,  fhould  cover  the  trees 
with  leaves,  and  the  fields  with  grafs,  for 
their  fecurity  and  concealment,  and  pro- 
duce fuch  infinite  fwarms  of  infects  for  the 
fupport  and  fuilenauce  of  their  refpective 
broods  ? 

Is  it  not  wonderful,  that  the  love  of  the 
parent  fhould  be  fo  violent  while  it  lafis, 
and  that  it  fhould  laft  no  longer  than  is  ne- 
ceffary for  the  prefervation  of  the  young  ? 

The  violence  of  this  natural  love  is  ex- 
emplified by  a  very  barbarous  experiment; 
which  I  lhall  quote  at  length,  as  I  find  it  in 
an  excellent  author,  and  hope  my  readers 
will  pardon  the  mentioning  fuch  an  inftance 
of  cruelty,  becaufe  there  is  nothing  can  fo 
effectually  fhew  the  ftrength  of  that  prin- 
ciple in  animals  of  which  I  am  here  fpeak- 
ing.  "  A  perfon,  who  was  well  fkilled  in 
"  defections,  opened  a  bitch,  and  as  fhe  lay 
"  in  the  nioff  exquifite  torture,  offered  her 
"  one  of  her  young  puppies,  which  fhe  im- 
"  mediately  fell  a  licking ;  and  for  the 
"  time  feemed  infenfible  of  her  pain :  on 
"  the  removal,  fhe  kept  her  eye  fixed  on  it, 
"  and  began  a  wailing  fort  of  cry,  which. 
"  feemed  rather  to  proceed  from  the  lofs 
"  of  her  young  one,  than  the  fenfe  of  her 
"  own  torments." 

But  notwithstanding  this  natural  love 
in  brutes  is  much  more  violent  and  intenfe 
than  in  rational  creatures,  Providence  has 
taken  care  that  it  lhould  be  no  longer 
troublefome  to  the  parent  than  it  is  ufeful 
to  the  young ;  for  fo  icon,  as  the  wants  of 
the  latter  ceafe,  the  mother  withdraws  her 
fondnej^,  and  leaves  them  to  provide  for 
themfelves :  and  what  is  a  very  remarkable 
D  3  circumitance 


4ft 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROS?. 


circumftance  in  this  part  of  inftintt,  we  find 
that  the  love  of  the  parent  may  be  length- 
ened out  beyond  its  ufual  time,  if  the  pre- 
formation of  the  fpecies  requires  it ;  as  we 
may  fee  in  birds  that  drive  away  their 
young  as  foon  as  they  are  able  to  get  their 
livelihood,  but  continue  to  feed  them  if 
they  are  tied  to  the  neft,  or  confined  within 
a  cage,  or  by  any  other  means  appear  to  be 
out  of  a  condition  of  fupplying  their  own 
neceffities. 

This  natural  love  is  not  obferved  in 
animals  to  afcend  from  the  young  to  the 
parent,  which  is  not  at  all  neceffary  for  the- 
continuance  of  the  fpecies :  nor  indeed  in 
reafonable  creatures  does  it  riie  in  any  pro- 
portion, as  it  fpreads  itfelf  downwards ;  for 
in  all  family  affeition,  we  find  protection 


grante 


d  favours  bellowed,  are  greater 


motives  to  love  and  tendernefs,  than  fafety, 
benefits,  or  life  received. 

One  would  wonder  to  hear  fceptical 
men  difputing  for  the  reafon  of  animals, 
and  telling  us  it  is  only  our  pride  and  pre- 
judices that  win  not  allow  diem  the  ufe  of 
that  faculty. 

Reafon '  mews  itfelf  in  all  occurrences 
of  life  ;  whereas  the  brute  makes  no  dif- 
covery  of  (v.rh  a  talent,  but  what  immedi- 
ately regards  his  awn  prefervation,  or  the 
continuance  of  his  fpecies.      Animals    in 


her  covering  it  from  the  injuries  of  i)il 
weather,  providing  it  proper  nourifhmenr, 
and  teaching  it  to  help  itfelf;  nor  to  men- 
tion her  forfaking  the  neft,  if  after  the  ufual 
time  of  reckoning,  the  young  one  does  not 
make  its  appearance.  A  chymical  opera- 
tion could  not  be  followed  with  greater  art 
or  diligence,  than  is  leen  in  the  hatching  of 
a  chick;  though  there  are  many  other  birds 
that  fhew  an  infinitely  greater  fagacity  in 
all  the  forementioned  particulars. 

But  at  the  fame  time  the  hen,  that  has  all 
this  feeming  ingenuity  (which  is  indeed  ab- 
-  folutely  neceffary  for  the  propagation  of  the 
fpecies)  confidercd  in  other  refpecb,  is 
without  the  leaf!  glimmerings  or  thought 
or  common  fenfe.  She  miltakes  a  piece  of 
chalk  for  an  egg,  and  fits  upon  it  in  the 
fame  manner :  ihe  i»  infenfible  of  any  in- 
creafe  or  diminution  in  the  number  of  thofe 
fhe  lays :  fhe  does  not  diitinguifh  between 
her  own  and  thofe  of  another  fpecies ;  and 
when  the  birth  appears  of  never  fo  different 
a  bird,  will  cherifh  it  for  her  own.  In  aH 
thefe  circumftances,  which  do  not  carry  an 
immediate  regard  to  the  fubfiftence  of  her- 
felf  or  her  fpecies,  flic  is  a  very  idiot. 

There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,,  any  thing 
more  myfterious  in  nature,  than  this  inllintt 
in  animals,  which  thus  rife-;  above  reafon, 
and  falls  infinitely  ihort  of  it.  It  cannot  be 


their  generation  are  vvifer  than  the  fons  of  accounted  for  by  any  properties  in  matter, 
men  ;^but  their  wiidom  is  confined  to  a  few 
particulars,  and  lies  in  a  very  narrow  com- 
pafs.  Take  a  brute  out  of  his  infltnft,  and 
you  find  him  wholly  deprived  of  under- 
Handing. — To  ufe  an  inftance  that  conies 
often  under  obfervation  : 

With  what  caution  does  the  hen  provide 
herfelf  a  nclt  i'.i  places  unfrequented,  and 
free  from  noife  and  difturbance  !   When  ihe 
has  laid  her  eggs  in  fuch  a  manner  that  ihe 
can  cover  them,  what  care  docs  Ihe  take  in 
turning  them  frequently,  that  all  parts  may 
partake  of  the  vital  warmth  !     When  Ihe 
leaves  them,  to  provide  for  her  neceffary 
fuftenance,  how  punctually  does  fhe  return 
before  they  have  time  to  cool,  and  become 
incapable  of  producing  an  animal  1   In  the 
fummer  you  fee  her  giving  herfelf  greater 
freedoms',  and  quitting  her  care  tor  above 
two  hours  together;  but  in  winter,  when 
the  rigour  of  the  feafon  would  chill   the 
principles  of  life,  and  deilroy  the  young- 
one,  ihe  grows  more  ailiduous  in  her  at- 
tendance, and  flays  away  but  half  the  time. 
When  the  birth  approaches,  with  how  much 
nicety  and  attention  does  fhe  help  the  chick 
to  break  its  priibn '.  Not  to  take  notice  of 
-     2 


and  at  the  fame  time  works  after  fo  odd  a 
manner,  that  one  cannot  think  it  the  facul- 
ty of  an  intelle&ual  being.  For  my  owa 
part,  1  look  upon  it  as  upon  the  principle  of 
gravitation  in  bodies,  which  is  not  to  be  ex- 
plained by  any  known  qualities  inherent  ia 
the  bodies  themfelves,  nor  from  any  laws 
of  mechanifm,  but,  according  to  the  bell 
notions  of  the  greater!;  philoiophers,  is  aa 
immediate  impreflion  from  the  firii  Mover, 
and  the  divine  energv  ailing  in  the  crea- 
tures. Sfeflalor. 

§  26.    7/js   Necefftty   of  farming  religious 
Principles  at  en  early  Age. 
As  foon  as  you  are  capable  of  reflec- 
tion, you  muil  perceive  that  there  is  a  right 
and  wrong  in  human  aftions.      You  iee 
that  thofe  who  are  born  with  the  fame  ad- 
vantages  of  fortune,  are  not  all  equally 
prosperous  in  the  courfe  of  life.  While  fome 
of  them,  by  wife  and  iteady  conduct,  attain 
diit.incl.ion  in  the  world,  and  pafs  their  days 
with  comfort  and  honour ;    others  of  the 
fame,  rank,  by  mean  and  vicious  behaviour, 
forfeit  the  advantages  of  their  birth,  invoh  e 
tjiemfelves  in  n.uca  miTery,  and  end  in  be- 
in  2 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


5ng  a  difgrace  to  their  friends,  and  a  burden 
on  fociety.  Early,  then,  you  may  learn 
that  it  is  not  on  the  external  condition  in 
which  you  find  yoiirfelves  placed,  but  on 
the  part  which  you  are  to  act,  that  your 
welfare  or  unhappinefs,  your  honour  or  in- 
famy, depend.  Now,  when  beginning  to 
aft  that  part,  what  can  be  of  greater  mo- 
ment, than  to  regulate  your  plan  of  conduct 
with  the  molt  ferious  attention,  before  you 
have  yet  committed  any  fatal  or  irretriev- 
able errors  ?  If,  inftead  of  exerting  re- 
flection for  this  valuable  purpofe,  you  de- 
liver yourfelves  up,  at  fo  critical  a  time,  to 
floth  and  plealure ;  if  you  refute  to  liflen  to 
any  couniellor  but  humour,  or  to  attend  to 
any  purfuit  except  that  of  amufernent ;  if 
you  allow  yourfelves  to  float  loofe  and 
carelefs  on  the  tide  of  life,  ready  to  receive 
any  direction  which  the  current  of  faihion 
may  chance  to  give  you ;  what  can  you 
exped  to  follow  from  fuch  beginnings? 
While  fo  many  around  you  are  undergo- 
ing the  fad  confequences  of  a  like  indifcre- 
tion,  for  what  reafon  fhall  not  thefe  con- 
fequences extend  to  you  ?  Shall  you  only 
attain  fuccefs  without  that  preparation,  and 
elcape  dangers  without  that  precaution, 
which  is  required  of  others  ?  Shall  happi- 
nefs  grow  up  to  you  of  its  own  accord,  and 
folicit  your  acceptance,  when,  to  the  reft 
of  mankind,  it  is  the  fruit  of  long  cultivation, 
and  the  acquisition  of  labour  and  care  ? — 
Deceive  not  yourfelves  with  fuch  arrogant 
hopes.  Whatever  be  your  rank,  Provi- 
dence will  not,  for  your  fake,  reverfe  its 
eftablifhed  order.  By  liftening  to  wife  ad- 
monitions, and  Sempering  the  vivacity  of 
youth  with  a  proper  mixture  of  ferious 
thought,  you  may  enfure  chearfulnefs  for 
the  reft  of  your  life ;  but  by  delivering 
yourfelves  up  at  prefent  to  giddinels  and 
levity,  you  lay  the  foundation  of  lading 
heavinefs  of  heart.  Blair. 

§  27.  The  Acquifition  of  'virtuous  Difpc/i- 
tions  and  Habits  a  neceffary  Part  of  Edu- 
cation. 

When  you  look  forward  to  thofe  plans 
of  life,  which  either  your  circumdances 
have  fuggefted,  or  your  friends  have  pro- 
pofed,  you  will  not  hefitate  to  acknowledge, 
that  in  order  to  purfue  them  with  advan- 
tage, fome  previous  difcipline  is  requifite. 
Be  aflured,  that. whatever  is  to  be  your 
profelfion,  no  education  is  more  neceflary 
to  your  fuccefs,  than  the  acquirement  of 
virtuous  difpofkions  and  habits.  This  is 
the  uniyerfal  preparation  for  every  charac- 


39 

ter,  and  everv  dation  in  life.  Bad  as  the 
world  is,  reipect  is  always  paid  to  virtue. 
In  the  ufual  coune  of  human  alfairs  it  will 
be  found,  that  a  plain  underdanding, 
joined  with  acknowledged  worth,  contri- 
butes more  to  proiperity,  than  the  brighter* 
parts  without  probity  or  honour.  Whether 
fcience,  or  bufinefs,  or  public  life,  be  your 
aim,  virtue  dill  enters,  for  a  principal  ihare, 
into  all  thofe  great  departments  of  fociety. 
It  is  connected  with  eminence,  in  every  li- 
beral art;  with  reputation,  in  every  branch 
of  fair  and  ufeful  bufinefs  y  with  didinc- 
tion,  in  every  public  dation.  The  vigour 
which  it  gives  the  mind,  and  the  weight 
which  it  adds  to  character ;  the  generous 
fentiments  which  it  breathes;  the  un- 
daunted fpirit  which  it  inlphes,  the  ardour 
of  diligence  which  it  quickens,  the  freedom 
which  it  procures  from  pernicious  and  dif- 
honourable  avocations,  are  the  foundations 
of  all  that  is  high  in  fame  or  great  in  fuc- 
cefs among  men.  Whatever  ornamental 
or  engaging  endowments  you  now  pofiefs, 
virtue  is  a  neceflary  requifite,  in  order  to 
their  fhining  with  proper  ludre.  Feeble 
are  the  attractions  of  the  faired  form,  if  it 
be  ihipected  that  nothing  within  corre- 
fpondb  to  the  pleaflng  appearance  without. 
Short  are  the  triumphs  of  wit,  when  it  is 
fuppofed  to  be  the  vehicle  of  malice.  By 
whatever  arts  you  may  at  fird  attract  the 
attention,  you  can  hold  the  edeem  and  fe- 
cure  the  hearts  of  others  only  by  amiable 
difpofitions  and  the  accomplifhments  of  the 
mind.  Thefe  are  the  qualities  v/hofe  in- 
fluence will  lad,  when  the  ludre  of  all 
that  once  fparkled  and  dazzled  has  paflei 


away. 


Ibid. 


§28.  The  Happinefs  and  Dignity  of  Man* 
hoed  depend  upon  the  Conduti  of  ths  youth- 
ful Age. 

Let  not  the  feafon  of  youth  be  barren  or 
improvements,  fo  eflential  to  your  felicity 
and  honour.  Your  character  is  how  of 
your  own  forming ;  your  fate  is  in  fome 
meafure  put  into  your  own  hands.  Your 
nature  is  as  yet  pliant  and  fbft.  Habits 
have  not  eflabiifhed  their  dominion;  Pre- 
judices have  not  pre-occupied  your  ufider- 
ftar.ding.  The  world  has  not  had  time  to 
contract  and  debafe  your  aif?ctions.  A\V- 
your  powers  are  more  vigorous;  difem- 
barrafl'ed  and  free,  than  they  will  be  at 
any  future  period.  Whatever  impulfe  you 
now  give  to  your  defires  and  paflions,  the 
direction  is  likely  to  continue.  It  will 
form  the  channel  in  which  ycur  life  is  to 
L>  4  run  -, 


4° 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


run ;  nay,  it  may  determine  an  everlafting 
ifliie.  Confider  then  the  employment  of 
this  important  period  as  the  highelt  trull 
which  (hall  ever  be  committed  to  you ;  as, 
in  a  great  meafure,  decifive  of  your  happi- 
nefs,  in  time  and  in  eternity.  As  in  the 
fuccelhon  of  the  feafons,  each,  by  the  inva- 
riable laws  of  nature,  affects  the  produc- 
tions of  what  is  next  in  courfe  ;•  fo,  in  hu- 
man life,  every  period  of  our  age,  accord- 
ing as  it  is  well  or  ill  ipent,  influences  the 
happinefs  of  that  which  is  to  follow.  Virtu- 
ous youth  gradually  brings  forward  accom- 
plished and  flourifhing  manhood;  and  fuch 
manhood  pafles  of  itfelf,  without  uneaiinefs, 
into  refpectable  and  tranquil  old  age.  But 
when  nature  is  turned  out  of  its  regular 
courfe,  diforder  takes  place  in  the  moral, 
ju.it.  as  in  the  vegetable  world.  If  the 
lprmg  put  forth  no  bloflbms,  in  fummer 
there  will  be  no  beauty,  and  in  autumn  no 
fruit :  So,  if  youth  be  trifled  away  without 
improvement,  manhood  will  be  contempti- 
ble, and  old  age  miferable.  Blair. 

§  Zg.  fiety  to  God  the  Foundation  of  good 
Morals. 

What  I  fhall  firft  recommend  is  piety  to 
God.  With  this  I  begin,  both  as  the 
foundation  of  good  morals,  and  as  a  difpo- 
fition  particularly  graceful  and  becoming 
in  youth.  To  be  void  of  it,  argues  a  cold 
heart,  deititute  of  fome  of  the  belt  affections 
which  belong  to  that  age.  Youth  is  the 
ieafon  of  warm  and  generous  emotions. 
The  heart  fliould  then,  fpontaneoufly  rife 
into  the  admiration  of  what  is  great ;  glow 
with  the  love  of  what  is  fair  and  excellent; 
and  melt  at  the  difcovery  of  tendernefs  and 
goodnefs.  Where  can  any  object  be  found, 
fo  proper  to  kindle  thofe  affections,  as  the 
Father  of  the  univerfe,  and  the  Author  of 
all  felicity?  Unmoved  by  veneration,  can 
you  contemplate  that  grandeur  and  majefty 
which  his  works  every  where  dilplay  t  Un- 
touched by  gratitude,  can  you  view  that 
profufion  of  good,  which,  in  this  pieafmg 
feafon  of  life,  his  beneficent  hand  pours 
around  you  ?  Happy  in  the  love  and  af- 
fection of  thofe  with  whom  you  are  con- 
nected, look  up  to  the  Supreme  Being,  as 
the  infpirer  of  all  the  friendfhip  which  has 
ever  been  Ihewn  you  by  others ;  himfelf 
your  beff  and  your  firil  friend  ;  formerly, 
the  fupporter  of  your  infancy,  and  the  guide 
of  your  childhood  ;  now,  the  guardian  of 
your  youth,  and  the  hope  of  your  coming 
years.  View  religious  homage  as  a  natu- 
ral expreifion  of  gratitude  to  him  for  all 


his  goodnefs.  Confider  it  as  the  fervice 
of  the  God  of  your  fathers;  of  him  to 
whom  your  parents  devoted  you ;  of  him 
whom  in  former  ages  your  anceftors  ho- 
noured ;  and  by  whom  they  are  now  re- 
warded and  bleiled  in  heaven.  Connected 
with  fo  many  tender  fenflbilities  of  loul,  let 
religion  be  with  you,  not  the  cold  and  bar- 
ren offspring  of  {peculation,  but  the  warm 
and  vigorous  dictate  of  the  heart.     Ibid. 

§  30.  Religion  never  to  be  treated  =v:ith 
Levity. 
Imprefs  your  minds  with  reverence  for 
all  that  is  facred.  Let  no  wantonnefs  of 
youthful  fpirits,  no  compliance  with  the  in- 
temperate mirth  of  others,  ever  betray  you 
into  profane  fallies.  Befldes  the  guilt 
which  is  thereby  incurred,  nothing  gives  a 
more  odious  appearance  of  petulance  and 
prefumption  to  youth,  than  the  affectation 
of  treating  religion  with  levity.  Initead  of 
being  an  evidence  of  fuperior  underiland- 
ing,  it  difcovers  a  pert  and  fhallow  mind ; 
which,  vain  of  the  firit  fmatterings  of  know- 
ledge, prefumes  to  make  light  of  what  the 
reit  of  mankind  revere.  At  the  fame  time, 
you  are  not  to  imagine,  that  when  exhorted 
to  be  religious,  you  are  called  upon  to  be- 
come more  formal  and  folemn  in  your 
manners  than  others  of  the  fame  years; 
or  to  erecT:  yourfelves  into  fupercilious  re- 
provers of  thofe  around  you.  The  fpirit  of 
true  religion  breathes  gentlenefs  and  affa- 
bility. It  gives  a  native  unaffected  eafe 
to  the  behaviour.  It  is  focial,  kind,  and 
chearful ;  far  removed  from  that  gloomy 
and  illiberal  fuperilition  which  clouds  the 
brow,  fharpens  the  temper,  dejects  the 
fpirit,  and  teaches  men  to  fit  themfelves 
for  another  world,  by  neglecting  the  con- 
cerns of  this.  Let  your  religion,  on  the 
contrary,  connect  preparation  for  heaven 
with  an  honourable  discharge  of  the  duties 
of  active  life.  Of  fuch  religion  difcover, 
on  every  proper  occaflon,  that  you  are  not 
afhamed ;  but  avoid  making  any  unneceflary 
orientation  of  it  before  the  world.     Ibid. 

§31.    Madefy  and  Docility  to  be  joined  tt 

Piety. 

To  piety  join  modeily  and  docility, 
reverence  of  your  parents,  and  fubmif- 
fion  to  thofe  who  are  your  fuperiors  in 
knowledge,  in  ilation,  and  in  years.  De- 
pendence and  obedience  belong  to  youth. 
Modeily  is  one  of  its  chief  ornaments;  and 
has  ever  been  eileemed  a  prefage  of  rifing 
merit.    When  entering  on  the  career  of 

life, 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


41 


life,  it  is  your  part,  not  to  afiume  the 
reins  as  yet  into  your  hands ;  but  to  com- 
mit yourf elves  to  the  guidance  of  the  more 
experienced,  and  to  become  wife  by  the 
wifdom  of  thofe  who  have  gone  before 
you.  Of  all  the  follies  incident  to  youth, 
there  are  none  which  either  deform  its  pre- 
fent  appearance,  or  blaft  the  profpect.  of  its 
future  profperity,  more  than  feif-conceit, 
prefumption,  and  obilinacy.  By  checking 
its  natural  progrefs  in  improvement,  they 
fix  it  in  long  immaturity :  and  frequently 
produce  milchiefs  which  can  never  be  re- 
paired. Yet  thefe  are  vices  too  common- 
ly found  among  the  young.  Big  with  en- 
terprize,  and  elated  by  hope,  they  refolve 
to  truft  for  fuccefs  to  none  but  themfelves. 
Full  of  their  own  abilities,  they  deride  the 
admonitions  which  are  given  them  by  their 
friends,  as  the  timorous  fuggeilicns  of  age. 
Too  wife  to  learn,  too  impatient  to  delibe- 
rate, too  forward  to  be  reftrained,  they 
plunge,  with  precipitant  indifcretion,  into 
the  midft  of  all  the  dangers  with  which  life 
abounds.  Blair. 

§  32.  Sincerity  and  Truth  recommended. 

It  is  neceffary  to  recommend  to  you  fin- 
cerity  and  truth.  This  is  the  bafis  of  every 
virtue.  That  darknefs  of  character,  where 
we  can  fee  no  heart;  thofe  foldings  of  art, 
through  which  no  native  affection  is  allowed 
to  penetrate,  prefent  an  object,  unamiable 
in  every  feafon  of  life,  but  particularly 
odious  in  youth.  If,  at  an  age  when  the 
heart  is  warm,  when  the  emotions  are 
ftrong,  and  when  nature  is  expected  to  fhew 
herfelf  free  and  open,  you  can  already  fmile 
and  deceive,  what  are  we  to  look  for,  when 
you  (hall  be  longer  hackneyed  in  the  ways 
of  men ;  when  intereft  fhall  have  completed 
the  obduration  of  your  heart,  and  experi- 
ence fhall  have  improved  you  in  all  the  arts 
of  guile  ?  Diflimulation  in  youth  is  the 
forerunner  of  perfidy  in  old  age.  Its 
firft  appearance  is  the  fatal  omen  of  grow- 
ing depravity  and  future  lhame.  It  de- 
grades parts  and  learning  ;  obfeures  the 
luftre  of  every  accomplishment ;  and  finks 
you  into  contempt  with  God  and  man.  As 
you  value,  therefore,  the  approbation  of 
Heaven,  or  the  efteem  of  the  world,  culti- 
vate the  love  of  truth.  In  all  your  pro- 
ceedings, be  direct  and  confiftent.  Inge- 
nuity and  candour  poffefs  the  moll  power- 
ful charm;  they  befpeak  univerfal  favour, 
and  carry  an  apology  for  almoil  every  fail- 
ing. The  path  of  truth  is  a  plain  and  fare 
path;   that  of  falfehood    is  a  perplexing 


maze.  After  the  firft  departure  from  fin- 
cerity,  it  is  not  in  your  power  to  fto  >.  One 
artifice  unavoidably  leads  on  to  another ; 
till,  as  the  intricacy  of  the  labyrinth  in- 
creafes,  you  are  left  entangled  in  your  own 
fnare.  Deceit  difcovers  a  little  mind,  which 
flops  at  temporary  expedients,  without 
riling  to  comprehensive  views  of  conducts 
It  betrays,  at  the  fame  time,  a  daftardly 
ipirit.  It  is  the  refource  of  one  who  wants 
courage  to  avow  his  defigns,  or  to  reft  upon 
himfelf.  Whereas,  opennefs  of  character 
difplays  that  generous  boldnefs,  which 
ought  to  diftinguifh  youth.  To  fet  out 
in  the  world  with  no  other  principle  than  a 
crafty  attention  to  intereit,  betokens  one 
who  is  dellined  for  creeping  through  the 
inferior  walks  of  life  :  but  to  give  an  early 
preference  to  honour  above  gain,  when 
they  ftand  in  competition  ;  to  delpife  every 
advantage,  which  cannot  be  attained  with- 
out diihoneft  arts  ;  to  brook  no  meannels, 
and  to  iloop  to  no  diilimulation ;  are  the 
indications  of  a  great  mind,  the  prefageS 
of  future  eminence  and  distinction  in  life. 
At  the  fame  time  this  virtuous  fincerity  is 
perfectly  confiftent  with  the  moil  prudent 
vigilance  and  caution.  It  is  oppofed  to 
cunning,  not  to  true  wifdom.  It  is  not  the 
fimplicity  of  a  weak  and  improvident,  but 
the  candour  of  an  enlarged  and  noble  mind  ; 
of  one  who  fcorns  deceit,  becaufe  he  ac- 
counts it  both  bafe  and  unprofitable  ;  and 
who  feeks  no  difguife,  becaufe  he  needs 
none  to  hide  him  Ibid. 

§33.  Beno-volence  and  Humanity. 

Youth  is  the  proper  feafon  of  cultivat- 
ing the  benevolent  and  humane  affections. 
As  a  great  part  of  your  happinefs  is  to 
depend  on  the  connections  which  you  form 
with  others,  it  is  of  high  importance  that 
you  acquire  betimes  the  temper  and  the 
manners  which  will  render  fuch  connections 
comfortable.  Let  a  fenfe  of  juftice  be  the 
foundation  of  all  your  focial  qualities.  In 
your  moll  early  intercourfe  with  the  world, 
and  even  in  your  youthful  amufements,  let 
no  unfairnefs  be  found.  Engrave  on  your 
mind  that  facred  rule,  of  «  doing  in  all 
things  to  others,  according  as  you  wifh 
that  they  fhouid  do  unto  you.'  For  this 
end,  imprefs  yourfeives  with  a  deep  fenfe 
of  the  original  and  natural  equality  of 
men.  Whatever  advantages  of  birth  or 
fortune  you  poffefs,  never  display  thena 
with  an  oftentatious  fuperiority.  Leave 
the  Subordinations  of  rank,  to  regulate  the 
intercourfe  of  more  advanced  years.     At 

prefent 


4* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


prefent  it  becomes  you  to  aft  among  your 
companions,  as  man  with  man.  Remem- 
ber how  unknown  to  you  are  the  vicifii- 
tudes  of  the  world ;  and  how  often  they, 
on  whom  ignorant  and  contemptuous  young 
men  once  looked  down  with  fcorn,  have 
jifen  to  be  their  fuperiors  in  future  years. 
Compaffion  is  an  emotion  of  which  you 
never  ought  to  be  afhamed.  Graceful  in 
youth  is  the  tear  of  fympathy,  and  the 
heart  that  melts  at  the  tale  of  woe.  Let 
not  eafe  and  indulgence  contract  your  af- 
fections, and  wrap  you  up  in  felfiih  enjoy- 
ment. Accuftom  yourfelves  to  think  of 
the  diftrefies  of  human  life  ;  of  the  folitary 
cottage,  the  dying  parent,  and  the  weep- 
ing orphan.  Never  fport  with  pain  and 
diitrefs,  in  any  of  your  amufements ;  nor 
treat  even  the  meanell  infeft  with  wanton 
Cruelty.  Blair. 

§  34.    Court efy  and  engaging  Manners. 

In  order  to  render  yourfelves  amiable  in 
fociety,  correct  every  appearance  of  harfh- 
nefs  in  behaviour.  Let  that  courtefy  dif- 
tinguifh  your  demeanour,  which  fprings 
not  fo  much  from  lludied  politenefs,  as 
from  a  mild  and  gentle  heart.  Follow  the 
culloms  of  the  world  in  matters  indifferent ; 
but  ftop  when  they  become  finful.  Let 
your  manners  be  ample  and  natural ;  and 
of  courfe  they  will  be  engaging,  Affec- 
tation is  certain  deformity.  By  forming 
yourfelves  on  fantaltic  models,  and  vying 
with  one  another  in  every  reigning  folly, 
the  voung  begin  with  being  ridiculous,  and 
end  in  being  vicious  and  immoral. 

Ibid. 

§35.  Temperance  in  Pleafure  recommended. 

Let  me  particularly  exhort  youth  to 
temperance  in  pleafure.  Let  me  admo- 
nifh  tru-m,  to  beware  of  that  rock  on  which 
thcufands,  from  race  to  race,  continue  to 
fplit.  The  love  of  pleafure,  natural  to 
man  in  every  period  of  his  life,  glows  at 
this  age  with  exceffive  ardour.  Novelty 
adds  frefh  charms,  as  yet,  to  every  grati- 
fication. The  world  appears  to  fpread  a 
continual  feait ;  and  health,  vigour,  and 
high  fpirits,  invite  them  to  partake  of  it 
without  reitraint.  In  vain  we  warn  them 
of  latent  dangers.  Religion  is  accufed  of 
infufferable  feverity,  in  prohibiting  enjoy- 
ment ;  and  the  old,  when  they  offer  their 
admonition,  are  upbraided  with  having 
forgot  that  they  once  were  young. — And 
yet,  my  friends,  to  what  do  the  conftraints 
«f  religion,  and  the  counfels  of  age,  with 


refpeft  to  pleafure,  amount  ?  They  may 
all  be  comprifed  in  a  few  words — not  to 
hurt  yourfelves,  and  not  to  hurt  others,  by 
your  purfuit  of  pleafure.  Within  thefe 
bounds,  pleafure  is  lawful;  beyond  them  it 
becomes  criminal,  becaufe  it  is  ruinous, 
Are  thefe  reftraints  any  other  than  what  a 
wife  man  would  choofe  to  impofe  on  him- 
felf  ?  We  call  you  not  to  renounce  plea- 
fure, but  to  enjoy  it  in  fafety.  Inftead  of 
abridging  it,  we  exhort  you  to  purfue  it  on 
an  extenfive  plan.  We  propofe  meafures 
for  fecuring  its  poffeffion,  and  for  prolong- 
ing its  duration.  Hid. 

§  56.  Whatever  violates  Nature,  cannot 
afford  true  Pleafure. 
Confult  your  whole  nature.  Confider 
yourfelves  not  only  as  fenfitive,  but  as  ra- 
tional beings ;  not  only  as  rational,  but 
focial ;  not  only  as  focial,  but  immortal. 
Whatever  violates  your  nature  in  any  of 
thefe  refpefts,  cannot  afford  true  pleafure ; 
any  more  than  that  which  undermines  an 
eflential  part  of  the  vital  fyftem,  can  pro- 
mote health.  For  the  truth  of  this  con- 
clufion,  we  appeal  not  merely  to  the  au- 
thority of  religion,  nor  to  the  teftimony  of 
the  aged,  but  to  yourfelves,  and  your 
own  experience.  We  afk,  whether  you 
have  not  found,  that  in  a  courfe  of  cri- 
minal excefs,  your  pleafure  was  more  than 
compenfated  by  fucceeding  pain  ?  Whe- 
ther, if  not  from  every  particular  inftance, 
yet  from  every  habit,  at  leail,  of  unlawful 
gratification,  there  did  not  fpring  fome 
thorn  to  wound  you ;  there  did  not  arife 
fome  confequence  to  make  you  repent  of 
it  in  the  ifi'ue  ?  How  long  will  you  repeat 
the  fame  round  of  pernicious  folly,  and 
tamely  expofe  yourfelves  to  be  caught  in 
the  fanle  fnare?  ]f  you  have  any  confi- 
deration,  or  any  £rmnefs  left,  avoid  temp- 
tations, for  which  you  have  found  your- 
felves unequal,  with  as  much  care  as  you 
would  fhun  peitilential  infection.  Break 
off  all  connections  with  the  loofe  and  pro- 
fligate. Ibid. 

§  37.  Irregular  Pleafures. 
By  the  unhappy  exceffes  of  irregular 
pleafures  in  youth,  how  many  amiable 
difpofitions  are  corrupted  or  deftroyed ! 
How  many  riling  capacities  and  powers 
are  fuppreffed !  How  many  flattering 
hopes  of  parents  and  friends  are  totally 
extinguifhed !  Who  but  mull:  drop  a  tear 
over  human  nature,  when  he  beholds  that 
morning,  which  arofe  fo  bright,  overcaft; 

with 


BOOK.  1-      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


iwith  fuch  untimely  darknefs ;  that  good- 
humour,  which  once  captivated  all  hearts, 
that  vivacity  which  fparkled  in  every  com- 
pany, thofe  abilities  which  were  fitted  for 
adorning  the  higheft  {rations,  all  facrificed 
at  the  fhrine  of  low  fenfuality  ;  and  one 
who  was  formed  for  running  the  fair  ca- 
reer of  life  in  the  midft  of  public  efteem, 
cut  off  by  his  vices  at  the  beginning  of 
his  courfe  ;  or  funk  for  the  whole  of  it 
into  infignificancy  and  contempt ! — Thefe, 
O  finful  Pleafure,  are  thy  trophies !  It  is 
thus  that,  co-operating  with  the  foe  of  God 

j  and  man,  thou   degraded  human  honour, 
and  blafteit  the  opening  profpects  of  hu- 

i  man  felicity  !  Blair. 

§    38.      Induftry  end  Application. 
Diligence,    induftry,    and    proper    im- 
provement of  time,  are  material  duties  ol 
the  young.     To  no  purpoie  are  they  en- 
dowed with  the  beft  abilities,  if  they  want 
activity  for  exerting  them..     Unavailing, 
in  this  cafe,  will  be  every  direction  that 
can  be  given  them,  either  lor  their  tem- 
poral or  fpiritual  welfare.     In  youth,  the 
habits  of  induftry  are  moft  eafily  acquired  : 
in  youth  the  incentives  to  it  are  ftrongeft, 
from  ambition  and  from  duty,  from  emu- 
lation and  hope,  from    all    the  profpects, 
which  the  beginning  of  life  affords.     If, 
dead  to  thefe  calls,  you  already  langailh 
in  flothful  inaction,  what  will  be  able  to 
quicken  the  more  fluggifh  current  of  ad- 
vancing years  ?    Induftry  is  not  only  the 
inftrument  of  improvement,   but  the  foun- 
dation of  pleafure.     Nothing  is  fo  oppofite 
to  the  true  enjoyment  of  life,  as   the  re- 
laxed and  feeble  ftate  of  an  indolent  mind. 
He  who    is  a  ftranger    to    induftry,  may 
pofiefs,  but  he  cannot  enjoy.      For  it  is 
labour  only  which  gives  the  relifh  to  plea- 
fore.     It  is  the  appointed  vehicle  of  every 
good  man.     It  is   the  indifpenfible  condi- 
tion of  our  pofieffing  a  found  mind  in  a 
found  body.     Sloth  is   fo  inconfiftent  with 
both,  that  it  is  hard  to  determine,  whether 
it  be  a  greater  foe   to  virtue,  or  to  health 
and  happinefs.     Inactive  as  it  is  in  itfelf, 
its  effects  are  fatally  powerful.    Though  it 
appear  a  flowly- flowing  ftream,  yet  it  un- 
dermines all  that  is  liable  and  flourifhing. 
It  apt  only  faps  the  foundation  of  every 
virtue,  but    pours,   upon  you  a  deluge  of 
crimes  and  evils.     It  is  like  water  which 
.firft  putrefies  by  ftagnation,  and  then  fends 
up  noxious-  vapours,  and  fills  the  atmofphere 
with  death.     Fly,  therefore,  from  idlenefs, 
as  the  certain  parent  both  of  guilt  and  of 


ruin.  And  under  idlenefs  I  include,  nc£ 
mere  inaction  only,  but  all  that  circle  o* 
trifling  occupations,  in  which  too  many 
faunter  away  their  youth;  perpetually  en- 
gaged in  frivolous  fociety,  or  public  amufe- 
ments ;  in  the  labours  of  drefs,  or  the 
oftentation  cf  their  perfons — Is  this  the 
foundation  which  you  lay  for  future  ufe- 
fulnefs  and  efteem  ?  By  fuch  accomplifh- 
ments  do  you  hope  to  recommend  your- 
felves  to  the  thinking  part  of  the  world, 
and  to  anfwer  the  expectations  of  your 
friends  and  your  country  ? — Amufements 
youth  requires  :  it  were  vain,  it  were 
cruel,  to  prohibit  them.  But,  though  al- 
lowable as  the  relaxation,  they  are  moil: 
culpable  as  the  bufinefs,  of  the  young, 
For  thev  then  become  the  gulph  of  time, 
and  the  poifon  of  the  mind.  They  foment 
bad  paflions.  They  weaken  the  manly 
powers.  They  fink  the  native  vigour  of 
youth  into  contemptible  effeminacy. 

Ibid. 

§  39.  The  Employment  of  Time. 
Redeeming  your  time  from  fuch  dan- 
gerous wafte,  feek  to  £11  it  with  employ- 
ments which  you  may  review  with  fatis- 
facfion.  The  acquifitiort  of  knowledge  is 
one  of  the  moft  honourable  occupations  of 
youth.  The  defire  of  it  difcovers  a  liberal 
mind,  and  is  connected  with  many  accom- 
plishments and  many  virtues.  But  though 
your 'train  of  life  mould  not  lead  you  to 
ftudy,  the  courfe  of  education  always  fur- 
niihes  proper  employments  to  a  well-dif- 
pofed  mind.  Whatever  you  purfue,  be 
emulous  to  excel.  Generous  ambition,  and 
fenfibiiity  to  praife,  are,  especially  at  your 
age,  among  the  marks  of  virtue.  Think 
not,  that  any  affluence  of  fortune,  or  any 
elevation  of  rank,  exempts  you  from  the 
duties  of  application  and  induftry.  In- 
duftry is  the  law  of  our  bdng  ;  it  is  the 
demand  of  nature,  of  reafon,  and  of  Gcd. 
Remember  always,  that  the  years  which 
now  pafs  over  your  heads,  leave  perma- 
nent memorials  behind  them.  From  your 
thoughtlefs  minds  they  may  efcape ;  but 
they  remain  in  the  remembrance  of  God. 
They  form  an  important,  part  of  the  regifter 
of  your  life.  They  will  hereafter  bear  tei- 
timony,  either  for  or  againft  you,  at  that 
day  when,  for  all  your  action's,  but  parti- 
cularly for  the  employments  of  youth,  you 
mult  give  an  account  to  God.  Whether 
your  future  courfe  is  deftined  to  be  long 
or  fliort,  after  this  manner  it  fhoald  com- 
mence; and,  if  it  continue'"^  bv  thus  cori- 
;'-"'■■  ducted. 


44- 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


dueled,  its  conclufjon,  at  what  time  ibever 
it  arrives,  will  not  be  inglorious  or  un- 
happy. Blair. 

§  40.  The  Neceffity  of  depending  for  Sue 
cejs  on  the  Blefing  of  Hk&ven. 
Let  me  finifh  the  fubject,  with  recalling 
your  attention  to  that  dependance  on  the 
bleffing  of  Heaven,  which,  amidft  all  your 
endeavours  after  improvement,  you  ought 
continually  to  preferve.  It  is  too  common 
with  the  young,  even  when  they  reiolve  to 
tread  the  path  of  virtue  and  honour,  to 
fet  out  with  prefumptuous  confidence  in 
themfelves.  Truiling  to  their  own  abili- 
ties for  carrying  them  fuccefsfully  through 
life,  they  are  carelefs  of  applying  to  God, 
or  of  deriving  any  afiiftance  from  what 
they  are  apt  to  reckon  the  gloomy  difci- 
pline  of  religion.  Alas  !  how  little  do 
they  know  the  dangers  which  await  them  ! 
Neither  human  wifdom,  nor  human  virtue, 
tmfupported  by  religion,  are  equal  for  the 
trying  iituations  which  often  occur  in  life. 
By  the  (hock  of  temptation,  how  frequently 
have  the  moft  virtuous  intentions  been 
overthrown  !  Under  the  premire  of  dif- 
after,  how  often  has  the  greater!  conftancy 
funk  1  DefHtute  of  the  favour  of  God,  you 
are  in  no  better  11  tuation,  with  all  your  boaft- 
ed  abilities,  than  orpnans  left  to  wander  in 
a  tracklefs  defert,  without  any  guide  to 
eonducf  them,  or  any  melter  to  cover  them 
from  the  gathering  florin.  Correct,  then, 
this  ill-founded  arrogance.  Expect  not 
that  your  happinefs  can  be  independent  of 
him  who  made  you.  By  faith  and  repent- 
ance, apply  to  the  Redeemer  of  the  world. 
By  piety  and  prayer,  leek  the  protection  of 
the  God  of  Heaven.  Ibid. 

§  41.  The  Neceffity  of  an  early  and  clofe 
Application  to  Wifdom. 
It  is  nccc  flary  to  habituate  our  minds,  in 
our  younger  years,  to  forne  employment 
which  may  engage  our  thoughts,  and  fill 
the  capacity  of  the  foul  at  a  riper  age. 
For,  however  we  may  roam  in  youth  from 
folly  to  folly,  too  volatile  for  reft,  too  foft 
and  effeminate  for  induftry,  ever  ambitious 
to  make  a  fplendid  figure ;  yet  the  time 
will  come  when  we  mall  outgrow  the  relifh 
of  childifh  amufements  :  and,  if  we  are 
not  provided  with  a  tafte  for  manly  fatis- 
factious  to  fucceed  in  their  room,  we  mnft 
of  courfe  become  miferable,  at  an  age 
more  difficult  to  be  pleaied.  While  men, 
however  unthinking  and  unemployed,  en- 
joy an  inexhaustible  flow  of  vigorous  (pi- 


nts j  a  conftant  fucceflion  of  gay  ideas, 
which  flatter  and  fport  in  the  brain,  makes 
them  pleafed  with  themfelves,  and  with, 
every  frolic  as  trifling  as  themielves :  but* 
when  the  ferment  of  their  blood  abates, 
and  the  freihnefs  of  their  youth,  like  the 
morning  dew,  panes  away,  their  ipirits  flag 
for  want  of  entertainments  more  fatisfac- 
tory  in  themfelves,  and  more  fuited  to  a 
manly  age ;  and  the  foul,  from  a  fprightly 
impertinence,  from  quick  fenfations,  and 
florid  defires,  fubfides  into  a  dead  calm, 
and  finks  into  a  flat  ftupidity.  The  fire 
of  a  glowing  imagination  (the  property  of 
youth)  may  make  folly  look  pleafing,  and 
lend  a  beauty  to  objects,  which  have  none 
inherent  in  them  ;  juft  as  the  fun-beams- 
may  paint  a  cloud,  and  diverfify  it  with 
beautiful  ftains  of  light,  however  dark, 
unfubitantial,  and  empty  in  itfelf.  But 
nothing  can  dune  with  undimiivifhed  luftre, 
but  religion  amd  knowledge,  which  are  • 
eflentially  and  intrinsically  bright.  Take 
it  therefore  for  granted,  which  you  will  find 
by  experience,  that  nothing  can  be  long 
entertaining,  but  what  is  in  fome  meafure 
beneficial ;  becaufe  nothing  elfe  will  bear  a 
calm  and  fedate  review. 

You  may  be  fancied  for  a  while,  upon 
the  account  of  good-nature,  the  infepa^ 
rable  attendant  upon  a  flufh  of  fanguine 
health,  and  a  fulnefs  of  youthful  fpirits : 
but  you  will  find,  in  procefs  of  time,  that 
among  the  wife  and  good,  ufelefs  good- 
nature is  the  object  of  pity,  ill-nature  of 
hatred ;  but  nature  beautified  and  im- 
proved by  an  aflemblage  of  moral  and  in- 
tellectual endowments,  is  the  only  object 
of  a  folid  and  lafting  efteem.  Seed. 

§  42.  The  Unhappincfs  consequent  on  the 
NegleSl  of  early  improving  the  Mind. 
There  is  not  a  greater  inlet  to  mifery 
and  vices  of  all  kinds,  than  the  not  know- 
ing how  to  pafs  our  vacant  hours.  For 
what  remains  to  be  done,  when  the  firft 
part  of  their  lives,  who  are  not  brought 
up  to  any  manual  employment,  is  dipt  away 
without  an  acquired  reliili  for  reading,  or 
tafte  for  other  rational  fatisfactions  ?  That 
they  fhould  purfue  their  pleafures  ?— But, 
religion  apart,  common  prudence  will  warn 
them  to  tie  up  the  wheel  as  they  begin  to 
go  down  the  hill  of  life.  Shall  they  then 
apply  themfelves  to  their  ftudies  ?  Alas  ! 
the  feed-time  is  already  paft  :  The  enter- 
prizing  and  fpirited  ardour  of  youth  being 
over,  without  having  been  applied  to  thofe 
valuable  purpofes  for  which  it  was  given, 

all 


EOOKL       MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


4? 


all  ambition  of  excelling  upoft  -generous 
and  laudable  fchemes  quite  itagnates.  If 
they  have  not  fome  poor  expedient  to  de- 
ceive the  time,  or,  to  fpeak  more  pro- 
perly, to  deceive  themfelves,  the  length 
of  a  day  will  feem  tedious  to  them,  who, 
perhaps,  have  the  unreafonablenefs  to  com- 
plain of  the  fhortnefs  of  life  in  general. 
When  the  former  part  of  our  life  has  been 
nothing  but  vanity,  the  latter  end  of  it 
can  be  nothing  but  vexation.  In  fhort, 
we  mult  be  miferable,  without  fome  em- 
ployment to  fix,  or  fomeamufement  to  dif- 
fipate  our  thoughts :  the  latter  we  cannot 
command  in  all  places,  nor  relifh  at  all 
times ;  and  therefore  there  is  an  abfolute 
neceflity  for  the  former.  We  may  purfue 
this  or  that  new  pleafure  ;  we  may  be  fond 
for  a  while  of  a  new  acquifition;  but  when 
the  graces  of  novelty  are  worn  off,  and 
the  brifknefs  of  our  firlt  defire  is  over,  the 
tranfition  is  very  quick  and  fudden,  from 
an  eager  fondnefs  to  a  cool  indifference. 
Hence  there  is  a  reftlefs  agitation  in  our 
minds,  ftill  craving  fomething  new,  ftill 
unfatisfied  with  it,  when  pofiefied ;  till  me- 
lancholy increafes,  as  we  advance  in  years, 
like  fhadows  lengthening  towards  the  clofe 
of  day. 

Hence  it  is,  that  men  of  this  ftamp  are 
continually  complaining  that  the  times  are 
altered  for  the  worfe :  Becaufe  the  fpright- 
Mnefs  of  their  youth  reprefented  every 
thing  in  the  moft  engaging  light;  and 
when  men  are  in  high  good  humour  with 
themfelves,  they  are  apt  to  be  fo  with  all 
around ;  the  face  of  nature  brightens  up, 
and  the  fun  Urines  with  a  more  agreeable 
luftre  :  but  when  old  age  has  cut  them 
off  from  the  enjoyment  of  falie  pleafures, 
and  habitual  vice  has  given  them  a  diftafte 
for  the  only  true  and  lading  delights ; 
when  a  retrofpect  of  their  paft  lives  pre- 
fents  nothing  to  view  but  one  wide  tract  of 
uncultivated  ground;  a  foul  diftempered 
with  fpleen,  remorfe,  and  an  infenfibility 
of  each  rational  fatisfaction,  darkens  and 
difcolours  every  object ;  and  the  change  is 
not  in  the  times,  but  in  them,  who  have 
been  forfaken  by  thofe  gratifications  which 
they  would  not  forfake. 

How  much  otherwife  is  it  with  thofe,. who 
have  laid  up  an  inexhauftible  fund  of  know- 
ledge !  When  a  man  has  been  laying  out 
that  time  in  the  purfuit  of  fome  great  and 
important  truth,  which  others  waite  in  a 
circle  of  gay  follies,  he  is  confcious  of 
having  acted  up  to  the  dignity  of  his  na- 
ture ;  and  f-pm  that  confcioufnefs  there  re- 


fill ts  that  ferene  complacency,which,  though 
not  fo  violent,  is  much  preferable  to  the 
pleafures  of  the  animal  life.  He  can  tra- 
vel on  from  ftrength  to  ftrength ;  for,  in, 
literature  as  in  war,  each  new  conqueft 
which  he  gains,  impowers  him  to  pufh  his 
conquefts  ftill  farther,  and  to  enlarge  the 
empire  of  reafon :  thus  he  is  ever  in  a  pro- 
grelTive  ftate,  ftill  making  new  acquire- 
ments, ftill  animated  with  hopes  of  future 
difcoveries.  Seed, 

§  43.     Great  Tale  tits    not  requifte  for  ihl 
common  Duties  of  Life. 

Some  may  alledge,  in  bar  to  what  J 
have  faid,  as  an  excufe  for  their  indolence, 
the  want  of  proper  talents  to  make  any  pro- 
grefs  in  learning.  To  which  I  anfwer,  that 
few  ftations  require  uncommon  abilities  ta 
dif  charge  them  well;  for  the  ordinary  offices 
of  life,  that  fhare  of  apprehenfion  which 
falls  to  the  bulk  of  mankind,  provided  we 
improve  it,  will  ferve  well  enough.  Bright 
and  fparkling  parts  are  like  diamonds, 
which  may  adorn  the  proprietor,  but  are 
not  neceflary  for  the  good  of  the  world  : 
whereas  common  fenfe  is  like  current  coin ; 
we  have  every  day,  in  the  ordinary  occur- 
rences of  life,  occafion  for  it ;  and  if  we 
would  but  call  it  into  a&ion,  it  would  can  v 
us  much  greater  lengths  than  we  feem  to 
be  aware  of.  Men  may  extol,  as  much 
as  they  pleafe,  fine,  exalted,  and  fnpe- 
rior  fenfe ;  yet  common  fenfe,  if  attend- 
ed with  humility  and  induftry,  is  the  belt 
guide  to  beneficial  truth,  and  the  belt  pre- 
fervative  againit  any  fatal  errors  in  know- 
ledge, and  notorious  mifcondu&s  in  life. 
For  none  are,  in  the  nature  of  the  thing, 
more  liable  to  error,  than  thofe  who  have 
a  diftafte  for  plain  fober  fenfe  and  dry  rea- 
foning;  which  yet  is  the  cafe  of  thofe 
whcfe  warm  and  elevated  imagination, 
whofe  uncommon  fire  and  vivacity,  make 
them  in  love  with  nothing  but  what  is 
ftriking,  marvellous,  and  dazzling :  for 
great  wits,  like  great  beauties,  look  upon 
mere  efteem  as  a  flat  jnftpid  thing ;  no- 
thing lefs  than  admiration  will  content 
them.  To  gain  the  good-will  of  man- 
kind, by  being  ufeful  to  them,  is  in  their 
opinion,  a  poor,  k>w,  groveling  aim  ;  their 
ambition  is,  to  draw  the  eyes  of  the  world 
upon  them,  by  dazzling  and  furprizing 
them ;  a  temper  which  draws  them  oft 
from  the  love  of  truth,  and  confequently 
fubje&s  them  to  grofs  miftakes :  for  they 
will  net  love  truth  as  fach  j  they  will  love 

it 


45 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


it  only  when  it  happens  to  be  furprizing 
and  uncommon,  which  few  important  truths 
are.  The  love  of  novelty  will  be  the  pre- 
dominant paflion  ;  that  of  truth  will  only 
influence  them,  when  it  does  not  interfere 
with  it.  Perhaps  nothing  fooner  mifleads 
men  out  of  the  road  of  truth,  than  to  have 
the -wild,  dancing  light  of  a  bright  ima- 
gination playing  before  them.  Perhaps 
they  have  too  much  life  and  fpirit  to  have 
patience  enough  to  go  to  the  bottom  of 
a  fubject,  and  trace  up  every  argument, 
through  a  long  tedious  procefs,  to  its  ori- 
ginal. Perhaps  they  have  that  delicacy 
of  make  which  fits  them  for  a  fwift  and 
fpeedy  race,  but  does  not  enable  them  to 
carry  a  great  weight,  or  to  go  through 
any  long  journey ;  whereas  men  of  fewer 
ideas,  who  lay  them  in  order,  compare  and 
examine  them,  and  go  on,  ilep  by  Rep,  in 
a  gradual  chain  of  thinking,  make  up  by 
jnduftry  and  caution  what  they  want  in 
quicknefs  of  appreheniion.  Be  not  dif- 
couraged,  if  you  do  not  meet  with  fuccefs 
at  firit.  Ohferve,  (for  it  lies  within  the 
compafs  of  any  man's  obfervation)  that 
he  who  has  been  long  habituated  to  one 
kind  of  knowledge,  Is  utterly  at  a  lofs  in 
another,  to  which  he  is  unaccuftom'ed ;  till, 
by  repeated  effort:,  he  finds  a  progreffive 
cpening  of  Ins  faculties;  and  then  he  won- 
ders how  lie  could  be  fo  long  in  finding  out 
«•  connection  of  ideas,  which,  to  a  practifed 
onderflanding,  is  very  obvious.  But  by 
i-iegieftk?-  to  ufe  your  faculties,  you  will, 
in  time,  toil  the  very  power  of  ufmg  them. 

°  Seed. 

3    :.-.  Ricl.es  or  F triune  no  Excufe  to  exempt 
an y  from  Study. 

Others  there  are,  who  plead  an  exemp- 
tion bum  lludy,  becaufe  their  fortune 
e .  them  independent  of  the  world, 
and  they  need  not  be  beho'den  to  it  for  a 
maintenance — that  is,  becaufe  their  fitua- 
tion  in  life  exempts  them  from  the  necef- 
i>ty  of  {pending  their  time  in  fervile  offices 
and  hardfhips,  therefore  they  may  difpofe 
of  it  juft  as  they  pleafe.  It  is  to  imagine, 
fcccaufe  God  has  empowered  them  to  finele 
cut  the  bell  means  of  employing  their 
hours,  viz.  in  reading,  meditation:  in  the' 
klghell  balances  of  piety  and  charity; 
therefore  they  may  throw  them  away  in  a 
round  of  impertiner.ee,  vanity,  and  folly. 
The  apoftle's  rule,  '  that  if  any  man  will 
not  work,  neither  fhould  he  eat,'  extends 
kj  the  rich  as  well  as  the  poor;  only  fup- 
pfrng.  that    t'uerc  are  different  kinds  cf 


work  afiigned  to  each.  The  reafon  is  ther 
fame  in  both  cafes,  viz.  that  he  who  will 
do  no  good,  ought  not  to  receive  or  en- 
joy any.  As  we  are  all  joint  traders  an<& 
partners  in  life,  he  forfeits  his  right  to  any 
ihare  in  the  common  frock  of  happinefs, 
who  does  not  endeavour  to  contribute  hi3 
quota  or  allotted  part  to  it  :  the  public 
happinefs  being  nothing  but  the  fum  total 
of  each  individual's  contribution  to  it.  An'.- 
eafy  fortune  does  not  fet  men  free  front' 
labour  and  induitry  in  general ;  it  only 
exempts  them  from  feme  particular  kinds 
of  labour  :  it  is  not  a  bleifing,  as  it  gives 
them  liberty  to  do  nothing  at  all ;  but  as 
it  gives  them  liberty  wifely  to  chufe,  and 
fteadily  to  profecute,  the  molt,  ennobling 
exerciies,  and  the  mod  improving  employ- 
ments, the  purfuit  of  truth,  the  practice 
of  virtue,  the  fervice  of  God  who  giveth 
them  all  things  richly  to  enjoy,  in  ihort, 
the  doing  and  being  every  thing  that  is 
commendable  ;  though  nothing  merely  in- 
order  to  be  commended.  That  time  wnich 
others  mull  employ  in  tilling  the  ground 
(which  often  deceives  their  expectation) 
with  the  fweat  of  their  brow,  they  may 
lay  out  in  cultivating  the  mind,  a  foil  al- 
ways grateful  to  the  care  of  the  tiller. — 
The  fum  of  what  1  would  fay,  is  this  : 
That,  though  you  are  not  confined  to  any- 
particular  calling,  yet  you  have  a  general 
one ;  which  is,  to  watch  over  your  heart, 
and  to  improve  your  head;  to  make  your- 
felf  mailer  of  ail  thofe  accomplilhments-— 
an  enlarged  compafs  of  thought,  that  flow- 
ing humanity  and  generofitv,  which  are 
neceffary  to  become  a  great  fortune  ;  and 
of  all  thofe  perfections,  viz.  moderation, 
humility,  and  temperance,  which  are  ne- 
ccilary  to  bear  a  final!  one  patiently ;  but 
efpecially  it  is  your  duty  to  acquire  a  talre 
for  thofe  pleafures,  which,  after  they  are 
tailed,  go  off  agreeably,  and  leave  behind 
them  a  grateful  and  delightful  flavour  on 
the  mind.  Ibid. 

§  45.    'The  Pleafures  refulting  from  a  pru- 
dent Ufe  of  our  Faculties. 

Happy  that  man,  who,  unembarraffed 
by  vulgar  cares,  mailer  of  himfelf,  his 
time,  and  fortune,  fpends  his  time  in  mak- 
ing himfelf  wifer,  and  his  fortune  in  mak- 
ing others  (and  therefore  himfelf)  happier: 
who,  as  the  will  and  underilanding  are  the 
two  ennobling  faculties  of  the  foul,  thinks 
himfelf  not  complete,  till  his  underiland- 
ing be  beautified  with  the  valuable  furni- 
ture of  knowledge,  as  well  as  his  will  en-. 

riched 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


47 


iched  with  every  virtue  :    who  has  fur- 
lifhed  himfelf  with  all  the  advantages  to 
■elifh  folitude,  and' enliven  converiation ; 
vhen  ferious,  not  fullen  ;  and  when  chear- 
iil,  not  indifcreetly  gay  ;'  his  ambitios,  not 
o  be  admired  for  a  falfe  glare  of  greatneis, 
jut  to  be  beloved  for  the  gentle  and  fober 
uftre  of  his  wifdom  and  goodnefs.     The 
Treateft  miniiter  of  ftate  has  not  more  bu- 
rners to  do  in  a  public  capacity,  than  he, 
ind  indeed  every  man    elfe    may  find  in 
:he  retired  and  ftill  fcenes  of  life.     Even 
in  his  private  walks,  every  thing  that  is 
vifible  convinceth  him  there  is  prefent  a 
Being  invifible.     Aided  by  natural  philo- 
fophy,  he  reads  plain  legible  traces  of  the 
Divinity  in  every  thing  he  meets  :  he  fees 
the  Deity  in  every  tree,  as  well  as  Mofes 
did  in  the  burning  bum,  though  not  in  fo 
glaring  a  manner  :  and  when  lie  fees  him, 
he  adores  him  with  the  tribute  of  a  grate- 
ful heart.  Seed. 


$  46.  Tbejujlly  valuing  and  duly  ujing  the 
Advantages  enjoyed  in  a  Place  of  Educa- 
tion. 

One  confiderable  advantage  is,  that  re- 
gular method  of  iludy,  too  much  neglect- 
ed in  other  places,  which  obtains  here. 
Nothing  is  more  common  elfewhere,  than 
for  perfons  to  plunge,  at  once,  into  the 
very  depth  of  fcience,  (far  beyond  their 
own)  without  having  learned  the  Hrft  rudi- 
ments :  nothing  more  common,  than  for 
fbme  to  pafs  themfelves  upon  the  world 
for  great  fcholars,  by  the  help  of  nniverfal 
Dictionaries,  Abridgements,  and  Indexes ; 
by  which  means  they  gain  an  ufelefs  fmat- 
tering  in  every  branch  of  literature,  juft 
enough  to  enable  them  to  talk  fluently,  or 
rather  impertinently,  upon  mofi  fubje&s ; 
but  not  to  think  juftly  and  deeply  upon 
any  :  like  thofe  who  have  a  general  fuper- 
ficial  acquaintance  with  almoit  every  body. 
To  cultivate  an  intimate  and  entire  friend- 
fhip  with  one  or  two  worthy  perfons,  would 
be  of  more  fervice  to  them.  The  true  ge- 
nuine way   to  make  a  fubftantial  fcholar, 

is  what  takes  place  here, to  begin  with 

thofe  general  principles  of  reafoning,  upon 
which  all  fcience  depends,  and  which  give 
S  light  to  every  part  of  literature  ;  to  make 
gradual  advances,  a  flow  but  fure  procefs ; 
to  travel  gently,  with  proper  guides  to  di- 
rect us,  through  the  moil  beautiful  and 
fruitful  regions  of  knowledge  in  general, 
before  we  fix  ourfelves  in,  and  confine  our- 
felves  to  any  particular  province  of  it ;  it 
being  the  great  iecret  of  education,  not  to 


make  a  man  a  complete  mafcer  of  any 
branch  of  fcience,  but  to  give  his  mind 
that  freedom,  opennefs,  and  extent,  which 
lhall  empower  him  to  mailer  it,  or  indeed 
any  other,  whenever  lie  fhall  turn  the  bent 
of  his  itudies  that  way ;  which  is  belt  done, 
by  fetting  before  him,  in  his  earlier  years, 
a  general  view  of  the  whole  intellectual 
world  :  whereas,  an  early  and  entire  at- 
tachment to  one  particular  calling,  narrows 
the  abilities  of  the  mind  to  that  degree, 
that  he  can  fcarce  think  out  of  that  track 
to  which  he  is  accuftomed. 

The  next  advantage  I  fhall  mention  is, 
a  direction  in  the  choice  of  authors  upon 
the  mod  material  fubjecls.  For  it  is  per- 
haps a  great  truth,  that  learning  might  be 
reduced  to  a  much  narrower  compafs,  if 
one  were  to  read  none  but  original  authors, 
thofe  who  write  chiefly  from  their  own 
fund  of  fenfe,  without  treading  fervilely  in 
the  fteps  of  others. 

Here,  too,  a  generous  emulation  quick- 
ens our  endeavours,  and  the  friend  improves 
the  fcholar.  The  tedioufnefs  of  the  way 
to  truth  is  infenflbly  beguiled  by  having 
fellow-travellers,  who  keep  an  even  pace 
with  us  :  each  light  diipenfes  a  brighter 
flame,  by  mixing  its  focial  rays  with  thofe 
of  others.  Here  we  live  fequeftcred  from 
noife  and  hurry,  far  from  the  great  fcen.2 
of  bufinefs,  vanity,  and  idlenefs ;  our  hours 
are  all  our  own.  Here  it  is,  as  in  the  Athe- 
nian torch-race,  where  a  feries  of  men  have 
fucceflively  tranfmitted  from  one  to  an- 
other the  torch  of  knowledge ;  and  no 
fooner  has  one  quitted  it,  but  another 
equally  able  takes  the  lamp,  to  difpenfe 
light  to  all  within  its  fphere  *.         Ibid. 

§  47.  DifcipUne  of  the  Place  of  Educattcn 
not  to  be  relaxed. 
May  none  of  us  complain,  that  the  dif- 
cipline  of  the  place  is  too  flrift:  may  we 
rather  reflect,  that  there  needs  nothing 
elfe  to  make  a  man  completely  miferable, 
but  to  let  him,  in  the  moil  dangerous  ftage 
of  life,  carve  out  an  happinefs  for  himfelf, 
without  any  check  upon  the  fallies  of 
youth  !  Thofe  to  whom  you  have  been 
over  indulgent,  and  perhaps  could  not  have 
been  otherwife,  without  proceeding  to  ex- 
tremities, never  to  be  ufed  but  in  defperate 
cafes,  thofe  have  been  always  the  moil 
liberal  of  their  cenfures  and  invedives  a- 
gainft  you:  they  put  one  in  mind  of  Ado- 


nijah's  rebellion  againft  David  his  father ; 


-Quafi  curfores,  vita  larnixula  tradunt. 

M.UCI  tt 


becaufe 


43 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


becaufe  his  father  had  not  difpleafed  him 
at  any  time,  in  faying,  Why  haft  thou 
done  To : — It  is  a  certain  fign  men  want 
reftraints,  when  they  are  impatient  under 
anv  ;  too  headftrong  to  be  governed  by 
authority,  too  weak  to  be  conduced  by 
reaibn.  Seed. 

§  48.  Irregularities  of  a  Femo  bring  Cenfure 
on  the  If  hole. 
It  were  to  be  wifhed,  that  they  who 
claim  greater  indulgences,  would  ferioufly 
refle£t,  that  the  glaring  irregularities  of 
two  or  three  members  bring  an  undiftin- 
guifhing  cenfure  upon  a  whole  body ;  make 
a  noife  in,  and  alarm  the  world,  as  if  all 
flefh  had  here  corrupted  their  ways :  where- 
as the  fober,  modcft  worth  of  a  much 
greater  number,  who  here  in  private  at- 
tend the  duties  of  the  wife  and  good,  mull, 
in  the  nature  of  the  thing,  efcape  the  no- 
tice of  the  world.  Notorious  diforders, 
how  few  foever  are  concerned,  ftrike  upon 
the  fenfes  of  feme,  and  affect  the  paffions 
of  many  more;  by  which  (their  fenfes  and 
paffions)  the  grofs  of  mankind  generally 
judge  of  things;  but  it  requires  fome  ex- 
pence  of  reflection,  to  which  the  bulk  of 
mankind  will  never  put  themfelves  to  con- 
fider,  that  great  numbers  mull  have  fpent 
their  time  profitably,  formed  habits  of  jult 
thinking  here,  and  laid  in  that  Hock  of 
knowledge  which  they  have  produced  into 
view  in  a  more  public  fphere ;  that  thofe 
vices,  which  they  complain  of  may  not  be 
the  native  growth  of  the  place,  but  im- 
ported from  irregular  and  undifciplined  fa- 
milies, from  fchools,  and  from  the  worft  of 
fchools,  the  world  at  large,  when  youth 
are  entered  into  it  too  foon.  Ibid. 

§  49.    Diffidence  of  one's  Abilities,  an  Indi- 
cation of  good  Senfe. 
Confider,  that  it  is  a  fure  indication  of 
good  fenfe  to  be  diffident  of  it.'     We  then, 
and  not  till  then,  are  growing  wife,  when 
we  begin  to  difcern  how  weak  and  unwife 
we  are.     An  abfolute  perfection  of  under- 
standing is  impcfiible :  he  makes  the  near- 
eft  approaches  to  it,  who  has  the  fenfe  to 
difcern,  and  the  humility  to  acknowledge, 
its    imperfections.      Modefty    always    fits 
gracefully  upon  youth;  it  covers  a  multi- 
tude  of  faults,  and  doubles  the  luftre  of 
every  virtue  which  it  feems  to  hide  :  the 
tions  of  men  being  like  thofe  flowers 
which  appear  more  beautiful   when  their 
leaves  are   a   little   contracted   and  folded 
up,  than  when   they  are  full  blown,  and 
4 


difplay  themfelves,  without  any  refene,  to 
the  view. 

We  are  fome  of  us  very  fond  of  know- 
ledge, and  apt  to  value  ourfelves  upon  any 
proficiency  in  the  fciences ;  one  fcience,. 
however,  there  is,  worth  more  than  all  the 
reft,  and  that  is,  the  fcience  of  living  well; 
which  fhall  remain,  when,  «  Whether  there 
be  tongues,  they  fhall  ceafe;  Whether  there 
be  knowledge,  it  fhall  vanilh  away.'  As 
to  new  notions,  and  new  doclrines,  of  which 
this  age  is  very  fruitful,  the  time  will  come, 
when  we  fhall  have  no  pleafure  in  them ; 
nay,  the  time  fhall  come,  when  they  fhall 
be  exploded,  and  would  have  been  for- 
gotten, if  they  had  not  been  preferved  in 
thofe  excellent  books,  which  contain  a  con- 
futation of  them ;  like  infects  preferved 
for  ages  in  amber,  which  otherwife  would 
foon  have  returned  to  the  common  mafs 
of  things.  But  a  firm  belief  of  Chriftia- 
nity,  and  a  practice  fuitable  to  it,  will  fup- 
port  and  invigorate  the  mind  to  the  laft, 
and  moft  of  all  at  laft,  at  that  important 
hour,  which  mult  decide  our  hopes  and 
apprehenfions  :  and  the  wifdom,  which, 
like  our  Saviour,  cometh  from  above,  will, 
through  his  merits,  bring  us  thither.  And? 
indeed,  all  our  other  ftudies  and  purfuits, 
however  different,  ought  to  be  fubfervient 
to,  and  center  in  this  grand  point,  the  pur- 
fuit  of  eternal  happinefs,  by  being  good  in 
ourfelves,  and  ufeful  to  the  world.    Ibid. 

§50.  The  NeceJJtty  of  peculiar  Temperance 
in  Places  of  Education. 
From  a  thorough  infight  into  human 
nature,  with  a  watchful  eye,  and  kind 
attention  to  the  vanity  and  intemperate 
heat  of  youth,  with  well-weighed  meUfnres 
for  the  advancement  of  all  ufeful  literature, 
and  the  continual  fupport  and  increafe  of 
virtue  and  piety,  have  the  wife  and  religi- 
ous inftitutors  of  the  rules  of  conduit  and 
government  in  places  of  education,  done  all 
that  human  prudence  could  do,  to  promote 
the  moft  excellent  and  beneficial  defign,  by 
the  moft  rational  and  well-concerted  means. 
They  firft  laid  the  foundation  well,  in  the 
difcipline  and  regulation  of  the  appetites. 
They  put  them  under  the  reftraint  of ' 
wholefome  and  frugal  rules,  to  place  them 
out  of  the  reach  of  intemperance,  and  to 
preclude  an  excefs  that  would  ferve  only  to 
corrupt,  inflame,  and  torment  them.  They 
are  fed  with  food  convenient  for  them  j 
with  iimplicity  yet  fufficiency;  with  a  kind 
though  cautious  hand.  By  this  means,  the 
feeds  of  vice  are  ftifled  in  their  birth ;  young 

perfons 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


49 


perfons  are  here  removed  from  tempta- 
tions, to  which  others,  from  a  lefs  happy 
fituation,  are  too  frequently  expofed  ;  and 
by  an  early  habit  of  tempeiance  and  felf- 
command,  they  may  learn  either  to  pre- 
vent all  irregular  felicitations,  or  with  eafe 
to  controul  them.  Happy  are  they  who, 
by  a  thankful  enjoyment  of  thefe  advan- 
tages, and  a  willing  compliance  with  thefe 
rules,  lay  up  in  ftore  for  the  reft  of  their 
life,  virtue,  health,  and  peace  !  Vain,  in- 
deed, would  be  the  expectation  of  any 
real  progrefs  in  intellectual  and  moral  im- 
provements, were  not  the  foundation  thus 
laid  in  ftrict  regularity  and  temperance; 
were  the  fenfual  appetites  to  be  pampered 
in  youth,  or  even  vitiated  with  that  de- 
gree of  indulgence  which  an  extravagant 
world  may  allow  and  call  elegance,  but  in 
a  place  of  education  would  be  downright 
luxury.  The  tafte  of  fenfual  pleafures 
mull  be  checked  and  abated  in  them,  that 
they  may  acquire  a  reiifh  of  the  more  fub- 
lirae  pleafures  that  remit  from  realbn  and 
religion  ;  that  they  may  purfue  them  with 
effecl,  and  enjoy  them  without  avocation. 
And  have  they  not  in  this  place  every 
motive,  affiftance,  and  encouragement,  to 
engage  them  in  a  virtuous  and  moral  life, 
and  to  animate  them  in  the  attainment  of 
ufeful  learning  ?  What  rank  or  condition 
of  youth  is  there,  that  has  not  daily  and 
hourly  opportunities  of  laying  in  fupplies 
of  knowledge  and  virtue,  that  will  in 
every  ftation  of  life  be  equally  fervice- 
able  and  ornamental  to  themfelves,  and 
beneficial  to  mankind  ?  And  fhall  any  one 
dare  to  convert  a  houfe  of  difcipline  and 
learning  into  a  houfe  of  diffblutenefs,  ex- 
travagance, and  riot  ?  With  what  an  ag- 
gravation of  guilt  do  they  load  themfelves, 
who  at  the  fame  time  that  they  are  pur- 
fuing  their  own  unhappinefs,  facrilegi- 
oufly  break  through  all  the  fences  of  good 
order  and  government,  and  by  their  prac- 
tice, feducement,  and  example,  do  what 
in  them  lies,  to  introduce  into  thefe  fchools 
of  frugality,  fobriety,  and  temperance,  all 
the  mad  vices  and  vain  gaieties  of  a  li- 
centious and  voluptuous  age  !  What  have 
they  to  anfwer  for,  who,  while  they  pro- 
fligately fquander  away  that  moil  precious 
part  of  time,  which  is  the  only  feafon  of 
application  and  improvement,  to  their  own 
irretrievable  lofs,  encourage  one  another 
in  an  idle  and  fenfual  courfe  of  life,  and 
by  fpreading  wide  the  contagion,  reflect 
a  fcandal  upon,  and  ftrive  to  bring  into 
.public  difefteem,  the  place  of  their  edu- 


cation, where  induftry,  literature,  virtue, 
decency,  and  whatever  elfe  is  praife-wor- 
thy,  did  for  ages  flourifh  and  abound  ?  Is 
this  the  genuine  fruit  of  the  pious  care  of 
our  anceftors,  for  the  fecurity  and  propa- 
gation of  religion  and  good-manners,  to 
the  lateft  pofterity  ?  Is  this  at  laft  the  re- 
ward of  their  munificence  ?  Or  does  this 
conduct  correfpond  with  their  views,  or 
with  the  juft  expectations  and  demands 
of  your  friends  and  your  country  ? 

Tottie. 

§  5- 1.  Valuable  Opportunities  once  loji  can- 
not be  recalled. 
Nor  let  any  one  vainly  imagine,  that 
the  time  and  valuable  opportunities  which 
are  now  loft,  can  hereafter  be  recalled  at 
will ;  or  that  he  who  has  run  out  his  youth- 
ful days  in  diflipation  and  pleafure,  will 
have  it  in  his  power  to  ftop  when  he 
pleafes,  and  make  a  wifer  ufe  of  his  riper 
years.  Yet  this  is  too  generally  the  fal- 
lacious hope  that  flatters  the  youth  in  his 
fenfual  indulgences,  and  leads  him  infen- 
fibly  on  in  the  treacherous  ways  of  vice, 
till  it  is  now  too  late  to  return.  There 
are  few,  who  at  one  plunge  fo  totally  im* 
merge  in  pleafures,  as  to  drown  at  once 
all  power  of  reafon  and  confeience :  they' 
promife  themfelves,  that  they  can  indulge 
their  appetites  to  fuch  a  point  only,  and 
can  check  and  turn  them  back  when  they 
have  run  their  allotted  race.  I  do  not  in- 
deed fay  that  there  never  have  been  per- 
fons in  whom  the  ftrong  ferment  of  youth- 
ful lulls  may  have  happily  fubfided_,  and 
who  may  have  brought  forth  fruits  of 
amendment,  and  difplayed  many  eminent 
virtues.  God  forbid  !  that  even  the  moff. 
licentious  vices  of  youth  fhould  be  abfo- 
lutely  incorrigible.  But  I  may  venture  to 
affirm,  that  the  inftances  in  this  cafe  have 
been  fo  rare,  that  it  is  very  dangerous  for 
any  one  to  truft  to  the  experiment,  upon 
a  preemption  that  he  fhall  add  to  the 
number.  The  only  fure  way  to  make  any 
proficiency  in  a  virtuous  life,  is  to  fet  out 
in  it  betimes.  It  is  then,  when  our  incli- 
nations are  trained  up  in  the  way  that  they 
fhould  lead  us,  that  cuitom  foon  makes 
the  beft  habits  the  moft  agreeable  -r  the 
ways  of  v/ifdom  become  the  ways  of  plea- 
fantnefs,  and  every  ftep  we  advance,  they 
grow  more  eafy  and  more  delightful.  But, 
on  the  contrary,  when  vicious,  hendftrong 
appetites  are  to  be  reclaimed,  and  invete- 
rate habits  to  be  correacd,  what  fecurity 
can  we  give  oorfelves,  that  we  fhall  have 
j?  either 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


either  inclination,  refolution,  or  power,  to 
flop  and  turn  back,  and  recover  the  right 
way  from  which  we  have  fo  long  and  fo 
widely  wandered,  and  enter  upon  a  new 
life,  when  perhaps  our  ftrength  now  faileth 
us,  and  we  know  not  how  near  we  may  be 
to  our  journey's  end  ?  Thefe  reflections  I 
have  fuggefted  principally  for  the  fake  of 
thofe,  who  allowing  themfelves  in  greater 
indulgences  than  are  confident  with  a  li- 
beral and  virtuous  education,  give  evident 
proofs  that  they  are  not  fufficiently  aware 
of  the  dangerous  encroachments,  and  the 
peculiar  deceitfulnefs  of  pleafurable  fin. 
Jtiappy  for  them,  would  they  once  feri- 
oufly  confider  their  ways !  and  no  time 
can  be  more  proper,  than  when  thefe  fo- 
lemn  feafons  of  recollection  and  religious 
difcipline  mould  particularly  difpofe  them 
to  ferioufnefs  and  thought.  They  would 
then  difcover,  that  though  they  are  awhile 
carried  gently  and  fupinely  down  the  fmooth 
ftream  of  pleafure,  yet  foon  the  torrent 
will  grow  too  violent  to  be  ftemmed ;  the 
waves  will  arife,  and  dafh  them  upon 
rocks,  or  fink  them  in  whirlpools.  It  is 
therefore  the  part  of  prudence  to  flop  fhort 
while  they  may,  and  to  divert  their  courfe 
into  a  different  channel ;  which,  whatever 
obstructions  and  difficulties  they  may  la- 
bour with  at  firft,  will  every  day  become 
more  practicable  and  pleafmg,  and  will 
affuredly  carry  them  to  a  ferene  and  fe- 
cure  haven.  Tottie. 

{  52.  The  Beginnings  of Evil  to  berejified. 
Think  not,  as  I  am  afraid  too  many  do, 
that  becaufe  your  paffions  have  not  hur- 
ried you  into  atrocious  deeds,  they  have 
therefore  wrought  no  mifchief,  and  have 
left  no  fling  behind  them.  By  a  conti- 
nued feries  of  loofe,  though  apparently 
trivial  gratifications,  the  heart  is  often  as 
thoroughly  corrupted,  as  by  the  commif- 
fion  of  any  one  of  thofe  enormous  crimes 
which  fpring  from  great  ambition,  or 
great  revenge.  Habit  gives  the  paffions 
ftrength,  while  the  abfence  of  glaring  guilt 
feeminglyjuftifies  them;  and,  unawakened 
by  remorfe,  the  finner  proceeds  in  his 
courfe,  till  he  wax  bold  in  guilt,  and  be- 
come ripe  for  ruin  :  for,  by  gradual  and 
latent  fteps,  the  deilruction  of  our  virtues 
advances.  Did  the  evil  unveil  itfelf  at 
the  beginning ;  did  the  ftorm  which  is  to 
overthrow  our  peace,  difcover,  as  it  rofe, 
all  its  horrors,  precautions  would  more 
frequently  be  taken  agairifl  it.  But  we 
are  imperceptibly  betrayed ;  and  from  one 


licentious  attachment,  one  criminal  paf- 
fion,  are,  by  a  train  of  confequences, 
drawn  on  to  another,  till  the  government 
of  our  minds  is  irrecoverably  loft.  The 
enticing  and  the  odious  paffions  are,  in  this 
refpect,  fimilar  in  their  procefs ;  and, 
though  by  different  roads,  conduct  at  laft 
to  the  fame  iffue.  Blair 


§  53- 


Order  to    be    cbferved  in    Amvfo 

mctits. 

Obferve  order  in  your  amufements;  that 
is,  allow  them  no  more  than  their  proper 
place ;  ftudy  to  keep  them  within  due 
bounds ;  mingle  them  in  a  temperate  fuc- 
ceffion  with  ferious  duties,  and  the  higher 
bufinefs  of  life.  Human  life  cannot  pro- 
ceed, to  advantage,  without  fome  meafure 
of  relaxation  and  entertainment.  We  re- 
quire relief  from  care.  We  are  not  form' 
ed  for  a  perpetual  ftretch  of  feriou* 
thought.  By  too  intenfe  and  continued 
application,  our  feeble  powers  would  foon 
be  worn  out.  At  the  fame  time,  from  our 
propenfity  to  eafe  and  pleafure,  amufe- 
ment  proves,  among  all  ranks  of  men,  the 
moft  dangerous  foe  to  order:  for  it  tends 
inceffantly  to  ufurp  and  encroach,  to  wi- 
den its  territories,  to  thruft  itfelf  into  the 
place  cf  more  important  concerns,  and 
thereby  to  disturb  and  counteract  the  na- 
tural courfe  of  things.  One  frivolous 
amufement  indulged  out  of  feafon,  will 
often  carry  perplexity  and  confufion  thro' 
a  long  fucceffion  of  affairs. 

Amufements,  therefore,  though  they  be 
of  an  innocent  kind,  require  fteady  go- 
vernment, to  keep  them  within  a  due  and 
limited  province.  But  fuch  as  are  of  an 
irregular  and  vicious  nature,  require  not 
to  be  governed,  but  to  be  banifhed  from 
every  orderly  fociety.  As  foon  as  a  man 
feeks  his  happinefs  from  the  gaming-ta- 
ble, the  midnight  revel,  and  the  other 
haunts  of  licentioufnefs,  confufion  feizes 
upon  him  as  its  own.  There  will  no  lon- 
ger be  order  in  his  family,  nor  order  in 
his  affairs,  nor  order  in  his  time.  The 
molt  important  concerns  of  life  are  aban- 
doned. Even  the  order  of  nature  is  by 
fuch  perfons  inverted  ;  night  is  changed 
into  day,  and  day  into  night.  Character, 
honour,  and  intereft  itfelf,  are  trampled 
under  foot.  You  may  with  certainty  prog- 
nofticate  the  ruin  of  thefe  men  to  be  juft 
at  hand.  Biforder,  arifen  to  its  height, 
has  nearly  accomolifhed  its  work.  The 
fpots  of  death  are  upon  them.  Let  every 
one  who  would  efcape  the  pcftilential  con- 
tagion, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


taglon,  fly   with  hafte  from   their    com- 
pany. Blair, 

§  54.     Order  to  he  preferred  in  your  Society. 

Preferve  order  in  the  arrangement  of 
your  fociety;  that  is,  entangle  not  your- 
felves  in  a  perpetual  and  promifcuous 
crowd  ;  felect  with  prudence  and  propriety, 
thofe  with  whom  you  chufe  to  affociate ; 
.let  company  and  retreat  fucceed  each  other 
at  meafured  intervals.  There  can  be  no 
order  in  his  life,  who  allots  not  a  due 
fhare  of  his  time  to  retirement  and  reflec- 
tion. He  can  neither  prudently  arrange 
his  temporal  affairs,  nor  properly  attend 
to  his  fpiritual  interefts.  He  lives  not  to 
himfelf,  but  to  the  world.  By  continual 
diffipation,  he  is  rendered  giddy  and 
thoughtlefs.  He  contrails  unavoidably 
from  the  world  that  fpirit  of  diforder  and 
confufion  which  is  fo  prevalent  in  it. 

It  is  not  a  fuflicient  prefcrvation  againft 
this  evil,  that  the  circles  of  fociety  in  which 
you  are  engaged  are  not  of  a  libertine 
and  vicious  kind.  If  they  withdraw  you 
from  that  attention  to  yourfelves,  and  your 
domellic  concerns,  which  becomes  a  good 
man,  they  are  fubverfive  of  order,  and 
inconMent  with  your  duty.  What  is  in- 
nocent in  itfelf,  degenerates  into  a  crime, 
from  b.^ing  carried  to  excefs ;  and  idle, 
trifling  fociety,  is  nearly  a-kin  to  fuch  as 
is  corrupting.  One  of  the  firfl  principles 
of  order  is,  to  learn  to  be  happy  at  home. 
It  is  in  domellic  retreat  that  every  wife 
man  finds  his  chief  fatisfaclion.  It  is  there 
he  forms  the  plans  which  regulate  his  pub- 
lic conduit  He  who  knows  not  how  to 
enjoy  himfelf  when  alone,  can  never"  be 
long  happy  abroad.  To  his  vacant  mind, 
company  may  afford  a  temporary  relief; 
but  when  forced  to  return  to  himfelf,  he 
will  be  fo  much  more  oppreifed  and  lan- 
guid. Whereas,  by  a  due  mixture  of  pub- 
lic and  private  life,  we  keep  free  of  the 
fnares  of  both,  and  enjoy  each  to  greater 
advantage.  Ibid. 

§  55.    A  due  Regard  to   Order  neiejfary  in 
Bitfinefs,    Time,     Expence,    and    Amiife- 
■  ments. 

Throughout  your  affairs,  your  time, 
your  expence,  your  amufements,  your  fo- 
eiety,  the  principle  of  order  mull  be  equally 
carried,  if  you  expect  to  reap  any  of  its 
happy  fruits.  For  if  into  any  one  of  thofe 
great  departments  cf  life  you  fuffer  dif- 
order to  enter,  it  will  fpread  through  ail 
the  reit     In  vain,  for  inftance,  you  pur- 


5* 

pofe  to  be  orderly  in  the  conduct  of  your 
affairs,  if  you  be  irregular  in  the  diftri- 
bution  of  your  time.  In  vain  you  attempt 
to  regulate  your  expence,  if  into  your  a- 
mufements,  or  your  fociety,  diforder  has 
crept.  You  have  admitted  a  principle  of 
confufion  which  will  defeat  all  your  plans, 
and  perplex  and  entangle  what  you  fought 
to  arrange.  Uniformity  is  above  all  things 
neceffary  to  order.  If  you  defire  that  any 
thing  fhould  proceed  according  to  method 
and  rule,  <  let  all  things  be  done  in  or- 
der.' 

1  mufl  alfo  admonifh  you,  that  in  fin  all, 
as  well  as  in  great  affairs,  a  due  regard  to 
order  is  requifite.  I  mean  not,  that  you 
ought  to  look  on  thofe  minute  attentions, 
which  are  apt  to  occupy  frivolous  minds, 
as  connected  either  with  virtue  orwifdom  : 
but  1  exhort  you  to  remember,  that  dif- 
order, like  other  immoralities,  frequently 
takes  rife  from  inconfiierable  beginnings. 
They  who,  in  the  lefier  tranfaclions  of  life, 
are  totally  negligent  of  rule,  will  be  in 
hazard  of  extending  that  negligence,  by 
degrees,  to  fuch  affairs  and  duties  as  will 
render  them  criminal.  Remiffnefs  grows 
on  all  who  ftudy  not  to  guard  againil  it; 
and  it  is  only  by  frequent  exercife  that 
the  habits  of  order  and  punctuality  can  be 
thoroughly  confirmed.  Ibid, 

§  56.     Idlenefs  avoided  by  the  Obfernjation 
of  Order, 

By  attending  to  order,  you  avoid  idle- 
nefs, that  moil  fruitful  fource  of  crimes 
and  evils.  Acting  upon  a  plan,  meeting 
every  thing  in  its  own  place,  you  con- 
ftantly  find  innocent  and  ufeful  employ- 
ment for  time.  You  are  never  at  a  lofs 
how  to  difpofe  of  your  hours,  or  to  fill  up 
life  agreeably.  In  the  courfe  of  human 
a&ion,  there  are  two  extremes  equally 
dangerous  to  virtue;  the  multiplicity  of 
affairs,  and  the  total  want  of  them.  The 
man  of  order  ftands  in  the  middle  between 
thefe  two  extremes,  and  fuffers  from  nei- 
ther :  he  is  occupied,  but  not  oppreffed.* 
Whereas  the  diforderly,  overloading  one 
part  of  time,  and  leaving  another  vacant, 
are  at  one  period  overwhelmed  with  bufi- 
nefs,  and  at  another  either  idle  through 
want  of  employment,  or  indolent  through 
perplexity.  Thofe  feafons  of  indolence 
and- idlenefs,  which  recur  fo  often  in  their 
life,  are  their  moil  dangerous  moments. 
The  mind,  unhappy  in  its  fituation;  and 
clinging  to  every  object  which  can  occupy 
E°2  or 


ELEGAKT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


or  amufe  it,  is  then  aptert  to  throw  itfelf 
the  arms  of  every  vice  and  folly. 
irther ;  by  the  prefervation  of  order, 
heck  inconftancy  and  levity.  Fickle 
ature  is  the  human  heart.  Jt  is  fond 
■\..  change  ;  and  perpetually  tends  to  Hart 
afide.from  the  ftraight  line  of  conduct. 
Hence  arifes  the  propriety  of  bringing 
ourfelves  under  fubjection  to  method  and 
rule ;  which,  though  at  firft  it  may  prove 
conftraining,  yet  by  degree?,  and  from  the 
experience  of  its  happy  effects,  becomes 
natural  and  agreeable.  It  rectifies  thofe 
irregularities  of  temper  and  manners  to 
which  we  give  the  name  of  caprice ;  and 
which  are  diltinguifned  characterillics  of  a 
diibrderly  mind.  It  is  the  parent  of  ttea- 
dinefs  of  conduct.  It  forms  confiltency 
of  character.  It  is  the  ground  of  all  the 
confidence  we  repofe  in  one  another. 
For,  the  diforderly  we  know  not  where  to 
find.  In  him  only  can  we  place  any  truft, 
who  is  uniform  and  regular;  who  lives  by 
principle,  not  by  humour ;  who  acts  upon 
a  plan,  and  not  by  defultory  motions. 

Blair. 

§  57.      Order  ejjential  to  Self-enjoyment  and 
Felicity. 

Confider  alfo  how  important  it  is  to  your 
felf-enjoyrnent  and  felicity.  Order  is  the 
fource  of  peace  ;  and  peace  is  the  higher! 
of  all  temporal  blefiings.  Order  is  indeed 
the  only  region  in  which  tranquillity 
dwells.  The  very  mention  of  confufion 
imports  disturbance  and  vexation.  Is  it 
poffible  for  that  man  to  be  happy,  who 
cannot  look  into  the  flate  of  his  affairs,  or 
the  tenor  of  his  conduct,  without  difcern- 
ing  all  to  be  embroiled  ?  who  is  either  in 
the  midit  of  remorfe  for  what  he  has  neg- 
lected to  do,  or  in  the  midft  of  hurry  to 
overtake  what  he  finds,  too  late,  was  necef- 
fary  to  have  been  done  ?  Such  as  live 
according  to  order,  may  be  compared  to 
the  celeitial  bodies,  which  move  in  regular 
courfes,  and  by  ltated  laws ;  whofe  in- 
fluence is  beneficent;  whofe  operations 
are  quiet  and  tranquil.  The  diforderly, 
referable  thofe  tumultuous  elements  on 
earth,  which,  by  fudden  and  violent  irrup- 
tions, dilturb  the  courfe  of  nature.  By 
mifmanagement  of  affairs,  by  excefs  in 
expence,  by  irregularity  in  the  indulgence 
©f  company  and  amufement,  they  are  per- 
petually creating  moleftation  bothtothem- 
felves  and  others.  They  depart  from  their 
road  to  leek  pleafere ;  and  inftead  of  it, 
they  every  where  raife  up  forrows.     Being 


always  found  out  of  their  proper  placeV 
they  of  courfe  interfere  and  jar  with 
others.  The  disorders  which  they  raife 
never  fail  to  fpread  beyond  their  own  line, 
and  to  involve  many  in  confufion  and 
diftrefs ;  whence  they  neceffarily  become 
the  authors  of  tumult  and  contention,  of 
difcord  and  enmity.  Whereas  order  is 
the  foundation  of  union.  It  allows  every 
man  to  carry  on  his  own  affairs  without 
difturbing  his  neighbour.  It  is  the  golden 
chain  which  holds  together  the  focieties  of 
men  in  friendship  and  peace. 

Ibid. 

%   5  3.      Care  to  he  taken  infupprejfing  crimi- 
nal Thoughts. 

"When  criminal  thoughts  arife,  attend  to 
all  the  proper  methods  of  fpeedily  fup- 
preffing  them.  Take  example  from-  the 
unhappy  induitry  which  fmners  difcover 
in  banifhing  good  ones,  when  a  natural 
fenfe  of  religion  forces  them  on  their  con- 
ference. How  anxioufly  do  they  fly  from 
themfelves  !  How  Itudioufiy  do  they 
drown  the  voice  which  upbraids  them,  in 
the  noife  of  company  or  diverfions !  What 
numerous  artifices  do  they  employ,  to 
evade  the  uneafinefs  which  returns  of  re- 
flection would  produce  1 — Were  we  to  ufe 
equal  diligence  in  preventing  the  entrance 
of  vicious  fuggeftions,  cr  in  repelling  them 
when  entered,  wh)r  fnould  we  not  be 
equally  fuccefsful  in  a  much  better  caufe  ? 
— As  foon  as  you  are  fenfible  that  any 
dangerous  paff.on  begins  to  ferment,  in- 
itantly  call  in  other  paffions,  and  other 
ideas,  to  your  aid.  Kaiten  to  turn  your 
thoughts  into  a  different  direction.  Sum- 
mon up  whatever  yrou  have  found  to  be  of 
power,  for  compofing  and  harmonizing 
your  mind.  Fly  for  afliitance  to  ferious 
ftudies,  to  prayer  and  devotion  j  or  evea 
fly  to  bufinefs  or  innocent  fociety,  if  foli- 
tude  be  in  hazard  of  favouring  the  feduc- 
tion.  By  fuch  means  you  may  flop  the 
progrefs  of  the  growing  evil:  you  may 
apply  an  antidote,  before  the  poifon  has 
had  time  to  work  its  full  effect.         Ibid. 

§   59.     Experience  to  be  anticipated  by  Re-. 
fieaion. 

It  is  obferved,  that  the  young  and  the 
ignorant  are  always  the  molt  violent  in 
purfuit.  The  knowledge  which  is  forced 
upon  them  by  longer  acquaintance  with- 
the  world,  moderates  their  impetuofity. ' 
Study  then  to  anticipate,  by  reflection,  that 
knowledge  which  experience  often  pur- 
chafes 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


55 


chafes  at  too  dear  a  price.  Inure  yourfelves 
to  frequent  confideration  of  the  emptinefs 
of  thole  pleafures  which  excite  fo  much 
ftrife  and  commotion  among  mankind. 
Think  how  much  more  of  true  enjoyment 
is  loll  by  the  violence  of  paffion,  than  by 
the  want  of  thofe  things  which  give  oc- 
cafion  to  that  palfion.  Perfuade  your- 
felves, that  the  favour  of  God,  and  the 
poffeffion  of  virtue,  form  the  chief  happi- 
nefs  of  the  rational  nature.  Let  a  con- 
tented mind,  and  a  peaceful  life,  hold  the 
next  place  in  your  eltimation.  Thefe  are 
the  conclufions  which  the  wife  and  think- 
ing part  of  mankind  have  always  formed. 
To  thefe  conclusions,  after  having  run  the 
race  of  paffion,  you  will  probably  come  at  the 
laft.  By  forming  them  betimes,  you  would 
make  a  feafonabie  efcape  from  that  tem- 
peftuous  region,  through  which  none  can 
pafs  without  filtering  mifery,  contracting 
guilt,. and  undergoing  fevere  remorfe. 

Blair, 

§    60.     The   Beginnings    of  Paffion    to    be 
oppofed. 

Oppofe  early  the  beginnings  of  paffion. 
Avoid  particularly  all  fuch  objecls  as  are 
apt  to  excite  paffions  which  you  know  to 
predominate  within  you.  As  foon  as  you 
find  the  tempeft  rifing,  have  recourfe  to 
every  proper  method,  either  of  allaying 
its  violence,  or  of  efcaping  to  a  calmer 
Shore.  Haften  to  call  up  emotions  of  an 
oppofite  nature.  Study  to  conquer  one 
paffion  by  means  of  fome  other  which  is 
of  Iefs  dangerous  tendency.  Never  ac- 
count any  thing  final  1  or  trivial,  which  is  in 
hazard  of  introducing  diforder  into  your 
heart.  Never  make  light  of  any  defire 
which  you  feel  gaining  fuch  progrefs  as  to 
threaten  entire  dominion.  Blandishing  it 
will  appear  at  the  firft.  As  a  gentle  and 
innocent  emotion,  it  may  Heal  into  the 
heart:  but  as  it  advances,  is  likely  to 
fierce  you  through  with  many  forrows. 
What  you  indulged  as  a  favourite  amufe- 
ment,  will  fhortly  become  a  ferious  bufmefs, 
and  in  the  end  may  prove  the  burden  of 
your  life.  Moll  of  our  paffions  flatter  us 
in  their  rife :  but  their  beginnings  are 
treacherous;  their  growth  is  impercep- 
tible ;  and  the  evils  which  they  carry  in 
their  train,  lie  concealed,  until  their  domi- 
nion is  eftablifhed.  What  Solomon  fays 
of  one  of  them,  holds  true  of  them  all, 
c  that  their  beginning  is  as  when  one  letteth 
*  out  water.'  It  iffues  from  a  fmall  chink, 
Which  once  might  have  been  eafily  flop- 
ped ;  but  being  neglected,  it  is  Toon  widened 


by  the  Stream,  till  the  bank  is  at  laft  totally 
thrown  down,  and  the  flood  is  at  liberty  to 
deluge  the  whole  plain.  Ibid. 

§   61.      The  Government  of  Temper,  as  in- 
cluded in  the  Keeping  of  the  Heart. 

Paffions  are  quick  and  Strong  emotions, 
which  by  degrees  fubfide.  Temper  is  the 
difpofition  which  remains  after  thefe  emo- 
tions are  pait,  and  which  forms  the  habi- 
tual propenfity  of  the  foul.  The  one  are 
like  the  ft  ream  when  it  is  fwoln  by  the 
torrent,  and  ruffled  by  the  winds ;  the 
other  refembles  it  when  running  within  its 
bed,  with  its  natural  force  and  velocity. 
The  influence  of  temper  is  more  Silent  and 
imperceptible  than  that  of  paffion ;  it 
operates  with  lefs  violence ;  but  as  its 
operation  is  conftant,  it  produces  effects  no 
lefs  confiderable.  It  is  evident,  therefore, 
that  it  highly  deferves  to  be  confidered  in 
a  religious  view. 

Many,  indeed,  are  averfe  to  behold  it 
in  this  light.  They  place  a  good  temper 
upon  the  fame  footing  with  a  healthy  con- 
stitution of  body.  They  confider  it  as  a 
natural  felicity  which  fome  enjoy ;  but  for 
the  want  of  which,  others  are  not  morally 
culpable,  nor  accountable  to  God :  and 
hence  the  opinion  has  fometimes  prevailed, 
that  a  bad  temper  might  be  confiitent  with 
a  ftate  of  grace.  If  this  were  true,  it  would 
overturn  that  whole  do&rine,  of  which  the 
gofpel  is  fo  full,  '  that  regeneration,  or 
change  of  nature,  is  the  effential  charac- 
teristic of  a  Chriftian.'  It  would  fuppofe, 
that  grace  might  dwell  amidft  malevolence 
and  rancour,  and  that  heaven  might  be 
enjoyed  by  fuch  as  are  ftrangers  to  charity 
and  love. — It  will  readily  be  admitted  that 
fome,  by  the  original  frame  of  their  mind, 
are  more  favourably  inclined  than  others, 
towards  certain  good  difpofitions  and 
habits.  But  this  affords  no  j unification  to 
thofe  who  neglect  to  oppoie  the  corrup- 
tions to  which  they  are  prone.  Let  no 
man  imagine,  that  the  human  heart  is  a 
foil  altogether  unfufceptible  of  culture  !  or 
that  the  worft  temper  may  not,  through 
the  affiftance  of  grace,  be  reformed  by  at- 
tention and  difcipline.  Settled  depravity 
of  temper  is  always  owing  to  our  own  in- 
dulgence. If,  in  place  of  checking,  we 
nourifh  that  malignity  of  difpofition  to 
which  we  are  inclined,  all  the  coniequences 
will  be  placed  to  our  account,  and  every 
excufe,  from  natural  constitution,  be  re- 
jected at  the  tribunal  of  Heaven. 

Ibid. 


&  3 


►  62. 


54 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


§  62.  A  peaceable  Temper  and  condefcend- 
ing  Manners  recommended. 

What  firft  prefen ts  itfelf  to  be  recom- 
mended, is  a  peaceable  temper;  a  dif- 
pofition  averfe  to  give  offence,  and  dc- 
iirous  of  cultivating  harmony,  and  amicable 
intercourfe  in  fociety.  This  fuppofes 
yielding  and  condefcending  manners,  un- 
willingnefs  to  contend  with  others  about 
trifles,  and,  in  contefts  that  are  unavoid- 
able, proper  moderation  of  fpirit.  Such  a 
temper  is  the  firfl  principle  of  felf-enjoy- 
ment ;  it  is  the  bafis  of  all  order  and  hap- 
pinefs  among  mankind.  The  pofitive  and 
contentious,  the  rude  and  quarrelfome,  are 
the  bane  of  fociety ;  they  feem  deflined  to 
blaft  the  fmall  fhare  of  comfort  which  na- 
ture has  here  allotted  to  man.  But  they 
cannot  difturb  the  peace  of  others,  more 
than  they  break  their  own.  The  hurri- 
cane rages  firfl  in  their  own  bofom,  before 
it  is  let  forth  upon  the  world.  In  the 
tempeft  which  they  raife,  they  are  always 
loll  ;  and  frequently  it  is  their  lot  to 
perifh. 

A  peaceable  temper  muft  be  fupported 
by  a  candid  one,  or  a  difpofition  to  view 
the  conduct  of  others  with  fairnefs  and 
impartiality.  This  ftands  oppofed  to  a 
jealous  and  fufpicious  temper;  which  af- 
cribes  every  action  to  the  worft  motive, 
and  throws  a  black  fhade  over  every  cha- 
racter. As  you  would  be  happy  in  your- 
felves,  or  in  your  connections  with  others, 
guard  againft  this  malignant  fpirit.  Study 
that  cl'arity  which  thinketh  no  evil;  that 
temper  which,  without  degenerating  into 
credulity,  will  difpofe  you' to  be  juff;  and 
which  can  allow  you  to  obferve  an  error, 
without  imputing  it  as  a  crime.  Thus  you 
will  be  kept  free  from  that  continual  irri- 
tation which  imaginary  injuries  raife  in  a 
fufpicious  breaft;  and  will  walk  among 
men  as  your  brethren,  not  your  enemies. 

But  to  be  peaceable,  and  to  be  candid, 
is  not  all  that  is  required  of  a  good  man. 
He  mull  cultivate  a  kind,  generous,  and 
fympathizing  temper,  which  feels  for  dif- 
trefs  wherever  it  is  beheld ;  which  enters 
into  the  concerns  of  his  friends  with  ar- 
dour ;  and  to  all  with  whom  he  has  inter- 
courfe, is  gentle,  obliging,  and  humane. 
How  amiable  appears'fuch  a  difpofition, 
when  contrafted  with  a  malicious  or  en- 
vious temper,  which  wraps  itfelf  up  in  its 
own  narrow  interefts,  looks  with  an  evil 
eye  on  the  fuccefs  of  others,  and  with  an 
unnatural  fatisfaction  feeds  on  their  dis- 


appointments or  miferies  !  How  little1' 
does  he  know  of  the  true  happinefs  of  life, 
who  is  a  ftranger  to  that  intercourfe  ofj 
good  offices  and  kind  affections,  which,  by 
a  pleafmg  charm,  attach  men  to  one  ano- 
ther, and  circulate  joy  from  heart  to 
heart  !  Blair. 

%  6  3.    Numerous  Occafons  offer  for  the  Ex 
ertion  of  a  benevolent  Temper. 

You  are  not  to  imagine  that  a  benevo- 
lent temper  finds  no  exercife,  unlefs  when 
opportunities  offer  of  performing  actions 
of  high  generality,  or  of  extenfive  utility: 
thefe  may  feldom  occur:  the  condition  of 
the  greater  part  of  mankind  in  a  good 
meafure  precludes  them.  But  in  the  ordi- 
nary round  of  human  affairs,  a  thoufand 
occafions  daily  prefent  themfelves  of  miti- 
gating the  vexations  which  others  fuffer, 
of  foothing  their  minds,  of  aiding  their 
intereft,  of  promoting  their  chearfuinefs,. 
or  eafe.  Such  occafions  may  relate  to  the 
finaller  incidents  of  life :  But  let  us  re- 
member that  of  fmall  incidents,  the  fyftem 
of  human  life  is  chiefly  compofed.  The 
attentions  which  refpeci  thefe,  when  fug- 
geffed  by  real  benignity  of  temper,  are 
often  more  material  to  the  happinefs  of 
thofe  around  us,  than  adions  which  carry 
the  appearance  of  greater  dignity  and 
fplendour.  No  wife  or  good  man  ought  to 
account  any  rules  of  behaviour  as  below 
his  regard,  which  tend  to  cement  the 
great  brotherhood  of  mankind  in  comfort- 
able union. 

_  Particularly  in  the  courfe  of  that  fami- 
liar intercourfe  which  belongs  to  domeftic 
life,  all  the  virtues  of  temper  find  an  am- 
ple range.  It  is  very  unfortunate,  that 
within  that  circle,  men  too  often  think 
themfelves  at  liberty  to  give  unreitrained 
vent  to  the  caprice  of  paffion  and  humour. 
Whereas  there,  on  the  contrary,  more 
than  any  where,  it  concerns  them  to  attend 
to  the  government  of  their  heart;  to  check 
what  is  violent  in  their  tempers,  and  to 
foften  what  is  harm  in  their  manners.  For 
there  the  temper  is  formed.  There  the 
real  character  difplays  itfelf.  The  forms 
of  the  world  difguife  men  when  abroad; 
but  within  his  own  family,  every  man  is 
known  to  be  what  he  truly  is.— In  all  our 
intercourfe,  then,  with  others,  particularly 
in  that  which  is  clofeft  and  moft  intimate, 
let  us  cultivate  a  peaceable,  a  candid,  a 
gentle  and  friendly  temper.  This  is  the 
temper  to  winch,  by  repeated  injundion*, 
our  holy  religion  feeks  to  form  us.     This 

was 


: 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


55 


was  the  temper  of  Chrift.  This  is  the  tem- 
per of  Heaven.  Blair. 

§   64.    A  contented  Temper  the  great  eft  Blef- 
ftng,  and  moft  material  Requifete  to  the  pro- 
per Difcharge  of  our  Duties. 
A  contented  temper  is  one  of  the  great- 
eft  bleffings  that  can  be  enjoyed  by  man, 
and  one  of  the  moft  material  requisites  to 
the  proper  difcharge  of  the  duties  of  every 
ftation.     For    a   fretful   and   difcontented 
temper  renders  one  incapable  of  perform- 
ing aright  any  part  in  life.    It  is  unthank- 
ful and  impious    towards    God ;    and   to- 
wards men  provoking  and  unjuft.     It  is  a 
gangrene  which  preys  on  the  vitals,  and 
infects  the  whole  constitution  with  difeafe 
and  putrefaction.     Subdue  pride  and  va- 
nity, and  you  will  take  the  moft  effectual 
method  of  eradicating  this  diftemper.   You 
will  no  longer  behold  the  objects  around 
you  with  jaundiced  eyes.     You  will  take 
in  good  part  the  bleffings  which    Provi- 
dence is  pleafed  to  beftow,    and  the  de- 
gree of  favour  which  your  fellow- creatures 
are  difpofed  to  grant  you.    Viewing  your- 
felves,   with   all   your  imperfections    and 
failings,  in  a  juft  light,  you  will  rather  be 
furprifed  at  your  enjoying  fo  many  good 
things,  than  difcontented  becaufe  there  are 
any  which  you  want.     From  an  humble 
and  contented  temper,  will  fpring  a  chear- 
fiil  one.     This,   if  not  in  itfelf  a  virtue, 
is  at  leaft  the  garb  in  which  virtue  mould 
be  always  arrayed.     Piety   and  goodnefs 
ought  never  to  be  marked  with  that  de- 
jection which  fometimes  takes   rife   from 
fuperftition,  but  which  is  the  proper  por- 
tion only  of  guilt.     At  the  fame  time,  the 
chearfulnefs  belonging  to   virtue,  is  to  be 
Carefully  diftinguiftied  from  that  light  and 
giddy  temper  which    characterifes    folly, 
and  is  fo  often  found  among  the  diffipated 
and  vicious  part  of  mankind.  Their  gaiety 
is  owing  to  a  total  want  of  reflection ;  and 
brings  with  it  the  ufual  confequences  of  an 
unthinking  habit,  fhame,  remorfe,  and  hea- 
vinefs  of  heart,  in  the  end.     The  chear- 
fulnefs of  a  well-regulated  mind,  fprings 
from  a  good  confeience  and  the  favour  of 
Heaven,   and   is  bounded  by  temperance 
and  reafon.     It  makes   a  man  happy  in 
himfelf,  and  promotes  the  happinefs  of  all 
around  him.     It  is  the  clear  and  calm  fun- 
ihine  of  a  mind  illuminated  by  piety  and 
virtue.     It  crowns  all  other  good  difpofi- 
tions,  and  comprehends  the  general  effect 
Which  they  ought  to  produce  on  the  heart. 

Ibid* 


§  65.  The  Deftre  of  Praife  fubfervient  to 
many  'valuable  Purpofes. 
To  a  variety  of  good  purpofes  it  is  fub- 
fervient,  and  on  many  occafions  co-ope- 
rates with  the  principle  of  virtue.  It  a- 
wakens  us  from  floth,  invigorates  activity, 
and  ftimulates  our  efforts  to  excel.  It  has 
given  rife  to  moft  of  the  fplendid,  and  to 
many  of  the  ufeful  enterprizes  of  men.  It 
has  animated  the  patriot,  and  fired  the 
hero.  Magnanimity,  generofity,  and  for- 
titude, are  what  all  mankind  admire. 
Hence,  fuch  as  were  actuated  by  the  de- 
fire  of  extenfive  fame,  have  been  prompted 
to  deeds  which  either  participated  of  the 
fpirit,  or  at  leaft  carried  the  appearance, 
of  diftinguiftied  virtue.  The_  deftre  of 
praife  is  generally  connected  with  all  the 
finer  fenfibilities  of  human  nature.  It  af- 
fords a  ground  on  which  exhortation, 
counfel,  and  reproof,  can  work  a  proper 
effeft.  Whereas,  to  be  entirely  deftitute 
of  this  paffion  betokens  an  ignoble  mind, 
on  which  no  moral  impreflion  is  eafily 
made.  Where  there  is  no  defire  of  praife, 
there  will  be  alfo  no  fenfe  of  reproach ;  and 
if  that  be  extinguished,  one  of  the  princi- 
pal guards  of  virtue  is  removed,  and  the 
mind  thrown  open  to  many  opprobrious 
purfuits.  He  whofe  countenance  never 
glowed  with  fliame,  and  whofe  heart  never 
beat  at  the  found  of  praife,  is  not  deftined 
for  any  honourable  diftinftion ;  is  likely  to 
grovel  in  the  fordid  queft  of  gain ;  or  to 
flumber  life  away  in  the  indolence  of  felf- 
ifh  pleafures. 

Abftracted  from  the  fentiments  which 
are  connected  with  it  as  a  principle  of  ac- 
tion, the  efteem  of  our  fellow-creatures  is 
an  object  which,  on  account  of  the  advan- 
tages it  brings,  may  be  lawfully  purfued. 
It  is  neceffary  to  our  fuccefs,  in  every  fair 
and  honeft  undertaking.  Not  only  our 
private  intereft,  but  our  public  ufefulnefs, 
depends,  in  a  great  meafure,  upon  it.  The 
fphere  of  our  influence  is  contracted  or 
enlarged,  in  proportion  to  the  degree  in 
which  we  enjoy  the  good  opinion  of  the 
public.  Men  liften  with  an  unwilling  ear 
to  one  whom  they  do  not  honour ;  while 
a  refpected  character  adds  weight  to  ex- 
ample, and  authority  to  counfel.  To  de- 
fire  the  efteem  of  others  for  the  fake  of 
its  effects,  is  not  only  allowable,  but  in 
many  cafes  is  our  duty  :  and  to  be  totally 
indifferent  to  praife  or  cenfure,  is  fo  far 
from  being  a  virtue,  that  it  is  a  real  de- 
fect in  charaaer,  Mid. 

E  4  §  66* 


5* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§  66.  ExceJJi-ve  Dcjire  of  Praife  tends  to 
corrupt  the  Heart,  and  to  difregard  the 
Admonitions  cf  Confcience. 

An  exceflive  love  of  praife  never  fails 
to  undermine  the  regard  due  to  confer- 
ence, and  to  corrupt  the  heart.  It  turns 
off  the  eye  cf  the  mind  from  the  ends 
which  it  ought  chiefly  to  keep  in  view; 
and  fets  up  a  falfe  light  for  its  guide.  Its 
influence  is  the  more  dangerous,  as  the 
colour  which  it  afiumes  is  often  fair ;  and 
its  garb  and  appearance  are  nearly  allied 
to  that  of  virtue.  The  love  of  glory,  I 
before  admitted,  may  give  birth  to  actions 
which  are  both  fplendid  and  ufeful.  At  a 
diftance  they  ftrike  the  eye  with  uncom- 
mon brightnefs ;  but  on  a  nearer  and 
ilricler  furvey,  their  luftre  is  often  tar- 
nifhed.  They  are  found  to  want  that  fa- 
cred  and  venerable  dignitv  which  charac- 
terifes  true  virtue.  Little  paflions  and 
felfiih  interefts  entered  into  the  motives  of 
thofe  who  performed  them.  Th°y  were 
jealous  of  a  competitor.  They  fought  to 
humble  a  rival.  They  looked  round  for 
fpectatcrs  to  admire  them.  All  is  ma?- 
nanimity,  generofity,  and  courage,  to  pub- 
lic view.  But  the  ignoble  fource  whance 
thefe  feeming  virtues  take  their  rife,  is 
hidden.  Without,  appears  the  hero;  with- 
in, is  found  the  man  of  dull  and  clay. 
Conlult  fuch  as  have  been  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  followers  of  renown;  and 
feldom  or  never  will  you  find,  that  they 
held  them  in  the  fame  efteem  with  thofe 
who  viewed  them  from  afar.  There  is 
nothing  except  fimplicity  of  intention,  and 
purity  of  principle,  that  can  ftand  the  tell 
of  near  approach  and  ftridt  examina- 
tion. Blair. 

§  67.  That  Difcipline  'which  teaches  to  mo- 
derate the  Eager n'efs  rf  worldly  Paflions ^ 
cud  to  fortify  ike  Mind  -with  the  Princi- 
ples of  Virtue,  is  more  conducive  to  true 
Happinefs  than  the  Pofjejficn  of  ail  the 
Goods  of  Fortune. 

That  difcipline  which  corrects  the  ea- 
gernefs  of  worldly  paflions,  which  fortifies 
the  heart  with  virtuous  principles,  which 
enlightens  he  mind  with  ufeful  knowledge, 
and  fumifhes  to  it  matter  of  enjoyment 
from  within  itfelf,  is  of  more  confequence 
to  real  felicity,  than  all  the  provifion  which 
we  can  make  cf  the  goods  of  fortune.  To 
this  let  us  bend  our  chief  attention.  Let 
us  Keep  the  heart  with  all  diligence,  fee- 


ing out  of  it  are  the  ifTues  of  life.  Let 
us  account  our  mind  the  moil  important 
province  which  is  committed  to  our  care; 
and  if  we  cannot  rule  fortune,  ftudy  at 
leafl  to  rule  ourfelves.  Let  us  propofe  for 
our  object,  not  worldly  fuccefs,  which  it 
depends  not  on  us  to  obtain,  but  that  up- 
right and  honourable  difcharge  of  our  duty 
in  every  conjuncture,  which,  through  the 
divine  afliftance,  is  always  within  our  pow- 
er. Let  our  happinefs  be  fought  where 
our  proper  praife  is  found  ;  and  that  be 
accounted  our  only  real  evil,  which  is  the 
evil  of  our  nature ;  not  that,  which  is  ei- 
ther the  appointment  of  Providence,  or 
which  arifes  from  the  evil  of  others. 

Ibid. 

§   68.     Religious  Knowledge  of  great  Con- 
folation    and   Relief  amidjl    the  Dijlreffes 

of  Life. 

Confider  it  in  the  light  of  confolation; 
as  bringing  aid  and  relief  to  us,  amidft 
the  diftreffes  of  life.  Here  religion  in- 
contefcably  triumphs ;  and  its  happy  ef- 
fects in  this  refpect  furnifh  a  ftrong  argu- 
ment to  every  benevolent  mind,  for  wiih- 
ing  them  to  be  farther  difrufed  throughout 
the  world.  For,  without  the  belief  and 
hope  afiorded  by  divine  revelation,  the 
circumftances  of  man  are  extremely  for- 
lorn. He  finds  himfelf  placed  here  as  a 
ftranger  in  a  vaft  univerfe,  where  the  pow- 
ers and  operations  of  nature  are  very  im- 
perfectly known  ;  where  both  the  begin- 
nings and  the  iflues  of  things  are  involved 
in  myfterious  darknefs ;  where  he  is  unable 
to  difcover  with  any  certainty,  whence  he 
fprung,  or  for  what  purpofe  he  was  brought 
into  this  Hate  of  exigence ;  whether  he  be 
fubjecled  to  the  government  of  a  mild,  or 
of  a  wrathful  ruler;  what  conftruclion  he 
is  to  put  on  many  of  the  difpenfations  of 
his  providence  ;  and  what  his  fate  is  to  be 
when  he  departs  hence.  What  a  difcon- 
folate  fituation  to  a  ferious,  enquiring 
mind  !  The  greater  degree  of  virtue  it 
poflefles,  its  fenfibility  is  likely  to  be  the 
more  opprefied  by  this  burden  of  labour- 
ing thought.  Even  though  it  were  in  one's 
power  to  banifh  all  un^aiy  thought,  and  to 
fill  up  the  hours  of  life  with  perpetual 
amufement ;  life  fo  filled  up  would,  upon 
re  Reel  ion,  appear  poor  and  trivial.  But 
thefe  are  far  from  being  the  terms  upon 
which  man  is  brought  into  this  world.  He 
is  confeious  that  his  being  is  frail  and  fee- 
ble ;  he  fees  himfelf  befet  with  various 
dangers,  and  is  expofed  to  many  a  me- 
lancholy 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


lancholy  apprehension,  from  the  evils  which 
he  may  have  to  encounter,  before  he  ar- 
rives at  the  clofe  of  life.  In  this  diftrefled 
condition,  to  reveal  to  him  fuch  difco- 
veries  of  the  Supreme  Being  as  the  Chrif- 
tian  religion  affords,  is  to  reveal  to  him  a 
father  and  a  friend ;  is  to  let  in  a  ray  of 
the  mod  cheering  light  upon  the  darknefs 
of  the  human  eilate.  He  who  was  before 
a  deftitute  orphan,  wandering  in  the  in- 
hofpitable  defert,  has  now  gained  a  fhel- 
ter  from  the  bitter  and  inclement  blafl. 
He  now  knows  to  whom  to  pray,  and  in 
whom  to  truft ;  where  to  unbofom  his 
forrows ;  and  from  what  hand  to  look  for 
relief. 

'  It  is  certain,  that  when  the  heart  bleeds 
from  fome  wound  of  recent  misfortune, 
nothing  is  of  equal  efficacy  with  religious 
comfort.  It  is  of  power  to  enlighten  the 
darkeft  hour,  and  to  afluage  the  feverefl 
woe,  by  the  belief  of  divine  favour,  and 
the  profpeft  of  a  blefi'ed  immortality.  In 
fuch  hopes,  the  mind  expatiates  with  joy; 
and  when  bereaved  of  its  earthly  friends, 
folaces  itfelf  with  the  thoughts  of  one  friend 
who  will  never  forfake  it.  Refined  rea- 
fonings,  concerning  the  nature  of  the  hu- 
man condition,  and  the  improvement  which 
philofophy  teaches  us  to  make  of  every 
event,  may  entertain  the  mind  when  it  is 
at  eafe  ;  may,  perhaps,  contribute  to  footh 
it,  when  {lightly  touched  with  forrow ;  but- 
when  it  is  torn  with  any  fore  diftrefs,  they 
are  cold  and-  feeble,  compared  with  a  di- 
rect promife  from  the  word  of  God.  This 
is  an  anchor  to  the  foul,  both  fure  and 
itedfaft.  This  has  given  confolation  and 
refuge  to  many  a  virtuous  heart,  at  a  time 
when  the  moll  cogent  reafonings  would  have 
proved  utterly  unavailing. 

Upon  the  approach  of  death  efpecially, 
when,  if  a  man  thinks  at  all,  his  anxiety 
about  his  future  interelts  mull  naturally 
jncreafe,  the  power  of  religious  confola- 
tion is  fenfibly  felt.  Then  appears,  in  the 
moll  flriking  light,  the  high  value  of  the 
difcoveries  made  by  the  Gofpel ;  not  only 
life  and  immortality  revealed,  but  a  Me- 
diator with  God  discovered;  mercy  pro- 
claimed, through  hirn,  to  the  frailties  of 
the  penitent  and  the  humble  ;  and  his  pre- 
fence  promifed  to  be  with  them  when  they 
are  pafiing  through  the  valley  of  the  fha- 
dcw  of  death,  in  order  to  bring  them  fafe 
into  unfeen  habitations  of  reft  and  joy. 
Here  is  ground  for  their  leaving  the  world 
with  comfort  and  peace.  But  in  this  fe- 
'  vere  and  trying  period,  this  labouring;  hour 


57 

of  nature,  how  (hall  the  unhappy  manfup- 
port  himfelf,  who  knows  not,  or  believes 
not,  the  hope  of  religion  ?  Secretly  cor;T 
fcious  to  himfelf,  that  he  has  not  afted  his 
part  as  he  ought  to  have  done,  the  fins  of 
his  paft  life  arife  before  him  infad  re- 
membrance. He  wifhes  to  exift  after 
death,  and  yet  dreads  that  exiflence.  The 
Governor  of  the  world  is  unknown.  He 
cannot  tell  whether  every  endeavour  to  ob- 
tain his  mercy  may  not  be  in  vain.  All  is 
awful  obfcurity  around  him ;  and  in  the 
midfl  of  endlefs  doubts  and  perplexities, 
the.  trembling  reluctant  foul  is  forced 
away  from  the  body.  As  the  misfortunes 
of  life  mufr,  to  fuch  a  man,  have  been 
mofl  oppreiiive;  fo  its  end  is  bitter:  his 
fun  fets  in  a  dark  cloud ;  and  the  night  of 
death  clofes  over  his  head,  full  of  mifery. 

Blair. 

§  $g,  Senfs  of 'Right  and 'Wrong,  indepen- 
dent of  Religion. 
Mankind  certainly  have  a  fenfe  of  right 
and  wrong,  independent  of  religious  be- 
lief; but  experience  (hews,  that  the  al- 
lurements of  prefent  pleafure,  and  the  im- 
petuofity  of  pafiion,  are  fufficient  to  pre- 
vent men  from  ailing  agreeable  to  this 
moral  fenfe,  unlefs  it  be  fupportcd  by  re- 
ligion, the  influence  of  which  upon  the 
imagination  and  paffions,  if  properly  di- 
rected, is  extremely  powerful.  We  fhall 
readily  acknowledge  that  many  of  the 
greateft  enemies  of  religion  have  been 
diltinguilhed  for  their  honour,  probity,  and 
good-nature.  But  it  is  to  be  confidered, 
that  many  virtues,  as  well  as  vices,  are 
conflitutional.  A  cool  and  equal  temper, 
a  dull  imagination,  and  unfeeling  heart, 
enfure  the  pofieffion  of  many  virtues,  or 
rather,  are  a  fecurity  againll  many  vices. 
They  may  produce  temperance,  challity, 
honefty,  prudence,  and  a  harmlefs,  inof- 
fenfive  behaviour.  Whereas  keen  pafiions, 
a  warm  imagination,  and  great  fenfibility 
of  heart,  lay  a  natural  foundation  for  pro- 
digality, debauchery,  and  ambition:  at- 
tended, however,  with  the  feeds  of  all  the 
focialand  mofl  heroic  virtues.  Such  a  tem- 
perature of  mind  carries  along  with  it  a 
check  to  its  conflitutional  vices,  by  render- 
ing thofe  poffeffed  of  it  peculiarly  iufcep- 
tible  of  religious  imprelfions.  They  orten 
appear  indeed  to  be  the  greateft  enemies 
to  'religion,  but  that  is  entirely  owing  to 
their  impatience  of  its  reftraints.  Its  mofl 
dangerous  enemies  have  ever  been  among 
the   temperate    and    chalte   philofophers, 

void 


58 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


void  of  paflion  and  fenfibility,  who  had  no 
vicious  appetites  to  be  retrained  by  its  in- 
fluence, and  who  were  unfufceptible  of  its 
terrors  or  its  pleafures. 

Gregory. 

§   70.      Infidelity    onuing  to  Infenjihility  of 
Heart. 

Abfolute  infidelity,  or  fettled  fcepticifm 
in  religion,  we  acknowledge,  is  no  proof 
of  want  of  underftanding,  or  a  vicious  dif- 
pofition,  but  is  certainly  a  very  ftrong  pre- 
sumption of  the  want  of  imagination  and 
feniibility  of  heart,  and  of  a  perverted  un- 
derftanding. Some  philofophers  have  been 
infidels;  few,  men  of  tafte  and  fentiment. 
Yet  the  examples  of  Lord  Bacon,  Mr. 
Locke,  and  Sir  Ifaac  Newton,  among 
many  other  firft  names  in  philofophy,  are 
a  fufhcient  evidence,  that  religious  belief 
is  perfectly  compatible  with  the  cleared 
and  moft  enlarged  underftanding. 

Ibid., 

§  J l.     Religion  not  founded  on  Weaknefs  of 

Mind. 

Several  of  thofe  who  have  furmounted 
what  they  call  religious  prejudices  them- 
selves, affect  to  treat  fuch  as  are  not 
aftiamed  to  avow  their  regard  to  religion, 
as  men  of  weak  understandings  and  feeble 
minds:  but  this  thews  either  want  of  can- 
dour, or  great  ignorance  of  human  nature. 
The  fundamental  articles  of  religion  have 
been  very  generally  believed  by  men  the 
moft  diftinguifhed  for  acutenefs  and  ac- 
curacy of  judgment.  Nay,  it  is  unjuft  to 
infer  the  weaknefs  of  a  perfon's  head  on 
other  fubjedts,  from  his  attachment  even  to 
the  fooleries  of  fuperftition.  Experience 
ihews,  that  when  the  imagination  is  heated, 
and  the  affections  deeply  interefted,  they 
level  all  diftinctions  of  underftanding  ;  yet 
this  affords  no  prefumption  of  a  mallow 
judgment  in  fubjects  where  the  imagina- 
tion and  palTions  have  no  influence. 

Ibid. 

§  72.  E feels  of  Religion,  Scepticifm,  and 
Infidelity, 
Feeblenefs  of  mind  is  a  reproach  fre- 
quently thrown,  not  only  upon  iuch  as  have 
a  fenfe  of  religion,  but  upon  all  who  poifefs 
warm,  open,  chearful  tempers,  and  hearts 
peculiarly  difpofed  to  love  and  friendfhip. 
But  the  reproach  is  ill  founded.  Strength 
of  mind  does  not  confift  in  a  peevifh  tem- 
per, in  a  hard  inflexible  heart,  and  in  bid- 


ding defiance  to  God  Almighty  :  it  con/iftV 
in  an  active,  refoiute  fpirit;  in  a  fpirit  that 
enables  a  man  to  act  his  part  in  the  world 
with  propriety;  and  to  bear  the  misfor- 
tunes of  life  with  uniform  fortitude  and. 
dignity.  This  is  a  ftrength  of  mind, 
which  neither  atheifm  nor  univerfal  fcepti- 
cifm will  ever  be  able  to  infpire.  On  the 
contrary,  their  tendency  will  be  found  to 
chill  all  the  powers  of  imagination  ;  to  de- 
prefs  fpirit  as  well  as  genius ;  to  four  the 
temper  and  contract  the  heart.  The 
higheft  religious  fpirit,  and  veneration  for 
Providence,  breathes  in  the  writings  of  the 
ancient  ftoics ;  a  feet  diftinguifhed  for  pro- 
ducing the  moft  active,  intrepid,  virtuous 
men,  that  ever  did  honour  to  human  na^ 
ture. 

Can  it  be  pretended,  that  atheifm  or 
univerfal  fcepticifm  have  any  tendency  to 
form  fuch  characters  ?  Do  they  tend  to 
infpire  that  magnanimity  and  elevation  of 
mind,  that  fuperiority  to  felfifh  and  fenfual 
gratifications,  that  contempt  of  danger 
and  of  death,  when  the  caufe  of  virtue,  of 
liberty,  or  their  country,  required  it,  which 
diitinguifh  the  characters  of  patriots  and 
heroes  I  Or  is  their  influence  more  fa- 
vourable on  the  humbler  and  gentler  vir- 
tues of  private  and  domeftic  life  ?  Do 
they  foften  the  heart,  and  render  it  more 
delicately  fenfible  of  the  thoufand  namelefs 
duties  and  endearments  of  a  hufband,  a 
father,  or  a  friend  ?  Do  they  produce 
that  habitual  ferenity  and  chearfulnefs  of 
temper,  that  gaiety  of  heart,  which  makes 
a  man  beloved  as  a  companion  ?  or  do 
they  dilate  the  heart  with  the  liberal  and 
generous  fentiments,  and  that  love  of  hu- 
man kind,  which  would  render  him  revered 
and  bleffed  as  the  patron  of  deprefled 
merit,  the  friend  of  the  widow  and  or- 
phan, the  refuge  and  fupport  of  the  poor 
and  the  unhappy  ? 

The  general  opinion  of  mankind,  that 
there  is  a  ftrong  connection  between  a 
religious  difpofition  and  a  feeling  heart, 
appears  from  the  univerfal  dillike  which 
all  men  have  to  infidelity  in  the  fair  fex. 
We  not  only  look  on  it  as  removing  the 
principal  (ecurity  we  have  for  their  virtue, 
but  as  the  ftrongeft  proof  of  their  want  of 
that  foftnefs  and  delicate  fenfibility  of 
heart,  which  peculiarly  endears  them  to  us, 
and  more  effectually  fecures  their  empire 
over  us,  than  any  quality  they  can  poffefs. 

There  are,  indeed,  fome  men  who  can 
perfuade  themfelves,  that  there  is  no  fu- 
preme  intelligence  who  directs  the  courfe 

•f 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


59 


of  nature;  who  can  fee  thofe  they  have 
been  connected  with  by  the  ftrongeft  bonds 
of  nature  and  friendlhip  gradually  dilap- 
pearing ;  who  are  perfuaded,  that  this 
feparation  is  final  and  eternal;  and  who 
expect,  that  they  themfclves  fnall  foon  fink 
down  after  them  into  nothing ;  and  yet  fuch 
men  appear  eafy  and  contented.  But  to  a 
fenfible  heart,  and  particularly  to  a  heart 
foftened  by  paft  endearments  of  love  or 
friendfnip,  fuch  opinions  are  attended  with 
gloom  inexpreflible;  they  ftrike  a  damp 
into  all  the  pleafures  and  enjoyments  of 
life,  and  cut  off  thofe  profpects  which 
alone  can  comfort  the  foul  under  certain 
diftreffes,  where  all  other  aid  is  feeble  and 
ineffectual. 

Scepticifm,  or  fufpenfe  of  judgment,  as 
to  the  truth  of  the  great  articles  of  reli- 
gion, is  attended  with  the  fame  fatal  effects. 
Wherever  the  affections  are  deeply  inte- 
retted,  a  ftate  of  fufpenfe  is  more  intole- 
rable, and  more  diftracting  to  the  mind, 
than  the  fad  affurance  of  the  evil  which  is 
moft  dreaded.  Gregory. 

§   73.      Comforts  of  Religion. 
There  are  many  who  have  paffed  the  age 
of  youth  and  beauty,  who  have  refigned 
the  pleafures  of  that  fmiling  feafon,  who 
begin  to  decline  into  the  vale  of  years,  im- 
paired in  their  health,  depreffed  in  their 
fortunes,  ftript  of  their  friends,  their  chil- 
dren, and  perhaps  ftill   more  tender  con- 
nections.    What  refource  can  this  world 
afford  them  ?      It    prefents    a    dark    and 
dreary  wafte   through   which   there   does 
not  iffue  a  fingle  ray  of  comfort.     Every 
delufive  profpect  oi  ambition  is  now  at  an 
end;  long  experience  of  mankind,  an  ex- 
perience  very    different    from    what   the 
open    and    generous    foul    of    youth    had 
fondly  d.eamt  of,  has  rendered  the  heart 
almoil    inacceffible     to    new    friendihips. 
The  principal  fources  of  activity  are  taken 
away,  when  thofe  for  whom  we  labour  are 
1    cut  off  from  us,  thofe  who  animated,  and 
thofe  who  fweetened  all  the  toils  of  life. 
Where  then  can  the  foul  find  refuge,  but 
in    the    bofom    of   religion  ?      There    me 
is  admitted  to   thole  profpects   of  Provi- 
dence and  futurity,  which  alone  can  warm 
and  fill  the  heart.    I  fpeak  here  of  fuch  as 
retain    the    feelings   of  humanity,   whom 
misfortunes    have   foftened,    and    perhaps 
rendered  more  delicately  fenfible;  not  of 
fuch    as    poffefs   that   ftupid    infenfibility, 
which  fome  are  pleafed  to  dignify  with  the 
name  of  philofophy. 


It  mould  therefore  be  expected  that 
thofe  philofophers,  who  ftand  in  no  need 
themfelves  of  the  afliftance  of  religion  to 
fupport  their  virtue,  and  who  nev^r  feel 
the  want  of  its  confolaticns,  would  yet 
have  the  humanity  to  confider  the  very 
different  fituation  of  the  reft  of  mankind, 
and  not  endeavour  to  deprive  them  of 
what  habit,  at  leaft,  if  they  will  not  allow 
it  to  be  nature,  has  made  neceffary  to  their 
morals,  and  to  their  happinefs. — It  might 
be  expected,  that  humanity  would  prevent 
them  from  breaking  into  the  laft  retreat  of 
the  unfortunate,  who  can  no  longer  be  ob- 
jects of  their  envy  or  refentment,  and 
tearing  from  them  their  only  remaining 
comfort.  The  attempt  to  ridicule  reli- 
gion may  be  agreeable  to  fome,  by  re- 
lieving them  from  reftraint  upon  their 
pleafures,  and  may  render  others  very 
miferable,  by  making  them  doubt  thofe 
truths,  in  which  they  v/ere  molt  deeply 
interefted;  but  it  can  convey  real  good 
and  haopinefs  to  no  one  individual. 

Ibid. 

§   74.   Caufe  of  Zeal  to  propagate  Infidelity. 

To  fupport  openly  and  avowedly  the 
caufe  of  infidelity,  may  be  owing,  in  fome, 
to  the  vanity  of  appearing  wifer  than  the 
reft  of  mankind ;  to  vanity,  that  amphi- 
bious paffion  that  feeks  for  food,  not  only 
in  the  affectation  of  every  beauty  and  every 
virtue  that  adorn  humanity,  bat  of  every 
vice  and  perveriion  of  the  underftanding 
that  difgrace  it.  The  zeal  of  making 
profelytes  to  it,  may  often  be  attributed  to 
a  like  vanity  of  poffeffing  a  direction  and 
afcendency  over  the  minds  of  men;  which 
is  a  very  flattering  fpecies  of  fuperiority. 
But  there  feems  to  be  fome  other  caufe  that 
fecretly  influences  the  conduct  of  fome  that 
reject  all  religion,  who,  from  the  reft  of. 
their  character,  cannot  be  fufpected  of 
vanity,  in  any  ambition  of  fuch  fuperiority. 
This  we  fhall  attempt  to  explain. 

The  very  differing  in  opinion,  upon  any 
interefting  fubject,  from  all  around  us, 
gives  a  difagreeable  fenfation.  This  mult 
be  greatly  increaled  in  the  prefent  cafe,  as 
the  feeling  which  attends  infidelity  or  fcep- 
ticifm  in  religion  is  certainly  a  comfortlefs 
one,  where  there  is  the  leaft  degree  of 
fenfibilify. —  Sympathy  is  much  more 
fougnt  after  by  an  unhappy  mind,  than  by 
one  chearful  and  at  eafe.  We  require  a 
fupport  in  the  one  cafe,  which  in  the  other 
is  not  neceffary.  A  perfon,  therefore,  void 
of  religion,  feels  himfelf  as  it  were  alone 

in 


Co 


ELEGA  I> 


EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


in  the  midft  of  fociety;  and  though,  for 
prudential  rea'fons,  he  choofes,  on  fome 
occafions,  to  difguife  his  fentiments,  and 
join  in  fome  form  of  religious  worfhip, 
yet  this,  to  a  candid  and  ingenuous  mind, 
mult  always  be  very  painful ;  nor  does  it 
abate  the  difagreeable  feeling  which  a 
fecial  fpirit  has  in  rinding  itfelf  alone,  and 
without  any  friend  to  footh  and  participate 
its  uneafinefs.  This  feems  to  have  a  con- 
fiderable  mare  in  that  anxiety  which  Free- 
Thinkers  generally  difcover  to  make  pro- 
felytes  to  their  opinions;  an  anxiety  much 
greater  than  what  is  fhewn  by  thofe  whofe 
minds  are  at  cafe  in  the  enjoyment  of  hap- 
pier profpects.  Gregory. 

§  7C.  Zed  in  the  Propagation  of  Infidelity 
inexcujable. 

The  excufe  which  infidel  writers  plead 
for  their  conduct,  is  a  regard  for  the  caufe 
of  truth.  But  this  is  a  very  infufficient 
one.  None  of  them  act  upon  this  princi- 
ple, in  its  larger!  extent  and  application,  in 
common  life ;  nor  could  any  man  live  in 
the  world,  and  pretend  fo  to  do.  In  the 
pttrfuit  of  happinefs,  '  our  being's  end  and 
aim*,'  the  difcovery  of  truth  is  far  from 
being  the  moft  important  object.  It  is 
true,  the  mind  receives  a  high  pleafure 
from  the  inveftigation  and  dilcovery  of 
truth,  in  the  abftract  fciences,  in  the  works 
of  nature  and  art ;  but  in  all  fubjects, 
where  the  imagination  and  affections  are 
deeply  concerned,  we  regard  it  only  fo  far 
as  it  is  fubfervient  to  them. — One  of  the 
firft  principles  of  fociety,  of  decency,  and 
of  good  manners,  is,  that  no  man  is  enti- 
tled to  fay  every  thing  he  thinks  true, 
when  it  would  be  injurious  or  offenfive  to 
his  neighbour.  If  it  was  not  for  this  prin- 
ciple, all  mankind  would  be  in  a  Hate  of 
hoftility . 

Suppcfe  a  perfon  to  lofe  an  only  child, 
the  foie  comfort  and  happinefs  of  his  life  : 
When  the  firft  overflowings  of  nature  are 
pall,  he  recollects  the  infinite  goodnefs  and 
impenetrable  wifdom  of  the  Difpofer  of  all 
events;  he  is  perfuaded,  tiiat  the  revo- 
lution of  a  few  years  will  again  unite  him 
to  his  child,  never  more  to  be  feparated. 
With  thefe  fentiments  he  acquiefces,  with 
a  melancholy  yet  pleafing  refignation,  to 
the  Divine  will.  Now,  fuppofmg  all  this 
to  be  a  deception,  a  pleafing  dream,  would 
not  the  general  fenfe  of  mankind  condemn 
the  philosopher,  as  barbarous  and  inhu- 
man, who  fhoald  attempt  to  wake  him  out 
*  Pope. 


of  it  ? — Yet  fo  far  does  vanity  prevail  ore!1 
good-nature,  that  we  frequently  fee  men, 
on  other  occafions  of  the  moft  benevolent" 
tempers,  labouring  to  cut  off  that  hope 
which  can  alone  chear  the  heart  under  all 
the  p renti res  and  afflictions  of  human  life, 
and  enable  us  to  refign  it  with  chearfulnefs 
and  dignity ! 

Religion  may  be  confidered  in  three 
different  views.  Firft,  As  containing  doc- 
trines relating  to  the  being  and  perfections- 
of  God,  his  moral  adminiftration  of  the 
world,  a  future  ftate  of  exiftence,  and  par- 
ticular communications  to  mankind,  by  an 
immediate  fupernatural  revelation Se- 
condly, As  a  ruie  of  life  and  manners.—* 
Thirdly,  As  the  fource  of  certain  peculiar 
affections  of  the  mind,  which  either  give 
pleafure  or  pain,  according  to  the  parti-. 
cu!ar  genius  and  fpirit  of  the  religion  that 
infpires  them.                                      Ibid. 

§    76.     Religion  confidered  as  a  Science. 

In  the  firft  of  thefe  views,  which  gives 
a  foundation  to  all  religious  belief,  and  on 
which  the  other  two  depend,  Reafon  is 
principally  concerned.  On  this  fubject, 
the  greateft  efforts  of  human  genius  and 
application  have  been  exerted,  and  with 
the  moft  defirable  fuccefs,  in  thofe  great 
and  important  articles  that  feem  moft  im- 
mediately to  affect  the  intereft  and  hap- 
pinefs of  mankind.  But  when  our  en- 
quiries here  are  pulhed  to  a  certain  length, 
we  find  that  Providence  has  fet  bounds  to 
our  reafon,  and  even  to  our  capacities  of 
apprehenfion.  This  is  particularly  the 
cafe  with  refpect  to  infinity  and  the  moral 
ceconomy  of  the  Deity.  The  objects  are 
here,  in  a  great  meafure,  beyond  the  reach 
of  our  conception ;  and  induction,  from 
experience,  on  which  all  our  other  reafon- 
ings  are  founded,  cannot  be  applied  to  a 
fubject  altogether  diflimilar  to  any  thing 
we  are  acquainted  with.  — Many  of  the 
fundamental  articles  of  religion  are  fuch, 
that  the  mind  may  have  the  fulleft  con- 
viction of  their  truth,  but  they  muft  be 
viewed  at  a  diftance,  and  are  rather  the 
objects  cf  filent  and  religious  veneration, 
than  of  metaphyfical  difquifition.  If  the 
mind  attempts  to  bring  them  to  a  nearer 
view,  it  is  confounded  with  their  ftrange- 
nefs  and  immenfity. 

When  we  purfue  our  enquiries  into  any 
part  of  nature  beyond  certain  bounds,  we 
find  ourfelves  involved  in  perplexity  and 
darknefs.  But  there  is  this  remarkable 
difference  between  thefe  and  religious  en- 

auiries  S 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOU 


6t 


quiries :  in  the  investigation  of  nature,  we 
can  always  make  a  progrefs  in  knowledge, 
and  approximate  to  the  truth  by  the  pro- 
per exertion  of  genius  and  observation. 
But  our  enquiries  into  religious  Subjects 
are  confined  within  very  narrow  bounds ; 
nor  can  any  force  of  reafon  or  application 
lead  the  mind  one  Step  beyond  that  impe- 
netrable gulf,  which  Separates  the  vifible 
and  invifible  world. 

Though  the  articles  of  religious  belief, 
which  fall  within  the  comprehenfion  of 
mankind,  and  feem  efiential  to  their  hap- 
pin'efs,  are  few  and  fimple,  yet  ingenious 
men  have  contrived  to  erect  them  into  moil 
tremendous  fyftems  of  metaphysical  Sub- 
tlety, which  will  long  remain  monuments 
both  of  the  extent  and  the  weaknefs  of 
human  under  {landing.  The  pernicious  con- 
fequences  of  fuch  fyftems,  have  been  va- 
rious. By  attempting  to  eftablilh  too 
much,  they  have  hurt  the  foundation  of 
the  moll  interefting  principles  of  religion. 
— Moft  men  arc  educated  in  a  belief  of 
the  peculiar  and  diftinguifhing  opinions  of 
fome  one  religious  feci  or  other.  They 
are  taught,  that  all  thefe  are  equally  found- 
ed on  Divine  authority,  fitr  the  cleareft 
•deductions  of  reafon ;  by  which  means  their 
fyftem  of  religion  hangs  fo  much  together, 
that  one  part  cannot  be  Shaken  without 
endangering  the  whole.  But  wherever  any 
freedom  of  enquiry  is  allowed,  the  absur- 
dity of  fome  of  thefe  opinions,  and  the 
uncertain  foundation  of  others,  cannot  be 
concealed.  This  naturally  begets  a  gene- 
ral diftruft  of  the  whole,  with  that  fatal 
lukewarmnefs  in  religion,  which  is  its  ne- 
cefiary  conlequence. 

The  very  habit  of  frequent  reafoning 
and  diSputing  upon  religious  Subjects,  di- 
minishes that  reverence  with  which  the 
mind  would  otherwiSe  confider  them.  This 
feems  particularly  to  be  the  caSe,  when 
men  preSume  to  enter  into  a  minute  Scru- 
tiny of  the  views  and  ceconomy  of  Provi- 
dence, in  the  administration  of  the  world; 
why  the  Supreme  Being  made  it  as  it 
is;  the  freedom  of  his  actions;  and  many 
other  fuch  queftions,  infinitely  beyond  our 
reach.  The  natural  tendency  of  this,  is  to 
lefTeh  that  awful  veneration  with  which  we 
©ught  always  to  contemplate  the  Divinity, 
but  which  can  never  be  preServed,  when 
men  canvafs  his  ways  W'ith  Such  unwar- 
rantable freedom.  Accordingly  we  find, 
amongft  thoSe  Sectaries  where  Such  dtfqui- 
fitions  have  principally  prevailed,  that  he 
has  been  mentioned  and  even  addreSFed 


with  the  moft  indecent  and  Shocking  fa- 
miliarityi  The  truly  devotional  Spirit, 
whofe  chief  foundation  and  characteristic 
is  genuine  and  profound  humility,  is  not  to 
be  looked  for  among  fuch  perfons. 

Another  bad  effect  of  this  Speculative 
theology  has  been  to  withdraw  people's 
attention  from  its  practical  duties. — We 
ufually  find,  that  thoSe  who  are  moft  dis- 
tinguished by  their  exceffive  zeal  for  opi- 
nions in  religion  Shew  great  moderation 
and  coolneSs  as  to  its  precepts ;  and  their 
great  Severity  in  this  reSpcct,  is  commonly' 
exerted  againft  a  few  vices  where  the  heart 
is  but  little  concerned,  and  to  which  their 
own  diSpofitions  preServed  them  from  any 
temptations. 

But  the  worft  effefts  of  Speculative  and 
controversial  theology,  are  thoSe  which  it 
produces  on  the  temper  and  affections.-— 
"When  the  mind  is  kept  constantly  embar- 
raSfed  in  a  perplexed  and  thorny  path, 
where  it  can  find  no  fteady  light  to  {hew 
the  way,  nor  foundation  to  reft  on,  the 
temper  loSes  its  native  chearfulnefs,  and 
contracts  a  gloom  and  Severity,  partly  from 
the  chagrin  of  disappointment,  and  partly 
from  the  focial  and  kind  affections  being 
extinguished  for  want  of  exercife.  When 
this  evil  is  exaSperated  by  opposition  and 
dispute,  the  confequenccs  prove  very  fatar 
to  the  peace  of  fociety;  efpeciaily  when 
men  are  periuaded,  that  their  holding  cer- 
tain opinions  entitles  them  to  the  divine 
favour;  and  that  thoSe  who  differ  from, 
them,  are  devoted  to  eternal  destruction. 
This  perSuafion  breaks  at  once  all  the  ties 
of  fociety.  The  toleration  of  men  who 
hold  erroneous  opinions,  is  confidered  as 
conniving  at  their  destroying  not  only  them- 
felves,  but  all  others  who  come  within  the 
reach  of  their  influence.  This  produces 
that  cruel  and  implacable  Spirit,  which  has 
So  often  diSgraced  the  cauSc  of  religion,  and 
dishonoured  humanity. 

Yet  the  effects  of  religious  controverfy 
have  Sometimes  proved  beneficial  to  man- 
kind. That  Spirit  of  free  enquiry,  which 
incited  the  firft  Reformers  to  Shake  off  the 
yoke  of  ecclefiaftical  tyranny,  naturally  be- 
got juft  Sentiments  of  civil  liberty,  especi- 
ally when  irritated  by  perSecution.  When 
Such  Sentiments  came  to  be  united  with 
that  bold  enthufiafm,  that  Severity  of  tem- 
per and  manners  that  distinguished  Some 
cf  the  reformed  Sects,  they  produced  thcSe 
refolute  and  inflexible  men,  who  alone  were 
able  to  aSfert  the  cauSe  of  liberty,  in  an 
age  when  the  Christian  world  was  enef- 
x  vated 


6z 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


vated  by  luxury  or  fuperftition;  and  to  fuch 
men  we  owe  that  freedom  and  happy  con- 
stitution which  we  at  prefent  enjov. — But 
thefe  advantages  of  religious  enthuiiafm 
have  been  but  accidental. 

In  general  it  would  appear,  that  religion, 
coniidered  as  a  fcience,  in  the  manner  it 
has  been  ufually  treated,  is  but  little  bene- 
ficial to  mankind,  neither  tending  to  en- 
large the  understanding,  fweeten  the  tem- 
per, or  mend  the  heart.  At  the  fame  time, 
the  labours  of  ingenious  men,  in  explain- 
ing obfcure  and  difficult  pafiages  of  Sacred 
writ,  have  been  highly  ufeful  and  necelfary. 
And  though  it  is  natural  for  men  to  carry 
their  Speculations,  on  a  Subject  that  fo  near- 
ly concerns  their  prefent  and  eternal  hap- 
pinels,  farther  than  reafon  extends,  or  than 
is  clearly  and  expreSsly  revealed  ;  yet  thefe 
can  be  followed  by  no  bad  confequences, 
if  they  are  carried  on  with  that  modefty  and 
reverence  which  the  fubjecl  requires.  They 
become  pernicious  only  when  they  are 
formed  into  fy items,  to  which  the  fame 
credit  and  Submiffion  is  required  as  to 
Holy  Writ  itfelf.  Gregory. 

§  77.  Religion  confidered  as  a  Rule  of  Life 
and  Manners. 
We  fhall  now  proceed  to  confider  reli- 
gion as  a  rule  of  life  and  manners.    In  this 
xefpetl,  its  influence  is  very  cxtenfive  and 
beneficial,   even  when    disfigured  by  the 
wilder!  Siiperitition ;  as  it  is  able  to  check 
and  conquer  thofe  paflions,  which  reafon 
and  philoSophy  are  too  weak  to  encounter. 
But  it  is  much  to  be  regretted,  that  the 
application  of  religion    to  this  end,  hath 
not  been  attended  to  with  that  care  which 
the  importance  of  the  fubjecl:  required. — 
The  fpeculative  part  of  religion  feems  ge- 
nerally to  have  cngroifed  the  attention  of 
men  of  genius.     This  has  been  the  fate 
of  ail  the  ufeful  and  practical  arts  of  life; 
and  the  application  of  religion,  to  the  re- 
gulation of  life  and  manners,  muil  be  con- 
sidered entirely  as  a  practical  art. — The 
caufes   of  this   neglect,  feem  to  be  thefe : 
Men  of  a  philoSophical   genius    have    an 
averfion  to  all  application,  where  the  ac- 
tive powers  of  their  own  minds  are  not 
immediately  employed.     Bat  in  acquiring 
any  practical  art,  a  philofopher  is  obliged 
to  Ipend  moil  of  his  time  in  emplovments 
where  his  genius  and  understanding  have 
no  exercife.  The  fate  of  the  practical  arts 
of  medicine  and  religion  have  been  pretty 
firnilar:  the  object  of  the  one  is,  to  cure 
the  difeafes  of  the  body;  of  the  other,  to 


cure  the  difeafes  of  the  mind.     The  pro- 
grefs  and  degrees  of  perfection   of  both 
thefe  arts  ought  to  be    estimated    by  no 
other  Standard,  than  their  Succefs  in  the 
cure  of  the  difeafes  to  which  they  are  Se- 
verally applied.     In  medicine,  the  fadts  on 
which  the   art  depends,  are  fo  numerous 
and    complicated,    fo    mifreprefented    by 
fraud,  credulity,  or  a  heated  imagination, 
that  there  has  hardly  ever   been  found  a 
truly  philofophical  genius  who  has  attempt- 
ed the  practical  part  of  it.    There  are,  in- 
deed, many  obstacles    of  different  kinds, 
which  occur  to  render  any  improvement 
in  the  practice  of  phySic  a  matter  of  the 
utmoit  difficulty,  at  leait  whilSt  the  profef- 
Sion  refts  on  its  prefent  narrow  foundation. 
A'moft  all  phyficians  who  have  been  men 
of  ingenuity,  have  amufed  themfelves  in 
forming  theories,  which  gave  exercife  to 
their  invention,  and  at  the  Same  time  con- 
tributed to  their  reputation.       InStead  of 
being  at  the  trouble  of  making  observa- 
tions themSelves,  they  culled,  out  of  the 
promifcuous  multitude  already  made,  fuch 
as  belt  fuited  their    purpofe,  and  drefled 
them  up  in  che  way  their  SyStem  required. 
In  confequence  of  this,  the  history  of  me- 
dicine does  not  fo  much  exhibit  the  hif- 
tory  of  a  progreffive  art,  as  a  hiftory  of 
opinions  which  prevailed  perhaps  for  twen- 
ty or  thirty  years,  and  then  funk  into  con- 
tempt and  oblivion.     The  cafe  has  been 
nearly  fimiiar  in  practical  divinity  :    but 
this  is  attended  wit.i  much  greater  diffi- 
culties than  the  practical  part  of  medicine; 
in  this  Iaft,  nothing  is  required  but  affidu- 
ous  and  accurate  observation,  and  a  good 
understanding  to  direct  the  proper  applica- 
tion of  fuch  obfervation.  Ibid. 

§  78.  Hqvj  Religion  is  to  be  applied  to  cure 
the  Difeafes  of  the  Mind. 
To  cure  the  diSeaSes  of  the  mind,  there 
is  required  that  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart,  which  muft  be  drawn  from 
life  itfelf,  and  which  books  can  never 
teach;  of  the  various  difguifes  under  which 
vice  recommends  herfelf  to  the  imagina- 
tion ;  of  the  artful  affociation  of  ideas 
which  fhe  forms  there;  and  of  the  many 
namelefs  circumitances  that  Soften  the 
heart  and  render  it  accefiible.  It  is  like- 
wiie  neceffary  to  have  a  knowledge  of  the 
arts  of  insinuation  and  perSuafion,  of  the 
art  of  breaking  falfe  and  unnatural  asso- 
ciations of  ideas,  or  inducing  counter-affo- 
ciations,  and  oppofing  one  paffion  to  an- 
other ;  and  after  all  this  knowledge  is  ac- 
quired,   . 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


<$3 


quired,  the  fuccefsful  application  of  it  to 
practice  depends,  in  a  confiderable  degree, 
on  powers,  which  no  extent  of  undemand- 
ing can  confer. 

Vice  does  not  depend  fo  much  on  a  per- 
•verfion    of  the    underftanding,   as  of  the 
imagination   and  paffions,    and  on  habits 
originally  founded  on  thefe.      A  vicious 
man  is  generally  fenfible  enough  that  his 
conduct  is  wrong;  he  knows  that  vice  is 
contrary  both  to  his  duty  and  to  "his  inte- 
rred;  and   therefore,  all  laboured  reafon- 
,ing,  to  fatisfy  his  underftanding  of  thefe 
truths,  is  ufelefs,  becaufe  the  dileafe  does 
not  lie  in  the  underftanding.     The  evil  is 
feated  in  the  heart.  The  imaginations  and 
paffions  are  engaged  on  its  fide;  and  to 
them  the  cure  muft  be  applied.  _  Here  has 
been  the   general  defect  of  writings    and 
fermons,    intended    to    reform    mankind. 
Many  ingenious  and  fenfible  remarks  are 
made  on  the  feveral  duties  of  religion,  and 
very  judicious  arguments  are  brought  to 
enforce   them.      Such  performances  may 
,  be  attended  to  with  pleafure,  by  pious  and 
:  -well-difpofed  perfons,   who  likewife  may 
.  derive  from   thence  ufeful  inftruclion  for 
1  their  condudl  in  life.  The  wicked  and  pro- 
fligate, if  ever  books  of  this  fort  fall  in 
i  their  way,  very  readily  allow,  that  what 
<.  they  contain  are  great  and  eternal  truths ; 
but  they  leave  no  Lifting  impreffion.    If  any 
'  thing  can  roufe,  it  is  the  power  of  lively 
'  and  pathetic  defcription,  which  traces  and 
lays  open   their  hearts  through    all  their 
windings  and  difguifes,    makes  them  fee 
and  confefs  their  own  characters  in  all  their 
deformity  and  horror,  impreffes  their  hearts, 
and  intereils  their  paffions  by  all  the  motives 
of  love,  gratitude,  and  fear,  the  profpect 
of  rewards  and  punilhments,  and  whatever 
other  motives  religion  or  nature  may  dic- 
tate.    But  to  do  this  effectually,  requires 
,  very  different  powers   from   thofe  of  the 
underftanding :  a  lively  and    well    regu- 
lated imagination  is  eflentially  requifite. 

Gregory. 

§   79.      On  Public  Preaching. 
In  public  addreffes  to  an  audience,  the 
great  end  of  reformation  is  moft  effectu- 
ally promoted ;  becaufe  all  the  powers  of 
voice  and  action,  all  the  arts  of  eloquence, 

1  may  be  brought  to  give  their  affiflance. 

'  But  fome  of  thofe  arts  depend  on  gifts  of 
nature,  and,  cannot  be  attained  by  any 
ftrength  of  genius  or  underftanding;  even 
where  nature  has  been  liberal  of  thofe  ne- 

:  ceffary  requires,  they  mu&  be  cultivated 


by  much  practice,  before  the  proper  ex- 
ercife  of  them  can  be  acquired.  Thus,  a 
public  fpeaker  may  have  a  voice  that  is 
mufical  and  of  great  compafs;  but  it  re- 
quires much  time  and  labour  to  attain  its 
juft  modulation,  and  that  variety  of  flexion 
and  tone,  which  a  pathetic  difcourfe  re- 
quires. .  The  fame  difficulty  attends  the 
acquifition  of  that  propriety  of  action,  that 
power  over  the  expreffive  features  of  the 
countenance,  particularly  of  the  eyes,  fo 
neceffary  to  command  the  hearts  and  paf- 
fions of  an  audience. 

It  is  ufually  thought  that  a  preacher, 
who  feels  what  he  is  faying  himfelf,  will 
naturally  fpeak  with  that  tone  of  voice  and 
expreffion  in  his  countenance,  that  bell  fuits 
the  fubject,  and  which  cannot  fail  to  move 
his  audience :  thus  it  is  laid,  a  perfon  un- 
der the  influence  of  fear,  anger,  or  forrow, 
looks  and  fpeaks  in  the  manner  naturally 
expreffive  of  thefe  emotions.  This  is  true 
in  fome  meafure;  but  it  can  never  be  fup- 
pofed,  that  any  preacher  will  be  able  to 
enter  into  his  fubject  with  fuch  real  warmth 
upon  every  occafion.  Befides,  every  pru- 
dent man  will  be  afraid  to  abandon  him- 
felf fo  entirely  to  any  impreffion,  as  he 
muft  do  to  produce  this  effect.  Moft  men, 
when  ftrongly  affected  by  any  paffion  or 
emotion,  have  fome  peculiarity  in  their  ap- 
pearance, which  does  not  belong  to  the 
natural  expreffion  of  fuch  an  emotion.  If 
this  be  not  properly  corrected,  a  public 
fpeaker,  who  is  really  warm  and  animated 
with  his  fubject,  may  neverthelefs  make  a 
very  ridiculous  and  contemptible  figure. 
It  is  the  buiinefs  of  art,  to  fhew  nature  in 
her  moft  amiable  and  graceful  forms,  and 
not  with  thofe  peculiarities  in  which  fhe 
appears  in  particular  inftances ;  and  it  is 
this  difficulty  of  properly  reprefenting  na- 
ture, that  renders  the  eloquence  and  action, 
both  of  the  pulpit  and  the  ftage,  acquifitions 
of  fuch  difficult  attainment. 

But,  befides  thofe  talents  inherent  in  the 
preacher  himfelf,  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  nature  will  fuggeft  the  neceffity  of  at- 
tending to  certain  external  circumftances, 
which  operate  powerfully  on  the  mind, 
and  prepare  it  for  receiving  the  deiigned 
impreffions.  Such,  in  particular,  is  the 
proper  regulation  of  church-mufic,  and 
the  folemnity  and  pomp  of  public  wor- 
fnip.  Independent  of  the  effect  that  thefe 
particulars  have  on  the  imagination,  it 
might  be  expected,  that  a  juft  tafte,  a 
fenfe  of  decency  and  propriety,  would 
make  them  more  attended  to  than  we  find 

they 


H 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


they  are.  We  acknowledge  that  they  have 
been  abufed,  and  have  occafioned  the 
grofieft  fuperftition ;  but  this  univerfal  pro- 
peniity  to  carry  them  to  excefs,  is  the 
ilrongeft  proof  that  the  attachment  to 
them  is  deeply  rooted  in  human  nature, 
and  ccnfequently  that  it  is  the  bufinefs  of 
good  fenfe  to  regulate,  and  not  vainly  to 
attempt  to  extinguish  it.  Many  religious 
feels,  in  their  infancy,  have  fupported  them- 
felves  without  any  of  thefe  external  affift- 
ances;  but  when  time  has  abated  the  fervor 
of  their  firft  zeal,  we  always  find  that  their 
public  worfhip  has  been  conducted  with 
the  moil  remarkable  coldnefs  and  inatten- 
tion, unlefs  fupported  by  well-regulated 
ceremonies.  In  fact,  it  will  be  found,  that 
thofe  fects  who  at  their  commencement 
have  been  mod  diffinguifhed  for  a  religious 
enthufiafm  that  defpifed  all  forms,  and  the 
genius  of  whofe  tenets  could  not  admit  the 
uie  of  any,  have  either  been  of  fhort  dura- 
tion, or  ended  in  infidelity. 

The  many  difficulties  that  attend  the 
practical  art  cf  making  religion  influence 
the  manners  and  lives  of  mankind,  by  ac- 
quiring a  command  over  the  imagination 
and  pafiions,  have  made  it  too  generallv 
neglected,  even  by  the  moft  eminent  of 
the  clergy  for  learning  and  good  fenfe. 
Thefe  have  rather  chofen  to  confine  them- 
felves  to  a  track,  where  they  were  fure  to 
excel  by  the  force  of  their  own  genius, 
than  to  attempt  a  road  where  their  fuccefs 
was  doubtful,  and  where  they  might  be 
Outihone  by  men  greatly  their  inferiors. 
It  has  therefore  been  principally  culti- 
vated by  men  of  lively  imaginations, 
poffeiTcd  of  fome  natural  advantages  of 
voice  and  manner.  But  as  no  art  can  ever 
become  very  beneficial  to  mankind,  unlefs 
it  be  under  the  direction  cf  genius  and 
j-ood  fenfe,  it  has  too  often  happened,  that 
the  art  we  are  now  fpeaking  of  has' become 
fubfervient  to  the  wildeft  fanaticifrn,  fome- 
times  to  the  gratification  of  vanity,  and 
fometimes  to  flLU  more  unworthy  purpofes. 

Gregory. 

$  80.     Religion  confidered  as  exciting  De- 
votion. 

The  third  view  of  religion  confiders  it 
as  engaging  and  interefting  the  affections, 
and  comprehends  the  devotional  or  fenti- 
mental  part  of  it. — The  devotional  fpirit 
is  in  fome  meafure  conftitutional,  depend- 
ing on  livelinefs  of  imagination  and  fenfi- 
bility  of  heart,  and,  like  thefe  qualities, 
prevails  more  in  warmer  climates  than  it 


does  in  ours.  V/hat  (hews  its  great  de^ 
pendance  on  the  imagination,  is  the  re- 
markable attachment  it  has  to  poetry  and 
mufic,  which  Shakeipeare  calls  the  food  of 
love,  and  which  may,  with  equal  truth,  be 
called  the  food  of  devotion.  Mufic  enters, 
into  the  future  paradife  of  the  devout  of 
every  feet  and  of  every  country.  The, 
Deity,  viewed  by  the  eye  of  cool  reafon, 
may  be  faid,  with  great  propriety,  to  dwell 
in  light  inacceffible.  The  mind,  ftruck 
with  the  immenfity  of  his  being,  and  with 
a  fenfe  of  its  own  littlenefs  and  unworthi- 
nefs,  admires  with  that  diftant  awe  and!, 
veneration  that  almoft  excludes  love.  But 
viewed  by  a  devout  imagination,  he  may 
become  an  object  of  the  warmeft  affection, 
and  even  paffion. — The  philofopher  con- 
templates the  Deity  in  all  thofe  marks  of 
wifdom  and  benignity  diffufed  through  the 
various  works  of  nature.  The  devout 
man  confines  his  views  rather  to  his  own 
particular  connection  with  the  Deity,  the 
many  inftances  of  his  goodnefs  he  himfelf 
has  experienced,  and  the  many  greater  he 
frill  hopes  for.  This  eftablifhes  a  kind  of 
intercourfe,  which  often  intereits  the  heart 
and  pafhons  in  the  deepeft  manner. 

The  devotional  tafte,  like  all  other  taftes, 
has  had  the  hard  fate  to  be  condemned  as 
a  weaknefs,  by  all  who  are  Grangers  to  its 
joys  and  its  influence.  Too  much  and  too 
frequent  occafion  has  been  given,  to  turn 
this  fubjeel  into  ridicule. — A  heated  and 
devout  imagination,  when  not  under  the 
direction  of  a  very  found  understanding,  is 
apt  to  run  very  wild,  and  is  at  the  fame 
time  impatient  to  publifh  all  its  follies  to  the 
world.  — The  feelings  of  a  devout  heart 
fhould  be  mentioned  with  great  referve  and 
delicacy,  as  they  depend  upon  private  ex- 
perience, and  certain  circum.'lancesofmind 
and  fituation,  which  the  world  can  neither 
know  nor  judge  of.  But  devotional  wri- 
tings, executed  with  judgment  and  tafte^ 
are  not  only  highly  ufeful,  but  to  all,  who 
have  a  true  fenfe  of  religion,  peculiarly  en- 
gaging. Ibid. 

§   Si.     Advantages  of  Devotion. 

The  devotional  fpirit,  united  to  good 
fenfe  and  a  chearful  temper,  gives  that, 
fleadinefs  to  virtue,  which  it  a1  ways  wants 
when  produced  and  fupported  by  good 
natural  difpofmons  only,  [t  corrects  and 
humanizes  thofe  conftitutional  vices,  which 
it  is  not  able  entirely  to  fubdue ;  and 
though  it  too  often  fails  to  render  men 
perfectly  virtuous,  it  preferves  them  front 

becoming 


Jl 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


65 


becoming  utterly  abandoned.  It  has,  be- 
fides,  the  mod  favourable  influence  on  all  the 
pa  (five  virtues;  it  gives  a  foftnefs  and  fen- 
fibility  to  the  heart,  and  a  mildnefs  and  gen- 
tlenefs  to  the  manners;  but  above  all,  it  pro- 
duces an  universal  charity  and  love  to  man- 
kind, however  different  in  ftation,  country, 
or  religion.  There  is  a  fublime  yet  tender 
melancholy,  almoft  the  univerfal  attendant 
on  genius,  v.diich  is  too  apt  to  degenerate 
into  gloom  and  difguft  with  the  world.  De- 
votion is  admirably  calculated  to  focthe  this 
difpofuion,  by  infenfibly  leading  the  mind, 
while  it  Teems  to  indulge  it,  to  thofe  prof- 
pedts  which  calm  every  murmur  of  discon- 
tent, and  diffufe  a  chearfulnefs  over  the 
darkeft  hours  of  human  life. — Perfons  in 
the  pride  of  high  health  and  fpirits,  who 
are  keen  in  the  purfuits  of  pleafure,  inte- 
reft,  or  ambition,  have  either  no  ideas  on 
this  fubject,  or  treat  it  as  the  enthufiafm  of 
a  weak  mind.  But  this  really  lhews  great 
narrownefs  of  underftanding;  a  very  little 
reflection  "  and  acquaintance  with  nature 
might  teach  them,  on  how  precarious  a 
foundation  their  boafted  independence  on 
religion  is  built ;  the  thoufand  namelefs 
accidents  that  may  deftroy  it;  and  that 
though  for  fome  years  they  {hould  efcape 
thefe,  yet  that  time  muft  impair  the  greateft 
vigour  of  health  and  fpirits,  and  deprive 
them  of  all  thofe  objects  for  which,  at  pre- 
fent,  they  think  life  only  worth  enjoying. 
It  mould  feem,  therefore,  very  neceiiary  to 
fecure  fome  permanent  object,  fome  real 
ftfpport  to  the  mind,  to  chear  the  foul, 
when  all  others  (hall  have  loft  their  in- 
fluence.— The  greateft  inconvenience,  in- 
deed; that  attends  devotion,  is  its  taking 
fuch  a  fall  hold  of  the  affections,  as  fome- 
times  threatens  the  extinguishing  of  every 
other  active  principle  of  the  mind.  For 
when  the  devotional  fpirit  fails  in  with  a 
melancholy  temper,  it  is  too  apt  to  deprefs 
the  mind  entirely,  to  fmk  it  to  the  weakefl 
fuperftition,  and  to  produce  a  total  retire- 
ment and  abftraftion  from  the  world,  and 
all  the  duties  of  life.  Gregory. 

§  82.  The  Difference  between  true  and  falfe 
Politenefs. 
It  is  evident  enough,  that  the  moral  and 
Chriftian  duty,  of  preferring  one  another 
in  honour,  refpefta  only  focial  peace  and 
charity,  and  terminates  in  the  good  and 
edification  of  our  Chriftian  brother.  Its 
ufe  is,  to  foften  the  minds  of  men,  and  to 
draw  them  from  that  favage  rufticity, 
which  engenders  many  vices,  and  difcredits 


the  virtues  themfelves.  But  when  men 
had  experienced  the  benefit  of  this  com- 
plying temper,  and  further  faw  the  ends, 
not  of  charity  only,  but  of  felf-intereft, 
that  might  be  anfwered  by  it;  they  con- 
fiiercd  no  longer  its  juit  purpofe  and  ap- 
plication, but  ftretched  it  to  that  officious 
iedulity,  and  extreme  fervility  of  adulation, 
which  we  too  often  obferve  and  lament  in 
poli died  life. 

Hence,  that  infinite  attention  and  con- 
fideratlon,  which  is  (o  rigidly  exacted,  and 
fo  duly  paid,  in  the  commerce  of  the 
world:  hence,  that  proftitution  of  mind, 
which  leaves  a  man  no  will,  no  fentiment, 
no  principle,  no  character  ;  all  which  dif- 
appear  under  the  uniform  exhibition  of 
good  manners :  hence,  thofe  infidious  arts, 
thofe  ftudied  difguifes,  thofe  obfequious 
flatteries,  nay,  thofe  multiplied  and  nicely- 
varied  forms  of  infinuation  and  addrefs, 
the  direct  aim  of  which  may  be  to  acquire 
the  fame  of  politenefs  and  good-breeding, 
but  the  certain  effect,  to  corrupt  every 
virtue,  to  foothe  every  vanity,  and  to  in- 
flame every  vice  of  the  human  heart. 

Thefe  fatal  mifchiefs  introduce  them- 
felves under  the  pretence  and  femblance 
■of  that  humanity,  which  thefcriptures  en- 
courage and  enjoin  :  but  the  genuine  virtue 
is  eafily  diilinguifhed  from  the  counterfeit, 
and  by  the  following  plain  figns. 

True  politenefs  is  modeil,  unpretend- 
ing, and  generous.  It  appears  as  little  as 
may  be;  and  when  it  does  a  courtefy, 
would  willingly  conceal  it.  It  choofes 
filently  to  forego  its  own  claims,  not  offi- 
cioufly  to  withdraw  them.  It  engages  a 
man  to  prefer  his  neighbour  to  himfelf, 
becaufe  he 'really  efteems  him  ;  became  he 
is  tender  of  his  reputation  ;  becaufe  he 
thinks  it  more  manly,  more  Chriftian,  to 
defcend  a  little  himfelf  than  to  degrade 
another.  It  refpects,  in  a  word,  the  credit 
and  eftimation  of  his  neighbour. 

The  mimic  of  this  amiable  virtue,  falfe 
politenefs,  is,  on  the  other  hand,  ambitious, 
fervile,  timorous.  It  affects  popularity  :  is 
folicitous  to  pleafe,  and  to  be  taken  notice 
of.  The  man  of  this  character  does  not 
offer,  but  obtrude  his  civilities;  becaufe 
he  would  merit  by  this  affiduity  ;  becaufe, 
in  defpair  of  winning  regard  by  any 
worthier  qualities,  he  would  be  lure  to 
,  make  the  moil  of  this  ;  and  laftly,  becaufe 
of  all  things,  he  would  dread,  by  the 
omiffion  of  any  punctilious  obfervance,  to 
give  offence.  In  a  word,  this  fort  of  polite- 
nefs refpects,  for  its  immediate  object,  the 
<F  favour 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


66 

favour  and  confideration  of  our  neigh- 
bour. 

2.  Again ;  the  man  who  governs  him- 
felf  by  the  fpirit  of  the  Apoftle's  precept, 
expre'ffes  his  preference  of  another  in  fuch 
a  way  as  is  worthy  of  himfelf :  in  all  inno- 
cent compliances,  in  all  honeft  civilities,  in 
all  decent  and  manly  condefcenfions. 

On  the  contrary,  the  man  of  the  world, 
who  re.ils  in  the  letter  of  this  command,  is 
regardlefs  of  the  means  by  which  he  con- 
duels  himfelf.  He  refpecls  neither  his  own 
dignity,  nor  that  of  human  nature.  Truth, 
reafon,  virtue,  all  are  equally  betrayed  by 
this  fupple  impollor.  He  affents  to  the 
errors,  though  the  moil  pernicious ;  he  ap- 
plauds the  follies,  though  the  moft  ridi- 
culous ;  he  foodies  the  vices,  though  the 
moft  flagrant,  of  other  men.  He  never 
contradicts,  though  in  the  foftelr  form  of 
infinuatiom;  he  never  difapproves,  though 
by  a  refpectful  filence ;  he  never  con- 
demn:, though  it  be  only  by  a  good  ex- 
ample. In  fhort,  he  is  folicitous  for 
nothing,  but  by  feme  ftudied  devices  to 
hide  from  others,  and,  if  poffible,  to  pal- 
liate to  himfelf,  the  grofmefs  of  his  illiberal 
adulation. 

Laftly ;  we  may  be  fure,  that  the  ulti- 
mate ends  for  which  thefe  different  objects 
are  purfued,  and  by  fo  different  means, 
mud  alio  lie  wide  of  each  other. 

Accordingly,  the  true  polite  man  would, 
by  all  proper  teftimonies  of  refpeci,  pro- 
mote the  credit  andeftimation  of  his  neigh- 
bour ;  becaiife  Ire  fees  that,  by  this  generous 
confideration  of  each  other,  the  peace  of 
the  world  is,  in  a  good  degree,  preferved; 
hecaufe  he  knows  that  thefe  mutual  atten- 
tions prevent  animonties,  (often  the  fierce- 
nefs  of  men's  manners,  and  difpofe  them 
to  all  the  offices  of  benevolence  and  charity; 
hecaufe,  in  a  word,  the  intereils  of  fociety 
are  bc-ft  ferved  by  this  conduct;  and  he- 
caufe he  understands  it  to  be  his  duty  to 
love  his  neighbour. 

The  falfely  polite,  on  the  contrary,  are 
anxious,  by  all  means  whatever,  to  procure 
the  favour  and  confideration  of  thofe  they 
converfe  with;  becaufe  they  regard,  ulti- 
mately, nothing  more  than  their  private 
intereft ;  becaufe  they  perceive,  that  their 
own  felfifh  defigns  are  beft  carried  on  by 
fuel:  practices :  in  a  word,  becaufe  they  love 
tb:  mfclze:. 

Thus  we  fee,  that  genuine  virtue  con- 
fults  the  honour  of  outers  by  worthy  means, 
ftnd,  for  the  nobleit  purpofcs;  the  counter-. 


feit  foiicits  their  favour  by  difhonefl  com- 
pliances,  and  for  the  bafeft  end. 

Hurd.    - 

§  Sj.     On   religious  Principles    and  Beha*- 
<viour. 

Relieion  is  rather  a  matter  of  fentiment 
than  reafon  in  g.  The  important  and  inte- 
refting  articles  of  faith  are  futhciently  plain. 
Fix  your  attention  on  thefe,  and  do  not 
meddle  with  controverfy.  If  you  get  into 
that,  vou  plunge  into  a  chaos,  from  which 
you  will  never  be  able  to  extricate  your— ' 
felves.  It  fpoils  the  temper,  and,  I  fufpeca 
has  no  good  effect  on  the  heart. 

Avoid  all  books,  and  all  converfatioal 
that  tend  to  fhake  your  faith  on  thofe  great 
points  of  religion,  which  fhould  ferve  to. 
regulate  your  conduct,  and  on  which  your, 
hopes  of  future  and  eternal  happinefs  de- 
pend. 

Never  indulge  yourfelves  in  ridicule  on 
religious  fubjects ;  nor  give  countenance  to 
it  in  others,  by  feeming  diverted  with  what 
they  fay.  This,  to  people  of  good  breed- 
ing, will  be  a  fufficient  check. 

I  wifh  you  to  go  no  farther  than  the 
Scriptures  for  your  religious  opinions". 
Embrace  thofe  you  find  clearly  revealed.; 
Never  perplex  yourfelves  about  fuch  as 
you  do  not  underftand,  but  treat  them  with 
filent  and  becoming  reverence. 

I  would  advife  you  to  read  only  fuch  re- 
ligious books  as  are  addreffed  to  the  heart, 
fuch  as  infpire  pious  and  devout  affections,  • 
fuch  as  are  proper  to  direct  you  in  your 
conduct ;  and  not  fuch  as  tend  to  entangle 
you  in  the  endlefs  maze  of  opinions  and 
fyftems. 

Be  punctual  in  the  ftated  performance 
of  your  private  devotions,  morning  and' 
evening.  If  ycu  have  any  fenfibility  or*- 
imagination,  this  will  eltablifh  fuch  an  in- 
tercnurfe  between  you  and  the  Supreme 
Being,  as  will  be  of  infinite  confequence  to 
you  in  life.  It  will  communicate  an  habi- 
tual chearfulnefs  to  your  tempers,  give  a- 
firmnefs  and  lteadinefs  to  your  virtue,  and 
enable  you  to  go  through  all  the  viciffitudes 
of  human  life  with  propriety  and  dignity. 

I  wifh  you  to  be  regular  in  your  atten- 
dance on  public  worfhip,  and  in  receiving 
the  communion.  Allow  nothing  to  inter- 
rupt your  public  or  private  devotions,  ex- 
cept the  performance  of  fome  active  duty 
in  life,  to  which  they  fhould  always  give' 
p!ace."»"-In  your  behaviour  at  public  wor- 
fhip,- 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


«? 


jftip,  obferve  an  exemplary  attention  and 
gravity. 

That  extreme  Strictnefs  which  I  recom- 
mend to  you  in  thefe  duties,  will  be  con- 
sidered by  many  of  your  acquaintance  as  a 
fuperftiticus  attachment  to  forms ;  but  in 
the  advices  I  give  you  on  this  and  other 
fubjests,  I  have  an  eye  to  the  fpirit  and 
manners  of  the  age.  There  is  a  levity 
and  dissipation  in  the  prefent  manners,  a 
coldnefs  and  liitleSTnefs  in  whatever  relates 
to  religion,  which  cannot  fail  to  infect  you, 
unlefs  you  purpofely  cultivate  in  your 
minds  a  contrary  bias,  and  make  the  devo- 
tional one  habitual. 

Gregory's  Ad-vice. 

§  84.  On  the  Beauties  of  the  Pfahns. 
Greatnefs  confers  no  exemption  from 
the  cares  and  forrows  of  life  :  its  (hare 
of  them  frequently  bears  a  melancholy 
proportion  to  its  exaltation.  This  the 
Jfraelitifh  monarch  experienced.  He  fought 
in  piety,  that  peace  which  he  could  not 
find  in  empire,  and  alleviated  the  dif- 
quietudes  of  ftate,  with  the  exercifes  of  de- 
votion. His  invaluable  Pfalms  convey  thofe 
comforts  to  others,  which  they  afforded  to 
himfelf.  Compofed  upon  particular  oc- 
cafions,  yet  defigned  for  general  ufe  ;  de- 
livered out  as  fervices  for  Ifraelites  under 
the  Law,  yet  no  lefs  adapted  to  the 
circumftances  of  Christians  under  the 
Gofpel;  they  prefent  religion  to  us  in  the 
molt  engaging  drefs;  communicating 
truths  which  philofophy  could  never  in- 
vestigate, in  a. Style  which  poetry  can  never 
equal;  while  history  is  made  the  vehicle 
of  prophecy,  and  creation  lends  all  its 
charms  to  paint  the  glories  of  redemption. 
Calculated  alike  to  profit  and  to  pleafe, 
they  inform  the  understanding, -elevate  the 
affections,  and  entertain  the  imagination. 
Indited  under  the  influence  of  him,  to 
whom  all  hearts  are  known,  and  all  events 
•  foreknowA,  they  fuit  mankind  in  all  fix- 
ations, grateful  as  the  manna  which  de- 
fcended  from  above,  and  conformed  itfelf 
to  every  palate.  The  faireft  productions 
of  human  wit,  after  a  few  perufals,  like 
gathered  flowers,  wither  in  our  hands,  and 
lofe  their  fragrancy ;  but  thefe  unfading 
plants  of  paradife  become,  as  we  are  ac- 
cuftomed  to  them,  ftill  more  and  more 
beautiful ;  their  bloom  appears  to  be  daily 
heightened;  frefh  odours  are  emitted,  and 
new  fweets  extracted  from  them.  He 
who  hath  once  tailed  their  excellencies, 
will  defire  to  tafte  them  yet  again ;  and  he 


who  tafles  them  ofteneft,  will  relifh  them, 
bet. — And  now,  could  the  author  flatter 
himfelf  that  any  one  would  take  half  the 
pleafure  in  reading  his  work  which  he  hath, 
taken  in  writing  it,  he  would  not  fear  th« 
lofs  of  his  labour.  The  employment  de- 
tached him  from  the  buttle  and  hurry  of 
life,  the  din  of  politics,  and  the  noife  of 
folly  ;  vanity  and  vexation  flew  away  for  a 
feafon,  care  and  difquietude  came  not  near 
his  dwelling.  He  arofe,  frefn  as  the  morn- 
ing, to  his  talk ;  the  fllence  of  the  night 
invited  him  to  purfue  it ;  and  he  can  truly 
fay,  that  food  and  reft  were  not  preferred 
before  it.  Every  Pfalm  improved  infinitely 
upon  his  acquaintance  with  it,  and  no  ona 
gave  him  ur.eafmefs  but  the  laft ;  for  then 
he  grieved  that  his  work  was  done.  Hap- 
pier hours  than  thofe  which  have  been 
fpent  in  thefe  meditations  on  the  fongs  of 
Sion,  he  never  expects  to  fee  in  this  world. 
Very  plcafantly  did  they  pafs,  and  moved 
fmoothly  and  fwiftly  along;  for  when 
thus  engaged,  he  counted  no  time.  They 
are  gone,  but  have  left  a  relifh  and  a  fra» 
grance  upon  the  mind,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  them  is  fvveet.  Home*. 

§  85.  The  Temple  of  -virtuous  Love. 
The  Structure  on  the  right  hand  was  (a» 
I  afterwards  found)  confecrated  to  virtuous. 
Love,  and  could  not  be  ente-ed,  but  by 
fuch  as  received  a  ring,  orfome  other  token, 
from  a  perfen  who  was  placed  as  a  guard 
at  the  gate  of  it.  He  wpre  a  garland  of 
rofes  and  myrtles  on  his  head,  and  on  his 
Ihoulders  a  robe  like  an  imperial  mantle 
white  and  unlpotted  all  over,  excepting 
only,  that  where  it  was  clafped  at  his  breaft, 
there  were  two  golden  turtle  doves  that 
buttoned  it  by  their  bills,  which  were 
wrought  in  rubies :  he  was  called  by  the 
name  of  Hymen,  and  was  feated  near  the 
entrance  of  the  temple,  in  a  delicious 
bower,  made  up  of  feveral  trees  that  were 
embraced  by  woodbines,  jefTamincs,  and 
amaranths,  which  were  as  fo  many  em- 
blems of  marriage,  and  ornaments  to  the 
trunks  that  fupported  them.  As  I  was 
Angle  and  unaccompanied,  I  was  not  per- 
mitted to  enter  the  temple,  and  for  that 
reafon  am  a  Stranger  to  all  the  mysteries 
that  were  performed  in  it.  I  had,  how- 
ever, the  curioiity  to  obferve,  how  the 
feveral  couples  that  entered  were  difpofed 
of;  which  was  after  the  following  manner  : 
there  were  two  great  gates  on  the  back- 
fide  of  the  edifice,  at  which  the  whole 
crowd  was  let  out.  At  one  of  thefe  gata* 
r  z  were 


63 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


were  two  women,  extremely  beautiful, 
though  in  a  different  kind  ;  the  one  hav- 
ing a  very  careful  and  competed  air,  the 
other  a  fort  of  fmile  and  ineffable  fweetnefs 
in  her  countenance  :  the  name  of  the  firil 
was  Difcretion,  and  of  the  other_  Com- 
placency. All  who  came  out  of  this  gate, 
and  put  themfelves  under  the  direction  of 
thefe  two  filters,  were  immediately  con- 
duced by  them  into  gardens,  groves,  and 
meadows,  which  abounded  in  delights,  and 
were  furnifhed  with  every  thing  that 
could  make  them  the  proper  feats  of  hap- 
pinefs.  The  fecond  gate  of  this  temple 
let  out  all  the  couples  that  were  unhappily 
married  ;  who  came  out  linked  together 
by  chains,  which  each  of  them  ftrove  to 
break,  but  could  not.  Several  of  thefe 
were  fuch  as  had  never  been  acquainted 
with  each  other  before  they  met  in  the 
great  walk,  or  had  been  two  well  acquainted 
in  the  thicket.  The  entrance  to  this  gate 
was  poffeffed  by  three  filters,  who  joined 
themfelves  with  thefe  wretches,  and  occa- 
fioned  moll  of  their  miferies.  The  youngeil 
of  the  fillers  was  known  by  the  name  of 
Levity ;  who,  with  the  innocence  of  a 
virgin,  had  the  drefs  and  behaviour  of  a 
harlot :  the  name  of  the  fecond  was  Con- 
tention, who  bore  on  her  right  arm  a 
muff  made  of  the  fkin  of  a  porcupine,  and 
on  her  left  carried  a  little  lap-dog,  that 
barked  and  fnap-ped  at  every  one  that 
paffed  by  her.  The  eldeft  of  the  fillers, 
who  feemed  to  have  an  haughty  and  im- 
perious air,  was  always  accompanied  with 
a  tawny  Cupid,  who  generally  marched 
before  her  with  a  little  mace  on  his  moul- 
der, the  end  of  which  was  fafhioned  into 
the  horns  of  a  Hag  :  her  garments  were 
yellow,  and  her  complexion  pule  :  her  eyes 
were  piercing,  but  had  odd  calls  in  them, 
and  that  particular  diftemper  which  makes 
perfons  w'-o  are  troubled  with  it  fee  ob- 
jects double.  Upon  enquiry,  1  was  in- 
formed that  her  name  was  Jealoufy. 

Tatler. 

§  85.  The  Temple  ofLuft. 
Having  finifhed  my  obfervations  upon 
this  temple,  and  its  votaries  I  repaired  to 
that  which  flood  on  the  left  hand,  and  was 
called  the  Temple  of  Lull.  The  front  of 
it  was  railed  on  Corinthian  pillars,  with  all 
the  meretricious  ornaments  that  accom- 
pany that  order;  whereas  that  of  the  other 
was  CGmpoied  of  the  chaite  and  matron- 
.  •  .  i  .  •  fide;  of  it  were  adorned 
with  feveral  grotefque    figures    of  goats, 


fparrows,  heathen  gods,  fatyrsj  and  rrorr- 
iters,  made  up  of  half  men,  half  bealt. 
The  gates  were  unguarded,  and  open  to  all". 
that  had  a  mind  to  enter.  Upon  my 
going  in,  I  found  the  windows  were  blind- 
ed, and  let  in  only  a  kind  of  twilight,  that 
ferved  to  difcover  a  prodigious  number  of 
dark  corners  and  apart  merits,  into  which 
the  whole  temple  was  divided.  I  was  here 
ilunned  with  a  mixed  noife  of  clamour  and 
jollity  :  on  one  fide  of  me  I  heard  finginfl 
and  dancing  ;  on  the  other,  brawls  and 
cladiing  of  fwords  :  in  fhort,  I  was  fo 
little  pleafed  with  the  place,  that  I  was 
going  out  of  it ;  but  found  I  could  not  re- 
turn by  the  gate  where  I  entered,  which 
was  barred  againfl  all  that  were  come  in, 
with  bolts  of  iron  and  locks  of  adamant's 
there  was  no  going  back  from  this  temple 
through  the  paths  of  pleafure  which  led  to 
it :  all  who  paffed  through  the  ceremonies 
of  the  place,  went  out  at  an  iron  wicket, 
which  was  kept  by  a  dreadful  giant  called 
Remorfe,  that  held  a  fcourge  of  fcorpions 
in  his  hard,  and  drove  them  into  the  only 
outlet  from  that  temple.  This  was  a  paf- 
fage  fo  rugged,  fo  uneven,  and  choaked 
with  fo  many  thorns  and  briars,  that  it 
was  a  melancholy  fpe&acle  to  behold  the 
pains  and  difficulties  which  both  fexes  fuf. 
fered  who  walked  through  it :  the  men, 
though  in  the  prime  of  their  youth,  ap- 
peared weak  and  infeebled  with  old  age: 
the  women  wrung  their  hands,  and  tore 
their  hair,  and  feveral  loil  their  limb?, 
before  they  could  extricate  themfelves  out 
of  the  perplexities  of  the  path  in  which 
they  were  engaged. — The  remaining  part 
of  this  vifion,  and  the  adventures  I  met 
with  in  the  two  great  roads  of  Ambition 
and  Avarice  mull  be  the  fubjeft  of  ano- 
ther paper.  Ibid.    - 

\  87.  The  Temple  pf  'Virtue. 
With  much  labour  and  difficulty  I 
palled  through  the  firil  part  of  my  vifionj 
and  recovered  the  centre  of  the  wood, 
from  whence  I  had  the  prefpecl  of  the 
three  great  roads.  I  heie  joined  myfelf 
to  the  middle-aged  party  of  mankind, 
who  marched  behind  the  flandard  of  Am- 
bition. The  great  road  lay  in  a  direct  line, 
and  was  terminated  by  the  Temple  of 
Virtue.  It  was  planted' en  each  fide  with 
laurels,  which  were  intermixed  with  mar- 
ble trophies,  carved  pillars,  and  ftatues  of 
lawgivers,  heroes,  ilatefmen,  philcfcphers, 
and  poets.  The  perfors  who  travelled  up 
this  great  path,  were  fuch  wliofe  thought's 

w  ere 


00  K    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


6g 


■were  bent  upon  doing  eminent  fervices  to 
mankind,  or  promoting  the  good  of  their 
country.  On  each  fide  of  this  great  road, 
were  feveral  paths  that  were  alfo  laid  cut 
in  ftraight  lines,  and  ran  parallel  with  it : 
thefe  were  molt  of  them  covered  walks,  and 
received  into  them  men  of  retired  virtue, 
who  propofed  to  themfelves  the  fame  end 
of  their  journey,  though  they  chofe  to 
make  it  in  (hade  and  obfcurity.  The  edi- 
fices, at  the  extremity  Gf  the  walk,  were  fo 
contrived,  that  we  could  not  fee  the  temple 
of  Honour,  by  reafon  of  the  temple  of 
Virtue,  which  flood  before  it :  at  the  gates 
of  this  temple,  v/e  were  met  by  the  god- 
defs  of  it,  who  conducted  us  into  that  of 
Honour,  which  was  joined  to  the  other 
edifice  by  a  beautiful  triumphal  arch,  and 
had  no  other  entrance  into  it.  When  the 
deity  of  the  inner  ftruclure  had  received 
us,  fhe  prefented  us  in  a  body,  to  a  figure 
that  was  placed  over  the  high  altar,  and 
was  the  emblem  of  Eternity.  She  fat  on  a 
globe,  in  the  midfl  of  a  golden  zodiac, 
holding  the  figure  of  a  fun  in  one  hand, 
and  a  moon  in  the  other:  her  head  was 
veiled,  and  her  feet  covered.  Our  hearts 
glowed  within  us,  as  we  flood  amidft  the 
fphere  of  light  which  this  image  caft  on 
every  fide  of  it.  Tatler. 

§88.  The  Temple  of  Vanity. 
Having  feen  all  that  happened  to  the 
band  of  adventurers,  I  repaired  to  another 
pile  of  buildings  that  flood  within  view  of 
the  temple  of  Honour,  and  was  raifed  in 
imitation  of  it,  upon  the  very  fame  model; 
but,  at  my  approach  to  it,  I  found  that 
theftones  were  laid  together  without  mor- 
tar, and  that  the  whole  fabric  flood  upon 
fo  weak  a  foundation,  that  it  fhook  with 
every  wind  that  blew.  This  was  called 
the  Temple  of  Vanity.  The  goddefs  of 
it  fat  in  the  midfl  of  a  great  many  tapers, 
that  burned  day  and  night,  and  made  her 
appear  much  better  than  fhe  would  have 
done  in  open  day-light.  Her  whole  art 
was  to  fhew  herfelf  more  beautiful  and 
majeflic  than  fhe  really  was.  For  which 
reafon  fhe  had  painted  her  face,  and  wore 
a  clufter  of  falie  jewels  upon  her  breafl : 
but  what  I  more  particularly  obferved,  was 
the  breadth  of  her  petticoat,  which  was 
made  altogether  in  the  fafhion  of  a  modern 
fardingal.  This  place  was  filled  with 
hypocrites,  pedants,  free-thinkers,  and 
prating  politicians,  with  a  rabble  of  thofe 
who  have  only  titles  to  make  them  great 
men.     Female  votaries  crowded  the  tem- 


ple, choaked  up  the  avenues  of  it,  and 
were  more  in  number  than  the  fand  upon 
the  fea-fhore.  I  made  it  my  bufinefs,  in 
my  return  towards  that  part  of  the  wood 
from  whence  I  firft  fet  out,  to  obferve  the 
walks  which  led  to  this  temple  ;  for  I  met 
in  it  feveral  who  had  begun  their  journey 
with  the  band  of  virtuous  perfons,  and 
travelled  fome  time  in  their  company : 
but,  upon  examination,  I  found  that  there 
were  feveral  paths,  which  led  out  of  the 
great  road  into  the  fides  of  the  wood,  ar.d 
ran  into  fo  many  crooked  turns  and  wind- 
ings, that  thofe  who  travelled  through 
them,  often  turned  their  backs  upon  the 
temple  of  Virtue,  then  croffed  the  ftraight 
road,  and  fometimes  marched  in  it  for  a 
little  fpace,  till  the  crooked  path  which 
they  were  engaged  in  again  led  them  into 
the  wood.  The  feveral  alleys  of  thefe 
wanderers,  had  their  particular  ornaments : 
one  of  them  I  could  not  but  take  notice 
of,  in  the  walk  of  the  mifchievous  pre- 
tenders to  politics,  which  had  at  every 
tarn  the  figure  of  a  perfon,  whom,  by  the 
infeription,  I  found  to  be  Machiavel, 
pointing  out  the  way,  with  an  extended 
finger,  like  a  Mercury.  Ibid, 

§  89.  The  Temple  0/ Avarice. 
I  was  now  returned  in  the  fame  manner 
as  before,  with  a  defign  to  obferve  care- 
fully every  thing  that  palled  in  the_  region 
of  Avarice,  and  the  occurrences  in  that 
afiembly,  which  was  made  up  of  perfons 
of  my  own  age.  This  body  of  travellers 
had  not  gone  far  in  the  third  great  road, 
before  it  led  them  infenfibly  into  a  deep 
valley,  in  which  they  journied  feveraldays, 
v/ith  great  toil  and  uneafinefs,  and  without 
the  necefiary  refrefhments  of  food  and 
fleep.  The  only  relief  they  met  with,  was 
in  a  river  that  ran  through  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  on  a  bed  of  golden  fand  :  they 
often  drank  of  this  ilream,  which  had 
fuch  a  particular  quality  in  it,  that  though 
it  refrefhed  them  for  a  time,  it  rather  in- 
flamed than  quenched  their  thiril.  On 
each  fide  of  the  river  was  a  range  of  hills 
full  of  precious  ore ;  for  where  the  rains 
had  warned  off  the  earth,  one  might  fee  in 
feveral  parts  of  them  long  veins  of  gold, 
and  rocks  that  looked  like  pure  filver. 
We  were  told  that  the  deity  of  the  place  had 
forbad  any  of  his  votaries  to  dig  into  the 
bowels  of  thefe  hills,  or  convert  the  trea- 
fures  they  contained  to  any  ufe,  under 
pain  of  ftarving.  At  the  end  of  the.  valley 
flood  the  Temple  of  Avarice,  made  after 
F  3  ;he 


7° 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


the   manner   of   a    fortification,  and  fur- 
rounded  with    a    thoufand    triple-headed 
dogs,  that  were  placed  there  to   keep  off 
beggars.     At  our  approach  they  all  fell  a 
barking,  and  would  have  much  terrified 
\is,  had  not  an  old  woman,  who  had  called 
herfelf  by  the   forged    name    of  Compe- 
tency, offered  herfelf  for  cur  guide.     She 
carried  under  her  garment  a  golden  bow, 
which  me  no  fooner  held  up  in  her  hand, 
but  the  dogs  lay  down,  and  the  gates  flew 
open    for    our    reception.     We  were  led 
through  an  hundred  iron  doors  before  we 
entered  the  temple.     At  the  upper  end  of 
at,  fat  the  god    of  Avarice,  with  a  long 
filthy  beard,  and   a  meagre  ftarved  coun- 
tenance, inclofed  with  heaps  of  ingots  and 
pyramids  of  money,  but  half  naked  and 
fnivering  with    cold:    on    his  right  hand 
was  a  fiend  called  Rapine,  and  on  his  left 
a  particular    favourite,  to  whom  he  had 
given  tire  title  of  Pa:  fimony  ;  the  flrfe  was 
his  collector,  and    the    other  his  cafhier. 
There  were  feveral  long  tables  placed  on 
eacn  fide  of  the  temple,  with  refpective 
officers  attending  behind  them  :  fome   of 
thefe  I  enquired  into  :    at  the  firfl  table 
was  kept  the  offce  of  Corruption.     See- 
ing a  folicitor  extremely  bufy,  and  whif- 
pering  every  body  that  pailed  by,  I   kept 
my  eye   upon  him  very  attentively,  and 
faw  him  often  going  up  to  a  perfon   that 
bad  a  pen  in  his  hand,  with  a  multipli- 
cation-table and  an  almanack  before  him, 
which,  as  I  afterwards  heard,   was  all  the 
learning  he  was  mailer  of.     The  folicitor 
v        1  often  apply  himfelf  to  his  ear,  and 
at  the  fame  time  convey  money  into  his 
hand,  for  which  the  other  would  give  him 
out    a    piece    of   paper,    or    parchment, 
figned  and  fcaled  in  form.     The   name  of 
this  dexterous   and  fuccefsful  folicitor  was 
Bribery.  —  At    the    next    table   was    the 
office  of  Extortion  :  behind  it  fat  a  perfon 
in  a  bob-wig,  counting  over  a  great  fum 
of  money  :    he  gave    dut    little  puri'es  to 
feveral,  who,  after  a  fhort  tour,  brought 
him,  in  return,  fucks  full  of  the  fame  kind 
of  coin.     I  faw,  at  the  fame  time,  a  perfon 
called  Fraud,  who  fat  behind  the  counter, 
with  falfe  fcales,  light  weights,  and"  fcanty 
meafures ;    by  the    fkilful    application   of 
which  instruments,  (he  had  got  together 
an  immenfc  heap  of  wealth  :  it  "would  be 
end'efs   to    name    the  feveral  officers,    or 
defcribe  the  votaries  that  attended  in  this 
tnnp;  • :  there  were  many  old  men,  pant- 
ing and  bre:.th!ef  .  rep'ofmg  their  heads  on 


bags  of  money ;   nay  many  of  them  ac«. 
tually  dying,  whofe  very  pangs  and  con- 
vulfions  (which  rendered  their  purfes  ufe- 
lcfs  to  them)  only  made  them  grafp  them 
the  farter.     There  were  fome  tearing  with 
one  hand  all  things,  even  to  the  garments 
and  flefh  of  many  miferable  perfons  who' 
flood    before    them ;    and  with  the  other 
hand  throwing  away  what  they  had  feized, 
to    harlots,    flatterers,    and  panders,    that 
flood    behind    them.     On    a.fudden    the 
whole    affembly    fell    a    trembling ;    and, 
upon  enquiry,  I  found  that  the  great  room 
we  were  in  was  haunted  with  a  fpectxe, 
that  many  times  a  day  appeared  to  them, 
and  terrified  them  to  dirtraclion.     In  the 
midfr.   of  their  terror  and  amazement,  the 
apparition  entered,  which  I  immediately 
knew  to  be  Poverty-    "Whether  it  were  by 
my  acquaintance  with  this  phantom,  which 
had  rendered  the  fight  of  her  more  fami- 
liar to  me,  or  however  it  was,  fhe  did  not 
make  fo  indigent  or  frightful  a  figure  in 
my  eye,  as  the  god  of  this  loathfome  tem- 
ple.    The  miferable  votaries  of"  this  place 
were,  I  found,  of  another  mind:  every  one 
fancied  himfelf  threatened  by  the  appa- 
rition as  fhe  {talked  about  the  room,  and 
began  to  lock  their  coffers,  and  tie  their 
bags,  with  the  utmoft  fear  and  trembling, 
I  muft  confefs,    I   look  upon  the  paffion 
which  I  faw  in  this  unhappy  people,  to  be 
of  the  fame  nature  with  thofe  unaccount- 
able antipathies  which  fome  perfons    are 
born  with,  or  rather  as  a  kind  of  phrenzy, 
not  unlike  that  which   throws  a  man  into, 
terrors  and  ao;onies  at  the  ficrht  of  fo  ufeful 
and  innocent  a  thing  as  water.     The  whole 
affembly  was  furprized,  when,  inftead  of 
paying  my  devotions   to  the  deity  whom 
they  all  adored,  they  faw  me  addrefs  myfelf 
to  the  phantom.    "  Oh !  Poverty  !    (faid  I) 
my    firit    petition    to    thee    is,   that  thou 
wouldeit  never  appear    to   me  hereafter; 
but,  if  thou  wilt  not  grant  me  this,  that 
thou  wouldeit  not  bear  a  form  more  terri- 
ble than  that  in  which  thou  appeareft  to 
me  at  prefent.      Let    not  thy  threats  or 
menaces  betray  me  to  any  thing  that  is 
ungrateful  or  unjuit.     Let  me  not  fhut  my 
ears  to  the  cries  of  the  needy.    Let  me  not 
forget  the  perfon  that  has  deferved  well  of 
me.     Let  me  not,  from  any  fear  of  Thee, 
defert  my  friend,  my   principles,   or  my 
honour.     If  Wealth    is    to  vifit  me,  and 
come  with  her  ufual  attendants,  Vanity  and 
Avarice,  do  thou,  O  Poverty  !  haften  to 
my  refcuej    but   bring  along  with  Thee 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


7* 


thy  two  fitters,  in  vvhqfe  company  thou  art 
always  chearful,  Liberty  and  Innocence." 

T'atkr. 

$  90.  The  Virtue  cf  Gentienefs  not  to  be 
confounded  with  artificial  and  infencerg 
Pojitenefs. 

Gentienefs  corrects  whatever  is  offenfive 
in  our  manners ;  and,  by  a  confiant  train 
of  humane  attentions,  ftudies  to  alleviate 
the  burden  of  common  mifery.  Its  office, 
therefore,  is  extenfive.  It  is  not,  like 
fome  other  virtues,  called  forth  only  on 
peculiar  emergencies  :  but  it  is  continually 
in  action,  when  we  are  engaged  in  inter- 
courfe  with  men.  It  ought  to  form  our 
addrefs,  to  regulate  our  fpeech,  and  to  dif- 
fufe  itfelf  over  our  whole  behaviour. 

I  muft  warn  you,  however,  not  to  con- 
found this  gentle  wifdom  which  is  from 
above,  with  that  artificial  courtefy,  that 
fludied  fmoothnefs  of  manners,  which  is 
learned  in  the  fchool  of  the  world.  Such 
accomplifhments,  the  mod:  frivolous  and 
empty  may  pofiefs.  Too  often  thev  are 
employed  by  the  artful,  as  a  fnare :  too 
often  affected  by  the  hard  and  unfeeling, 
as  a  cover  to  the  bafenefc  of  their  minds. 
We  cannot,  at  the  fame  time,  avoid  cb- 
ferving  the  homage  which,  even  in  fuch 
inftances,  the  world  is  conftrained  to  pay 
to  virtue.  In  order  to  render  fociety 
agreeable,  it  is  found  necefiary  to  a  flume 
fomewhat  that  may  at  leaft  carry  its  ap- 
pearance :  Virtue  is  the  univcrfal  charm  ; 
even  its  lhadow  is  courted,  when  the  fub- 
flance  is  wanting;  the  imitation  of  its 
form  has  been  reduced  into  an  art ;  and, 
in  the  commerce  of  life,  the  firfl  ftudy  of 
all  who  would  either  gain  the  efteein,  or 
win  the  hearts  of  others,  is  to  learn  the 
fpeech,  and  to  adopt  the  manners  of  can- 
dour, gentienefs,  and  humanity  ;  but  that 
gentienefs  which  is  the  charadteriftic  of  a 
good  man,  has,  like  every  other  virtue, 
its  feat  in  the  heart:  and,  let  me  add,  no- 
thing except  what  flows  from  it,  can  render 
even  external  manners  truly  pleafing ;  for 
no  affirmed  behaviour  can  at  all  times  hide 
the  real  character.  In  that  unaffected 
civility  which  fprings  from  a  gentle  mind, 
there  is  a  charm  infinitely  more  powerful 
than  in  all  the  ftudied  manners  of  the  moll 
finilhed  courtier.  Blair. 

€  pi.  Opportunities  for  great   Acls  of  Be- 
neficence rare,  for  Gentienefs  continual. 

But,  perhaps,  it  will  be  pleaded  by  fome, 


That    this    gentienefs  on  which  we  now 
infill,  regards  only  thofe  finaller  offices  of 
life,  which,  in  their  eyes,  are  not  effential 
to  religion  and  gopdn.efs.     Negligent,  they 
confefs,  on  flight  occafions,  of  the  govern- 
ment of  their  temper,  or  the  regulation  of 
their  behaviour,  they  are  attentive,  as  they 
pretend,  to  the  great  duties  of  beneficence; 
and  ready,  whenever  the  opportunity  pre- 
fents,  to    perform  important   fervices    to 
their  fellow-creatures.     But  let  fuch  per- 
fons  reflect,  that  the  occafions  of  perform- 
ing thofe  important  good  deeds  very  rarely 
occur.     Perhaps  their  fii.uat.ion  in  life,  or 
the  nature  of  their  connections,  may,   in  a 
great    rneafure,  exclude  them    from  fuch 
opportunities.      Great  events  give  fcope 
for  great  virtues ;  but  the  main  tenor  of 
human  life    is  compofed  of  fmal!  occur- 
rences.    Within  the  round  of  thefe,  lie  the 
materials  of  the    happinefs  of  moil  men; 
the  fubjects  of  their  duty,  and  the  trials  of 
their  virtue.     Virtue  muft  be  formed  and 
fupported,  not  byunfrequent  aits,  but  by 
daily  and  repeated  exertions.     In  order  to 
its  becoming  either  vigorous  or  ufeful,  it 
muft  be  habitutUy  active ;  not  breaking 
forth  occafionally  with  a  tranfient  luftre, 
like  the  blaze  of  the  comet ;  but  regular 
in  its  returns,  like  the  light  of  the  day  ;  not 
like  the  aromatic  gale,  which  fometimes 
feafts  the  fenfe ;    but,   like   the  ordinary 
breeze,  which  purifies  the  air,  and  renders 
it  healthful. 

Years  may  pafs  over  our  heads,  without 
affording  any  opportunity  for  adts  of  high 
beneficence,  or  extenfive  utility.  Whereas, 
not  a  day  paiies,  but  in  the  common  trans- 
actions of  life,  and  efpecially  in  the  inter- 
courfe  of  domeftic  fociety,  gentienefs  finds 
place  for  promoting  the  happinefs  of 
others,  and  for  ftrengthening  in  ourfelves, 
the  habit  of  virtue.  Nay,  by  feafcnable  dif- 
ccveries  cf  a  humane  fpirit,  we  fometimes 
contribute  more  materially  to  the  advance* 
ment  of  happinefs,  than  by  actions  which 
are  feemingly  more  important.  There  are 
Situations,  not  a  few,  in  human  life,  where 
the  encouraging  reception,  the  condefcend- 
ing  behaviour,  and  the  look  of  Sympathy, 
bring  greater  relief  to  the  heart,  than  the 
molt  bountiful  gift :  While,  on  the  other 
fide,  when  the  hand  of  liberality  is  extended 
to  bellow,  the  want  of  gentienefs  is  iuffi- 
cient  to  fruftrate  the  intention  of  the  be- 
nefit; we  four  thofe  whom  we  meant  to 
oblige;  and,  by  conferring  favours  with 
orientation  and  harfhnefs,  we  convert  them 
into  injuries.  Can  any  difpofition,  then 
F  4  be 


72 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


be  held  to  poffefs  a  low  place  in  the  fcale 
of  virtue,  whofe  influence  is  fo  confider- 
able  on  the  happinefs  of  the  world. 

Gentlenefs  is,  in  truth,  the  great  avenue 
to  mutual  enjoyment.  Amidft  the  ftrife 
of  interfering  interefts,  it  tempers  the  vio- 
lence of  contention,  and  keeps  alive  the 
feeds  of  harmony.  It  foftens  animofities, 
renews  endearments,  and  renders  the  coun- 
tenance of  a  man,  a  refrefhment  to  a  man. 
Baniih  gentlenefs  from  the  earth ;  fuppofe 
the  world  to  be  filled  with  none  but  harih 
and  contentious  fpirits,  and  what  fort  of 
fociety  would  remain  ?  the  iblitude  of  the 
defart  were  preferable  to  it.  The  con- 
flict of  jarring  elements  in  chaos ;  the 
cave,  where  fubterraneous  winds  contend 
and  roar;  the  den,  where  ferpents  hifs, 
and  beails  of  the  foreft  howl ;  would  be 
the  only  proper  reprefentations  of  fuch 
affemblies  of  men.— Strange  1  that  where 
men  have  all  one  common  in  te  re  ft,  they 
fhould  fo  often  abfurdly  concur  in  defeat- 
ing it !  Has  not  nature  already  provided 
a  fufficient  quantity  of  unavoidable  evils 
for  the  ftate  of  man?  As  if  we  did  not 
fufFer  enough  from  the  ftorm  which  beats 
upon  us  without,  muft  we  confpire  alfo,  in 
thofe  focieties  where  we  afiemble,  in  order 
to  find  a  retreat  from  that  ftorm,  to  har- 
rafs  one  another  ?  Blair. 

§  92.  Gentlenefs  recommended  on  Confedera- 
tions of  our  o-ivn  Intereji. 
But  if  the  (cni'c  of  duty,  and  of  common 
happinefs,  be  infufficient  to  recommend  the 
virtue  of  gentlenefs,  then  let  me  defire  you 
to  confider  your  own  intereft.  Whatever 
ends  a  good  man  can  be  fuppofed  to  pur- 
fue,  gentlenefs  will  be  found  to  favour 
them  ;  it  prepoffeffes  and  wins  every  heart ; 
it  perfuades,  when  every  other  argument 
fails;  often  difarms  the  fierce,  and  melts 
the  ftubborn.  Whereas,  harfhnefs  confirms 
the  oppofition  it  would  fubdue  ;  and,  of  an 
indifferent  perfon,  creates  an  enemy.  He 
who  could  overlook  an  injury  committed 
in  the  collifion  of  interefts,  will  long  and 
fe/erely  refent  the  flights  cf  a  contemp- 
tuous behaviour.  To  the  man  of  gentle- 
nefs,  the  world  is  generally  difpoled  to 
afcribe  every  other  good  quality.  The 
:r  endowments  of  the  mind  we  admire 
at  a  diftance,  and  when  any  impropriety  of 
i''-ur  accompanies  them,  we  admire 
without  love  :  they  are  like  fome  of  the 
diftant  frars,  whofe  beneficial  influence 
:s  not  to  us.     Whereas,  of  the  in- 


fluence of  gentlenefs,  all  in  fome  degree 
partake,  and  therefore  all  love  it.  The 
man  of  this  character  rifes  in  the  world 
without  ftiuggle,  and  flourifhes  without 
envy.  His  misfortunes  are  univerfally 
lamented ;  and  his  failings  are  eafily  for- 
given. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  effect  of  this 
virtue  on  our  external  condition,  its  in-: 
fluence  on  our  internal  enjoyment  is  cer- 
tain and  powerful.  That  inward  tran- 
quillity which  it  promotes,  is  the  firft 
requifite  to  every  pleafurabie  feeling.  It 
is  the  calm  and  clear  atmofphere,  the 
ferenity  and  funfhine  of  the  mind.  When 
benignity  and  gentlenefs  reign  within,  we 
arc  always  leaft  in  hazard  of  being  ruffled 
from  without ;  every  perfon,  and  every 
occurrence,  are  beheld  in  the  moil  favour- 
able light.  But  let  fome  clouds  of  difguft 
and  ill-humour  gather  on  the  mind,  and 
immediately  the  fcene  changes  :  Nature' 
feems  transformed;  and  the  appearance  of 
all  things  is  blackened  to  our  view.  The 
gentle  mind  is  like  the  fmooth  flream, 
which  reflects  every  object  in  its  juft  pro- 
portion, and  in  its  faireft  colours.  The 
violent  fpirit,  like  troubled  waters,  renders 
back  the  images  of  things  diftorted  and 
broken ;  and  communicates  to  them  all 
that  difordered  motion  which  arifes  folely 
from  its  own  agitation.  Ibid. 

§  93.  The  Man  of  gentle  Marnier s  is  fit- 
perior  to  frivolous  Offences  and  flight 
Provocations, 

As  foon  may  the  waves  of  the  fea  ceafe 
to  roll,  as  provocations  to  arife  from  hu- 
man corruption  and  frailty.  Attacked  by- 
great  injuries,  the  man  of  mild  land  gentle 
fpirit  will  feel  what  human  nature  feels ; 
and  will  defend  and  refent,  as  his  duty 
allows  him.  But  to  thofe  flight  provo- 
cations, and  frivolous  offences,  which  are 
the  moll  frequent  caufes  of  difquiet,  he  is 
happily  fuperior.  Hence  his  days  flow  in 
a  far  more  placid  tenor  than  thofe  of 
others ;  exempted  from  the  numberlefs 
diicompofures  which  agitate  vulgar  minds. 
Infpired  with  higher  fentiments ;  taught 
to  regard,  with  indulgent  eye,  the  frailties 
of  men,  the  omimons  of  the  carelefs,  the 
follies  of  the  imprudent,  and  the  levity  of 
the  fickle,  he  retreats  into  the  calmnefs  of 
his  fpirit,  as  into  an  undifturbed  fancluary  ; 
and  quietly  allows  the  ufual  current  of  life 
to  hold  its  courfe.  Ibid. 


94' 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


73 


§  04.  Pride  f  Us  the  World  with  Harjhnefs 
and  Severity. 
Let  me  advife  you  to  view  your  cha- 
racter with  an  impartial  eye ;  and  to  learn, 
from  your  own  failings,  to  give  that  in- 
dulgence which  in  your  turn  you  claim. 
It  is  pride  which  fills  the  world  with  fo 
much  harfhnefs  and  feverity.  In  the  ful- 
nefs  of  felf-eftimation,  we  forget  what  we 
are,  we  claim  attentions  to  which  we  are 
not  entitled.  We  are  rigorous  to  offences, 
as  if  we  had  never  offended  ;  unfeeling  to 
diftrefs,  as  if  we  knew  not  what  it  was  to 
fuffer.  From  thofe  airy  regions  of  pride 
and  folly,  let  us  defcend  to  our  proper 
level.  Let  us  furvey  the  natural  equality 
on  which  Providence  has  placed  man  with 
man,  and  reflect  on  the  infirmities  com- 
mon to  all.  If  the  reflection  on  natural 
equality  and  mutual  offences  be  infufficient 
to  prompt  humanity,  let  us  at  lead:  confider 
wmH  we  are  in  the  fight  of  God.  Have 
we  none  of  that  forbearance  to  give  one 
another,  which  we  all  fo  earneftly  entreat 
from  Heaven  ?  Can  we  look  for  clemency 
or  gentlenefs  from  our  Judge,  when  we 
are  fo  backward  to  (hew  it  to  our  own 
brethren  ?  Blair. 

§   95.     Violence  and  Contention  often  caufed 
by  Trifles  and  imaginary  Ml/chiefs.. 

Accuftom  yourfelves,  alfo,  to  reflect  on 
the  fmall  moment  of  thofe  things  which 
are  the  ufual  incentives  to  violence  and 
contention.  In  the  ruffled  and  angry  hour, 
we  view  every  appearance  through  a  falfe 
j.iedium.  The  moil  inconfiderable  point 
of  intereit,  or  honour,  fwells  into  a  momen- 
tous objeft  ;  and  the  flighteft  attack  feems 
to  threaten  immediate  ruin.  But  after 
paffion  or  pride  has  fubfided,  we  look 
round  in  vain  for  the  mighty  mifchiefs  we 
dreaded  :  the  fabric,  which  our  difturbed 
imagination  had  reared,  totally  disappears. 
But  though  the  caufe  of  contention  has 
dwindled  away,  its  confequences  remain. 
We  have  alienated  a  friend  ;  we  have  em- 
bittered an  enemy ;  we  have  fown  the 
feeds  of  future  fufpicion,  malevolence,  or 
difguft. — Sufpend  your  violence,  I  befeech 
you,  for  a  moment,  when  caufes  of  difcord 
occur.  Anticipate  that  period  of  coolnefs, 
which,  of  itfelf,  will  foon  arrive.  Allow 
yourfelvec  to  think,  how  little  you  have  any 
profpect  of  gaining  by  fier.ee  contention; 
but  how  much  of  the  true  happinefs  of  life 
you  are  certain  of  throwing  away.  E.afily, 
and   from,  ;h?   frnaileft   chink,  the  bitter 


waters  of  ftrife  are  let  forth ;  but  their 
courfe  cannot  be  forefeen ;  and  he  feldom 
fails  of  fuffering  moft  from  the  poifonous 
effecl,  who  firft  allowed  them  to  flow. 

Ibid. 

§  96.  Gentlenefs  beft  promoted  by  religious 
Views. 
But  gentlenefs  will,  moft  of  all,  be  pro- 
moted by  frequent  views  of  thofe  great 
objects  which  our  holy  religion  prefents. 
Let  the  profpecls  of  immortality  fill  your 
minds.  Look  upon  this  world  as  a  Mate  of 
paffage.  Confider  yourfelves  as  engaged 
in  the  purfuit  of  higher  interefts;  as  acling 
now,  under  the  eye  of  God,  an  introduc- 
tory part  to  a  more  important  fcene.  Ele- 
vated by  fuch  fentiments,  your  minds  will 
become  calm  and  fedate.  You  will  look 
down,  as  from  a  fuperior  ftation,  on  the 
petty  difturbances  of  the  world.  They  are 
the  felfiih,  the  fenfual,  and  the  vain,  who 
are  molt  fubject  to  the  impotence  of 
paffion.  They  are  linked  fo  clofely  to  the 
world;  by  fo  many  fides  they  touch  every 
objedt,  and  every  perfon  around  them,  that 
they  are  perpetually  hurt,  and  perpetually 
hurting  others.  But  the  fpirit  of  true  re- 
ligion removes  us  to  a  proper  diitance  from 
the  grating  objedts  of  worldly  contentions. 
It  leaves  us  fufficiently  connected  with  the 
world,  for  acting  our  part  in  it  with  pro- 
priety ;  but  difengages  us  from  it  fo  far, 
as  to  weaken  its  power  of  dilturbing  our 
tranquillity.  Itinfpires  magnanimity;  and 
magnanimity  always  breathes  gentlenefs. 
It  leads  us  to  view  the  follies  of  men  with 
pity,  not  with  rancour;  and  to  treat,  with 
the  mildnefs  of  a  fuperior  nature,  what  in 
little  minds  would  call  forth  all  the  bitter- 
nefs  of  paffion.  Ibid. 

%  qj.  Gentlenefs  to  be  affumed,  as  the  Or- 
nament of  every  Age  and  Station  ;  but  to 
be  dijlinguijhed  from  poliped  or  ajfecled 
Manners. 

Aided  by  fuch  confiderations,  let  us  cul- 
tivate that  gentle  wifdom  which  is,  in  fo 
many  refpefts,  important  both  to  our  duty 
and  our  happinefs.  Let  us  affume  it  as 
the  ornament  of  every  age,  and  of  every 
flation.  Let  it  temper  the  petulance  of 
youth,  and  foften  the  morofenefs  of  old 
age.  Let  it  mitigate  authority  in  thofe 
who  rule,  and  promote  deference  among 
thofe  who  obey.  I  conclude  with  repeat- 
ing the  caution,  not  to  millake  for  true 
gentlenefs,  that  fiimfy  imitation  of  it,  cal- 
led poiilhed  manners;,  which  often,  among 

the 


74 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  men  of  the  world,  under  a  fmooth  appear- 
ance, conceals  much  afperity.  Let  yours 
be  native  gentlenefs  of  heart,  flowing  from 
the  love  of  God,  and  the  love  of  man. 
Unite  this  amiable  fpirit,  with  a  proper 
zeal  for  all  that  is  right,  and  juft,  and.  true. 
Let  piety  be  combined  in  your  character 
with  humanity.  Let  determined  integrity 
dwell  in  a  mild  and  gentle  bread.  A  cha- 
racter thus  fupported,  will  command  more 
real  refpect  than  can  be  procured  by  the 
mod  (liming  accomplifhments,  when  fepa- 


. 


ited  from  virtue. 


Blair. 


§ 


98.  The  Stings  of  Poverty,  D  if  cafe,  and 
Violence,  lefs  pungent  than  thofe  of  guilty 
Pafions. 

AfTemble  all  the  evils  which  poverty, 
difeafc,  or  violence  can  inflict,  and  their 
flings  will  be  found,  by  far,  lefs  pungent 
than  thofe  which  guilty  paffions  dirt  into 
the  heart.  Amidd  the  ordinary  calamities 
of  the  world,  the  mind  can  exert  its  powers, 
and  fuggeil  relief:  and  the  mind  is  pro- 
perly the  man ;  the  fufFerer,  and  his  fuf- 
ferings,  can  be  didlnguifhed.  But  thofe 
diforders  of  pa 'lion,  by  feizing  directly  on 
the  mind,  attack  human  nature  in  its 
flrong  hold,  and  cut  off  its  lad  refource. 
They  penetrate  to  the  very  feat  of  fen- 
fation ;  and  convert  all  the  powers  of 
thought  into  hidruments  of  torture. 

Ibid: 

%  99.     The  Balance  ofHappinefs  equal. 

An  extenfive  contemplation  of  human 
affairs,  will  lead  us  to  this  concluflcn,  that 
;  the  different  conditions  ana  ranks 
of  m  -i,  the  balance  of  happinefs  is  pre- 
in  a  great  meafure  equal;  and  that 
the  high  and  the  low,    the   rich  and  the 
poor,  approach,  in  point  of  real  enjoyment, 
much  nearer  to  each  other,  than  is  com- 
monly   imagined.     In    the    lot    of    man, 
mutual    compensations,    both    of  pleafure 
and  of  pain,  univerfally  take  place.     Pro- 
vidence never  intended,  that  any  date  here 
fhould  he  either  completely  happy,  or  en- 
rable.     If  the  feelings  of  plea- 
fure are  more  numerous,  and  more  lively, 
in   the  higher  departments    of  life,    fuch 
alio  are  thofe  of  pain.     If  greatnefs  flatters 
our  vanity,  it  multiplies  our  dangers.     If 
opulence  increafes  our  gratifications,  it  in- 
s,  in  the  fame  proportion,  ourdefires 
and  demands.     If  the  poor  are  confined  to 
a  more  narrow  circle,  yet  within  that  circle 
lie  mi  ft  of  thofe  natural  fatisfaftions  which, 
refinea  ,.■- ,  of  ^r' .  arc  found 


to  be  the  mod  genuine  and  true — In 
date,  therefore,  where  there  is  neither  fo 
much  to  be  coveted  on  the  one  hand,  nor 
to  be  dreaded  en  the  ether,  as  at  firft  ap- 
pears, how  fubmiflive  ought  we  to  be  to 
the  difpofal  of  Providence  !  How  tem- 
perate in  our  defires  and  purfuits  !  How 
much  more  attentive  to  preferve  our  vir- 
tue, and  to  improve  our  minds,  than  to 
gain  the  doubtful  and  equivocal  advantages 
of  worldly  profpenty  !  Ibid. 


§  100.  The  trueft  Mi/cry  arifes  from  the 
Pafions  of  Man  in  his  prefent  fallen  and 
dijiurbe'l  Condition. 

From  this  train  of  obfervation,  can  one 
avoid  reflecting  upon  the  diforder  in  which 
human  nature  plainly  appears  at  prefent 
to  lie  ?  We  behold,  in  Haman,  the  pic- 
ture of  that  mifery,  which  arifes  from  evil 
paffions ;  of  that  unhappinefs,  which  is  in- 
cident to  the  highefl  profperity ;  of  that 
difcontent,  which  is  common  to  every  date. 
Whether  we  conflder  him  as  a  bad  man, 
a  profperous  man,  or  limply  as  a  man,  in 
every  light  we  behold  reafon  too  weak  for 
paffion.  This  is  the  fource  of  the  reigning 
evil ;  this  is  the  root  of  the  univerfal  dif- 
eafe.  The  dory  of  Haman  only  fhews  us, 
what  human  nature  has  too  generally  ap- 
peared to  be  in  every  age.  Hence,  when 
we  read  the  hiflory  of  nations,  what  do  we 
read  but  the  hidory  of  the  follies  and 
crimes  of  men  ?  We  may  dignify  thofe 
recorded  tranfaetions,  by  calling  them  the 
intrigues  of  datefmen,  and  the  exploits  of 
conquerors ;  but  they  are,  in  truth,  no 
other  than  the  efforts  of  difcontent  to 
efcape  from  its  mifery,  and  the  druggies, 
of  contending  pafaons  among  unhappy 
men.  The  hidory  of  mankind  has  ever 
been  a  continued  tragedy;  the  world,  a 
great  theatre,  exhibiting  the  fame  repeated 
fcene,  of  the  follies  of  men  ihooting  forth 
into  guilt,  and  of  their  paffions  ferment* 
ing,  by  a  quick  procefs,  into  mifery. 

Ibid. 

§  1 01.  Our  Nature  to  be  reftcred  by  ufng 
the  Ajjijlance  of  Revelation. 
But  can  we  believe,  that  the  nature  of 
man  came  forth  in  this  date  from  the 
hands  of  its  gracious  Creator  ?  Did  he 
frame  this  world,  and  dore  it  with  inha- 
bitants, folely  that  it  might  be  replenilhed 
with  crimes  and  misfortunes  ? — In  the 
moral,  as  well  as  in  the  natural  world,  we 
may  plainly  difcern  the  iigns  of  fome  vio- 
lent cORtulion,  which  has  mattered  the  ori- 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


75 


ginalvvorkmanihipofthe  Almighty.  Anvift 
this  wreck  of  human  nature,  traces  frill  re- 
main which  indicate  its  author.  Thofe  high 
powers  of  confidence  and  reaion,  that  capa- 
city for  happinefs.  that  ardour  of  enterprize, 
that  glow  of  affection,  which  often  break 
through  the  gloom  of  human  vanity  and 
guilt,  are  like  the  fcattered  columns,  the 
broken  arches,  and  defaced  fculptures  of 
Come  fallen  temple,  whofe  ancient  fplendour 
appears  amidft  its  ruins.  So  confpicuous 
in  human  nature  are  thofe  characters,  both 
of  a  high  origin  and  of  a  degraded  ilate, 
that,  by  many  religious  fedls  throughout 
the  earth,  they  have  been  feen  and  con- 
feffed.  A  tradition  feems  to  have  per- 
vaded almofl  all  nations,  that  the  human 
race  had  either,  through  fome  offence,  for- 
feited, or  through  fome  misfortune,  loft, 
that  flation  of  primaeval  honour,  which 
they  once  pofTefled.  But  while,  from  this 
doctrine,  ill  underftood,  and  involved  in 
many  fabulous  tales,  the  nations  wandering 
in  Pagan  darknefs  could  draw  no  con- 
fequences  that  were  juft;  while,  totally 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  difeafe,  they 
fought  in  vain  for  the  remedy ;  the  fame 
divine  revelation,  which  has  informed  us  in 
what  manner  our  apoflacy  arofe,  from  the 
abufe  of  our  rational  powers,  has  inftrucV 
ed  us  alfo  how  we  may  be  reflored  to 
virtue  and  to  happinefs. 

Let  us,  therefore,  fludy  to  improve  the 
affiflance  which  this  revelation  affords,  for 
the  reftoration  of  our  nature  and  the  re- 
covery of  our  felicity.  With  humble  and 
grateful  minds,  let  us  apply  to  thofe  medi- 
cinal fprings  which  it  hath  opened,  for 
curing  the  diforders  of  our  heart  and  paf- 
fions.  In  this  view,  let  us,  with  reverence, 
look  up  to  that  Divine  Perfonage,  who 
defcended  into  this  world,  on  purpofe  to  be 
the  light  and  the  life  of  men :  who  came, 
in  the  fulnefs  of  grace  and  truth,  to  repair 
the  defolations  of  many  generations,  to 
reftore  order  among  the  works  of  God, 
and  to  raife  up  a  new  earth,  and  new  hea- 
vens, wherein  righteoufnefs  fhould  dwell 
for  ever.  Under  his  tuition  let  us  put 
ourfelves ;  and  amidft  the  ftorms  of  paffion 
to  which  we  are  here  expofed,  and  the 
flippery  paths  which  we  are  left  to  tread, 
never  truft  prefumptuoufly  to  our  own  un- 
derftanding.  Thankful  that  a  heavenly 
conductor  vouchfafes  his  aid,  let  us  ear- 
neftly  pray,  that  from  him  may  defcend 
divine  light  to  guide  our  fteps,  and  divine 
ftrength  to  fortify  our  minds.  Let  us 
pay,  that  his  grace  may  keep  us  from  all 


intemperate  paffions,  and  miflaken  tmr- 
fuits  of  pleafure ;  that  whether  it  fhall  be 
his  will,  to  give  or  to  deny  us  earthly  prof- 
pefity,  he  may  bleis  us  with  a  calm,  a 
found,  and  well-regulated  mind  ;  may  give 
us  moderation  in  fuccefs,  and  fortitude 
under  difappointment ;  and  may  enable  us 
fo  to  take  warning  from  the  crimes  and 
miferies  of  others,  as  to  efcape  the  fnares 
of  guilt.  Blair. 

§  1 02.  The  Happinefs  of  every  Man  de- 
pends more  upon  the  State  of  his  ocw?j 
Mind,  than  upon  any  external  Circum- 
Jlance  whatever. 

While  we  thus  maintain  a  due  depen* 
dence  on  God,' let  us  alio  exert  ourfelves 
with  care,  in  acting  our  own  part.  From 
the  whole  of  what  has  been  faid,  this  im- 
portant inftrucYion  arifes,  that  the  happi- 
nefs of  every  man  depends  more  upon  the 
ftate  of  his  own  mind,  than  upon  any  one 
external  circumftance  ;  nay,  more  than 
upon  all  external  things  put  together. 
We  have  feen,  that  inordinate  paffions  are 
the  great  difturbers  of  life ;  and  that  un- 
lefs  we  poflefs  a  good  confeience,  and  a 
well -governed  mind,  diicontent  will  blafl 
every  enjoyment,  and  the  higheft  proiperity 
will  prove  only  difguifed  mifery.  Fix 
then  this  conciufion  in  your  minds,  that 
the  deflru&ion  of  your  virtue  is  the  deflruc- 
tion  of  your  peace.  Keep  thy  heart  with 
all  diligence ;  govern  it  with  the  greateft 
care ;  for  out  of  it  are  the  iffues  of  life. 
In  no  flation,  in  no  period,  think  your- 
felves  fecure  from  the  dangers  which 
fpring  from  your  paffions.  Every  age,  and 
every  flation,  they  befet ;  from  youth  to 
grey  hairs,  and  from  the  peafant  to  the 
prince.  Ibid. 

§    103.     At  firfi  fetting  out  in  Life,  beware 
of  feducing  Appearances. 

At  your  firfl  fetting  out  in  life  efpe- 
cially,  when  yet  unacquainted  with  the 
world  and  its  fnares,  when  every  pleafure 
enchants  with  its  fmile,  and  every  object 
fhines  with  the  glofs  of  novelty;  beware 
of  the  feducing  appearances  which  fur- 
round  you,  and  recollect  what  others  have 
fuffered  from  the  power  of  headftrong 
defire.  If  you  allow  any  paffion,  even 
though  it  be  efleemed  innocent,  to  acquire 
an  abfolute  afcendant,  your  inward  peace 
will  be  impaired.  But  if  any  which  ha3 
the  taint  of  guilt,  take  early  poffeffion  of 
your  mind,  you  may  date  from  that  mo- 
ment the  ruin  of  your  tranquillity. — Nor 

with 


76 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


with  the  feafon  of  youth  does  the  peril 
end.  To  the  irnpetuofity  of  youthful  de- 
ftre,  fucceed  the  more  fober,  but  no  lei's 
dangerous,  attachments  of  advancing 
years ;  when  the  pafiions  which  are  con- 
nected with  intereit  and  ambition  begin 
their  reign,  and  too  frequently  extend  their 
malignant  influence,  even  over  thofe  periods 
of  life  which  ought  to  be  moil:  tranquil, 
prom  the  firit  to  the  laii  of  man's  abode 
on  earth,  the  difcipline  mult,  never  be  re- 
laxed, of  guarding  the  heart  from  the  do- 
minion of  paffion.  Eager  pafiions,  and 
violent  defires,  were  not  made  for  man. 
They  exceed  his  fphere :  they  find  no 
adequate  objects  on  earth ;  and  oi  courfe 
can  be  productive  of  nothing  but  mifery. 
The  certain  confequence  of  indulging 
them  is,  that  there  {hall  come  an  evil  day, 
when  the  anguiih  of  difappointment  fhall 
drive  us  to  acknowledge,  that  all  which 
we  enjoy  availeth  us  nothing. 

Blair, 

§  104.     Enthujiafm    Icjs   pernicious    to    the 

Mind  than   Coldnefs    and  Indifference  in 

Religion* 

But  whatever  abfurdities  may  a  rife  from 
the  fancied  ardours  of  enthuiiafm,  they  are 
much  lefs  pernicious  than  the  contrary 
extreme  of  coldnefs  and  indifference  in  re- 
ligion. The  fpirit  of  chivalry,  though  it 
led  to  many  romantic  enterprizes,  was  ne- 
verthelefs  favourable  to  true  courage,  as  it 
excited  and  nourifhed  magnanimity  and 
contempt  of  danger;  which,  though  fome- 
times  wafted  in  abfurd  undertakings,  were 
of  the  greatelt  ufe  on  real  and  proper  oc- 
casions. The  nobleft  energies  of  which 
we  are  capable,  can  fcarcely  be  called  cat 
without  fome  degree  of  enthuiiafm,  in 
whatever  caufe  we  are  engaged ;  and  thofe 
fentiments  which  tend  to  the  exaltation  of 
human  nature,  though  they  may  often  ex- 
cite attempts  beyond  the  human  powers, 
will,  however,  prevent  our  flopping  fhort 
of  them,  and  lofmg,  by  carelcfs  indolence 
and  felf-deiertion,  the  greateit  part  of  that 
itrength  with  which  we  really  are  en- 
dued. 

How  common  is  it  for  thofe  who  profefs 
(and  perhaps  fmcerely)  to  believe  with 
entire  perfuafion  the  truth  of  the  gofpel,  to 
declare  that  they  do  not  pretend  to  frame 
their  lives  according  to  the  purity  of  its 
moral  precepts  !  «  I  hope,"  fay  they, 
"  I  am  guilty  of  no  great  crimes ;  but  the 
"  cuftoms  of  the  world  in  thefe  times  will 
*'  not  admit  of  a  conduct  agreeable  either 


"  to  region  or  revelation.  I  know  the 
, "  courfe  of  life  I  am  in  is  wrong;  I  know 
"  that  I  am  engroffed  by  the  world — that 
"  J  have  no  time  for  reflection,  nor  for 
"  the  practice  of  many  duties  which  I  ac- 
"  knowledge  to  be  fuch.  .But  I  know  not.- 
"  how  it  is — 1  do  not  find  that  I  can  alter 
"  my  way  of  living." — Thus  they  coolly 
and  contentedly  give  themfelves  up  to  a 
conflant  courfe  of  diffipation,  and  a  general 
worthleffhefs  of  character,  which,  I  fear,  is 
as  little  favourable  to  their  happinefs  here 
or  hereafter,  as  the  occafionai  commiilion 
of  crimes  at  which  they  would  flart 
and  tremble.  The  habitual  neglect  of  all 
that  is  moil  valuable  and  important,  of 
children,  friends,  fervants — of  neighbours 
and  dependants — of  the  poor — of  God— » 
and  of  their  own  minds,  they  confider  as 
an  excufable  levity,  and  fatisfy  themfelves 
with  laying  the  blame  on  the  manners  of 
the  times. 

If  a  modern  lady  of  faihion  was  to  be 
called  to  account  for  the  difpofition  of  her 
time,  I  imagine  her  defence  would  run  in 
this  ftyle  : — "  I  can't,  you  know,  be  out 
"  of  the  world,  nor  aft  differently  from 
"  every  body  in  it.  The  hours  are  every 
"  where  late — confequently  I  rife  late.  I 
"  have  fcarce  breakfafted  before  morning 
"  vifits  begin,  or  'tis  time  to  go  to  an 
"  auction,  or  a  concert,  or  to  take  a  little 
"  exercife  for  my  health.  Drefiing  my 
"  hair  is  a  long  operation,  but  one  can't 
"  appear  with  a  head  unlike  every  body 
"  elfe.  One  muil  fometimes  go  to  a  play, 
"  or  an  opera ;  though  I  own  it  hurries 
"  one  to  death.  Then  what  with  necef- 
"  fary  vifits — the  perpetual  engagements 
"  to  card-parties  at  p  ivate  houfes — and 
"  attendance  on  public  affembiies,  to 
"  which  all  people  of  faihion  fubferibe, 
"  the  evenings,  you  fee,  are  fully  difpof- 
"  ed  of.  What  time  then  can  I  pofiibly 
"  have  for  what  you  call  domeilic  duties  ? 
"  — You  talk  of  the  offices  and  enjoy- 
"  ments  of  friendihip — alas !  I  have  no 
"  hours  left  for  friends  !  I  rnufl  fee  them 
"  in  a  crowd,  or  not  at  all.  As  to  culti- 
"  vating  the  friendiliip  of  my  hufband,  we 
"  are  very  civil  when  we  meet ;  but  we  are 
"  both  too  much  engaged  to  fpend  mucli 
"  time  with  each  other.  With  regard  to 
"  my  daughters,  I  have  given  them  a 
"  French  governefs,  and  proper  mailers 
"  — I  can  do  no  more  for  them.     You  tell 

«'  me,  I  ihould  inilruft  my  fervants 

"  but  I  have  not  time  to  inform  myfela 
<«  much  lefs  can  I  undertake  any  thing  of 

w  thai 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


11 


*'  that  fort  for  them,  or  even  be  able  to 
"  guefs  what  they  do  with  themfelves  the 
"  greateit  part  of  the  twenty-four  hours. 
"  I  go  to  church,  if  poffible,  once  on  a 
*'  Sunday,  and  then  fome  of  my  fervants 
"  attend'  me ;  and  if  they  will  not  m  nd 
«<  what  the  preacher  fays,  how  can  I  help 
«  it  ?  —  The  management  of  our  fortune, 
"  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  mult  leave 
"  to  the  fteward  and  houfekeeper ;  for  I 
"  find  I  can  barely  match  a  quarter  of  an 
"  hour  juft  to  lock  over  the  bill  of  fare 
"  when  I  am  to  have  company,  that  they 
"  may  not  fend   up  any  thing  frightful  or 

*  old-faihioned — As  to  the  Chriitian  duty 
"  of  charity,  I  allure  you  I  am  not  ill— 
"  natured;  and  (confidering  that  the  great 
".expence  of  being  always  drell  for  com- 
|f  pany,  with  loffes  at  cards,  fubfcriptions, 
"  and  public  fpectacles,  leave  me  very 
"  little  to  difpofe  of)  I  am  ready  enough 
"  to  give  my  money  when  I  meet  with  a 

*  miierable  object.  You  fay  I  mould  en- 
"  quire  out  fuch,  inform  myfelf  thoroughly 
"  of  their  cafes,  make  an  acquaintance 
"  with  the  poor  of  my  neighbourhood  in 
"  the  country,  and  plan  out  the  bell 
"  methods  of  relieving  the  unfortunate 
"  and  affifting  the  indultrious.  But  this 
"  fuppofes  much  more  time,  and  much 
"  more  money,  than  I  have  to  bellow. — I 
"  have  had  hopes  indeed  that  my  fummers 
"  would  have  afforded  me  more  leiiure ; 
f*  but  we  Hay  pretty  late  in  town  ;  then 
*'  we  generally  pafs  feveral  weeks  at  one 
"  or  other  of  the  water-drinking  places, 
"  where  every  moment  is  lpent  in  public; 
"  and,  for  the  few  months  in  which  we 
"  relide  at  our  own  fe.At,  our  houfe  is 
"  always  full,  with  a  fucceflion  of  com- 
"  pany,  to  whofe  amuiement  one  is  obliged 
"  to  dedicate  every  hour  of  the  day." 

So  here  ends  the  account  of  that  time 
which  was  given  you  to  prepare  and  edu- 
cate yourfelf  for  eternity? — Yet  you  be- 
lieve the  immortality  of  the  foul,  and  a 
future  ltate  of  rewards  and  puniihments. 
Afk  your  own  heart  what  rewards  you  de- 
ferve,  or  what  kind  of  felicity  you  are  fitted 
to  enjoy?  — Which  of  thole  faculties  or 
affections,  which  heaven  can  be  fuppofed 
to  gratify,  have  you  cultivated  -and  im- 
proved?  If,  in  that  eternal  world,   the 

ilores  of  knowledge  ihould  be  laid  open 
before  you,  have  you  preferved  that  thirft. 
of  knowledge,  or  that  tafte  for  truth, 
which  is  now  to  be  indulged  with  endlefs 
information?  —  If,  in  the  fociety  of  faints 
and   angels,    the   pureii  benevolence  and 


moll  cordial  love  is  to  conllitute  your  hap- 
pinefs,  where  is  the  heart  that  lhduld  en- 
joy this  delightful  intercourfe  of  affection  ? 
— Has  your's  been  exercifed  and  refined 
to  a  proper  capacity  of  it  during  your 
ltate  of  difcipline,  by  the  energies  cf 
generous  friendship,  by  the  meltings  of 
parental  fondnefs,  or  by  that  union  of  heart 
and  foul,  that  mixed  exertion  of  perfect 
friendfhip  and  ineffable  tendernefs,  which 
approaches  nearelt  to  the  full  fatisfaction 
of  our  nature,  in  the  bands  of  conjugal 
love? — Alas!  you  fcarce  knew  you  had  a 
heart,  except  when  you  felt  it  fwell  with 
pride,  or  nutter  with  vanity! — Has  your 
piety  and  gratitude  to  the  Source  of  all 
Good,  been  exercifed  and  flrengthened  by 
conitant  acts  of  praife  and  thankfgiving  ? 
Was  it  nourished  by  frequent  meditation, 
and  filent  recollection  of  all  the  wonders 
he  hath  done  for  us,  till  it  burlt  forth  in  fer- 
vent prayer? — I  fear  it  was  rather  decency 
than  devotion,  that  carried  you  once  a 
week  to  the  place  of  public  worihip — and 
for  the  reft  of  the  week,  your  thoughts  and 
time  were  fo  very  diiferently  filled  up, 
that  the  idea  of  a  Ruler  of  the  univerfe 
could  occur  but  feldom,  and  then,  rather 
as  an  object  of  terror,  than  of  hope  and 
joy.  How  then  lhall  a  foul  fo  dead  to- 
divine  love,  fo  loll  to  all  but  the  molt 
childifh  purfuits,  be  able  to  exalt  and  en- 
large itfelf  to  a  capacity  of  that  blifs  which 
we  are  allowed  to  hope  for,  in  a  more  in- 
timate perception  of  the  divine  prefence, 
in  contemplating  more  nearly  the  per- 
fections of  our  Creator,  and  in  pouring 
out  before  his  throne  our  ardent  gratitude, 
love,  and  adoration? — What  kind  of  train- 
ing is  the  life  you  have  palled  through, 
for  fach  an  immortality ? 

And  dare  you  look  down  with  contempt 
on  thofe  whom  llrong  temptation  from  na- 
tural paflions,  or  a  train  of  unfortunate 
circumllances,  have  funk  into  the  com- 
miffion  of  what  you  call  great  crimes  ?— 
Dare  you  fpeak  peace  to  yoar  own  heart, 
becaufe  by  different  circumftances  you 
have  been  preferved  from  them  ? — Far  be 
it  from  me  to  wiih  to  leffen  the  horror  of 
crimes  ;  but  yet,  as  the  temptations  to 
thele  occur  but  feldom,  whereas  the  temp- 
tations to  neglect,  and  indifference  towards 
our  duty,  for  ever  furround  us,  it  may  be 
neceffary  to  awaken  ourfelves  to  fome 
calculation  of  the  proportions  between  fuch 
habitual  omiffion  of  all  that  is  good,  and 
the  commiffion  of  more  heinous  aits  of  fin ; 
between  waiting  our  own  life  in  what  is 

falfely 


78 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


falfely  called  innocent  amufement,  and  dif- 
gracing  it  by  faults  which  would  alarm 
fociety  nice,  though  poffibly  they  might 
injure  it  lefs.  Mrs.  Cbapone. 

%  105.  Of  the  difference  between  the  Ex- 
treme of  Negligence  and  Rigour  in  Re- 
ligion. 

How  amazing  is  the  diftance  between 
the  extreme  of  negligence  and  felf- indul- 
gence in  iuch  nominal  Chriitians,  and  the 
oppofite  excefs  of  rigour  which  fdme  have 
unhappily  thought  meritorious !  between  a 
Pafcal  (who  dreaded  the  influence  of  plea- 
sure fo  much,  as  to  wear  an  iron,  which 
lie  preffed  into  his  fide  whenever  he  found 
himfelf  taking  delight  in  any  object  of 
fenfe)  and  thole  who  think  life  lent  them 
only  to  be  fquandered  in  fenfelefs  diver- 
fions,  and  the  frivolous  indulgence  of 
vanity! — what  a  ftrange  compofition  is 
man  !  ever  diverging  from  the  right  line 
•—forgetting  the  true  end  of  his  being — 
or  widely  mirlaking  the  means  that  lead 
to  it. 

If  it  were  indeed  true  that  the  Supreme 
Being  had  made  it  the  condition  of  our 
future  happinefs,  that  we  fliould  ipend  the 
days  of  our  pilgrimage  here  on  earth  in 
voluntary  fuffering  and  mortification,  and 
a  continual  opposition  to  every  inclination 
of  nature,  it  would  furely  be  worth  while 
to  conform  even  to  thefe  conditions,  how- 
ever rigorous :  and  we  fee,  by  numerous 
examples,  that  it  is  not  more  than  human 
creatures  are  capable  of,  when  fully  per- 
fuaded  that  their  eternal  interefts  demand 
it.  But  if,  in  facl,  the  laws  of  God  are  no 
other  than  directions  for  the  better  enjoy- 
ment of  our  exigence — if  he  has  forbid  us 
nothing  that  is  not  pernicious,  and  com- 
manded nothing  that  is  not  highly  advan- 
tageous to  us~if,  like  a  beneficent  parent, 
he  inflicts  neither  punishment  nor  con- 
ftraint  unneceffarily,  but  makes  our  good 
the  end  of  all  his  injunctions — it  will  then 
appear  much  more  extraordinary  that  we 
ihould  perverfely  go  on  in  con'ftant  and 
acknowledged  neglect  of  thofe  injunc- 
tions. 

Is  there  a  fmgle  pleafbre  worthy  of  a 
rational  being,  which  is  not,  within  certain 
limitations,  confift ent  with  religion  and  vir- 
tue?—And  are  not  the  limits,  within  which 
we  are  permitted  to  enjoy  them,  the  fame 
which  are  prefcribed  by  reafon  and  nature, 
and  which  we  cannot  exceed  without  mani- 
fcjt  hurt  to  ourfelves,  or  others? — It  is  not 
the  life  of  a  hermit  that  is  enjoined  us ; 


it  is  only  the  life  of  a  rational  being,  form* 
ed  for  lociety,  capable  of  continual  im» 
provement,  and  confequently  of  continual 
advancement  in  happinefs. 

Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Worthy  are  nei- 
ther gloomy  afcetics,  nor  frantic  enthu- 
fiafts;  they  married  from  affection  on  lono- 
acquaintance,  and  perfect  efieem;  they 
therefore  enjoy  the  bell  pleafures  of  the 
heart  in  the  higher!  degree.  They  concur 
in  a  rational  fcheme  of  life,  which,  whilffc 
it  makes  them  always  chearful  and  happy, 
renders  them  the  friends  of  human-kind, 
and  the  bl effing  of  all  around  them.  They 
do  not  defert  their  ftation  in  the  world* 
nor  deny  themfelves  the  proper  and  mode- 
rate ufe  of  their  large  fortune;  though 
that  portion  of  it,  which  is  appropriated 
to  the  ufe  of  others,  is  that  from  which 
they  derive  their  highefl  gratifications. 
They  fpend  four  or  five  months  of  every 
year  in  London,  where  they  keep  up  an 
intercourfe  of  hofpitality  and  civility  with 
many  of  the  molt  refpectable  perfons  of 
their  own,  or  of  higher  rank  ;  but  have 
endeavoured  rather  at  a  felect.  than  a  nu- 
merous acquaintance  ;  and  as  they  never 
play  at  cards,  this  endeavour  has  the  more 
eafily  fucceeded.  Three  days  in  the  week, 
from  the  hour  of  dinner,  are  given  up  to 
this  intercourfe  with  what  may  be  called 
the  world.  Three  more  are  fpent  in  a 
family  way,  with  a  kxv  intimate  friends, 
whofe  taftes  are  conformable  to  their  own, 
and  with  whom  the  book  and  working- 
table,  or  fometimes  mufic,  fupply  the  in- 
tervals of  ufeful  and  agreeable  conver- 
fation.  In  thefe  parties  their  children  are 
always  prefent,  and  partake  of  the  im- 
provement that  arifes  from  fuch  fociety,  or 
from  the  well-cholen  pieces  which  are  read 
aloud.  The  feventh  day  is  always  fpent 
at  home,  after  the  due  attendance  on  pub- 
lic worfhip;  and  is  peculiarly  appropriated 
to  the  religious  inllruction  of  their  chil- 
dren and  fervants,  or  to  other  works  of 
charity.  As  they  keep  regular  iiours,  and 
rife  early,  and  as  Lady  Worthy  never  pays 
or  admits  morning  viiits,  they  have  feven 
or  eight  hours  in  every  day,  free  from  all 
interruption  from  the  world*  in  which  the 
cultivation  of  their  own  minds,  and  thofe 
of  their  children,  the  due  attention  to- 
health,  to  ceconomy,  and  to  the  poor,  are 
carried  on  in  the  moil  regular  manner. 

Thus,  even  in  London,  they  contrive, 
without  the  appearance  of  quarrelling  with 
the  world,  or  of  fhutting  themfelves  up 
from  it,  to  pate  the  greateil  part  of  their 

time 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


time  in  a  reasonable  and  ufeful,  as  well  as 
an  agreeable  manner.  1  he  reft  of  the 
year  they  fpend  at  their  family  feat  in  the 
country,  where  the  happy  effects  of  their 
example,  and  of  their  aifiduous  attention 
to  the  good  of  all  around  them,  are  Still 
more  obfervable  than  in  town.  Their 
neighbours,  their  tenants,  and  the  poor, 
for  many  miles  about  them,  find  in  them 
a  fure  refource  and  comfort  in  calamity, 
and  a  ready  affiftance  to  every  Scheme  of 
hone  it  induftry.  The  young  are  instructed 
at  their  expence,  and  under  their  direction, 
and  rendered  ufeful  at  the  earlieft  period 
poflible;  the  aged  and  the  fick  have  every 
comfort  administered  that  their  ftate  re- 
quires; the  idle  and  difiblute  are  kept  in 
awe  by  vigilant  infpection ;  the  quarrel- 
fome  are  brought,  by  a  fenfe  of  their  own 
interelt,  to  live  more  quietly  with  their 
family  and  neighbours,  and  amicably  to 
refer  their  difputes  to  Sir  Charles's  de- 
cifion. 

This  amiable  pair  are  not  lefs  highly 
prized  by  the  genteel  families  of.  their 
neighbourhood,  who  are  fure  of  finding  in 
their  houfe  the  molt  polite  and  chearful 
hofpitality,  and  in  them  a  fund  of  good 
fenfe  and  good  humour,  with  a  conftant 
difpofiticn  to  promote  every  innocent  plea- 
fure.  They  are  particularly  the  delight 
of  all  the  young  people,  who  confider  them 
as  their  patrons  and  their  oracles,  to  whom 
they  always  apply  for  advice  and  afliftance 
in  any  kind  of  diltrefe,  or  in  any  fcheme  of 
amufement. 

Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Worthy  are  fel- 
dom  without  fome  friends  in  the  houfe 
with  them  during  their  flay  in  the  country; 
but,  as  their  methods  are  known,  they  are 
never  broken  in  upon  by  their  guefts,  who 
do  not  expect  to  fee  them  till  dinner-time, 
except  at  the  hour  of  pTayer  and  of  break- 
faft.  In  their  private  walks  or  rides,  they 
ufually  vifit  the  cottages  of  the  labouring 
poor,  with  all  of  whom  they  are  perfonaliy 
acquainted ;  and  by  the  fweetnefs  and 
friendiinefs  of  their  manner,  as  well  as  by 
their  beneficent  actions,  they  fo  entirely 
pofTefs  the  hearts  of  thefe  people,  that  they 
are-  made  the  confidants  ofiall  their  family 
grievances,  and  the  cafuifts  to  fettle  all 
their  feruples  of  confidence  or  difficulties 
in  conduct.  By  this  method  of  conversing 
freely  with  them,  they  find  out  their  dif- 
ferent characters  and  capacities,  and  often 
difcover  and  apply  to  their  own  benefit, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  perfon  they  diitin- 


guifh,  talents,  which  would  otherwife  hav« 
been  for  ever  loft  to  the  public. 

From  this  flight  fketch  of  their  manner 
of  living,  can  it  be  thought  that  the  prac- 
tice of  virtue  cods  them  any  great  Sacri- 
fices? Do  they  appear  to  be  the  fervants 
of  a  hard  mailer  ?— It  is  true,  they  have  not 
the  amufement  of  gaming,  nor  do  they 
curie  themfelves  in  bitternefs  of  foul,  for 
Iofing  the  fortune  Providence  had  be- 
llowed upon  them  :  they  are  not  conti- 
nually in  public  places,  nor  Stifled  in 
crowded  aflemblies ;  nor  are  their  hours 
confumed  in  an  infipid  interchange  of  un- 
meaning chat  with  hundreds  of  fine  peo- 
ple who  are  perfectly  indifferent  to  them  ; 
but  then,  in  return,  the  Being  whom  they 
ferve  indulges  them  in  the  belt  pieafares 
of  love,  of  friendihip,  of  parental  and 
family  affection,  of  divine  beneficence,  and 
a  piety,  which  chiefly  confilts  in  joyful 
aits  of  love  and  praife ! — not  to  mention 
the  delights  they  derive  from  a  taite  un- 
corrupted  and  frill  alive  to  natural  plea- 
fures;  from  the  beauties  of  nature,  and 
from  cultivating  thofe  beauties  joined  with 
utility  in  the  fcenes  around  them  ;  and 
above  all,  from  that  flow  of  fpirits,  which 
a  life  of  activity,  and  the  conftant  exertion 
of  right  affections,  naturally  produce. 
Compare  their  countenances  with  thofe  of 
the  wretched  flaves  of  the  world,  who  are 
hourly  complaining  of  fatigue,  of  liftleST- 
nefs,  diflafte,  and  vapours;  and  who,  with 
faded  cheeks  and  worn  out  conftitutions, 
ftill  continue  to  haunt  the  fcenes  where 
once  their  vanity  found  gratification,  but 
where  they  now  meet  only  with  mortifi- 
cation and  difguit;  then  tell  me,  which 
has  chofen  the  happier  plan,  admitting  for 
a  moment  that  no  future  penalty  was  an- 
nexed to  a  wrong  choice  ?  Liften  to  the 
character  that  is  given  of  Sir  Charles 
Worthy  and  his  Lady,  wherever  they  are 
named,  and  then  tell  me,  whether  even 
your  idol,  the  world,  is  not  more  favour- 
able  to  them  than  to  you. 

Perhaps  it  is  vain  to  think  of  recalling 
thofe  \vhom  long  habits,  and  the  eftablifh- 
ed  tyranny  of  pride  and  vanity,  have  almoft 
precluded  from  a  pofEbility  of  imitating 
fuch  patterns,  and  in  whom  the  very  defire' 
of  amendment  is  extinguished ;  but  for 
thofe  who  are  now  entering  oh  the  ftage  of 
life,  and  who  have  their  parts  to  choofe, 
how  earneftly  could  I  wifh  for  the  fpirit  of 
perfuafion — for  fuch  a  "  warning  voice" 
as  Should  make  itfelf  heard  amidlt  all  the 

gay 


So 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


gay  buftle  that  furrounds  them!  it  fhould 
cry  to  them  without  ceafing,  not  to  be  led 
away  by  the  crowd  of  fools,  without  know- 
ing whither  they  are  going — >not  to  ex- 
change real  happinefs  for  the  empty  name 
of  pleafure — not  to  prefer  fafhion  to  im- 
mortality— and,  not  to  fancy  it  pofiible  for 
them  to  be  innocent,  and  at  the  fame  time 
Jlielefs.  Mrs.  Chapone. 

§    1 06.     Virtue  Mali's  true  Inter  eft. 

I  find  myfelf  exifting  upon  a  little  fpot, 
furrounded  every  way  by  an  immenfe  un- 
known expanfion— Where  am  1  ?  What 
fort  of  place  do  I  inhabit  ?  Is  it  exactly 
accommodated,  in  every  inftance,  to  my 
convenience?  Is  there  no  excels  of  cold, 
none  of  heat,  to  offend  me?  Am  I  never 
annoyed  by  animals,  either  of  my  own 
kind,  or  a  different  ?  Is  every  thing  fub- 
fervient  to  me,  as  though  I  had  ordered  all 
myfelf? — No— nothing  like  it — the  far- 
theft  from  it  poffible. — The  world  appears 
not,  then,  originally  made  for  the  private 
convenience  of  me  alone  ? — It  does  not.— 
But  is  it  not  poffble  fo  to  accommodate  it, 
by  my  own  particular  induftry  ?  If  to  ac- 
commodate man  and  beaft,  heaven  and 
earth,  if  this  be  beyond  me,  'tis  not  pofli- 
ble — What  confequence  then  follows  ?  or 
can  there  be  any  other  than  this — If  I  feek 
an  intereft  of  my  own,  detached  from  that 
of  others,  I  feek  an  intereil  which  is  chi- 
merical, and  can  never  have  exiftence? 

How  then  mull  I  determine?  Have  I 
no  intereft  at  all  ? — If  I  have  not,  I  am  a 
fool  for  flaying  here.  5Tis  a  fmcky  houfe; 
and  the  fooner  out  of  it  the  better.— But 
why  no  intereft  ?  —  Can  I  be  contented 
with  none,  but  one  feparate  and  detached  ? 
Is  a  facial  intereft,  joined  with  others,  fuch 
an  abfurdity  as  not  to  be  admitted?— The 
bee,  the  beaver,  and  the  tribes  of  herding 
animals,  are  enow  to  convince  me,  that  the 
tiling  is  fomewhere  at  lead  poffible.  How, 
then,  am  I  allured  that  'tis  not  equally  true 
of  man?  —  Admit  it;  and  what  follows? 
If  fo,  then  honour  and  juftice  are  my  in- 
tereft; then  the  whole  train  of  moral  vir- 
tues are  my  intereft;  without fome  portion 
of  which,  not  even  thieves  can  maintain 
fecicty. 

But,  farther  ftill — 1  flop  not  here—I 
purfue  this  fecial  intereft,  as  far  as  I  can 
trace  my  feveral  relations.  I  pafs  from 
my  own  fleck,  my  own  neighbourhood, 
my  own  nation,  to  the  whole  race  of  man- 
kind,  as  difperfed  throughout  the  earth. 
—Am  I  not  related  to  them  ail  by  the 


mutual  aids  of  commerce,  by  the  general 
intercourfe  of  arts  and  letters,  by  that 
common  nature  of  which  we  all  partici- 
pate ? 

Again— I  muft  have  food  and  cloath- 
ing.- — Without  a  proper  genial  warmth, 
I  inftantly  perifh.- — Am  I  not  related,  in 
this  view,  to  the  very  earth  itfelf  ?  to  the 
diltant  fun,  from  whofe  beams  I  derive 
vigour?  to  that  ftupendous  courfe  and  or- 
der of  the  infinite  hoft  of  heaven,  by  which 
the  times  and  feafons  ever  uniformly  pafs 
on? — Were  this  order  once  confounded,  I 
could  not  probably  furvive  a  moment;  fo 
abfolutely  do  I  depend  on  this  common 
general  welfare.— What,  then,  have  I  to 
do,  but  to  enlarge  virtue  into  piety  ?  Not 
only  honour  and  juftice,  and  what  I  owe  to 
man,  is  my  intereft ;  but  gratitude  alio, 
acquiescence,  refignation,  adoration,  and 
all  I  owe  to  this  great  polity,  and  its 
greater  governor  our  common  parent. 

Harris. 

§    107.      On  Gratitude. 

There  is  not  a  more  pleafing  exerciie  of 
the  mind,  than  gratitude. 

It  is  accompanied  with  fuch  inward 
fatis faction,  that  the  duty  is  fufhciently  re- 
warded by  the  performance.  It  is  not  like 
the  practice  of  many  other  virtues,  difficult 
and  painful,  but  attended  with  {0  much 
pleafure,  that  were  there  no  pofitive  com- 
mand which  enjoined  it,  nor  any  recom- 
pence  laid  up  for  it  hereafter — a  generous 
mind  would  indulge  in  it,  for  the  natural 
gratification  that  accompanies  it. 

If  gratitude  is  due  from  man  to  man- 
how  much  more  from  man  to  his  Maker  ? 
— The  Supreme  Being  does  not  only  con- 
fer upon  us  thofe  bounties  which  proceed 
more  immediately  from  his  hand,  but  even 
thofe  benefits  which  are  conveyed  to  us 
by  others.  Every  bleffmg  we  enjoy,  by 
what  means  foever  it  may  be  derived  upon 
us,  is  the  gift  of  Him  who  is  the  great 
Author  of  good,  and  Father  of  mercies. 

If  gratitude,  when  exerted  towards  one 
another,  naturally  produces  a  very  plea- 
fing fenfation  in  the  mind  of  a  grateful 
man ;  it  exalts  the  foul  into  rapture,  when 
it  is  employed  on  this  great  object  of  gra- 
titude, en  this  beneficent  Being,  who  has 
given  us  every  thing  we  already  poffeis, 
and  from  whom  we  expect  every  thing  we 
yet  hope  for. 

Moft  of  the  works  of  the  Pagan  poets 

were   either  direct  hymns  of  their  defies, 

or  tended  indirectly  to  the  celebration  of 

7  tlieic 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    R  E  L  I G I  O  U  S. 


8i 


their  refneftive  attributes  and  perfections. 
Thofe  who  are  acquainted  with  the  works 
6f  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets  which  are 
ftiil  extant,  will,  upon  reflection,  find  this 
observation  fo  true,  that  I  fhall  not  enlarge 
upon  it.  One  would  wonder  that  more 
of  our  ChrilHan  poets  have  not  turned, 
their  thoughts  this  way,  especially  if  we 
coniider,  that  ou  '  of  the  Supreme 
Being,  is  not  o<  y  :  ifinitely  more  great 
and  noble  than  could  poflibly  enter  into 
the  heart  of  a  heathen,  but  filled  with 
every  thing  that  can  raife  the  imagination, 
and  give  an  opportunity  lor  the  fublimeit 
thoughts  and  conceptions. 

Plutarch  tells  us  of  a  heathen  who  was 
Shging  an  hymn  to  Diana,  in  which  he 
celebrated  her  for  her  delight  in  human 
facrificcs,  and  other  inftances  of  cruelty 
and  revenge ;  upon  which  a  poet  who  was 
prefent  at  this  piece  of  devotion,  and 
feems  to  have  had  a  truer  idea  of  the  di- 
vine nature,  told  the  votary,  bv  way  of 
reproof,  that  in  recompence  for  his  hymn, 
he  heartily  wiihed  he  might  have  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  fame  temper  with  the  goadefs 
he  celebrated. — It  was  indeed  impoflible 
to  write  die  praifes  of  one  of  thofe  falfe 
deities,  according  to  the  Pagan  creed, 
without  a  mixture  of  impertinence  and 
abfurdity. 

The  Jews,  who  before  the  time  of  Chrif- 
tia/nity  were  the  only  people  who  had  the 
knowledge  of  the  true  God,  have  fet  the 
ChrilHan  world  an  example  how  they 
ought  to  employ  this  divine  talent,  of 
which  1  am  fpeaking.  As  that  nation 
produced  men  of  great  genius,  without 
conndering  them  as  inipired  writers,  they 
hive  transmitted  to  us  many  hymns  and 
divine  odes,  which  exed  thofe  that  are 
delivered  down  to  us  by  the  ancient 
Greeks  and  Romans,  in  the  poetry  as 
much  as  in  the  fubjecd  to  which  it  is  con- 
fecrated.  This,  i  think,  might  be  eafdy 
fhewn,  if  there  were  cccaficnlbr  it. 

Spectator. 

§  1 08.    Religion  the  Foundation  of  Content  : 
an  Allegory. 

Omar,  the  hermit  of  the  mountain  Au- 
bukabis,  which  rifes  on  the  eaft  of  Mecca, 
and  overlooks  the  city,  found  one  evening 
a  man  fitting  penfive  and  alone,  within  a 
few  paces  of  his  cell.  Omar  regarded 
him  with  attention,  and  perceived  that  ids 
looks  were  wild  and  haggard,  and  that  his 
body  was  feeble  and  emaciated :  the  man 
alio  feemed  to  gaze  ftedfafily  on  Omar; 


but  fuch  was  the  abftraftion  of  his  mind, 
that  his  eye  did  not  immediately  take 
cognizance  of  its  object.  In  the  moment 
of  recollection  he  ftarted  as  from  a  dream, 
he  covered  his  face  in  confufion,  and 
bowed  himfelf  to  the.  ground.  "  Son  of 
ailliclion,"  faid  Omar,  "  who  art  thou, 
and  what  is  thy  diftrefs?"  "  My  name." 
replied  the  ftranger,  "  is  Haflan,  and  I 
am  a  native  of  this  city  :  the  Angel  of  ad- 
verfity  has  laid  his  hand  upon  me,  and  the 
wretch  whom  thine  eye  compaflionates, 
thou  canft  not  deliver.'''  "  To  deliver  thee," 
faid  Omar,  "  bejpngs  to  Him  only,  from, 
whom  we  mould  receive  with  humility 
both  good  and  evil :  yet  hide  not  thy  life 
from  me ;  for  the  burthen  which  I  cannot 
remove,  I  may  at  lead  enable  thee  to 
fuftain."  Haflan  fixed  his  eves  upon  the 
ground,  and  remained  feme  time  filent ; 
then  fetching  a  deep  figh,  he  looked  up  at 
the  hermit,  and  thus  complied  with  his  re- 
queft. 

It  is  new  fix  years  fiuce  our  mighty  lord 
'the  Caliph  Almalic,  whofe  memory  be 
bleiTed,  firft  came  privately  to  worihip  in 
the  temple  of  the  holy  city.  The  bleffing 
which  he  petitioned  of  the  prophet,  as  the 
prophet's  vicegerent,  he  was  diligent  to 
difpenfe  :  in  the  intervals  of  his  devotion, 
therefore,  he  went  about  the  city  relieving 
diftrefs  and  reilraining  oppreffion  :  the 
widow  fmiled  under  his  protection,  and 
the  weaknefs  of  age  and  infancy  was  fuf- 
tained  by  his  bounty.  I,  who  dreaded  no 
evil  but  ficknefs,  and  expe&ed  no  good 
beyond  the  reward  of  my  labour,  was 
ringing  at  my  work,  when  Almalic  entered 
my  dwelling.  He  looked  round  "with  a 
(mile  of  complacency ;  perceiving  that 
though  it  was  mean  it  was  neat,  and 
though  I  was  poor  I  appeared  to  be  con- 
tent. As  his  habit  was  that  of  a  pilgrim. 
I  haftened  to  receive  him  with  fuch  hof- 
pitality  as  was  in  my  power ;  and  my 
chearfulnefs  was  rather  inereafed  than  re- 
trained by  his  prefence.  After  he  had 
accepted  fome  coffee,  he  aiked  me  many 
queilions  ;  and  though  by  my  anfwers  I 
always  endeavoured  to  excite  him  to  mirth, 
yet  I  perceived  that  he  grew  thoughtful, 
and  eyed  me  with  a  placid  but  fixed  at- 
tention, I  fufpecded  that  he  had  feme 
knowledge  of  me,  and  therefore  enquired 
his  country  and  his  name.  "  Kalian," 
faid  he,  "  I  have  railed  thy  curiofity,  and 
it  fhall  be  Satisfied  ;  he  who  now  talk;  with 
thee,  is  Almalic,  the  Sovereign  of  the 
faithful,  whofe  feat  is  the  throne  of  Me- 
G  uLaa, 


82 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


dina,  and  whole  commiftion  is  from  above." 
Thefe  words  llruck  me  dumb  with  afto- 
niihment,  though  I  had  fome  doubt  of 
their  truth:  but  Almalic,  throwing  back 
his  garment,  difcovered  the  peculiarity  of 
his  veil,  and  put  the  royal  lignet  upon  his 
finger.  I  then  i'carted  up,  and  was  about 
to  proftrate  myfelf  before  him,  but  he  pre- 
vented me  :  "  Hafian,"  faidhe,  "  forbear  : 
thou  art  greater  than  I,  and  from  thee  1 
have  at  once  derived  humility  and  wii- 
dom."  I  anfwered,  "  Mock  not  thy  fer- 
vant,  who  is  but  as  a  worm  before  thee  : 
life  and  death  are  in  thy  hand,  and  hap- 
pinefs  and  mifery  are  the  daughters  of 
thy  will."  "  Harlan,"  he  replied,  "  I  can 
no  othenvife  give  life  or  happinefs,  than 
by  not  taking  them  away  :  thou  art  thy- 
felf  beyond  the  reach  of  my  bounty,  and 
pofTefTed  of  felicity  which  I  can  neither 
communicate  nor  obtain.  My  influence 
over  others,  fills  my  bofom  with  perpetual 
folicitude  and  anxiety ;  and  yet  my  in- 
fluence over  others  extends  only  to  their 
vices,  whether  I  would  reward  or  punifli. 
By  the  bow-firing,  I  can  reprefs  violence 
and  fraud  ;  and  by  the  delegation  of 
power,  I  can  transfer  the  infatiable  wilhes 
of  avarice  and  ambition  from  one  objedl 
to  another :  but  with  refpeft  to  virtue,  I 
am  impotent;  if  1  could  reward  it,  I  would 
reward  it  in  thee.  Thou  art  content,  and 
haft  therefore  neither  avarice  nor  ambition  : 
to  exalt  thee,  would  deftroy  the  fimplicity 
of  thy  life,  and  diminiih  that  happinefs 
w  :ch  I  haye  no  power  either  to  encreafe 
©r  to  continue." 

He  then  rofe  up,  and  commanding  me 
not  to  difclofe  his  fecret,  departed. 

As  foon  as  I  recovered  from,  the  con- 
fufion  and  aftbniihment  in  which  the  Ca- 
liph left  me,  I  began  to  regret  that  my 
behaviour  had  intercepted  his  bounty  ;  and 
accufed  that  chearfuinefs  of  folly,  which 
was  the  concomitant  of  poverty  and 
Labour,  I  now  repined  at  the  obfeurity 
of  my  ftation,  which  my  former  infenfi- 
bx'ity  had  perpetuated:  I  neglected  my 
labour,  becaufe  1  defpifed  the  reward;  I 
(pent  the  day  in  idlenefs,  forming  roman- 
tic projects  to  recover  the  advantages  which 
J  had  loft  :  and  at  night,  inftead  of  lofmg 
myfelf  in  that  fweet  and  refreshing  deep, 
from  which  I  ufed  to  rife  with  new  health, 
chearfuinefs,  and  vigour,  I  dreamt  of 
fplendid  habits  and  a  numerous  retinue,  of 
gardens,  palaces,  eunuchs,  and  women, 
and  waked  only  to  regret  the  illufions 
that   had   vaahued.      My  health   was  at 


length  impaired  by  the  inquietude  of  nry 
mind ;  1  fold  all  my  moveables  for  fub- 
fiftence ;  and  referved  only  a  mattrafs, 
upon  which  I  fometimes  lay  from  one 
night  to  another. 

In  the  firft  moon  of  the  following  year, 
the  Caliph  came  again  to  Mecca,  with  the 
fame  fecrecy,  and  for  the  fame  purpoies. 
He  was  willing  once  more  to  fee  the  man, 
whom  he  confidered  as  deriving  felicity 
from  himfelf.  But  he  found  me,  not  ring- 
ing at  my  work,  ruddy  with  health,  vivid 
with  chearfuinefs  ;  but  pale  and  dejected, 
fitting  on  the  ground,  and  chewing  opium, 
which  contributed  to  fubftitute  the  phan- 
toms of  imagination  for  the  realities  of 
greatnefs.  He  entered  with  a  kind  of 
joyful  impatience  in  his  countenance, 
which,  the  moment  he  beheld  me,  was 
changed  to  a  mixture  of  wonder  and  pity. 
I  had  often  withed  for  another  opportunity 
to  addrefs  the  Caliph  ;  yet  I  was  con- 
founded at  his  prefence,  and,  throwing 
myfelf  at  his  feet,  I  laid  my  hand  upon 
my  head,  and  was  fpeechlefs.  "  Hafian," 
faid  he,  "  what  canft  thou  have  loft,  whofe 
wealth  was  the  labour  of  thine  own  hand; 
and  what  can  have  made  thee  fad,  the 
fpring  of  whofe  joy  was  in  thy  own  bofom  i 
What  evil  hath  befallen  thee  ?  Speak, 
and  if  I  can  remove  it,  thou  art  happy." 
I  was  no\v  encouraged  to  look  up,  and  I 
replied,  "  Let  my  Lord  forgive  the  pre- 
emption of  his  iervant,  who  rather  than 
utter  a  falfehcod,  would  be  dumb  for  ever. 
I  am  become  wretched  by  the  k>fs  of 
that  which  I  never  pofTefled  :  thou  haft 
railed  wilhes,  which  indeed  I  am  not 
worthy  thou  tnouldft  fatisfy  ;  but  why 
fhould  it  be  thought,  that  he  who  was 
happy  in  obfeurity  and  indigence,  would 
not  have  been  rendered  more  happy  by 
eminence  and  wealth?" 

When  1  had  fmilhed  this  fpeech,  Al- 
malic flood  fome  moments  iu  fufpenfe, 
and  I  continued  proftrate  before  him. 
"  Harlan,"  faid  he,  "  I  perceive,  not  with 
indignation  but  regret,  that  I  miftook  thy 
character ;  I  now  difcover  avarice  and 
ambition  in  thy  heart,  which  lay  torpid 
only  becaufe  their  objects  were  too  remote 
to  roufe  them.  I  cannot  therefore  inveft 
thee  with  authority,  becaufe  I  would  not 
fubjecl  my  people  to  oppreffion ;  and  be- 
caufe I  would  not  be  compelled  to  punilh 
thee  for  crimes  which  I  firft  enabled  thee 
to  commit.  But  as  I  have  taken  from 
thee  that  which  I  cannot  reitore,  I  will  at 
leaft  gratify  the  wilh.es  that  I  excited,  left 

thy 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


thy  heart  accufe  me  of  injuftice.  and  thou 
continue  Mill  a  ftranger  to  thyfelf.  Arife, 
therefore,  and  follow  me." — I  iprung 
from  the  ground  as  it  were  with  the  wings 

■  of  an  eagle  ;  I  killed  the  hem  of  his  gar- 
ment in  an  extafy  of  gratitude  and  joy  ; 
and  when  I  went  out  of  my  houfe,  my 

,  heart  leaped  as  if  I  had  efcaped  from  the 
den  of  a  lion.  I  followed  Almalic  to  the 
caravanfera  in  which  he  lodged  ;  and  after 
he  had  fulfilled  his  vow;,  he  took  me  with 
him  to  Medina.     He  gave  me   an  apart- 

jjment  in  the  feraglio  ;  I  was  attended  by 
his  own  fervants ;  my  provifions  were  fent 
from    his    own    table ;    I    received  every 

.week  a  fum  from  his  treafury,  which  ex- 
ceeded the  moll;  romantic  of  my  expecta- 
tions. But  I  foon  difcovered,  that  no 
dainty  was  fo  tafteful,  as  the  food  to  which 
labour  procured  an  appetite  ;  no   {lumbers 

•fo  fweet,  as  thofe  which  wearinefs  invited ; 
and  no  time  fo  well  enjoyed,  as  that  in 
which  diligence  is  expecting  its  reward. 
I  remembered  thefe  enjoyments  with  re- 

!gret ;  and  while  I  was  fighing  in  the  midft 

!of  fuperfluities,  which  though  they  en- 
cumbered life,  yet  I  could  not  give  up, 
they  were  fuddenly  taken  away. 

Almalic,  in  the  midft  of  the  glory  of 
his  kingdom,  and  in  the  full  vigour  of  his 
life,  expired  fuddenly  in  t'ie  bath  :  fuch 
thou  knoweft  was  the  deftiny  which  the 
Almighty  had  written  upon  his  head. 
His  fon  Aububekir,  who  fucceeded  to 

jthe  throne,  was  incenfed  againft  me,  by 
fome  who  regarded  me  at  once  with  con- 
tempt and  envy;  he  fuddenly  withdrew 
my  penfion,  and  commanded  that  I  ihould 
be  expelled  the  palace;  a  command  which 
my  enemies  executed  with  fo  much  rigour, 
that  within  twelve  hours  I  found  myfelf  in 
the  ftreets  of  Medina,  indigent  and  friend- 

jjlefs,  expofed  to  hunger  and  derifion,  with 

jail  the  habits  of  luxury,  and  all  the  fenii- 
biiity  of  pride.     O!  let  not  thy  heart  de- 

'fpife  me,  thou  whom  experience  has  not 
taught,  that  it  is  mifery  to  lofe  that  which 
it  is  not  happinefs  to  poflefs.      O  !   that 

'for  me  this  leflbn  had  not  been  written  on 

!the  tablets  of  Providence  1  I  have  tra- 
velled from  Medina  to  Mecca;  but  I  can- 

inot  fly  from  myfelf.     How  different  are 

ithe  ftates  in  which  I  have  been  placed! 

1  The  remembrance  of  both  is  bitter  !  for 
the  pleafures  of  neither  can  return.— Haf- 
fan  having  thus  ended  his  {lory,  frnote  his 

; hands  together;  and  looking  upward, 
burft  into  tears. 

Omar,  having  waited  till  this  agoay  was 


paft,  went  to  him,  and  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  "  My  fon,"  faid  he,  "  more  is  yet 
in  thy  power  than  Almalic  could  give,  or 
Aububekir  take  away.  The  lelTon  of  thy 
life  the  prophet  has  in  mercy  appointed  ms 
to  explain. 

"  Thou  waft  once  content  with  poverty 
and  labour,  only  becaufe  they  were  become 
habitual,  and  eafe  and  affluence  were 
placed  beyond  thy  hope ;  for  when  eafe 
and  affluence  approached  thee,  thou  waft 
content  with  poverty  and  labour  no  more. 
That  which  then  became  the  object,  was 
a!fo  the  bound  of  thy  hope ;  and  he,  whole 
utmoft  hope  is  difappointed,  mull  inevita- 
bly be  wretched.  If  thy  fupreme  deiire 
had  been  the  delights  of  paradife,  and 
thou  hadft  believed  that  by  the  tenor  of 
thy  life  thefe  delights  had  been  fecured, 
as  more  could  not  have  been  given  thee> 
thou  would  ft  not  have  regretted  that  lefs 
was  not  offered.  The  content  which  was 
once  enjoyed,  was  but  the  lethargy  of  foul ; 
and  the  diftrefs  which  is  now  fuffered,  will 
but  quicken  it  to  action.  Depart,  there- 
fore, and  be  thankful  for  all  things;  put 
thy  truft  in  Him,  who  alone  can  gratify 
the  wifh  of  reafon,  and  fatisfy  thy  foul  with 
good ;  fix  thy  hope  upon  that  portion,  in 
companion  of  which  the  world  is  as  the 
drop  of  the  bucket,  and  the  duft  of  the  ba- 
lance. Return,  my  fon,  to  thy  labour;  thy 
food  mall  be  again  tafteful,  and  thy  reft 
mail  be  fweet;  to  thy  content  alio  will  be 
added  liability,  when  it  depends  not  upon 
that  which  is  pofieffed  upon  earth,  but 
upon  that  which  is  expected  in  Heaven." 

Hailan,  upon  whofe  mind  the  Angel  of 
inftruction  imprefTed  the  counfel  of  Omar, 
haftened  to  proftrate  himfelf  in  the  temple 
of  the  Prophet.  Peace  dawned  upon  his 
mind  like  the  radiance  of  the  morning  : 
he  returned  to  his  labour  with  chearfulnefs ; 
his  devotion  became  fervent  and  habitual  ; 
and  the  latter  days  of  Kaftan  were  hap- 
pier than  the  firft.  Adventurer. 

§  109.   Bad  company — meaning  of  the  phrafe 

— different    claffes     of    bad    company — ill 

chofen  company — nukat  is  meant  by  keeping 

bad  company — the  danger  of  it,  from  our 

aptnefs  to  i7r.it ate  and  catch  the  manners  of 

ethers— ■_ -from  the  great  power  and  force  of 

cuftopi — from  our  bad  inclinations. 

"  Evil  communication,"  fays  the  text, 

"  corrupts    good   manners."      The    afier- 

tion  is  general,  and  no  doubt  all  people 

faffer  f/om  fuch  communication;  but  above 

alL.-she  minds  of  youtti  will  fuffer;  which 

G  z  are 


H 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PR' 


re   yet    (inform 


led,    unfur- 


i  titled;  and  ready  to   receive  any  impref- 
fi  »n. 

But  before  we  confider  the  danger  cf 
keeping  bad  company,  1st  us  fa-It  ice  the 
:      ming  of  the  phra     . 

In  the  phi. :i!e  of  the  world,  good  com- 
pany means  fafhionable  people.  Their 
ns  in  life,  not  their  riorals,  are  con- 
fidered  :  and  he,  who  afibciates  with  fuch, 
though  theyfet  him  the  example  cf  break- 
ing every  commandment  of  the  decalogue, 
is  ftill  iaid  to  keep  good  company.- — I 
mould  vvilh  you  to  fix  another  meaning  to 
the  expreflion;  raid  to  confider  vice  in  the 
fame  deteicable  light,  in  whatever  com- 
pany it  is  found;  nay,  to  confider  all  com- 
pany in  which  it  is  found,  be  their  ftation 
what  it  will,  as  bad  company. 

The'  three  following  claries  will  perhaps 
include  the  greater!  part  of  thofe,  who 
deferve  this  appellation. 

In  the  firft,  1  (hould  rank  all  who  endea- 
to  deltroy  the   principles  of  Chrif- 
tianity — who    jell    upon     Scripture — talk 
blafphemy — and  treat  revelation  with  con- 
tempt. 

A  fecohcl  clafs  of  bad  company  are  thofe, 
who  have  a  tendency  to  deitroy  in  us  the 
principles  of  common  honefty  and  inte- 
Under  this  head  we  may  :  k 
gamefters  of  ever  denomination;  and  the 
low  and  infamous  characters  of  every  p;    - 

A  third  claf  of  bad  company,  and 

men    of 
pleaiure.     Jn  whatever  way    they   follow 
the  call  of  appetite,  the^    have 
!         ncy   to   corrupt    the    parky    < 
mind. 

Beftdes    thefe    three    claries,   whom  we 
rail   bad  com]  an   .  t!  er  :  are  others 
who  come   under  the  d     omina 

1  company  :  trifling,  infipid   charac- 
ters of  eve ly  kind  ;  who  follow  no  I 
'—'are  led  by  no  ideas  of  improvement- 
but  fpend  their  time  in  difijpation  and  folly 
— wh  0  praife  it  is,  that  they  are 

'  With  i  one  of  th  fe,  a 

:  n   would  vvilh  his  Ion  to  keep 

com  pan/. 

h  may  be  affeed  what  h  meant  by  keep- 
ing bad  company  ?    1  he   world    abounds 
kind :  they  meet  us 
in.eve  if  we  keep  company 

■   ■•    ■ :  ii   ;  ■     ble  to  avoid 


Tany, 

arc  commonly  moi  mgei  on  : 
-:  '  lei  tl  e  long  catalogue  of 
safure.  In  wh  I 
call  of  appetite, 


It  is  true,   if  we  were  d 
to  liave  any  com!  ad   men,  we 

mult,  as  the  ,  "  altogether 

go  out  •  Iceepinj     bad 

company,  therei    re,  i  .  :ant  a  carnal 

intei  ,   on  occaJion  of  bu- 

finefs,  or  as   t  ley  acci  fall  in  our 

way;  but  ha\'i       an  :  iclin;   ion  to  confort 
with  them — c  .  .  !   incli 

tion — feeking   their    company,    when    we 
might  avoid  it—:  uteri 
■—and  m     bag-  i  ions  of  our 

choice.     Mixing  with  them    occafion; 
cannot  be  ; 

The  danger  of  keeping  bad  company, 
arifes  principal  y  from  our  aptnefs  to  imi- 
tate and  catch  the  manners  and  fentiments 
of  others — from  the  power  of  cuftom— 
from  our  ovs  n  bad  inclinations — and  from 
the  pains  taken  by  tire  bah  to  corrupt  us  * . 

In  our  earlier!  youth,  the  contagion  of 
manners  is  obfervabie.  In  the  boy,  vet 
incapable  of  having  anything  inililled  into 
him,  we  eafily  difcover  from  his  firft  ac- 
tions, and  rude  attempts  at  language,  the 
kind  of  perfons  with  whom  he  has  been 
brought  up  :  we  fee  the  early  spring  of  a 
civilized  education,  or  the  firft  wild  moots 
of  ruiticity. 

As  he  enters  farther  into  life,  his  be- 
haviour, manners,  and  converfatior,  all 
take  the'"  caft  from  the  company  he  keeps, 
le  man  of  edu- 
cation ;  the  difference  is  (Inking,  And 
yet  God  ha  h  beftcwed  equal  talents  on 
•-  .  h.     The  on!  -ence  is,  they  have 

been  thrown  into  different  fcenes  of  life; 
and  have  had  commerce  with  perfons  cf 
dim  rent  Itations. 

IV or  are  manners  and  behaviour  more 
earn .  than   0]  ini    is,    and    prin- 

ciples. In  childhood  and  youth,  we  na- 
turally adopt  the  fentiments  of  thofe  about 
us.  And.  as  we  advance  in  life,  how  few 
of  us  think  for  ourfelves  ?  How  many  cf 
u?  are  fatisfied  with  taking  our  opinions  at 
fecond  hand  ? 

Tire  great  power  and  force  of  cuftora 
forms  another  argument  againft  keeping 
bad  company.  However  ferioufly  dif- 
pcfed  we  may  be  ;  1  how<  ver  fhocked 
at  the  firft  app-  ■:"  vice;  this  (hock- 

ing appearance  ;  -  aj  on  an  intimacy 

i  ith  it.  Cultom  will  icon  render  the  mofl 
difo-uitful  thing  familiar.  And  this  is  in- 
deed  a  kind  provifion  of  nature,  to  render 
labour,  and  toil,  and  danger,  which  are  the 
lot  of  man,  more  eafy  to  him.     The  raw 


fubj€&  : .  tied  mors  at  !a  jc  in  an  ..>:■■  nj  ncious  pamphlet  onthg  employment  oFtime- 

foldier 


BOOK     I.       MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


foldier,  who  trembles  at  the  firil:  encounter, 
becomes  a  hardy  veteran  in  a  few  cam- 
paigns. Habit  renders  danger  familiar, 
and  of  courfe  indifferent  to  him. 

But-  habit,  which  is  intended  for  our 
good,  may,  like  other  kind  appointments 
or"  nature,  be  converted  into  a  mi  (chief. 
The  well  difpofed  youth,  entering  firft  into 
bad  company,  is  mocked  at  what  he  hears, 
and  what  he  fees.  The  good  principles, 
which  he  had  imbibed,  ring  in  his  ears  an 
alarming  leiTon  again!!:  the  wickednefs  of 
his  companions.1  But,  alas  !  this  fenfibi- 
lity  is  but  of  a  day's  continuance.  The 
next  jovial  meeting  makes  the  horrid  pic- 
ture of  yefterday  more  eafily  endured. 
Virtue  is  foon  thought  a  fevere  rule ;  the 
gofpel,  an  inconvenient  reftraint :  a  few 
pangs  of  coufcience  now  and  then  interrupt 
his  pleafures ;  and  whifper  to  him,  that  he 
once  had  better  thoughts:  but  even  thefe 
'by  dcgvcLs  die  away  ;  and  he  who  at  firil 
V/as  fhocked  even  at  the  appearance  of 
vice,  is  formed  by  cuftpm  into  a  profligate 
leader  of  vicious  pleafures — perhaps  into 
an  abandoned  tempter  to  vice.— So  care- 
fully fhould  we  oppole  the  iirit.  approaches 
of  fin  !  fo  vigilant  fhould  we  be  againft  !b 
infidious  an  ener  \  /  ! 

Our  own  bad  inclinations  form  another 
argument  agaiufc  bad  company.  We  have 
io  many  paffions  and  appetites  to  govern  ; 
fo  many  bad  propensities  of  different  kinds 
to  watch,  that,  amidil  fuch  a  variety  of 
enemies  within,  we  ought  at  lead  to  be  on 
our  guard  againft  thofe  without.  The  breaft 
even  of  a  good  man  is  represented  in  fcrip- 
ture,  and  experienced  in  fact,  to  be  in  a 
ftate  of  warfare.  Kis  vicious  inclinations 
are  continually  drawing  him  one  way ; 
while  his  virtue  is  making  efforts  another. 
And  if  the  fcriptures  repre.fent  this  as  the 
cafe  even  of  a  good  man,  whole  paffions,  it 
may  be  imagined,  are  become  in  feme  de- 
gree cool,  and  temperate,  and  who  has 
made  fome  progrefs  in  a  virtuous  couiie  ; 
what  may  we  fuppofe  to  be  the  danger  of' 
a  raw  unexperienced  youth,  whofe  paffions 
and  appetites  are  violent  and  feducing,  and 
whole  mind  is  in  a  flail  lefs  confirmed  date? 
3t  is  his  part  furely- to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  temptation  ;  and  to  give  his  bad  incli- 
nations as  little  room  as  pofflble  to  acquire 
new  ftrength.  Gilpin. 

§   HO.      Ridicule  one  of  the  chief  arts  of cor- 
ruption— bud  company  injures  our  charac- 
■  ters,  as  nuell  as  manner sf-prefumpt ion  the 
forerunner  of  ruire—?-i he  ad   antages  of  good 


company  equal  to  the  dzfadv  antages  cf  had 
• — cautions  in  forming  intimacies. 

Thefe  arguments  againft  keeping  bad 
company,  will  frill  receive  additional 
ftrength,  if  we  confide r  farther,  the  great 
pains  taken  by  the  bad  to  corrupt  otnei  . 
It  is  a  very  true,  but  lamentaable  facL  in 
the  hiitcry  of  human  nature,  that  bad  men 
take  more  pains  to  corrupt  their  own  {pe- 
des,, than  virtuous  men  do  to  'reform  them. 
Hence  thofe  fpecious  arts,  that  fhow  of 
frieridfhip,  that  appearance  of  difintereft- 
ednefs,  with  winch  the  profligate  fedu'eer 
en  eavoars  to  lure  the  unwary  youth;  and 
at  the  fame  time,  yielding  to  his  inclina- 
tions, feems  to  follow  rather  than  to  le  id 
him.  Many  are  the  arts  of  thefe  corrup- 
ters; but  their  principal  art  is  ridicule1.  Jt>y 
this  they  endeavour  to  laugh  out  of  coun- 
tenance ail  the  better  principles  of  their 
wavering  prcfelyte;  and  make  him  think 
contemptibly  oi  thofe,  whom  he  formerly 
refpecled;  by  this  they  ftirle  the  ingenuous 
blufh,  and  finally  deftroy  all  fenfe  of  fhamel 
Their  caufe  is  below  argument.  They 
aim  not  therefore  at  reafoning.  Raillery 
is  the  weapon  they  employ ;  and  who  is 
there,  that  hath  the  fteadinefs  to  hear  per- 
fons  and  things,  whatever  reverence  he 
may  have  had  for  them,  the  fuhject  cf 
continual  ridicule,  without  lefing  that  reve- 
rence by  degrees  ? 

Having  thus  confidered  what  principally 
makes  bad'  company  dangerous,  I  fhall  j uli 
add,  that  even  were  your  morals  in  no 
danger  from  fuch  intercourfe,  your  cha- 
racters .would  infallibly  f'uffer.  The  world 
will  always  judge  of  you  by  your  compa- 
nions :  and  nobody  will  fuppofe,  that  a 
youth  of  virtuous  principles  himfelf,  can 
poffibly  form  a  connection  with  a  pro- 
fligate. 

In  reply  to  the  danger  fuppofed  to  arife 
from  bad  company,  perhaps  the  youth  may 
fay,  he  is  fo  firm  in  his  own  opinions,  fo 
fteady  in  his  principles,  that  he  thinks  him- 
felf fecure  ;  and  need  not  reftrain  himfelf 
from  the  moil  unrei'erved  converfation. 

Alas  !  this  fecurity  is  the  very  brink  of 
the  precipice:  not  hath  vice  in  her  whole 
train  a  more  dangerous  enemy  to  you,  than 
preiiunption.-  Caution,  ever  awake  to  dan- 
ger, is  a  guard  againft  it.  But  fecurity 
lays  every  guard  aileep.  "  Let  him  who 
tlunketh  he  ftandeth,"  faith  the  apoftle, 
"  take  heed,  left  lie  fall."  Even  ah  apof- 
tle himfelf  did  fall,  by  thinking  that  he 
flood  fecure.  "  Though  I  fhould  die  with 
G  %  :e,  ■ 


ss 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


thee,"  faid  St.  Peter  to  his  mailer,  "  vet 
will  I  not  deny  thee."  That  very  night, 
notwithstanding  this  boafted  fecurity,  he 
repeated  the  crime  three  feveral  times. 
And  can  we  fuppofe,  that  prefun:ption, 
which  occasioned  an  apollie's  fall,  (hall  not 
ruin  un  unexperienced  youth?  The  (lory 
is  recorded  for  our  inftruction :  and  ihould 
be  a  (landing  leflbn  againii  preiurning  upon 
our  own  (Irength. 

In  conclufion,  fuch  as  the  dangers  are, 
which  ariie  from  bad  company,  fuch  are 
the  advantages  which  accrue  from  good. 
We  imitate,  and  catch  the  manners  and 
fentiments  of  good  men,  as  we  do  of 
Cuilom,  which  renders  vice  lefs  a  defor- 
mity, renders  virtue  more  lovely.  Good 
examples  have  a  force  beyond  irft: action, 
and  warm  us  into  emulation  beyond  pre- 
cept; while  the  countenance  and  converla- 
tion  of  virtuous  men  encourage,  and  draw 
out  into  action  every  kindred  difpoiition  of 
our  hearts. 

Befides,  as  a  fenfe  of  ihame  often  pre- 
vents our  doing  a  right  thing  in  bad  com- 
pany; it  operates  in  the  fame  way  in  pre- 
venting our  doing  a  wrong  one 'in  good. 
Our  character  becomes  a  pledge ;  and  we 
cannot,  without  a  kind  of  dishonour,  draw 
back. 

It  is  notpoflible,  indeed,  for  a  youth,  yet 
unfu  mimed  with  knowledge  (which  (its  him 
for  good  company)  to  chufe  his  compa- 
nions as  he  pleafes.  A  youth  muft  have 
fomething  peculiarly  attractive,  to  qualify 
him  for  the  acquaintance  of  men  of  eila- 
blifhcd  reputation.  What  he  has  to  do,  is, 
at  all  events,  to  avoid  bad  company;  a.^,d 
to  endeavour,  by  improving  his  mind  and 
morals,  to  qualify  himfelf  for  the  bed. 

Happy  is  that  youth,  who,  upon  his  en- 
trance into  the  world,  can  chufe  his  com- 
pany with  difcretion.  There  is  often  in 
vice,  a  gaiety,  an  unreferve,  a  freedom  of 
manners,  which  are  apt  at  fight  to  engage 
the  unwary :  while  virtue,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  often  modelt,  referved,  diffident, 
backward,  and  eaiily  difconcerted.  That 
freedom  of  manners,  however  engaging, 
may  cover  a  very  corrupt  heart :  and  this 
afckwardnefs,  however  unpleafmg,  may 
veil  a  thoufand  virtues.  Suffer  not  your 
mind,  therefore,  to  be  eafily  either  engaged, 
or  diigufled  at  firft  fight.  Form  your  in- 
timacies with  referve :  and  if  drawn  una- 
wares into  an  acquaintance  you  difapprove, 
immediately  retreat.  Open 'not  your  hearts 
to  every  profefiion  of  friendftiip.  They, 
whofe  iriendihip  is  wprtb  accepting,  are,  as 

X 


you  ought  to  be,  referved  in  offering  it. 
Chufe  your  companions,  not  merely  for 
the  fake  of  a  few  outward  accomplishments 
— for  the  idle  pleafure  of  (pending  an 
agreeable  hour;  but  mark  their  difpoiition 
to  virtue  or  vice;  and,  as  much  as  poinble, 
chule  thofe  for  your  companions,  whom 
you  fee  others  refpect:  always  remember- 
ing, that  upon  the  choice  of  your  company 
depends  in  a  great  meafure  the  fucceis  of 
all  you  have  learned ;  the  hopes  of  your 
friends;  your  future  characters  in  life;  and, 
what  you  ought  above  all  other  things  to 
value,  the  purity  of  your  hearts. 

Gilpin. 

§   I  !  I .  Religion  the  hef  and  only  Support  in 
Cafes  of  real  Strefs. 

There  are  no  principles  but  thofe  of  re- 
ligion to  be  depended  on  in  cafes  of  real 
ftrefs;  and  thefe  are  able  to  encounter  the 
word  emergencies ;  and  to  bear  us  up  un- 
der all  the  changes  and  chances  to  which 
our  life  is  fubject. 

Confider  then  what  virtue  the  very  firft 
principle  of  religion  has,  and  how  wonder- 
fully it  is  conducive  to  this  end :  That  there 
is  a  God,  a  powerful,  a  wife  and  good  Be- 
ing, who  firft  made  the  world,  and  continues 
to  govern  it; — by  whofe  goodnefs  all  things 
are  defigned — and  by  whofe  providence  all 
things  are  conducted  to  bring  about  the 
greateil  and  beil  ends.  The  forrowful  and 
penfive  wretch  that  was  giving  way  to  his 
misfortunes,  and  mournfully  finking  under 
them,  the  moment  this  doctrine  comes  in 
to  his  aid,  hufhes  all  his  complaints. — and 
thus  (peaks  comfort  to  his  foul, — "  It  is 
the  Lord,  let  him  do  what  feemeth  him 
good.— -Without  his  direction.  I  know  that 
no  evil  can  bafal  me, — without  his  permif- 
(ion,  that  no  power  can  hurt  me; — it  is 
impofhble  a  Being  fo  wife  (liould  miitake 
my  happinefs — or  that  a  Being  fo  good 
(houkl  contradict  it. — If  he  has  denied  me 
riches  or  other  advantages—perhaps  he 
forefees  the  gratifying  my  withes  would 
undo  me,  and  by  my  own  abuie  of  them 
be  perverted  to  my  ruin. — If  he  has  de- 
nied me  the  rcqueil  of  children — or  in  his, 
providence  has  thought  fit  to  take  them 
from  me — how  can  1  fay  whether  he  has 
not  dealt  kindly  with  me,  and  only  taken 
tli at  away  which  he  forefaw  would  embitter 
and  (horten  my  days  ? — It  does  fo  to  thou- 
fands,  where  the  difobedience  of  a  thank-t 
lefs  child  has  brought  down  the  parents 
grey  hairs  with  forrow  to  the  grave.  Has 
he  vifited  rne  with  ficknefs,  poverty,   or 

other 


BOOH    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


87 


ether  difappointments  r — can  I  fay,  but 
thefe  are  bleffings  in  difguife  r — fo  many 
different  expreffions  of  his  care  and  con- 
cern to  di (entangle  my  thoughts  from  this 
world,  and  fix  them  upon  another — ano- 
ther, a  better  world  beyond  this  1" — This 
thought  opens  a  new  face  of  hope  and  con- 
folation  to  the  unfortunate  : — and  as  the 
perfuafion  of  a  Providence  reconciles  him 
to  the  evils  he  has  fufFered, — this  profpedt 
of  a  future  life  gives  him  ftrength  to  de- 
fpife  them,  and  eiteeni  the  light  afflictions  of 
this  life,  as  they  are,  not  worthy  to  be  com- 
pared to  what  is  refer ved  for  him  here- 
after. 

Things  are  great  or  fmall  by  compa- 
rifon — and  he  who  looks  no  further  than 
this  world,  and  balances  the  accounts  of 
his  joys  and  fufferings  from  that  coniide- 
ration,  finds  all  his  forrows  enlarged,  and 
at  the  clofe  of  them  will  be  apt  to  look 
back,  and  call  the  fame  fad  reflection  upon 
the  whole,  which  the  Patriarch  did  to  Pha- 
roah,  "  That  few  and  evil  had  been  the 
days  of  his  pilgrimage."  But  let  him  lift 
up  his  eyes  towards  heaven,  and  ftedfaftly 
behold  the  life  and  immortality  of  a  future 
ftate, — he  then  wipes  away  all  tears  from 
off  his  eyes  for  ever;  like  the  exiled  cap- 
tive, big  with  the  hopes  that  he  is  return- 
ing home,  he  feels  not  the  weight  of  his 
chains,  or  counts  the  days  of  his  captivity; 
but  looks  forward  with  rapture  towards  the 
country  where  his  heart  is  fled  before. 

Thefe  are  the  aids  which  religion  offers 
US  towards  the  regulation  of  our  fpirit  under 
the  evils  of  life,  —  but  like-great  cordials, 
they  are  feldom  ufed  but  on  great  occur- 
rences.— In  the  leffer  evils  of  life,  we  feem 
to  itand  unguarded — and  our  peace  and 
contentment  are  overthrown,  and  our  hap- 
pinefs  broke  in  upon,  by  a  little  impatience 
of  fpirit,  under  thecrofs  and  untoward  acci- 
dents we  meet  with.  Thefe  Hand  unpro- 
vided for,  and  we  neglect:  them  as  we  do 
the  flighter  indifpofitions  of  the  body — 
which  we  think  not  worth  treating  ferioufly, 
and  fo  leave  them  to  nature.  In  good  ha- 
bits of  the  body,  this  may  do, — and  I 
would  gladly  believe,  there  are  fuch  good 
habits  of  the  temper,  fuch  a  complexional 
eafe  and  health  of  heart,  as  may  often  fave 
the  patient  much  medicine. — We  are  ftill 
to  confider,  that  however  fuch  good  frames 
of  mind  are  got,  they  are  worth  preferving 
by  all  rules : — Patience  and  contentment, — 
which  like  the  treafure  hid  in  the  field  for 
which  a  man  fold  all  he  ha,d  to  purchafe— 


is  of  that  price,  that  it  cannot  be  had  at 
too  great  a  purchafe  ;  fince  without  it,  the 
belt  condition  of  life  cannot  make  us  hap- 
py ;  and  with  it,  it  is  impoihble  we  mould 
be  miferable  even  in  the  worft. 

Sterne's  Sermons. 

§  112.  Ridicule  dangerous  to  Morality  and 
Religion. 
The  unbounded  freedom  and  licentiouf- 
nefs  of  raillery  and  ridicule,  is  become  of 
late  years  fo  fafhionable  among  us,  and  hath 
already  been  attended  with  fuch  fatal  and 
deitru&ive  confequences,  as  to  give  a  rca- 
fonable  alarm  to  all  friends  of  virtue. 
Writers  have  role  up  within  this  laft  cen- 
tury, who  have  endeavoured  to  blend  and 
confound  the  colours  of  good  and  evil,  to 
laugh  us  cut  of  our  religion,  and  undermine 
the  very  foundations  of  morality.  The 
character  of  the  Scoffer  hath,  by  an  un- 
accountable favour  and  indulgence,  met 
not  only  with  pardon,  but  approbation,  and 
hath  therefore  been  almoft  univerfally 
fought  after  and  admired.  Ridicule  hath 
been  called  (and  this  for  no  other  reafoa 
but  becaufe  Lord  Shafteibury  told  us  fo) 
the  teit  of  truth,  and,  as  fuch,  has  been  ap- 
plied indifcriminateiy  to  every  fubjecL 

But  in  oppofition  to  all  the  puny  fol- 
lowers of  Shafteibury  '  and  Bolingbroke, 
all  the  laughing  moralilts  of  the  laft  age, 
and  all  the  fneering  fatyrifts  of  this,  I  mall 
not  fcruple  to  declare,  that  I  look  on  ridi- 
cule as  an  oppreffive  and  arbitrary  tyrant, 
who  like  death  throws  down  all  diitinction  ; 
blind  to  the  charms  of  virtue,  and  deaf  to 
the  complaints  of  truth ;  a  bloody  Moloch, 
who  delights  in  human  facrifice  ;  who  loves 
to  feed  on  the  flefh  of  the  poor,  and  to 
drink  the  tear  of  the  afflicted :  who  dou- 
bles the  weight  of  poverty  by  fcorn  and 
laughter,  and  throws  the  poifon  of  con- 
tempt into  the  cup  of  diitrefs  to  embitter 
the  draught. 

Truth,  fay  the  Shaftcfburians,  cannot 
poftibly  be  an  object:  of  ridicule,  and  there- 
fore cannot  fuffer  by  it : — to  which  the 
anfwe'r  is  extremely  obvious :  Truth,  naked, 
undifguifed,  cannot,  we  will  acknowledge 
with  them,  be  ridiculed  ;  but  Truth,  like 
every  thing  elfe,  may  be  mifreprefented  : 
it  is  the  bufinefs  of  ridicule  therefore  to 
difguife  her ;  to  drefs  her  up  in  a  ftrange 
and  fantaftic  habit ;  and  when  this  is  art- 
fully performed,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the 
crowd  mould  fmile  at  her  deformity. 
The  nobleft  philolbpher  and  the  belt 
G  4,  moralift 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


moralift  in  the  heathen  world,  the  o-reat 
and  immortal  Socrates,  fell  a  facrifice  to 
this  pernicious  talent:  ridicule  firfr.  mifre- 
prefented,  and  afterwards  deftroyed  him  : 
the  deluded  multitude  condemned  him,  not 
for  what  he  was,  but  for  what  he  appeared 
to  be,  an  enemy  to  the  religion  of  his 
country. 

The  felly  and   depravity    of   mankind 
will  always  furnifh  out  :    :  i  .    fund  for 

ridicule;  and  when  we  confider  how  vafl 
and  fpacious  a  field  the  little  fcene  of  hu- 
man life  affords  for  malice  and  ill-nature, 
we  mall  not  fo  much  wonder  to  fee  the 
lover  of  ridicule  rejoicing  in  it.  Here  he 
has  always  an  opportunity  cf  gratifying 
his  pride,  and  fatiating  his  malevolence: 
from  the  frailties  and  abfurdities  of  others, 
he  forms  a  wreath  to  adorn  his  own  brow ; 
gathers  together,  with  ali  his  art,  the  fail- 
ings and  imperfections  of  others,  and  off  i  i 
them  up  a  facrifice  to  felf-love.  The  low- 
eft  and  molt  abandoned  of  mankind  can 
ridicule  the  moll  exalted  beings  ;  thofewho 
never  could  boaft  of  their  own  perfec- 
tion, 

l\or  raife  their  thoughts  bevend  the  earth  they 

tread, 
Even  thefe  can  cdrfure,  thofe  c.in  dare  deride 
A  Bacon's  avarice,  or  a  Tully's  pride. 

_  It  were  well  indeed  tcr  mankind,  if  ri- 
dicule would  confme  itfelf  to  the  frailties 
and  imperfections  of  human  nature,  and 
not  extend  its  baleful  influence  over  i 
few  good  qualities  and  perfections  of  it : 
but  there  is  not  perhaps  a  virtue  to  be 
named,  which    may  not,  by   tj  iium 

through  which  '        feen,  !h  r ted  into  a 

vice.     The  glai  :J  things 

not  only  darkl) ,  but  falfi  [j  alfo :  it  always 
difcolours  the  objeeds  before  it  vent!  r  to 
rsprefent  them  to  us.  The  pufeft  metal, 
^7  th-  rni  Soy,  (hall  feem 

changed  l  i  i  ,  anefl  ■  idicule,  in  the 
fame  mann<  r,  will  cloath  prudence  in  the 
garb  of  ai  trie  :.  call  courage  raihnefs,  and 
Brand  500  '  iture  \  .'•  ■  name  of  pro- 
digality; will  <:^rh  a:  the  companionate 
'  ' •"■'   ; ■ "    '  '  the  ferious  man  for 

fis  precjfenefs,  and  the  pious  man  for  iris 
hypocrify. 

M  lefty  i  one  of  •  irtue's  bed  fupports ; 
and  it  is  obfervable,  that  wherever  this 
and:.  dity  is  moil  eminently  confpi- 

-,:-'  •  idicule  is  always  ready  to  attack 
and  overthrow  ii.  The  man 'of  wit  and 
hurno  11  '  never  fo  happy  as  when  he  can 
»    |<  i:'    '■'  -     '■■   hi|  inuous  merit,  orfiarop 


the  marks  of  deformity  and  guilt   en  the' 
!  ■  auty.     Thus 

may  our  pei  ..     me  to  render  U3 

both  unhappy  and  contemptible  ! 

The  lover  of  ridicule  will,    no    doubt, 
I  in  the  -.     ence  of  it,   that  his  defignj 
|s  to  reclaim  and  reform  mankind;  that  he 
'  ce  of  virtue,   and  en- 

;  fe  of  Truth  ; — but  I  will 

are   him,  that  the  allies  he 
'■  ' '  •      '  ''   -    he 


■ 


diertofi    ;  er;  Virtue  wants 

no  fuch      [vocal  As  it 

is  gcneraily  exerci  ;    .. 

n        ,-         ii  ...  -  nd  m- 

'  rabl  ones:  the       tie  foi- 

bles and  ble  p.ifnes 

rather  t  ity  t  1  ;  the  inor  : 

cious  crimes  call     for    hatred  and  . 
rence.^    Thus,  \\  in  one  ca;e  the 

medicine  operates  too  pi  m    fully,    and  in 
the  ot.her  is  of  no  effect. 

I  might  take  this  i  ity  to  add, 

that  ridicule  is  not  always  contented 
ravaging  and  deflroying  the  works  c 
but  boldly  and  impiouily  attacks  thofe  of 
God;  enters  even  into  the   fanctuary,  and; 
prophanes  the  temple   of  the  Molt  High. 
A  late  noble  writer  has  made  uie  of  it  to 


'  the  chai  .      -  i  deftroy  the  vali- 

dity of  the  writers  of  been  the  Old  and 
New  Teftameni;  and  to  change  the  fo- 
lemn  truths  of  C  .  into  matter  of 

mirth  and  laughter.  The  bo<  ks  of  Mofes 
are  called  by  him  fabl  »  ai  ,  fit  only 

for  the  amufement  of  children  :  and  St. 
Paul  is  treated  by  him  as  an  enthufiaft,  an 
idiot,  and  an  avowed  enemy  to  that  reli- 
gion which  he  ,  I  I.  One  would  not 
furely  think  that  there  was  any  thing  in 
Chrifcianky  fo  ludicrous  as  to  raife  laugh- 
ter, or  to- excite  contempt;  but  on  the 
contrary,  that  the  nature  of  its  precepts, 
and  its  own  intrinfic  excellence,  would  at 
leaft  have  fecured  it  from  fuch  indieni- 
ties. 

Nothing  gives  us  a  higher  opinion  of 
thofe  ancient  heathens  whom  mm  modern 
bigots  are  fo  apt  to  defpife,  than  that  air  of 
piety  and  devotion  which  runs  through  ali 
their  writings ;  and  thi  -.  ,  :  Pagan  the- 
ology was  full  of  abfurdities  and  mconfii- 
t<  ■  :ies,  which  the  more  refmed  fpirits  a- 
mong  their  poets  and  i  drers  mull 
have  do  il  tlefs  def]  ifed,  rejeel  I  and  con- 
tei  ■  I  ;  fuch  was  their  refpeft  and  vene- 
ration for  the  eftabliihed  religion  of  the!* 
country,  fuch  their  regard  to  decency  and 

ferioufnefsj 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


$9 


ferioufnefs,  fuch  their  modefty  and  diffi- 
dence in  affairs  of  fo  much  weight  and  im- 
portance, that  we  very  feldom  meet  with 
jeft.  or  ridicule  on  fubject s  which  they  held 
thus  facred  and  respectable. 

The  privilege  of  publicly  laughing  at 
religion,  and  the  profeffion  of  it,  of  mak- 
ing the  laws  of  God,  and  the  great  con- 
cerns of  eternity,  the  objects  of  mirth  and 
ridicule,  was  referred  for  more  enlightened 
ages ;  and  denied  the  more  pious  heathens, 
to  reflect  difgrace  and  ignominy  orr  the 
ChriiKan  xra. 

It  hath  indeed  been  the  fate  of  the 
beft  and  pureft  religion  in  the  world,  to 
become  the  jeft  of  fools;  and  not  only, 
with  its  Divine  Founder,  to  be  fcourged 
and  perfecuted,  but  with  him  to  be  mock- 
ed and  fpit  at,  trampled  on  and  dcfpifed. 
But  to  consider  the  dreadful  confequences 
of  ridicule  on  this  occafion,  will  better  be- 
come the  divine  than  eifayiil ;  to  him 
therefore  I  fhall  refer  it,  and  conclude 
this  ■  elTay  by  obferving,  that  after  all  the 
undeferved  encomiums  lb  laviihly  bellowed 
on  this  child  of  wit  and  malice,  fo  univer- 
fally  approved  and  admired,  I  know  of  no 
fervice  the  pernicious  talent  of  ridicule  can 
be  of,  unlefls  it  be  to  raife  the  blufh  of  mo- 
defty, and  put  virtue  out  of  countenance  ; 
to  enhance  the  mifcries  of  the  wretched, 
and  poifon  the  feaft  of  happinefs ;  to  infult 
man,  affront  God ;  to  make  us,  in  ihort, 
hateful  to  our  fellow-creatures,  uneafy  to 
ourfelves,  and  highly  difpleaiing  to  the 
Almighty.  Smollet. 

§  113.      On  Prodigality. 

It  is  the  fate  of  almoft  every  paflion, 
when  it  has  palfed  the  bounds  which  nature 
prefcribes,  to  counteract  its  own  purpofe. 
Too  much  rage  hinders  the  warrior  from 
circumfnecfion ;  and  too  much  eagernefs 
of  profit  hurts  the  credit.of  the  trader.  Too 
much  ardour  takes  away  from  the  lover 
that  eaflnefs  of  addrefs  with  which  ladies 
are  delighted.  Thus  extravagance,  though 
dictated  by  vanity,  and  incited  by  volup- 
tuoumefs,  feldom  procures  ultimately  either 
applaufe  or  pleafure. 

If  praife  be  juftly  eftimated  by  the  cha- 
racter of  thofe  from  whom  it  is  received, 
little  Satisfaction  will  be  given  to  the  fpend- 
thrift  by  the  encomiums  which  he  purchafes. 
For  who  are  they  that  animate  him  in  his 
purfuits,  but  young  men,  thoughtlefs  and 
abandoned  like  himfelf,  unacquainted  with 
all  on  which  the  wifdom  of  nations  has  im- 
p  re  fled  the  ftarop  of  excellence.,  and  de- 


void alike  of  knowledge  and  of  virtue?  Bv 
whom  is  his  profufion  praifed,  but  by 
wretches  who  confider  him  as  fubfervient 
to  their  purpofes ;  Syrens  that  entice  him 
to  ihipwreck ;  and  Cyclops  that  are  gapinp- 
to  devour  him  ? 

Every  man  whofe  knowledge,  or  whofe 
virtue,  can  give  value  to  his  opinion,  looks 
with  fcorn  or  pity  (neither  of  which  can 
afford  much  gratification  to  pride)  on  him 
whom  the  panders  of  luxury  have  drawn 
into  the  circle  of  their  influence,  and  whom 
he  fees  parcelled  out  among  the  different 
minifters  of  folly,  and  about  to  be  torn  to 
pieces  by  tailors  and  jockies,  vintners  and 
atomies ;  who  at  once  rob  and  ridicule 
him,  and  who  are  fecretly  triumphing  over 
his  weaknefs,  when  they  prefent  new  in- 
citements to  ins  appetite,  and  heighten  his 
defires  by  counterfeited  applaufe. 

Such  is  the  praife  that  is  purchafed  by 
prodigality.  Even  when  it  is  yet  not  dis- 
covered to  be  falfe,  it  is  the  praife  only  of 
thofe  whom  it  is  reproachful  to  pleafe,  and 
whofe  fmcerity  is  corrupted  by  their  in- 
tereft;  men  who  live  by  the  riots  which 
they  encourage,  and  who  know,  that  when- 
ever their  pupil  grows  wife,  they  fhall  loie 
their  power.  Yet  with  fuch  flatteries,  if 
they  could  laft,  might  the  cravings  of  va- 
nity, which  is  feldom  very  delicate,  be  fa- 
tisfled :  but  the  time  is  always  hafteninp- 
forward,  when  this  triumph,  poor  as  it  is, 
fhall  vanifh,  and  when  thofe  who  now  fur- 
round  him  with  obfequiouihefs  and  compli- 
ments, fawn  among  his  equipage,  and  ani- 
mate his  riots,  fhall  turn  upon  him  with  in- 
fluence, and  reproach  him  with  the  vices 
promoted  by  themfelves. 

And  as  little  pretenflons  has  the  man, 
who  fquanders  his  eftate  by  vain  or  vici- 
ous expences,  to  greater  degrees  of  plea- 
fure than  are  obtained  by  others.  To  make 
any  happinefs  fmcere,  it  is  neceflary  that 
we  believe  it  to  be  Iafting ;  flnce  whatever 
we  fuppofe  ourfelves  in  danger  of  loflno-, 
mail;  be  enjoyed  with  folicitude  and  unea- 
finefs,  and  the  more  value  we  fet  upon  it, 
the  more  muft  the  prefent  poifeflioii  be  im- 
bittered.  How  can  he,  then,  be  envied  for 
his  felicity,  who  knows  that  its  continuance 
cannot  be  expected,  and  who  is  confeious 
that  a  very  fhort  time  will  give  him  up  to 
the  gripe  of  poverty,  which  will  be  harder 
to  be  borne,  as  he  has  given  way  to  more 
exceffes,  wantoned  in  greater  abundance, 
and  indulged  his  appetite  with  more  pro- 
fufenefs. 

It  appears  evident,  that  frugality  is  ne- 

ceflary 


9o 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


ceffary  even  to  compleat  the  pleafure  of  cx- 
pence ;  for  it  may  be  generally  remarked 
of  thofe  who  fquander  what  they  know  their, 
fortune  net  fufficient  to  allow,  that  in  their 
moil:  jovial  expence  there  always  breaks 
out  feme  proof  of  difcontent  and  impa- 
tience ;  they  either  fcatter  with  a  kind  of 
wild  defperation  and  affected  laviihnefs,  as 
criminals  brave  the  gallows  when  they  can- 
not efcape  it ;  or  pay  their  money  with  a 
peevilh  anxiety,  and  endeavour  at  once  to 
ipend  idly,  and  to  fave  meanly  ;  having 
neither  firmnefs  to  deny  their  paffions,  nor 
courage  to  gratify  them,  they  murmur  at 
their  own  enjoyments,  and  poifon  the  bowi 
of  pleafure  by  reflection  on  the  coil. 

Among  thefe  men  there  is  often  the  vo- 
ciferation of  merriment,  but  very  feldom 
the  tranquillity  of  chearfulnefs  ;  they  in- 
flame their  imaginations  to  a  kind  of  'mo- 
mentary jollity,  by  the  help  of  wine  and 
riot;  and  coniider  it  as  the  firft  bufmefs  of 
the  night  to  ftupify  recollection,  and  lay 
that  reafon  afleep,  which  difturbs  their 
gaiety,  and  calls  upon  them  to  retreat  from 
ruin. 

But  this  poor  broken  fatisfaction  is  of 
fhort  continuance,  and  mull  be  expiated  by 
a  long  feries  of  mifery  and  regret.  In  a 
fkort  time  the,  creditor  grows  impatient, 
the  hi:  acre  :  •'  '■  ■■  the  paflions  and  ap- 
petites, frill  continue  their  tyranny,  with,  in  - 
•  thi  ir  ufual  gratifications  ; 
and  the  remainder  of  life  paries  away  in 
vain  re  tee,  .;      i    ■  •  :nt  deiire. 

Rambler, 

§  1 1 4.      On  Honour. 

Eveiy  principle  that  is  a  motive  to  eood 
11  -    .-       to 

actions  ougrsl  to  be  encouraged,  imee  men 

are  of  fo  different  a  make,  that  the  fame 

principle  does  not  work  equally  upon  all 

mind.-.     What  fome  men  are  prompted  to 

by  confeience,  duty,  or  religion,  which  are 

only   different  names   for  the  fame  thing, 

ethers  are  prompted  to  by  honour. 

The  fenfe  of  honour  is  of  fo  fine  and  de- 
licate a  nature,  that  it  is  only  to  be  met 
with  in  minds  which  are  naturally  noble, 
or  in  fuch  as  have  been  cultivated  by  rreat 
examples,  or  a  refined  education.  This 
effay  therefore  is  chiefly  defigncd  for  thofe, 
who  by  means  of  any  of  thefe  advantages 
3  re,  or  ought  to  be,  actuated  by  this  glo- 
rious principle. 

But  as  nothing  is  more  pernicious  than 
a  principle  of  action,  when  it  is  mifunder- 
fcood,  I  fliall  confider  honour  with  refpect 
to  three  forts  of  men.     Firft  of  all,  with 


regard  to  thofe  who  have  a  right  notion  of 
it.  Secondly,  with  regard  to  thofe  who 
have  a  miftaken  notion  of  it.  And  thirdly, 
with  regard  to  thofe  who  treat  it  as  chime- 
rical, and  turn  it  into  ridicule. 

In  the  firft  place,  true  honour,  though  it 
be  a  different  principle  from  religion,  is 
that  which  produces  the  fame  effects.  The 
lines  of  action,  though  drawn  from  dif- 
ferent parts,  terminate  in  the  fame  point. 
Religion  embraces  virtue  as  it  is  enjoined 
by  the  laws  of  God;  honour,  as  it  is  grace- 
ful and  ornamental  to  human  nature.  The 
religious  man  fears,  the  man  of  honour 
fcorns,  to  do  an  ill  action.  The  latter  con- 
fide rs  vice  as  fomething  that  is  beneath 
him ;  the  other,  as  fomething  that  is  offen- 
five  to  the  Divine  Being  :  the  one,  as  what 
is  unbecoming  ;  the  other,  as  what  is  for- 
bidden. Thus  Seneca  fpeaks  in  the  natural 
and  genuine  language  of  a  man  of  honour, 
when  he  declares  "  that  were  there  no  God 
to  iee  or  punifh  vice,  he  would  not  commit 
it,  becaufe  it  is  of  fo  mean,  fo  bafe,  and  fo 
vile  a  nature." 

I  ihall  conclude  this  head  with  the  de- 
fcription  of  honour  in  the  part  of  young 
Juba : 

Honour's  afacred  tie,  the  law  of  kings, 
The  noble;  mind's  tliftinguifhing  perfection, 
That  aids  and  ftrengthens  virtue  when  it  meets 

her, 
And  imitates  her  adtions  where  (he  is  not ; 
It  ought  not  to  be  fported  with.  Cs  to. 

In  the  fecond  place,  we  are  to  confider 
thofe,  who  have  miflaken  notions  of  honour. 
And  thefe  are  fuch  as  eftabiiih  any  thing 
to  themfelves  for  a  point  of  honour,  which 
is  contrary  either  to  the  laws  of  God,  or 
of  their  country  ;  who  think  it  more  ho- 
nourable to  revenge,  than  to  forgive  an  in- 
jury; who  make  no  fcruple  of  telling  a 
lye,  but  would  put  any  man  to  death  that 
accufes  them  of  it ;  who  are  more  careful 
to  guard  their  reputation  by  their  courage 
than  by  their  virtue.  True  fortitude  is  in- 
deed fo  becoming  in  human  nature,  that  he 
who  wants  it  fcarce  deferves  the  name  of 
a  man  ;  but  we  find  feveral  who  fo  much 
abufe  this  notion,  that  they  place  the  whole 
idea  of  honour  in  a  kind  of  brutal  courage: 
by  which  means  we  have  had  many  among 
us,  who  have  called  themfelves  men  of  ho- 
nour, that  would  have  been  a  difgrace  to 
a  gibbet.  In  a  word,  the  man  who  facri- 
fices  any  duty  of  a  reafonable  creature  to 
a  prevailing  mode  or  faihion ;  who  looks 
upon  any  thing  as  honourable  that  is  dif- 
pleafmg  to  his  Maker,  or  deitrudive  to  fa- 

cjety  i 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


9* 


Ctety;  who  thinks  himfelf  obliged  by  this 
principle  to  the  practice  of  fome  virtues, 
and  not  of  others,  is  by  no  means  to  be 
reckoned  among  true  men  of  honour. 

Timogenes  was  alively  inilance  of  one  ac- 
tuated by  falfe  honour.  Timogenes  would 
fmileat  a  man's  jell  who  ridkuled  his  Ma- 
ker, and  at  the  fa  re  time  run  a  man  through 
the  body  that  fpoke  ill  of  his  friend.  Ti- 
mogenes -would  have  fcorncd  to  have  be- 
trayed.a  fecret  that  was  intruded  with  him, 
though  the  fate  of  his  country  depended 
upon  the  difcovery  of  it.  Timogenes  took 
away  the  life  of  a  young  fellow  in  a  duel, 
for  having  ipoken  ill  of  Belinda,  a  lady 
whom  he  himfelf  had  feduced  in  her  youth, 
and  betrayed  into  want  and  ignominy.  To 
clofe  his  character,  Timogenes,  after  hav- 
ing ruined  feveral  poor  tradefmen's  fami- 
lies who  had  truited  him,  fold  his  eftate  to 
fatisfy  his  creditors  ;  but,  like  a  man  of  ho- 
nour, difpofed  of  all  the  money  he  could 
make  of  it,  in  paying  off  his  play  debts,  or, 
to  fpeak  in  his  own  language,  his  debts  of 
honour. 

In  the  third  place,  we  are  to  confider 
thofe  perfons,  who  treat  this  principle  as 
chimerical,  and  turn  it  into  ridicule.  Men 
who  are  profelfedly  of  no  honour,  are  of  a 
more  profligate  and  abandoned  nature  than 
even  thofe  who  are  actuated  by  falfe  no- 
tions of  it;  as  there  is  more  hope  of  an 
heretic  than  of  an  atheift.  Thefe  fons  of 
infamy  confider  honour,  with  old  Syphax 
in  the  play  before-mentioned,  as  a  fine  ima- 
ginary notion  that  leads  aftray  young  un- 
experienced men,  and  draws  them  into  real 
mifchiefs,  while  they  are  engaged  in  the 
purfuit  of  a  ihadow.  Thefe  are  generally 
perfons  who,  in  Shakefpeare's  phrafe,  "  are 
worn  and  hackneyed  in  the  ways  of  men;" 
whofe  imaginations  are  grown  callous,  and 
have  loft  all  thofe  delicate  fentiments  which 
are  natural  to  minds  that  are  innocent  and 
undepraved.  Such  old  battered  mifcreants 
ridicule  every  thing  as  romantic,  that  comes 
in  competition  with  their  prefent  intereft ; 
and  treat  thofe  perfons  as  vilionaries,  who 
dare  to  ftand  up,  in  a  corrupt  age.  for  what 
has  not  its  immediate  reward  joined  to  it. 
The  talents,  intereft,  or  experience  of  fuch 
men,  make  them  very  often  ufeful  in  all 
parties,  and  at  all  times.  But  whatever 
wealth  and  dignities  they  may  arrive  at, 
they  ought  to  confider,  that  every  one  {lands 
as  a  blot  in  the  annals  of  his  country,  who 
arrives  at  the  temple  of  honour  by  any 
Other  way  than  through  that  of  virtue. 

Guardian, 


§  115.      On  Modefty. 

I  know  no  two  words  that  have  been 
more  abufed  by  the  different  and  wrong 
interpretations,  which  are  put  upon  them, 
than  thefe  two,  Modelly  and  Affurance. 
To  fay  fuch  a  one  is  a  modeft  man,  fome- 
times  indeed  paffes  for  a  good  character ; 
but  at  prefent  is  very  often  ufed  to  fignify 
a  fheepifh,  awkward  fellow,  who  has  nei- 
ther good-breeding,  politenefs,  nor  any 
knowledge  of  the  world. 

Again  :  A  man  of  affurance,  though  at 
firft  it  only  denoted  a  perfon  of  a  free  and 
open  carriage,  is  now  very  ufually  applied 
to  a  profligate  wretch,  who  can  break 
through  all  the  rules  of  decency  and  mo- 
rality without  a  bluih. 

I  (hall  endeavour,  therefore,  in  this  ef- 
fay,  to  reftore  thefe  words  to  their  true 
meaning,  to  prevent  the  idea  of  Modefty 
from  being  confounded  with  that  of  Sheep- 
iihnefs,  and  to  hinder  Impudence  from 
palling  for  Affurance. 

If  1  was  put  to  dehne  Modefty,  I  would 
call  it,  The  reflection  of  an  ingenuous 
mind,  either  when  a  man  has  committed  an 
action  for  which  he  cenfures  himfelf,  or 
fancies  that  he  is  expofed  to  the  cenfure  of 
others. 

For  this  reafon  a  man,  truly  modeft,  is 
as  much  fo  when  he  is  alone-  as  in  com- 
pany ;  and  as  fubjeel  to  a  blufh  in  his  clo- 
fe t  as  when  the  eyes  of  multitudes  are  upon 
him. 

I  do  not  remember  to  have  met  with  any 
inilance  of  modefty  with  which  I  am  lb 
well  pleafed,  as  that  celebrated  one  of  the 
young  Prince,  whofe  father,  being  a  tri- 
butary king  to  the  Romans,  had  feveral 
complaints  laid  againft  him  before  the  fe- 
nate,  as  a  tyrant  and  oppreffor  of  his  fub- 
jecls.  The  Prince  went  to  Rome  to  de- 
fend his  father ;  but  coming  into  the  ie- 
nate,  and  hearing  a  multitude  of  crimes 
proved  upon  him,  was  fo  oppreffed  when  it 
came  to  his  turn  to  fpeak,  that  he  was  unable 
to  utter  a  word.  The  ftory  tells  us,  that 
the  fathers  were  more  moved  at  this  inilance 
of  modefty  and  ingenuity,  than  they  could 
have  been  by  the  moil  pathetic  oration  ; 
and,  in  ihort,  pardoned  the  guilty  father 
for  this  early  promife  of  virtue  in  the  fon. 

I  take  Affurance  to  be,  The  faculty  of 
poffeffmga  man's  felf,  or  of  faying  and  do- 
ing indifferent  things  without  any  uneafi- 
nefs  or  emotion  in  the  mind.  That  which 
generally  gives  a  man  affurance,  is  a  mo- 
derate knowledge  of  the  world ;  but  above 

all, 


r-  ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

all,  a  mind  fixed  and  determined  in  itfelf 

to  do  nothing  againft  the  rules   of  honour 

and  decency.     An  open  and  affured  b 

viour  is  the  natural  confequence  of  fu 

refelutibn.   A  man  thus  armed,  if  his  w< 

or  actions  are  at  any  time  mifmti 

retires   within   h  :.  and  from  a  confci- 

oufnefs  of  his  own  integrity,  aiTumes  force 

enough  to  dcipj^  the  little  cenfures  of  ig- 
norance or  malice. 

Every  one  ought  to  cherifh  and  encour; 

inhimfelfthe  i  ;  ndaflurance  1  ] 

here  mentio 

A  man  without  afmrance  is  Hah'-  to  be 

made  uneafy   by  the  folly  or  ill-nature  of 

every  one  he  converfes  with.    A  ma 

out  modefty  is  lei  to  all  fenfe  of  horn 

and  virtue. 

It  is  more  than  probal  "  the  Prince 

above-mentioned  p<  (3  ;     thofc  qua- 

lifications in  a  v  'free.    With- 

out affurahce,  he  would  nevi  rhave  under- 
taken to  fpeak  before  the  moft  auguft  af- 
fembly  in  the  world;  without  modelty,  he 
>vould  have  pleaded  the  caufe  he  had  t'ak  n 
upon  him,  thou;  h  :  e;  red  ,   ei  fo 

Scandalous, 

prom  what  has  he 


§    1 1 6.     On  Sfmterejled Frient 
I  am  informed  that  certain  Greek  write, 
(Philofophers,  it  feems,  in  the  opinion  J 
their  countrymen)    have    advanced 
ve'T    (  •  ofitions    relatii 

,  what  fubjecc  is 
thek  fubtle  geniufes  have  net  toil 
:  with  their  fophii 

;  authors  to  whom  I  refer,  diiTuadj 
their difciples. from  enter]  g  into  any 
attachments,  as  unai  oidably  creating  fupeii 

ary  difqui<      '        i    hole  who  en 
1     them;  and,  as  even 

:  ':  :       sin  the 

courfe  f.f  his  own  afiaii  ,  it  is  a  weaknefij 

hey  contend,  anxioully  to  involve  h: 


i  ccom- 


:n  Ian:,  it  is  in   _■    tl  a! 
modefty  and   affurance   are   b 
and  may   very  well  meet  in  the  i  m     per- 
fon.  When  they  are  thus  mixed  ai 
together,    they   compofe  what  we  en  iea- 
vour  to  exprei  ,  a  model! 

finance;  by  which  we  underftand,  tli.e 
inean  between  brdhfulncfs  ana  impudence. 

I   mall  conclude  with  c  ,  that  as 

the  fame  man  may  be  !  J  af_ 

fured,  fo  it  i?  alfo  poll  ble  f<  .  per- 

fon  to  be  both  inipudem  mil. 

_  We  have  frequent  inllances  of 
Kindofmixtui      i  >e    <1  :cfd     i  ived minds 
^'^  i;  who,  though  tl  ey  are 

to  meet  a  man'-  eyes,  or  pronounce 
c<    without  confufion,  can  volunta- 
ry    "  '  i     moll 
ons. 

;"  -'  ■  made  a  re- 

foluti  »n  to  do  ill,  .  •    :  ,.      q  -; 

and  :  of  all  and  re- 

-r--jVh     }  -    Q  tO 

have  I     i  way. 

*-"'  I  would  en  :avour  to 
eftal  m,  That  tj 
virtu  give  a 
man  a  in  his  words  and 
'  :  it- 
one «  '.  nes;  and  is  j 
&nes  atti      .  with  both.          Special  • 


in  the  concerns  of  or    . 
mend  it  alio,  in  all  connecY:  his  kind 

to  hold  the  bands  of  union  extremely  loofe; 
ve  it  in  one's  power  to 
ftraiten  or  relax  ■l,::-,  as  circumirances  and 
'    •        -  molt  expedient.  They 

dele   of  their  doctrines 
tnpt  from  cares,  is  an  ef- 
•      ■  it  to  conftitute  human  hap- 

■'  but  an      gredient,  however,  which 
;       '    io  voluntarily  diftreffeshimfelf  with 
i    he  has   no  neceffary  and 
■  muft  never  hope  to  pof- 

rhave  been  told  likewife,  that  there  is 

:    :--■:  or"  pretended  philofophers,  of 

nets,  concerning 

tlns  &bjecl,  are  of  a  ftill  more  illiberal  and- 

caif. 
.     *  he  proportion  they  attempt  to  eftabiifh, 
-  "  friendlhip  is  an  affair  of  felf-in- 
lat  the  proper  motive 
g  in  it,  is,  net  in  order  to  gra- 
nd and  benevolent  affections,  but 


ind  fup- 


"  r   '•■-'   ben<  it  of  that  aflii>3n__ 
port  which  is  to  be  derived   from  the  con- 
•  n."     Accordingly    they    afl'ert,  that 

:  are  moft  diipofed  to  hare  re- 
10  auxiliary  alliances  of  this  kind, 
whoareleafl  qualihed  by   nature,  or  for- 
tune, to  depend  upon  their  own  ftrength 
;  •  .    .       '      :   the  weakei  fex,  for  imdance, 
-rally  more  inclined  to  engage  in 
<-<?$;  than   the   male    part    of   our 
id  thofc  who  ere  depreit  by  in- 
digence,   or  labouring  under  misfortunes, 
profperous. 
Excellent  and  cb'h  j  ,  tuefet  „n_ 

'     ubtedly!    To.  do ane  out  the  friendly  af- 

.  would  be 
like  extinguishing  the  fun  in  die  natural: 

each. 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


.each  of  them  being  the  fource  or  the  belt 
and  molt  grateful  lad  fa&ions  that  Hea- 
ven has  conferred  on  the  fons  of  men. 
But  I  mould  be  glad  to  know  what  the 
real  value  of  this  boafted  exemption  from 
fere,  which  they  promife  their  difciples, 
jultly  amounts  to?  an  exemption  flatter- 
ing to  felf-love,  1  cohfefs ;  but  which,  upon 
ifiany  occurrences  in  human  life,  mould 
be  rejected  with  the'utmoil  difdain.  For 
fcothing,  furely,  can  be  more  inconfiftent 
with  a  well-poifed  and  manly  fpirit,  than 
to  decline  engaging  in  any  laudable  ac- 
tion, or  to  be  difcouraged  from  perfever- 
ino-  in  it,  bv  an  apprehenlion  of  the  trouble 
and  folicitude  with  which  it  may  probably 
be  attended.  Virtue  herfelf,  _  indeed, 
ought  to  be  totally  renounced,  if  it  be 
right  to  avoid  every  poffrble  means  that 
may  be  productive  of  uneafinefs  :  for  who, 
that  is  actuated  by  her  principles,  can  ob- 
ferve  the  conduct  of  an  oppolke  character, 
without  being  affected  with  fome  degree 
of  fecret  diiiatisfaction  ?  Are  not  the  juit, 
the  brave,  and  the  good,  neceffarily  ex- 
pofed  to  the  difagreeable  emotions  of  dif- 
like  and  averiion,  when  they  reflectively 
meet  with  inftances  of  fraud,  of  cowardice, 
or  of  villainy?  It  is  an  effential  pro- 
perty of  every  well-conftituted  mind,  to  be 
affected  with  pain,  or  pleafure,  according 
to  the  nature  of  thofe  moral  appearances 
that  prefent  themfelves  to  obfervation. 

If  fenfibility,  therefore,  be  not  incorn- 
patible  with  true  wifdom  (and  it  furely  is 
not,  unlefs  we  fuppofe  that  philofophy 
deadens  every  finer  feeling  of  our  nature) 
what  juft  reafon  can  be  affigned,  why  the 
fympathetic  fufferings  which  may  refult 
from  friendship,  fnhulJ  be  a  fufficient  in- 
ducement for  banirfung  that  generous  af- 
■fe&ion  from  the  human  breaft  ?  Extin- 
guilh  all  emotions  of  the  heart,  and  what 
.difference  will  remain,  I  do  not  lay  be- 
tween man  and  brute,  but  between  man 
and  a  mere  inanimate  clod  ?  Away  then 
•with  thofe  auftere  philofophers,  who  re- 
present virtue  as  hardening  the  foul  againft 
all  the  fofter  imprefiions  of  humanity!- 
The  fad,  certainly,  is  much  otherwife  :  a 
truly  good  man  is,  upon  many  occafions, 
extremely  fufceptible  offender  fentimerits; 
and  his  heart  expands  with  joy,  or  fhrihks 
with  forrow,  as  good  or  ill  fortune  accom- 
panies his  friend.  Upon  the  whole,  then, 
it  may  fairly  be  concluded,  that,  as  in  the 
cafe  of  virtue,  i'o  in  that  of  friendship, 
thofe  painful  fenfations,  which  may  fome- 
times  be  produced  by  the  one,_as  well  as 
by    the    other,     are    equally    infufficient 


93 

grounds  for  excluding -either  of  them  from 
taking  poffeffion  of  our  bofoms. 

They  who  infill  that  "  utility  is  the  firft 
and  prevailing  motive,  which  induces  man- 
kind to  enter  into  particular  friendihips," 
appear  to  me  to  dived  the  aflbciation  of 
its  moil:  amiable  and  engaging  principle. 
For,  to  a  mind  rightly  dilpofed,  it  is  not  fo 
much  the  benefits  received,  as  the  affec- 
tionate zeal  from  winch  they  flow,  that 
gii  es  them  their  belt  and  moll:  valuable 
recommendation.  It  is  fo  far  indeed  from 
being  verified  by  fad,  that  a  fenfe  of  our 
\\  ants  is  the  original  caufe  of  forming  thefe 
amicable  alliances ;  that,  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  obfervable,  that  none  have  been  more 
diftinguilhed  in  their  friendihips  than  thofe 
whofe  power  and  opulence,  but,  above  all, 
whofe  iuoerior  virtue  (a  much  firmer  fup- 
port)  have  raifed  them  above  every  ne- 
ccflity  of  having  recourfe  to  the  afiiltance 
of  others. 

1  ne  true  diftinction,  then,  in  this  quef- 
tion  is,  that  "  although  friendlhip  is  cer- 
tainly productive  of  utility,  yet  utility  is 
not  the  primary  motive  of  friendlhip." 
Thofe  ielfifh  ienfualiits,  i  therefore,  who, 
lulled  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  prefume  ta 
maintain  the  reverie,  have  fureiy  no  claim 
to  attention;  as  they  are  neither  qualified  by 
reflection,  nor  experience,  to  be  competent 
judges  of  the  lubject. 

Good  Gods !  is  there  a  man  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth,  who  would  deliberately 
accept  of  ail  the  wealth  and  all  the  af- 
fluence this  world  can  beftow,  if  offered  ta 
him  upon  the  fevere  terms  of  his  being, 
unconnected  with  a  fmgle  mortal  whom  he 
could  love,  or  by  whom  he  Ihould  be  be- 
loved? Tnis  would  be  to  lead  the  wretch- 
ed life  of  a  detelted  tyrant,  who,  amidil 
perpetual  fufpicions  and  alarms,  paffes  his 
miierable  days  a  ftranger  to  every  tender 
fentiment,  and  utterly  precluded  from  the 
heart-felt  fatisfaclions  of  friendlhip. 

Melmoth's  Tranjlation  of  Cicero's  La/Jus, 


117- 


Tie  Art  of  Happinefs. 


Almoft  every  object  that  attracts  our 
notice  has  its  bright  and  its  dark  fide, 
He  who  habituates  himfelf  to  look  at  the- 
difplealing  fide,  will  four  his  difpolition, 
and  confequently  impair  his  happinefs ; 
while  he,  who  conftantly  beholds  it  on  the 
bright  fide,  infenfibly  meliorates  his  tem- 
per, and,  in  confequence  of  it,  improves 
his  own  happinefs,  and  the  happinefs  of 
all  about  him. 

Aiachne   and   Melifla  are  two  friends. 

They 


94 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


They  are,  both  of  them,  women  in  years, 
and  alike  in  birth,  fortune,  education,  and 
accomplifhments.  They  were  originally 
alike  in  temper  too  ;  but,  by  different  ma- 
nagement, are  grown  the  reverfe  of  each 
other.  Arachne  has  accudomed  herfelf  to 
look  only  on  the  dark  fide  of  every  object. 
If  a  new  poem  or  play  makes  its  appear- 
ance, with  a  thoufand  brilliancies,  and  but 
one  or  two  blemifhes,  fhe  (lightly  (kims 
over  the  paffages  that  mould  give  her  plea- 
fure,  and  dwells  upon  thofe  only  that  fill 
her  with  diflike. — If  you  (hew  her  a  very 
excellent  portrait,  (he  looks  at  fome  part 
of  the  drapery  which  has  been  neglected, 
or  to  a  hand  or  finger  which  has  been  left 
unfinifhed. — Her  garden  is  a  very  beauti- 
ful one,  and  kept  with  great  neatnefs  and 
elegancy  ;  but  if  you  take  a  walk  with  her 
in  it,  (he  talks  to  you  of  nothing  but  blights 
and  dorms,  of  ("nails  and  caterpillars,  and 
how  impoflible  it  is  to  keep  it  from  the 
litter  of  falling  leaves  and  worm-cads— 
If  you  fit  down  in  one  of  her  temples,  to 
enjoy  a  delightful  profpect,  (he  obferves 
to  you,  that  there  is  too  much  wood,  or  too 
little  water;  that  the  day  is  too  funny,  or 
too  gloomy ;  that  it  is  fultry,  or  windy; 
and  finiihes  with  a  long  harangue  upon 
the  wretchedneis  of  our  climate. — When 
you  return  with  her  to  the  company,  in 
hope  of  a  little  chearful  converfation,  ihc 
calls  a  gloom  over  all,  by  giving  you  the 
hiltory  of  her  own  bad  health,  or  of  fome 
melancholy  accident  that  has  befallen  one 
of  her  daughter's  children.  Thus  (he  in- 
fennbly  (inks  her  own  fpirits,  and  the  (pi- 
tits  of  all  around  her;  and,  at  laft,  dif- 
covers,  (he  knows  not  why,  that  her  friends 
are  grave. 

Meliffa  is  the  reverfe  of  all  this.  By 
conltantly  habituating  herfelf  to  look  only 
on  the  bright  fide  of  objects,  fne.preferves 
a  perpetual  chearfulnefs  in  herfelf,  which, 
by  a  kind  of  happy  contagion,  (he  com- 
municates to  all  about  her.  If  any  mil- 
fortune  has  befallen  her,  (he  confiders  it 
might  have  been  worfe,  and  is  thankful  to 
Providence  for  an  efcape.  She  rejoices 
in  folitude,  as  it  gives  her  an  opportunity 
of  knowing  herlelf;  and  in  ibciety,  be- 
caufe  (he  can  communicate  the  happinefs 
(he  enjoys.  She  oppofes  every  man's  vir- 
tue to  his  failings,  and  can  find  out  fome- 
thing  to  cheriih  and  applaud  in  the  very 
word  cf  her  acquaintance.  She  opens 
every  book  with  a  defire  to  be  entertained 
or  hnlructed,  and  therefore  feldom  miffes 
what    (he    looks    for.    Walk    with   her, 


though  it  be  on  a  heath  or  a  common,  and 
(he  will  difcover  numberlefs  beauties,  un- 
obferved  before,  in  the  hills,  the  dales,  the 
brooms,  brakes,  and  the  variegated  (lower3 
of  weeds  and  poppies.  She  enjoys  every 
change  of  weather  and  of  feafon,  as  bring- 
ing with  it  fomething  of  health  or  conve- 
nience. In  conversation,  it  is  a  rule  with 
her,  never  to  (tart  a  fubject  that  leads  to 
any  thing  gloomy  or  difagreeable.  You 
therefore  never  hear  her  repeating  her' 
own  grievances,  or  thefe  of  her  neigh- 
bours ;  or,  (what  is  worft  of  all)  their  faults 
and  imperfections.  If  any  thing  of  the 
latter  kind  be  mentioned  in  her  hearing, 
fhe  has  the  addrefs  to  turn  it  into  enter- 
tainment, by  changing  the  moit  odious 
railing  into  a  pleafant  raillery.  Thus 
Meliffa,  like  the  bee,  gathers  honey  from 
every  weed ;  while  Arachne,  like  the  fpi- 
der,  fucks  poifon  from  the  faireit  flowers. 
The  confequence  is,  that,  of  two  tempers 
once  very  nearly  allied,  the  one  is  ever 
four  and  diflatisfied,  the  other  always  gay 
and  chearful  ;  the  one  fpreads  an  uni- 
verfal  gloom,  the  other  a  continual  fun- 
ihine. 

There  is  nothing  more  worthy  of  our 
attention,  than  this  art  of  happinefs-.  In 
converfation,  as  well  as  life,  happinefs  very 
often  depends  upon  the  flighted  incidents. 
The  taking  notice  of  the  badnefs  of  the 
weather,  a  north-ealt-wind,  the  approach 
of  winter,  or  any  trifling  circumilance  of 
the  difagreeable  kind,  (hall  infenfibly  rob 
a  whole  company  of  its  good-humour,  and 
fling  ever/  member  of  it  into  the  vapours. 
If,  therefore,  we  would  be  happy  in  our- 
felves,  and  are  defirous  of  communicating 
that  happinefs  to  all  about  us,  thefe  minu- 
tiae of  converfation  ought  carefully  to  be 
attended  to.  The  brightnefs  of  the  (ky, 
the  lengthening  of  the  day,  the  increaf- 
ing  verdure  of  the  fpring,  the  arrival  of 
any  little  piece  of  good  news,*  or  whatever 
carries  with  it  the  mod  diltant  glimpfe  of 
joy,  (hall  frequently  be  the  parent  of  a 
focial  and  happy  converfation.  Good- 
manners  exact  from  us  this  regard  to  our 
company.  The  clown  may  repine  at  the 
funlhine  that  ripens  the  harved,  becaufe 
his  turnips  are  burnt  up  by  it ;  but  the 
man  of  refinement  will  extract:  pleafure 
from  the  thunder-dorm  to  which  he  is  cx- 
pofed,  by  remarking  on  the  plenty  and 
refreftvment  which  may  be  expected  from 
the  fucceeding  (hower. 

Thus  does  politenefs,  as  well  as  good 
fenfe,  direct  us  to  look  at  every  object  on 

the 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


95 


«3ie  bright  fide;  and,  by  thus  a&ing,  wc 
cherilh  and  improve  both.  By  this  prac- 
tice it  is  that  Meliffa  is  become  the  wifeft 
and  beft-bred  woman  living  ;  and  by  this 
practice,  may  every  perfon  arrive  at  that 
agreeablenefs  of  temper,  of  which  the 
natural  and  never-failing  fruit  is  Happi- 
nefs.  Harris. 

§    1 1 8.     Happinsfs   is  founded  in  ReiHtuds 
of  Conduit. 

All  men  purfue  Good,  and  would  be 
happy,  if  they  knew  how :  not  happy  for 
minutes,  and  miferable  for  hours ;  but 
happy,  if  poihble,  through  every  part  of 
their  existence.  Either,  therefore,  there  is 
a  good  of  this  lie  ad  y,  durable  kind,  or 
there  is  none,  li  none,  then  all  good  mull 
be  tranlient  and  uncertain ;  and  if  fo,  an 
object  of  the  lowelt  value,  which  can  little 
deferve  either  our  attention  or  inquiry. 
But  if  there  be  a  better  good,  fuch  a  good 
as  we  are  feeking ;  like  every  other  thing, 
it  mull  be  derived  from  fome  caufe ;  and 
that  caufe  mull  be  either  external,  internal, 
or  mixed ;  in  as  much  as,  except  thefe 
three,  there  is  no  other  poiTible.  Now  a 
Heady,  durable  good  cannot  be  derived 
from  an  external  caufe  ;  by  reafon,  all  de- 
rived from  externals  mull  fluctuate  as  they 
fluctuate.  By  the  fame  rule,  not  from  a 
mixture  of  the  two ;  becaufe  the  part 
which  is  external  will  proportionabiy  de- 
ftroy  its  eflence.  What  then  remains  but 
the  caufe  internal ;  the  very  caufe  which 
we  have  fuppofed,  when  we  place  the  So- 
vereign Good  in  Mind— in  Rectitude  of 
Conduct  ?  Ibid. 

§    119.     The  Choice  of  Hercules. 

When  Hercules  was  in  that  part  of  his 
youth,  in  which  it  was  natural  for  him  to 
confider  what  courfe  of  life  he  ought  to 
purme,  he  one  day  retired  into  a  defert, 
where  the  filence  and  folitude  of  the  place 
very  much  favoured  his  meditations.  As 
he  was  mufing  on  his  prefent  condition, 
and  very  much  perplexed  in  himfeif  on  the 
ftate  of  life  he  mould  chufe,  he  faw  two 
women,  of  a  larger  ilature  than  ordinary, 
approaching  towards  him.  One  of  them 
had  a  very  noble  air,  and  graceful  deport- 
ment ;  her  beauty  was  natural  and  eafy, 
her  perfon  clean  and  unfpotted,  her  eyes 
call  towards  the  ground  with  an  agreeable 
i-eferve,  her  motion  and  behaviour  full  of 
modelly,  and  her  raiment  as  white  as  fnow. 
The  other  had  a  great  deal  of  health  and 
iioridnefs  in  her  countenance,  which  fiie 


had  helped  with  an  artificial  white  and  red; 
and  lhe  endeavoured  to  appear  more  grace- 
ful than  ordinary  in  her  mien,  by  a 
mixture  of  affectation  in  all  her  geflures. 
She  had  a  wonderful  confidence  and  af- 
furance  in  her  looks,  and  all  the  variety  of 
colours  in  her  drefs,  that  (lie  thought  were 
the  moft  proper  to  lhew  her  complexion  to 
advantage.  She  call  her  eyes  upon  her- 
felf,  then  turned  them  on  thofe  that  were 
prefent,  to  fee  how  they  liked  her,  and 
ofcen  looked  on  the  figure  lhe  made  in 
her  own  ihadow.  Upon  her  nearer  ap- 
proach to  Hercules,  lhe  Hepped  before  the 
other  lady,  who  came  forward  with  a  re- 
gular, compofed  carriage,  and  running  up 
to  him,  accolled  him  after  the  following 
manner: 

"  My  dear  Hercules,"  fays  lhe,  "  I 
find  you  are  very  much  divided  in  your 
thoughts  upon  the  way  of  life  that  you 
ought  to  chufe  :  be  my  friend,  and  follow 
me ;  I  will  lead  you  into  the  poiTefiion  of 
pleafure,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  pain, 
and  remove  you  from  all  the  noife  and 
difquietude  of  bufinefs.  The  affairs  of 
either  war  or  peace  (hall  have  no  power 
to  dillurb  you.  Your  whole  employment 
lhall  be  to  make  your  life  eafy,  and  to 
entertain  every  fenfe  with  its  proper  gra- 
tifications. Sumptuous  tables,  beds  of 
rofes,  clouds  of  perfumes,  concerts  of 
muiic,  crowds  of  beauties,  are  all  in  rea- 
dinefs  to  receive  you.  Come  along  with 
me  into  this  region  of  delights,  this  world 
of  pleasure,  and  bid  farewel  for  ever  to 
care,  to  pain,  to  bufinefs."  Hercules 
hearing  the  lady  talk  after  this  manner, 
defined  to  know  her  name :  to  which  lhe 
anfwered,  "  My  friends,  and  thofe  who 
are  well  acquainted  with  me,  call  me 
Happinefs ;  but  my  enemies,  and  thofe 
who  would  injure  my  reputation,  have 
given  me  the  name  of  Pleafure." 

By  this  time  the  ether  lady  was,  come 
up,  who  addreffed  herfelf  to  the  young 
hero  in  a  very  different  manner :— "  Her- 
cules," fays  lhe,  "  \  offer  myfelf  to  you, 
becaufe  I  know  you  are  descended  from 
the  Gods,  and  give  proofs  of  that  defcent, 
by  your  love  to  virtue,  and  application  to 
the  iludies  proper  for  your  age.  This 
makes  me  hope  you  will  gain,  both  for 
yourfelf  and  me,  an  immortal  reputation. 
But  before  I  invite  you  into  my  fociety 
and  friendship,  I  will  be  open  and  fmcere 
with  you ;  and  mull  lay  this  down  as  an 
eftabi'iihed  truth,  that  there  is  nothing 
truly    valuable,   which  can  be  purchafed 

without 


$6 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


without  pains  and  labour.  The  Gods 
have  fet  a  price  upon  every  real  and  noble 
pleafure.  If  you  would  gain  the  favour 
of  the  Deity,  you  muil  be  at  the  pains  of 
worfhipping  him  ;  if  the  friendship  of  good 
men,  you  mult  ltudy  to  oblige  them  ;  if 
you  would  be  honoured  by  your  country, 
you  muft  take  care  to  ferve  it :  in  ihort, 
if  you  would  be  eminent  in  war  or  peace, 
you  muft  become  mafter  of  all  the  qualifi- 
cations that  can  make  you  fo.  Thefe  are 
the  only  terms  and  conditions  upon  which 
I  can  propofe  happinefs." 

The  Goddefs  of  Pleafure  here  broke  in 
upon  her  difcourfe  :  "  You  fee,"  laid  Ihe, 
"  Hercules,  by  her  own  confeffion,  the  way 
to  her  pleaiures  is  long  and  difficult ; 
whereas  that  which  I  propofe  is  fhort  and 
eafy."  «  Alas!"  faid  the  other  lady, 
whofe  vifage  glowed  with  pafiion,  made 
up  of  fcorn  and  pity,  "  what  are  the  plea- 
fures  you  propofe  ?  To  eat  before  you 
are  hungry,  drink  before  you  are  athirlt, 
fleep  before  you  are  tired;  to  gratify  ap- 
petites before  they  are  railed,  and  raife 
fuch  appetites  as  nature  never  planted. 
You  never  heard  the  moft  delicious  mufic, 
which  is  the  praife  of  one's-felf;  nor  law 
the  moft  beautiful  object,  which  is  the 
work  of  one's  own  hands.  Your  votaries 
pafs  away  their  youth  in  a  dream  of  mif- 
taken  pleaiures ;  while  they  are  hoarding 
up  anguifti,  torment,  and  remorfe,  for  old 
age. 

"  As  for  me,  I  am  the  friend  of  Gods, 
and  of  good  men  ;  an  agreeable  com- 
panion to  the  artizan  ;  an  houlhold  guar- 
dian to  the  fathers  of  families ;  a  patron 
and  protector  of  fervants  ;  an  afibciate  in 
all  true  and  generous  friendfhips.  The 
banquets  of  my  votaries  arc  never  coftly, 
but  always  delicious;  for  none  eat  or  drink 
at  them,  who  are  not  invited  by  hunger 
and  thirft.  Their  {lumbers  are  found,  and 
their  wakings  chcarful.  My  young  men 
have  the  pleafure  of  hearing  themfelves 
praifed  by  thole  who  are  in  years ;  and 
thole  who  are  in  yeais,  of  being  honoured 
by  tliofe  who  are  young.  In  a  word,  my 
followers  are  favoured  by  the  Gods,  be- 
by  their  acquaintance,  efteemed  by 
their  country,  and,  after  the  clofe  of  their 
labours,  honoured  by  pofterity." 

We  know,  by  the  life  of  this  memorable 
hero,  to  which  of  thefe  two  ladies  he  gave 
up   his   heart;    and,  I   believe,  every  one 
who  reads  this,  will  do  him  the  jufti 
approve  his  choice.  Tatlu\ 


Letters  on  the  Choice  cf  Company, 


§     1 20.     Let 


r     I. 


Sir, 


As  you  are  now  no  longer  under  the 
eye  of  either  a  parent,  or  a  governor,  but 
wholly  at  liberty  to  act  according  to  your, 
own  inclinations ;  your  friends  cannot  bs$ 
without  their  fears,  on  your  account ;  they 
cannot  but  have  fome  uneafy  appreherl 
lions,  left  the  very  bad  men,  with  whom 
you  may  convene,  mould  be  able  to  efface 
thofe  principles,  which  fo  much  care  was 
taken  at  firft  to  imprint,  and  has  been  fince 
to  preferve,  in  you. 

The  intimacy,  in  which  I  have,  for 
many  years,  lived  with  your  family,  fuf» 
fers  me  not  to  be  otherwife  than  a  fearer 
of  their  concern,  on  this  occafion ;  and 
you  will  permit  me,  as  fuch,  to  lay  before 
you  thole  confiderations,  which,  while  they 
fhew  you  your  danger,  and  excite  your 
caution,  may  not  be  without  their  ufe  in 
promoting  your  fafety. 

That  it  ihould  be  the  endeavour  of  our. 
parents,  to  give  us  juft  appreheniions  of 
things,  as  loon  as  we  are  capable  of  re- 
ceiving them  ;  and,  in  our  earlier  years, 
to  ftock  our  minds  with  ufeful  truths — to . 
accuftom  us  to  the  ufe  of  our  reafon,  the 
1  eftraint  of  our  appetites,  and  the  govern- 
ment of  cur  paffions,  is  a  point,  on  which, 
I  believe,  all  are  agreed,  whofe  opinions 
about  it  you  would  think  of  any  confe-j 
quence. 

From  a  neglect  in  thefe  particulars,  you 
fee  fo  many  of  one  fex,  as  much  Girls  at 
Sixty,  as  they  were  at  Sixteen- — their  fol- 
lies only  varied — their  purfuits,  though 
differently,  yet  equally,  trifling;  and  you 
thence,  likewife,  find  near  as  many  of  the 
other  fex,  Boys  in  their  advanced  years— 
as  fond  of  feathers  and  toys  in  their  riper 
age,  as  they  were  in  their  childhood — liv- 
ing as  little  to  any  of  the  purpofes  of  Rea- 
fon, when  it  has  gained -its  fulf  ftrength,  as 
they  did  when  it  was  weakeft.  And,  in- 
deed, from  the  fame  fource  all  thofe 
vices  proceed,  winch  moft  difturb  and  dif- 
trefs  the  world. 

When  no  pains  are  taken  to  correct  our 
bad  inclinations  t  before  they  become  con- 
firmed and  fixed  in  us ;  they  acquire,  at 
length,  that  power  over  us,  from  which 
we  have  the  word  to  fear — we  give  way  to 
them  in  the  inftances  where  we  fee  plaineitj 
how  grie\  oufly  we  muft  fuffer  by  our  com- 
7  pliance-- 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


97 


fiance- — we  know  not  how  to  refill  them, 
flotwithftanding  the  obvious  ruin  which 
will  be  the  confequence  of  our  yielding  to 
them. 

I  don't  fay,  that  a  right  education  will  be 
as  beneficial,  as  a  wrong  one  is  hurtful :  the 
very  belt,  may  be  difappointed  of  its  pro- 
per effects. 

Though  the  tree  you  fet  be  put  into  an 
excellent  foil,  and  trained  and  pruned  by 
the  fkilf'ulleft  hand ;  you  are  not,  however, 
fure  of  its  thriving :  vermin  may  deflroy 
all  your  hopes  from  it. 

When  the  utmofl  care  has  been  taken  to 
fend  a  young  man  into  the  world  well 
principled,  and  fully  apprifed  of  the  reafon- 
ablenefs  of  a  religious  and  virtuous  life ; 
he  is,  vet,  far  from  being  temptation  proof 
^»— he  even  then  may  fall,  may  fall  into 
the  worft  both  of  principles  and  practices ; 
and  he  is  very  likely  to  do  ib,  in  the  place 
where  you  are,  if  he  will  aifociate  with 
thcfe  who  fpeak  as  freely  as  they  aft;  and 
who  feem  to  think,  that  their  underiland- 
ing  would  be  lefs  advantageoufiy  fhewn, 
were  they  not  to  ufe  it  in  defence  of  their 
vices. 

That  we  may  be  known  by  our  compa- 
ny, is  a  truth  become  proverbial.  The 
ends  we  have  to  ferve  may,  indeed,  occa- 
fion  us  to  be  often  with  the  perfons,  whom 
we  by  no  means  referable;  or,  the  place, 
in  which  we  are  fettled,  keeping  us  at  a 
great  diftance  fern  others,  if  we  will  con- 
yerfe  at  all,  it  muft  be  with  fome,  whofe 
manners  we  leait  approve.  But  when  we 
have  our  choice — when  no  valuable  intereft 
is  promoted  by  afTociating  with  the  cor- 
rupt— when,  if  we  like  the  company  of 
the  wife  and  confiderate,  we  may  have  it ; 
that  we  then  court  the  one,  and  fhun  the 
other,  feems  as  full  a  proof,  as  we  can  well 
give,  that,  if  we  avoid  vice,  it  is  not  from 
the  fenle  we  have  of  the  amiableneis  cf 
virtue. 

Had  I  a  large  collection  of  books,  and 
never  looked  into  any  that  treated  on 
grave  and  ufeful  fubjects,  that  would  con- 
tribute to  make  me  wifer  or  better ;  but 
took  thofe  frequently,  and  thofe  only,  into 
my  hands,  that  would  raife  my  laughter, 
or  that  would  merely  amufe  me,  or  that 
would  give  me  loofe  and  imp  are  ideas,  or 
that  inculcated  atheifHcal  or  fceptical  no- 
tions, or  that  were  filled  with  fcurrility  and 
invective,  and  therefore  could  only  ferve 
to  gratify  my  fpleen  and  ill-nature  ;  they, 
who  knew  this  to  be  my  practice,  rnuit, 


certainly,  form  a  very  unfavourable  opi- 
nion of  my  capacity,  or  of  my  morals.  If 
nature  had  given  me  a  good  understanding, 
and  much  of  my  time  paifed  in  reading  : 
were  I  to  read  nothing  but  what  was  tri- 
fling, it  would  fpoil  that  underftanding,  it 
would  make  me  a  Trifler:  and  though 
formed  with  commendable  difpofltions,  or 
with  none  very  biameable  ;  yet  if  my  fa- 
vourite authors  were— -fuck  as  encouraged 
me  to  make  the  moll:  of  the  prefent  hour; 
not  to  look  beyond  if,  to  tafte  every  plea- 
fure  that  offered  itfelf,  to  forego  no  ad- 
vantage, that  I  could  obtain— -fuch  as  gave 
vice  nothing  to  fear,  nor  virtue  any  thing 
to  hope,  in  a  future  ftate  ;  you  would  not, 
I  am  fure,  pronounce  otherwife  of  thofe 
writers,  than  that  they  would  hurt  my  na- 
tural difpoiition,  and  carry  me  lengths  cf 
guilt,  which  I  mould  not  have  gone,  with- 
out this  encouragement  to  it. 

Nor  can  it  be  allowed,  that  reading 
wrong  things  would  thus  affect  me,  but  it 
muit  be  admitted,  that  hearing  them  would 
not  do  it  lefs.  Both  fall  under  the  head 
of  Cowverfation ;  we  fitly  apply  that  term 
alike  to  both ;  an  J  we  may  be  faid,  with 
equal  propriety,  to  converfe  with  books, 
and  to  converfe  with  men.  The  impref- 
flon,  indeed,  made  on  us  by  what  we 
hear,  is,  ufually,  much  ilronger  than 
that  received  by  us  from  what  we  read. 
That  which  pafTes  in  our  ufual  inter- 
courfe  is  iiflened  to,  without  fatiguing 
„us :  each,  then,  taking  his  turn  in  {peak- 
ing, our  attention  is  kept  awake :  we  mind 
throughout  what  is  faid,  while  we  are  at 
liberty  to  exprefs  our  own  fentiments  of  it, 
to  confirm  it,  or  to  improve  upon  it,  or  to 
object  to  it,  or  to  hear  any  part  of  it  re- 
peated, or  to  afk  what  queftions  we  pleafe 
concerning  it. 

Difcourfe  is  an  application  to  our  eyes, 
as  well  as  ears ;  ysmd  the  one  organ  is  here 
io  far  afiiilant  to  the  other,  that  it  greatly 
increafes  the  force  cf  what  is  transmitted 
to  our  minds  by  it.  The  air  and  action  of 
the  fpeaker  gives  no  fmall  importance  to 
his  words :  the  very  tone  of  his  voice,  adds 
weight  to  his  reafonir.g;  and  occafions  that: 
to  be  attended  to  throughout,  which,  had 
it  come  to  us  from  the  pen  or  the  prefs, 
we  fliould  have  been  aiieep,  before  we  had 
read  half  of  it. 

That  bad  companions  will  make  us  as 

bad  as  tjiemfelves,  I  don't  affirm.     Whe  1 

\.  e  are  not   kept  from  their  vices  by  our 

principles,  we  may  be  fo  by  our  confiitu- 

H  tion ; 


9% 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


tion  ;  we  may  be  lefs  pronigate  than  they 
are,  by  being  more  cowardly:  hut  what  I 
advance  as  certain  is,  That  we  cannot  be 
fafe  among  them — that  they  will,  in  Tome 
degree,  and  may  in  a  very  great  one,  hurt 
our  morals.  You  may  not,  perhaps,  be 
unwilling  to  have  a  diftindt  view  of  the 
reafons,  upon  which  I  afTert  this. 

I  will  enter  upon  them  in  my  next. 

I  was  going  to  write  adieu,  when  it 
came  into  my  thoughts,  that  though  you 
may  not  be  a  ftranger  to  the  much  cen- 
fured  doctrine  of  our  countryman  Pelagius 
—a  ftranger  to  his  having  denied  original 
fm  ;  you  may,  perhaps,  have  never  heard 
how  he  accounted  for  the  depravity,  fo 
manifeft  in  the  whole  of  our  race — He  af- 
cribed  it  to  imitation.  Had  he  faid,  that 
imitation  makes  fome  of  us  very  bad,  and 
moft  of  us  worfe  than  we  otherwife  lhould 
have  been ;  I  think  he  would  not  have 
pafled  for  an,heretic.  Dean  Bolton. 

§    121.     j-  e  t  t  e  r     ii. 
Sir, 

I  promifed  you,  that  you  fhould  have  the 
reafons,  why  1  think  that  their  is  great  dan- 
ger of  your  being  hurt  by  vitious  acquaint- 
ance. Tne  firft  thing  I  have  J<cre  to  pro- 
pcfe  to  your  confideration  is,  what  I  juft 
mentioned  at  the  ciofe  of  my  laft — our 
aptnefs  to  imitate. 

For  many  years  of  our  life  we  are  form- 
ing ourfelves  upon  what  we  obferve  in 
thofe  about  us.  We  do  not  only  learn 
their  phrafe,  but  their  manners.  You  per- 
ceive among  whom  we  were  educated  /not 
more  plainly  by  our  idiom,  than  by  our 
behaviour.  The  cottage  offers  you  a 
brood,  with  all  the  rufticity  and  favagenefs 
of  its  grown  inhabitants.  The  civility 
and  courtefy,  which,  in  a  well-ordered  fa- 
mily, are  conftantly  feen  by  its  younger 
members,  fail  not  to  influence  their  de- 
portment ;  and  will,  whatever  their  natural 
brutality  may  be,difpofe  them  to  check  its 
appearance,  and  exprefs  an  averfenefs 
from^  what  is  rude  and  difgufting.  Let 
the  defcendant  of  the  meaneft  be  placed, 
from  his  infancy,  where  he  perceives 
every  one  mindful  of  decorum ;  the  marks 
of  his  extraction  are  foon  obliterated  ;  at 
leaft,  his  carriage  does  not  difcover  it : 
and  were  the  heir  of  his  Grace  to  be  con- 
tinual';/ in  the  kitchen  or  Arables,  you 
would  foon  only  know  the  young  Lord  by 
his  cloaths  and  title:  in  other  refpecls, 
m!d  judge  liim  the  fou  of  the  groom 
01  the  fcuilion. 


Nor  is  the  difpofition  to  imitate  confined 
to  our  childhood;  when  this  is  paft,  and 
the  man  is  to  fhew  himfelf,  he  takes  his 
colours,  if  I  may  fo  fpeak,  from  thofe  he 
is  near — he  copies  their  appearance — he 
feldom  is,  what  the  u!e  of  his  reafon,  or 
what  his  own  inclinations,  would  make 
him. 

Are  the  opinions  of  the  generality,  in 
moft  points  any  other,  than  what  "they 
hear  advanced  by  this  or  that  perfon  high 
in  their  efteem,  and  whofe  judgment  they 
will  not  allow  themfelves  to  queftion  ?  You 
well  know,  that  one  could  not  lately  go' 
into  company,  but  the  firft  thing  faid  was 

— You  have,  undoubtedly,  read What 

an  excellent  performance  it  is  !  The  fine 
imagination  of  its  noble  author  difcovers 
itfelf  in  every  line.  As  foon  as  this  noble 
author  ferioufly  difowned  it,  ail  the  admi- 
ration of  it  was  at  an  end.  Its  merit,  with 
thofe  who  had  moil  commended  it,  ap- 
peared to  be  wholly  the  name  of  its  fup- 
pofed  writer.  Tims  we  find  it  through- 
out. It  is  not  nubat  is  written,  or  faid,  or 
acted,  that  we  examine ;  and  approve  or 
condemn,  as  it  is,  in  itfelf,  good' or  bad : 
Our  concern  is,  who  writes,  who  fays,  or 
does  it;  and  we,  accordingly,  regard,  or 
difregard  it. 

Look  round  the  kingdom.  There  is, 
perhaps,  fcarce  a  village  in  it,  where  the 
feriouihefs  or  diflblutenefs  of  the  Squire,  if 
not  quite  a  driveller,  is  not  more  or  lefs 
feen  in  the  manners  of  the  reft  of  its  inha- 
bitants. And  he,  who  is  thus  a  pattern, 
takes  his  pattern — fafhions  himfelf  by  fome 
or  other  of  a  better  eftate,  or  higher  rank, 
with  whofe  character  he  is  pleafed,  or  to 
whom  he  feeks  to  recommend  himfelf. 

In  what  a  fhort  fpace  is  a  whole  nation 
metamorphofed  !  Fancy  yourfelf  in  the 
middle  of  the  laft  century.  What  grave 
faces  do  you  every  where  behold  !  The 
moft  diflblutely  inclined  fuffers  not  a  liber- 
tine expreffion  to  efcape  him.  He  who 
leaft  regards  the  practice  of  virtue,  aflumes 
its  appearance. 

None  claim,  from  their  ftations,  a  pri- 
vilege for  their  vices.  The  greater!  ftran- 
gers  to  the  influence  of  religion  obferve  its 
form.  The  foldier  not  only  forbears  an 
oath,  but  reproves  it ;  he  may  poffibly 
make  free  with  your  goods,  as  having 
more  grace  than  you,  and,  therefore,  a 
better  title  to  them ;  but  you  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  his  lewdnefs,  or  drunken- 
nefs. 

The  Royal  Brothers  at  length  land— 

The 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


99 


The  monarchy  is  reftored.  How  foon 
then  is  a  grave  afpect:  denominated  a  pu- 
ritanical; decorum,  precifenefs;  feriotu- 
.nefs,  fanaticifm  i  He,  who  cannot  extin- 
guijh  in  himfelf all  fenfe  of  religion,  is  in- 
duitrious  to  conceal  his  having  any — appears 
Worfe  than  he  is — would  be  thought  to  fa- 
vour the  crime,  that  he  dares  not  commit. 
The  lewdeft  converfation  is  the  politeft. 
No  reprefentation  pleafes,  in  which  de- 
cency is  confulted.  Every  favourite  drama 
has  its  hero  a  libertine — introduces  the 
magiftrate,  only  to  expofe  him  as  a  knave, 
or  a  cuckold;  and  the  p  He  ft,  only  to  de- 
lcribe  him  a  profligate  or  hypocrite. 

How  much  greater  the  power  of  fathion 
is,  than  that  of  any  laws,  by  whatfoever 
penalties  enforced,  the  experience  of  all 
ages  and  nations  concurs  in  teaching  us. 
We  readily  imitate,  where  we  cannot  be 
conftrained  to  obey ;  and  become  by  ex- 
ample, what  our  rule  feeks  in  vain  to  make 
us. 

So  far  we  may  be  all  truly  ftyled  players, 
as  we  all  perfoliate — borrow  our  charac- 
ters—reprefent  feme  other — act.  a  part — 
exhibit  thofe  who  have  been  molt  under 
our  notice,  or  whom  we  feek  to  pleafe,  or 
with  whom  we  are  pleafed. 

As  the  Chameleon,  who  is  known 
To  have  no  colours  of  his  own ; 
But  borrows  from  his  neighbour's  hue 
His  white  or  black,  his  green  or  blue ; 
And  ftruts  as  much  in  ready  light, 
Which  credit  gives  him  upon  fight, 
As  if  the  rainbow  were  in  tail 
Settled  on  him,  and  his  heirs  male  : 
So  the  young  Squire,  when  flrft  he  comes 
From  country  fchool  to  Jf'Ui'%  or  Tom's  ; 
And  equally,  in  truth,  is  fit 
To  be  a  ftatefman,  or  a  wit  ; 
Without  one  notion  of  his  own, 
He  faunters  wildly  up  and  down  ; 
Till  fome  acquaintance,  good  or  bad, 
Takes  notice  of  a  flaring  lad, 
Admits  hin-  in  among  the  gang  : 
They  jeft,  reply,  difpute,  harangue : 
He  acts  and  talks  as  they  befriend  him, 
Smear'd  with  the  colours  which  they  lend  him. 
Thus,  merely,  as  his  fortune  chances, 
His  merit  or  his  vice  advances.        Prior. 
Dean  Bolton. 

%  122.     Letter     III. 

Sir, 

My  laft  endeavoured  to  fhew  you,  how 
apt  we  are  to  imitate.  Let  me  now  defire 
you  to  confider  the  difpofition  you  will  be 
under  to  recommend  yourfelf  to  thofe, 
whofe  company  you  defire,  or  would  not 
decline, 


Converfation,  like  marriage,  mure,  have 
confent  of  parties.  There  is  no  being  in- 
timate with  him,  who  will  not  be  fo  with 
you  ;  and,  in  order  to  contract  or  fupport 
an  intimacy,  you  muft  give  the  pleafure, 
which  you  would  receive.  This  is  a  truth, 
that  every  man's  experience  muft  force 
him  to  acknowledge  :  we  are  fure  to  feek 
in  vain  a  familiarity  with  anv,  who  have 
no  intereft  to  ferve  by  us,  if  we  difregard 
their  humour. 

In  courts,  indeed,  where  the  art  of 
pleafing  is  more  ftudied  than  it  is  elfe- 
where,  you  fee  people  more  dexteroufly 
accommodating  themfeives  to  the  turn  of 
thofe,  for  whofe  favour  they  with ;  but, 
wherever  you  go,  you  almoft  conftantly 
perceive  the  fame  fWpurfued  by  the  fame 
means,  though  there  may  not  be  the  fame 
adroitnefs  in  applying  them.  What  a 
proof  have  you  in  your  own  neighbour- 
hood, how  effectual  thefe  means  are  ! 

Did  you  ever  hear  Charles*—  tell  a  good 
itory — make  a  fhrewd  obfervation— drop 
an  exprefiion,  which  bordered  either  on  wit 
or  humour  ?  Yet  he  is  welcome  to  all 
tables — he  is  much  with  thofe,  who  have 
wit,  who  have  humour,  who  are,  really, 
men  of  abilities.  Whence  is  this,  but  from 
the  approbation  he  fhews  of  whatever 
palfes  ?  A  ftory  he  cannot  tell,  but  he  has 
a  laugh  in  readinefs  for  every  one  he  bears  : 
by  his  admiration  of  wit,  he  fupplies  the 
want  of  it;  and  they,  who  have  capacity, 
find  no  objection  to  the  meannefs  of  his, 
whilft  he  appears  always  to  think  as  they 
do.  Few  have  their  looks  and  tempers  fa 
much  at  command  as  this  man ;  and  few, 
therefore,  are  fo  happy  in  recommending 
themfeives;  but  as  in  his  <ivay  of  doing  it, 
there  is,  obvicufiy,  the  greateft  likelihood 
of  fuccefs,  we  may  be  fure  that  it  will  be 
the  nvay  generally  taken. 

Some,  I  grant,  you  meet  with,  who  by 
their  endeavours,  on  all  occaiions,  to  fhew 
a  fuperior  difcernment,  may  feem  to  think, 
that  to  gain  the  favour  of  any  one,  he  muft 
be  brought  to  their  fentiments,  rather  than 
they  adopt  his;  but  I  fear  thefe  perfons 
will  be  found  only  giving  too  clear  a  proof, 
either  how  abfurdly  felf-conceit  fometimes 
operates,  or  how  much  knowledge  there 
may  be,  where  there  is  very  little  common 
fenfe. 

Did  I,  in  defcribing  the  creature  called 
Man,  reprefent  him  as  having,  in  propor- 
tion to  his  bulk,  more  brains  than  any 
other  .animal  we  know  of;  I  fhould  not 
think  this  defcription  falfe,  though  it  could 
H  2  be 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


100 

be  proved  that  feme  of  the  fpecies  had 
fcarce  any  brains  at  all. 

Even  where  favour  is  not  particularly 
fought,  the  very  civility,  in  which  he,  who 
would  be  regarded  as  a  weii-bred  man,  is 
never  wanting,  muft  render  him  unwilling 
to  avow  the  moft  juit  difapprobation  of 
what  his  companions  agree  in  adino-,  or 
commending.  He  is  by  no  means  to  give 
difguft,  and,  therefore,  when  he  hears  the 
worfl  principles  vindicated,  and  the  belt 
ridiculed ;  or  when  he  fees  what  ought  to 
be  matter  of  the  great 'c/i  jhamc,  done  with- 
out any  ;  he  is  to  acquiefee,  he  is  to  fhew 
no  token,  that  what  pafles  is  at  all  offenfive 
to  him. 

Confder  yourfelf  then  in  either  of  thefe 
fituations — defirous  to  engage  the  favour 
of  the  bad  man,  into  whofe  company  you 
are  admitted — or,  only  unwilling  to'  be 
thought  by  him  deficient  in  good  manners  ; 
and,  1  think,  you  will  plainly  fee  the  dan- 
ger you  mould  apprehend  from  him — the 
likelihood  theie  is,  that  you  ihculd  at 
length  lofe  the  abhorrence  of  his  crimes, 
which,  when  with  him,  you  never  ex- 
prefs. 

Will  you  afk  me,  why  it  is  not  as  proba- 
ble— that  you  ihould  reform  your  vitious 
acquaintance,  as  that  they  ihould  corrupt 
ycu  ?  Or,  why  may  1  net  as  well  fuppofe 
— that  they  will  avoid  fpeaking  and  ading 
what  will  give  you  offence,  a*s  that  you  will 
be  averfe  from  giving  them  any — that  they 
will  confult  your  inclinations,  as  that  vou 
v.  ill  theirs  ? 

To  avoid  the  length,  which  will  be  equal- 
ly difagreeable  to  both  of  us,  I  will  only 
anfwer — Do  you  know  any  iniiance,  which 
can  induce  you  to  think  this  probable? 
Are  not  you  apprifed  of  many  inftances, 
that  greatly  weaken  the  probability  of 
it  ? 

The  vaft  difproportion,  which  there  is 
between  the  numbers  of  the  ferious  and  the 
difiblute,  is  fo  notorious,  as  to  render  it 
unqueftionable — that  the  influence  of  the 
latter  far  exceeds  the  influence  of  the  for- 
r.ic- — tnat  a  vitious  man  is  much  more 
likely  to  corrupt  a  virtuous,  than  to  be  re- 
formed by  him. 

An  anfwer  of  the  fame  Had  I  fhould 
!iave  judged  fatisfaftory  ;  if,  with  refpecl 
1  '  '  ~  ■  ad  urged  in  my  former  letter, 
you  ;uefl  oned  me— win  the  readinefs  to 
•  ',  with  whom  we  are  much 
c'  '•   "»  fht   not  as  juftl)   encourage 

ycu  to  I  ?/<?,  ivherj    ou  affociated  with  the 


lefs  fober,  that  they  might  be  won  to  your* 
regularity,  as  occaiion  you  to  fear,  that 
you  fhould  be  brought  to  join  in  their  ex- 
ceffes  ?  The  good  have  been  for  fo  long 
a  fpace  lofing  ground  among  us,  and  the 
bad  gaining  it ;  and  thefe  are  now  become 
fuch  a  prodigious  multitude  ;  that  it  is  un- 
deniable, how  much  more  apt  we  are  to 
form  ourfelves  on  the  manners  of  thofe, 
who  difregard  their  duty,  than  en  theirs, 
who  are  attentive  to  it. 

You  will  here  be  pleafed  to  remark,  that 
I  do  not  coniider  you  as  fetting  out  with 
any  refcrmirg  views — as  converiing  with 
the  immoral,  in  order  to  difpofe  them  to 
reafonable  purfuits ;  but  that  I  onlv  apply 
to  you,  as  induced  to  affociate  with  them 
from  the  eafmefs  of  their  temper,  or  the 
pieafantry  of  their  humour,  or  vour  com- 
mon literary  purfuits,  or  their  /kill  in  fome 
of  your  favourite  amufements,  or  cm  fome 
fuch-like  account :  and  then,  what  I  have 
obferved  may  not  appear  a  weak  argument, 
that  they  are  much  more  likely  to  hurt 
you,  than  you  are  to  benefit  them. 

I  will  clofe  my  argument  and  my  letter, 
with  a  pafl'age  from  a  very  good  liiflorian, 
which  will  lhew  you  the  fenfe  of  one  of  the 
ablcil  of  the  ancient  legiflators  on  my  pre- 
fent  fubjecl:. 

This  writer,  mentioning  the  laws  which 
Charondas  gave  the  Thurians,  fays — "  He 
"  enafled  a  law  with  reference  to  an  evil, 
"  on  which  former  lawgivers  had  not  ani- 
"  madverted,  that  of  keeping  bad  compa  • 
"  ny.  As  he  conceived  that  the  morals 
"  of  the  good  were  fomeiimes  quite  ruin* 
'•'  ed  by  their  cifiblute  acquaintance — that 
"  vice  was  apt,  like  an  infectious  difeafe, 
"  to  fpread  itfelf,  and  to  extend  its  conta- 
"  gion  even  to  the  belt  difpofed  of  our 
"  fpecies.  In  order  to  prevent  this  mif- 
"  chief,  he  exprefsly  enjoined,  that  none 
"  fhould  engage  in  any  intimacy  or  fami- 
«  liarity  with  immoral  perfons — he  ap- 
"  pointed  that  an  accuiation  might  be 
"  exhibited  for  keeping  bad  company, 
"  and  laid  a  heavy  fine  on  fuch  as  were 
"  convicled  of  it." 

Remember  Charondas,  when  you  are  dif- 
pofed to  ceii! "ure  the  caution  fuggefted  by. 
Dear  Sir, 

Tours  &c. 
Dean  Bolton, 


Let 


IV, 


S    I: 
Sir, 
Sir  Ft  ancU  Waljinghatitj  in  a  letter  to 

Mr. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


Mr.  Anthony  Bacon,  then  a  very  young 
man,  and  on  his  travels,  expreffes  himielf 
thus — "  The  danger  is  great  that  we  are 
"  fubjeft  to,  in  lying  in  the  company  of 
"  the  worfer  fort.  In  natural  bodies,  evil 
"  airs  are  avoided,  and  infection  Ihunned 
"  of  them,  that  have  any  regard  to  their 
"health.  There  is  not  fo  probable  a  rea- 
"  Jon  for  the  corruptions,  that  may  grow 
"  to  the  mind  of  one,  from  the  mind  of  an- 
"  other;  but  the  danger  is  fax  greater,  and 
"  the  effeds,  we  fee,  more  frequent  :  ior 
"  the  number  of  evil-difpofed  in  mind  is 
"  greater  than  the  number  of  fick  in  bo- 

"  dy Though  the  well-difpofed  will 

•"  remain  fome  good  fpace  without  corrup- 
ts tion,  yet  time,  I  know  not  how,  worketh 

"  a  wound  into  him Which  weaknefs 

*'  of  ours  coniidered,  and  eafinefs  of  nature, 
h  apt  to  be  deceived,  looked  into;  they  do 
*'  bed  provide  for  themfelves,  that  feparate 
v  themfelves,  as  far  as  they  can,  from  the 
r  bad,  and  draw  as  nigh  to  the  good,  as 
"  by  any  pofibility  they  can  attain  to." 

To  what  I  have  already  faid,  in  proof 
that  we  fhould  thus  feparate  ourfelves,  I 
fhall  now  add  two  further  reafons  for  our 
doing  it :  i .  The  wrong  inclinations,  the 
pronenefs  to  violate  fome  or  other  part  of 
our  duty,  which  we  all  find  in  ourfelves. 
2.  The  power  which  cuilom  hath,  to 
reconcile  us  to  what  we,  at  firft,  molt 
dreaded. 

Need  I  tell  you,  that  our  natural  depra- 
vity has  not  only  been  the  theme  of  chrif- 
tian  writers ;  but  that  the  moil  eminent 
heathen  authors,  poets,  hiilorians,  philofo- 
phers,  join  in  confeffing  it  ? 

Where,  alas  !  is  the  man,  who  has  not 
his  wrong  tendencies  to  lament  ?  Whom 
do  you  know  able  to  conceal  them,  to  pre- 
vent a  clear  dilcovery  of  them  in  his  prac- 
tice ? 

According  as  we  are  liable  to  aft  amifs, 
we,  certainly,  mult  be  in  more  or  lefs  dan- 
ger from  aflbciating  with  thofe,  who  either 
will  feek  to  draw  us  into  guilt — or  will 
countenance  us  in  it — or  will  diminifh  our 
abhorrence  of  it.  Some  danger  from  fuch 
company  there  muft  be  even  to  him,  whofe 
inclinations  are  leail  faulty ;  fmce  they  may 
be  made  worfe— they  may  produce  bad 
aftions,  the  repetition  of  which  would 
form  bad  habits  ;  and  nothing  could  be  fo 
likely  to  heighten  any  depravity  of  difpo- 
fition,  and  carry  it  to  the  moil  fatal  lengths 
of  mifconduft,  as  a  familiarity  with  thofe, 
who  have  no  dread  of  guilt,  or  none  that 


101 

reftrains  them    from  complying  with  the 
temptations  they  meet  with  to  guilt. 

You  may,  perhaps,  think,  that  you  could 
be  in  no  danger  from  any  companion,  to 
whofe  exceifes  you  found  not  in  yourfelf 
the  leail  propenfity :  but  believe  me,  my 
friend,  this  would  by  no  means  warrant 
your  fafety. 

Though  fuch  a  companion  might  not 
induce  you  to  offend  in  the  very  fame  way, 
that  he  doth ;  he  would,  probably,  make 
you  the  offender,  that  you  otherwife  never 
would  have  been.  If  he  did  not  bring  you 
to  conform  to  his  praftice,  would  he  not 
be  likely  to  infinuate  his  principles  ?  His 
difregard  to  his  duty  would  tend  to  render 
you  indifferent  to  yours.:  and,  while  he  kf- 
fened  your  general  regard  to  virtue,  he 
might  make  you  a  very  bad  man,  though 
you  fhould  continue  wholly  to  avoid  his 
particular  crimes. 

The  unconcernednefs,  with  which  he 
gave  his  worft  inclinations  their  fcope, 
could  hardly  be  day  after  day  obferved, 
without  making'  you  lefs  folicitous  to  re- 
train your  own  wrong  tendencies,  and 
ftrongly  urging  you  to  a  compliance  with 
them. 

2.  The  danger  there  is  in  conver/ing 
with  the  immoral  will  be  yet  more  appa- 
rent; if  you  will,  next,  attend  to  the  power 
of  cuilom  in  reconciling  us  to  that,  which 
we,  at  firfl,  mofl  dreaded. 

Whence  is  it,  that  veteran  troops  face 
an  enemy,  with  almofl  as  little  concern  as 
they  perform  their  exercife  ?  The  man  cf 
the  greatcit  courage  among  them  felt,  pro- 
bably, in  the  firil  battle  wherein  he  was,  a 
terror  that  required  all  his  courage  to  fur- 
mount.  Nor  was  this  terror,  afterwards, 
overcome  by  him,  but  by  degrees;  every 
fucceeding  engagement  abated  it :  the  of- 
tener  he  fought,  the  lefs  he  feared :  by 
being  habituated  to  danger,  he  learned,  at 
length,  to  defpife  it. 

An  ordinary  fwell  of  the  ocean  alarms 
the  youth  who  has  never  before  been  upon 
it ;  but  he,  whole  fears  are  now  railed, 
when  there  is  nothing  that  ought  to  excite 
them,  becomes  ioon  without  any,  even 
when  in  a  fituation,  that  might  juitly  dif- 
may  him ;  he  is  calm,  when  the  ftorm  is 
moil  violent ;  and  diicovers  no  uneafy  ap- 
prebeniions,  while  the  venel,  in  which  he 
fails,  is  barely  not  finking. 

You  cannot,  I  am    perfuaded,  vifi't  an 

hofpital — furvey   the    variety    of   diftrefs 

there — hear  the  complaints  of  the  fick— * 

H  3  fee 


IC2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fee  the  fores  of  the  wounded,  without  be- 
ing yourfelf  in  pain,  and  a  fharer  of  their 
fufferings. 

The  conftant  attendants  on  tbefe  poor 
wretches  have  no  fuch  concern  :  with  dif- 
pofitions  not  lefs  humane  than  yours,  they 
do  net  feel  the  emotions,  that  you  would 
be  under,  at  this  fcene  ofmifery;  their 
frequent  view  of  ic  has  reconciled  them  to 
it— nas  been  the  caufs,  that  their  minds 
are  no  otherwife  affected  by  it,  than  yours 
is  by  the  objects  ordinarily  before  you. 

From  how  many  other  inftances  might 
it  be  {hewn,  that  the  things,  which,  at  their 
firft  appearance,  ftrike  us  with  the  greater! 
terror,  no  fooner  become  familiar,  than 
they  ceaie  to  difcompofe  us  ?  Let,  there- 
fore, our  education  have  been  the  careful- 
left  and  wileft ;  let  there  have  been  ufed 
therein  all  the  means  likelieft  to  fix  in  us 
an  abhorrence  of  vice  ;  we,  yet,  cannot  be 
frequently  among  thole,  who  allow  them- 
felves  in  it,  and  have  as  few  fcruples  about 
the  concealment  of  any  crime  they  are  dif- 
pofed  to,  as  about  its  commiihon,  without 
beholding  it  with  abundantly  lefs  uneaiinefs 
than  its  firft  view  occafioned  us. 

When  it  is  fo  beheld ;  when  what  is  very 
wrong  no  more  fnocks  us— -is  no  longer 
highly  ofFenfive  to  us;  the  natural  and  ne- 
ceffary  progrefs  is  to  a  ftill  farther  abate- 
ment of  our  averiion  from  it :  and  what  is 
of  force  enough  to  conquer  a  ftrong  diflike, 
may  be  reafonably  concluded  well  able  to 
effect  fome  degree  of  approbation.  How 
far  this  ihall  proceed,  will,  indeed,  depend, 
in  a  good  meafure,  upon  our  temper,  upon 
our  conilitutional  tendencies,  .upon  our 
circumflances  :  but  iurely  we  are  become 
bad  enough,  when  it  is  not  the  confederation 
of  what  is  amifs  in  any  practice,  that  with- 
holds us  from  it — when  we  only  avoid  it, 
becaufe  it  is  not  agreeable  to  our  humour ; 
or,  becaufe  the  law  punilhcs  it ;  or  becaufe 
it  interferes  with  fome  other  criminal  gra- 
tification, which  better  pleafes  us. 

I  begun  this  with  an  extract  from  a 
letter  of  Waljingham :  I  will  end  it  with 
©ne  from  a  letter  of  Grotius,  when  am- 
ballador  in  France,  to  his  brother,  concern- 
ing his  fon,  whom  he  had  recommended 
to  that  gentleman's  care. 

After  having  expreffed  his  wifhes,  that 
the  young  man  might  be  formed  a  complete 
advocate,  he  concludes  thus—  "  Above  all 
*'  things  I  intreat  ycu  to  cultivate  thofe 
"  feeds  of  knowleJge,  fown  by  me  in  him, 
"  which  are  productive  of  piety;  and  to 
"  recommend    to    him,    for    companions, 


"  fuch  perfons  as  are  themfelves  careful  to 
"  make  a  proficiency  therein." 

Grot.  Ep.  426. 
Dean  Bolton. 

§    124.     L  E  T  T  £  R  V. 

Sir, 

When  I  ended  my  laft,  I  continued  in 
my  chair,  thinking  of  the  objections  which 
might  be  made  to  what  I  had  writren  to 
you.     The  following  then  occurred  to  me. 

That,  when  we  are  in  poffeffion  of  truth, 
from  fair  examination  and  full  evidence, 
there  can  be  very  little  danger  of  our  being 
induced  to  quit  it,  either  by  repeatedly 
hearing  the  weak  objections  of  any  to  it, 
or  by  remarking  them  to  act  as  wrongly  as 
they  argue — That,  as  in  mathematics  die 
proportion,  which  we  had  once  demon- 
ftrated,  would  always  have  our  afient, 
whomfoever  we  heard  cavilling  at  it,  or 
ridiculing  our  judgment  concerning  it :  fo 
in  morals,  when  once  a  due  confideration  of 
the  effential  and  unchangeable  differences 
of  things  hath  rendered  us  certain  of  what 
is  right  and  our  duty  ;  we  can  never  be 
made  lefs  certain  thereof,  whatever  errors^ 
in  judgment  or  practice,  we  may  daily  ob- 
ferve  in  our  affociates,  or  daily  hear  them 
abfurd  enough  to  defend — That,  when  we 
not  only  plainly  perceive  the  practice  of 
virtue  to  be  moll:  becoming  us— to  be 
what  the  nature  and  reafon  of  things  re- 
quire of  us;  but  actually  feel,  likewife,  the 
fatisfadtion  which  it  affords,  the  folid  plea- 
fure  which  is  its  infeparable  attendant ; 
there  can  be  no  more  ground to  fuppofe>  that 
our  having  continually  before  us  the  follies 
and  vices  of  any  would  lead  us  to  depart 
from  what  we  knew  to  be  fitteft,  and  have 
experienced  to  be  bell:  for  us,  than  there 
can  be  to  believe,  that  a  man  in  his  wits 
would  leave  the  food,  which  his  judgment 
approved  and  his  palate  relifhed,  for  an- 
other fort,  which  he  faw,  indeed,  pleafing 
to  his  companions,  but  which  he  was  cer- 
tain would  poifon  them. 

How  little  weight  there  is  in  this  kind  of 
arguing,  1  think  every  one  might  be  con- 
vinced, who  would  attend  to  his  own  prac- 
tice, who  would  confider  the  numerous  in- 
ftances in  which  he  cannot  but  condemn  it 
— in  which  he  cannot  but  acknowledge  it 
contrary  to  what  his  prefent  welfare  re- 
quires it  mould  be. 

Let  us  think  the  molr  juftly  of  our  duty, 
and  fhun,  with  the  greateft  care,  all  who 
would  countenance  us  in  a  departure  from 
it;  we  ftill  lhall  find  that  departure  too  fre- 
quent 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


103 


quent — we  mail  experience  it  fo,  even  when 
it  is  truly  lamented ;  and  when,  to  avoid 
it,  is  both  our  wifh  and  our  endeavour. 
And  if  the  influence  of  truth  may  receive 
fuch  hindrance  from  our  natural  depravity, 
from  this  depravity,  even  when  we  have 
kept  out  of  the  way  of  all,  who  would  en- 
courage us  to  favour  it,  there,  furely,  muft 
be  an  high  degree  of  probability,  that  we 
fhall  be  lefs  mindful  of  our  obligations, 
when  we  are  not  only  prompted  by  our 
own  appetites  to  violate  them,  but  moved 
thereto  by  the  counicl  and  example  of  thole, 
whofe  converiation  beic  pleales  us;  and 
whofe  opinions  and  actions  will,  therefore, 
come  with  a  more  than  ordinary  recom- 
mendation to  us. 

The  afient,  which  we  give,  upon  fuifi- 
cient  evidence,  to  moral  truths,  could  no 
more  be  unfettled  by  ridicule  and  fophifhy, 
than  that  which  we  give  to  mathematical 
truths,  did  our  minds  always  retain  the 
fame  difpofition  with  refpect  to  the  one, 
that  they  do,  as  to  the  other. 

With  regard  to  the  latter,  we  are  never 
willing  to  be  deceived — we  always  ftand 
alike  airected  towards  them:  our  convic- 
tion about  them  was  obtained,  at  firft,  upon 
fuch  grounds,  as  mufl  ahvays  remain  our 
inducements  to  preferve  it  :  no  luff  could 
be  gratified,  no  interefl  ferved,  by  its  acting 
lefs  forcibly  upon  us :  in  its  defence  the 
credit  of  our  underflanding  is  greatly  con- 
cerned. And  how  vain  mufl  ridicule  and 
fophillry  be  necefl'arily  thought,  where 
their  only  aim  is,  that  we  fhculd  acknow- 
ledge a  luperior  difcernment  in  thofe  per- 
fons,  whole  oppefirion  increafes  our  con- 
tempt of  their  ignorance,  by  making  a 
plainer  difcovery  of  it? 

As  for  moral  truths,  they  are  often 
difagreeable  to  us — When  we  have  had 
the  fulleft  evidence  of  them,  we  want  not, 
occafionally,  the  inclination  to  overlook  it : 
If,  under  fame  circwr.Jlances,  we  are  ready 
to  acknowledge  its  force  ;  there  are  others, 
when  we  will  not  give  it  any  attention. 
Here  fancy  and  hope  interpofe :  a  govern- 
ing pajjion  allows  us  only  a  faint  view  of, 
or  wholly  diverts  our  notice  from,  whatever 
fhould  be  our  inducement  to  reftrain  it ; 
and  fuffers  us  to  dwell  on  nothing  but  what 
will  juilify,  or  excufe,  us  in  giving  way  to 
it.  Our  reluctance  to  admit,  that  we  have 
not  judged  as  we  ought  to  have  done,  is 
itrangely  abated,  when  we  thereby  are  fet 
at  liberty  to  atl  as  we  pleafe. 

When  the  endeavour  is  to  laueh  us,  or 
to  argue  us,   out  of  thofe  principles  that 


we,  with  much  felf -denial  adhere  to;  we 
fhall  but  feebly  oppofe  its  fuccefs.  He  has 
a  ftrong  party  on  his  fide  within  our  bo- 
foms,  who  feeks  to  make  us  quit  opinions, 
which  are  a  1  III  controuling  our  ajj'eclions. 
If  we  are  not  fecure  from  acting  contrary 
to  our  duty,  what  cogent  proofs  foever  we 
have  of  its  being  fuch,  and  what  fatisfac- 
tion  foever  we  have  had  in  its  difeharge  ; 
we  are  highly  concerned  to  avoid  every 
temptation  to  offend:  and  it,  undoubtedly, 
is  a  very  ftrong  one,  to  hear  continually 
what  is  likelier!  to  remove  the  fear  of  in- 
dulging our  appetites  ;  and  continually  to 
fee,  that  they  who  apply  to  us  act  as  they 
advife — allow  themieives  in  the  liberties, 
they  would  have  us  to  take;  and  are  under 
none  of  the  checks,  which  they  prompt  us 
to  threw  off. 

Though  what  we  did  not  relifh,  and 
what  we  thought  would  fpeedily  deftroy 
us,  we  might  not  eat,  when  our  companions 
fhewed  themfelves  fond  of  it,  and  p relied 
us  to  tafte  it ;  yet,  if  we  apprehended  no 
diate  danger  from  their  meal — if  we 
were  eve-witneiTes  of  its  being  attended 
with  none — if  they  were  continually  expreff- 
ing  their  high  delight  in  it,  and  repeating 
their  affurar.ces,  that  all,  either  our  indif- 
ference towards,  or  difrelifh  of  it,  was  only 
from  prejudice  and  prepofTefhcn;  we,  very 
probably,  mould  at  length  yield,  and  quit 
both  our  diiguft  of  their  repait,  and  our 
dread  of  its  confequences.  And  if  this 
might  enfue,  when  we  were  invited  to 
partake  of  that,  winch  was  lefs  agreeable 
to  cur  palates,  what  fhould  be  feared, 
when  our  company  tempted  us  to  that, 
which  we  could  be  pleafed  with,  and  were 
only  withheld  from  by  fuch  an  apprehcnfion 
of  danger,  as  nothing  could  fooner  remove, 
than  our  obferving  thofe,  with  whom  we 
moft-converfed,  to  be  without  it  ? 

Reafon  is,  certainly,  always  on  the  fide 
of  duty.  Nor  is  there,  perhaps,  any  man, 
who,  when  he  ferioufly  confiders  what  is 
bell  for  him  to  do,  will  not  purpofe  to  do 
that,  which  is  right.  But,  fince  we  can 
act  without  consideration  in  the  moft  im- 
portant articles,  and  nothing  is  lefs  likely 
to  be  confidered,  than  what  we  find  quite 
cuftomary  with  others — what  we  fee  them 
act  without  remorfe  or  fcruple ;  when  we 
are,  day  after  day,  eye-witneiles  of  our 
aflbciates  allowing  themfelves  in  a  wrong 
practice,  periifling  in  it  without  expreffing 
the  leaf!  dread  of  its  confequences ;  it  is  as 
abfurd  to  think,  that  our  moral  feeling 
fhould  not  be  injured  thereby,  as  it  is  to 
H  4  fuppofe, 


;c4 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fuppofe,  that  our  hands  would  preferve  the 
lame  foftnefs,  when  they  had  been  for 
years  accullomed  to  the  oar,  which  th'ey 
had  when  they  firft  took  it  up;  or,  that 
hard  labour  would  affect  us  as  much  when 
inured  to  it,  as  when  we  entered  upon  it. 

I  will,  for  the  prefent,  take  my  leave  of 
you  with  an  Italian  proverb,  and  an  Eng- 
lijh  one  exactly  aniwerable  to  it— — 

Dimmi  con  chi  tu  <vai,fapro  chel  chefai. 
Tell  me  with  whom  thou  goeft,  and  I'll 
tell  thee  what  thou  doeit. 


Det 


V.nh 


§125.     Letter     VI. 
Sir, 
I  know  not  what  I  can  add  on  the  pre- 
fent fubjectofourcorrefpondence,  that  may 
be  of  greater  fervice  to  you  than  the  fol- 
lowing fhort  relation. — I  may  not,  indeed, 
be  exact  in  every  particular  of  it,  becaufe 
I  was  not  at  all  acquainted  with  the  gentle- 
man, whom  it  concerns ;  and  becaufe  many 
years  have  pafled  fince  I  received  an  ac- 
count of  him:  bat  as  my  information  came 
from  perfons,  on  whofe  veracity  I  could 
depend,  and  as  what  they  told  me  n 
affedted  me  when  I  heard  it,  and  has,  I 
been  very  often  in  my  thoughts;  ] 
that    the   melancholy    defcription,    which 
you  will  here  have  of  human  frailty,    is 
but   too   true    in    every    thing    material 
therein. 

At  the  firft  appearance  of , „  [n 

town,  nothing,  perhaps,  was  more  the 
tonic  of  converfation,  than  his  merit.  He 
had  read  much:  what  he  had  read,  as  "it 
was  on  the  moll  ufeful  mbjects,  fo  he  was 
thoroughly  mailer  of  it ;  gave  an  exact 
account  of  it,  and  made  very  wife  reflec- 
tions upon  it.  Luring  his  long  refidence 
at  a  diilance  from  our  metropolis,  he  had 
met  with  few,  to  whom  he  was  not  greatly 
furerior,  both  in  capacity  and  attainments : 
yet  this  had  not  in  the  leaf!  difpofed  him  to 
diftate,  to  be  pofitive  and  affirming,  to 
treat  any  with  contempt  or  neglect. 

He  was  obliging  to  all,  who  came  near 
him;  talked  on  the  fubjects  which  they 
beft  iinderftocd,  and  which  would  be  like- 
lie!!  to  induce  them  to  take  their  full  fiiare 
of  the  converfation. 

They,  who  had  fpent  every  winter  near 
the  court,  faw  nothing  in  his  behaviour, 
that  fhew'd  how  far  he  had  lived  from  it 
—nothing  which  was  lefs  fuitable  to  any 
civility,  that  coeld  be  learned  in  it. 

Hisn  m  ers  wcie  on1/  lefs  courtly,  in 
Sheir  fimpliciiy  and  parity.    He  aid  not, 


often,  directly  reprove  the  libertine  difamrf* 
of  his  equals;  but  woe' a  recommend  him*' 
feif  to  none,    by  exr.  .     the    fiighteft 

approbation  of  fuch  difcourfe  :  He  JbevSd 
it  did  not  pleafe  him,  though  he  declined 
faying  fo. 

He  forbore  that  invective  againfl  the 
manners  of  the  age,  which  could  only  irri- 
tate ;  and  thought  that,  at  his  year's,  the 
fitted  cenfure  he  could  pafs  on  them,  would 
be  to  avoid  them.  It  feemed,  indeed,  his 
particular  care,  that  he  might  not  be 
preicnted  either  as  a  bigot,  or  a  cynic; 
but  yet,  as  lie  knew  how  to  c: 
principles,  fo  he  fhew'd  himfelf,  en  every 
proper  occafion,  neither  afraid  nor  afhamed 
to  engage  in  their  defence. 

His  converfation  v, . 
his  own  rank,  only  fo  :  :orum  re- 

quired it  fhould  be:  their  favourite  to 
were  fo  little  to  his  tafte,  tl 
hours,  where   he  could   lave    his    choice, 
were  palled   among    thofe,   who    had    the 
"!°?    ^ming    and  virtue,    and,    wh< 
diftinguifhed,   or  not,   by  their   anceitors 
worth,  would  be  fo  by  their  own. 

He  had  high  notions  cf  hi;  duty  to  his 
country;  but  having  feen  what  felf-ii 
reltednefs,  at  length,  fhew'd  itfelf,  where 
he   had  heard  the .  lirongeft  profeffions  of 
patriotifm,    it    made     him    very    cauti 

l,  and  utterly  a\ ,     j 
from  dt  :  i  any  as  friends  to  ■     ■ 

public,  merely  becaufe  they  were  oppofers 
of  the  court. 

No  one  judged  more  rightly  of  the  hurt 
that  mull  enfue,  from  irreligion  fpreading 
ltfeli  among  the  common  people;  and,  . 
therefore,  where  his  example  was  moft  re- 
marked, and  could  be  molt  efficacious,  he 
took  particular  care,  that  it  fhould  promote 
a  juft  reverence  of  the  Deity. 

Thus  did  A.  A.  fet  cut  in  the  world,  and 
thus  behaved,  for  fome  years,  notwith- 
standing the  bad  examples  he  had  every- 
where before  him,  among  thofe  of  his  own 
ftation.  In  one  of  the  accompliihments  of 
a  gentleman  (though,  furely,  one  of  the 
very  meaneft  of  then:)  he  was  thought  to 
excel ;  and  many  fine  fpeeches  were  made 
him  upon  that  account.  They  were  but 
too  much  regarded  by  him ;  and,  gradu- 
ally, drew  him  often  into  the  company  that 
he  would  have  defpifed,  had  he  heard  lefs 
of  his  own  praife  in  it.  The  compliments 
fo  repeatedly  paid  him  by  the  frivolous 
reconciled  him,  at  length,  to  them.  As 
his  attachment  to  them  get  ground,  his 
feriouihefs  loft  it.  The  patriot  was  no 
7  more 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


105 


jrt0re — The  zeal  he  had  for  the  morals  of 

his  countrymen  abated. 

Tne  tragical  conclufion  of  his  ftory,  let 

'  thole  tell  you,    who  would  not    feel  that 

concern  at  the  relation  of  it,  which  I  fnould 

do:  this  you  certainly  may  learn  from  it 

y— That,  as  the  conltant  dropping  of  water 

•  wears  away  the  hardeit  ftone,  fo  the  conli- 

,  xmakfolicitations  of  the  vitious  are  not  to  be 

withftood  by  the  firmeft  mind:— All,  who. 

are  in  the  way  of  them,  will  be  hurt  by 

them — Wherefoever  they   are   ufed,    they 

will  make  an  impreilion— He  only  is  fecure 

from  their  force,  who  will  not  hazard  its 

being  trjed  upon  him. 

In.  what  you  have  hitherto  received  from 
me,  I  have  argued  wholly  from  your  own 
difpofiticns,  and  endeavoured  to  lhew  you, 
from  thence,  the  danger  of  having  bad 
companions :  See  now  your  danger  from 
their  difpojitions.  And,  firft,  let  thefe  per- 
fons  be  conlidered,  only,  in  genera!,  as 
partial  to  their  notions  and  practices,  and 
eager  to  defend  them. 

Whatever  our  perfuafion  or  conducl  is, 
we  are  ufualiy  favourable  to  it ;  we  have 
pur  plea  for  it ;  very  few  of  us  can  bear, 
with  any  patience,  that  it  lhould  be  judged 
irrational  :  The  approbation  of  it  is  a 
compliment  to  our  underitanding,  that  we 
receive  with  pleafure ;  and  to  cenfure  it,  is 
fuch  a  difparagement  of  us,  as  doth  net 
fail  to  difguft  us.  I  will  not  fay,  there  are 
none  to  be  found,  that  give  themfelves  little 
or  no  concern  who  thinks  or  acts  as  they 
do;  but  it  is  certain,  that,  ordinarily,  we  are 
defirous  to  be  joined  in  the  caufe  we  efpoufe 
—we  are  iblicitous  to  vindicate  and  fpread 
our  opinions,  and  to  have  others  take  the 
fame  courfes  with  us.  Should  I  allow  you 
to  be  as  intent  on  this,  as  any  of  your  ac- 
quaintance are;  yet,  pray,  coniider  what 
you  may  expect,  when  you  itand  alone,  or 
when  a  majority  is  againft  you — when  each 
of  them  relieves  the  other  in  an  attack  upon 
you — when  this  attack  is,  day  after  day, 
repeated — when  your  numerous  opponents 
join  in  applauding,  or  ftrengtherung,  or 
enlivening  their  feveral  objections  to  your 
fentiments ;  and  in  treating  whatever  you 
can  urge  in  your  defence,  as  abfurd,  cr 
weak  and  impertinent — when  your  peace 
Can  only  be  purchafed  by  your  iilence — 
when  you  find,  that  there  is  no  hope  of 
bringing  thofe  you  delight  to  be  with  into 
your  opinions,  that  they  confirm  each  other 
in  oppofiticn  to  you,  and  that  you  can  only 
be  agreeable  to  them,  by  adopting  their 
maxims,  and  conforming  to  their  manners. 
It  is  next  to  ha  conlidered,   what  you 


may  fear  from  an  intimacy  with  the  im- 
moral, when  they  muft  look  upon  them- 
feives  to  be  reproached  by  fuch  of  their 
acquaintance,  as  will  not  concur  with  them 
in  their  excefles.  They  cannot  but  do 
this ;  becaufe  all  who  feel;  either  to  make 
them  alter  their  manners,  or  to  weaken  their 
influence  upon  others,  charge  them  with 
what  is,  really,  the  highs&repraacl>  to  them  ; 
and  becaufe  they  are  feniibie,  that  the  ar- 
guments likelielt  to  be  ufed  by  any  one  for 
his  not  complying  with  them,  are  grounded 
on  the  mi/chief  of  their  conduct,  or  on  its 
folly.  Regard  then  yourfelf,  as  in  their 
place.  Reflect  how  you  would  behave 
towards  the  man  whofe  opinion  of  you  was, 
that  you  acted  either  a  very  criminal,  or  3. 
very  imprudent  part:  reflect,  I  fay,  how  you 
woqld  behave  towards  the  perfon  thus 
judging  of  you,  if  you  wilhed  to  pre- 
ferve  a  familiarity  with  him,  but  yet 
was  refolyed  to  perfift  in  your  notions 
and  practice.  You,  certainly,  would 
try  every  method  to  remove  his  dif- 
taite  of  them;  you  would  colour  them 
as  agreeably  as  you  pofhbly  could :  you 
would  (pare  no  pains  to  weaken  every  ob- 
jection, lie  could  have  to  them — you  would, 
in  your  turn,  attack  his  maxims  and  man- 
ners ;  you  would  feek  to  convince  him 
upon  what  flight  grounds  he  perferred  them 
to  yours — you  would  apply  to  every  arti- 
fice, that  could  give  them  the  appearance 
of  being  lefs  defenfible,  or  that  could 
incline  him  to  overlook  what  might  be 
urged  in  their  defence. 

And  if  this  might  naturally  be  fuppofed 
the  part  you  would  act  towards  others; 
you  ought  to  expect  that  they,  in  the  fame 
circumilances,  would  behave  alike  towards 
you.  But  can  you  think  it  prudent  to  let 
them  try,  with  what  fuccefs  they  may 
proceed  ?  Would  not  caution  be  your  molt 
effectual  fecurity?  'Would  it  not  be  the 
wifeft  method  of  providing  for  your  fafety, 
to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  danger  ? 

You  are,  further,  to  look  upon  thofe, 
from  aiTociating  with  whom  I  would  dif- 
fuade  you,  as  extremely  Iblicitous  to  be 
kept  in  countenance.  The  vitious  well 
know,  to  how  many  objections  their  con- 
duct is  liable :  they  are  fenfible,  to  what 
eiteem  good  morals  are  entitled,  what  praije 
they  claim,  and  what  they,  in  the  moil 
corrupt  times,  receive. 

Virtue  is  fo  much  for  the  intereft  of 
mankind,  that  there  can  never  be  a  general 
agreement,  to  deny  all  manner  of  applaufe 
to  the  practice  of  it .-  fuch  numbers  are 
made  fufferers  by  a,  departure   from   //* 

rules. 


10D 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


rules,  that    there    are    few   crimes,  which 
meet  not  with  an  extenfive  cenfure. 

You  have  long  fince  learn'd  it  to  be  the 
language  of  paganifm  itfelf,  that 

"  All,  who  aft  contrary  to  what  the 
"  reafon  of  things  requires — who  do  what 
*'  is  hurtful  to  themfelves  or  others,  muft 
"  Hand  felf-condemned :"  and  you  cannot 
want  to  be  informed,  in  what  light  they 
are  feen  by  thofe  who  do  not  ihare  their 
guilt.  The  endeavour,  therefore,  of  fuch 
men,  while  they  are  without  any  purpofe 
of  amendment,  will,  unquestionably,  be,  to 
make  their  caufe  as  fpecious  as  poiiible,  by 
engaging  many  in  its  defence  ;  and  to  filence 
cenfure,  by  the  danger,  that  would  arife 
from  the  numbers  it  would  provoke.  The 
motives  to  this  endeavour,  when  duly 
reflected  on,  will  fully  fatisfy  us,  with  what 
zeal  it  muft  be  accompanied ;  and  it  may 
well,  therefore,  alarm  all,  on  whom  its 
power  is  likely  to  be  tried — may  well  in- 
duce them,  to  confider  ferioufly,  what  they 
have  to  fear  from  it,  how  much  their 
virtue  may  fuffer  by  it. 

I  will  conclude  this  with  a  fhort  ftory  of 
the  Poet  Dante,  for  which  Boyle  quotes 
Petrarch.  Among  other  vifits  made  by 
Dante,  after  his  baniihment  from  Florence, 
one  was  to  the  then  much- famed  Can, 
Prince  of  Verona. 

Can  treated  him,  at  frit,  •  with  great 
ch  ility  ;  but  this  did  not  laft  :  and  by  the 
little  complaifanee  at  length  lhewn  the 
Poet,  he  plainly  perceived  that  he  ceafed 
to  be  an  acceptable  gueft. 

Scholars,  it  feems,  were  not  Can's  fa- 
vourite;— he  liked  thofe  much  better,  who 
Studied  to  divert  him ;  and  ribaldry  was 
by  no  means  the  difcourfe  that  leaft  pleafed 
him.  Sufpecling  that  this  did  not  raile 
Dante's  opinion  of  him,  he  one  day  took 
occafion  to  fingle  out  the  molt,  obnoxious 
of  the  libertine  crew,  that  he  entertained ; 
and,  after  high  praifes  given  the  man, 
turning  to  Dante,  he  faid,  I  wonder  how  it 
is,  that  this  mad  fellow  is  hclo-ved  by  us  all, 
1  ■  nleafure  which,  really,  we 
do  not  find  in  your  company,  wife  as  you 
are  thought  to  be. 

Sir,   anfwered  the  Poet,  you  would  not 

r  at  this,  if  you  confidered,  that  our 

love  of  any  proceeds   from  their  manners 

fuitable,  and  their  difpofitions  fimilar, 

to  our  own.  Dean  Bolton, 

h   izG.    Letter    VII. 
Sir, 
■\ave  but  one  thing  more  to  propofe 

.  c'viifidtrauon,  a;  a  difluafive  from 


afTociating  with  the  vitious;  and  it  is-* 
The  way,  in  which  they,  ordinarily,  feel; 
to  corrupt  thofe,  with  whom  they  con-. 
verfe. 

The  logic  of  the  immoral  contributes 
but  little  to  increafe  their  numbers,  in 
comparifon  of  what  they  effect  by  raillery 
and  ridicule.  This  is  their  Jlrengtb  ;  they 
are  fenfible  of  its  being  fo;  and  yon  may 
be  allured  that  it  will  be  exerted  againfr, 
you.  There  is  nothing  that  cannot  be 
jelled  with  ;  and  there  is  nothing  that  we, 
univerfally,  bear  worse,  than  to  be  made 
the  jeft  or"  any. 

What  reafoning  on  moral  fubjefts  may 
not  have  its  force  evaded  by  a  man  of 
wit  and  humour  ;  and  receive  a  turn,  that 
fhall  induce  the  lefs  confiderate  to  flight 
it,  as  weak  and  inconclufive  r  The  moll' 
becoming  practice — that  which  is  moll:  cur 
duty,  and  the  importance  of  which  to  our 
prefent  welfare  is  molt  evident,  a  lively 
fancy  eafiiy  places  in  a  ridiculous  view, 
and  thereby  brines  it  into  an  utter  nep;- 
left.  *  h 

That  reverence  of  the  Deity,  which  the 
beft  both  ancient  and  modem  writers  have 
fo  ftrongly  recommended — which  the  wor- 
thier! men  in  every  age  have  fo  carefully 
exprefl'ed — which  any  obfervation  of  na- 
ture, any  attention  to  our  own  frame, 
fails  not  to  inculcate,  is  yet,  by  being 
xepreieated  under  the  garb  of  fuperftition 
or  fanaticifm,  feen  among  us  to  fuch 
difadvantage,  that  many,  our  military 
gentlemen  especially,  appear  to  take  a 
pride  in  fhewing  themfelves  diveited  of  it. 

Conjugal  fidelity,  though  of  fuch  mo- 
ment to  the  peace  of  families — to  their 
intereil — to  the  prosperity  of  the  com- 
monwealth, that,  by  the  laws  of  the  wife! 
and  belt  regulated  Hates,  the  fevereft 
punifhment  has  been  inflicted  on  the  vio- 
lation cf  it,  is,  neverthelefs,  by  the  levity, 
with  which  fome  have  treated  it,  fo  much, 
at  prefent,  flighted,  that  the  adulterer  is 
yvell  received :  Women,  who  would  think 
it  the  groffetl  affront  to  have  their  virtue 
questioned,  who  affect  the  character  of  the 
flrifteft  obfervers  of  decorum,  fhun  him 
not — fliew  him  the  utmoft  complaifanee. 
Whatever  diihonour,  in  this  cafe,  falls  on 
any,  it  accrues  wholly  to  the  injured 
perfon. 

Can  you  affign  a  better  reafon,  why  the 
intemperate,  among  the  meaner  people, 
have  fo  prodigioufly  increafed  their  num- 
bers, than  the  banter  they  ufe  towards  fuch 
as  they  meet  with  dilpofed  to  fobriety,— 
the  mockery,  with  whkh  they  treat  it,— 

the 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


the  fongs  and  catches,  with  which  they  are 
fo  plentifully  provided,  in  deriiion  of  it? 

I  cannot  give  you  the  very  terms  of 
Lord  S ha ftejlntry,  as  I  have  not  his  works; 
but  I  think  I  may  be  certain  that  there  is  an 
obfervation  in  them  to  this  effect — That, 
"  had  the  enemies  to  Chriftianity  expofed 
"  its  firft  profeflbrs,  not  to  wild  beafts,  but 
"  to  ridicule,  their  endeavours  to  ftop  its 
"  progrefs  might  have  had  very  different 
"  fuccefs  from  what  they  experienced." 

Had  the  wit  of  m  m  been  only  concerned 
in  the  fpreading  that  religion,  I  believe  the 
conjecture  well  founded.  But  this  fuccefs 
could  no  mere  have  affefted  the  truth  of 
that  religion,  than  it  leffens  the  worth  of  a 
public  ipirit,  of  honeffy,  of  temperance, 
that  fo  many  have  been  laughed  out  of 
them — that  the  jeft  made  of  them  has 
occafioned  their  being  lb  rare  among  us. 

The  author  of  the  Beggar's  Opera  gives 
the  true  character  of  his  Newgate  tribe, 
when  he  exhibits  them  ludicrous  on  all 
pretences  to  virtue,  and  thus  hardening 
each  other  in  their  crimes.  It  was  the 
moll  effectual  means  to  keep  up  their  fpirits 
under  their  guilt,  and  may  well  be  judged 
the  likelier!  method  of  bringing  others  to 
ftiare  it. 

"  The  Duke  of  Buckingham,"  fays  a 
late  writer,  "  had  the  art  of  turning  per- 
"  fons  or  things  into  ridicule,  beyond  any 
V  man  of  the  age.  He  poflefled  the  young 
"  King  [Charles  II.]  with  very  ill  prin- 
"  ciples,  both  as  to  religion  and  morality, 
"  and  with  a  very  mean  opinion  of  his 
"  father,  whofe  ftiffhefs  was,  with  him,  a 
"  fubject  of  raillery."  It  is  elfewhere 
obferved,  that,  to  make  way  for  the  ruin 
of  the  Lord  Clarendon,  "  He  often  a  ted 
"  and  mimicked  him  in  the  King's  pre- 
"  fence,  walking  ftately  with  a  pair  of 
"  bellows  before  him,  for  the  purie,  and 
"  Colonel  Titus  carrying  a  fire-movel  on 
"  his  moulder,  for  the  mace  ;  with  which 
"  fort  of  banter  and  farce  the  King  was 
"  too  much  delighted." 

Such  are  the  impreffions,  to  the  difpa- 
ragement  of  riie  bell  things,  and  of  the 
beft  men,  that  may  be  made  by  burlefque 
and  buffoonry  :  They  can  dellroy  the  effi- 
cacy of  the  wifeil  precepts,  and  the  noblell 
examples. 

The  Monarch  here  fpoken  of  may,  per- 
haps, be  thought  as  ill-difpofed  as  the 
worll  of  his  favourites ;  and  rather  hu- 
moured, than  corrupted,  by  the  fport  they 
made  with  all  that  is,  ordinarily,  held 
fenous.     Were  this  admitted  to  be  true  of 


him  —  Were  we  to  fuppofe  his  natural 
depravity  not  heightened  by  any  thing  faid 
or  done  before  him,  in  derifion  of  virtue 
or  the  virtuous;  yet  the  effects  of  his  being 
accuitomed  to  fuch  repreientations  may  be 
looked  upon  as  extremely  mifchicvous  ; 
when  we  may,  fo  probably,  attribute  to 
them  the  loofe  he  gave  to  his  natural 
depravity — the  little  decorum  he  obferved 
— that  utter  careleffhefs  to  fave  appear- 
ances, whence  fo  much  hurt  enfued  to  the 
morals  of  his  people,  and  whereby  he 
occafioned  fuch  diffraction  in  his  affairs, 
fo  weakened  his  authority,  fo  entirely  loft 
the  affections  of  the  belt  of  his  fubjefts ; 
and  whence  that  he  did  not  experience  Hill 
worfe  confequences,  may  be  afcribed  to  a 
concurrence  of  circumllances,  in  which 
his  prudence  had  no  fhare. 

The  weaknefs  of  an  argument  may  be 
clearly  Ihewn — The  arts  of  the  fophifter 
may  be  detected,  and  the  fallacy  of  his 
reafoning  demonitrated — To  the  moll 
fubtile  objections  there  may  be  given  fa- 
tisfactory  anfwers :  but  there  is  no  con- 
futing raillery — the  acuteft  logician  would 
be  filenced  by  a  Merry  Andre-w. 

It  is  to  no  manner  of  purpofe  that  we 
have  reafon  on  our  fide,  when  the  laugh  is 
againll  us :  and  how  eafy  is  it,  by  playing 
with  our  words — by  a  quibble — by  the 
loweft  jell,  to  excite  that  laugh! 

When  the  company  is  difpofed  to  attack 
your  principles  with  drollery,  jio  plea  for 
them  is  attended  to  ;  tiie  more  ferious  you 
fhew  yourfeif  in  their  defence,  the  more 
fcope  you  give  to  the  mirth  of  your  oppo- 
nents. 

How  well  foever  we  have  informed 
ourfelves  of  the  motives  to  a  right  con- 
duct, thefe  motives  are  not  attended  to,  as 
often  as  we  act :  our  ordinary  practice  is 
founded  on  the  impreffion,  that  a  former 
consideration  of  them  has  made  ;  which 
impreffion  is  very  liable  to  be  weakened — » 
wants  frequently  to  be  renewed  in  the  fame 
way,  that  it  was  at  firft  produced. 

When  we  continually  hear  our  virtue 
banter'd  as  mere  prejudice,  and  our  no- 
tions of  honour  and  decorum  treated,  as 
the  fole  effects  of  our  pride  being  dexte- 
roufly  flattered — When  our  piety  is  fre- 
quently iubjecling  us  to  be  derided  as 
childifhly  timorous,  or  abfurdly  fuperfti- 
tious;  we  foon  know  not  how  to  perfuade 
ourfelves,  that  we  are  not  more  fcrupulous 
than  we  need  to  be ;  we  begin  to  queftion, 
whether,  in  fettling  the  extent  of  our  obli- 
gations, wc  have   lufficiently  confuked  the 

imperfe&ions 


ioS 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


imperfections  of  our  nature—- whether  our 
judgment  is  without  its  bias  from  our  fears. 

Let  our  ferioufnefs  be  exhibited  to  us  in 
that  odd  figure,  which  wit  and  humour 
can  eafily  give  it ;  we  (hall  be  infenfibly 
led  to  judge  of  it,  according  to  its  appear- 
ance, as  thus  overcharged ;  and  under  the 
difadvantage,  in  which  it  is  fhewn  us :  we 
mall,  nrft,  feem  unconcerned  a:  the  greater 
liberties  t'  it  others  take,  and,  by  degrees, 
proceed  to  take  the  very  fame  ourfelves. 

The  pcrfon,  whom  we  moil  highly  and 
juftly  honoured,  if  the  buffoonry  of  cur 
companions  were  conflaiitly  levelled  at  him, 
would  foon  have  his  worth  overlooked  by 
us ;  and,  though  we  might  rot  be  brought 
to  think  of  him  as  contemptibly,  as  they 
appeared  to  do,  our  reverence  of  him 
would  certainly,  at  length  abate,  and  both 
his  advice  and  example  have  much  lefs  in- 
fluence upon  us. 

Of  this  you  mail  have  an  inilance  in  my 
next. 

I  will  here  only  add  what  famblichus 
mentions  as  practifed  by  Pythagoras,  be- 
fore he  admitted  any  into  Ins  fchcol — 

He  enquired,  "Who  were  their  intimates" 
— juflly  concluding,  that  they,  who  could 
like  bad  companions,  would  not  be  much 
profited  by  his  inftruclions. 

Dean  Bolton. 

§   izy.    L  e  t  t  e  a     VIII. 

Sir, 

What  follows  will  difcharge  the  prc- 
mife,  which  I  made  you  at  the  conclufion 
of  my  la  ft. 

S.  was  the  oracle  of  his  county;  to 
whatever  point  he  turned  his  thoughts,  he 
foon  made  himfelf  mafter  of  it.  He  en- 
tered, indeed,  fo  early  upon  bufinefs,  that 
he  had  little  time  for  book';. ;  but  he  had 
read  thofe,  which  belt  deferred  his  perufal, 
and  his  memory  was  the  faithful  repofitory 
cf  their  contents. 

The  helps,  that  he  had  not  received  from 
reading,  I  .   I    d  abu  ied   i  i 

want  of,  b)  ion  and  con   erfation. 

Thecompafsefhis  1  lowled;  ^wasamaz- 
3ng.  There  was  fcarce  any  tiling,  of 
•  i  liis   fta'cion  ought  to  1 

formed,  i  rein  he  appeared  to  be  ig- 
norant.    L<  •  ence,  great  fag 

ly  ;      irehen         a  rel       ive  memory, 
the  refc  t  to  .  from 

:  any  thing  could  be  learm 

-    Pr- 
ions of  every  profeCion,   -  iiim  to 


ipeakon  moll  point;  with  fuch  juftnef-  and 
copioufnefs,  as  might  induce  you  to  con- 
clude, upon  fill  being  with  him,  that  the 
topic,  on  which  his  difcourfe  turned,  was 
what  he  had  particularly  and  principally 
attended  to.  Though  he  owned  himfelf 
never  to  have  fc  much  as  look'd  into  the 
writings  of  atheills  or  deifts  ;  yet,  from 
the  promifcuous  company  he  had  been 
obliged  to  keep,  and  the  freedom,  with 
which  all  fpoke  their  fer  timents  to  him, 
there  was  not,  perhaps,  a  material  objeJ 
tion  to  the  chriflian  religion,  of  which  he 
was  not  apprifed,  and  which  he  had  not 
well  conlidered. 

Senfible  of  his  flrength,  and  ever  defirouj 
to  ufe  it  in  the  bell  of  caufes — in  the  fer- 
vice  of  that  truth,  which  operates  on  men's 
pra&ice,  and  would,  if  attended  to,  rectify 
it  throughout ;  he  did  not  difcourage  the 
mod  free  fpeakers :  he  calmly  and  willing- 
ly heard  what  they  could  fay  againft  his 
faith,  while  they  ufed  reafon  and  argument; 
but  drollery  and  jell  he  failed  not,  though 
with  great  good-humour,  to  reprove,  as  a 
fpecies  of  mifreprefentation — as  a  fure  evi- 
dence, that  truth  was  not  fought — as  an  ar-r. 
jifice,  to  which  none  would  apply,  who 
were  not  confeious  of  their  weaknefs,  who 
did  not  defpair  cf  fupporting  their  notions 
by  rational  proofs. 

Virtue  and  true  religion  had  not,  per- 
haps,  an  abler  advocate  than  this  gentle- 
man ;  but  whatever  fervice  his  tongue 
might  do  them,  his  manners,  certainly, 
did  them  far  greater :  he  convinced  you 
of  their  excellency,   by  exhibiting  to  your 

fenfes  their  effects he  left  you  no  room 

to  queftion  how  amiable  they  were,  when 
it  was  from  their  influence  upon  him,  that 
he  fo  much  engaged  your  eileem  and  af- 
fecti  i;  he  proved  undeniably,  hew  much 
they  mould  be  cur  care,  by  being  himfelf 
an  inftance,  how  much  they  contributed 
to  our  hopp.  '   s. 

Never,  certainly,  did  piety  fit  eafier  up- 
on any  man Never,  perhaps,  was  any 

man  more  eiieemed  by  the  very  perfons, 
between  whole  practice  and.  his  there  was 
the  wideft  difference. 

The  Juperior  talents  he  difcover'd,  and 
b  -.diners  to  employ  them  for  the  benefit 
of  all,  who  applied  to  him,  engaged  alike 
thei    admiration  and  their  love. 

bligations,  conferred  by  him,  ob-w 

tained  the  height  of  complaifance  towards 

.     Invitations  were  made  the  youth 

from  all  quarters  ;    and  there  was   not  a 

man  of  any  figure  near  him,  who 

was 


BOOK    I.      MORAL 

Was  not  introduced,  to  him,  and  directed 
to  pay  him  particular  civility.  They,  who 
fought  to  attach  him  clofeft  to  them  by 
ctmfulting  his  humour,  were  never  without 
their  arguments  for  licenfmg  it.  "  True  it 
"  was,  this  or  that  purfuit  might  not  be  to 
"  the  tafte  of  his  father;  but  neither  did 
"  it  luit  his  years — When  he  was  a. young 
"  man,  he,  undoubtedly,  acted  as  one  ;  he 
"  took  the  diveriiems,  allowed  himfelf  in 
"  the  gratifications,  to  which  youth  in- 
"  clines:  no  wonder  that  he  fhould  new 
"  cenfure  what  he  could  not  reliih — that 
"  he  mould  condemn  the  draught,  which 
**  his  head  could  net  bear,  and  be  indifFe- 
"  rent  to  the  features,  which  he  could  not 
'«  diftinguilh  without  his  fpectacles." 

When  this  kind  of  language  had  abated 
the  reverence,  due  to  fo  excellent  an  in- 
ftruftor,  the  buffoon  interpofed  ftill  further 
to  weaken  his  influence  ;  gave  an  air  of  af- 
fectation to  his  decorum — of  hypocrify  to 
his  ferioufnefs — of  timoroufnefs  to  his  pru- 
dence— of  avarice  to  his  wife  ceconornv — 
burlefqued  the  ad-vice,  that  he  might  be  lup- 
poied  to  give,  the  arguments  with  which 
he  was  likely  to  fupportz'/,  and  the  reproof 
he  would  naturally  ufe,  when  he  did  not 
fee  a  difpofition  to  follow  it. 

Soon  as  the  young  man  had  attained  the 
age,  at  which  the  law  fuppofes  asfufficient- 
ly  difcreet,  he  expreffed  a  molt  earner!:  de- 
fire  to  have  an  opportunity  of  appearing 
fo.  Repeated  p'romifes  were  made,  that  if  a 
proper  allowance  was  fettled  on  him,  and 
leave  given  him  to  chufe  a  place  of  abode, 
there  mould  not  be  the  leal!  mifmanage- 
ment ;  the  income  affigned  him  fhould  an- 
fwer  every  article  of  expence. 

The  fon's  importunity  was  feconded  by 
the  fond  mother's,  and  their  joint  folicita- 
tions  prevailed.  The  youth  was  now  ac- 
ceffible,  at  all  times,  to  the  moil  profligate 
of  his  acquaintance :  and  one  part  of  tneir 
entertainment  ufually  was,  to  let  his  ex- 
cellent father's  maxims  and  manners  in 
the  moft  difadvantageous  light.  This  failed 
not  to  bring  on  a  difregard  to  both — fo  en- 
tire a  difregard  to  them,  that  the  whore 
and  the  card-table  took  up  all  the  hours, 
which  the  bottle  relieved  not. 

Thus  fell  the  heir  of  one  of  the  worthier! 
of  our  countrymen  !— It  was  to  no  purpofe, 
that  fuch  an  admirable  example  had  been 
fit  him  by  the  perfon,  he  was  mole  likely 
to  regard— that  fuch  particular  care  had 
been  taken  to  reafon  him  into  a  difcharge 
of  Ins  duty—that  he  had  been  prefent. 
when  the  molt  fubtile  advocates  for  irre- 


AND    RELIGIOUS. 


109 


Jigion  either  were  filenced,  or  induced  to 
acknowledge  their  principles  to  be  much 
lefs  defenlible,  than  they  had  hitherto 
thought  them.  None  of  the  imprellions 
of  what  had  been  done  for  him,  or  faid  to 
him,  or  had  paiTed  before  him,  could  hold 
out  againft  ridicule ;  it  effaced  every  trace 
of  them,  and  prepared  him  to  be  as  bad,  as 
his  wcrlt  companions  could  be  inclined  to 
make  him.  How  great  a  neglect  of  him 
enfued  !  They  who  had  laugh'd  him  out 
of  the  reverence  due  to  his  parent's  worth, 
rendered  him  foon  defpifed  by  all,  whole 
efteem  could  profit  or  credit  him ;  and  he 
died  in  the  70th  year  oi'  his  coniiitution, 
when  but  in  the  25th  of  his  age. 

Dean  Bolton. 

§   12-3.    Letter    IX. 
Str 

Ol  K., 

My  laft  gave  you  a  melancholy  in- 
flance  of  the  hurt,  done  by  ridicule  to 
the  heir  of  a  moft  worthy  man,  not  ma- 
ny miles  from  you.  What  influence  it 
had  towards  the  condemnation  of  him, 
to  whom  the  epithet  of  divine  might, 
perhaps,  be  more  properly  applied,  than 
to  any  one,  who  ever  lived  under  the  fole 
guidance  of  reafon,  has  long,  you  know, 
been  matter  of  difpute.  I  will  only  ob- 
ferve,  concerning  the  comic  writer's  ri- 
dicule of  Socrates— — 

1.  That,  when  fuch  a  reprefentation 
could  be  made  of  fo  excellent  a  perfon, 
it  demonftrates,  that  no  degree  of  worth 
can  lecure  any  perfon  from  an  attempt  to 
deftroy  his  credit ;  and  that  they,  whofe 
capacities  fully  enable  them  to,  difcern  this 
worth,  may  be  its  fpitefulleft  enemies,  and 
bend  their  wits  to  difparage  it 

2.  That,  when  fuch  a  reprefentation 
could  be  made  by  a  man  of  good  parts,  with 
any  confidence  of  fuccefs,  it  is,  further,  an 
evidence  of  the  probability,  that  the  higheft 
and  moft  juft  reputation  may  fuffer  from 
ridicule,  and  that  it  may  bring  into  con- 
tempt what  is  entitled  to  the  greater! 
efteem  and  honour- 

^  3.  That  if  the  Athenians  were  fo  well 
pieafed  with  the  means  ufed  ro  leiTen  the 
character  of  this  ornament,  not  only  to  his 
country,  but  his  fpecies,  as  to  render  the 
interpofnion  of  a  powerful  party  in  the 
ftate  ueceffary,  to  prevent  the  poet's  abufe 
from  meeting  with  all  the  fuccefs,  he  pro- 
mi  fed  himfelf  in  it ;  we  are  fully  taught, 
what  may  be  the  pernicious  effects  of  inge- 
nious drollery — how  much  it  may  weaken 
the  force  of  any  inftrudtion,  or  any  example. 

Where 


Jio 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Where  violent  methods  are  purfued,  in 
Order  to  withdraw  us  from  any  religious 
fraclice  or  opinion  ;  they  who  thus  oppofe  it 
Shewing  thereby,  that  they  look  upon  it  as 
fomewhat  of  great  importance,  teach  us  to 
do  the  fame;  and  often  increafe  our  at- 
tachment to  it — render  us  more  earneft 
about  it,  than  we,  otherwife  fhculd  have 
been.  But  where  fuch  practice  or  opinion 
is  treated  as  a  matter  of  jell — where  it 
meets  with  all  the  flight,  that  (coiling  and 
laughter  can  exprefs,  we  fcarcely  know 
how  to  preferve  our  regard  to  it,  as  a  thing 
of  much  confequence;  and  from  efteem- 
ing  it  of  little  moment,  we  eafily  proceed 
to  judge  it  of  none  at  all. 

The  force  that  is  offered  us,  on  account 
of  our  perfuafion,  either  occafions  fuch  an 
averfion  from  him,  who  applies  to  it,  as 
prevents  his  having  any  influence  upon  us  ; 
cr  engages  us  in  fo  careful  an  attention  to 
the  grounds,  upon  which  we  formed  our 
judgment,  as  fixes  us  in  the  refolution  not 
to  alter  it.  Eut  when  all  pafles  under  the 
appearance  of  good  humour— when  only 
mirth  and  pleafantry  are  exerted  againit 
us,  we  neither  contract  that  hatred  towards 
thofe,  by  whom  we  are  thus  treated,  which 
will  be  our  fecurity  from  any  bad  imp  re  f* 
fions  they  can  make  upon  us ;  nor  are  we 
excited  to  any  examination  of  our  principles, 
that  can  confirm  us  in  the;::.  The  freedom 
which  our  companions  life,  in  fpcrtins  with 
what  we  have  hitherto  reverenced,  will 
tempt  us  to  conclude,  that  its  importance 
is  far  from  being  obvious ;  nor,  indeed, 
can  it  fail,  unlefs  our  minds  have  a  more 
than  ordinary  firmnefs,  to  raife  at  ' 

doul  t   in   us,  whether  we   have  not 
been  too  fanciful  or  too  credulous.     /•. 

"  The  woman,  who  deliberates,  is  loft," 
we  may  fear  the  man  will  be  fo  likewife, 
who  fufFers  himfeif  to  queftion,  how  well 
d  his  ferioufnefs  is,  merely  becaufe 
(Tociates  are  continually  deriding  it. 
Would  you  not,  induftrioufly,  keep  out 
fjf  the  way  of  thofe,  who  had  power  to  tor- 
ture you,  and  whom  you  knew  ready  to  do 
it ;  if  you  would  not  be  guided  by  them, 
but  was  determined  to  think  and  aft,  as 
your  own  reafbn  fhculd  direct  ?  Believe 
me,  Sir,  the  fcoffer  fhould  be  as  much 
Jhunned  by  the  friend  to  virtue,  as  the  in- 
quifitor  by  the  friend  of  truth.  Whoever 
would  attain  or  preferve  a  juft  fenfe  of  his 
duty,  fhould  have  as  little  intercourfe  as 


pofiible  with  thofe  who  would  difcouragg 
fincerity — who  would  oppofe  it,  either  by 
the  faggot,  or  the  fair,  *  of  Smith-field.  A 
very  uncommon  refolution  is  required  to 
be  Heady  tc  t!  principles,  from  avowing 
which  we  muit  expect  to  be  the  heroes 
in  a  farce;  though  we  need  not  appre- 
hend that  it  will  make  us  victims  to  the 
flames. 

What  your  temper  may  be,  I  cannot  af- 
firm ;  but  I  really  think  that,  with  great 
numbers,  drollery  is  not  only  a  fpecies  of 
perfecution,  but  the  moil  dangerous  kind 
of  it:  they  would  as  foon  be  fcourged,  as 
mocked  ;  be  burthened  with  the  crofs,  as 
habited  with  the  purple.  You  can  fcarce- 
ly be  enough  aware  of  the  rifk  you  run 
from  being  jeftedwith,  as  a  vifionary  or  a 
bigot — as  one  of  much  whim,  or  very  lit- 
tle penetration, 

But  enough  of  the  inducements,  that  vi- 
tious  companions  would  be  under  to  cor- 
rupt you,  and  the  means  they  would  ufe  to 
do  it, 

The  care  you  fhould  take,  in  the  choice 
of  your  company,  will  be  the  fubjedt  of 
but  one  letter  more  from     Dean  Bolton. 


L  E 


X. 


§  129. 
Sir, 

All  I  have  to  add,  on  what  has  lately 
been  the  fubject  of  my  correfpondence 
with  you,  will  be  contained  in  this  letter. 
I  will  not  lengthen  it,  by  apologizing  for 
it. 

Might  I  fuppofe  you  fo  fortified  by  a 
right  difpofition,  a  wife  education,  good 
and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
reafonablenefs  of  the  practice  enjoined  by 
your  religion,  that  every  attempt  to  cor- 
rupt your  morals  would  mifcarry ;  this 
hurt,  however,  you  would  be  fure  to  find 
from  being  much  in  the  company  of  vi- 
tious  men,  that  you  would  be  lefs  careful 
to  become  eminently  virtuous — you  would 
be  lefs  careful  to  fulfil  your  obligations, 
than  you  otherwife  would  be.  While  you 
faw  others  fo  much  worfe  than  yourfelf; 
you  would  not  conflder,  how  much  better 
you  ought  to  be,  than  you  at  prefent  are- 
While  their  grofs  faults  were  avoided,  you 
would  not  conflder,  how  much  there  is  in 
you,  that  ought  to  be  amended. 

We  mcaiure  what  is,  in  any  way,  com- 
mendable, by  comparing  our  ihare  of  it 
with  that  of  our  neighbour:  we  do  not  re- 


Bfirthohmnu  fair,  during  which  plays  and  farces  were  formerly,  from  morning  to  night,  the 
ainment  of  the  populace, 

X  gard 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


gard  in  what  degree,  as  to  itfelf,  we  poffefs 
the  good,  but  in  how  greater  a  degree  it  is 
pofieffed  by  us,  than  by  others. 

Among  a  very  ignorant  people,  a  fcho- 
]ar  of  the  loweil  form  will  pais,  both  in 
their  and  his  own  judgment,  for  an  adept. 

You  would,  I  am  fure,  pronounce   of 

I  any  gentleman,  who  kept  mean  company, 

that  there  was  little  hope  of  his  ever  acting 

',  a  part,  which  would  greatly  credit  him  : 

.while  he  loved  to  be  chiefly  with  thole, 

;  who  would  own,  and  do  homage  to,  his 

fuperiority ;  you  would  think  him  by  no 

:  means  likely  to  cultivate  much  real  worth. 

i  And  were  it  to  be  faid,  that  you  fhould 

make  fuch  a  judgment  of  him,  not  becaufe 

i  of  any  impreffion  he  would  receive  from 

!  his  companions,   but  becaufe  of  the  difpofi- 

.  tion  he  fhewed  in  the  choice  of  them ;  I 

fhould  be  glad  to  know,  how   that  man 

;  mull  be  thought  affected  towards  religion 

.  and  virtue,  who  could  be  willingly  preient, 

:  where  he  was  fure,   that  they  would  be 

grofsly  depreciated.     Whoever  could  bear 

,  a  difparagement  of  them,  mult,  have  fo  lit- 

j  tie  fenfe  of  their  worth,  that  we  mult  juitly 

conclude  him  ill  prepared  for  refilling  the 

,  attempt,  to  deprive  them  wholly  of  their 

influence  upon  him.     And,  therefore,  we 

;  may  as  fitly  determine,  from  the  difpofi- 

I  tion  evidenced   by   him   who    keeps  bad 

i  company,  what  his  morals  will  at  length 

,  be ;  as  we  can  determine  from  the  turn  of 

mind,  difcovered  by  one  who  keeps  mean 

company,  what  his  figure  in  the  world  is 

likely  to  be. 

Thofe  among  us,  whofe  capacities  qua- 
lify them  for  the  moll  confiderable  attain- 
ments— who  might  raife  themfelves  to  an 
equality  with  the  heroes  in  literature,  of 
the  lait  century,  lit  down  contented  with 
!  the  fuperiority  they  have  over  their  con- 
temporaries— acquiefce  in  furnifhing  a 
bare  fpecimen  of  what  they  could  do,  if 
their  genius  were  roufed,  if  they  were  to 
exert  their  abilities.  They  regard  only 
the  advantage  they  poffefs  over  the  idle 
and  illiterate,  by  whom  they  are  furround- 
ed  ;  and  give  way  to  their  eafe,  when  they 
may  take  it;  and  yet  appear  as  confider- 
able in  their  times,  as  the  learned  men,  we 
molt  admire,  did  in  their  refpeclive  ages. 

How  many  could  I  mention,  to  whom 
nature  has  been  molt  liberal  of  her  endow- 
ments, who  are  barely  in  the  lilt  of  au- 
thors, who  have  only  writ  enough  to  fliew 
how  much  honour  they  would  have  done 
•their  country,  had  their  application  been 
called  out,   and  if  their  names  mult  have 


lit 

been  no  better  known  than  thofe  of  their 
acquaintance,  unlefs  their  diligence  had 
equalled  their  capacity. 

What  is  thus  notorioufly  true  of  lite- 
rary defert,  is  equally  fo  of  moral:  the 
perfons,  to  whom  we  allot  a  greater  fhare 
of  it,  than  has  long  been  found  in  any  in 
their  itations,  how  have  they  their  fenfe  of 
right  with-held  from  exerting  itfelf,  by 
the  few  they  meet  with  difpofed  to  animate 
them  to  any  endeavour  towards  correcting 
the  general  depravity — by  the  connections 
they  have  with  fuch  numbers,  whofe  rule 
is  their  inclination — by  that  utter  difre<?ard 
to  duty,  which  they  fee  in  moil  of  thofe, 
with  whom  they  have  an  intercourfe. 

Alas  1  in  the  very  belt  of  us,  a  convic- 
tion of  what  becomes  us  goes  but  a  little 
way  in  exciting  us  to  practice  it.  Solici- 
tations to  be  lefs  obfervant  of  it  are,  from 
fome  or  other  quarter,  perpetually  offering 
themfelves ;  and  are  by  no  means  likely 
to  be  withllood,  if  our  refolutions  are  not 
flrengthened  by  the  wife  counfels  and  cor- 
refpondent  examples  of  our  aiTociates. 

"  Behold!  young  man — You  live  in  an 
"  age,  when  it  is  requifite  to  fortify  the 
"  mind  by  examples  of  conftancy." 

This  Tacitus  mentions  as  the  fpeech  of 
the  admirable  Tbrafea  to  the  queeltor,  fent 
to  tell  him,  he  mull  die  ;  and  by  whom  he 
would  have  it  remarked,  with  what  com- 
pofure  he  died. 

Nor  is  it  only  when  our  virtue  endan- 
gers our  life,  as  was  then  the  cafe,  that 
fuch  examples  are  wanted.  Wherever 
there  is  a  prevailing  corruption  of  man- 
ners ;  they  who  would  adt  throughout  the 
becoming  part,  mult  be  animated  to  it  by 
what  they  hear  from,  and  fee  in,  others, 
by  the  patterns  of  integrity,  which  they 
have  before  them. 

We  are  eafily  induced  to  judge  fome 
deviation  from  our  rule  very  excufable; 
and  to  allow  ourfelves  in  it:  when  our 
thoughts  are  not  called  off  from  our  own 
weaknefs  and  the  general  guilt :  but  while 
we  are  converfant  with  thcfe,  whofe  con- 
duct is  as  unfuitable,  as  our  own,  to  that  of 
the  multitude;  we  are  kept  awake  to  a 
fenfe  of  our  obligations — our  fpirits  are 
fupported — we  feel  the  courage  that  we 
behold— we  fee  what  can  be  done  by  fuch 
as  fhare  our  frail  nature ;  and  <v:e  are  a- 
fhamed  to  nvwv&r,  where  they  perfe-vere. 

Arijlotle  confiders  friendfhip  as  of  three 
kinds ;  one  arifing  from  virtue,  another 
from  pleaiure,  and  another  from  interefl; 
but  juftly  determines,  that  there  can  be  no 

true 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


112 

true  frlendfhip,  which  is  not  founded  in 
virtue. 

The  friendihip  contracted  from  pleafure, 
or  profit,  regards  only  the  pleafure  or  pro- 
fit obtained  thereby;  and  ceafes,  when 
thefe  precarious  motives  to  it  fail:  but 
that,  to  which  virtue  gives  birth,  not  hav- 
%np-  any  accidental  caufe — being  without 
any  dependence  on  humour  or  intereii— - 
ariling  wholly  from  intrinfic  worth,  from 
what  we  are  in  ourfelves,  never  fluctuates, 
operates  fteadily  and  uniformly,  remains 
firm  and  uninterrupted,  is  lalling  as  cur 
lives.  That  which  is  the  effential  quali- 
fication of  a  friend,  fhould  be  the  chief  re- 
commendation in  a  companion.  If,  indeed, 
we  have  any  concern  for  real  worth  ;  with 
whom  fhould  we  be  more  de (irons  to  con- 
verfe,  than  with  thofe,  who  would  accom- 
pany us,  and  encourage  us,  in  the  puriuit 
of  it. 

The  fame  writer,  mentioning  the  ufe, 
that  friends  are  of  to  us  in  every  part  of 
life,  remarks  the  benefit,  which  young  men 
find  from  them  to  be — "  That  they  keep 
«  them  in  their  duty." 

Had  he  thought,  that  any  thing  could 
have  been  urged  more  in  behalf  of  friend- 
ihip ;  he,  undoubtedly,  would  have  obferv- 
ed  it.  And  when  fuch  is  the  language  of 
fo  able  an  inftructor,  and  of  one  who  guided 
himfelf  in  his  inftructions  only  by  the  cer- 
tain, the  prefent  advantage,  that  would 
attend  a  conformity  to  them;  the  leflbn  we 
have  here  for  the  choice  of  company  muft 
arpear  worthy  the  notice  even  of  thofe, 
who  will  have  no  other  guides,  but  reafon 
and  nature. 

[f  to  keep  us  (ready  to  cur  duty  be  the 
belt  office,  that  can  be  done  us — If  they, 
who  are  our  friends,  will  be  thus  fervice- 
a  le  to  us — If  the  virtuous  alone  can  be 
cur  friends,  our  converfation  fhould  be 
chiefly  with  the  virtuous;  all  familiarity 
with  the  vitious  fhould  be  avoided;  we 
fhould  confider  thofe,  who  would  deftroy 
our  virtue,  as  our  enemies — our  very  worit 
enemies,  whilil  endeavouring  to  deprive  us 
of  the  greateft  blefiing,  that  it  is  in  our 
power  to  obtain.  Dean  Bolton. 

§    130.     On  Intemperance  in  Eating. 

Sect.     I. 

This  refpeets  the  quantity  of  our  food, 

C  I  of  it:  if,  in  cither  of  thefe,  we 

}    "         1        ;3rd  to  the  hurt  it  may  do  us, 

-nee. 

:ffing  in  the    quantity    of 

our  food  ;■.  fpeedier  mifchief  enfues,  than 


from  doing  fo  in  the  quality  of  it;  and 
therein  we  never  can  tranfgrefs,  without 
being  directly  admonifhed  of  it,  by  or-r 
very  conftitution.  Our  meal  is  never  too 
large,  but  heavinefs  ccmes  or: — the  load 
on  our  itomach  is  our  inftant  tormentor} 
and  every  repetition  of  our  fault  a  caution 
to  us,  that  we  do  not  any  more  thus  offend. 
A  caution,  alas,  how  unheeded  by  us  !  — 
Crammed  like  an  Englijhman,  was,  I  find,  a 
proverbial  exprefiion  in  Era/mus's  days- 
above  two  hundred  years  ago. 

Aa  error  barely  in  the  kind  of  our  ali- 
ment, gives  us,  frequently,  no  prefent 
alarm;  and,  perhaps,  but  a  very  flight  one, 
after  we  have,  for  fome  years,  continued 
in  it.  In  the  vigour  of  youth,  fcarce  any 
thing  we  eat  appears  to  difagree  with  us: 
we  gratify  our  palate  with  whatever  pleafes 
it ;  feeling  no  ill  confequence,  and  there- 
fore fearing  none.  The  inconveniences, 
that  we  do  not  yet  find,  we  hope  we  fhalj 
always  efcape;  or  we  then  propofe  to  our- 
felves a  reifraint  upon  our  appetite,  when 
we  experience  the  bad  effects  of  indulg- 
ing it. 

With  refpeft  to  the  quantity  of  our 
food;  that  may  be  no  excefs  in  one  man, 
which  may  be  the  moft  blameable  in  an- 
other: what  would  be  the  height  of  glut- 
tony in  us,  if  of  a  weak  and  tender  frame, 
may  be,  to  perfons  of  much  ftrenger  con- 
ftitution, a  quite  temperate  meal.  The 
fame  proportions  of  food  can,  likewife,  ne- 
ver fuit  fuch,  as  have  in  them  dilpoiltions 
to  particular  difeafes,  and  fuch,  as  have  no 
evils  of  that  nature  to  guard  againft  :  mor 
can  they,  further,  fuit  thofe,  who  are  em- 
ployed in  hard  labour,  and  thofe,  who  live 
wholly  at  their  eafe — thofe,  who  are  fre- 
quently (tirring  and  in  action,  and  thofe, 
whofe  life  is  fedentary  and  inactive.  The 
fame  man  may,  alfo,  in  the  very  fame 
quantity,  be  free  from,  or  guilty  of,  excefs, 
as  he  is  young  or  old — healthy  or  difeafed 
— as  he  accuftoms  his  body  to  fatigue,  or 
to  repofe. 

The  influence  that  our  food  has  upon  our 
health,  its  tendency  to  preferve  or  to  im- 
pair our  conftitution,  is  the  meafure  of  its 
temperance  or  excefs. 

It  may,  indeed,  fo  happen,  that  our  diet 
fhall  be,  generally,  very  fparing,  without 
allowing  us  any  claim  to  the  virtue  of  tem- 
perance ;  as  when  we  are  more  deiirous 
to  fave  our  money,  than  to  plenfe  our  pa- 
lates, and,  therefore,  deny  ourfelves  at  our 
own  table,  what  we  eat  with  greedinefs, 
when  we  feed  at  the  charge  of  others,  as, 

liko 


BOOK    I. 


MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


11$ 


likewife,  when  our  circum {lances  not  per- 
mitting us,  ordinarily,  to  indulge  our  ap- 
petite, we  yet  fet  no  bounds  to  it,  when  we 
have  an  opportunity  of  gratifying  it. 

He  is  the  temperate  man,  whole  health 
directs  his  appetite — 'who  is  belt  pleaied 
with  what  bed  agrees  with  him — who 
eats,  not  to  gratify  his  talk1,  but  to  pre- 
ferve  his  life — who  is  the  fame  at  every 
table,  as  at  his  own — who,  when  he  feafts, 
is  not  cloyed;  and  fees  all  the  delicacies, 
before  him,  that  luxury  can  accumulate  ; 
yet  preferves  a  due  abilinence  amidit 
them. 

The  rules  of  temperance  not  only  oblige 
us  to  abilain  from  what  now  does,  or  what 
we  are  fure  foon  will,  hurt  us  :  we  offend 
againfl  them,  when  we  avoid  not  whatever 
has  a  probability  of  being  hurtful  to  us. — 
They  are,  further,  tranfgrefTed  by  too 
great  nicety  about  our  food— by  much  fo- 
licitude  and  eagernefs  to  procure  what  we 
molt  relifh — by  frequently  eating  to  fati- 
ety. 

We  have  a  letter  remaining  of  an  hea- 
then, who  was  one  of  the  moll  eminent 
perfons  in  an  age  diilinguiihed  by  the 
great  men  it  produced,  in  which  he  ex- 
preffes  how  uneafy  it  made  him,  to  be 
among  thofe,  who  placed  no  fmall  part  of 
their  happinefs  in  an  elegant  table,  and 
who  filled  themfelves  twice  a  day. 

In  thus  defcribing  temperance,  let  me 
not  be  underftood  to  cenfure,  as  a  failure 
therein,  all  regard  to  the  food  that  heft 
pleafes  us,  when  it  is  equally  wholefome 
with  ether  kinds — when  its  price  is  neither 
unfuitable  to  our  circumftances,  nor  very 
great — when  it  may  be  conveniently  pro- 
cured— -when  we  are  not  anxious  about  it — 
when  we  do  not  frequently  leek  after  it — 
when  we  are  always  moderate  in  its  ufe. 

To  govern  our  appetite  is  neceffary ;  but, 
in  order  to  this,  there  is  no  neceffity,  that 
we  fhould  always  mortify  it— that  we  fhould, 
upon  every  occafion,  confider  what  is  leall 
agreeable  to  us. 

Life  is  no  more  to  be  palled  in  a  con- 
flant  felf-denial,  than  in  a  round  of  fenfual 
enjoyments.  We  mould,  endeavour,  that 
it  may  not  be,  at  any  time, -painful  to  us 
to  deny  ouvfelves  what  is  improper  for  us ; 
and,  on  that  as  well  as  other  accounts,  it  is 
moil  fitting  that  we  fhould  frequently 
pradice  felf-denial— that  we  mould  often 
forego  what  would  delight  us.  But  to  do 
this  continually,  I  cannot  fuppofe  required 
of  us ;  becaufe  it  dothnot-feem  reafonable 
to  think  that  it  fhould  be  our  duty  wholly 


to  debar  ourfelves  of  that  food  wh'ch  our 
palate  Is  formed  to  relifh,  and  which  we  are 
fure  may  be  ufed,  without  any  prejudice  to 
our  virtue,  or  our  health. 

Thus  much  may  furfice  to  inform  us, 
when  we  incur  the  guilt  of  eating  intem- 
perately. 

The  difTuafives  from  it,  that  appear  of 
greatell  weight,  are  thefe : 

It  is  the  groffeft  abufe  of  the  gifts  of 
Providence. 

It  is  the  vilefl  debafement  of  ourfelves. 

Our  bodies  owe  to  it  the  moll  painful 
difeafes,  and,  generally,  a  fpeedy  decay. 

It  frequently  interrupts  the  ufe  of  our 
nobler  faculties,  and  is  fure,  at  length,  great- 
ly to  enfeeble  them. 

The  (traits  to  which  it  often  reduces  us, 
occafion  our  falling  into  crimes,  which 
would,  otherwife,  have  been  our  utter  ab- 
horrence. Dean  Bolton. 

§  131.     On  Intemperance  in  Eating. 

Sect.    II. 

To  confider,  firft,  excefs  in  our  food  as 
the  grofiefl  abufe  of  the  gifts  of  Provi- 
dence. 

The  vail  variety  of  creatures,  with  which 
God  has  repienifhed  the  earth — the  abun- 
dant provifion,  which  he  has  made  for 
many  cf  them- — the  care,  which  he  has 
taken  that  each  fpecies  of  them  fhould  be 
preferved  — the  numerous  conveniencies 
they  adminifter  to  us— the  pleafmg  change 
of  food  they  afford  us — the  fuitable  food 
that  we  find,  among  their  different  kinds, 
to  different  climates,  to  our  different  ways 
of  life,  ages,  confdtutions,  diftempers,  are, 
certainly,  the  moft  awakening  call  to  the 
higheft  admiration,  and  the  gratefullell 
finfe,  of  the  divine  wifdom  and  goodnefs. 
This  fenfe  is  properly  exprefTed,  by  the 
due  application  cfwhatis  fo  gracioufly  af- 
forded us — by  the  application  of  it  to  thofe 
parpofes,  for  which  it  was  manifeftly  in- 
tended. But  how  contrary  hereto  is  liis 
practice,  who  lives  as  it  were  but  to  eat, 
and  confiders  the  liberality  of  providence 
only  as  catering  for  his  luxury  !  What 
mifchief  this  luxury  doth  us  will  be  pre- 
fently  cenfidered ;  and,  in  whatfoever  de- 
gree it  hurts  us,  we  to  fuch  a  degree  abufe 
our  Maker's  bounty,  which  muft  defign  our 
good — which,  certainly,  is  directed  to  our 
welfare.  Were  we,  by  indulging  our  ap- 
petites, only  to  make  ourfelves  lefs  fit  for 
any  of  the  offices  of  life,  only  to  become 
lefs  capable  Of  difcharging  any  of  the  du- 
ties of  our  ibuion*  it  may  be  made  evident, 
I  that, 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PRCSS. 


114 

that,  in  tliis  refpectlikewife,  bur  ufe  of  the 
Divine  beneficence  is  quite  contrary  to 
what  it  requires.  He  who  has  appointed 
ns  our  bufinefs  here— who,  by  our  pecu- 
liar capacities,  has  ftgnified  to  us  our  pro- 
per employments,  thereby  difcovers  to  us 
hew  far  merely  to  pleafe  ourfelves  is  al- 
lowed us ;  and  that,  if  we  do  fo,  to  the 
hindrance  of  a  nobler  work,  it  is  oppofing 
his  intention;  it  is  defeating  the  end  of  life, 
by  thofe  very  gifts,  which  were  bellowed  to 
carry  us  on  more  chearfully  towards  it. 

When  my  palate  has  a  large  fcope  for 
its  innocent  choice— when  I  have  at  hand 
what  may  moll  agreeably  recruit  my 
flrength,  and  what  is  moll  effectual  to 
preferve  it ;  how  great  ingratitude  and 
bafenefs  mew  themielves  in  the  excefs, 
which  perverts  the  aim  cf  i'o  much  kind- 
nefs,  and  makes  that  to  be  the  caufe  of  my 
forgetting  with  what  view  I  was  created, 
which  ought  to  keep  me  ever  mindful  of 
it !  As  the  bounty  of  Heaven  is  one  of  the 
ftrongefl  motives  to  a  reafonahle  life,  how 
guilty  are  we  if  we  abufe  it  to  thepurpofes 
of  a  fenfual!  Our  crime  mull  be  highly 
aggravated,  when  the  more  conveniences 
our  Maker  lias  provided  for  us,  we  are  fo 
much  the'  more  unmindful  of  the  talk  he 
has  enjoined  us — when  by  his  granting  us 
what  may  fatisfy  our  appetite,  we  are  in- 
duced wholly  to  confult  it,  and  make  our- 
felves Haves  to  it. 

Let  intemperance  in  our  food  be  next 
cenfidered,  as  the  mamefuileft  debafement 
of  ourfelves. 

Life,  as  we  have  been  wifely  taught  to 
coniiacr  it,  is  m-rre  than  meat.  IVian  could 
rot  be  lent  into  the  world  but  for  quite 
different  purpofes,  than  merely  to  indulge 
his  palate.  He  has  an  underftanding 
given  him,  which  he  may  greatly  improve  ; 
many  are  the  perfections,  which  he  is  qua- 
lified to  attain ;  much  good  to  his  fellow- 
creatures  he  has  abilities  to  do:  and  all 
thi  may  be  truly  faid  of  all  mankind;  all 
may  improve  our  rcafon,  may  pro- 
ceed in  virtue,  maybe  ufeful  to  our  fel- 
low creatures.  There  arc  none,  therefore, 
to  whom  it  is  not  the,  fouleft  reproach,  that 
■  is  their  God—that  they  are 
more  felicitous  to  favour,  and  thereby 
to  ftrengthen,  the  importunity  of  their  ap- 
petite, than  to  weaken  and  mailer  it,  by 
frequent  refiflance  and  reibraint.  The 
ible  b  ing  is  to  be  always  under  the 
influx  oi  Jon  ;  it  is  his  excellence, 
his  prerogative,  to  be  fo:  wh  Lt<  vex  is  an 
-  '  this  ■;,.  ids  I  i  n,  n:!!cclson 
him  difgrace  and  contempt.     And  as  our 


reafon  and  appetite  are  in  a  conftant  oppO* 
fition  to  each  other,  there  is  no  indulging 
the  latter,  without  leffening  the  power  of 
the  former :  If  our  appetite  is  not  govern- 
ed by,  it  will  govern,  our  reafon,  and 
make  its  moll  prudent  fuggeftions,  its  wifeft 
counfcls,  to  be  unheeded  and  flighted. 

The  fewer  the  wants  of  any  being  are, 
we  mull  confider  it  as  fo  much  the  more 
perfccl  ;  fince  thereby  it  is  lefs  dependent, 
and  has  lefs  of  its  happinefs  without  itfelf. 
When  we  raifeour  thoughts  to  the  Bein;  s 
above  us,  we  cannot  but  attribute  to  the 
higher  orders  of  them,  frill  farther  removes 
from  our  own  weaknefs  and  indigence, 
till  we  reach  God  himfelf,  and  exempt 
him  from  wants  of  every  kind. 

Knowing  thus  what  mull  be  afcribed  to 
natures  fuperior  to  ours,  we  cannot  be  ig- 
norant, what  is  our  own  bell  recommend- 
ation ;  by  what  our  nature  is  railed;  where- 
in its  worth  is  dillinguifhed. 

To  be  without  any  wants  is  the  Di'  rn 
prerogative;  ourpraife  is,  that  we  add  not 
to  the  number  of  thole,  to  which  we  were 
appointed— that  we  have  none  we  can 
avoid— that  we  have  none  from  our  own 
mifconduft.  In  this  we  attain  the  utmcil 
degree  of  perfection  within  our  reach. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  fane  • 
multiplied  our  neceffities — when  wc  owe  I 
know  not  how  many  to  ourfeJves — when 
our  cafe  is  made  dependent  on  delicacies, 
to  which  our  Maker  never  fubjected  it — 
when  the  cravings  of  our  luxury  bear  no 
proportion  to  thofe  of  our  natural  hunger, 
what  a  degenerate  race  do  we  become  ! 
What  do  we  but  link  our  rank  in  the  cre- 
ation. 

He  vvliofe  voracioufnefs  prevents  his  be- 
ing fatisfled,  till  he  is  loaded  to  the  full  of 
what  he  is  able  to  bear,  who  eats  to  the 
utmoll  extent  of  what  he  can  eat,  is  a  mere 
brute,  and  one  of  the  loweft  kind  of  brutes ; 
the  generality  cf  them  obferving  a  jail 
moderation  in  their  food — when  duly  re- 
lieved feeking  no  more,  and  forbearing 
even  what  is  before  them.  But  below  any 
brute  is  he,  who,  by  indulging  himfelf", 
has  contracted  wants,  from  which  nature 
exempted  him  ;  who  mure  be  made  hungry 
by  art,  mull  have  his  food  undergo  "the 
moil  unwholoforr.e  preparations,  befo-e  he 
can  be  inclined  to  taite  it;  only  relifning 
what  is  ruinous  to  his  health  ;  his  life  fup- 
ported  by  what  nece  fTarily  fhortens  it.  A 
part  this,  which,  when  acted  by  him,  who 
has  reafon,  reflection,  fbrefight  given  him, 
wants  a  name  to  reprefent  a  in  the  full  of 
it,  deformity.     Withprivii  'ges  (0  far  be-  s 

voi.o 


BOOK.    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


115 


yond  thofe  of  the  creatures  below  us,  how 
great  is  our  bafenefs,  our  guilt,  if  thofe 
endowments  are  fo  far  abufed,  that  they 
ferve  us  but  to  find  out  the  means  of  more 
grofsly  corrupting  ourfelves  ! 

I  cannot  quii  this  head,  without  remark- 
ing it  to  be  no  flight  argument  of  the  dif- 

'  honour  we  incur  by  gluttony,  that  nothing 
is  mere  carefully  avoided  in  all  well-bred 
cflwpany,  nothing  would  be  thought'  by 
fach  more  brutal  and  rude,  than  the  dis- 
covery of  any  marks  of  our  having  eat 

Jntemperately — of  our  having  exceeded 
that  proportion  cf  food,  which  is  proper 
for  our  nourifhment. 

Dean  Bolton. 

§    I?, 2.     On  Intemperance  in  Eating. 

Sect.    III. 

To  confider,  further,  excefs  in  our  food 
as  haftening  our  death,  and  bringing  on 
us  the  mod  painful  difeafes. 

It  is  evident,  that  nothing  contributes 
more  to  the  prefervation  of  life,  than  tem- 
perance. 

Experience  proves  it  to  be  actually  fo  ; 
and  the  ftrudture  cf  the  human  body  ihews 
that  it  muff:  be  fo. 

They  who  defcribe  the  golden  age,  or 
the  age  of  innocence,  and  near  a  thoufand 
years  of  life,  reprefent  the  cuitomary  food 
of  it,  as  the  plainer!  and  mod  fimple. 

Whether  animal  food  was  at  all  ufed  be- 
fore the  flood,  is  quefKoned  :  we  certainly 
find,  long  after  it,  that  Lot's  making  a 
feaft  is  defcribed  by  his  baking  unleavened 
bread. 

Abraham  entertained  thofe,  whom  he 
confidered  of  fuch  eminence,  as  that,  to 
ufe  the  words  of  fcripture,  "  he  ran  to 
"  meet  them  from  the  tent  doer,  aud  bowed 
"himfelfto  the  ground;"  Abraham's  en- 
tertainment, I  fay,  ofperfons  thus  honoured 
by  him,  was  only  with  a  calf,  with  cakes  of 
meal,  with  butter  and  milk. 

Gideon's  hofpitality  towards  the  mofl  il- 
luftrious  of guefts  fhewed  itself  in  killing  a 
kid  of  the  goats ;  and  we  read  that  Jejje 
looked  upon  thi-  to  be  a  preient,  which  his 
prince  would  not  difdain. 

Perhaps  my  reader  would  rather  take  a 
meal  with  fome  of  the  worthies  of  profane 
hiitory,  than  with  thofe,  whom  the  i acred 
has  recorded. 

I  will  be  his  introducer.  He  mall  be  a 
gueft  at  an  entertainment,  which  was,  cer- 
tainly, defigned  to  be  a  fplendid  one ;  fince 
it  was  made  by  Achilles  for  three  fuch  con- 
fiderable  perfons,  as  Phtznix,  A] ax,  and 
\bil/'es>  perfons,  whom  he  himfelf  repre- 


fents  as  being,  of  all  the  Grecian  chiefs, 
thofe  whom  he  moll  honours. 

He  wiil  eaiily  be  believed  herein;  for 
this  declaration  is  fcarce  fooner  out  of  his 
mouth,  than  h?  and  his  friends,  Patroclus 
and  Automedon,kvera.\\y  employ  themfelves 
in  making  up  the  fire — chopping  the  meat, 
and  putting  it  into  the  pot— Or,  if  Mr. 
Pope  be  allowed  to  defcribe  their  talks  oa 
this  occaiion, 

——Patroclus  o'er  the  blazing  fire 

Heaps  in  a  brazen  vafe  three    •!;'.;;  entire  : 

The  brazen  vafe  Jlutomedsi  fuftains, 

Which  Jlejh  of  pwkt,  fheep,  a;vi  %pat  contains : 

Achilles  at  the  genial  feaft  prefules, 

The  parts  transfixes,  and  with  (kill  divides. 

Mean  while  Fatrodus  fweats  the  fire  to  raife; 

The  tent  is  brighten'd  with  the  rifmg  blaze. 

But  who  is  dreffing  the  fi(h  and  fowls? 
Tnis  feaft,  alas !  furnifhes  neither.  The 
poet  is  fo  very  bad  a  caterer,  that  he  pro- 
vides nothing  cf  that  kind  for  his  heroes 
on  this  occaiion  ;  or,  on  another,  even  for 
the  luxurious  Pha'acians.  Such  famples 
thefe  of  Homer's  entertainments,  as  will 
gain  entire  credit  to  what  is  laid  of  them  in 
Plutarch,  "  that  we  muff,  rife  almoft  hungry 
"  from  them."     Symp'.  Lib.  II.  Qu.  10. 

Shou'd  the  blind  bard  be  confidered  as 
a  ftroller— keeping  low  company,  and 
therefore,  in  the  feafis  he  makes  for  the 
great,  likely  more  to  regard  the  quantity 
of  the  food  which  he  provides  for  them, 
than  the  kind  of  it :  would  you  rather  be 
one  of  Virgil's  guefts,  as  he  lived  in  an 
age,  when  good  eatin g  was  underftood— • 
converfed  with  people  of  rank — knew 
whatdifhes  they  liked,  and  would  therefore 
not  fail  to  place  fuch  before  them  ? 

You  fhall  then  be  the  gueft  of  the  Ro* 
man  poet — Do  you  chufe  beef,  or  mutton- 
would  vou  be  helped  to  pork,  or  do  you 
prefer  goat's-fiefh  ?  You  have  no  ftomach. 
forfuch  fort  of  diet.  lie  has  nothing  elfe 
for  you,  unlefs  Polyphemus  will  fpare  you  a 
lep-  or  an  arm  of  one  of  the^poor  Greeks  he 
is  eating ;  or  unlefs  you  will  join  the  half- 
drowned  crew,  and  take  a  bit  of  the  ftags, 
which  are  dreffed  as  icon  as  killed  j  or  un- 
lefs yoa  are  a  great  lover  of  bread  and 
apples,  and  in  order  to  fatisfy  your  hunger, 
will,  in  Che  language  of  Afzamus,  eat  your 
table. 

Dido,  indeed,  gives  JEneas  and  his  com- 
panions a  moft  folendid  entertainment,  as 
far  as  numerous  attendants  conftitute  one; 
but  the  poet  mentions  nothing,  that  the 
heroes  had  to  eat,  except  bread;  whatever 
elfe  was  got  for  them  he  includes  in  the 
General  term  Dopes ;  which,  in  other  parts 
I  2  cf 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


116 

of  the  uEitetf,  is  applied  to  all  the  coarfe 
fare  already  mentioned. 

As  the  luxury  of  mankind  increafed, 
their  lives  fhortened  :  The  half  of  Abra- 
ham's age  became  regarded  as  a  ftretch, 
far  beyond  the  cuftomary  period.  So  in 
profane  hiftory  we  find,  that  when  the  arts 
of  luxury  were  unknown  in  Rome,  its  (even 
kings  reigned  a  longer  term,  than,  after- 
wards, upon  the  prev'alency  of  thofe  arts, 
was  completed  by  its  frit  twenty  empe- 
ror?. 
_  Such  perfons,  indeed,  among  the  an- 
~  ents,  whofe  precepts  and  praftice  molt 
■ .  immended  temperance  in  diet,  were 
en  inent  inftances  of  the  benefit  accruing 
from  it,  in  the  health  preferved,  and  long 
life  attained  by  it. 

Gorgias  lived  107  years. 

Hippocrates  reached,  according  to  fome 
writers,  his  104th  year,  according  to  others 
his  109th. 

Pythagoras,  of  whom  it  was  obferved, 
that  he  was  never  known  to  eat  to  fatiety, 
lived  to  near  100  years ;  if  Jamllichus  may 
be  credited.  D.  Lmertt'us  fays,  that  ac- 
cording to  moft  writers  he  was,  when  he 
loft  his  life,  in  his  90th  year.  Out  of  his 
ichool  came  Empedodes,  who  lived,  as  fome 
fay,  to  109  j  and  Xenophilus,  who  lived  to 
above  105. 

Zeno  lived  to  98  :  his  difciple  and  fuc- 
ceiior  Cleanthes  to  90.    ■ 

Dwgcnes,  when  he  died,  was  about  90 

Plato  rezch'd  hi  i  81  ft  year;  and  his  fol- 
lower Xenocrates  his  84th; 

Lycurgus,  the   lawgiver  of  the  Laceda- 

■  ans,  who,  when  they  ei^ved  his  laws 
were  not  lefs  diftinguiihed  by  their  abfte- 
nuoufnefs  than  by  their  fortitude,  lived  to 
S>  ;and  their  King  Agefilans  took  nay  of 
lacbos  at  80;  afterwards  affifted  Neclane- 

'/;  ,and>  having  eftablilhed  him  in  his 
Kingdom,  died,  in  his  return  to  Sparta  at 
•4* 

Cato,  the  Cerrfor,  is  introduced  by  Tvl/v 
reprefentmghimfelfas,  when  in  his.  84th 
year,  able  to  affift  in  the  fenate— to  fpeak 
in  the  affembly  of  the  people,  and  to  give 
™*  and  dependents  the  affiitance, 
Which  they  might  want  from  him. 

Luaan introduces  his  account  of  W- 
hved  perfons  with  the  obfervation,  that  it 

■  ^cofufe,  as  mewing  that  the v,  who 
the  moft  care  of  their   bodies  and 

•        s,  hved  the  longeft,  and  enjoyed  the 

come  nearer  to  our  own  times :  the 
fcoveiyofa  new  world has  confirmed  the 


obfervations  furnifhed  by  the  old  ;  that  in 
thofe  countries,  where  the  greateft  firripli- 
city  of  diet  has  been  ufed,  the  greateft 
length  of  life  has  been  attained. 

Of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  Virginians 
are  told,  "  That  their  chief  dilh  was  maiz, 
and  that  they  drank  only  water :  That  their 
difeafes  were  few,  and  chiefly  proceeded 
from  exceflive  heats  or  colds."  Atl.  G-cog. 
vol.  v.  p.  711.  "  Some  of  them  lived  to 
'upwards  of  2CO  years."  Purchas,  vol. 
v.  p.  946.  "  The  fobriety  of  the  ancienj 
inhabitants  of  Florida  lengthen'd  their  lives 
in  fuch  fort,  that  one  of  their  kings,  fays 
Morgues,  told  me,  he  was  three  hundred 
years  old  ;  and  his  father,  whom  he  then 
fhewed  me  alive,  was  fifty  years  older  than 
himfelf."     Purchas,  vol.  v.  p. 961. 

And  if  we  now  fearch  after  particular 
inftances  of  perfons  reaching  to  extreme 
old  age,  it  is  certain  that  we  muft  not  refort 
for  them  to  courts  and  palaces ;  to  ]he 
dwellings  of  the  great  or  the  wealthy  ;  but 
to  the  celis  of  the  religious,  or  to  cot- 
tag  1  •  ;  to  the  habitations  of  fuch,  whofe 
hunger  is  their  fauce,  and  to  whom  a 
wholefome  meal  is  a  Efficiently  delicate 
one. 

Martha  Waterhoufe,  of  the  townfhip  of 
North  Bierlry  in  1  'orkjhire,  died  about  the 
year  171 1,  m  the  104th  year  of  her  age: 
"her  maiden  filler,  liefer  jager,  of  the  fame 
place,  died  in  171  3,  in  the '107th  year  of 
her  age.  They  had  both  of  them  relief 
fro  the  townfhip  of  Bier-ley  nigh  fifty 
years.  Abridgement  of  Phil.  Tranf.  by 
!       1    .    vol.  ii.   p.  2.  p.  M5. 

Dr.  Harvey  in  his  anatomical  account 
of  \r.  Parr,  who  died  in  the  153d  year  of 
his  age, fays — -that,  if  he  had  not  changed 
his  diet  and  air,  he  might,  perhaps,  have 
lived  a  good  while  longer.  His  diet  was 
old  cheefe,  milk,  coarie  bread,  fmall  beer, 
and  whey. 

Dr  T.  Robirfn  fays  of  H.  Jenkins  the 
fifherman,  who  lived  169  years,  that  his 
diet  was  coarfe  and  four. 

Dr.  M.  Lifer,  having  mentioned  feveral 
old  perfons  of  Craven  in  J  'orkjhire,  fays— # 
The  food  of  ail  this  mountainous  country 
is  exceeding  coarfe.  Abr.  <f  Phil.  Tran/* 
by  Lowthorp,  vol.  iii.  p.  307,  <Sc. 

Buchanan  "peaks  of  a  fifherman  in  his 
own  time,  vyho  married  at  100,  went  out 
in  his  little  fiihing  boat  in  the.  rougheft 
weather  at  340,  and  at  Iaft  did  not  die  01 
any  painful  diftemper,  but  merely  worn 
out  by  age.     Rer.Sco,  >.  i.  adfin. 

Plutarch  mentions  our  countrymen  as, 

in 


BOOK     I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


117 


in  his  time,  growing  old  at  i  20.  To  ac- 
count for  this,  as  he  does,  from  their  cli- 
mate, feems  lefs  rational  than  to  afcribe  it 
to  their  way  of  living,  as  related  by  Dio- 
dorus  Siculus,  who  tell  us — that  their  diet 
was  fimple,  and  that  they  were  utter  ftran- 
gers  to  the- delicate  fare  of  the  wealthy. 

In  our  feveral  neighbourhoods  we  all  of 
'us  fee,  that  they  who  leaft  confult  their 
appetite,  who  leaft  give  way  to  its  vvanton- 
Inefs  or  voracioufnefs,  attain,  generally,  to 
'years  far  exceeding  theirs,  who  deny 
1  themfelves  nothing  they  can  relifh,  and 
conveniently  procure. 

Human  life,  indeed,  being  expofed  to  fo 
many  thoufand  accidents,  its  end  being 
haftened  by  fuch  a  prodigious  diverfity 
of  means,  there  is  no  care  we  can  take  of 
ourfelves,  in  any  one  refpecl,  that  will  be 
our  effe&ual  prefervative ;  but,  allowing 
for  cafualties  and  difference  in  conftitutions, 
we  every  where  perceive,  that  the  age 
of  thofe,  who  neglect  the  rules  of  tempe- 
rance, is  of  a  much  fhorter  date  than 
theirs,  by  whom  thefe  rules  are  carefully 
followed. 

And  if  we  attend  to  our  ftruclure,  it 
muft  thence  be  evident  that  it  cannot  be 
Otherwife.  Dean  Bolton. 

h    *  3  5  •     ®n  Intemperance  in  Eating. 

Sect.    IV. 

_The  human  body  may  be  considered  as 
compofed  of  a  great  variety  of  tubes,  in 
which  their  proper  fluid  is  in  a  perpetual 
motion.  Our  health  is  according  to  the 
condition,  in  which  thefe  veflels  and  this 
fluid  are. 

The  ruptured,  or  too  relaxed,  or  too  ri- 
gid ftate  of  the  one,-  and  the  redundancy 
or  deficiency,  the  refolved  or  vifcid,  the 
acefcent  or  the  putrefcent  ftate  of  the  other, 
is  a  diforder  in  our  frame.  Whether  our 
excefs  be  in  the  quantity  or  quality  of  ali- 
ment, we  muft  fuifer  by  it,  in  fome  cr  other 
of  thefe  ways-. 

By  the  ftomach  being  frequently  loaded, 
that  fulnefs  of  the  veflels  enfues,  by  which 
the  fibres  are  weakened — the  circulation 
becomes  languid — p'eripiration  is  leffened 
'— obstructions  are  formed — the  humours 
become  viicid  and  foon  putrid. 

In  the  progrefs  to  this  laft  ftate,  different 
diiesfes  take  place,  according.to  the  gene- 
ral 'ftrength  or  weak nefs  of  the  folids,  or 
according  to  the  debility  of  fome  particular 
organ  ;  according  to  the  conftitution  of  the 
air ;  according  to  cur  reft  or  motion  ;  ac- 
cording to  the  warmth  in  which  we  keep,  or 


the  •cold,  to  which  we  expofe   ourfelves, 
C5Y. 

Excefs  may  be  in  the  quantity  of  our 
food,  not  only  when  we  eat  fo  as  to  bur- 
then the  ftomach ;  but,  likewife,  when  our 
meals  bear  not  a  juft  proportion  to  our  la- 
bour or  exercife. 

We  are  tempted  to  exceed  in  the  quan- 
tity of  our  food,  by  the  feafoning  of  it,  or 
by  the  variety  of  it. 

The  ftimului  of  fauce  ferves  but  to  ex- 
cite a  falfe  appetite — to  make  us  eat  much 
more  than  we  lhould  do,  if  our  diet  were 
quite  fimple. 

The  effecT:  is  the  fame,  when  our  meal  is 
compofed  of  feveral  kinds  of  food :  their  dif- 
ferent taftes  are  fo  many  inducements  to  ex- 
cefs, as  they  are  fo  many  provocations  to  eat 
beyond  what  will  fatisfy  our  natural  wants. 

And  thus,  tho'  we  were  never  to  touch  a 
diih,  which  had  its  relifh  from  any  the 
leaft  unwholefome  ingredient;  tho'  our  diet 
were  the  plaineft,  and  nothing  came  ever 
before  us,  that  had  any  other  elegance  than 
from  the  feaibn,  in  which  it  was  brought 
to  oilr' table,  or  the  place  in  which  it  ap- 
peared there';  we  yet  might  greatly  hurt 
ourfelves :  we  might  be  as  intemperate, 
and  as  fpeedily  deftroy  ourfelves  by  our 
intemperance  with  roaft  and  boiled  meat,  as 
with  fricaffees  and  ragouts. 

The  quality  of  our  aliment  maybemif- 
chievous  to  us,  either  as  univerfally  pre- 
judicial to  the  human  canjfitution,  or  as 
uniuitable  to  our  own ; — unfuitable  to  the 
weaknefs  of  our  whole  frame,  or  to  fome 
defect  in  the  formation  of  a  part  of  it,  or 
to  that  taint  we  have  in  us,  from  the  dif- 
eafes  or  vices  of  our  parents. 

We  may  be  greatly  prejudiced  by  the 
kind  of  our  food,  in  many  other  ways ;  and 
we,  ordinarily,  are  fo,  by  not  regarding 
what  agrees  with  the  climate,  in  which  we 
are— what  with  the  country  we  inhabit — 
what  with  the  manner  of  life  we  lead. 

From  the  great  heat  that  fpices  occafiorr, 
and  from  the  length  of  time  they  continue 
it,  we  may  truly  fay,  that  their  copious 
and  daily  ufe  in  food  muft  be  injurious  to 
all  conftitutions. 

So  for  faked  meats,  the  hurt  that  may  be 
feared  from  them,  when  they  are  our  con- 
usant meals,  is  eafily  collected,  from  the 
irritation  they  muft  caufe  in  their  paffage 
thro'  the  body — from  the  injury,  that  muft 
hence  enfue  to  its  finer  membranes — from 
the  numerous  acrid  particles,that  muft  here- 
by be  lodged  in  the  pores  of  the  fkin,  the 
obftruclions  which  this  mull  produce,  and 
I  3  the 


EJLEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


11S 

the  large  quantity  of  perfpirable  matter 
which  will,  therefore,  be  detained  in,  and, 
consequently,  greatly  foul  the  blood— — 
from  the  dreadful  fymptoms,  that  attend  a 
high  degree  of  the  fcurvy;  the  relief  of 
which  by  vegetables,  by  frefh  meat,  by 
liquids  fitteil  to  remove  the  effeds  of  a 
muriatic  caufe,  plainly  fhews  them  to  be 
owing  to  fuch  a  caufe. 

Whatever  has  the  haut-gout  may  be 
looked  upon  as  confifting  of  fuch  active 
particles,  as  cannot  but  make  our  frequent 
eating  of  it  very  dangerous  —  as  maft 
render  it  much  fitter  to  be  ufed  as  phyfic, 
than  as  food. 

From  a  mixture  of  meats,  each  of  them 
wholefome  in  its  kind,  a  bad  chyle  may  be 
formed  :  and  the  rule  in  phyfic  is,  that  an 
error  in  the  firft  digeftion  will  not  be 
mended  in  the  fecond. 

A  delicate  conftitutiorris,fpeediIy,  either 
quite  deftroyed,  or  irrecoverably .diforder- 
ed,  when  the  diet  is  not  exadly  adapted 
to  it — is  net  fuch  as  leaft  irritates,  as 
leaft.  heats,  as  is  melt  eafily  conceded,  as 
fooneft  paries  out  of  the  body,  and  leaves 
the  feweft  impurities  behind  it  there. 

The  weaknefs,  or  the  wrong  formation, 
cf  a  part  of  cur  frame  is,  generally,  a  call 
to  the  utmoft  care  about  our  food  ;  and  as 
our  obferving  this  may  extend  car  life, 
even  under  either  of  thofe  circumftances, 
as  far  as  we  could  have  hoped  it  would 
have  been  prol.  nged,  if  we  had  been  with- 
out any  fuch  defed  ;  fo  our  failure  therein 
may,  in  a  very  fhort  time,  be  fatal  to  us. 

1  he  moft  fimple  aliment  will,  perhaps, 
be  unable  to  hinder  cur  feeling,  "in  fome 
degree,  the  bad  confequences  of  the  dif- 
eafes, or  irregularities  of  our  parents:  but 
hew  fir  they  fhall  affed  us,  depends,  very 
often,  in  a  g  cat  meafure,  upon  ourfelves. 

They  may  neither  much  contrad  the 
term,  nor  much  interrupt  the  comfort,  of 
life,  if  we  will  make  hunger  our  fauce, 
and,  in  every  meal  we  eat,  regard  the  dif- 
tempe]  i       rit ;  but  early,  alas !    and 

heavy  ivillouj  fufTerii  gs  be,  our  years  few 
and  full  of  u  Eafinefi:,  when,  without  any 
fuch  regard,  our  tafle  isdircdedb)  that  of 
rH  an  latMi  tic— when  the  folicita- 
tions  of  ajpc.it e  lead  us  to  forget  the  rea- 
fons  we  have  to  reltrain  //. 

la  this  climate  and  country,  where,  for 

fo  many  months  in  the  year,  'the  cuticular 

difc  larj       a:     (o  fmail — whei     the  ah    fo 

■    ■  Co  great 

■    /ari,  sitsecji  .  eour 


vefTels,  therefore,  are  as  frequently,  as  fud- 
denly,  and  as  greatly  contracted  or  expan- 
ded—where fogs  fo  much  abound,  and  fo 
much  contribute  to  impair  the  elafticity  of 
our  fibre?— to  hinder  the  proper  both  fe- 
cretions  and  excretions — to  deftroy  the  due 
texture  of  the  blood,  and  vitiate  our  whole 
habit,  it  muft  be  obvious,  what  we  have 
to  fear,  when  our  aliment  hurts  us  in  the 
fame  way  with  our  air — when  the  one 
heightens  the  diforder,  to  which  we  are 
expofed  by  the  other. 

An  inattention  to  the  nutriment  fit  for 
us,  when  we  feldom  ufe  any  exercife,  or, 
always,  very  gentle — when  our  life  is  fe- 
dentary,  either  from  the  bufinefs  by  which 
we  maintain  ourfelves,  or  from  our  love  of 
eafe,  or  from  our  literary  purfuits,  is  per- 
haps, as  fatal  to  us,  as  aimoft  any  inftance 
of  wrong  condud,  with  which  we  can  be 
chargeable.  By  high  feeding  and  little  or 
no  exercife,  we  are  not  only  expofed  to 
the  moft  dangerous  difeafes,  but  we  make 
all  difeafes  dangerous :  we  make  thofe 
foj  which  would,  otherwife,  be  flight  and 
eafily  removed— we  do  not  only'fubjed 
ourfelves  to  the  particular  maladies,  which 
have  their  rife  wholly  from  luxury,  but  we 
render  ourfelves  mere  liable  to  thofe,  which 
have  no  connexion  with  it.  We,  then,  are 
among  the  firft,  who  are  feized  with  the 
diftempers,  which  the  conftitution  of  the 
air  occaf.ons — We  are  mofl  apt  to  receive 
all  thofe  of  the  infedious  kind— We  take 
cold  whence  we  might  leaft  fear  it;  and  • 
find  its  immediateccnfequer.ee,  a  malig- 
nant or  an  inflammatory  fever,  or  fome 
other  difeafc  equally  to  be  dreaded. 

A  writer  in  phyfic  of  the  firft  rank  aiferts, 
that  our  diet  is  the  chief  caufe  of  ail  our 
difeafes — that  other  caufes  only  take  effecj 
from  the  difpofition  of  our  body,  and  the 
ftateof  its  humours. 

^  There  is,  I  am  perfuaded,  much  truth  in  . 
"Usaffertion.  For,  as  in  countries,  where 
the  inhabitants  greatly  indulge  themfelves,. 
few  die  of  old  age ;  fo  where  a  ftrid  tempe- 
rance i  obferved,  few  die  but  of  old  agei 
We  find,  likewife,  perfons,  as  Socrates  for 
inftance,  who,  by  t!:tir  regular  living,  have 
preferv<  d  themfelves  from  the  infection  of 
a  difeafe,  that  has  made  the  cruelleft  ha-,  ccl; 
aroundthem.  We  perceive,  a  To,  the  re- 
O:  health  ufually  attempting  its  reco- 
very by  fomeor  other  difcharge,  by  drains 
in]  he  body  in  .bate  way  or  other.  And  if 
evacuation  is  the  cu;e  of  our  diforders,  we 
jnayjuftly  think,  that  repletion  is  their  moft 

general 


EOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


ii? 


general  caufe.  But  if  this  may  admit 
•of  a  difpute,  which,  I  think,  it  hardly  can 
do;  yet  is,  it  on  all  hands  agreed — that 
there  are  feveral  dillempers,  to  which  few 
are  fubjeet  but  for  want  of  felf-denial  in 
themfelves,  or  their  anceftors — that  mod 
cf  thefe  diftempers  are  of  the  painfullefl: 
fort,  and  that  Tome  of  them  are  fuch  as  we 
for  years  lament,  without  the  leail  hope  of 
recovery,  and  under  an  abfolute  certainty, 
that  the  longer  they  continue  upon  us  the 
more  grievoufly  they  will  diftrefs  us ;  the 
acutenefs  of  our  fuiferings  from  them  will 
be  conftantly  increasing.      Dean  Bolton. 


()    12 


4- 


0. 


E    C   T.      V. 


me,  alfb,  coniider  intemperance 
in  v,  lat  we  eat,  as  frequently  interrupt- 
ing the  ufe  of  our  nobler  faculties ;  and 
p*re,  at  length,  greatly  to  enfeeble  them. 
Ho  ..•  long  is  it  before  we  are  real!)'  ou - r  res, 
after  our  Jtomach  has  received  its full load ! 
Under  it,  our  fenfes  ah  dulled,  aur  memory 
clou. lee1,  heavinefs  and  flupidity  poffefs  us  : 
fome  hours  mull  pais,  before  our  vivacity 
returns,  before  reafon  can  again  act  with  its 
full  vigour.  The  man  is  not  {csn  to  ad- 
vantage, his  real  abilities  are  not  to  be  dis- 
covered, till  the  effects  of  his  gluttony  are 
remove  J,  till  his  conititution  has  thrown  off 
the  weight  that  pppreijed  it. 

The  hours  preceding  a  plentiful  meal,  or 
thofe,  which  fucceed  its  entire   ,! 
are,  we  all  find,  fuch,  in  which  we  are  fitteil 
to  tranfact  our  affairs,  in  which  all  the  acts 
cf  the  underflanding  are  bell  exerted. 

Hovy  fmall  a  pirt  of  his  time  is  therefore, 
the  luxurious  man  himfelf !  What  between 
the  length  of  his  repafts- — the  {pace  during 
wa.ich  he  is,  as  it  were,  ftupifiedby  his  ex- 
f.efs  in  them— the  many  hours  oijleep  that 
he  wants  to  refrelh,  and  of  exercife  to 
itvengthen  him  ;  within  how  fmall  a  com- 
"pafs  is  that  portion  of  his  life  brought,  in 
which  his  rational  powers  are  fitly  diiV 
played! 

In  the  yigour  cf  youth,  in  the  full 
Sxength  of  manhood,  an  uncontrouled  gra- 
tification of  appetite  allows  only  fhort  in- 
tervals of  clear  apprehenfion,  cf  clofe  at- 
tention, and  the  free  ufe  of  our  judgment ; 
but  if,  either  through  an  uncommonly  firm 
conhitutiort,  or  by  fpending  all  thofe  hours 
in  exercife,  which  are  not  pafied  at  our  ta- 
bles cr  in  our  beds,  we  are  enabled,  not-, 
withstanding  fuch  gratification,  to  reach  a 
Ciore  advanced  age;    what  a  melancholy 


fpectacle  do  we  then  frequently  afford  !  out 
memory,  our  wit,  our  fenfe  almolt  wholly 
deftroyed — their  remains  fcarce  allowing  a 
conjecture  to  be  formed  thence,  what  t  .?y 
have  been — the  ruins  of  the  man  hardly 
furniihing  a  trace  of  his  former  ornaments. 

Molt  of  thofe  difeafes,  which  luxury 
brings  upon  cur  bodies  are,  indeed,  a  gra- 
dual impairing  of  our  intellectual  faculties: 
the  mind  mares  the~diforder  of  its  com- 
panion, acts  as  that  permits,  difcovers  a 
greater  or  lefs  capacity,  according  to  the 
other's  more  or  lefs  perfect  Hate.  And  as  the 
body,  when  dead,  is  totally  unfit  to  be  acted 
upon  by  the  foul ;  fo  the  nearer  it  is  brought 
to  death  by  our  gluttony,  the  more  we  in- 
creafe  its  unntnefs  to  difplay,  by  how  noble 
a  principle  it  is  actuated — what  the  extent 
of  thofe  abilities  is,  which  the  bounty  of 
cur  infinitely  good  and  powerful  Creator 
ha    a  horded  us. 

It  only  remains  that  I  confider,  how  ru- 
inous the  excefs  I  am  cenfuring  is  to  cur 
fortune  ;  and  to  what  a  mean  dependence, 
to  what  vile  dilhpneft  practices,  it  often 
n  ■>  '  es  us. 

I  here  are  few  eftates,  that  can  bear  the 
expence,  into  which  what  is  called  an  ele- 
gant table  will  draw  us.  It  is  not  only  the 
price  of  what  is  let  before  us?  that  we  are 
here  to  regard,  but  the  wafte  that  the  mi- 
nijlers  to  our  luxury  occafion — -their  rapine 
— the  example  they  let  to  all,  who  are  con- 
cerned in  our  affairs,  and  the  disqualifica- 
tion, under  which  we  put  ourfelves  to  look 
into  them, 

He  who  is  determined  to  pleafe  his  pa- 
late at  any  price,  infects  not  only  thofe 
about  him  with  his  extravagant  turn;  but 
gives  them  opportunities  of  defrauding 
him,  which  are  feldom  neglected.  His 
koufe  is  the  refort  of  the  vvorft  of  mankind; 
for  fuch  they  always  are,  whom  a  we'll- 
fpread  table  affembles ;  and  who,  by  ap- 
plauding the  profufenefs  that  feeds 'them, 
by  extolling,  as  proofs  of  a  refined  under- 
standing, what  are  the  fureit  marks  of  a 
weak  one,  or  rather  of  the  total  want  of 
one,  hurry  on  the  ruin,  that  was,  otherwiie, 
with  too  much  fpeed  advancing. 

But  fmall  is  their  number,  whom  it  con- 
cerns to  be  told,  how  a  large  fortune  may 
be  reduced:  how  the  making  any  mult  be 
hindered,  is  the  argument,  in  which  the 
generality  are  intereiled.  This  hindrance 
is  the  fure,  the  undeniable  cenfequence  of 
giving  way  to  our  appetite.  1  have  alrea- 
dy obferved,  what  hurt  our  very  capacity 
often  receives  from  it— to  what  a  degree 
I  4  cur 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


123 

our  intellect  is  at  length  impaired  by  it:  I 
may,  further,  truly  reprefent  it  as  always 
indifpofing  us  to  that  diligence,  to  that  ap- 
plication, without  which  no  fcience  is  to 
be  mattered,  no  art  learned,  no  bufinefs 
well  conducted,  no  valuable  accomplish- 
ment, of  any  kind,  obtained. 

Let  us  have  cur  fapport,  and  feek  the 
increafe  of  our  ftore,  ftom  our  traffic k,  or 
from  our  labour ;  it  is  plain,  that  he  who 
indulges  himfelf  lefs  than  we  do,  as  he 
needs  lefs  to  maintain  him  than  we  do,  fo 
he  can  fell,  or  can  work,  cheaper,  and 
mutt,  therefore,  make  thofe  advantage?, 
which  we  are  not  to  expect ;  mutt  by  his 
letter  gains  be,  at  length,  enriched,  while 
we,  with  our  larger,  {hall  be  in  a  conftant 
poverty. 

A  ftill  worfe  effect  of  our  luxurious  turn 
I  reckon  thofe  mean  and  bafe  practices,  to 
which  it  tempts  us.     When  the  plain  meal, 
that  our  fcanty  circumttances,  after  a  libe- 
ral and  expenfive  education,  furnifh,  can- 
not content  us ;  and  we  mutt  either  live  at 
another's  table,    or  provide  a  chargeable 
entertainment  at  our  own  ;  we  defc 
the  viiett  flattery,  the  meft  fervile  cor 
iar.ee;  every  generous  fentiment  is  extin- 
guilhed  in  us  ;  we  foon  become  fully  con- 
vinced, that  he,  who  will  often  eat  at  ano- 
ther's cofl,    mult  be  fubject  to  aj  i 
Humours,    mutt    countenance   him  in  his 

.  —  and    comply    with    him    i 
i  tc    . 

Let  his  favour  at  length  exempt  us  from 
fo  difhonourable  an  attend; 
ing  us  with  the  means  of  havinc   - 
home:  yet  what  is  plenty  to  °th      '    i 
riousr  His  wantonnefs  increafi 
income;  and,  always  needy,  he  is  always 
dependent.     Hence  no  fenfe  of  his  birth  or, 
education,  or  honour  or  confeience,  is  any 
check  he  is  the  mean  dri 

the  abandoned  :  lis  iee.hr,  of  who- 

ever will  be  at  t  of  gratify] 

te. 

So,  if  our  trade  be  our  maintenan 
no  fair  gains  can  anfwer  the 
what  is  call<  I     - 
a  re  icon  led  1     indireft  artii 
lent  de     •  o  the    moft    trickini 

pr    ti<  es. 

In  a  word,  neither  our  hi  p  Hfe, 

rfortune,   i    itherour 

'  '     "  '     Vive  any  fecurity 

but  from  our  temperance.     The  gj   ateft 

'  by  us. 


Hence  it  is  that  we  have  the  fullejl  ufe 
of  our  faculties,  and  the  longefi. 

Hence  it  is,  that  we  fear  not  to  be  poor, 
and  are  fure  to  be  independent. 

Hence  diieafe  and  pain  are  removed 
from  us,  cur  decay  advances  infenfibly, 
and  the  approaches  of  death  are  as  gentle 
as  thofe  of  fleep. 

Hence  it  is  we  free  qurfelves  from  all 
temptations  to  a  bafe  or  ungenerous  ac- 
tion. 

Hence  it  is  that  our  paffions  are  calmed, 
our  lutts  fubdued,  the  purity  of  our  hearts 
preferred,  and  a  virtuous  conduct  through- 
out made  eafy  to  us. 

When  it  is  made  fo — when  by  the  eafe, 
which  we  find  in  the  practice  of  virtue,  we 
become  confirmed  therein— render  it  habi- 
tual to  us ;  we  have  then  tlv.t  qualifica- 
tion for  happinefs  in  a  future  hate,  which, 
as  the  befl  title  to  it,  affords  us  the  beffc 
grounds  to  expect  it.  Dean  Bolton. 

§    155.     On  Intemperance  in  Drinking. 
Sect.    I. 

The  arguments  againft  drunkennefs, 
which  the  common  reafon  of  mankind  fug- 
gel!  s,  are  thefe — 

The  contemptible  figure  which  it  gives 
us  : 

The  hindrance  it  is  to  any  confidence 
being  repofed  in  us,  fo  far  as  our  fecrecy 
is  concerned  : 

The  dangerous  advantage,  which  it  af- 
fords the  crafty  and  th  h  over  us: 

The  bad  effects,  which  it  hath  on  our 
health : 

",  which  our  minds  receive 
from  it : 

Its  difpofaig  us  to  many  crimes,  and  pre- 
paring  us  for  the  ^reateji : 

temptible  figure,  which  drunk- 
ennefs gb  es  us,  is  no  weak  argument  for 
avoiding  it. 

Every    reader  has  found   the    Spartans 

mentioned  as  inculcating  fobriety  on  their 

children,  by  expofing  to  their  notice  the 

■our  of  their  (laves  in  a  drunken  fit. 

They  thought,    that  were  they  to  apply 

wholly  to  the   reafon    of   the   youths,    it 

be  to  little  purpofe:  as  the  force  of 

guments,  which  they  ufed,  might  not 

be  fufficiently  apprehended,  or  the  impref- 

fion   thereof  might  be  foon   effaced:  but 

when  they  inade  them  frequently  eye-wit- 

nefles  of  all  the  madnefs  and  abfurdities, 

and   at    length  the    perfect    fenfeleflhefs, 

which  the  immoderate,  draught  occafioned; 

the 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


the  idea  of  the  vile  change  would  be  fo  fixed 
in  the  minds  of  its  beholders,  as  to  render 
them  utterly  averfe  from  its  caufe. 

And  may  we  not  jufliy  conclude  it  to  be 
from  hence,  that  the  offspring  of  the  per- 
fons  who  are  accuftomed  thus  to  difguife 
themfelves,  often  prove  remarkably  fober  ? 
They  avoid,  in  their  riper  years,  their  pa- 
rent's crime,  from  the  detefration  of  it, 
which  they  contracted  in  their  earlier.  As 
to  moil  other  vices,  their  debating  circum- 
ftances  are  not  fully  known  to  us,  till  we 
have  attained  a  maturity  of  age,  nor  can 
be  then,  till  they  have  been  duly  attended 
to:  but  in  our  very  childhood,  at  our  firft 
beholding  the  effects  of  drunkennefs,  we 
are  ftruck  with  aftonifhment,  that  a  reafon- 
able  being  mould  be  thus  changed — ihould 
be  induced  to  make  himfelf  fuch  an  object 
of  contempt  and  fcorn.  And,  indeed,  we 
muit  have  the  man  in  the  utmcfi  contempt, 
whom  we  hear  and  fee  in  his  progrefs 
'  to  excels ;  at  firft,  teazing  you  with  his 
contentioufhefs  or  impertinence — mistak- 
ing your  meaning,  and  hardly  knowing 
his  own — then,  faultering  in  his  fpeech — 
unable  to  get  through  an  entire  fentence — 
his  hand  trembling — his  eyes  fwimming — - 
his  legs  too  feeble  to  fupport  him;  till,  at 
length,  you  only  know  the  human  creature 
hy  his  fhape. 

I  cannot  but  add,  that  were  one  of  any 
fenfe  to  have  a  juft  notion  of  all  the  filly 
things  he  fays  or  does,  of  the  wretched 
appearance,  which  he  makes  in  a  drunken 
Jit,  he  could  not  want  a  more  powerful  ar- 
gument againft  repeating  his  crime. 

But  as  none  of  us  are  inclined  to  think 
ill  of  ourfelves,  we  none  of  us  will  know, 
how  far  our  vices  expofe  us ;  we  allow 
them  excufes,  which  they  meet  not  with 
from  any  but  ourfelves. 

1  his  is  the  cafe  of  all ;  it  is  particularly 
fo  with  the  drunken  ;  many  of  whom  their 
ihame  would  undoubtedly  reform,  could 
they  be  brought  to  conceive,  how  much 
they  did  to  be  aihamed  of. 

Nor  is  it  improbable,  that  it  is  this  very 
confideration,  how  much  drunkennefs  con- 
tributes to  make  a  man  the  contempt  of 
his  wife — his  children — his  ferVants- — of 
all  his  fober  beholders,  which  has  been  the 
caufe,  that  it  has  never  been  the  reigning 
vice  among  a  people  of  any  refinement  of 
manners,  No,  //has  only  prevailed  amorg 
the  rude  and  favage,  among  thofe  of  groffer 
underftandings,  and  lefs  delicacy  of  fenti- 
ment.  Crimes,  aa  there  are  in  all  men, 
there  mitft  be  in  all  nation ;   but  the  more 


121 

civilized  have  perceived  drunkennefs  to'  be 
fuch  an  offence  againft  common  decency, 
fuch  an  abandoning  one's  felf  to  the  ridi- 
cule and  feoffs  of  the  mcaneft,  that,  in 
whatever  elfe  they  might  tranigrefs,  they 
wouldnotdo  it  in  this  particular;  butleave 
a  vice  of  fuch  a  nature  to  the  wild  and  un- 
cultivated— to  the  itupid  and  undiltinguiih- 
ing  part  of  mankind — to  thofe,  who  had 
no  notion  of  propriety  of  character,  and 
decency  of  conduct.  How  late  this  vice 
became  the  reproach  of  our  countrvmen, 
we  find  In  Mr.  Camden's  Annals.  Under 
the  year  15S1,  he  has  this  obfervation— 
"  The  Englijh,  who  hitherto  had,  of  all  the 
"  northern  nations,  (hewn  themfelves  the 
**  leaft  addicted  to  immoderate  drinking, 
"  and  been  commended  for  their  fobriety, 
"  firft  learned,  in  th'efe  wars  in  the  Ne- 
"  tberlands,  to  fwaliow  a  large  quantity 
"  of  intoxicating  liquor,  and  to  deftroy 
"  their  own  health,  by  drinking  that  of* 
"  others." 

Some  trace  of  our  antient  regard  to  fo- 
briety, we  may  feem  Hill  to  retain,  in  our 
ufe  of  the  term  fat  !  which  carries  with  it  as 
great  reproaoh  among  us,  as  Osvo&zgsj  did 
among  the  Greeks. 

There  is  a  fhort  ftory,  in  R'erefyh  Me- 
moirs, very  proper  to  be  mentioned  under 
this  head. 

The  Lord  Chancellor  (Jejfcries)  had  now 
like  to  have  died  of  a  fit  of  the  ftone ; 
which  he  virtuoufly  brought  upon  himfelf, 
by  a  furious  debauch  of  wine,  at  Mr.  Al- 
derman Duncombh;  where  he,  the  Lord 
Treafurer,  and  others,  drank  themfelves 
into  that  height  of  frenzy,  that,  among 
friends,  it  was  whifpered,  they  had  ftrip- 
ped  into  their  flirts ;  and  that,  had  not  an 
accident  prevented  theim  they  had  got  up- 
on a  fign-poft,  to  drink  the  King's  health ; 
which  was  the  fubject  of  much  derifion,  to 
fay  no  worfe.  Dean  Bo/ten. 

§    136.     On  Intemperance  in  Drinking. 
Sect,     II. 

A  fecond  objection  to  drunkennefs  is, 
that  it  hinders  any  confidence  being  re- 
pofed  in  ■  us,  io  far  as  our  fecrecy  is  con- 
cerned. 

Who  can  truft  the  man,  that  is  not  maf- 
tcr  of  himfelf?  Wine,  as  it  leflens  our 
caution,  fo  it  prompts  us  to  fpeak  our 
thoughts  without  referve:  when  it  has  fuf- 
ficiently  inflamed  us,  all  the  fuggeftions  of 
prudence  pafs  for  the  apprehenfions  of  cow- 
ardice ;  we  are  regardlefs  of  confequences ; 
our  forefi?ht  is  gone,  and  our  fear  with  it. 

Kerr 


1X2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Here  then  the  artful  perfon  properly  intro- 
ducing the  fubjeift,  urging  us  to  enter  upon 
it — and,  after  that,  praiiing,  or  blaming,  or 
contradicting,  or  queilioning  us,  is  foon  able 
to  draw  from  us  whatever  information  he 
defires  to  obtain. 

Our  discretion  never  outlails  our  fobrie- 
ty.  Failings  which  it  moll  concerns  us  to 
conceal.,  and  which,  when  we  are  ourfelves, 
we  do  moii  induftrioufly  conceal,  we  ufualiy 
publifh,  when  we  have  drank  to  excefs. 
The  man  is  then  clearly  feen,  with  all  the 
ill  nature  and  bad  qualities,  from  which  his 
behaviour,  in  his  cooler  hours,  had  induced 
his  moft  intimate  friends  to  believe  him 
I  y  free.  We  mull  be  left  to  reflection, 
to  thought,  when  we  can  thus  far  throw 
off  our  difguife.  And  what  is  it,  but  our 
thought  and  reflexion,  that  can  engage  our 
fecrecy  in  any  irifcar.ee — thai  can  ever  be 
a  proper  check  upon  our  difcourfe — that 
enables  us  to  diftinguiih  what  we  may 
fpeak,  and  on  what  we  ought  to  be  : 
.Do  we  ceafe  to  be  in  a  condition  to  hide 
the  deformities  in  ourfelves,  which  we  moft 
wifh  to  have  concealed?  On  what  point, 
then,  is  it  likely  that  we  fhould  be  referved  ? 
Whole  fecrets  can  he  keep,  who  fo  foully 
betrays  his  own  ? 

It  may,  thirdly,  be  alkdgecl  againft 
drunkennefs,  that  it  gives  the  crafty  and 
knavifh  the  mod  dangerous  advantage 
ever  us. 

Tins  vice  put  us  into  the  very  circum- 
ilances,  in  which  every  one  would  wifti  us 
to  be,  who  had  a  view  to  impofe  upon  us, 
to  over-reach  us,  or  in  any  way  to  gain  his 
ends  of  us.  When  the  repeated  draught 
has  difordered  us,  it  is  then,  that  only  by 
lying  with  our  humour,  and  joining, 
learance,  in  our  madnefs,  we  may  be 


deh 


ito  meafures.the  mod;  prejudicial 


to  is,  into  fuch  as  are  our  own  and  our  fa- 
milies utter  undoing.  It  is  then  that  our 
pnrfe  is  at  the  mercy  of  our  com- 

■  ,  ;   we  fpend — we  give — we  lend — we 
lofe.     What  unhappy  marriages  have  been 
:    ;  :     What  ruinous   convey- 
been  then  made  !    How  fee  are 
apprehend  ourfelves  from 
of  fo  ".  cry  pernicious  a  nature  ; 
r   we  muft  have  to  fear 
i    as  the    opportunities, 
ill  conftantly  be  watched 
i    .:':!  upon  us :    and 
if  we  n  frequently  to  diforder 

a  I  in  our  neighbourhood,    or 
[uaintance,   who  are  of  any 
decency,  will  be  hxe  to 


avoid  u%  and  leave  u;  wholly  to  thofe,  who 
And  their  account  in  aflbciating  with  us; 
who,  while  they  can  make  us  their  proper- 
ty, will  be,  as  often  as  we  pleafe,  our  com- 
panions. 

A  fourth  argument  againft  drunkennefs 
is  its  bad  eifecls  upon  ctir  health.  Every 
act  of  it  is  a.  fever  for  a  time :  and  whence 
have  we  more  reafon  to  apprehend  one  of  a 
longer  continuance,  and  of  the  word:  con- 
fluence \  Our  blood  thus  fired,  none  can 
be  fure,  when  the  diforder  raifed  in  it  will 
be  quieted,  whether  its  inflammatory  ftate 
will  admit  of  a  remedy  :  in  feveral  thcu- 
fauds  it  has  been  found  incapable  of  any  ; 
and  what  has  fo  frequently  happened  to 
others,  mayjuftlybe  confidered  as  likely  to 
us.  By  the  fame  abfurd  reliance  on 
a  good  conflitution,  through  which  they  were 
deceived,  ice  may  be  io  likewise. 

But  fuppefing  the  mere  icv&y  fit  wearing 
cfFwii  nken  One;  how  fatal  would 

it  prove  to  be  then  feized  with  a  diftempej 
of  the  infeciious  kind,  that  was  at  all  ma- 
lignant !  This  has  often  been  the  cafe ; 
and  when  it  has  been  fo,  the  applications  of 
the  mod  fkilful  have  been  entirely  vain. 

Let  our  intemperance  have  nothing  in- 
ftantly  to  dread  ;  for  how  ftiort  a  ipace  can 
it  be  in  fuch  fecurity?  The  young  de- 
bauchee foon  experiences  the  iifue  of  his 
mifconducl — foon  finds  his  food  difrelifhed* 
his  fiomach  weakened,  his  ftrength  decay- 
ed, ins  body  wailed.  In  the  flower  of  his 
youth,  he  often  feels  all  the  infirmities  of 
extreme  old  age  ;  and  when  not  yet  in  the 
r  iddle  of  human  life,  is  got  to  the  end  of 
nis  own. 

Lf  we  have  attained  to  manhood,  to  our 
full  vigour,  before  we  run  into  the  excefss 
from  which  I  am  difluadihg;  we  may,  in- 
deed, poflibly  be  many  years  in  breaking  a 
good  conflitution  :  but  then,  if  a  fudden 
ftroke  difpatch  us  not ;  if  we  are  not  cut 
off  without  the  lead:  leifure  given  us  to  im- 
plore the  mercy  of  heaven ;  to  how  much 
uneafmefs  are  we,  generally,  referved — > 
what  a  variety  of  painful  diftempers  threat- 
en us !  All  of  them,  there  is  very  little 
probability  we  fhould  efcape  ;  and  under 
which  foever  of  them  we  may  labour,  we 
fhall  experience  its  cure  hopelcis,  and  its 
feverity  the  faddell  leflbn,  how  dear  the 
purchafe  was  of  our  former  mirth. 

There  are,  I  grant,  inftances,  where  a 
long-continued  intemperance  has  not  pre- 
vented the  attainment  of  a  very  advanced 
age,  free  from  diforders  of  every  kind, 
ihit  then  it  is  to  be  confidered  how  rare 

thefa 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


"3 


thefe  inftances  are ;  that  it  is  not,  perhaps, 
one  in  a  thoufand,  who  efcapes  thus ;  that 
of  thofe,  who  do  thus  efcape,  the  far  great- 
er part  owe  their  prefervation  to  hard 
working,  or  to  an  exercife  as  fatiguing,  as 
any  of  the  more  laborious  employments. 
So  that  if  either  our  frame  be  not  of  an 
unufual.  firmnefs,  or  we  do  not  labour  for 
our  bread,  and  will  not  for  our  health  ;  we 
cannot  be  of  their  number,  who  have  fo 
much  as  a  chance,  that  they  will  not  fhorten 
their  lives  by  their  excefs.  And  when  we 
have  this  chance,  we  are  to  remember, 
how  very  little  we  can  promife  ourfelves 
from  it.  We  are  liable  to  all  the  difeafes, 
which,  in  the  ordinary  courfe  of  things, 
are  connected  with  intemperance  ;  and  we 
are  liable  to  all  thofe,  from  which  even  fo- 
briety  exempts  not ;  but  in  this  latter  cafe, 
we  have,  by  no  means,  the  fame  to  hope 
with  the  fober,  who  are  eafily  recovered  of 
what  proves  mortal  to  the  intemperate. 
Dean  Bolton. 

§  137.     On  Intemperance  in  Drinking. 
Sect.    III. 

To  confider,  fifthly,  the  unhappy  effect 
of  drunkennefs  upon  our  minds. 

Every  time  we  offend  in  it,  we  are  iirft 
madmen,  and  then  idiots :  we  fir  ft  fay,  and 
do,  a  thoufand  the  mod  ridiculous  and  ex- 
travagant things,  and  then  appear  quite 
void  of  fenfe.  By  annexing  thefe  conftant 
inconveniences  to  drinking  immoderately, 
it  feems  the  defign  of  a  wife  Providence  to 
teach  us,  what  we  may  fear  fi  om  a  habit  of 
it— to  give  us  a  foretafte  of  the  miferies, 
which  it  will  at  length  bring  upon  us,  not  for 
a  few  hours  alone,  but  for  the  whole  remain- 
der of  our  lives.  What  numbers  have,  by 
hard  drinking,  fallen  into  an  incurable  dif- 
fraction !  And  who  was  ever  for  many 
years  a  fot,  without  deftroying  the  quick- 
nefs  of  his  appreheniion,  and  the  ftrength 
cf  his  memory  ?  What  mere  drivellers 
have  fome  of  the  beft  capacities  become, 
after  a  long  courfe  of  excefs  ! 

As  we  drink  to  raife  our  fpirits,  but,  by 
thus  raifmg,  we  weaken  them ;  fo  what- 
ever frefh  vigour  our  parts  may  feem  to 
derive  from  our  wine,  it  is  a  vigour  which 
waftes  them ;  which,  by  being  often  thus 
called  out,  deftroys  its  fource,  our  natural 
fancy  and  understanding.  5Tis  like  a  man's 
fpending  upon  his  principal :  he  may,  for  a 
feafon,  make  a  figure  much  fuperior  to  his, 
who  fupports  himfelf  upon  the  intereft  of 
his  fortune  •  but  is  fare  to  be  undone,  when 
the  other  is  unhurt, 


We  meet  with,  as  I  have  already  ob- 
ferVed,  inftances,  where  an  extraordinary 
happinefs  of  conilitution  has  prevented  its 
entire  ruin,  even  from  a  courfe  of  drunk- 
ennefs of  many  years  continuance :  but  I 
much  queftion,  whether  there  are  any  in- 
flances, that  fuch  a  courfe  has  not  been  re- 
markably prejudicial  to  a  good  capacity. 
From  all  the  obfervations,  which  we  can 
make  on  the  human  frame,  it  may  be  fair- 
ly fuppofed,  that  there  are  no  fuch  in- 
flances— -that  it  is  not  reafonable  to  think 
we  can  be,  for  many  years  inflaming  our 
brains,  without  injuring  them — be  conti- 
nually difordering  the  moil  delicate  parts  of 
our  machine,  without  impairing  them.  A 
lively  imagination,  a  quick  appreheniion,  a 
retentive  memory,  depend  upon  parts  in 
our  ftructure,  which  are  much  more  eafily 
hurt,  than  fuch,  whofe  found  Mate  is  ne- 
ceffary  for  the  prefervation  of  mere  life : 
and  therefore  we  perceive  thofe  feveral  fa- 
culties often  entirely  loft,  long  before  the 
body  drops.  The  man  "is  very  frequently 
feen  to  furvive  himfelf — to  continue  a  living 
creature,  after  he  has,  for  fome  years,  ceafed 
to  be  a  rational  one.  And  to  this  deplora- 
ble ftate  nothing  is  more  likely  to  bring  us, 
than  a  habit  of  drunkennefs ;  as  there  is  no 
viee,  that  more  immediately  affects  thofe 
organs,  by  the  help  of  which  we  appre- 
hend, reafon,  remember,  and  perform  the 
like  acts. 

What,  Jtxthly,  ought  to  raife  in  us  the 
utmoft  abhorrence  of  drunkennefs  is,  the 
confideration  of  the  many  crimes,  to  which 
it  difpofes  us.  He,  through  whofe  veins 
the  inflaming  potion  has  fpread  itfelf,  mult 
be  under  a  greater  temptation  tolewdnefs, 
than  you  can  think  him  in  any  other  cir- 
cum fiances :  and  from  the  little  reafoning* 
of  which  he  is  then  capable,  as  to  the  dif- 
ference of  the  two  crimes,  would  hefitate 
no  more  at  adultery  than  fornication. 

Thus,  alfo,  for  immoderate  anger,  con- 
tention, fcurrility  and  abufe,  a<ts  of  vio- 
lence, and  the  moft  injurious  treatment  of 
others ;  they  are  all  offences,  into  which 
drunkennefs  is  moft  apt  to  betray  us ;  fo 
apt  to  do  it,  that  you  will  fcarcely  find  a 
company  drinking  to  excefs,  without  many 
provoking  fpeeches  and  actions  palling  in 
it — without  more  or  lefs  ftrife,  before  it 
feparates.  We  even  perceive  the  moft 
gentle  and  peaceable,  the  moft  humane  and 
civilized,  when  they  are  fober,  no  fooner 
intoxicated,  than  they  put  off  all  thofe 
commendable  qualities,  and  affume,  as  it 
were,  a  new  nature-— a  nature  as  different 

from 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


from  their  former,  as  the  mod  untraceable 
and  iierceft  of  the  brute  kind  are,  from 
the  moil  accomplished  and  amiable  of  our 
own. 

To  fome  vices  drunkcnnefs  difpofes  us ; 
and, 

Lajlly,  lays  us  open  to  more,  and  cer- 
tainly to  the  greateit.  It  lays  us,  indeed, 
open  to  moft  vices — by  the  power,  which  it 
gives  all  forts  of  temptations  over  us ;  and 
by  putting  us  into  a  condition,  in  which  the 
rajb  and  pernicious  fuggeftions  of  others  have 
an  efpecial  influence  upon  us — in  which,  a 
profligate  companion  is  enabled  to  direct 
us  almoft  as  he  pleafes. 

It  gives  all  forts  of  temptations  power 
over  us,  by  difqualifying  us  for  confedera- 
tion ;  and  by  extinguishing  in  us  all  regard 
to  the  motives  of  prudence  and  caution. 

It  makes  us  ready  to  follow  the  rajhcft 
eounfch  of  our  companions  ;  becaufe,  not 
allowing  us  to  reafon  upon  them,  and  in- 
capacitating us  for  the  government  of  our- 
felves,  it,  of  courfe,  leaves  us  to  the  guid- 
ance of  thofe,  with  whom  we  are  moil  pleaf- 
ed— of  thofe,  who  give  into  our  exceffes. 

It,  certainly,  lays  us  open  to  the  great  eft 

crimes ;  becaufe,  when  we  are  thoroughly 

h<    ted  by  the  fpirituous  draught,  we  then 

|        what  is  d;  :;  tg  and  extravagant— we 

then  turned  to  bold  and  defperate  un- 


tie t  kings  ;  and  that,  which  is  moft  licen- 
tious, carries  then  with  it  the  appearance 
of  an  attempt,  fuiting  a  courageous  and 
undaunted  mind.  Hence  rapes,  murthers, 
acls  of  the  utmoft  inhumanity  and  barbari- 
ty have  been  their  aSis ;  who,  when  fober, 
would  ha'/e  deteiled  themfelves,  if  fuch 
crimes  could  have  entered  their  thoughts. 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  of  ufe  to  obferve 
here,  what  cenfure  has  been  pafl'ed  on 
drunkennefs  by  thofe,  who  had  only  the 
light  of  reafon  for  their  guide. 

It  was  the  faying  of  one  of  the  wifer 
Heathen,  That  a  wife  man  would  drink 
wine,  but  would  be  fure  never  to  be  made 
drunk  by  it.  Another  of  them  condemns 
wine,  as  betraying  even  the  prudent  into 
imprudence.  The  advice  of  a  third  is, 
avoid  drinking  company  :  if  you  acciden- 
tally come  into  it,  leave  it  before  you 
ceaie  to  be  fober ;  for,  when  that  happens, 
the  mind  is  like  a  chariot,  whofe  driver  is 
thrown  off:  as  it  is  then  fure  to  be  hurried 
away  at  random,  fo  are  <we,  when  our  rea- 
fon is  gone,  fure  to  be  drawn  into  much 
guilt.  We  have  one  calling  drunkennefs 
the  ftudy  of  madnefs ;  another,  a  voluntary 
ma'dne/s.  He  who  was  aiked,  how  a  perfon 
might  be  brought  to  a  diflike  of  wine  ? 
anfwered,  by  beholding  the  indecencies  of 
the  drunken.* 

The 


»'   I  have,  in  the  former  tract,  I  iken  ;i  tice  of  the  coarfe  fare,  which  Homo-  provides  for  his  heroes: 

not  to  remark  here,  from  s/t/.    .•'<-,  what  leffons  of  fobriety  he  furnifhes — what  his 

c?n     ;     odiffbad  i  drinl  ing  to  excefs.     This,  indeed,  may  appear  deferving  to  be  more  parti- 

;,  ,      ipon,  fmce  from  the  praifes  which  he  gives   wine  he   was  thought  not  to  have  been 

!  the  ufe  of  it. 

:  that    "'.    -,  heated  by  liquor,  had  made  of  his  wjllingnefs  to  fight  with  Achilles,  was  urge<J 
.  combat,  which  would  have  been  fatal  to  him,  but  that— 

'  he  King  of  Ocean  to  the  fight  defcends, 
Thro'  all  the  whittling  darts  his  courfe  he  bends  5 
5  v.  ift  interpos'd  between  the  warriors  flies, 
And  caiis  thick  darknefs  o'er  ^cbilks'  eyes. 

Iliad,  Book  XX. 

:       cl  Book  oil  th    Oil      •/,  the  difcord  of  the  Greeks,  at  a  Council  called  to  deliberate  about 

, , ■    .    1  ;  afi  ribi  ;  to  t!  1  ii  drunkennefs, 

Sour  with  debauch  a  reeling  tribe  they  came, 


■"  .    1  taunl       ■  ;  1  other  they  (  pp  fa, 

,  loi  d  tumult  ill  the  G     ks  arofe, 
i   :,.:,  're  ■'  counfels  e •:,  f  bi  eatt  dh  ide, 
Each  burns  with  lancoui  to  the  adverfefide. 


sjtntl  f  is  reprefented  as  having  his  fight  deftroyed,  whea  hgs 

by  ,  whofe  join  1  iva    hot,  tvith  refpedt  to  his,  that  of  a  child. 

]T  ■  '    ied      rafp'd  the  heavy  bowl, 

;  drain  d    and  poui  d  1  he  delu  ;e  on  his  foul. 


•Then  nodding  with  the  fumes  ;.'f  wine 


Dropt  his  huge  head,  and  fhoring  lay  fupine. 
Then  forth  ihe  rent/  ful  inflrument  I  bring; 


Vvz'i 


BOOK  "I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


I25 


The  difcountenance,  which  drunkennefs 
received  among  the  Romans,  will  be  here- 
after taken  notice  of. 

Among  the  Greeks,  by  a  law  of  Solon,  if 
a  chief  magiftrate  made  hirofelf  drunk,  he 
was  to  be*put  to  death.  By  a  law  of  Pit- 
tacus,  a  double  puniihment  was  inflicted 
upon  fuch  who,  when  drunk,  had  commit- 
ted anv  other  crime.  They  were  thofe, 
by  whofe  laws  he,  who  drank  any  greater 
quantity  of  wine  than  was  really  neceffary 
for  his  lieal th,  fufFered  death. 

Thus  much  as  to  their  fentiments  on 
drinking  to  excefs,  who  had  only  the  light 
of  Nature  to  (hew  them  its  guilt. 

Dean  Bolt.n. 

§    138.      Qnlnieviperance  in  Drink'mg, 
Sect.     IV. 

Let  me  in  the  next  place,  fuggeft  fuch 
«autions,  as  oug%  to  be  obferved  by  him, 
whofe  defire  it  is  to  avoid  drunkennefs. 

Carefully  fhun  the  company  that  is  ad- 
dicted to  it. 

Do  not  fit  long  among  thofe,  who  are  in 
ibe  progrefs  towards  excefs. 


If  you  have  often  16ft  the  command  of 
yourfelf,  when  a  certain  quantity  of  liquor 
has  been  exceeded,  you  mould  be  fure  ta 
keep  yourfelf  always  much  within  that 
quantity. 

Make  not  flrong  liquor  neceffary  to  your 
refreshment. 

Never  apply  to  it  for  eafe,  under  cares 
and  troubles  of  any  kind. 

Know  always  how  to  employ  yourfelf 
ufefully,  or  innocently  to  amufe  yourfelf, 
that  your  time  may  never  be  a  burden  upon 
you. 

In  the  firft  place,  Do  not  aflbciate  with 
thofe  who  are  addicted  to  drunkennefs. 
This  I  lay  down  as  a  rule,  from  which  it 
is  fcarce  poffible  to  depart,  and  keep  our 
fobriety.  No  man,  not  the  Headier!  and 
wifeft  of  men,  is  proof  againir.  a  bad  ex- 
ample continually  before  him.  By  fre- 
quently faing  what  is  wrong,  we,  firil,  lofe 
our  abhorrence  of  it,  and,  then,  are  eafily 
prevailed  with  to  do  it.  Where  we  like 
our  company  we  are  infenfibly  led  into  their 
manners.  It  is  natural  to  think  we  mould 
endeavour  to  make  ourfelves  agreeable  to 


TJrg'd  by  fome  prefent  God,  they  fwift  let  fall 
The  pomted  torment  on  the  vilual  ball. 


In  Book  the  Tenth,  The  felf-'demal  of  Euryh-bus  pr.eferved  him  from  the  vile  trdnsfarraation.  ta 

Which  the  intemperance  of  his  companions  fubjecT:ed  them. 


Soon  in  thelufcious  feaft  themfelves  they  loft, 
And  drank  oblivion  of  their  native  coaft. 
Inftaut  her  circling  wand  the  Goddefs  waves, 
To  hogs  transforms  them,  and  the  fty  receives. 

[a  the  fame  Book  the  tragical  end  of  Elpenor  is  thus  defcribed  : 


A  vulgar  foul, 


Born  but  to  banquet,  and  to  drain  the  bowl. 
He,  hot  and  carelefs,  on  a  turret's  height 
With  fleep  repair' d  the  long  debauch  of  night: 
The  fudden  tumult  ftirr'd  him  where  he  lay, 
And  down  lie  hafteivd,  but  forgot  his  way  ; 
Full  headlong  from  the  roof th«  fleeper  fell, 
And  fnapp'd  the  fpinal  joint,  and  vvak'd  in  Hell. 

The  drunkennefs  of  Euryticn,  one  of  the  Centaurs,  is  fatal  to  him,  and  to  the  whole  race.  On.  Bl  XXL 

The  great  Euryticn  when  this  frenzy  ftung, 
Piritlous'  roofs  with  frantic  riot  rung : 
His  nofe  they  fhorten'd,  and  his  ears  they  flit, 
And  fent  him  fober'd  home,  with  better  wit. 
Hence  with  long  war  the  double  race  was  curs'd, 
Fatal  to  all,  but  to  the  aggreffor  firft.' 

dntinous,  who  had  reproached  Ulyjjls  as  made  infolent  by  wine,  dies  himfelf  with  the  intoxicating 
frowl  in  his  hand.    Od.  Book  XXII. 


High  in  his  hands  he  rear'd  the  golden  bowl, 
Ev'nthen  to  drain  itlengthen'd  out  his  breath  ; 
ChangM  to  the  deep,  the  bitter  draught  of  death. 
Full  thro''  his  throat  Ufyffis'  weapon  part, 
And  piere'd  the  neck.     He  falls,  and  breathes  his  laft. 


the 


226 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  perfons  with  whom  we  muchconverfe; 
and  you  can  never  make  yourfelf  more 
agreeable  to  any,  at  leafl.  as  a  companion, 
than  when  you  countenance  their  conduct 
by  imitating  it.  He  who  affociates  with 
the  intemperate,  and  yet  refufes  to  join  in 
their  excefTes,  will  fopn  find,  that  he  is 
looked  upon  as  condemning-  their  practice; 
and,  therefore,  that  he  has  no  way  of  con- 
tinuing them  his  friends,  but  by  going  into 
the  fame  irregularity,  in  which  they  allow 
themfelves.  If  his  chearfulnefs,  his  face- 
tioufnefs,  or  wit,  endear  him  to  them,  and 
render  them  unwilling  to  quit  an  intercourfe 
with  one  fo  qualified  to  amufe  them ;  all 
their  arts  will  be  tried  to  corrupt  his  fo- 
briety :  where  he  lies  moft  open  to  temp- 
tation will  be  carefully  watched ;  and  no 
method  left  unattempted,  that  can  appear 
likely  to  make  him  regardlefs  of  his  duty. 
But  who  can  reckon  himfelf  fafe,  when  fo 
much  pains  will  be  ufed  to  enfnare  him? 
Whofe  virtue  is  fecure,  amidft  the  earnefr, 
endeavours  of  his  conftant  companions  to 
undermine  it? 

Another  caution  which  I  have  laid  down 
is,  Never  fit  long  among  thofe,  who  are  in 
the  progrefs  towards  excels.  The  expedi- 
ency of  this  advice  will  be  acknowledged, 
if  we  coniider  how  difficult  it  is  to  be  long 
upon  our  guard — how  apt  we  are  to  forget 
ourfelves,  and  then  to  be  betrayed  into  the 
guilt,  againft  which  we  had  mod  firmly 
refolved. 

In  the  eagernefs  of  our  own  difcourfe, 
or  in  our  attention  to  that  of  others,  or  in 
the  pleafure  we  receive  from  the  good  hu- 
mour of  our  companions,  or  in  the  fhare  we 
take  of  their  mirth,  wc  may  very  naturally 
be  fuppofed  unebferving,  how  much  we 
have  drank — how  near  we  are  got  to  the 
Utmoft  bound;  of  fobriety  :  thefe,  under  the 
circum fiances  I  have  mentioned,  may  eafily 
be  pafied  by  us,  without  the  leafl:  fufpicion 
of  it — before  we  are  under  any  apprehen- 
lion  of  our  danger. 

As  in  difputes,  one  unadvifed  expreffion 
brings  on  another,  and  after  a  few  argu- 
ments both  w  warm,  from  warmth 
adv.  nee  to  anger,  are  by  anger  fpurred  on 
to  abufe,  and  thence,  often,  go  to  thofe 
extremities,  to  which  they  would  have 
thougl  '  le  of  proceed- 
ing :  fo  is  it  when  we  fit  long,  where  what 
gi  .  quent  occaiion  to  dif- 
putes is  before  us — where  the  intoxicating 
draught  i<  circulating  ;  one  invites  us  to* 
more—  >ur  fpirits  rile—our  warinefs  de- 


clines— from  chearfulnefs  we  pafs  to  ncify 
mirth — our  mirth  flops  not  long  fhort  of 
folly — our  folly  hurries  us  to  a  madnefs, 
that  we  never  could  have  imagined  likely 
to  have  been  our  reproach. 

If  you  have  often  loft  the  command  of 
yourfelf,  where  a  certain  quantity  of  liquor 
hath  been  exceeded;  you  fhould  be  fure 
never  to  approach  that  quantity- — you; 
fhould  confine  yourfelf  to  what  is  much 
fhort  of  it.  Where  we  find  that  a  reliance 
upon  our  warinefs,  upon  the  fteadinefs  and 
firmnefs  of  our  general  reflations,  has  de- 
ceived us,  we  fhould  truft  them  no  more; 
we  fhould  confide  no  more  in  thofe  precau- 
tions, which  have  already  proved  an  in- 
fufficient  check  upon  us.  When  I  cannot 
refill  a  temptation,  I  have  nothing  left  for 
my  fecurity  but  to  fly  it.  If  I  know  that 
I  am  apt  to  yield,  when  I  am  tempted; 
the  part  I  have  then  to  act  is,  to  take  care 
that  I  may  not  be  tempted.  Thus  only  I 
fhew  myfelf  in  earneft ;  hereby  alone  I  evi- 
dence, that  my  duty  is  really  my  care. 

We  have  experienced,  that  we  cannot 
withdraw  from  the  company  we  like,  ex- 
actly at  fuch  a  point  of  time — we  have  ex- 
perienced, that  we  fometimes  do  not  pre- 
ceive,  when  we  have  got  to  the  utmoft 
bounds  of  temperance — we  have  unhappily 
experienced,  that  when  it  has  been  known 
to  us,  how  fmall  an  addition  of  liquor 
would  diforder  us,  we  then  have  fo  far  loft 
the  power  over  ourfelves,  as  not  to  be  able 
to  refrain  from  what  we  thus  fully  knew 
would  be  prejudicial  to  us.  In  thefe  cir- 
cumftances,  no  way  remains  of  fecuring 
our  fobriety,  if  we  will  refort  to  any  place 
where  it  is  at  all  hazarded,  but  either  hav- 
ing our  flint  at  once  before  us,  or  confining 
ourfelves  to  that  certain  number  ofmea- 
furcd  draughts,  from  whence  we  are  fure 
we  can  have  nothing  to  fear.  And  he, 
who  will  not  take  this  method — he  who 
will  reft  in  a  general  intention  of  fobriety, 
when  he  has  feen  how  often  that  intention 
has  been  in  vain,  how  often  he  has  mif- 
carried,  notvvithftanding  it,  can  never  be 
considered  as  truly  concerned  for  his  pall 
failings,  as  having  ferioufly  refolved  not  to 
repeat  them.  So  far  as  I  omit  any  due 
precaution  againft  a  crime,  into  which  I 
know  myfelf  apt  to  be  drawn,  fo  far  I 
mayjuftly  be  regarded  as  indifferent  to- 
wards it;  and  fo  far  all  my  declarations, 
or  being  forry  for  and  determined  to 
leave  it,  mult  be  conudcrcd  as  infin- 
cere. 

§   139.     On 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


§   139.     On  Intemperance  in  Drinking. 

Sect.     V. 

Never  make  any  quantity  of  flrong  li- 
quor nccejfary  to  your  refreshment.  What 
occaiions  this  to  be  a  fit  caution  is,  That 
if  the  quantity  we  cannot  be  without  is,  in 
the  beginning,  a  very  moderate  one,  it  will, 
probably,  foon  increafe,'  and  become,  at 
length,  fo  great  as  muft  give  us  the  wcrit 
to  fear.  The  reafon,  why  it  is  thus  likely  to 
be  increafed,  is,  that  a  fmall  draught,  by 
the  habitual  ufe  of  it,  will  ceafe  to  raife  our 
fpirits ;  and  therefore,  when  the  defign  of 
our  drinking  is  in  order  to  raife  them,  we 
fhall  at  length  feek  to  do  it  by  a  much 
larger  quantity  of  liquor,  than  what  was 
wanted  for  that  purpofe  at  firft. 

It  feems  to  be,  further,  proper  advice  on 
this  fubjeft,  That  we  fhould  never  apply 
to  flrong  liquor  for  eafe  under  cares  or 
troubles  of  any  kind.  From  fears,  from 
difappointments,  and  a  variety  of  uneafi- 
nefies,  none  are  exempt.  The  inconfiderate 
are  impatient  for  a  Ipeedy  relief;  which, 
as  the  fpirituous  draught  affords,  they  are 
tempted  to  feek  it  "from  thence. 

But  how  very  imprudent  they  mull  be, 
who  would  by  fuch  means  quiet  their  minds, 
is  molt  evident.  For,  is  any  real  ground 
of  trouble  removed,  by  not  attending  to  it 
— by  diverting  our  thoughts  from  it?  In 
many  cafes,  the  evil  we  would  remedy  by 
not  thinking  upon  it  is,  by  that  very  courfe, 
made  much  more  diitrefling,  than'it  other- 
wife  would  have  been;  nay,  fometimes, 
quite  remcdilefs.  In  all  cafes,  the  lefs  heated 
our  brain  is,  and  the  greater  calmnefs  we 
brefe'rve,  the  fitter  we  are  to  help  ou Helves ; 
the  fitter  we  are  to  encounter  difficulties, 
to  prevent  our  being  involved  in  them  ;  or, 
.if  that  cannot  be,  to  extricate  ourfelves 
fpeediiy  from  them. 

The  eafe,  which  liquor  gives,  is  but  that 
of  a  dream:  when  we  awake,  we  are  again 
ourfelves;  we  are'in  the  fame  fituation  as 
before,  or,  perhaps,  in  a  worfe.  What  then 
is  to  be  the  next  ftep  ?  Soon  as  the  flupi- 
fying  effects  of  one  draught  are  gone  off, 
another  muil  be  taken;  the  fure  confe- 
rence of  which  is,  that  fuch  a  habit  of 
drinking  will  be  contracted,  as  we  (hall 
vainly  endeavour  to  conquer,  though  the 
original  inducement  to  it  mould  no  longer 
f&bfift.  To  guard  againff  this,  as  it  is  of 
the  utmofl:  importance  to  all  of  us,  fo  the 
only  certain  way  is,  by  Hopping  in  the  ve- 
ry tirft  infeance ;  by  never  feefiing,  either 
under  care  or  pain,  relief  from  what  we 


drink,  but  from  thofe  helps,  which  reafon 
and  religion  furnifli ;  the  only  ones,  indeed^ 
to  which  we  can  wifely  rcfort  in  any  {traits  ; 
and  which  are  often  found  capable  of  ex- 
tricating us,  when  our  condition  feems  the 
moft  defperate. 

A  prudent  man  fhould  never  defer! him- 
felf.  Where  his  own  efforts  avail  him  not, 
the  care  of  an  over-ruling  Providence  may 
interpofe,  and  deliver  him.  But  to  borrow 
fupport  againff  our  troubles  from  liquor,  is 
an  entire  defertion  of  ourfelves ;  it  is  giving 
up  our  flate,  as  an  undone  one— it  is  aban- 
doning our  own  difcretion,  and  relinquifh-. 
ing  all  hopes  of  the  Deity's  affiftance. 

Lafily,  Know  always,  how  you  may  ufe- 
fuily  employ,  or  innocently  amufe  yourfelf. 
When  time  is  a  burden  upon  us,  when  we 
are  at  a  lofs  how  to  pafs  it,  our  chearfulnefs 
of  courfe  abates,  our  fpirits  flag,  we  are 
reftlefs  and  uneafy :  here  then  we  are  in 
the  fitted  difpofition,  and  under  the  ftrcng- 
eft  inducements,  to  refort  to  what  v/e  know 
will  enliven  us,  and  make  our  hours  glide 
away  infenfibly.  Befides,  when  we  cannot 
tell  what  to  do  with  ourfelves,  it  is  natural 
we  fhould  feek  for  thofe,  who  are  as  idle 
as  ourfelves ;  and  when  fuch  company 
meet,  it  is  eafy  to  fee  what  will  keep  them 
together;  that  drinking  muil:  be  their  en- 
tertainment, fmce  they  are  fo  ill  qualified 
for  any  other. 

Idlenefs  has  been  not  unfitly  term'd,  the 
parent  of  all  vices  ;  but  none  it  more  fre- 
quently produces  than  drunkennefs ;  as  no 
vice  can  make  a  greater  wafte  of  our  time, 
the  chief  thing  about  which  the  idle  are  fe- 
licitous. On  the  other  hand,  he  who  can 
profitably  bufy,  or  innocently  divert  him- 
felf,  has  a  fure  refort  in  all  humours — he 
has  his  fpirits  feidomdepreffed,  orwhen  they 
are  fo,  he  can,  without  any  hazard,  recruit 
them- — he  is  fo  far  from  feeking  a  co>  refpon- 
dence  with  fuch,  as  are  always  in  a  readinefs 
to  engage  in  fchemes  of  intemperance  and 
riot,  that  he  fhuns  them;,  his  amufements, 
quite  different  from  theirs,  occafion  him  to 
be  feldom  with  them,  and  fecure  him  from 
being  corrupted  by  them. 

This  we  may  lay  down  as  a  mod:  certain 
truth,  that  our  virtue  is  never  fafe,  but 
when  we  have  proper  dl-verfeons.  Unbent 
we  fometimes  muil  be  ;  and  when  we  know 
not  how  to  be  fo  in  an  innocent  way,  we 
foon  fhall  be  in  a  guilty.  But  if  we  can 
find  full  entertainment  in  what  is  free  From 
all  reproach,  in  what  neither  has  any  thing 
criminal  in  it,  nor  can  lead  us  into  what  is 
criminal;  th£n*  indeed,  and  only  then,  can 

we 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


we  be  thought  in  little  danger,  and  not 
likely  to  yield  to  the  bad  examples  fur- 
rounding  us. 

§   I4.0.     On  Intemperance.  in  Drinking. 
Sect.     VI. 

But  let  me  confider  what  the  intemperate 
fay  in  their  excufe. 

That  any  fhould  frequently  put  them- 
felves  into  a  condition,  in  which  they  are 
Incapable  of  taking  the  leaf!  care  of  them- 
felves — in  which  they  are  quite  ftupid  and 
Iielplefs — in  which,  whatever  danger  threa- 
tens them,  they  can  contribute  nothing  to- 
wards its  removal — in  which  they  may  be 
drawn  into  the  moll  (hocking  crimes — in 
which  all  they  hold  dear  is  at  the  mercv  of 
their  companions ;  the  excefs,  1  fay,  which 
caufes  us  to  be  in  fnch  a  fituation,  none 
feem  difpofed  to  defend  :  but  what  leads 
to  it,  you  find  numbers  thus  vindicating, 
or  excufing. 

They  mull  converfe— They  mull  have 
their  hours  of  chearfulnefs  and  mirth— 
When  they  are  difordered,  it  happens  be- 
fore they  are  aware  of  it — A  fmall  quantity 
of  liquor  has  this  unhappy  effect  upon 
them— If  they  will  keep  up  their  intereft, 
it  mull  be  by  complying  with  the  intem- 
perate humour  of  their  neighbours— Their 
way  of  life,  their  bufmefs,  obliges  them 
to  drink  with  fuch  numbers,  that  it  is 
fcarcely  poffible  they  fhould  not  be  fome- 
times  guilty  of  excefs. 

To  all  which  it  may  be  faid,  that,  bad 
as  the  world  is,  we  may  every  where,  if 
we  feek  after  them,  find  thofe,  whofe  com- 
pany will  rather  confirm  us  in  our  fobriety, 
than  endanger  it.  Whatever  our  rank,  fla- 
tion,  profeffion  or  employment  may  be, 
fuitable  companions  for  us  there  are ;  with 
whom  we  may  be  perfectly  fafe,  and  free 
from  every  temptation  to  excefs.  If  thefe 
are  not  in  all  refpecls  to  our  minds,  we 
mufl  bear  with  them,  as  we  do  wil 
condition  \xi  this  world;  which  every  pru- 
dent perfon  makes  the  beft  of;  face,  let 
what  will  be  the  change  in  it,  ftill  it  will 
be  liable  to  fome  objection,  and  never  en- 
tirely, as  he  would  wilh  it..  In  both  cafes 
we  are  to  confider,  not  hew  we  fhall  rid 
ourfelves  of  all  inconveniences,  but  where 
are  likely  to  be  the  fewell :  and  we  fhould 
judge  that  Jet  of  acquaintance,  as  well  as 
that  Jlate  of  life,  the  molt  eligible,  in 
we  have  the  leaf*  to  fear,  from  which 
our  cafe  and  innocence  are  likely  to  meet 
with  the  fewell  interruptions. 

But  mirth,  you  i~i:y,  muji  fmetimet  be  (un- 


filled.    Let  it  be  fo.     I  would  no  more 
difiuade  you  from  it,   than  I  would  from 

;.  Chefs.  Each  fhould  have  its  feafon,, 
and  its  meafure  :  and  as  it  would  be  thought 
by  all  very  proper  advice,  with  relpect  to' 
ferioufnefs,  "  Let  it  not  proceed  to  me-' 
"  lancholy,  to  morofenefs,  or  to  cenforiouf- 
"  nefs ;"  it  is  equally  fit  advice,  with  re- 
gard to  mirth,  "  Let  wifdom  accompany 
"  it:  Let  it  not  tranfport  you  to  riot  or  in-" 
"  temperance:  Do  not  think  you  can  be 
"  called  merry,  when  you  are  ceafing  to 
"  be  reasonable. " 

Good  humour,  chearfulnefs,  facetiouf- 
nels,  which  are  the  proper  ingredients  of 
mirth,  do  not  want  to  be  called  out  by  the 
repeated  draught :  it  will  rather  damp 
them,  from  the  apprehenfion  of  the  difor- 
der  it  may  foon  produce.  Whenever  we 
depart  from,  or  endanger,  our  innocence, 
we  are  laying  a  foundation  for  uneafinefs 
and  grief;  nor  can  we,  in  fuch  circum- 
ftances,  be  merry,  if  we  are  not  void  of  all 
thought  zud  reflection  :  and  this  is,  undoubt- 
edly, the  moll  melancholy  fituation,  in  which 
we  can  be  conceived,  except  when  we  are 
undergoing  the  punifhment  of  our  folly. 
The  joy,  the  elevation  of  fpirits  proper  to 
be  fought  after  by  us,  is  that  alone,  which 
can  never  be  a  fubjeel  of  remorfe,  or  which 
never  will  embitter  more  of  our  hours  than 
it  relieves.  And  when  this  may  be  ob- 
tained in  fuch  a  variety  of  ways,  we  mull 
be  loll  to  all  common  prudence,  if  we  will 
apply  to  none  of  them;  if  we  can  only 
find  tn'rnh  ia  a  departure  from  fohriety. 

You  are,  it  feems,  overtaken,  before  yon 
are  aware  of  it.  This  may  be  an  allowable! 
excufe  for  three  or  four  times,  in  a  man's 
life  ;  oftener,  I  think,  it  cannot  be.  What 
you  are  fenfible  may  eafily  happen,  and 
mufl  be  extremely  prejudicial  to  you,  when 
il  does  happen,  you  fhould  be  always  aware 
of.  ^  No  one's  virtue  is  any  farther  his. 
praife,  than  from  the  care  he  takes  to  pre- 
serve it.  1 1  he  is  at  no  trouble  and  pains 
on  that  account,  his  innocence  has  nothing 
in  it,  that  can  entitle  him  to  a  reward.  If 
you  are  truly  concerned  for  a  fault,  you 
will  neceuarily  keep  out  of  the  way  of  re- 
peating it;  and  the  more  frequent  your 
repetitions  of  it  have  been,  fo  much  the 
greater  caution  you  will  ufe  for  the  future. 

Many  we  hear  excufing  their  drunkenntfii 
by  the  fmall  vbich  occafions  it.      A 

more  trilling  excufe  for  it  could  hot  be 
made.  ^  For  if  you  know  how  f  nail  a  quan- 
tity of  liquor  will  have  that  unhappy  effect, 
you  fhould  forbear  tbat  quantity*  'it  is  as 
a  much 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


129 


much  your  duty  to  do  fo,  as  it  is  his  duty 
to  forbear  a  greater  quantity,  who  differs 
the  fame  from  it,  which  you  do  from  a 
Iefier.  When  you  know  that  it  is  a  crime 
to  be  drunk,  and  know  likewife  what  will 
make  you  fo  ;  the  more  or  lefs,  which  will 
do  this,  is  nothing  to  the  purpofe— alters 
not  your  guilt.  If  you.  will  not  refrain  from 
two  or  three  draughts,  when  you  are  fure 
that  drunkennefs  will  be  the  confequence  of 
them  ;  it  cannot  be  thought,  that  any  mere 
regard  to  fobriety  keeps  you  from  drink- 
ing the  largeft.  quantity  whatfoever.  Had 
fuch  a  regard  an  influence  upon  you,  it 
would  have  an  equal  one ;  it  would  keep 
you  from  every  ftep,  by  which  your  fo- 
briety could  fufrer. 

As  to  fupporting  an  interefl,  promoting  a 
trade,  ad'vantageoufly  bargainingfor  ourfelves, 
iy  drinking  more  than  is  convenient  for  us ; 
they  are,  for  the  mod  part,  only  the  poor 
evafions  of  the  infincere,  of  thofe  who  are 
willing  to  lay  the  blame  of  their  mifconducl 
on  any  thing,  rather  than  on  what  alone 
deferves  it— rather  than  on  their  bad  incli- 
nations. 

Civility  and  courtefy,  kind  offices,  a&s 
of  charity  and  liberality  will  both  raife 
us  more  friends,  and  keep  thofe  we  have 
firmer  to  us,  than  any  quantities  of  liquor, 
which  we  can  either-diftribute  or  drink: 
and  as  for  mens  trade  or  their  bargains,  let 
them  always  aft  fairly — let  them,  whether 
they  buy  or  fell,  fhew  that  they  abhor  all 
tricking  andimpofition — all  little  and  mean 
artifices ;  and  I'll  ftake  my  life,  they  (ball 
never  have  reafon  to  objed,  that,  if  they 
will  always  preferve  their  fobriety,  they 
mull:  leffen  their  gains. 

But  were  it  true,  that,  if  we  will  refolve 
never  to  hazard  intoxicating  ourfelves,  we 
muff  lofe  our  friends,  and  forego  our  pre- 
fent  advantage ;  they  are  inconveniences, 
which,  in  fuch  a  cafe,  we  ihould  chearfully 
fubmit  to.  Some  pains  muff  be  taken, 
fome  difficulties  muff  be  here  encountered  ; 
if  we  will  have  any  reafonable  ground  to 
expeft  happinefs  in  a  future  ftate.  Of  this 
even  common  fenfe  muff  fatisfy  us. 

Credulous  as  we  are,  I  think  it  im- 
poflible,  that  any  man  in  his  wits  would 
believe  me,  if  I  were  to  tell  him,  that  he 
might  mifs  no  opportunity  of  bettering  his 
fortune — that  he  might  remove  any  evil 
he  had  to  fear,  by  whatfoever  method  he 
thought  proper— that  he  might  throughout 
follow  his  inclinations,  and°gratify  his  ap- 
petites  ;  and  yet  reft  allured,  that  his  death 
would  be  but  the  paffage  to  great  and  end- 
lefs  joys,     I  know  not,  tg  whon*  fuch  an 


affertion  would  not  appear  extremely 
abfurd :  notwithstanding  which,  we,  cer- 
tainly, do  not  acl:,  as  if  there  were  anyab- 
furdity  in  it,  when  we  make  what  is  evi- 
dently our  duty  give  way  to  our  con- 
venience ;  and  rather  confider,  how  profi- 
table this  or  that  practice  is  than  how 
right.  That,  therefore,  fobriety,  added  to 
other  parts  of  a  virtuous  conduct,  may  en- 
title us  to  the  fo  much  hoped  for  reward,  we 
muftbe  fober,  under  all  forts  of  difcourage- 
ments.  It  rarely,  indeed,  ■  happens,  that 
we  meet  with  any ;  but  to  refill:  the  great- 
eft  muff  be  our  refolution,  if  we  will  re- 
commend ourfelves  to  the  Governor  of 
the  univerfe- — if  we  will  hope  for  his  fa- 
vour. Dean  Bolton, 

§  141.     On  Intemperance  in  Drinking, 

Sect.    VII. 

Thus  much  with  regard  to  drunken- 
nefs, fo  far  as  it  is  committed  by  in- 
toxicating ourfelves — by  drinking,  'till  our 
reafon  is  gone  :  but  as  there  is  yet  another 
way,  in  which  we  may  offend  in  it,  viz. 
by  drinking  more  than  is  proper  for  our 
refrelhment ;  I  muff  on  this  likewife  be- 
llow a  few  obfervations.    ' 

When  we  drink  more  than  fuffices  to 
recruit  our  fpirits,  our  paffions  are  height- 
ened, and  we  ceafe  to  be  under  the  influ- 
ence of  that  calm  temper,  which  is  our 
only  fafe  counfellor.  The  next  advance 
beyond  refrelhment  is  to  that  mirth,  which 
both  draws  many  unguarded  fpeeches  from 
us,  and  carries  us  to  many  indifcreet  actions 
— which  waftes  our  time,  not  barely  while 
we  are  in  the  aft  of  drinking,  but  as  it 
unfettles  our  heads,  and  indifpofes  us  to  at- 
tention, to  bufmefs, — to  a  clofe  application 
in  any  way.  Soon  as  our  fpirits  are  raifed 
beyond  their  juft  pitch,  we  are  for  fchemes 
of  diverfion  and  pleafure  ;  we  are  unfit  for 
ferious  affairs,  and  therefore  cannot  enter- 
tain a  thought  of  being  employed  in  them. 

Befides,  as  according  to  the  rife  of  our 
fpirits,  their  fall  will,  afterward,  be  ;  it  is 
moil:  probable,  that  when  we  find  them 
thus  funk,  we  fnall  again  refort  to  what 
we  have  experienced  the  remedy  of  fuch  a 
complaint;  and  thereby  be  betrayed,  if  not 
into  the  excelfes,  which  deprive  us  of  our 
reafon,  yet  into  fuch  a  habit  of  drinking, 
as  occafions  the  lofs  of  many  precious  hours 
—impairs  our  health — .is  a  great  mifappli- 
cation  of  our  fortune,  and  a  moft  ruinous 
example  to  our  obfervers.  But,  indeed, 
whence  is  it  to  be  feared,  that  we  fnall  be- 
come downright  fots— 'that  we  fnall  con- 
ic triS 


ijo  ELEGANT 

traft  a  habit  of  drinking  to  the  moil  dif- 
guifing  excefs ;  whence,  I  fay,  is  this  to  be 
feared,  if  not  from  accuilomirg  ourfelves 
to  the  frequent  draughts,  which  neither 
our  thiril — nor  fatigue — nor  constitution 
requires  :  by  frequently  ufing  them;  our 
inclination  to  them  is  Strengthened  ;  till  at 
length  we  cannot  prevail  upon  ourfelves  to 
leave  our  cup,  while  we  are  in  a  condition 
to  lift  it. 

Theie  are  objections,  in  which  ail  are 
concerned,  whole  refreshment,  from  what 
they  drink,  is  not  their  rule  in  it ;  but  to 
men  of  moderate  fortunes,  or  who  are  to 
make  their  fortunes,  other  arguments  are  to 
be  ufed  :  thefe  perfons  are  to  coniider,  that 
even  the  lefTer  degree  of  intemperance,  now 
cenfured,  is  generally  their  utter  undoing, 
thro'  that  neglect  of  their  affairs,  which  is 
itsneceifary  confequence.  When  we  mind 
not  our  own  bufinefs,  whom  can  we  think 
likely  to  mind  it  for  us  ?  Very  few,  certain- 
ly, will  be  met  with,  difpofed  and  able  to  do 
it ;  and  not  to  be  both,  is  much  the  fame, 
as  to  be  neither.  While  we  are  paffmg  our 
time  with  our  chearful  companions,  we  are 
not  only  lofing  the  advantages,  which  care 
and  indultry,  either  in  infpe&ing  our  affairs, 
or  purfuing  our  employmcnt,\vouId  have 
afforded  us ;  but  we  are  actually  confumino- 
our  fortune — we  are  habituating  ourfelves 
to  a  moil  expenfive  idlenefs— we  are  con- 
trailing  a  disinclination  to  fatigue  and  con- 
finement, even  when  we  moll  become  fenfi- 
ble  of  their  neceffty,  when  our  affairs  rnuft 
run  into  the  utmoll  confufion  without  them. 
And  we,  in  fadt,  perceive  tint,  as  f< 
the    fcholar,    or  trader,    or   artifice] 

whoever  it  is,  that  has  the  whole  of  his  main- 
tenance to  gain,  or  has  not  much  to  fpend, 
srldi&s  himfelf  only  to  tins  lower  deo-ree  of 
intemperance  —  acculloms  himfelf  "to  fit 
long  athis  wine,  and  to  exceed  that  quantity 
of  it  which  his  relief  demands,  he  becomes 
worthlefs  in  a  double  fenfe,  as  deferving  no- 
thing^ and,  if  a  care  greater  than  his  own 
iave  him  not,  as  having  nothing. 

Add  to  all  this,  that  the  very  fame  difea- 
fes,  which  may  be  apprehended  from  often 
intoxicating  ourfelves,  are  the  ufual  attend- 
ants not  only  of  frequently  drinking  to  the  full 
6f  what  wc  can  conveniently  bear,  but  even 
of  doing  it  in  a  large  quantity.  The  only 
difference  is,  that  Such  difeafes  come  more 
fpeedily  on  us  from  the  former,  than  the 
latter  caufe ;  and,  perhaps,  deftroy  us  fooner. 
ble  it  is  to  be  long  ilrug- 
zv,  y  of  the  distempers,  which  our 


EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


exceffes  occafion,  they  can  belt  determineV' 
who  labour  under  them. 

The  inconveniences  which  attend  our 
more  freely  ufmg  the  leail  hurtful  of  any 
fpirituous  liquors  have  fo  evidently  ap- 
peared—have fhewn  themfelves  fo  many 
and  fo  great,  as  even  to  call  for  a  remedy 
from  the  law  itfelf ;  which,  therefore,  pu- 
nilhes  both  thofe,  who  loiter  away  their 
time  at  their  cups,  and  thofe,  who  fuffer 
it  to  be  done  in  their  houfes. 

A  great  part  of  the  world,  a  much  greater 
than  all  the  parts  added  together,  in  which 
the  Christian  religion  is  profeffed,  are  for- 
bidden all  manner  of  liquors,  which  can  caufe 
drunkennefs ;  they  are  not  allowed  / he  fmalleji 
quantity  of  the?:! ;  and  it  would  be  an  off.-nce 
which  would  receive  the  moil  rigorous 
chaftifement,  if  they  were  known  to  uieany; 
their  lawgiver  has,  in  this  particular,  been 
thought  to  have  acted  according  to  the  rules 
of  good  policy;  and  the  governors  of  thofe 
countries,  in  which  this  law  is  in  force,  have, 
from  its  nril  reception  amongft  them,  found 
it  of  fuch  benefit,  as  to  allow  no  relaxation  of 
it.  I  do  not  mention  fuch  a  practice  as  any 
rule  for  us :  difference  of  climates  makes 
quite  different  ways  of  living  neceffary  :  I 
only  mention  it  as  a  leffon  to  us,  that,  if  fo 
gieat  a  part  cf  mankind  fubmit  to  a  total 
abstinence  from  -vine  and  ftrong  drink,  we 
Should  ufe  them  Sparingly;,  with  caution  and 
moderation ;  which  is,  certainly,  neceffary 
to  cur  welfare,  whatever  may  be  the  effect 
of  entirely  forbearing  them  on  theirs. 

In  the  moil  admired  of  all  the  weflern 
governments,  a  Strict  fobriety  was  required 
or  their  women,  under  the  very  fevereft 
penalties :  the  punifhment  of  a  departure 
from  it  was  nothing  lefs  than  capital:  and 
the  cufiom  of  faluting  women,  we  are  told, 
was  introduced  in  order  to  difcover  whether 
any  fpirituous  liquor  had  been  drank  by 
them. 

In  this  commonwealth  the  men  were 
prohibited  to  drink  wine  'till  they  had  at- 
tained thirty  years. 

The  whole  body  of  foldiery,  among  this 
people,  had  no  other  draught  to  enable~them 
to  bear  the  greatefl  fatigue — to  raife  their 
courage,  and  animate  them  to  encounter 
the  moil  terrifying  diffeff  ties  and  dangers, 
but  water  fnarpened  with  vinegar.  And 
what  was  the  confequence  of  fuch  ftricl  fo- 
briety, obferved  by  both  fexes  ?  What  was 
the  confequence  of  being  born  of  parents  fo 
exadly  temperate,  and  of  being  trained  up 
in  a  habit  of  the  utmoil  abilemioufnefs — 

What, 


BOOK    T.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


What,  I  fay,  followed  upon  this,  but  the 
attainment  of  fuch  a  nrmn-fs  of  body  and 
mind — of  fuch  an  indifference  to  all  the 
emafculating  pleafures — of  fuch  vigour  and 
fearleflhefs,  that  the  people,  thus  born  and 
educated,  foon  made  all  oppofkion  fall  be- 
fore them,  experienced  no  enemy  a  match 
for  them— were  conquerors,  wherever  they 
carried  their  arms. 

By  thefe  remarks  on  the  temperance  of 
,the  antient  Romans,  I  am  not  for  recalling 
cuftoms  fo  quite  the  reverie  of  thofe,  in 
which  we  were  brought  up ;  but  fome 
change  in  our  manners  I  could  heartily  wilh 
they  might  effect :  and  if  not  induce  us  to 
the  fame  fobriety,  which  was  practifed  by 
thefe  heathens,  yet  to  a  much  greater  than 
is  praciifed  by  the  generality  of  Chrif- 
tians.  Dean  Bolton. 


§  142.     Oi 


Pleafur, 

Sect.     I. 

To  the  Honourable  — 
you 


While  you  are  constantly,  engaged 
in  the  purfuit  of  knowledge,  or  in  mak- 
ing what  you  have  acquired  of  ufe  to 
your  fellow-creatures — while  information 
is  your  amufement,  and  to  become  wifer 
is  as  much  your  aim,  in  all  the  company  you 
keep,  as  in  all  the  books  you  read';  may  I 
not  juftly  think  it  matter  of  auonifhment  to 
you,that  fuch  numbers  ofyour  fpecies  mould 
be  quite  unmindful  of  all  rational  improve- 
ment— foleiy  intent  on  fchemes  of  mirth 
anddiverfion — pailing  their  lives  in  around 
of  (porting  and  trifling. 

Ifeveryagehasitsmadnefs,  and  one  is  di- 
ftinguiihed  by  its  warlike  humour,  a  fecond 
by  its  enthuiiafm',  a  third  by  its  party  and 
political  rage ;  the  diftra&ion  of  the  prefent 
may  truly  be  pronounced,  its  turn  to  plea- 
fare,  fo  fadly  poiTeffing  thofe  of  each  fex 
and  of  all  ages — thofe  of  every  profefiion 
and  employment — the  fevcral  ranks  and  or- 
ders of  men ;  that  they,  who  are  ftrangers  to 
the  fudden  changes  in  human  difpofitions, 
are  apt  to  think,  that  all  ferioufnefs  and  ap- 
plication— all  the  valuable  attainments, 
which  are  the  reward  only  of  cur-  pains, 
muft,  inevitably,  be  foon  loft  among  us. 

I  am  not  out  of  hopes,  that  what  thus 
threatens,  in  the  opinion  of  fome,  our  fpeedy 
ruin,  and  has  its  very  great  mifchief  denied 
by  none,  who  give  it  the  lead:  attention, 
will  one  day  receive  as  remarkable  an  op- 
pofkion from  your  pen,  as  it  now  does  a 
difcouragement  from  your  example. 

Let,  in  the  mean  time,  a  fincere  well- 


131 

wilher  to  his  countrymen  interpofe  his  mean 
endeavours  to  ferve  them — offer  to  their 
confiieration  fome,  perhaps  not  wholly 
contemptible,  arguments  againft  the  pur- 
fuit, to  which  they  are  fo  blameably  attach- 
ed— fhew  them  pleafure  in  that  true  light, 
in  which  they  are  unwilling  to  fee  it- 
teach  them,  not  that  it  mould  be  always 
declined,  but  that  they  mould  never  be  en- 
flaved  to  it — reprefent  the  dangers,  to 
which  it  expofes  them,  yetpoint  out  how  far 
it  may  be  enjoyed  with  innocence  andfafety. 

Every  man  feems  to  be  fo  far  free,  as  he 
can  difpofe  of  himfelf- — as  he  can  main- 
tain a  due  fubordination  in  the  parts  of  his 
frame,  ufe  the  deliberation  proper  to  ac- 
quaint him  with  what  is  moft  for  his  ad- 
vantage, and,  according  to  the  refult  there- 
of, proceed  to  action.  1  confider  each  hin- 
drance to  the  knowledge  of  our  true  happi- 
nefs,  or  to  its  purfuit,  as,  according  to  its  de- 
gree, an  abridgment  of  our  liberty;  and  I 
think  that  he  may  be  truly  ftiled  a  ilave  to 
pleafure,  who  follows  it,  wherefoever  di- 
rected to  it  by  appetite,  paffion,  or  fancy. 
When  we  liften  to  their  iuggeilions  in  the1 
choice  of  good,  we  allow  them  an  autho- 
rity, that  our  Creator  never  intended  they 
fhould  have ;  and  when  their  directions  in 
that  choice  are  actually  complied  with,  a 
lawlefs  (way  enfues — the  ufe  of  our  nobler 
faculties  becomes  obftructed — our  ability 
to  deliberate,  as  we  ought,  on  our  con- 
duel,  gradually  fails,  and  to  alter  it,  at 
length  wholly  ceafes. 

Our  fenfual  and  rational  parts  are  al- 
moft  in  continual  oppofition :  we  add  to 
the  power  of  the  farmer,  by  a  thoughtlefs, 
idle,  voluptuous  life ;  and  to  that  of  the 
latter  by  reflection,  induftry,  continence. 

As  you  cannot  give  way  to  appetite,  but 
you  increafe  its  reltlefsnefs,  you  multiply 
its  demands,  and  become  lefs  able  to  refill 
them;  fo  the  very  fame  holds  true  of  every 
principle  that  oppofes  reafon ;  if  capable  to 
influence  you  in  one  inftance,  it  will  more 
eafily  do  it  in  a  fecond,  gaining  ground,  'till 
its  dominion  over  you  becomes  abfolute. 

When  the  queftion  concerns  our  angry 
paffions,  all  are  ready  to  acknowledge  the 
danger  of  not  reftraining  them,  the  terri- 
ble (abjection  to  which  fuch  remiflhefs  ex- 
pofes us.  Thefe  falling  more  under  the 
general  notice,  from  the  apparency  of  the 
diforder,  and  extent  of  the  mifchief  which 
they  occaficn,  a  better  judgment  is  ordi- 
narily made  of  them,  than  of  affections  lefs 
tumultuous,  lefs  dangerous  to  our  affoci- 
ates:  but  there  can  be  no  reafon  imagin- 
K.  z  able 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


li- 
able why  anger,  if  lefs  carefully  wai 

and  rehired,  fhouid  exerdfe,  at  length,  the' 
moil  unhappy  tyranfn  ■:  r  us,  which  will 
not  hold  as  -  .      ion  or  lail     '->■•-.■'■ 

And  as  with  reipeft  to  violent  refentment, 
we  are  ready  to  gratify  it,  whatever  it 
cofts  us ;  fo  let  what  will  be  the  paffion  or 
lufl  that  governs  us,  no  prudential  confe- 
derations are  a  counterpoise  for  it.   ■ 

With  regard  10  pleafure,  the  fallacy  cf 
our  reasoning  upon  it  lies  here  ;  we  always 
look  upon  the  enjoyment  of  it  as  a  ungle 
aft,  as  a  compliance  with  our  liking  in  this 
or  thatinfiance  :  the  repetition  of  that  in- 
dulgence is  not  feen  under  a  dependence  on 
any  former,  or  under  the  leaf!  connexion 
with  any  future.  That  fuch  a  purfuit 
fhouid  engage  us  Teems  to  be  wholly  from 
our  choice;  and  this  choice  is  thought  to 
be  as  free,  atthefecondtime  of  our  making 
it  as  at  the  firfl,  and  at  the  twentieth;  as  at 
the  fecond.  Inclination  i:?  never  be  held  as 
pofhble  to  become  conftraint — is,  I  mean, 
never  regarded  as  capable  of  being  indulg- 
ed, 'till  it  cannot  be  refilled.  No  man  ever 
took  the  road  of  pleafure,  but  he  appre- 
hended that  he  could  eafily leave  it:  had  he 
confidered  his  whole  life  likely  to  be  palled 
in  its  windings,  the  preference  of  the  ways 
of  virtue  would  have  been  indifputable. 

But  as  lenfual  purfuits  could  not  enrage 
fo  many,  if  fomething  very  delightful  were 
not  expected  in  them  ;  it  will  be  proper  to 
fhew,  how  unlikely  they  are  to  anfwer  fuch 
an  expectation — what  there  is  to  difcou- 
rage  us  from  attaching  ourfelves  to  them. 

Confiderfenfaal  pleafure  under  the  high- 
ell  poffible  advantages,  it  will  yet  be  found 
liable  to  thefe  objections. 

Firji,  That  its  enjoyment  is  fleeting,  ex- 
pires foon,  extends  not  beyond  a  few  mo- 
ments :  Our  fpirits  link  inilantly  under 
it,  if  in  a  higher  degree  ;  nor  are  they 
long  without  being  depreffed,  when  it  lefs 
powerfully  affects  them.  A  review  here  af- 
fords me  no  comfort :  I  have  here  nothing 
delightful  to  expect  from  Reflection.  The 
gratifications,  in  which  I  have  allowed  my- 
ielf,  have  made  me  neither  wifer  nor  bet- 
ter. The  fruit  was  relifhed  while  upon  my 
tongue,  but  when  paffed  thence  I  fcarcely 
retain  the  idea  of  its  flavour. 

How  tranfitory  our  pleafures  are,  we 
cannot  but  acknowledge,  when  we  conii- 
der,  how  many  we,  in  different  parts  of 
our  lives,  eagerly  purfue,  and  then  wholly 
d  :cline. 

That,  which  is  the  high  tntertainmm  cf 


our  infancy,  doth  not  afford  us  the  leaf?, 
when  this  {late  is  paffed :  what  then  de- 
ls much  in  our  youth,  is  quite  tafle- 
lefs  to  us,  as  we  approach  manhood  ;  and 
our  engagements  at  this  period  give  way 
to  feme  others,  as  we  advance  in  age. 

Nor  do  our  pleafures  thus  pafs  only  with 
our  years,  but,  really,  thofe  which  befl  fuit 
our  time  of  life,  and  on  the  purfuit  of 
which  we  are  moil  intent,  mull  be  inter- 
rupted in  order  to  be  enjoyed. 

We  can  no  more  long  bear  pleafure,  than 
we  can  long  endure  fatigue ;  or,  rather, 

...  we  call  pleafure,  after  fome  continu- 
ance; becomes  fatigue. 

We  want  relief  in  our  diver/ions,  as  well 
as  in  our  moll  ferious  employments. 

When  Socrates  had  obferved,  "  of  how 
"  unaccountable  a  nature  that  thing  is, 
"  which  men  call  Pleafure,  fince,  though 
84  it  may  appear  to  be  contrary  to  Pain,  as 
"  never  being  with  it  in  the  fame  perfon, 
"  yet  they  lb  clofely  follow  each  other, 
"  that  they  may  {eem  linked,  as  it  were, 
"  together."  He  then  adds — "  If  JEfop 
<c  had  attended  to  this,  he  would,  I  think, 
"  have  given  us  a  fable,  in  which  the  Di- 
(*  vinity,  willing  to  reconcile  thefe  two 
ff  enemies,  but  yet  unable  to  do  it,  had, 
"  neverthelefs,  fo  connected  them  in  their 
"  extremities,  that  where  the  one  comes, 
"  the  other  fhall   be   fure  to  fucceed  it." 

From  the  excefs  of  joy,  how  ufual  is  the 
tranlition  to  that  of  dejection  !  Laughter, 
as  well  as  grief,  calls  for  tears  to  eafe  us 
under  it ;  and  it  may  be  even  more  dan- 
gerous to  my  life  to  be  immoderately  de- 
lighted, than  to  be  feverely  afflicted. 

Our  pleafures  then  fcon  pafs  ;  and,  fe- 
condly,  their  repetition  certainly  cloys.  - 

As  the  eafinefsof  poflureand  agreeable- 
nefs  of  place  wear  off  by  a  very  fhort  con- 
tinuance in  either ;  it  is  the  fame  with  any 
fenfual  gratifications  which  we  can  purfue, 
and  with  every  enjoyment  of  that  kind,  to 
which  we  can  apply.  What  fo  delights 
our  palate,  that  we  fhouid  reliih  it,  if  it 
were  our  conllant  food?  What  juice  has 
nature  furnilhed,  that,  after  being  a  fre- 
quent, continues  to  be  a  pleafing,  draught  ? 
Sounds,  how  artfully  fo  ever  blended  or  fuc- 
ceilive,  tire  at  length  the  ear ;  and  odours, 
at  firfl  the  moll  grateful,  foon  either  ceafe 
to  recreate  us,  or  become  offcnfive  to  us. 
The  finefl  profpect  gives  no  entertainment 
to  the  eye  that  has  been  long  accuilomed 
to  it.  The  pile,  that  flrikes  with  admira- 
tion eachcafual  beholder,  affords  its  royal 

inhabitant 


"BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


«33 


inhabitant  no  comfort,  but  what  -the  pea- 
fant  has  in  his  cottage. 

That  love  of  variety  and  change  to  which 
none  of  our  kind  are  ftrangers,  might  be 
a  leifon  to  us,  where  oar  expectations  are  ill 
grounded,  where  they  mail  neceflarily  be 
difappointed  ;  for  if  no  man  evcry^t  lived, 
who  could  fay  of  any  of  the  pleasures  of 
fenfe- — On  this  I  repofe  royfeif—  it  quite 
anfwers  my  hopes  from  it — my  wifhes  rove 
not  beyond  it :  if  none  could  ever  affirm 
this,  it  is  moft  evident,  that  we  in  vain 
fearch  after  permanent  delight  from  any 
of  the  objefts,  with  which  we  are  now  con- 
verfant— that  the  only  difference  between 
the  latisfaclions  we  parfae,  and  thofe  we 
quit,  is,  that  we  are  already  tired  of  the 
one,  and  mail  foon  be  of  the  other. 

Hear  the  language  of  him,  who  had  tried 
'the  extent  of  every  fenfaal  pleafhre,  and 
muff  have  found  the  uncloysng,  had  any 
fuch  exifted  :  "  I  faid  in  my  heart,  Go  to 
"  now,  I  will  prove  thee  with  mirth.  I 
"  gave  myfeif  to  wine,  I  made  me  great 
*'  works,  I  builded  me  houfes,  ]  planted 
"  me  vineyards,  I  made  me  gardens,  I 
**  planted  trees  in  them  of  all  kinds  of 
**  fruit.  I  made  me  pools  of  water,  I 
*'  amafied  gold  and  filver,  IhadpofTeffions, 
"  above  all  that  were  in  Jertefalem  before 
"  me.  I  tried  what  love,  what  mulic, 
K  what  all  the  delights  of  the  ions  of  men 
"  could  effect :  whatfoever  mine  eyes  de- 
"  fired  I  kept  not  from  them,  I  with-held 
"  not  my  heart  from  any  joy.  Then  I 
"  looked  on  all  my  works,  on  all  my  pur- 
**  fuits,  and  behold  !  all  was  vanity  and 
"  vexation  of  fpirit." 

Tally  mentions  Xerxes  as  having  pro- 
pofed  a  reward  to  the  man,  who  couid  make 
known  to  him  fome  new  pleafure.  The 
monarch  of  the  Eail,  it  feems,  met  with 
nothing  within  the  bounds  of  his  mighty 
empire  that  could  fix  his  inclinations.  The 
moll  voluptuous  people  on  earth  had  difco- 
vered  no  delight,  that  their  fovereign  could 
acknowledge  otherwife  than  fuperficial. 
Happy  !  had  it  been  a  leffbn  to  their  prince, 
or  could  it  be  one  to  us,  where  our  good 
ihould  be  fought — what  purfuits  were 
likely  to  bring  us  bleffings  certain  to  im- 
prove, as  well  as  endure. 

§  143.     On  Pleafure. 

Sect.    II. 
A  third  difadvantage  enfuing  to  us  from 
our  attachment  to  the  delights,  which  ap- 
petite and  fancy  purvey,  is,  that  it  indif- 
pofes  us  for  ufeful  inquiries,    for   every 


endeavors-  worthy  of  our  nature,  and  fatt- 
ing the  relations,  in  which  we  are  placed. 

The  dlfappointnieBt,  which  the  Ferpan 
Emperor  met  with  in  ail  his  fchemes  of  the 
voluptuous  kind,  did  aot  put  hire  on  ap- 
plying to  thofe  of  a  different  one.  Expe- 
rience ihewed  him  his  folly,  but  could  not 
teach  him  wifSoov — It  could  not,  jvhen  it 
had  convinced  him  of  the  vanity  of  ids 
purfuits,  induce  aim  to  relinqniih  them. 

We  fin;!  a  Salomon,  indeed,  discovering 
his  error  ^-acknowledging  that  he  had  erred, 
and  bearing  teflimony  to  religion  and  vir- 
tue as  alone  productive  of  true  happiness ; 
but  where  are  we  to  look  foranoth  among 
the  votaries  to  fenfnality,  thus  aSeched,  thus 
changed  ? 

As  fome  have  obierved  of  coarfs,  that 
fuch,  who  live  in  them,  are  always  aneafy 
there,  yet  always  unwilling  to  retreat ;  the 
very  fame  holds  true  of  the  hce  tious  prac- 
tice, which  they  too  generally  countenance : 
fully  convinced  of  its  vanity  and  folly,  we 
continue  to  our  Jaft  moments  attached  to  it 
— averfe  from  altering  the  conduct,  which 
we  cannot  but  difapprove.  Our  faculties 
are,  indeed,  fo  conftituted,  that  our  capacity 
for  many  enjoyments  extends  not  beyond 
fuch  a  period  in  our  being  ;  if  we  will  not 
quit  them,  they  will  us — will  depart,  what- 
ever our  eagernefs  may  be  for  their  con- 
tinuance. But  let  us  not  deceive  onrfelves : 
when  they  are  gone  as  to  their  ienfe,  they 
are  not  as  to  their  power.  He  who  fays  to 
his  youth,  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry- — who 
thinks  of  nothing  elfe  at  that  feafon,  will 
hanker  after  delicacies,  when  he  has  neither 
teeth  to  chew,  nor  palate  to  diftinguifh 
them ;  will  want  the  cup,  which  he  cannot 
lift;  and  feek  for  mirth,  when  he  will 
thereby  become  the  object,  of  it.  The  habit 
operates,  when  none  of  the  inducements 
for  our  contracting  it  remain ;  and  when 
the  days  of  pleafure  are  pair,  thofe  of  wif- 
dom  and  virtue  are  not  the  nearer.  Our 
difpolitions  do  not  decay  with  our  ftrength. 
The  prudence,  which  Ihould  attend  grey 
hairs,  doth  not  neceffarily  come  to  us  with 
them.  The  young  rake  is  a  lalcivious  ob- 
fcene  wretch,  when  he  owes  his  warmth  to 
his  flannel ;  delights  in  the  filthy  tale,  when 
his  hearers  are  almoft  poiioned  by  the 
breath,  with  which  he  utters  it ;  and  when 
leaft  able  to  offend  in  act,  he  does  it  in 
defire. 

That  the  humour  for  fighting  or  racing, 

or  whatever  inclination  governed  us  in  this 

world,  accompanies  us  to  the  other,  is  not 

an  entire  fiction  of  the  poet,  but,  affuredly, 

K  3  has 


154 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


lias  thus  much  truth  in  it,  that  whatever 
humour  we  indulge,  it  accompanies  us  to 
the  cloi'e  of  life.  There  is  a  time,  when 
our  manners  are  pliant,  when  the  counfels 
of  the  fob.er  o]  .-race  upon  us  as  luce 
ly,  as  the  irifinuations  or"  the  corrupt ;  but 
when  that  time  is  palled,  our  cull  ;m  are, 
daily,  working  themSelves  into  oar  co 
tion,  and  want  not  many  years  to  become 
fcarce  diftinguifhable  from  it.  God,  I  am 
perfuaded,  has  formed  us  all  with  fuch 
appreheniions  of  what  is  right,  as,  if  a 
proper  care  were  taken  to  preServe  and 
improve  them,  would  have  die  happieft  in- 
fluence upon  our  practice  ;  but  when  the 
feafon  for  extending  this  care  to  them  has 
been  neglected,  they  are  in  moil  of  us 
greatly  in; paired,  and  in  fome  appear  al- 
moft  wholly  lofc. 

Let  the  underfianding  remain  uninformed, 
'till  half  the  age  of  man  is  pad,  and  what 
improvement  is  the  belt  then  likely  to  make  ? 
how  irkfome  would  it  fcem  to  be  put  upon 
any  ?  It  is  w  ith  our  will  the  veyy  fame  ; 
turned  for  half  or  three  parts  of  our  life  to 
floth  and  wantonnefs,  to  riot  and  excefs, 
any  correction  of  it,  any  alteration  to  the 
purfuits  becoming  us,  may  feem  quite  hope- 
lefs.  While  we  are  devoting  ourfllves  to 
pleafure,  we  are  weakening  every  princi- 
ple, whereby  virtue  can  engage  us,  we  are 
extinguishing  within  us  all  fenfe  of  true  de- 
fert — fubduing  confeience — diverting  our- 
felves  of  fhame — corrupting  our  natural 
notions  of  good  and  evil ;  and  lb  indifpofing 
ourfelves  for  consideration,  that  cur  con- 
stant endeavour  will  be  to  decline  it.  Thus 
when  our  follies  are  a  burden  to  us,  their 
correction  feems  a  greater ;  and  we  try 
what  eafe  may  be  found  by  varying,  rather 
than  feck  any  from  quitting,  them. 

I  trtbly,  The  larger  our  fhare  is  of  out- 
ward enjoyments,  and  'die  dearer  they  are 
to  us ;  fo  much  the  more  afflicting  our  con- 
cern will  be  to  leave  this  fcene  of  them — fo 
much  the  greater  terror  and  torment  flia.ll 
we  receive  from  the  apprehenfion,  how  foon 
we  may  be  obliged  to  do  it. 

Let  the  man  of  pleafure  colour  it  the  moft 
agreeably,  place  it  in  the  faireft  point  of 
view,  this  objection  will  remain  in  its  full 
Strength  againft  him :  "  You  are  not  m after 
"  of  the  continuance  of  the  good,  of  which 
"  you  boaft  ;  and  can  you  avoid  thinking 
"  of  its  removal,  or  bear  the  thoughts 
"  thereof,  with  any  calmnels  and  compo- 
"  fure  ?"  But  what  kind  of  happinefs  is 
that,  which  we  arc  in  hourly  fears  of  lounge 
nch,  when  loft,  is  £oae  for  ever  ? 


If  I  am  only  here  for  a  few  days,  the 
part  I  ought  to  act  is,  certainly,  that  of 
a  traveller  on  Ids  journey,  making  ufe,  in- 
deed, of  fuch  conveniences,  as  the  road  af- 
fords him,  but  ftill  regarding  himfelf  as 
upon  his  read — never  fo  incumbring  him- 
felf that  lie  Shall  be  unwilling  to  ad- 
vance, when  he  knows  he  muft  do  it — never 
fo  diverting  himfelf  at  any  refting  place, 
that  it  Shall  be  painful  to  him  to  depart 
thence. 

When  we  are  accuftorrfed  to  derive  all 
cur  comforts  from  fenfe,  we  come  to  want 
the  very  idea  of  any  other :  this  momen- 
tary part  of  our  existence  is  the  full  extent 
we  give  to  our  joys  ;  and  we  have  the  mor- 
tifying reflection  continually  before 'us, 
that  their  conclufion  is  nearer  every  hour 
we  are  here,  and  may  poffibly  take  place 
the  very  next.  Thus  each  acceffion  of 
[it  will  rcallv  be  but  a  new  fource  of 
affliction,  become  an  additional  motive  for 
complaint  of  the  Short  fpace  allowed  for  its 
enjoyment. 

The  mind  of  man  is  fo  diSpoSed  to  look 
forward,  fo  fitted  to  extend  its  views,  that, 
as  much  as  it  is  contracted  by  fenfuality,  it 
cannot  be  fixed  thereby  to  the  ir.ftant 
moment :  We  can  never,  like  the  beafts, 
be  fo  far  engrollcd  by  the  Satisfaction  before 
us,  but  the  thoughts  will  occur,  how  often 
may  we  hope  to  repeat  it— how  many  dif- 
tant  hours  it  is  likely  to  relieve — how  much 
of  our  duration  can  it  advantage  ?  and  the 
fcanty  continuance  which  our  moit  fanguine 
hopes  can  afiign  it,  muft  therefore,  be  in 
feme  degree  its  abatement — muft  be  an 
ingredient  in  our  draught  fure  to  embitter 
the  many  pleaiing  ones  which  compound  it. 
And  what  a  wife  part  are  we  then  acting, 
when  we  are  taking  the  brutes  portion  for 
ours,  and  cannot  have  all  the  benefits  even 
of  that !  car.net  remove  the  inconveni- 
ences of  reafon,  when  we  forego  its  com- 
forts ! 

Thete  are  fome  of  the  many  disadvan- 
tages infeparable  from  pleafure,  and  from 
the  expectation  of  which  none  of  its  vota- 
ries are  exempt.  We  cannot  attach  our- 
felves  to  any  of  the  delights,  which'appe- 
tite  or  fancy  provides,  but  we  Shall  be  fure 
to  find  them  quickly  paffing — when  re- 
peated, cloying—  indi'ipofmg  us  for  worthy 
purfuits— rendering  usaverfe  from  quitting 
the  world,  and  uneafy  as  often  as  it  occurs 
to  our  thoughts,  how  foon  our  Summons, 
may  be  to  depart. 


§  M4- 


OOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


*35 


§    14.4.      On  Plea/ure. 

Sect.    III. 

But  what,  you'll  fay,  mull  all  then  com- 
mence philofophers  ?  Muft  every  gay 
amufement  be  banifhed  the  world?  Mull 
thofe  of  each  fex  and  of  all  ages  have  their 
looks  ever  in  form,  and  their  manners  un- 
der the  regulation  of  the  fevereft  wifdom? 
Has  nature  given  us  propensities  only  to  be 
refilled  ?  Have  we  ears  to  diilinguilh  har- 
mony, and  are  we  never  to  delight  them 
with  it  ?  Is  the  food  which  our.  palate  bell 
relifhes,  to  be  therefore  denied  it  ?  Can 
odours  recreate  our  brain,  beauty  pleafe 
our  eye,  and  the  delign  of  their  ftrudture  be, 
that  we  mould  exclude  all  agreeable  fenfa- 
tion  from  either  ?  Arz  not  natural  inclina- 
tions nature's  commands;  are  they  not  its 
'declarations  whence  we  may  obtain  our 
good,  and  its  injunctions  to  feek.it  thence? 
Is  any  thing  more  evident,  than  thatferious 
Applications  cannot  long  be  lullained — that 
we  muft  fink  under  their  weight — that  they 
foon  llupify  or  diilract  us  ?  The  exercife 
of  our  intellectual  partis  the  fatigue  of  our 
corporeal,  and  cannot  be  carried  on,  but 
by  allowing  us  intervals  of  relaxation 
and  mirth.  Deny  us  pleafure,  and  you 
.unfit  us  for  bufinefs ;  and  deflroy  the  man, 
while  you  thus  feek  to  perfect  him. 

A  full  anfwer  might,  I  mould  think,  be 
given  to  whatever  is  here  ailedged,  by  en- 
larging on  the  following  obfervations. 

1.  Pleafure  is  only  fo  far  cenfured,  as  it 
colls  us  more  than  it  is  worth — as  it  brings 
on  a  degree  of  uneafmefs,  for  which  it  doth 
not  compenfate. 

2.  It  is  granted,  that  we  are  licenfed  to 
take  all  that  pleafure,  which  there  is  no 
reafon  for  our  declining:.  So  much  true 
pleafure,  or  fo  much  pleafure,  as  is  not 
counterbalanced  by  any  inconveniences 
attending  it,  is  fo  much  happinefs  accruing 
to  him  who  takes  it,  and  a  part  of  that 
general  good,  which  our  Creator  deligned 
us. 

3.  As  the  inclinations,  with  which  man- 
kind were  originally  formed,  were,  cer- 
tainly, very  different  from  thofe,  which 
guilt  has  fince  propagated;  many  rejbraints 
mull,  therefore,  be  necelTary,  which  would 
not  have  been  fo,  had  our  primitive  recti- 
tude been  preferved. 

4.  Bad  education,  bad  example,  increafe 
greatly  our  natural  depravity,  before  we 
come  to  reafon  at  all  upon  it ;  and  give 
the  appearance  of  good  to  many  things, 
which  would  be  feen  in  a  quite  different 


light,  under  a  different  education  and  in- 
ter c  our  fe. 

Thefe  particulars  let  it  fuffice  barely  to 
mention;  fince,  as  it  is  here  admitted,  that 
when  there  is  no  reafon  for  our  declining 
any  pleafure,  there  is  one  for  our  taking  it, 
I  am  more  efpecially  concerned  to  mew, 
when  there  is  a  reafon,  why  pleafure  Should 
be  declined — what  thofe  limits  are,  which 
ought  to  be  prefcribed  to  our  pleasures, 
and  which  when  any,  in  themfelves  the 
moll  innocent,  pafs,  they  neceffarily  be- 
come immoral  and  culpable.  A  minute 
difcuffion  of  this  point  is  not  here  propof- 
ed  :  fuch  obfervations  only  will  be  made 
upon  it,  as  appear  to  be  of  more  general 
ufe,  and  of  greateft  importance. 

What  I  would,  firil,  confider  as  render- 
ing any  pleafure  blameable  is, 

When  it  raifes  our  Paifions. 

As  oUr  greateft  danger  is  from  them, 
their  regulation  claims  our  conllant  atten- 
tion and  care.  Human  la-vos  confider  them 
in  their  effects,  but  the  divine  laiu  in  their 
aim  and  intention.  To  render  me  ob- 
noxious to  men,  it  is  neceffary  that  my 
impure  lull  be  gratified,  or  an  attempt  be 
made  to  gratify  it;  that  my  anger  operate 
by  violence,  my  covetoufnefs  by  knavery: 
but  my  duty  is  violated,  when  my  heart  is 
impure,  when  my  rage  extends  not  beyond 
my  looks  and  my  wifhes,  when  I  invade 
my  neighbour's  property  bus  in  defire. 
The  man  is  guilty  the  moment  his  affec- 
tions become  fo,  the  inllant  that  any  dif- 
honell  thought  finds  him  approving  and 
indulging  it. 

The  enquiry,  therefore,  what  is  a  fit 
amufement,  mould  always  be  preceded  by 
the  confideration  cf  what  is  our  diSpofition. 
For,  it  is  not  greater  madnefs  to  fuppofe, 
that  equal  quantities  of  food  or  liquor  may 
be  taken  by  all  with  equal  temperance,  than 
to  affert,  that  the  fame  pleafure  may  be 
ufed  by  all  with  the  fame  innocence.  As, 
in  the  former  cafe,  what  barely  fatisfies  the 
fromach  of  one,  would  be  a  load  infupport- 
able  to  that  of  another ;  and  the  draught, 
that  intoxicates  me,  may  fcarcely  refrefh 
my  companion  :  fo  in  the  latter,  an  amufe- 
ment perfectly  warrantable  to  this  fort  of 
conflituticn,  will  to  a  different  become  the 
moll  criminal.  What  liberties  are  allow- 
able to  the  calm,  that  muft  not  be  thought 
cf  by  the  choleric  !  How  fecurely  may  the 
cold  and  phlegmatic  roam,  where  he,  v.  ho 
has  greater  warmth  and  fenfibility,  ihould 
not  approach  !  What  fafety  attends  the 
contemner  of  gain,  where  the  molt  fatal 
K  4  fnares 


ij6 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


fnares  await  the  avaritious!  Seme  lefs  go- 
I'ernabte pajjlans  to  be  found  in  them,  whole 
refolution  is  fteadieft,  and  virtue  firmer!? 
upon  that  a  confhnt  guard  mull  be  kept ; 
by  any  relaxation,  any  indulgence,  it  may 
be  able  to  gain  that  ftrength,  which  we 
fhall  afterwards  fruitlefsly  oppofe.  When 
all  is  quiet  and  compofed  within  us,  the 
discharge  cf  our  duty  puts  us  to  little  trou- 
ble ;  the  performance  thereof  is  not  the 
heavy  tafk,  that  fo  many  are  willing  to 
reprefent  it:  but  to  reftore  order  and  peace 
is  a  work  very  different  from  preferving 
them,  and  is  often  with  the  utmoir.  difficulty 
effected.  It  is  with  the  natural  body,  as 
with  the  politic ;  rebellion  in  the  members 
is  much  eafier  prevented  than  quelled; 
cenfufion  once  entered,  none  can  forefee 
to  what  lengths  it  may  proceed,  or  of  how 
wide  a  ruin  it  may  be  productive. 

What,  likewife,  renders  any  pleafure 
culpable,  is  its  making  a  large,  'or  an  un- 
feafonable,  demand  upon  our  time. 

No  one  is  to  live  to  himfelf,  and  much 
lefs  to  confine  his  care  to  but  one,  and  that 
the  worit,  part  of  himfelf.  Man's  proper 
employment  is  to  cultivate  right  diipofi- 
tions  in  his  own  breaft,  and  to  benefit  his 
fpecies— to  perfect  himfelf,  and  to  be  of  as 
much  ufe  in  the  world,  as  his  faculties  and 
opportunities  will  permit.  The  fatisfac- 
ticns  of  fenfe  are  never  to  be  purfued  for 
their  own  fake :  their  enjoyment  is  none 
cf  cur  end,  is  not  the  purpofe,  for  which 
God  created  us ;  amule,  refrefh  us  it  may, 
but  when  it  bufies,  when  it  chiefly  engages 
us,  we  act  directly  contrary  to  the  defio-n, 
for  which  we  we're  formed ;  making  that 
our  care,  which  was  only  intended  to  be 
our  relief. 

^Some,  deffitute  cf  the  neceffaries,  others, 
of  the  conveniences  of  life,  are  called  to 
labour,  to  commerce,  to  literary  applica- 
tion, in  order  to  obtain  them ;  and  any  re- 
mifihefs  of  thefe  perfons,  in  their  refpective 
employments  or  profeflions,  any  purfuit 
mconfiiient  with  a  due  regard  to  their 
maintenance,  meets  ever  with  the  harfheil 
cenfure,  is  univerfally  branded,  as  a  failure 
In  common  prudence  and  difcretion  :  but 
what  is  this  animal  life,  in  comparifon  with 
ti  at  to  which  we  are  raifed  by  following 
the  dictates  of  reafon  and  confeience  ?  How 
defpicable  may  the  man  continue,  when  ail 
the  affluence  to  which  his  wifnes  afpire,  is 
obtained  ? 

Can  it  then  be  fo  indifcreet  a  part,  to 

follow  pleafure,  wheu  we  fnould  mind  our 

fortune  ?  do  all  fo  clearly  fee  the  blame  of 


this  ?  And  may  we  doubt  how  guilty  that- 
attachment  to  .  t  is,  which  lays  wafte  our 
underltanding — which  entails  on  us  igno- 
rance and  error — which  renders  us  even 
more  ufelefs  than  the  beings,  whom  infiinct 
alone  directs  ?  All  capacity  for  improve- 
ment is  evidently  a  call  to  it.  The  neglect 
of  our  powers  is  their  abufe;  and  ths  flight 
of  them  is  that  of  their  giver.  Whatever 
talents  we  have  received,  we  are  to  account 
for:  and  it  is  not  from  revelation  alone 
that  we  learn  this :  no  moral  truth  com- 
mands more  ftrongly  our  affent,  than  that 
the  qualifications  bellowed  upon  us,  are 
afforded  us,  in  order  to  our  cultivating 
them— to  our  obtaining  from  them  the  ad- 
vantages they  can  yield  us;  and  that 
foregoing  fuch  advantages,  we  become 
obnoxious  to  him,  who  defigned  us  them, 
as  we  mifappJy  his  gift,  and  knowingly 
oppefe  his  will.  For,  the  furefl  token  we 
can  have,  that  any  perfections  ought  to  be 
purfued,_  is,  that  they  may  be  attained : 
our  ability  to  acquire  them  is  the  voice  of 
God  within  us  to  endeavour  after  them. 
And  would  we  but  afk  ourfelves  the  quef- 
tion,  Did  the  Creator  raife  us  above  the 
herd,  and  doth  he  allow  us  to  have  no  aims 
nobler  than  thofe  of  the  herd — to  make  its 
engagements  the  whole  of  ours  ?  we  could 
not  poffibly  miftake  in  the  anfwer.  All, 
who  have  reafon  given  them,  know  that 
they  may  and  ought  to  improve  it,  ought 
to  cultivate  it  at  fome  feafons,  and  ever  to 
conform  to  it. 

_  Greater  privileges  call  us  but  to  more 
important  cares.  You  are  not  placed  above 
your  fellow-creatures,  you  have  not  the 
leifure,  which  they  want,  that  you  may  be 
more  idle  and  worthlefs,  may  devote  more 
of  your  time  to  vanity  and  folly,  but  that 
you  may  become  more  eminent  in  the  per- 
feftions  you  acquire,  and  the  good  you  do. 
He,  who  has  all  his  hours  at  command,  is 
to  confider  himfelf  as  favoured  with  thofe 
opportunities  to  increafe  in  wifdom  and 
virtue,  which  are  vouchsafed  to  few;  if  no 
good  effect  follows ;  if  having  them,  he 
only  mifapphes  them;  his  guilt  is,  accord- 
ing to  what  his  advantage  might  have 
been. 

The  difpenfations  of  heaven  are  not  fo 
unequal,  as  that  fome  are  appointed  to  the 
heavieit  toil  for  their  fupport,  and  others 
left  to  the  free,  unconftrained  enjoyment  of 
whatever  gratifications  their  fancy  fuggeib. 
The  diftinaion  between  us  is  not  that  of 
much  bufmefs  and  none  at  all ;  it  is  nor, 
that  I  may  live  as  I  can,  and  you  as  you 

pleafe$ 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


137 


pleafe;  a  different  employment  conftitutes 
it.  The  mechanic  has  his  part  aftignedhim, 
the  fcholar  his,  the  wealthy  and  powerful 
theirs,  each  has  his  talk  to  perform,  his 
talent  to  improve, — has  barely  fo  much 
time  for  his  pleafure,  as  is  neceffary  for  re- 
cruiting himfelf — as  is  confiilcnt  with  ha- 
bitual ferioufne fs,  and  may  rather  qualify 
than  interrupi  it. 

We  are  fu  mimed  with  numerous  argu- 
ments, why  the  graver  occupations  fhould 
be  remitted- — why  the  humour  for  gaiety 
and  mirt*<  fhould  be  al'owed  its  place  ;  and 
no  man  in  his  right  mind  ever  taught  the 
contrary.  Let  the  delights  of  knk  have 
their  feafon,  but  let  them  Hand  confined  to 
it;  the  fame  abfurdiry  follows  the  excefs 
on  either  fide,  our  never  ufing,  and  our 
never  quitting  rh^m. 

Be  rot  over  wuife,  is  an  excellent  rule; 
but  it  is  a  rule  full  as  ^ood,  and  much 
more  wanted — Thai  fame  ivifdom  mould  be 
'  >'  t—  That  drefs  and  diveriion  mould 
not  take  up  all  our  hours — That  more  time 
fhould  nor  be  ipent  in  adorning  our  perfons, 
than  in  improving  our  minds — That  the 
beauuhV-3  fepulchre  mould  not  be  our  ex- 
act refemblance,  much  (hew  and  ornament 
without,  and  within  nothing  but  ftenchand 
rorrennefs — That  barely  to  pafs  our  time 
ihou  A  not  be  all  me  account  we  make  of 
it,  t  at  'bme  r  rofit  mould  be  confulted, 
&&  well  as  fome  delight, 

§    145.      On  Pleafure. 
Sect.     IV. 

Again,  no  pleafure  can  be  innocent, 
from  which  our  health  is  a  fufferer.  You 
are  no  more  to  fhorten  your  days,  than  <witb 
one  Jtroke  to  end  them ;  and  we  are  fuicides 
but  in  a  different  way,  if  wantonnefs  and 
luxury  be  our  gradual  deftruction,  or  de- 
fpair  our  mftant.  It  is  felf-murder,  to  take 
from  our  continuance  here  any  part  of  that 
term,  to  which  the  due  care  of  ourfelves 
would  have  extended  it ;  and  our  life,  pro- 
bably falls  a  more  criminal  facrifice  to  our 
voluptuoufnefs,  than  to  our  impatience. 

When  we  throw  off  the  load,  which 
Providence  has  thought  fit  to  lay  upon  us, 
we  fail  greatly  in  a  proper  deference  to  it's 
wifdom,  in  a  due  fubmiffion  to  its  will;  but 
then  we  have  to  plead,  fufferings  too 
grievous  to  be  fuftained — —a  diftrefs  too 
mighty  to  be  contended  with;  a  plea, which 
can  by  no  means  juitify  us ;  yet  how  pre- 
ferable to  any,  that  he  can  alledge,  who, 
in  the  midft  of  all  things  that  can  give  a 
relifh  to  his  being,  neglects  the  prefervation. 


of  it — who  abufes  the  conveniences  of  life 
to  its  wafte,  and  turns  its  very  comforts  to 
its  ruin  ?  Or,  could  we  fuppofe  our  pleafures 
difordering  our  constitution,  after  a  manner 
not  likely  to  contribute  to  its  decay,  they 
would  not  even  then  be  exempted  from 
guilt :  to  preferve  yourfelf  mould  not 
folely  be  your  concern,  but  to  maintain 
your  moft  perfect  ftate :  every  part  and 
every  power  of  your  frame  claims  your 
regard;  and  it  is  great  ingratitude  towards 
him,  who  gave  us  our  faculties,  when  we 
in  any  tvije  obftruct  their  free  ufe.  The 
proper  thankfulnefs  to  God  for  our  life  is 
to  be  exprefied  by  our  care  about  it;  both, 
by  keeping  it,  'till  he  pleafes  to  require  it; 
and  by  fo'preferving  it,  that  it  may  be  fit 
for  all  thofe  purpofes,  to  which  he  has  ap- 
pointed it. 

Further,  the  pleafure  is,  undoubtedly, 
criminal,  which  is  not  adapted  to  our  for- 
tune— which  either  impairs  it,  or  hinders 
an  applicable  of//  to  what  has  the  princi- 
pal claim  upon  it, 

If  actions,  otherwife  the  moft  commend- 
able, lofe  their  merit,  v/hen  they  difqualify 
us  for  continuing  them—- if  generality 
changes  its  name,  when  it  fuits  not  our 
circumftances ;  and  even  alms  are  culpable, 
when  by  beftowing  them  we  come  to  want 
them — if  the  very  belt  ufes,  to  which  we 
can  put  our  wealth,  are  not  fo  to  draw  off, 
as  to  dry  the  ftream ;  we  can  by  no  means 
fuppofe,  that  our  amufements  are  not  to  be 
limited,  as  by  other  confiderations,  fo  by 
this  in  particular — -the  expence  which  they 
create :  we  cannot  imagine,  that  the  re- 
ftraints  fhould  not  lie  upon  our  wantonnefs, 
which  lie  upon  our  beneficence. 

Be  our  pofTeffions  the  largeft,  it  is  but  a 
very  fmall  part  of  them  that  we  have  to 
difpofe  of  as  we  think  fit,  on  what  conduces 
folely  to  our  mirth  and  diveriion.  Great 
affluence,  whatever  we  may  account  it,  is 
really  but  a  greater  truft;  the  means  com- 
mitted to  us  of  a  more  extenfive  proviiion 
for  the  neceffities  of  our  fellow-creatures; 
and  when  our  maintenance — our  conveni- 
ence—an appearance  fuitable  to  our  rank 
have  been  confulted,  all  that  remains  is  the 
claim  of  others,  of  our  family,  our  friends, 
our  neighbours,  of  thofe  who  are  naoft  in 
need  of  us,  and  whom  we  are  moft  obliged 
to  aifift. 

In  the  figure  we  make,  in  our  attend- 
ants, table,  habit,  there  may  be  a  very  cul- 
pable parfimony ;  but  in  the  expence  which 
has  nothing  but  felf-gratification  in  view, 
our  thrift  can  nex'er  tranfgrefs:  Here  our 

abftinencs 


n« 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


abftinence  is  the  moft  generous  and  com- 
mendable, as  it  at  once  qualifies  us  to  re- 
lieve the  wants  of  others,  and  lefiens  our 
own— as  it  fets  us  above  the  world,  at  the 
time  that  it  enables  us  to  be  a  blefimg  to 
it. 

There  is  not  a  nobler  quality  to  cliitin- 
guiih  us,  than  that  of  an  indifference  to 
ourfelves — a  readinefs  to  forego  our  own 
liking  for  the  eafe  and  advantage  of  our 
fellow-creatures.  And  it  is  but  juffice,  in- 
deed, that  the  conveniences  of  many  fhould 
prcfcribe  to  thofe  of  one :  whatever  his 
fortune  may  be,  as  he  owes  all  the  fervice 
he  has  from  it  to  the  concurrence  of  num- 
bers, he  ought  to  make  it  of  benefit  to 
them,  and  by  no  means  to  conclude,  that 
what  they  are  not  to  take  from  him,  they 
are  not  to  lhare. 

Nor  mould  it  be  unremarked,  that  the 
gratifications,  bed  fuited  to  nature,  are  of 
all  the  cheapeft :  fhe,  like  a  wife  parent, 
-has  not  made  thofe  things  needful  to  the 
well-being  of  any  of  us,  which  are  preju- 
dicial to  the  interefls  of  the  reft  We  have 
a  large  field  for  enjoyment,  at  little  or  no 
charge,  and  may  very  allowably  exceed 
the  bounds  of  this;  but  we  mould  always 
remember,  that  the  verge  of  right  is  the 
entrance  upon  wrong — that  the  indulgence, 
which  goes  to  the  full  extent  of  a  lawful 
expence,  approaches  too  near  a  criminal 
one,  to  be  wholly  clear  from  it. 

Again,  Care  fhould  be  taken  that  our 
pleafures  be  in  character. 

The  fiation  of  fome,  the  frofeffion  of 
Others,  and  an  advanced  age  in  all,  require 
that  we  fhould  decline  many  pleafures 
allowable  to  thofe  of  an  inferior  rank — of 
a  different  profefiion — cf  much  younger 
years. 

Do  your  decijions  conititute  the  Iatv-— 
does  your  honour  balance  the  plebeian's 
oath  ?  How  very  fitting  is  it  that  you 
fhould  never  be  feen  eager  on  trifles — in- 
tent on  boyifh  fports — unbent  to  the  loweft 
amufements  of  the  populace — folickous 
after  gratifications,  which  may  (hew,  that 
neither  your  fagacity  is  greater,  nor  your 
fcruples  fewer  than  what  are  found  in  the 
very  meaneft  of  the  community  ! 

Am  I  fet  apart  to  recommend  a  reafon- 
able  and  ufeful  life — to  reprcfent  the  world 
as  a  fcene  of  vanity  and  folly,  and  propofe 
,  the  things  above  as  only  proper  to  engage 
cur  affections  ?  how  ungraceful  a  figure  do 
I  then  make,  when  I  join  in  all  the  com- 
mon amufements — when  the  world  feems 
to  delight  me  full  as  much  as  my  hearers, 


and  the  only  difference  between  us  is,  ihst 
their  words  and  actions  correfpond,  and 
mine  are  utterly  inconfiitent  '. 

Have  you  attained  the  years,  which  ex- 
tinguifh  the  reiifh  of  many  enjoyments—. 
which  bid  you  expect  the  fpeedy  conchjfion 
of  the  few  remaining,  and  ought  to  inftrudt 
you  in  the  emptinefs  of  all  thofe  of  the 
fenfual  kind  ?  We  expect  you  fhould  leave 
them  to  fuch  who  can  tafte  them  better, 
and  who  know  them  lefs.  The  maffy  veft- 
ment  ill  becomes  you,  when  you  fink  under 
its  weight;  the  gay  afiembly,  when  your 
dim  eyes  cannot  difKnguifh  the  perfons 
compofing  it :  your  feet  fcarcely  fupport 
you  ■  attend  not,  therefore,  where  the  con- 
teft  is,  whefe  motions  are  the  gracefulieft: 
fly  the  reprcfentation  defigncd  to  raife  the 
mirth  cf  the  fpectators,  when  you  can  only 
remind  them  of  their  coffins. 

Laxly,  every  pleafure  fhould  be  avoid- 
ed, that  is  an  offence  to  the  fcrupulous,  or  a 
fnare  to  the  indifcreet.  I  ought  to  have 
nothing  more  at  heart  than  my  brother's 
innocence,  except  my  own;  and  when 
there  are  fo  many  ways  of  entertaining 
ourfelves,  which  admit  of  no  mifconftruc- 
tion,  why  fhould  I  chufe  fuch,  as  afford  oc- 
casion for  any? 

To  be  able  greatly  to  benefit  our  fellow- 
creatures  is  the  happinefs  of  few,  but  not. 
to  hurt  them  is  in  the  power  of  all ;  and 
when  we  carmot  do  the  world  much  good, 
we  muff  be  very  unthinking  indeed,  if  we 
endeavour  not  to  do  it  the  leaf!  pofiible 
mifchie'f. 

How  this  action  will  appear,  to  what  in- 
terpretation it  is  liable,  ought  to  be  our 
.confideration  in  whatever  we  engage.  We 
are  here  fo  much  interefted  in  each  other's 
morals,  that,  if  we  looked  not  beyond  our 
prefect  being,  it  fhould  never  be  a  point 
indifferent  to  us,  what  notions  our  conduct 
may  propagate,  and  for  what  corruptions 
it  may  be  made  the  plea  :  but  profeffing  the 
doctrine  of  Chrift  as  our  rule,  we  can  in 
nothing  more  directly  oppofe  it,  than  in 
taking  thofe  liberties,  by  which  the  virtue 
of  any  is  endangered.  Which  of  ouf  plea- 
fures have  this  pernicious  tendency,  it  will 
be  more  proper  for  my  readers  to  recollect, 
than  for  me  to  defcribe.  To  thofe  who 
are  in  earned:  I  have  faid  enough;  to  the 
infmcere  more  would  be  fruitlefs.  What 
has  been  faid  deferves,  I  think,  fome  con- 
fideration, and  that  it  may  have  a  ferioua 
one,  is  the  mo  ft  earneft  wi'fh  of., 
Dear  Sir, 

Tour,  .1'C. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


i'< 


§   14.6'.    A  Letter  to  a  young  Nobleman,  focn 
after  his  leaving  School. 

Sir, 

The  obligations  I  have  to  your  family 
£annot  but  make  me  folicitous  for  the 
welfare  of  every  member  of  it,  and  for  that 
of  yourfelf  in  particular,  on  whom  its  Ikn 
nours  are  to  defcend. 

Such  inftruclions  and  fuch  examples,  as 
it  has  been  your  happinefs  to  find,  mud, 
neceiTarily,  raife  great  expectations  of  you, 
and  will  not  allow  you  any  praife  for  a 
common  degree  of  merit.  You  will  not 
be  thought  to  have  worth,  if  you  have  not 
a  diftinguifned  worth,  and  what  may  fuit 
the  concurrence  of  fo  many  extraordinary 
advantages. 

In  low  life,  our  good  or  bad  qualities  are 
known  to  few — to  thofe  only  who  are  re- 
lated to  us,  who  converfe  with,  or  live  near, 
us.  In  your  ftation,  you  are  expofed  to 
the  notice  of  a  kingdom.  The  excellen- 
cies or  defects  of  a  youth  of  quality  make 
a  part  of  polite  converfation — are  a  topic 
agreeable  to  all  who  have  been  liberally 
educated;  to  all  who  are  not  amongft  the 
meaner!  of  the  people. 

Should  I,  in  any  company,  begin  a  cha- 
racter of  my  friend  with  the  hard  name, 

whom  I  hope  you  left  well  at  . ,  they 

would  naturally  afk  me,  What  relation  he 
bore  to  the  Emperor's  minifter  ?  When  I 
anfwered,  That  I  had  never  heard  of  his 
bearing  any;  'that  all  I  knew  of  him  was, 
his  being  the  Ion  of  a  German  merchant, 
fent  into  this  kingdom  for  education;  I, 
probably,  fhould  be  thought  impertinent, 
for  introducing  fuch  a  fubject;  and  J,  cer- 
tainly, fhould  ]oori  be  obliged  to  drop  it, 
or  be  wholly  difregarded,  were  I  unwife 
enough  to  continue  it. 

But  if,  upon  a  proper  occalion,  I  men- 
tioned, that  I  had  known  the  Honourable 

from  his  infancy,  and  that  I  had 

made  fuch  obfervations  on  his  capacity,  his 
application,  his  attainments,  and  his  ge- 
neral conduct,  as  induced  me  to  conclude, 
he  would  one  day  be  an  eminent  ornament 
and  a  very  great  blefling,  to  his  country, 
I  fhould  have  an  hundred  queftions  afked 
me  about  him — my  narrative  would  appear 
of  confequence  to  all  who  heard  it,  and 
would  not  fail  to  engage  their  attention. 

I  have,  I  muft  own,  often  wondered,  that 
the  confideration  of  the  numbers,  who  are 
continually  remarking  the  behaviour  of  the 
perfons  of  rank  among  us,  has  had  fo  lit- 
tle influence  upon  them^-has  not  produced 


a  quite  different  effect  from  what,  alas !  we 
every  where  fadly  experience. 

Negligere  qitid  de  fe  qui/que  fentiat,  non 
folum  arrogantis  eft,  fed  etiam  cmuino  dijje- 
luti.  I  need  not  tell  you  where  the  remark 
is :  it  has,  indeed,  fo  much  obvious  truth, 
that  it  wants  no  fupport  from  authority. 
Every  generous  principle  mult  be  extinct 
in  him,  who  knows  that  it  is  faid  of  him, 
or  that  it  juftly  may  be  faid  of  him — How 
different  is  this  young  man  from  his  noble 
father !  the  latter  took  every  courfe  that 
could  engage  the  public  efteem :  the  for- 
mer is  as  induftrious  to  forfeit  it.  The  Sire 
was  a  pattern  of  religion,  virtue,  and  every 
commendable  quality:  his  defcendantis  an 
impious,  ignorant,  profligate  wretch  :  railed 
above  others,  but  to  have  his  folly, more 
public — high  in  his  rank,  only  to  extend 
his  infamy. 

A  thirft  after  fame  may  have  its  incon- 
veniences, but  which  are  by  no  means  equal 
to  thofe  that  attend  a  contempt  of  it.  Our 
earneftnefs  in  its  purfuit  may  poffibly  flack- 
en  our  purfuit  of  true  defert ;  but  indiffe- 
rent we  cannot  be  to  reputation,  without 
being  fo  to  virtue. 

In  thefe  remarks  you,  Sir,  are  no  farther 
concerned,  than  as  you  muft,  fometimes, 
cenverfe  with  the  perfons  to  whom  they 
may  be  applied,  and  your  deteftation  of 
whom  one  cannot  do  too  much  to  increafe. 
Bad  examples  may  juftly  raife  our  fears  even 
for  him,  who  has  been-  the  moft  wifely 
educated,  and  is  the  moft  happily  dif- 
pofed :  no  caution  againft  them  is  fupcr- 
fluous:  in  the  place,  in  which  you  are 
at  prefer,:,  you  will  meet  with  them  in 
all  fhapes. 

Under  whatever  difadvantages  I  offer 
you  my  advice,  I  am  thus  far  qualified 
for  giving  it,  that  I  have  experienced  tow 
of  the  dangers  which  will  be  your  trial, 
and  had  fufticient  opportunity  of  obfervinr 
others.  The  obfervations  I  have  made', 
that  are  at  all  likely  to  be  of  fervice  to 
you,  either  from  their  own  weight,  or 
the  hints  they  may  afford  for  your  impiov- 
mg  upon  them,  I  cannot  conceal  from  you. 
What  comes  from  him  who  wifhes  you  fo 
well,  and  fo  much  efteems  you,  will  be 
fufficiently  recommended  by  its  motives ; 
and  may,  therefore,  poiably  be  read  with 
a  partiality  in  its  favour,  thatfhall  make  it 
of  more  ufe  than  it  could  be  of  from  any 
intrinfic  worth. 

But,  without  farther  preface  or  apology, 
let  me  proceed  to  the  points  that  I  think 
deferving  your  more  particular  confidera- 
tion ; 


140 


ELEGANT    EXT 


tion ;  and  begin  with  what,  certainly,  fhould, 
above  all.  other  things,  be  coniidered— Re- 
xsGrox.  It  is,  indeed,  what  every  man 
fays  he  has  more  or  lefs  coniidered ;  and 
by  this,  every  mars  acknowledges  its  im- 
portance :  yet,  when  we  enquire  into  the 
confederation  that,  has  been  given  it,  we  can 
hardly  perfuade  oarfelves,  that  a  point  of 
the  lead  confequence  could  he  fo  treated. 
To  oar  examination  here  we  ufually  fit 
down  rejblitedy  how  far  our  con-viciioa  fliall 
extend. 

In  the  purfuit  of  natural  or  mathemati- 
cal knowledge  we  engage,  difpofed  to  take 
thing"  as  we  find  them— to  let  our  aiient 
fee  directed  by  the  evidence  we  meet  with  : 
but  the  doctrines  of  religion  each  infpects, 
net  in  order  to  inform  himfelf  what  he 
©ugh*  to  believe  and  pradtife ;  but  to  re- 
concile them  with  his  prefent  faith  and  way 
©f, lifer— with  thepaffions  he  favours-— with 
she  habits  he  has  contracted. 

And  that  this  is,  really,  the  cafe,  is 
evident,  from  the  little  alteration  there  is 
in  the  manners  of  any,  when  they  know  as 
much  of  religion  as  they  ever  intend  to 
know.  You  iee  them  the  fame  perfons  as 
formerly;  they  are  only  farnifhed  with  ar- 
guments, or  excufes,  they  had  not  before 
thought  of;  or  with  objections  to  any  rules 
cf  life  differing  from  thofe  by  which  they 
guide  themfelves ;  which  objections  they 
often  judge  the  only  defence  their  own 
practice  ftands  in  need  of. 

I  am  lure,  Sir,  that  to  one  of  your  un- 
•Jerftanding  the  abfurdity  of  fuch  a  way  of 
proceeding  can  want  no  proof;  and  that 
your  bare  attention  to  it  is  your  iufficient 
guard  again  f:  it. 

Religion  is  either  wholly  founded  on  the 
fears  or  fancies  of  mankind,  or  it  is,  of  all 
matters,  the  moll  ferious,  the  weigh tielt, 
the  moll  worthy  of  our  regard.  There  is 
no  mean.  Is  it  a  dream,  and  no  more? 
Let  the  human  race  abandon,  then,  all  pre- 
tences to  reafon.  What  we  call  fuch  is 
but  the  more  exquifite  fenfe  of  upright,  un- 
clad, two-legged  brutes ;  and  that  is  the 
beft  you  can  fay  of  us.  We  then  are  brutes, 
and  lo  much  more  wretched  than  other 
brutes,  as  deflined  to  the  miferies  they  feel 
net,  and  deprived  of  the  happinefs  they  en- 
joy;  by  our  forefight  anticipating  our  cala- 
mities, by  our  reflection  recalling  them. 

Cur  being  is  without  an  aim  ;  we  can  have 
no  purpofe,  no  defign,  but  what  we  our- 
felves  muft  foonc-r  or  later  defpife.  We  are 
formed  cither  to  drudge  for  a  life,  that, 
upon  fuch  a  condition,,  is  net  worth  pur 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

preferring  j  or  to  run  a  circle  of  eiyoy-. 
ments,  the  cenfisre  of  all  which  is,  that  we 
cannot  long  be  pleafed  with  any  one  afthevt. 
D'-flntereftednefs,  generofity,  public  fpirit, 
are  idle,  empty  founds ;  terms,  which  inJ 
ply  no  more,  than  that  we  fhould  neg- 
lect our  own  happinefs  to  promote  that  of 
others. 

What  Tulty  has  obferved  on  the  coif- 
nexion  there  is  between  religion,  and  the 
virtues  which  are  she  chief  fupport  of  fo- 
ciety,  is,  I  am  perfuaded,  well  known  to 
you. 

A  proper  regard  to  fociai  dudes  wholly 
depends  on  the  influence  that  religion  has 
upon  us,  Deflroy,  in  mankind,  all  hopes 
and  fears,  refpedting  any  future  fiate;  yoa 
inftantly  let  them,  oofe  to  all  the  methods 
likely  to  promote  their  immediate  conve- 
nience. They,  who  think  they  have  only 
the  prefent  hour  to  trait  to,  will  not  be 
with-held,  by  any  refined  confederation*, 
from  doing  what  appears  to  them  cer- 
tain to  raake  it  pafs  with  greater  fatis- 
fadtion. 

Now,  snethinks,  a  calm  and  impartial 
enquirer  could  never  determine  that  to 
be  a  vilionary  fcheme,  the  full  perfusion 
of  the  truth  of  which  approves-  our  exig- 
ence a  wife  defign— gives  order  and  regu- 
larity to  our  life — places  an  end  in  our 
view,  confeffedly  the  aobleft  that  can  en- 
gage it— raifes  our  nature — exempts  as 
from  a  fervitude  to  our  paifions,  equally 
debafmg  and  tormenting  as — affords  us. 
the  traeft  enjoyment  of  oarfelves — pats  hs 
on  the  due  improvement  of  oar  faculties — 
corrects  our  felnfhnefs — calls  us  to  be  of 
ufe  to  our  fellow-creatures,  to  become  pub- 
lic bleflings — infpires  us  with  true  courage, 
with  fentiments  of  real  honour  and  gene- 
rofity.— inclines  us  to  be  fuch,  in  every 
relation,  as  fuits  the  peace  and  profperity 
of  fociety — derives  an  uniformity  to  onr 
whole  conduce,  and  makes  fatisfaction  its 
in feparable  attendant — directs  us  toacourfe 
of  action  pleafing  when  it  employs  us,  and 
equally  pleafmg  when  we  either  look  back 
upon  it,  or  attend  to  the  expectations  we 
entertain  from  it. 

If  the  fource  of  fo  many  and  fuch  vaft  ad- 
vantages can  be  fuppofed  a  dream  of  the 
fuperftitious,  or  an  invention  of  the  crafty, 
we  may  take  our  leave  of  certainty  ;  we 
may  fuppofe  every  thing,  within  and  with- 
out us,  confpiring  to  deceive  us. 

That  there  fhould  be  difficulties  in  any 
fcheme  of  religion  which  can  be  offered 
us,  is  no  more  than  what  a  thorough  ac- 
quaintance 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


14? 


tnialntance  with  our  limited  capacities 
would  induce  us  to  expect,  were  we  Gran- 
gers to  the  feveral  religions  that  prevailed 
in  the  world,  and  purpofed,  upon  enquiry 
into  their  refpeclive  merits,  to  embrace 
that  which  came  bell  recommended  to  our 
belief. 

But  all  objections  of  difficulties  muff  be 
highly  abfurd  in  either  o£ thefe  cafes- 

When  the  creed  you  oppofe,  on  account 
of  its  difficulties,  is  attended  with  fewer 
than  that  which  you  would  advance  in  its 
Head  ;  or— 

When  the  whole  of  the  practical  doctrines 
of  a  religion  are  fuch,  as,  undeniably,  con- 
tribute to  the  happinefs  of  mankind,  in 
whatever  ffate,  or  under  whatfoever  rela- 
tions, you  can  confider  them. 

To  reject  a  religion  thus  circumftanced, 
for  fome  points  in  its  fcheme  lefs  level  to 
our  apprehenfion,  appears  to  me,  I  confefs, 
quite  as  unreafonable,  as  it  would  be  to  ab- 
ftain  from  our  food,  till  we  could  be  fatif- 
iied  about  the  origin,  infertion,  and  action 
of  the  mufcles  that  enable  us  to  fwal- 
iow  it. 

I  would,  in  no  cafe,  have  you  reft  upon 
mere  authority;  yet  as  authority  will  have 
its  weight,  allow  me  to  take  notice,  that 
men  of  the  greateft  penetration,  the  acuteft 
reafoning,  and  the  moil:  folid  judgment, 
have  been  on  the  fide  of  chriftianity — 
have  exprefied  the  firmeft  perfuaJion  of  its 
truth. 

I  cannot  forgive  myfelf,  for  having  fo 
long  overlooked  Lord  Bacon's,  Philofophi- 
cai  Works.  It  was  but  lately  I  began  to 
read  them ;  and  one  part  of  them  I  laid 
down,  when  I  took  my  pen  to  write  this. 
The  more  I  know  of  that  extraordinary 
man,  the  more  I  admire  him ;  and  cannot 
but  think  his  underffanding  as  much  of  a 
fise  beyond  that  of  the  reft  of  mankind,  as 
Virgil  makes  the  ftature  of  Mufams,  with 
refpect  to  that  of  the  multitude  furround- 
ing  him 

— —    — —    Medium  nam  plurima  turba 
Kiinc  habct,atque  humeris  extantem  fufpicit  altis. 
JEn,  L.  vr.  667,  8. 

or  as  Homer  reprefents  Diana's  height, 
among  the  nymphs  fporting  with  her 

TIaa-amv  £  villa  nyl  xagv  zyji  h$e  y.iroma. 

Od.  L.  vi.  107. 

Throughout  his  writings  there  runs  a  vein 
of  piety  :  you  can  hardly  open  them,  but 
you  find  fome  or  other  teilimony  of  the  full 
conviction  entertained  by  him,  that  chrifti- 
aftity  had  an  efpecial  claim  to  our  regard. 


He,  who  (o  clearly  faw  the  defects  in  every 
fcience— faw  from  whence  they  proceeded, 
and  had  fuch  amazing  fagacity,  as  to  dif- 
cover  how  they  might  be  remedied,  and  to 
point  out  thofe  very  methods,  the  purfuit 
of  which  has  been  the  remedy  of  many  of 
them — -He,  who  could  difcern  thus  much, 
left  it  to  the  witlings  of  the  following  age, 
to  difcover  any  weaknefs  in  the  foundation, 
of  religion, 

To  him.  2nd  Sir  Ifaac  Newton  I  might 
add  many  others,  of  eminent  both  natural 
and  acquired  endowments,  the  mo  ft  unfuf- 
pected  favourers  of  the  chriffian  religion; 
but  thofe  two,  as  they  may  be  coniidered 
Handing  at  the  head  of  mankind,  would 
really  be  difhonoured,  were  we  to  feek 
for  any  weight.,  from  mere  authority,  to  the 
opinions  they  had  jointly  patronized,  to  the 
opinions  they  hadmaintained,  after  the  ftrict- 
eft  enquiry  what  ground  there  was  for  them. 

That  the  grounds  of  chriftianity  were 
thus  enquired  into  by  them,  is  certain  :  for 
the  one  appears,  by  the  quotations  from 
the  bible  interfperfed  throughout  his  works, 
to  have  read  it  with  an  uncommon  carej 
and  it  is  well  known,  that  the  other  made 
it  his  chief  ftudy,  in  the  latter  part  of  his 
life.  * 

It  may,  indeed,  appear  very  idle,  to  pro- 
duce authorities  on  one  iide,  when  there 
are  none  who  deferve  the  name  of  fuch  on 
the  other.  Whatever  elfe  may  have  ren- 
dered the  writers  in  favour  of  infidelity  re- 
markable, they,  certainly,  have  not  been 
fo  for  their  fagacity,  or  fcience — for  any 
fuperior  either  natural,  or  acquired,  endow- 
ments. And  I  cannot  but  think,  that  he 
who  takes  up  his  pen,  in  order  to  deprive 
the  world  of  the  advantages  which  would 
accrue  to  it  were  the  chriffian  religion 
generally  received,  fhews  fo  wrong  a  head 
in  the  very  defign  of  his  work,  as  would 
leave  no  room  for  doubt,  how  little  credit 
he  could  gain  by  the  conduct  of  it. 

Is  there  a  juil  foundation  for  our  aflent 
to  the  chriffian  doctrine  ?  Nothing  fhould 
then  be  more  carefully  confidered  by  us,  or 
have  a  more  immediate  and  extenfive  in- 
fluence upon  our  practice. 

Shall  I  be  told,  that  if  this  were  a  right 
confequence,  there  is  a  profeffion,  in  which 
quite  different  perfons  would  be  found,  than 
we  at  prefent  meet  with  ? 

I  _ have  too  many  failings  myfelf,  to  be 
willing  to  cenfure  others ;  and  too  much 
love  for  truth,  to  attempt  an  axcufe  for 
what  admits  of  none.  But  let  me  fay,  that 
confequences  are  not  the  lefs  true,  for  their 

truth 


l\Z 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


truth  being  difvegarded,  Luciairsdefcrip- 
tion  of  the  philoicphers  of  his  age  is  more 
odious,  than  can  belong  to  any  fet  of  men 
in  our  time :  and  as  it  was  never  thought, 
1  that  the  precepts  of  philofophy  ought  to  be 
ilio-hted,  becaufe  they  who  inculcated,  dif- 
'gracedthem;  neither  can  it  be  any  reflec- 
tion on  nobler  rules,  that  they  are  re- 
commended by  perfons  who  do  not  obferve 
them. 

Of  this  I  am  as  certain  as  I  can  be  of 
any  thing,  That  our  practice  is  no  in- 
fallible tell  of  our  principles  ;  and  that 
we  may  do  religion  no  injury  by  our 
fpeculations,  when  we  do  it  a  great  deal 
by  our  manners.  I  fhould  be  very  unwil- 
ling to  rely  on  the  itrength  of  my  own  vir- 
tue in  fo  many  inftances,  that  it  exceeding- 
ly mortifies  me  to  refleft  on  their  number: 
yet,  in  whichfoevcr  of  them  I  offended,  it 
would  not  be  for  want  of  conviction,  how 
excellent  a  precept,  or  precepts,  I  had 
tranfgrehed — it  would  not  be  becaufe  I  did 
not  think,  that  a  life  throughout  agreeable 
to  the  commands  of  the  religion  I  profefs, 
ought  to  be  conftantly  my  care. 

How  frequently  we  act  contrary  to  the 
obligations,  which  we  readily  admit  our- 
felves  to  be  under,  can  fcarcely  be  other- 
wife  than  matter  of  every  one's  notice ;  and 
if  none  of  us  infer  from  thofe  purfuits, 
which  tend  to  deftroy  our  health,  or  our 
underilanding,  or  our  reputation,  that  he, 
who  engages  in  them,  is  perfuaded  that 
difeafe,  or  infamy,  or  a  fecond  childhood, 
deferves  his  choice;  neither  mould  it  be 
taken  for  granted,  that  be  is  not  inwardly 
convinced  of  the  worth  of  religion,  who 
appears,  at  feme  times,  very  different  from 
what  a  due  regard  thereto  ought  to  make 
him. 

Inconfiftency  .is,  through  the  whole  com- 
pafs  of  cur  acting,  fo  much  our  reproach, 
that  it  would  be  great  injuftice  towards  us, 
to  charge  each  defect  in  our  morals,  upon 
corrupt  and  bad  principles.  For  a  proof  of 
the  injuftice  of  fuch  a  charge,  I  am  confi- 
dent, none  need  look  beyond  thcmfelves. 
Each  will  find  the  complaint  of  Medea  in 
the  poet,  very  proper  to  be  made  his  own 
—I  fee  and  approve  of  what  is  right,  at  the 
fame  time  that  I  do  what  is  wrong. 

Don't  think,  that  I  would  j unify  the 
faults  of  any,  and  much  lefs  theirs,  who, 
profe  fling  themfelvcs  let  apart  to  promote 
the  interefts  of  religion  and  virtue,  and 
having  a  large  revenue  affigne'd  them,  both 
that  they  may  be  more  at  leifure  for  fo 
noble  a  work,  and  that  their  pains  in  it 


may  be  preperly  recompenfed,  are,  certain** 
ly,  extremely  blameable,  not  only  when 
they  countenance  the  immoral  and  irreli- 
gious ;  but  even,  when  they  take  no  care' 
to  reform  them. 

All  I  aim  at,  is,  That  the  caufe  may  not 
fuller  by  its  advocates. — That  you  may  be 
jufi  to  it,  whatever  you  may  diflike  in  them 
— That  their  failures  may  have  the  allow- 
ance, to  which  the  frailty  of  human  na- 
ture is  entitled — That  you  may  not,  by 
their  manners,  when  worft,  be  prejudiced  ' 
againft  their  Doclrine;  as  you  would  not 
cenfure  philofophy,  for  the  faults  of  philo- 
fophers. 

The  prevalency  of  any  practice  cannot 
make  it  to  be  either  fafe,  or  prudent ;  and 
I  would  fain  have  your's  and  mine  fuch,  as 
may  alike  credit  our  religion,  and  under- 
Handing:  without  the  great  reproach  of 
both,  we  cannot  profefs  to  believe  that  rule 
of  life,  to  be  from  God,  which,  yet,  we 
model  to  our  paffions  and  interefts. 

Whether  fuch  a  particular  is  my  duty, 
ought  to  be  the  firfi  confederation ;  and  when 
it  is  found  fo,  common  fenfe.  fuggefts  the 
next — How  it  may  be  performed. 

But  I  muft  not  proceed.  A  letter  of  two* 
fheets  !  How  can  I  expect,  that  you  fhould 
give  it  the  reading  ?  If  you  can  perfuade 
yourfelf  to  do  it,  from  the  conviction  of 
the  fincere  affection  towards  you,  that  has 
drawn  me  into  this  length;  I  promife  you, 
never  again  to  make  fuch  a  demand  on 

your  patience. 1  will  never  again  give 

you  fo  troublefome  a  proof  of  my  friend- 
fhip.  I  have  here  begun  a  fubject,  which 
I  am  verydefirous  to  profecute;  and  every 
letter,  you  may  hereafter  receive  from  me 
upon  it,  whatever  other  recommendation  it 
may  want,  (hall,  certainly,  not  be  without 
that  of  brevity.  Dean  Bolton. 

§  14.7.  Three  Effays  on  the  Employment 
of  Time. 
PREFACE. 
The  effays  I  here  publifh,  though  at  firft 
penned  for  the  benefit  of  fome  of  the  au- 
thor's neighbours  in  the  country,  may,  it  is 
hoped,  from  the  alterations  fince  made  in 
them,  be  of  more  general  ufe.  Tbefubjefd 
of  them  is,  in  itfelf,  of  the  higheft  import- 
ance, and  could,  therefore,  never  be  un- 
feafonably  confidered ;  but  the  general 
practice,  at  prefent,  more  efpecially  entitles 
it  to  our  notice.  The  principles  on  which 
their  argumentative  part  proceeds,  are  de- 
nied by  none  whofe  conviction  it  confults. 
Such  as  regard  the  human  frame  as  only 

in. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL  -AND    RELIGIOUS. 


H3 


Tn  Ite  mechanifm  excelling  that  of  beafts 
*— >— fuch  as  would  deprive  man's  breait  of 
Social  affections,  exempt  him  from  all  ap- 
prehensions of  a  deity,  and.  confine  his 
hopes  to  his  prefent  exigence,  are  not  the 
perfons  whom  any  thing  here  laid  propofes 
to  affect.  They  are  not,  I  mean,  directly 
applied  to  in  this  'work ;  but  even  their  be- 
nefit it  may  be  faid  consequentially  to  in- 
tend, as  it  would  certainly  contribute 
thereto,  could  it  properly  operate  on  thofe 
whole  advantage  is  its  immediate  aim. 

We  have  been  told,  by  very  good  judges 
of  human  nature,  how  engaging  virtue 
would  be,  if  it  came  under  the  notice  of 
fenfe.  And  what  is  a  right  practice,  but 
virtue  made,  in  feme  meafure,  the  object 
of  our  fenfe  ?  What  is  a  man  ever  acting 
reasonably,  but,  if  I  may  fo  fpeak,  imper- 
sonated virtue Virtue  in  a  viable  Shape, 

brought  into  view,  prefenting  itfelf  to  the 
iight,  and  through  the  fight  as  much  af- 
fecting the  mind,  as  it  could  be  affected  by 
■  any  elegance  of  foi'm,  by  any  of  the  beau- 
ties of  colouring  or  proportion. 

The  notions  moil  dishonourable  to  the 
deity t  and  to  the  human  [pedes,  are  often,  I 
fuSpect,  firft  taken  up,  and  always,  certain- 
ly, confirmed  by  remarking  how  they  act 
whofe  Speculations  exprefe  the  greateft  ho- 
nour towards  both. 

When  the  Strange  ft  fenfe  of  an  all-power- 
ful and  wile,  a  moil  holy  and  juft  Governor 
of  the  world,  is  profeiled  by  thofe  who 
Shew  not  the  leaic  concern  to  pleale  him 

-Whenreafon,  choice,  civil  obligations, 

a  future  recompence,  have  for  their  advo- 
cates fuch  as  are  governed  by  humour, 
paffion,  appetite  ;  or  who  deny  them  (elves 
no  prefent  pleafure  or  advantage,  for  any 
thing  that  an  hereafter  promifes ;  it  natu- 
rally leads  others,  firft,  to  think  it  of  little 
moment  which_/&&  is  taken  on  thefe  points, 
and  then,  to  take  that  which  fuits  the  man- 
ners of  them  who,  in  their  declarations,  are 
its  warmeft  oppoiers. 

Whereas,  were  the  apprehenjlons  that  do 

jtrfHce  to  a  Superintending  providence 

an  immaterial  principle  in  man —his  li- 
berty— his  duties  in  Society — —his  hopes 
at  his  diflbiution,  to  be  univerfally  evi- 
denced by  a  Suitable  practice  ;  the  great 
and  manifest  advantage  ariling  from  them 
would  be  capable  offuppreffing  tvaxy'daubt 
of  their  truth,  would  prevent  the  entrance 
of  any,  or  would  Soon  remove  it. 

As,  indeed,  all  that  we  are  capable  of 
knowing  in  our  prefent  State,  appears  either 
immediately  to  regard  its  wants,  or  to  be 


connected  with  what  regards  them,  it  is  by 
no  means  a  Slight  confirmation  of  the  truth 
of  a  doctrine,  That  the  perfuaSion  thereof 
is  of  the  utmoft  confequence  to  our  prefent 
well-being.  And  thus  the  great  advan- 
tages that  are  in  this  life  derivable  from 

the  belief  of  a  future  retribution that 

are  here  the  proper  fruits .  of  fuch  a  belief, 
may  be  considered  as  evidencing  how  well 
it  is  founded  j— —how  reafonably  it  is  en- 
tertained. On  this  it  may  be  of  Some  ufe 
more  largely  to  inSift. 

What  engagements  correspond  to  the 
conviction  that  the  State  in  which  we  now 
are  is  but  the  paffage  to  a  better,  is  consi- 
dered in  the  laft  of  thefe  eSfays:  and  that, 
when  fo  engaged,  we  are  acting  the  part 
befitting  our  nature  and  our  Situation,  feeins 
manifest  both  on  account  of  the  approba- 
tion it  has  from  our  calmeit  hours,  our  moS£ 
Serious  deliberation  and  freed  judgment, 
ana  likewife  on  account  of  the  testimony  it 
receives  even  from  them  who  act  a  quite 
contrary  one.  What  they  conform  not  to, 
they  applaud  ;  they  acknowledge  their 
failures  10  be  fuch  ;  they  admire  the  worth, 
which  they  cannot  bring  themfelves  to  cul- 
tivate. 

If  we  look  into  the  writers  who  fuppofed 
all  the  pleafures  of  man  to  be  thofe  of  his 
body,  and  all  his  views  limited  to  his  pre- 
fent existence  ;  we  find  them,  in  the  rule  of 
life  they  gave,  deferring  the  neceSTary  con- 
Sequences  of  x)\€vt  fuppofition,  and  preferr- 
ing a  morality  utterly  inconfiftent  with  if. 
Even  when  they  taught  that  what  was  good 
or  evil  was  to  be  determined  by  our  feel- 
ing only that  right  or  wrong  was  ac- 
cording to  the  pleafure  or  pain  that  would 
enfue  to  us  during  the  continuance  of  our 
prefent  frame,  Since  after  its  dissolution  we 
have  nothing  to  hope  or  fear;  their  practi- 
cal directions  were,  however,  that  we  ought 
to  be  Strictly  juft,  Severely  abstinent,  true 
to  our  friendships,  Steady-  in  the  purfuit  of 
honour  and  virtue,  attentive  to  the  public 
welfare,  and  willing  to  part  with  our  lives 
in  its  defence. 

Such  they  admitted  man  ought  to  be— 
fuch  they  exhorted  him  to  be,  and,  there- 
fore, when  they  would  allow  him  to  act 
only  upon  motives  utterly  incongruous  to 
his  being  this  perfon,  it  followed  either 
that  thefe  were  wrongly  affigned,  or  that 
a  conduct  was  required  from  him  unsuit- 
able to  his  nature. 

That  his  obligations  were  rightly  Stat  ?d 

was  on  all  hands  agreed.    The  mistake  was 

in  the  inducements  alledged  for  difcharging 

x  them. 


144  E 

them.  Nothing  was  more  improbable  than 
his  fulfilling  the  duties tlusfcheme  appointed 
him,  if  he  was  determined  by  it  in  judging 
of  the  confequences  of  his  aftions— — — — 
what  good  or  hurt  they  would  do  him 
■  what  happinefs  or  mifery  would  be 
their  refult. 

While  the  Epicureans  admitted  juftice  to 

be  preferable  to  injuftice a  public  fpirit, 

to  private  felfifli  views  ;  while  they  acknow- 
ledged it  more  fitting  that  we  fhould  facri- 
fice  life  to  the  good  of  our  country,  than 
preferve  it  by  deferting  the  common  wel- 
fare ;  they  mutt,  I  think,  be  regarded  as 
authorizing' a  preference  of  the  principles 
which  will  make  man  juft  and  public- 
fpirited,  to  thofe  which  will  difpofe  him  to 
be  unjuft,  and  wholly  attentive  to  his  own 
little  interefts. 

Let  us  fee,  then,  what  will  be  the  practi- 
cal confequences  of  adopting  or  rejecting 
the  Epicurean  tenet  of  our  having  nothing 
to  hope  for  beyond  the  grave. 

The  value  we  fet  on  life  is  {hewn  by 
what  we  do  to  preferve  it,  and  what  we 
fuffer  rather  than  part  with  it.  We  fupport 
ourfelves  by  the  harder!  labour,  the  fevereft 
drudgery,  and  we  think  death  a  much 
greater  evil,  than  to  ftruggle  for  years  with 
difeafe  and  pain,  defpainng  of  cure,  and 
even  of  any  long  intervals  of  eafe.  Such, 
ordinarily,  is  our  love  of  life.  And  this 
defire  to  keep  it  cannot  but  be  greatly  in- 
creafed,  when  we  are  induced  to  think  that 
once  loft  it  is  fo  for  ever.  To  be  without 
all  hope  of  again  enjoying  the  bleffing  we- 
thus  highly  prize,  muft  naturally  disincline 
us  to  hazard  it,  and  indifpofe  us  for  what 
will  endanger  its  continuance.  He  who  is 
perfuaded  that  corporeal  pleafure  is  all  he 
has  to  expect,  and  that  it  is  confined  to  ids 
prefent  exiftence,  muft,  if  he  afis  agreeably 
tofuch  aperfuafion,  be  wholly  intent  on  the 
purfuit  of  that  pleafure,  and  dread  nothing 
more  than  its  coming  to  an  end,  or  being 
interrupted.  Hence,  if  his  term  of  life 
would  be  fhorter,  or  any  greater  diftrefs 
would  accrue  to  him  by  adhering  to  truth 
and  juftice,  than  by  departing  from  them 

if  he  were  to   be  at  prefent  more  a 

lofer  by  afiifting  his   friend,  than  by  for- 

faking  him if  he  could  promife  himfelf 

a  larger  {hare  of  fenfual gratifications  from 
betraying  his  country,  than  from  ferving  it 
faithfully,  he  would  be  falfe  raid  unjuft,  he 
would  be  perfidious  to  his  friend,  and  a 
traitor  to  his  country.  All  thofe  fentiments 
and  actions  that  exprefs  an  entire  att; 


GANT     EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


rnent  to  the  delights  offenfe,  and  the  ftrong- 
eft  reluctanc  <-o  forego  them,  are  ftrictly  in 
character  v'.i.ii  we  look  not  beyond  them 
-— — when  we  acknowledge  not  any  higher 
fatisfaiiions,  and  behold  thefe  as  expiring 
with  lis,  and  fure  never  to  be  again  tailed. 

Whereas  the  proipect  of  a  returning  life, 
and  of  enjoyments  in  it  far  fflperior  to  any 
we  now  experience,  or  promife  ourfelves, 
has  a  necefi'ary  tendency  to  leften  our  foli- 
citude  about  the  exiftence  here  appointed 
us.  V/e  cannot  well  be  reconciled  to  the 
lofs  of  our  being,  but  are  eafily  fo  to  its 
change;  and  death  confidered  as  only  its 
change,  as  the  paffage  from  a  lefs  to  a 
more  deferable  {late,  will,  certainly,  have 
the  terror  of  its  apperance  much  abated. 
The  conviction  that  there  is  a  greater  good 
in  referve  for  us  than  any  pleafure  which 
earth  can  afford,  and  that  there  is  fome- 
thing  far  more  to  be  feared  by  us  than  any 
pain  we  can  now  be  made  to  fuffer,  will,  in 
proportion  to  its  ftrength,  render  us  indif- 
ferent to  the  delights  and  conveniences  of 
our  abode  on  earth,  and  difpofe  us  to  qua- 
lify ourfelves  for  obtaining  that  greater 
good,  and  avoiding  that  fo  much  more  to 
be  dreaded  evil,  in  thefe  amjiderations  of 
life  and  death,  of  happinefs  and  mifery, 
virtue  has  its  p.oper  fupport.  We  are  by 
them  brought  to  judge  rightly  of  the  part 
becoming  us,  and  to  adhere  to  it  immove- 
ably :  they  furnifh  fufficient  inducements  to 
avoid  falfehood  and  injuftice,  of  whatever 
immediate  advantage  we  may  be  thereby 
deprived — —they  encourage  us  to  ferve 
our  friends  and  country  with  the  utmoft 
fidelity,  notwithltanding  all  the  inconveni- 
encies  that  can  be  fuppofed  to  attend  it 
—they  are,  indeed,  proper  incitements 
to  prefer  the  public  welfare  to  our  own 
fafety,  while  they  reprefent  to  us  how  much 
our  gain  thereby  would  overbalance  our  lofs. 

Brutes  in  our  end  and  expectations,  how 
can  we  be  ctherwife  in  our  purfuits  ?  But 
if  the  reafoning  principle  in  us  be  an  incor- 
ruptible one,  and  its  right  or  wrong  appli- 
cation in  this  embodied  Mate  affect  the  whole 
of  our  future  exiftence  ;  we  have,  in  that 
apprehenfion,  the  molt  powerful  motive  to 
act  throughout  in  conformity  to  our  ra- 
tional nature,  or,  which  is  the  fame  thing 
in  other  words,  never  to  fwerve  from  vir- 
tue  to  defpife  alike  danger  and  plea- 
fure when  ftanding  in  competition  with 
our  duty. 

Thus,  when  Socrates,  in  Plato's  Pbado, 
has  proved  the  immortality  of  our  foul,  he 

con- 


BOCK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


H> 


considers  it  as  aneceffary  confequenceof  the 
belief  thereof,  "That  "we  ftiould  be   em- 

"  ployed  in  the  culture  of  our  minds 

"  in  fuch  care  of  them  as  fhall  not  only 
«  regard  that  term,  to  which  we  give  the 
"  name  of  life,  but  the  whole  which  fol- 

"  lows  it- in  making  ourfelves  as  wife 

«*  and  good  as  may  be,  fmceon  it  our  fafe- 
"  ty  entirely  depends,  the  foul  carrying 
"  hence  nothing  with  it,  but  its  good  or 
"  bad  actions,  its  virtues  or  vices,  and  thefe 
"  conftituting  its  happinefs  or  mifery  to  all 
"  eternity." 

So,  when  the  elder  Scipio  is  introduced 
by  Tidly,  apprifmg  the  younger,  '*  That 
"  what  is  called  our  life,   may  be  more 

"  properly    ftyled   our    death that  we 

"  truly  live,  when  we  are  freed  from  the 
"  fetters  of  our  body ;"  he  proceeds  to 
obferve,  how  much  it  then  concerned  him 

"  to  be  juft to  promote  the  public  wel- 

f*  fare to  make   true   glory  his  aim, 

"  doing  what  is  right  without  regard  to 
"  any  advantage  it  will  now  yield  him, 
"  defpifing  popular  opinion,  adhering  to 
"  virtue  for  its  real  worth."  And  the 
youth  thus  inftrutted,  profeffes,  "  That  af- 
"  ter  fuch  information  into  what  itate  he 
"  is  to  pafs,  he  would  not  be  wanting  to 
"  himfelf:  unmindful  he  had  not  been  of 
"  his  anceftor's  worth,  but  to  copy  it 
"  mould  now  be  his  more  efpecial  care, 
"  fince  encouraged  tiiereto  by  fo  great  a 
'•'  reward." 

•  Lucan3  reprefenting  the  inhabitants  of 
this  part  of  Europe  as  perfuaded  that  the 
foul  furvived  the  difibluacn  of  the  body, 
congratulates  them,  indeed,  only  on  the 
happinefs  they  enjoyed  in  an  opinion  that 
freed  them  from  the  moil  tormenting  of  all 

fears,   the  dread  of  death  • that  made 

them  act  with  fo  much  bravery  and  intre- 
pidity. But  when  he  admits  a  contempt 
of  death  to  be  the  proper  effect  of  this  opi- 
nion, lie  muft  be  confidered  as  allowing  it 
all  that  practical  influence  which  as  natu- 
rally refuits  from  it,  as  fuch  an  indifference 
to  life  doth,  and  has  the  fame  connexion 
with  it. 

If,  therefore,  the  perfuafion  that  death 
renders  us  utterly  infenfible,  be  a  perfua- 

fion  that  unmans  us  quite that  difpofes 

to  a  courfe  of  action  moil  unworthy  of  us 
—that  is  extremely  prejudicial  to  fociety, 
and  tends,  in  every  way,  to  our  own  great- 
eft  hurt  or  debafement,  we  may  well  fup- 
pofe  it  an  erroneous  one  ;  fince  it  is  in  the 
highelt  degree  improbable,  that  there  ihc.uli 
be  any  truth  in  a  notion  the  reception  of 


which  fo  far  operates  to  the  prejudice  of 
mankind  -  fo  neceffarily  contributes  to 
introduce  a  general  diiorder. 

On  the  other  hand,  if,  from  the  convic- 
tion that  there  is  a  recompence  for  us  be- 
yond the  grave,  we  derive  fentiments  moll: 

becoming  us if  from  it  the  worthiefr. 

actions  proceed if  it  be  the  fource  of 

the  greater!  both  private  and  public  good 

■ if  with  it  be  connected  the  due  dif- 

charge  of  our  duty  in  the  feveral  relations 

in  which  we  are  placed- -if  it  alone  can 

lead  us  to  perfedl  our  nature,  and  can  fur- 
nifh  our  Hate  with  fatisfattory  enjoyments ; 
there  may  feem  fufficient  grounds  to  con- 
clude that  there  is  fuch  a  recompence ;  the 
perfuaiion  thereof,  thus  affecting  us,  may 
well  appear  moft  reafonably  entertained. 

When  all  thofe  principles,  of  whofa 
truth  we  have  the  greateft  certainty,  con- 
duct us  to  happinels,  it  is  natural  to  think 
that  the  influence  of  any  principle  upon 
our  happinefs  mould  be  no  improper  telt 
of  its  truth. 

If  there  be  no  furer  token  of  a  right 
practice,  than  its  tendency  to  promote  the 
common  good,  "can  we  but  judge  that  to  be 
a  right  opinion,  which  has  undeniably,  in 
an  eminent  degree,  fuch  a  tendency  ? 

When  the  difficulties  that,  under  a  gene- 
ral corruption,  attend  our  adherence  to  vir- 
tue, are  only  to  be  furmounted  by  the 
profpect.  of  future  reward  ;  one  _  knows 
not  how  to  believe  that  the  proper  induce- 
ment to  our  acting  a  part  fo  becoming  us 

fo    much  our    praife,    mould   be    no 

other  than  a  chimerical  view,  a  romantic 
and  utterly  vain  expectation. 

When  error  is  manifeftly  the  caufe  of 
whatever  ill  we  do  or  fuffer,  it  is  extreme- 
ly improbable,  that  to  an  erroneous  notion 
we  mult  ftand  indebted  for  the  belt  ufe  of 
life,  and  its  moft  folid  fatisfa&ions. 

But  it  mav  be  a&ed- where  does  this 

opinion  produce  thefe  boalted  effects  ? 
Among  them  who  profefs  it  their  firmeft 
belief  that  there  is  a  future  recompence, 

how  few  do  we  find  better  men  for  it 

mpre  regular  in  their  manners,  or  more 
ufeful  to  the  world,  than  they  would  have 
been  without  any  fuch  perfuafion  ? 

How  far  any  truth  fhall  operate  upon  us 
—how  far  it  fhall  influence  us,  depends  up- 
on our  application  of  it,  upon  our  attention 
to  it.  Experience  furnimes  the  utmoft  cer- 
tainty of  a  vail  variety  ox  particulars  highly 
interesting  our  prefent  welfare,  which  yet  we 
overlook,  we  give  ourfelves  little  or  no  con- 
cern about,  tho'  we  thereby  make  ourfelves 


146 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


the  fevered  fufferers  ;  and  may  be  almoft  as  of  it,  which  is  our  crime,  and  not  their  de- 

fure  as  we  can  be  of  any  thing,  that  our  an-  fefts.     We  will  not  let  them  aft  upon  us ; 

concernednefs  about  them  mult  be  attended  as  they  are  qualified  to  do.      Their  worth 

with  confequences  thus  fatal  to  us,    Thefe-  is  to  be  eftimated  by  the  worth  they  are 

veral  rules  which  regard  the  lengthening  of  fuited  to  produce.     And  it  would  be  full  as 

life the  prefervation  of  health the  abfurd,    when  we  will  not  mind  our  way, 


enjoyment  of  eafe,  tho'  they  carry  with 
them  the  cleared  evidence  of  their  im- 
portance, how  very  little  weight  have  they 
with  the  generality  of  mankind — —how 
unheeded  are  they  when  oppoiing  an  eager 
appetite,  a  flrong  inclination  1  while  yet 
thefe  rules  axe  acknowledged  to  remain 
as  true,  as  worthy  of  oar  notice,  as  cer- 
tain in  their  falutary  effects  when  obferved, 
as  if  all  that  practical  regard  to  which  tliey 
are  entitled,  was  paid  them;  and  we  may 
be  asjuftly  thought  endowed  with  a  capa- 
city of  di (covering  thofe  effects  in  Order  to 
their  profiting  us,  as  if  they  univerfally 
took  place. 

What  benefit  was  intended  in  qualifying 
us  for  the  difcernment  of  any  truth,  is  by  no 
means  to  be  inferred  from  what  ordinarily 
enfues  to  us  when  difcerning  it.  A  juft  in- 
ference as  to  this  can  only  be  made  from 
regarding  the  dictates  of  reafon  upon  fuch 
a  truth  being  diicerned  by  us ;  or,  what  ufe 
©fits  difcernment  reafon  directs  us  to  make. 

When  we  are  lefs  wicked  than  very  bad 
principles  prompt  us  to  be,  which  is  often 
the  cafe;  thefe  are,  neverthelefs,  full  as 
blameable  as  they  would  be  if  we  w«  re  to 
aft  confidently  with  them.  That  they  are 
rot purfued,  is,  as  to  them,  quite  an  acci- 
dental point;  m,  reafon  and  nature  they 
fhould  be;  and  therefore  are  fitly  charge- 
able with  all  the  confequences  that  acting 
according  to  them  would  produce. 

So,  on  the  other  hand,  tho'  it  muft  be 
confeifed,  that,  with  the  belt  pi 'maples,  our 
courie  of  life  is,  frequently,  very  fault)- ; 
the  objection  mull  lye  not  to  the  nature  or 
kind  of  their  influence,  but  to  a  weaknefs 


to  deny  that  the  light  can  be  of  any  help 
to  us  in  feeing  k  ;  as  to  deny  the  fervice- 
ablenefs  of  any  principle,  becaufe  we  fail 
in  its  application, 

NorL  it,  indeed,  only  our  unhappinTs 
that  we  are  inattentive  to  what  the  belief  of 
a  future  recompence  requires  from  us;  reli- 
gion itfelf,  is,  alas  !  every  where  abuied  to 
theobftrafting  the  proper  effects  of  this  be- 
lief. I  mean ,  that  whatever  religion  i 
where  profefl'ed,  fome  or  other  lite  or  doc- 
trine of  it  dees  favour,  as  in  Paganifm  and 
Mohammedifm;  or  is  fo  conjtrued,  as  in  Ju- 
daifm  and  Chriftianity,  that  it  is  made  to 
favour  a  departure  from  the  practice  which 
fuits  the  perfuafion  of  a  future  reward. 
The  reproach  that  belonged  to  the  Jews  ia 
our  Saviour's  time,  they  have  as  far  as  ap- 
pears, deferved  ever  imce  ;  that  by  their 
fci  tpulous  regard  to  the  leffcr  points  of 
their  law,  they  think  they  make  amends 
for  the  grofTelt  ncgleft  of  its  mod  impor- 
tant precepts.  And  with  refpeft  to  us 
Chriilians*,  whence  is  it,  that  there  is  \o 

little    virtue    among    us- that    we    are 

throughout  fo  corrupt,  but  from  talcing  fanc- 
tuary  for  our  crimes  in  our  very  religion, 

from  perverting  its  moil  holy  initi- 

tutions  and  doctrines  to  be  our  fall  fe- 
curity  whatsoever  arc  our  vices  -J-  ? 

Thus,  we  are  either  of  a  church  in 
which  we  can  be  abfolved  of  all  our fins\ 
or  we  are  of  die  number  of  the  deft,  and 
cannot  commit  any ;  or  the  merits  ofChrift 
atone  for  our  not  having  the  merit  even 
of  honefty  and  fmcerity  ;  or  a  right  faith 
makes  amends  for  our  moll  corrupt 
practice  %. 


Th.U  the  probhec'n  J 
■:  hui    fececoiruph 


-  ■■  King  Chrijl's  firft  ,  <>.'■■:  were  for  "sting  up 
&c.  Qbferv .  upon  the  Proph.  of  Dan.  d"c. 


*  Sir  Tfaac  Newton  having  obferved, 
the  Chi  ijiian  religion,  adds,  which  all  na'.io 
p.  25?.. 

f  The  generals.uA  great  df  V  in  thofe  that  profefs  the  Chi  iftian  faith  is,  that  they  hope  for  lite  eter- 
nal, without  performing  thofe  conditions,  whereupon  it  is  promifed  in  the  Gofpel,  namely,  repentance 
and  reformation.— They  will'truft  to  zfruithfs,  I'm  lefs  faith,  or  to  fome /<;»„«.«,  and  \alisfailions,  and 
,  tmmutaiions  made  with  God,  doing  what  he  hath  not  required  inftead  of  what  he  hath  commanded. 
N  )  pei  fuafions  fhall  prevail  to  move  and  excite  them  to  do  this,  no  reafons,  argument?,  or  denionlira- 
tion,  no  not  tiie  exprefs  words  of  God,  that  it  is  neccfiary  to  be  done ;  or  to  forbear  to  cenfure  them 
-':  ''■■  •'■'-  ■  '0  the  Grace  of  God,  who  do  with  clear  and  exprefs  Scripture  fhew  the  abfolute  neceffity  of 
it.      Owlram's  Sermons,  p.  166,  167. 

J  I  heartily  wifh,  that  by  public  authority  it  were  fo  ordered,  that  no  man  fhould  ever  preach  or 
print  this  do&rine,  That  Faith  alone  iuftifies,  unit  fs  he  joins  this  together  with  it,  That  universal  obe- 
dience is  neceffaiy  to  falvation.     Chilling-worth's  Rdig.  of  P rot.  p.  362, 

By  our  zeal  in  ouropinions  we  grow  cool  in  ourpietv  and  oraftical  duties.  Epifi.  Dedkat.  prefixed 
totheDifcowfeofLibirtyofProph,  '  'J  tJ 

We 


BOOK    I. 


MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


H7 


We  have  prayers,  facraments,  falls,  that 
fcre  never  thought  of  to  improve  us  in  vir- 
tue, hut  to  fupply  the  want  of  it to 

quiet  our  coniciences  Under  the  moll  cul- 
pable gratification  of  our  lulls. 

How  the  belief  of  a  future  recompence 
fhould,  in  reafon,  affecl:  our  practice— — - 
what  its  proper  and  natural  influence  is, 
folely  concerns  the  prefent  argument.  It 
feems  enough,  in  the  Gafe  before  us,  that 
no  one  can  be  confident  with  himfelf,  but, 
if  he  has  any  hopes  of  happinefs  in  another 
world,  his  conduct  will  be  regular,  becom- 
ing, rational :  and,  that  where  we  find 
thefe  hopes  entertained  on  mature  conii- 
deration,  juftly  reafoned  upon,  duly  at- 
tended to,  there  we,  certainly,  find  great 
purity  of  morals,  a  Uriel  regard  to  the 
part  befitting  a  reafonable  creature,  and 
every  other  advantage  afcribed  to  them.  If 
I  cannot  be  allowed  to  infer  from  hence  that 
they  are  well  founded,  they  have  Mill  for 
their  fupport  all  thofe  arguments  in  favour 
of  a  final  retribution,  with  which  I  have 
;not  at  all  meddled,  nor  in  the  leail  weak- 
ened by  any  thing  I  may  have  lefs  perti- 
nently obferved.  The  fubjeel  of  the  third 
.of  the  following  eflays  led  me  to  the  re- 
, marks  here  made;  and  to  me  they  ap- 
pear not  immaterial.  I  cannot,  indeed, 
i bring  myfelf  to  think  but  that  the  hopes 
.  which  induce  me  to  act  moll  agreeably  to 
my  Creator's  will,  he  has  formed  me  to 
entertain;  and  will  not  let  me  be  difap- 
pointed  in  them. 

Of  one  thing  I  am  fare,  that  they  who 

;  fulfer  the  perfuafion  of  a  future  happinefs 

to  operate,  as  it  ought,  on  their  practice, 

I  constantly  experience  their  practice  adding 

I  ftrength  to  their  perfuafion ;  the  better  they 

■  become  by  their  belief,  the  more  confirmed 

<  they  become  in  it.     This  is  a  great  deal  to 

i  fay  on  its  behalf.     What  weightier  recom- 

\  mendation  to  our  afient  can  any  doctrine 

1  have,  than  that,  as  it  tends  to  improve  us 

:  in  virtue,  fo  the  more  virtuous  we  are,  the 

more  firmly  we  afient  to  it;  or,  the  better 

judges  we  are  of  truth,  the  fuller  ailurance 

we  have  of  its  truth  ? 

§    148.     On  the  "Employment  of  Time. 

ESSAY      THE       FIRST. 

|  Tunc  dermm  ihtdtiges,    quid  faciendum  tibi,    quid  vi~ 
tandumfit,  cum  didiceris  quid  natures  tu-e  dsbeas. 

SfN.    Ep.   121. 

"  Amazing !  that  a  creature,  fo  warm  in 
"  the  purfuit  of  her  pleafures,  fhould  never 
"  call  one  thought  towards  her  happinefs." 
—A  reflection  this,  made  indeed  by  a  comic 
Writer,  but  not  unworthy  the  molt  feripus, 


To  be  intent  on  pleafure,  yet  negligent 
of  happinefs,  is  to  be  careful  for  what  will 
eafe  us  a  few  moments  of  our  life,  and  yet, 
without  any  regard  to  what  will  diilrefs  us 
for  many  years  of  it. 

When  I  iludy  my  happinefs,  I  confult 
the  fatisfaction  of  the  whole  continuance  of 
my  being-*-I  endeavour,  that  throughout 
it  I  may  fuffer  as  little,  and  enjoy  myfelf  as 
much,  as  my  nature  and  fituation  will  ad- 
mit. Happinefs  is  lading  pleafure;  its 
purfuit  is,  really,  that  of  pleafute,  with  as 
fmall  an  allay  as  poflible  of  pain..  We  can- 
not, therefore,  provide  for  our  happinefs, 
without  taking  our  fhare  of  pleafure;  tho', 
as  is  every  where  but  too  evident,  our 
eagernefs  after  Pleafure  may  plunge  us 
into  themifery  we  are  unable  to  fupport. 

Nothing,  indeed,  is  more  fpecious  than 
the  general  term  Pleafure.  It  carries  with 
it  the  idea  of  fomething  which  mull  be  per- 
mitted us  by  our  Maker ;  fince  we  know 
not  how  to  iuppofe  him  forbidding  us  to 
tafte  what  he  has  difpofed  us  to  reliih.  His 
having  formed  us  to  'receive  pleafure,  is 
our  licence  to  take  it.  This  I  will  admit 
to  be  true,  under  proper  reilrictions. 

It  is  true,  that  from  our  nature  and  con- 
fhtution  we  may  collect  wherein  we  act 
agreeably  to  our  Creator's  will,  and  where- 
in we  act  contrary  to  it ;  but  the  milchief 
is,  we  commonly  miilake  our  nature,  we 
mifcal  it;  we  call  that  it  which  is  but  a 
part  of  it,  or  the  corruption  of  it;  and  we 
thence  make  conclusions,  by  which  when 
we  govern  our  practice,  we  loon  find  our- 
feives  in  great  difficulties  and  diilrefs. 

For  inftance,  we  call  our  paffions  our  na- 
ture; then  infer,  that,  in  gratifying  them, 
we  follow  nature ;  and,  being  thus  convinc- 
ed that  their  gratification  mull  be  quite 
lawful,  we  allow  ourfe'ves  in  it,  and  are 
undone  by  it.  Whereas,  the  body  is  as 
much  the  man,  as  his  paffions  are  his  na- 
ture ;  a  part  of  it,  indeed,  they  are,  but 
the  lowell  part;  and  which,  if  more  re- 
garded than  the  higher  and  nobler,  it  muft 
be  as  fatal  to  us,  as  to  be  guided  rather  by 
what  is  agreeable  to  our  appetite,  than 
conducive  to  our  health.  Of  this  more 
hereafter. 

The  call  of  nature  being  the  favourite 

topic  of  all  the  men  of  pleafure of  all 

who  act  the  moll  in  contradiction  to  na- 
ture, I  will  confine  the  whole  of  the  fol- 
lowing eflky  to  the  confideration  of  it,  fo 
far  as  it  relates  to  the  employment  of  our 
time :  and  fhew  how  our  time  ihould  be  em- 
ployed, if  we  have  a  jull  regard  to  our  na- 
ture—if  what  it  requires  be  coiuulted  by  us. 
L  2  That 


ij.3 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


That  man  is  the  work  of  a  wife  agent, 
is  in  the  cleared:  manner  discovered  by  the 
marks  of  wifdom,  that  Shew  themselves  in 

his  frame by  the  contrivance  and  (kill, 

that  each  part  of  it  expreffes by  the 

exact  proportion  and  fuitable  difpoSition, 
that  the  Several  parts  of  it  have  to  each 
other,  and  by  their  refpeftive  fitnefs  to  pro- 
mote the  well-being  of  the  whole. 

When  we  muSt  thus  acknowledge  the 
great  wifdom  exerted  in  our  Structure ; 
when  we  arc  fo  capable  of  elifcerning  its 
beauties  and  advantages,  and  fo  fully 
know  their  prefervation  and  improvement 
to  depend  upon  ourfelvcs,  upon  cur  own 
endeavours,  care  and  pains :  we  cannot 
poSIibly  be  at  a  lofs  to  difcover  what  our 
wife  Maker  muft,  in  this  particular,  ex- 
pert from  us.  The  duty  of  man  is  as  cer- 
tainly known  from  his  nature what  he 

ought  to  do  for  himfelf  is  a>  fully  under- 
stood from  what  he  can  do,  as  the  ufes  of 
any  machine  are  understood  by  a  thorough 
acquaintance  with  its  powers. 

I  can  no  more  doubt  for  what  I  am  in- 
tended  what  rnuft  be  required  of  me, 

when  I  fee  plainly  what  1  am  able  to  ef- 
fect; than  I  can  quefUon  for  what  purpofes 
a  watch  or  clock  is  defigned,  when  1  am 
duly  apprifed  hew  the  different  parts  of  it 
act  upon  each  other,  to  what  they  ail  con- 
cur, and  to  what  only. 

We  want  no  reafonipg  to  convince  us, 
that  a  frame  fo  curious  as  the  human,  mull 
be  made  in  order  to  its  continuance,  as  long 
as  the  materials  cempefmg  it  will  admit; 
and  that  we  ourfelv  es  muft  give  it  fuch  con- 
tinuance: how  this  is  Shortened,  how  it  is 
prolonged,  we  are  Iikewife  all  of  us  fully 
fenfible.  There  is  no  man  but  perceives 
what  will  haften  his  diublutiori,  and  what 
will  probably,  retard  it;  by  what  manage- 
ment of  himfelf  he  is  fure  to  pafs  but  few 
years  in  the  world,  and  by  what  he  is  like- 
ly to  be  upheld  in  it  for  many.  Here  then 
our  rule  is  obvious;  thele  notices  afforded 
us  to  make  i:  io  :  when  we  are  taught,  that 
the  fupport  of  our  life  muft  be  agreeable 
to  him  from  whom  we  received  it,  and 
that  ive  are  appointed  to  give  it  this  fup- 
port, that  it  muft  come  from  our/elves, 
1  vhat  ive  do  in  order  to  it ;  we  are  at 

the  fame  time  instructed  to  regard  all  thirds 
<  ibuting  to  it  a',  enjoined  us,  and  all 
things  detrim  -ntal  to,  and  inconsistent  with 
it,  as  forbidden  us;  we  have  it  fug"-efted 
to  us,  that  we  are  proper'y  employed, 
tit  the  due  prefervation  of 
I  ments  are  impro- 

per, s  ...   hinder  it. 


Thus,  to  fpend  our  time  well,  we  mull 
give  our  bodies  fuch  e.xercife,  fuch  reft,  and 
other  refrefhmehts,  as  their  fubfiftence  de- 
mands; and  we  mif- fpend  it,  when  we  are 
lazy  and  Slothful,  when  we  are  lefs  fober, 
chafte  and  temperate ;  when  we  proceed 
to  exceSfes  of  any  kind,  when  we  let  our 
paffions  and  appetites  direct  us :  every 
thi  ■  ;  in  this  way  tends  to  haften  our  dif- 
folution  :  and  therefore  muft  be  criminal, 
as  opposing  that  continuance  lure,  which 
our  very  competition  Shews  our  Maker  to 
have  defigned  us, 

But  that  our  frame  Should  be  barely  up- 
held, cannot  be  all  we  are  to  do.  for  itj 
we  muft  preferve  it  in  its  moil  perfect' 
State,  in  a  date  in  which  its  feveral  powers 
can  be  belt         t<   ! 

To  take  this  care  about  it,  is  evidently 
required  of  us.  Any  unfitnefs  for  the  func- 
tions of  life  is  a  partial  death.  I  don't  fee 
of  what  we  can  well  be  more  certain,  than 
that  all  the  health  and  Strength,  of  which 
our  constitution  admits  were  intended  us 
in  it ;  and    ;  ift,  therefore,  be  as  be- 

coming our  concern,  as  it  is  to  hinder  the 
ruin  of  our  constitution  :  we  knew  not  how 
fufticiently  to  lament  the  lofs  of  them,  even 
from  the  advantage  of  which  they  are  to 
us  in  themfeives,  rot  only  from  their  pre- 
venting the  uneaSinefs,  the  pains,  and  the 
numerous  inconveniences  with  wnicn  tne 
Sickly  and  infirm  have  to  Struggle,  but 
Iikewife  from  the  Satisfaction  they  give 
us  in  our  being,  from  what  we  feel,  v.  ben 
our  blood  flows  regularly,  our  nerves 
have  their  due  tone,  and  our  vigour  is 
entire. 

Yet  thefe  are  but  the  leaft  of  the  bene- 
fits we  have  from  them. 

We  con  hit  of  two  parts,  of  two  very 
different  parts;  the  one  inert,  pafisve,  ut- 
terly incapable  of  directing  itfelf,  barely 
ministerial  to  the  other,  moved,  animated 
by  it.  When  our  body  has  its  full  health  and 
Strength,  the  mind  is  fofar  aflifted  thereby, 
that  it  can  bear  aclofer  and  longer  applica- 
tion, our  appreheniion  is  readier,  our  imagi- 
nation is  livelier,  we  can  better  enlarge  our 
compafs  of  thought,  we  can  examine  our 
perceptions  more  Strictly,  and  compare 
them  more  exactly j  by 'which  means  we 
are  enabled  to  form  a  truer  judgment  of 

things to  remove  more  effectually  the 

miftakes  into  which  we  have  been  led.  by 
a  wrong  education,  by  paffion,  inattention, 

cuftotn,    example to    have    a    clearer 

view  cf  what  is  belt  for  »s,  of  what  is 
molt  for  our  intereft,  and  thence  deter- 
mine ourSelves  more  readily  to  its   pur| 

fuit, 


BOOK.  I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


Ant,  and  perfift  therein  with  greater  revo- 
lution and  fteadinefs. 

The,  foundnefs  of  the  body  can  be  thus 
ferviceable  to  the  mind,  and  when  made  fo, 
may  in  its  turn  be  as  much  profited  by  it. 
The  poet's  obfervation  is  no  leis  true  of 
them,  than  it  is  of  nature  and  art,  each 
wants,  each  helps  the  other  ; 

«  Mutually  they  need  each  other's  aid." 

Roscom. 

The  mind,  when  not  reftrained  by  any 

thing  deficient  in  its  companion,  and  hav- 
ing from  it  all  the  affiftance  it  is  adapted 
to.  afford,  can  with  much  greater  facility 
prevent  that  difcompofure  and  trouble, 
by  which  our  bodily  health  is  ever  in- 
jured, and  preferve  in  us  that  quiet  and 
peace,  by  which  it  is  always  promoted. 
Hence  w'e  are  to  conclude,  that  we  fhould 
forbear,  not  only  what  neceffarily  brings 
on  difeafe  and  decay,  but  whatever  con- 
tributes to  enfeeble  and  enervate  us ; 
not  only  what  has  a  direct  tendency  to 
haften  our  end,  but  likewife  what  Mens 
our  activity,  what  abates  of  our  vigour  and 
fpirit. — That  we  mould  alio  avoid  w  I 
ever  is  in  any  wife  prejudicial  to  a  cue 
confideration  of  things,  and  a  right  j 
ment  of  them  ;  whatever  can  hinder  the 
undemanding  from  properly  informing  it- 
felf,  and  the  will  from  a  ready  compliance 
with  its  directions.  We  mull  be  intent  on 
fuch  a  difcipline  of  ourfelves  as  will  pro- 
cure us  the  fulleft  ufe  of  our  frame,  as  will 
capacitate  us  to  receive  from  it  the  whole 
of  the  advantage  it  is  capable  of  yielding 
us;  fo  ejfsrcifing  the  members  of  our  body, 
confulting  its  conveniences,  fupplying  its 
wants,  that  it  may  be  the  lea  ft  burdenlbme 

to  us,  may  give  us  the  leaft  uneafinefs— 

that  none  of  its  motions  may,  through 
any  fault  of. ours,  be  obftrudted,  none  of 

its  parts  injured that  it  may  be   kept 

in  as  unimpaired,  as  athletic  a  (late  as  our 
endeavours  can  procure,  and  all  its  func- 
tions performed  with  the  utmoft  exaclnefs 
and  readinefs ;  fo  guarding,  likewife,  a- 
gainit  the  impreflions  of  fenfe,  and  delu- 
fivenefs  offancy,  lo  compoling  our  minds, 
purifying  them,  diverting,  them  of  ail  cor- 
rupt prejudices,  that  they  may  be  in  a 
difpofition  equally  favourable  to  them, 
and  to  our  bodies — that  they  may  not  be 
betrayed   into  miftakes   dangerous  to  the 

welfare  of  either. that  they  may  be  in 

a  condition  to  difcernwhat  is  becoming  us, 
what  is  fitted,  for  us;  defirous  of  difeb- 
vering  it,  and  preparing  to  be  influenced 
by  it. 


H9 

We  are  thus  to  feek  our  moil  perfect 
ftate,  fuch  as  allows  us  the  fi-eeH  ufe  of 
our  feveralpowers  a  full  liberty/or  the  due 
application  of  them.  And  the  ability  thus  to 
apply  them,  mull  be  in  order  to  our  doing 
it,  to  our  receiving  from  them  whatever 
fervice  they  can  effeft. 

As  what  is  corporeal  in  us  is  of  leail 
excellence  and  value,  our  care  in  general 
about  it,  mould  bear  a  proportion  to  the  lit- 
tle worth  it  has  in  itfelf—  ihould  chiefly  re- 
gard  the  reference  it  has  to  our  under- 
Handing,  the  affiftance  that  it  may  afford 
cur  intellectual  faculties. 

Merely  to  preferve  our  being— to  pof- 

fefs   our 'members  entire to  have  our 

fenfes    perfed to   be    free   from  pain 

to  enjoy  health,  ftrength,  beauty,  are 

but  very  low  aims  for  human  creatures. 
The  moil  perfect  ftate  of  animal  life  can 
never  becomingly  engrofs  the  concern  of 
a  rational  nature  :  fitted  for  much  nobler 
and  worthier  attainments,  we  are  by  that 
fitnefs  for  them  called  to  puriue  them. 

Aik  thofe  of  either  fex,  who  rate  higheft 
the  recommendation  of  features,  complex- 
ion, and  fhape— — who  arc  moft  intent  on 

adorning  their  perfons who  ftudy  moft 

the  accompliihments  of  an  outward  appear- 
ance ;  afkthem,  I  fay,  which  they  think 
their  chief  endowment,  and  what  n  is  that 
does  them  the  higher!  honour  r  You  will 
find  them  with  one  confent  pronouncing  it 
their  reafon.  With  all  their  folly  they  will 
not  defend  it  as  fuch  :  with  their  little. 
fenfe,  they  will  prefer  that  little  to  their 
e  very  other  fancied  perfection.  The  nneft 
woman  in  the  world  would  rather  make 
deformity  her  choice  than  idiocy,  woul  1 
rather  have  uglinefs  than  incapacity  her 

reproach. 

Thus,  likewife,  whom  do  we  perceive 
fo  fond  of  life,  fo  defirous  of  reaching  its 
longeft  term,  that  lie  would  be  willing  to 
furvive  his  undemanding ;  that  he  would 
chufe  to  live  after  he  ceafed  to  reafon  ? 
The  health  and  cafe,  the  vigour  andchear- 
fulnefs  that  are  often  the  lunatic's  por- 
tion, would  not  induce  the  moil  infirm, 
fickly,and  complaining  among  us,  to  wilh 
himfelf  in  his  itead  ;  to  with  an  exchange 
of  his  own  diftempered  body,  lor  the 
other's  difordered  mind.  _ 

Nor  does  the  mind  only  claim  our  chief 
regard,  as  it  is  thus  univerfaily  acknow- 
ledged, and  as  it  really  is  the  principal  the 
mi  excellent,  the  prefidihg  part  of  as, 
but  as  our  well-being  is  neceiiarily  con- 
neaed  with  giving  it  this  preference,  with 
k  ,  bellowing 


\$o 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


bellowing  the  moil  of  our  care  and  pains 
upon  it. 

What  is  beft  for  the  body,  what  is  belt 
for  the  whole  man,  can  only  be  discovered 
and  provided  for,  by  our  rational  facul- 
ties, by  them  affiduQufly  cultivated,  dili- 
gently exerted,  and  thence  ilrengthened 
and  enlarged. 

Our  well-being  wholly  depends  upon  the 
fufheient  information  of  our  underllanding, 
upon  the  light  in  which  we  fee  things, 
upon  the  knowledge  we  have  how  far  they 
can  profit  or  hurt  us,  how  the  benefit  they 
can  be  of  to  us  may  be  derived  from 
them,  and  how  the  hurt  they  can  do  us 
may  be  efcaped. 

If  I  think  that  to  be  good,  or  that  to  be 

evil,  which  is  not  fuch- or  if  I  knew 

not  that  to  be  good,   or  that  to  be  evil, 

which  is  really  fuch or  if  I  think  there 

is  more  or  lefs  good,  or  more  or  lefs  evil  in 

any  thing  than    there   really*  is or  if 

what,  by  a  proper  application,  might  be 
made  of  very  great  advantage  to  me,  I  am 
ignorant  how  to  make  of  any,  or  of  as 
much  as  it  would  yield  me — or  if  I  am  ig- 
norant how  to  render  that  very  little,  or 
not  at  all,  hurtful  to  me,  which  might  have 
its  evil  either  greatly  lefTened  or  wholly 
avoided :  in  all  thefe  inftances,  my  well- 
being  muft  of  necefiity  be  a  furFcrer  ;  my 
ignorance  mull  greatly  abate  of  the  fatis- 
faction  of  my  life,  and  heighten  its  un- 
cafinefs. 

No  one  is  prejudiced  by  his  not  denting 
what  he  conceives  to  be  good,  by  his  dil- 
inclination  towards  it,  by  his  unwillingnefs 
to  embrace  it.  So  far  is  this  from  being 
cur  cafe,  that  we  are  always  purfuing  it. 
The  iource  of  all  our  motions,  the  defi^n 
or  all  our  endeavours  is  to  better  ourfelves, 
to  remove  from  us  that  which  is  really,  or 
COmparatively  evil. 

What  alone  hurls  us  is  our  mifanprehen- 
fion  of  good,  our  miilakes  about,  our  igno- 
rance of,  it.    Let  u  s  fully  uriderfl  a  n  d  it 

have  juft  conceptions  of  it,  we  then  mall 
never  deferve  the  blame  cf  its  being  lefs 
camellly  fought  after,  and  therefore  unat- 
tained  by  us.  The  excefs  of  our  earneft- 
aiefs  after  it,  is,  indeed,  ufually  th<  oo 
of  milling  it.  Our  folicitude,  our  eager- 
nefsand  impatience  pre  here  (b great,  that 
they  won't  allow  us  time  to  examin 

pearances to  diitinguifh  between  t 

and  realities to  weigh  what  is  future 


againfl  what  is   prefent to  deliberate 

whether  we  do  not  forego  a  much  greater 
advantage  hereafter,  by  clofing  with  that 
which  immediately  offers ;  or  fhall  not  have 
it  abundantly  overbalanced,  by  its  mif- 
chievous  confequences. 

We  want  not  to  be  put  on  the  purfult  of 
happinefs,  but  we  want  very  much  to  have 
that  puriuit  rightly  directed ;  and  as  this 
muft  be  done  by  the  improvement  of  our 
rational  powers,  we  can  be  interelled  in  no- 
thing more  than  in  improving  them,  than 
in  fuch  an  application  of  them,  as  will  con-, 
tribute  moll  to  perfect  them. 

We  are  io  placed,  that  there  are  very 
few  of  the  cbjetts  furrounding  us,  which 
may  not  be  ferviceable  or  hurtful  to  us ; 
nor  is  that  fervice  to  be  obtained,  or  detri- 
ment avoided,  otherwife  than  by  our  ac- 
quaintance with  them  and  with  ourfelves : 
the  more  exact,  our  knowledge  of  this  kind 
is,  the  more  we  leflen  the  calamities,  and 
add  to  the  comforts  of  life  :  and  it  cer- 
tainly  mull  be  as  much  the  intention  of  our 
Creator,  that  we  fhould  attain  the  utmojl 
good  which  we  are  capable  of  procuring 
ourfelves,  as  that  we  fhould  attain  any  for 
which  he  has  qualified  us. 

Nor  is  the  benefit  arifing  to  us  from  an 
enlarged  underllanding  rendered  lefs  cer- 
tain, by  the  uneaftnefs  that  we  find  to  be 
the  (hare  of  the  lludious,  the  contemplative, 
and  learned — of  them  whofe  intellectual 
attainments  we  chiefly  admire. 

The  philcibphcr's  obfervation  to  his 
friend  on  books,  that  it  lignifies  nothing  ho-w 
many,  but  n:-be.t  he  had,  is  applicable  to  the 
knowledge  they  communicate  :  what  it  is, 
and  not  how  various,  is  the  thing  that  con- 
cerns us.  It  may  extend  to  a  prodigious 
number  of  particulars  of  no  moment,  or  of 
very  little  ;  and  that  extent  of  it  gain  us  all 
the  extravagance  of  applaufe,  though  we 
h  ive  the  ignorance  of  the  vulgar,  where  it 
muft  be  of  the  worft  confequence. 

Crowding  our  memory  is  no  more  im- 
proving our  underftanding,  than  filing  our 
coffers  with  pebbles  is  enriching  ourfelves" : 
and  what  is  commonly  the  name  of  learn- 
ing, what  ufually  denominates  us  'very 
learned,  is,  really,  no  more  than  our  memory 
heavily  and  ufelefsiy  burthened. 

How  high  is  the  dciert,  in  the  more  eaft- 
ern  parts,  of  him  who  can  but  read  and 
write  the  language  of  his  country?  A  life 
spent  in  the  ftudy  of  it  alone  fhall  be  there 


'■"  There  is  nothing  almoft  na  done  more  harm  to  men  dedicated  to  letters,  than  giving  the  name 
oF  ft  id/  to  reading,  and  making  a  man  ol  great  reading  to  be  the  imne  with  a  man  of  great 
KRQWlsdge,    lack  of  th  {  nfatf  of  (be  Vnfajlanding 

judged 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


«5* 


judged  an  exercife  of  rcafon  raoft  worthy 
of  applaufe.  And  are  we  in  th e fe  fo  en- 
lightened regions,  in  this  fchool  of  icience, 
as  we  are  apt  to  fancy  it,  at  all  more  juil  to 
rational  improvements?  We  have, indeed, 
no  encomiums  for  him  who  is  not  at  a  lofs 
for  the  meaning  of  any  word  that  his  native 
tongue  furnifhes ;  but  he  who  is  well  /killed 
in  two  or  three  antient  ones,  will  have  the 
highefl  applaufe  for  that  Mil,  and  be  con- 
fidered  as  among  them,  who  have  diftin- 
guiihed  themfelves,  by  a  right  application 
of  their  capacities.  In  this  number  we, 
likewife,  generally  agree  to  place  fuch  as 
have  parted  years  in  only  qualifying  them- 
felves'  either  to  cavil  and  difpute,  or  to  dif- 
guife  their  ignorance  on  any  fubjecl,  or  to 
colour  itrongly,  and  command  the  paflions 
of  their  hearers.  We  are  equally  favour- 
able to  them,  who  bufy  their  minds  oiidif- 
coveries  that  have  no    foundation  but  in 

fancy  and  credulity or  whole  whole 

endeavour  it  has  been  to  learn  what  this  or 
that  man  has  determined  on  a  point,  where- 
in he  was  as  ill  qualified  as  themfelves  to 

make  a  right  determination, or   who 

amufe  themfelves  with  theories,  with  tri- 
fling and  vain  fpeculations. 

Let  a  juit  allowance  be  made  for  thefe, 
and  fuch  like  perfons,  whofe  reputation  for 
learning  is  only  built  on  the  generality 
mifcalling  it,  on  the  prevailing  miiiakes 
about  it,  and  who  have  really  hurt  their 
undenhindi.ngs  by  what  is  thus  falfely  ef- 
teemed  improving  them ;  we  fhall  have 
proceeded  a  great  way  in  removing  the  ob- 
jection to  the  purfuit  of  knowledge,  from 
the  little  fervice  it  is  of,  to  fuch  whofe  at- 
tainments in  it  we  concur  in  acknowledging 
and  admiring. 

When  our  intellectual  purfuits  are  ufeful, 
they  are  often  limited  to  what  is  of  ieail  ufe. 
How  few  of  us  are  prompted  to  our  refearch- 
es  from  the  confuleration  of  the  degree  or 
extent  of  the  good  derivable  from  them? 
It  is  humour,  fancy,  or  fordid  gain  alone, 
that  ordinarily  gives  rife  to  the  very  inqui- 
ries which  are  of  .advantage  to  the  world  ; 
they  feldom  are  made  from  a  regard  to 
their  proper  worth,  from  the  influence  they 
can  have  upon  our  own  or  ethers'  hap- 
pinefs.  _       _    m 

That  the  better  our  understanding  is  in- 
formed, the  better  it  can  direct  us,  nmil  be 


as  evident  to  all,  as  that  we  want  to  be  di- 
rected by  it.  The  mind  of  man  is  as  much 
aflilted  by  knowledge,  as  his  eye  by  light. 
Whatever  his  intellectual  powers  may  be  in 
themfelves,  they  are  to  him  according  to 
his  application  of  them  :  as  the  advantage 
he  receives  from  his  fight  is  according 
to  the  ufe  he  makes  of  it.  "That  igno- 
rance of  his  good  which  he  might,  but 
will  not,  remove,  deprives  him  of  it  as  cer- 
tainly as  an  utter  inability  to  acquaint  him- 
felfwith  it. 

In  what  is  the  improvement  of  our  un- 
derilandings,  we  may,  indeed,  be  miilaken, 
as  we  may  in  what  conftitutes  our  true  hap- 
pinefs  ;  but  in  each  cafe  we  muft  be  wilful- 
ly fo,  we  mull  be  fo  by  refufing  to  attend, 
to  confider. 

Could  we  by  inflincl  difcover  our  own 
good,  as  the  brute  difKnguifh.es  its  good,  all 
concern  on  our  part  to  increafe  our  difcern- 
rnent  might  be  needlefs  ;  but  the  endeavour 
after  this  mull  be  in  the  higheft  degree  ne- 
ceflary,  when  the  more  clearly  we  difcern 
things,  the  more  we  are  benefited,  and  the 
lefs  hurt  by  them.  Where  is  the  man  who 
is  not  made  happier  by  inquiries  that  are 
rightly  directed,  and  when  he  can  faw  with 
the  poet, 

The  fearch  of  truth 

And  moral  decehcy'hath  fill'd  my  breafi ; 

Hath  every  thought  and  faculty  poffeft? 

Of  knowledge  as  difrinft  from  true  wif- 
dem,  it  may  be  not  unjuftly  obferved,  that 
the  increafe  of  it  is  only  the  increafe  of  for- 
row;  but  of  that  knowledge,  the  purfuit  of 
which  exprefl'es  our  wifdom,  we  may  con- 
fidently affert,  that  our  fatisfa&ion  mull  ad-^ 
vance  with  it.  All  will  admit  it  a  proof  of 
wifdom,  to  judge  rightly  of  what  is  moll 
for  our  interell,  and  take  fuch  meafures  as 
fuit  it :  and  as  we  are  qualified  for  this  by 
our  knowledge,  by  the  knowledge  of  our 
own  nature,  and  of  the  properties  of  the 
things  without  us,  fo  far  as  they  can  con- 
tribute to  our  better  or  worfe  ftate  ;  in  the 
degree  we  are  thus  knowing  we  can  only 
be  wife,  determine  rightly  of  what  is  bell, 
and  ufe  the  fitted  means  to  procure  it.  At- 
tainments that  ferve  not  to  this  purpofe 
may  be  flighted ;  but  for  fuch  as  are  requifrte 
to  it,  if  they  principally  deferve  not  our 
concern,  I  fee  not  what  can  have  any  title 

to  it  *. 

We 


*  Since  our  faculties  plainlv  difcover  to  us  the  being  of  a  God,  and  the  knowledge   of  ourfelvtfs, 

enough  to  lead  us  into  a  full  and  clear  difcovery  of  our  duty,  and  great  concernment ;  it  will  become 

us,  as  rational  creatures,  to  employ  thofe  faculties  we  have,  about  what  they  are  moft  adapted  to,  and 

follow  the  direction  of  nature,  where  it  feems  to  point  us  out  the  way.     For  'tis  rational  to  conclude 

'  L  4.  Wat 


lS2  ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 

We  are,  indeed,  ftartled  at  the  very  terms  eafy  under  the!"  ignorance  and  miflakes, 

of   deliberating,    weighing,    confidering,  that  they  will  not  advance  a  ftep  to  remove 

comparing ;  we  have  affixed  fuch  ideas  to  theni  :  and  what  greater  recommendation 

them,  to  make  them  appear  rather  hinder-  can  there  be  of  any  iltuation,    than  that 

ing  the  true  enjoyment  of  ourfelves  than  they    who  are  in  it    are  entirely  fatisned 

promoting  it;  but  if  we  would  not  fhare  with  it? 

the  uneafmefs  that  fo  many  of  our  fellow-  i.The  pains  that  we  are  to  take  in  order 
creatures  lament,  we  muft  net  adopt  their  to  an  advantage  tha;:  muft  infinitely  over- 
prejudices.  In  every  point  of  confequence  balance  them,  we  can  have  no  excufe  for 
we  ufe  more  or  lei's  confideration ;  and  in  omitting  :  and  we  are  called  to  no  pains 
all  the  pleafures  that  allure,  in  all  the  tii-  for  the  improvement  of  our  reafon,  but 
fles  that  amufe  us,  we  are  ftill  making  com-  fuch  as  cannot  be  declined  without  Ieffening 
parifons,  preferring  one  to  the  other,  pro-  our  happinefs — without  incurring  fome  evil 
nouncing  this  lefs,and  that  more  worthy  of  we  mould  otherwife  have  efcaped,  orwant- 
our  choice.  Tho'  none,  if  the  philofopher  ing  fome  good  we  fhould  otherwife  have 
may  be  believed,  deliberate  on  trie  whole  of  obtained  :  whatever  has  its  neglect  attended 
life,  all  do  on  the  parts  of  it:  and  if  we  with  thefe  conferences,  mufi  be  expedited 
fail  not  to  compare  and  reafon  upon  our  from  us  *. 

lower  enjoyments,  I  fee  not  what  there  can  2.  That  they  are  to  feek  knowledge  who 
be  forbidding  in  the  advice  to  attend  fe-  are  to  get  their  bread,  might  feem  a  harih 
rioufly,  to  examine  fairly,  and  to  delay  our  lefibn,  if  the  endeavour  to  inform,  hindered 
choice  till  we  have  gained  the  inftruftion  that  to  maintain  themfelves;  if  the  kn c=w- 
requifite  to  determine  it,  when  the  object  ledge  they  were  to  feek  was  any  othei  but 
thereof  is  what  can  be  mofl  for  our  eafe  and  of  what  is  heft  for  them,  of  what  cap.  give 
fatisfa&ion.  them  all  the  happinefs  that  creatures  fo 
But  it  is  not,  perhaps,  all  exercife  of  our  conftituted  can  receive.  For  this  every  one 
reafon,  in  a  way  fo  well  deferving  k,  that  muft  have  leifuref;  it  fhould  be  judged  our 
difgufts  us ;  it  is  the  degree  of  application  chief  bufmefs ;  it  directs  us  to  that  very  em- 
required  from  us,  that  we  relifh  not.  ployment  from  which  we  have  cur  fupport 

1.  We  know  not  how  to  be  reconciled  to  —-is  carried  on  with  it — affifts  us  in'  it — 
fo  much  trouble  about  enlarging  our  dif-  gives  it  every  confideration  that  can  make 
cernment,  and  rei                  ,         ient.  it  eafy  and  fatisfacbory  to  us.     Thepeaiant 

2.  We  do  not  fee  how  fuch  a  tafk  can  fuit  or  mechanic  i  .  to  fpend  fewer 
them  whofe  whole  provifion  for  the  day  is  hours  :  I  t  he  may  nave  more 
from  the  labour  of  it.  for  ftudy,  .      templating. 

3.  We  find  no  fmall  part  of  mankind  fo  —  to  leave  his  fp;  d    c i  tools  for  a  pen 

that  cur  proper  employment  lies  in  thofe  enquiries,  and  in  that  fort  of  knowledge  which  is  moft  fuit- 
ed  to  our  natural  opacities,  and  parries  in  it  oui  .great  eft  inttrcft,  the  condition  1  f  our  eternal  ftate. 
Hence,  1  think,  I  may  conclu.de,  that  morality  is  the  proper  fcieuceand  bufmefs  (  f  mankind  in  gene- 
ral.     J  ockt  's  rj  :      •'./■  U/ig. 

*  Hew  men  whofe  plentiful  fortune!,  allow  them  leifure  to  improve  their  underftandings,  can  fa- 
tisfy  themfelves  with  a  lazy  ignorance,  1  cannot  tell;  but  methinks  they  have  a  low  1  ;  iniou  of  their 
fouls,  who  lay  out  all  their  incomes  in  provifion  for  the  body,  and  em]  1  1  of  it  to  procure  the 
means  and  helps  of  knowledge  ;  who  take  great  care  to  appear  always  in  a  neat  and  fplendid  outfule, 
and  would  think  themfelves  miferable  in  c;;arfe  clothes,  or  a  patched  coat,  and  yet  contentedly  fuffer 
their  minds  to  appear  abroad  in  a  pie-bald  livery  ofcoarfepatch.es,  and  borrowed" ftireds,  fuch  as  it  has 
pleafed  chance  or  their  country  taylor(I  mean  the  common  opinion  of  thofe  they  have  con  verfed  with) 
to  cloath  them  in.  1  will  not  lure  mention  how  unreafonable  this  is  for  men  that  ever  think  of  a  fu- 
ture ftate,-and-their  concernment  in  it,  which  no  rational  man  can  avoid  to  do  fometimes.  Loch's 
JLJji'.y  on  Human  Utuhrjittnding,  B.  iv.  Ch    20. 

.  t  A™  lhe  S'enw  fl  1  art  of  mankind,  by  the  neceffity  of  their  condition,  fnhiefled  to  unavoidable 
ignorance  in  thole  things  which  are  of  greateft  importance  to  them  ?  Have  the  bulk  of  mankind  no 
other  guide  but  accident  and  blind  chance,  to  condufl  them  to  their  happinefs  or  mifery  ?— God  has 
furnifhed  men  wuh  faculties  fufficient  to  dired  them  in  the  way  they  fhould  take,  if  they  will  but  fe- 
rioufly  employ  them  that  way,  when  their  ordinary  vocations  allow  them  the  leifure.  No  man  is  fo 
wholly  taken  up  with  the  attendance  on  the  means  of  living,  as  to  have  no  fpare  time  to  think  at  all 
of  his  foul,  and  inform  himfelf  in  matters  of  Religion.  Were  men  as  intent  on  this,  as  they  are  on 
things  of  lower  concernment,  there  are  none  fo  enflaved  to  the  neceffities  of  life,  who  might  not  find 
many  vacancies  that  might  be  hufbanded  to  this  advantage  of  their  knowledge.  Locke's  May  on  Hu- 
man Lnc'.iftttr.dtng. 

or 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


15$ 


-or  a  book.  No,  the  advice  to  him  is,  ob- 
ferve  what  paffes,  and  what  gocd  or  hurt 
accompanies  or  follows  it. 

Remark  what  it  is  that  pleafes  you  only 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  either  brings 
immediate  uneafinefs,  or  lays  a  foundation 
for  fome  future. 

You  findfeveral  things  offervice  to  you, 
obferve  which  is  of  moll,  which  has  no 
fort  of  inconvenience  attending  it,  or  very 
little  in  companion  of  its  advantage;  and, 
if  there  are  none  of  them  without  fome  in- 
conveniences, which  has  the  feweil — which 
does  you  good  in  a  higher  degree,  or  for  a 
longer  term. 

You  are  continually  with  thofe  of  the 
fame  nature  with  yourfeif;  take  notice 
what  is  ferviceable  or  prejudicial  to  them; 
you  may  learn  from  their  experience  what 
your  own  teaches  you  not.  Every  day  will 
furniih  fome  or  other  occurrence  that  may 
be  a  profitable  leffon  to  you,  make  itfuch; 
overlook  nothing  that  affefts  your  well- 
being;  attend  chiefly  to  what  concerns  it. 

Go  over  frequently  in  your  thoughts 
the  observations  you  have  made  on  what 
will  more  or  lefs  benefit  you ;  let  them  be 
fo  deeply  imprinted  upon  your  mind,  make 
them  fo  familiar  to  yourfeif,  that  the  offer 
of  a  lefs  good  may  never  furprife  and  be- 
tray you  into  the  neglect,  and,  by  that 
means,  the  lofs  of  a  greater. 

You  are  at  all  times  at  liberty  to  confider 
your  own  nature,  be  acquainted  with  it,  fee 
what  you  can  do  for  yourfeif,  what  fhare  of 
your  happinefs  has  no  dependance  on  the 
things  without  you;  what  bleffings  may  be 
fecured  to  you  by  your  own  difpofitions. 

You  neceffarily  fhun  evil :  don't  miftake 
it;  be  fure  of  what  is  fo;  be  apprifed  of 
the  degrees  of  it;  be  throughly  inftrudted 
in  thefe,  that  a  defire  to  efcape  what  you 
could  eafily  bear,  may  never  occafion  you 
a  diitrefs  which  you  would  pronounce  infup- 
portable.  Endeavour  to  inform  yourfeif 
what  evil  you  cannot  too  induilrioufly  avoid 
•—what  you  fhould  readily  fubmit  to— what 
you  may  change  into  good. 

He,  to  whefe  fituation  terms  like  thefe 
would  be  unfuitablc,  muft  have  reafen  to 
feek,  as  well  as  a  livelihood.  Our  natural 
undemanding  fits  all  of  us  for  a  tafk  like 
this ;  nor  can  it  be  inconfiftent  with  any  the 
harder!  labour  to  which  our  fupport  will 
oblige  us. 

The  whole  of  this  fo  fevere  s  leffon  is  this 
brief  one;  Do  your  bell  for  yourfeif;  be  as 
happy  as  the  right  ufe  of  the  abilities  God 
has  given  you  can  make  you. 


3.  As  for  the  unconcernednef?  of  fo  great 
a  part  of  our  fpecies  at  their  ignorance  and 
errors — the  entire  fatisfaclion  they  exprefs 
under  them  :  with  regard  to  this,  let  it  be 
confidered,  that  we  are  no  more  to  judge 
of  good  from  the  practice  of  numbers,  than 
of  truth  from  their  opinions. 

They  throughly  enjoy  themfelves,  you 
fay,  with  their  little,  knowledge,  and  many 
miftakes. 

.And  are  any  of  us  in  our  younger  years 
better  pleafed  than  when  we  are  fuffered 
to  fport  away  our  time — to  pafs  it  without 
the  leaf!  controul  and  inftrudtion  ?  But  be- 
caufe  we  are  thus  pleafed,  are  we  rightly 
fo  ?  Could  worfe  befal  us,  than  to  be  per- 
mitted to  continue  thus  agreeably  unre- 
ftrained  and  uninftrudted  ? 

The  man  in  a  lethargy  defires  youwoull 
let  him  dofe  on:  he  apprehends  no  danger, 
when  you  fee  the  greateil :  you  grieve  and 
vex  him,  when  you  attempt  to  cure  him. 

Does  any  one  who  has  more  fenfe  than 
the  bulk  of  his  fellow-creatures,  wifh  for 
their  dulnefs,  that  he  might  ihare  their  di- 
verfions — wifh  for  their  thoughtieffnefs, 
that  he  might  join  in  their  mirth  ? 

Could  the  neglecl  of  our  rational  facul- 
ties be  accompanied,  throughout  our  con- 
tinuance in  being,  with  the  fatisfaclion  at 
prefent  expreffed  by  fo  many  under  it,  this 
indeed  might  be  fomething  in  its  favour; 
but  this  is  by  no  means  the  cafe.  He  who 
gave  us  thefe  faculties,  and  the  ability  to 
improve  them,  muft  intend  that  we  fhould 
improve  them :  by  fruilrating  his  inten- 
tion, we  incur  his  difpleafure;  if  we  incur 
it,  we  may  juftly  expect,  fooner  or  later,  to 
feel  the  effects  thereof. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  thought  that  the  neglect 
of  our  reafon  is,  from  the  good  we  hereby 
forego,  its  own  fufHcient  punifhment,  and 
therefore  not  likely  to  expofe  us  to  any 
other.  We  cannot  rightly  think  thus,  be- 
caufe  of  the  extenfive  mifchief  occafioned 
by  this  neglect.  It  is  very  far  from  termi- 
nating in  ourfelves,  from  making  us  the 
only  fufferers.  Were  it  fo  confined,  fome 
pretence  there  might  be  for  confidering  our 
rftere  crime  as  our- ample  punifhment.  But 
fuch  it  cannot  appear,  when  it  does  infinite 
hurt  to  ethers — to  our  neighbourhood — to 
our  friends — to  our  family — to  the  whole 
community  of  which  we  are  members. 

What  is  enough  for  myfelf,  what  I  can 
do  without,  fhould  be  the  leaf!  of  my  con- 
cern. My  duty  is  to  reflect  what  I  can 
do  for  others;  how  I  may  make  myfelf  of 
greateft  ufe,    We  ftand  all  largely  indebted 

to 


»54 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


to  our  fellow-creatures ;  and,  owing;  them 
fo  much,  if  we  neglect  to  qualify  ourfelves 
for  ferving  them,  we  greatly  injure  them. 
But  as  this  is  not  the  place  for  purfuing 
thefe  reflections,  I  will  now  only  remark, 
of  what  deplorable  confequence  it  is  to  our 
children  (whole  title  to  our  endeavours  for 
their  benefit,  all  acknowledge)  that  the 
culture  of  our  minds  is  fo  little  our  care — 
that  we  flight  the  rational  improvements, 
with  a  capacity  for  which  our  Creator  has 
fo  gracioufly  favoured  us. 

Unapprehenfive  of  the  mifchief  our  off- 
fpring  muft  neceffarily  receive  from  our 
floth,  our  intemperance,  and  other  criminal 
©-ratifications,  we  impair  their  frame  before 
it  is  yet  compleated ;  we  entail  on  them 
mifery,  before  we  give  them  life. 

Their  reafon  feems  to  be  watched  in  its 
appearance,  only  that  it  may  be  applied  to 
for  its  fpeedier  corruption.  Every  thing 
they  are  at  firlt  taught  to  value,  is  what 
they  cannot  enough  defpife  ;  and  all  the 
pains  that  fhould  be  taken  to  keep  their 
minds  from  vain  fears,  are  employed  to 
introduce  them. 

The  chief  of  what  our  memory  receives 
in  our  childhood,  is  what  our  maturer  age 
moll  wifhes  to  forget. 

While  we  are  ignorant  how  hurtful  it  is 
to  be  governed  by  our  pailions,  our  wife 
directors  permit  them  to  govern  us,  and 
thereby  give  them  a  ftrcngth  which  we  af- 
terwards fruitlessly  lament  and  oppofe.  To 
fave  cur  tears,  we  are  to  have  our  will ;  and, 
for  a  few  moments  of  prefent  quiet,  be 
condemned  to  years  of  diftrefs.  Imaginary 
evils  we  are  bid  to  regard  as  the  principal 
real  ones;  and  what  we  fhould  mod  avoid, 
we  are,  by  examples  of  greatell  weight 
with  us,  encouraged  to  practife. 

How  much  indeed  Loth  the  bodies  and 
minds  of  children  fuffer  from  the  ill-in- 
formed underflanding  of  their  parents,  is 
fcarcely  to  be  conceived — what  advantages 
the)-  lofe  by  it — what  mifery  they  feel: 
and  therefore,  as  they  art  the  immediate 
objects  of  oar  care— as  nature  has  made 
them  fuch,and  all  the  prejudice  they  receive 
from  any  failure  of  ouj  ,  from  any  neglect 
on  our  part  in  qualifying  ourfelves  to  a  flirt 
tl  m  in  the  way  we  ought  to  do  it,  is 
really  an  injury  don;-  them  by  us;  we  can- 
not think,  that  if  v/e  won't  endeavour  to 
I  •  juft  notions  of  things,  we  are  fuffici- 
ently  punifhed  by  being  without  them — 
we  can  with  no  probability,  fuppofe,  that, 
:  ■.  ,  e  co  t<  nt  10  be  lofers  ourfelves,  it 
.  ill  :     fathfketion  enough  for  any  diftrefs 


that  our  carelefTnefs  or  fupinenefs  brings 
on  ethers,  even  on  them  whole  welfare  we 
ought  moil  to  ccnfult. 

Of  what  advantage  it  is  to  both  fexes 
that  the  parent,  under  whofe  guidance  they 
are  in  their  tender  years,  fhould  not  have 
confined  her  thoughts  to  the  recommen- 
dations of  apparel,  furniture,  equipage — to 
the  amufements  in  fafhion — to  the  forms  of 
good  breeding — to  the  low  topics  of  fe- 
male converfation;  we  have  the  mod  re- 
markable inlrances  in  the  family  of  Emilia. 
She  has  for  many  years  been  the  wife  of 
one,  whofe  rank  is  the  leaft  part  of  his 
meiit:  made  by  him  the  mother  of  a  nu- 
merous offspring,  and  having  frc.m  his 
important  and  uninterrupted  avocations, 
their  education  left  entirely  to  her,  'till 
they  were  qualified  for  a  more  extenfive 
inftruclion  ;  it  was  her  ftudy  how  fhe 
might  be  of  the  greateft  ufe  to  them : 
they  were  ever  under  her  eye :  her  at- 
tention to  forming  their  manners  could 
be  diverted  by  none  of  the  pleafures, 
by  none  of  the  engagements  that  claim 
fo  many  of  the  hours  of  a  woman  of 
quality.  She  did  not  awe,  but  reafon  her 
children  into  their  duty;  they  ihewed 
themfelves  to  practife  it  not  from  conftraint, 
but  conviction.  When  they  were  abfent 
from  her — when  they  were  in  company, 
where  they  might  have  been  as  free  as  they 
pleafed,  I  have,  with  aftonifhment,  ob- 
ferved  them  as  much  influenced  by  what 
their  wife  mother  had  advifed,  as  they 
could  have  been  by  any  thing  fhe  would 
have  faid  had  fhe  been  then  prefent.  In 
her  converfation  with  them  fhe  was  per- 
petually inculcating  ufeful  truths ;  fhe 
talked  them  into  more  knowledge,  by  the 
time  that  they  were  fix  or  feven  years  old, 
than  is  ufually  attained  at,  perhaps,  twice 
that  age. 

Let  me  indulge  my  imagination,  and,  by 
its  aid,  give  a  fample  of  her  inftruftions ; 
firfl,  to  one  of  the  females  of  her  family, 
and  then,  to  one  of  the  males.  Leonora, 
her  eldert  daughter,  has,  among  her  many 
accomplifhments,  great  fki.ll  in  painting. 
When  her  mother  and  fhe  flood  viewing 
the  pictures,  that  crouded  each  fide  of  the 
room  in  which  they  were,  Emilia  defired 
to  hear  what  the  pupil  of  fo  eminent  a 
mafter  had  to  obferve  on  the  works  before 
them.  Leonora  began;  praifed  the  bold 
and  animated  manner  in  this  piece,  the 
foftnefs  and  delicacy  of  that.  Nothing 
could  be  more  graceful  than  the  attitude 
of  this  figure;  the  expreflion  in  that  was  fo 

happy 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


*5J 


feappy,  the  colouring  fc  beautiful,  that  one 
might  truly  iky  of  it,  to  make  it  alive, 
fpeech  alone  is  wanted;  nor  would  yon  think 
even  that  wanting,  were  you  to  truft  wholly 
to  your  eves.  Here  ihe  admired  the  fkil- 
ful  diftribution  of  light  and  (hade :  there 
the  perspective  was  fo  wonderfully  exact, 
that  in  the  great  number  of  objects  pre- 
fented  to  the  eye,  ic  could  fix  on  none  but 
what  had  its  proper  place,  and  juft  dimen- 
fions.  How  free  is  that  drapery?  what  a 
variety  is  there  in  it,  yet  how  well  adjulled 
is  the  whole  to  the  feveral  figures  in  the 
piece  ?  Does  not  that  group  extremely 
pleafe  your  ladyfhip  ?  the  difpohtion  is 
quite  fine,  the  aflociation  of  the  figures  ad- 
mirable ;  I  know  not  which  you  could  pitch 
upon  to  have  abfent  or  altered.  Leonora 
purfuing  this  ftrain,  Emilia  interrupted  her : 
Have  we  nothing,  child,  but  exactnefs  here  ? 
Is  every  thing  before  us  quite  finilhed  and 
faultiefs  ?  You  will  be  pleafed,  Madam,  to 
reflect  on  what  you  have  fo  often  incul- 
cated, That  one  would  always  chufe  to  be 
fparing  in  cenfure,  and  liberal  of  praife — 
That  commendation,  freely  bellowed  on 
what  deferves  it,  credits  alike  our  temper 
and  our  underftanding. 

-  This  I  would  have  you  never  forget. 
But  I'm  here  a  learner;  in  that  light  you 
are  now  to  confider  me;  and  as  your  French 
mailer  taught  you  pronunciation,  not  only 
by  ufmg  a  right,  but  by  imitating  your 
wrong  one;  making  you  by  that  means 
more  fenfible  where  the  difference  lay ;  fo 
to  qualify  me  for  a  judge  in  painting,  it 
will  not  fuftice  to  tell  me  where  the  a  lift 
has  fucceeded,  if  you  obferve  not,  likewife, 
where  he  has  mifcarried. 

Leonora  then  proceeded  to  fhew  where 
the  drawing  was  incorrect — the  attitude 
ungraceful — the  cuftume  ill  preferved — the 
ordonnance  irregular — the  contours  harfli 
—the  light  too  itrong — the  fhade  too  deep  ; 
extending  her  remarks  in  this  way  to  a 
great  number  of  pieces  in  the  collection. 
You  have  been  thus  far,  interpofed  Emilia, 
my  inifructor,  let  me  now  be  yours.  Sup- 
pofe  your  own  portrait  here.  In  the  fame 
manner  that  you  would  examine  it,  judge 
of  the  original.  This  you  ought  to  do, 
lince  it  will  be  done  by  others;  and  the 
more  blemilhes  you  difcover,  the  fewer 
you  will  probably  leave  for  them  to  reproach 
you  with.  The  faults  in  the  picture  may 
be  known  to  him  who  drew  it,  and  yet  be 
buffered  to  appear,  from  h's  inability  to 
correct  them  ;  but  when  you  difcern  what 
is  faulty  in  yourfeifj,  if  you  cannot  amend, 


you  can,  often,  conceal  it.  Here  you  have 
the  advantage  of  the  painter ;  in  another 
refpect  he  has  it  greatly  of  you.  Not  one 
in  a  thoufand  is  a  judge  of  the  failures  in 
his  performance ;  and  therefore  even  when 
many  may  be  objected  to  him,  he  ihall  pafs, 
in  common  eiteem,  for  an  excellent  artiiL 
But  let  the  woman,  unconfeious  of  her  im- 
perfection 3,  be  at  no  pains  to  remedy  or 
hide  them,  all  who  converfe  with  her  are 
judges  of  them ;  when  Ihe  permits  them 
to  be  feen,  they  are  certain  to  be  cen- 
fured. 

You  have  fufriciently  convinced  me,  to 
how  many  things  the  painter  muft  attend 
— againft  what  various  millakes  he  has  to 
guard  :  each  of  your  criticifms  on  him  may 
be  a  lefibn  to  yourfelf;  every  blemifh  or 
beauty  in  any  part  of  his  works  has  fome- 
thing  correfpondent  to  it  in  human  life. 

The  deiign  is  faulty,  not  only  when  the 
end  wc  propofe  to  ourfelves  is  confeffedly 
criminal,  but  when  it  is  low  and  mean; 
when,  likewife,  we  let  our  time  pafs  at 
random,  without  any  concern  for  what 
reafon  and  duty  require,  but  as  caprice,  or 
humour,  or  paffion  fuggeits. 

We  offend  againlr.  proportion,  when  we 
arrogate  to  ourfelves  the  deiert  we  want, 
or  over-rate  what  may  be  allowed  us— 
when  we  hate  not  what  is  really  evil ;  or 
when  our  affections  are  placed  on  what  is 
not  cur  proper  good.  You  remember  the 
difiection  of  a  female  heart  in  the  Spcdatcr% 
I  refer  you  to  it,  that  I  may  fpare  my  own 
reflections,  on  what  would  furnith  copious 
matter  for  no  very  pleafing  ones. 

Your  ladyfhip  will  pardon  me  for  in- 
terrupting you;  but  I  can't  help  thinking, 
that  the  head  and  heart  of  a  beau  or  country 
'fquire  would  furniih  as  much  folly  and 
corruption,  as  the  head  and  heart  of  any 
woman  in  the  kingdom. 

We  (hall  never,  child,  become  better, 
by  thinking  who  are  worfe  than  ourfelves. 
If  the  charge  upon  us  be  juft,  we  mould 
confider  how  to  get  clear  of  it,  and  not 
who  are  liable  to  one  equally  reproach- 
ful. Were  I  to  bid  you  walh  your  face, 
would  you  think  yourfelf  juftified  in  not 
doing  it,  becaufe  you  could  fhew  me  a 
woman  of  rank  with  a  dirtier?  But  to  the 
purpofe. 

That  expreffion,  any  failure  in  which 
you  would,  as  a  judge  of  painting,  treat 
without  mercy,  is,  in  morals,  violated  by 
whatever  is  out  of  character.  All  incon- 
fiftency  in  practice — in  profeflion  and  prac- 
tice; everything  unbecoming  your  Tex — 

your 


15« 


ELEGANT  ."TACTS     1  N     P R C 


your  education — your  capacity. — your  Ra- 
tion, deferves  the  fame  cenfure  that  the 
pencil  meets  with,  when  it  errs  in  exprei- 
fion. 

Skill  in  the  diitribution  of  '  hi  a 
fhade,  or  the  clair-obfcure,  as,  I  Hunk,  the 
term  of  art  is  I  mould  apprehend  refembled 
by  prudence;  which  teaches  us  to  I  z 
ourfelves  in  the  moil  advantageous  pi  int 
of  view— brings  forward  and  brightens 
our  good  qualities,  but  throws  back  and 
obfeures  cur  defects — fuffers  nothing  to 
diftinguiih  itfelf  that  will  be  to  our  difpa- 
ragement,  nor  {hades  any  thing  that  will 
credit  us. 

By  ordomante  is  meant,  I  apprehend, 
the  manner  of  placing  the  feveral  objects 
in  a  piece,  or  the  difpofition  of  them  with 
refpedt  tc  the  whole  compofure.  And  what 
can  be  fitter  for  us,  than  to  confider  where 
we  are,  and  to  appear  accordingly  ?  The 
civilities  that  are  lefs  decently  (hewn  in 
the  church,  it  would  be  a  great  indecorum 
to  neglect  in  the  drawing-room.  The 
freedom  that  will  gain  you  the  hearts  of 
your  inferiors,  fhall,  if  ufed  towards  thofe 
of  a  higher  rank,  make  you  be  thought 
the  worft-bred  woman  in  the  world.  Let 
the  feafon  for  it  be  disregarded,  your 
chearfulnefs  fhall  be  offenfive,  your  gra- 
vity feem  ridiculous — your  wit  brinj 
fenfei:  i  tion,  and  your  very  friendlieft 
interpofition  be  thought  notfo  much  a  proof 
of  your  affection  as  of  your  impertinence. 
'Tis  the  right  placing  of  things  that  fliews 
our  difcretion — that  keeps  us  clear  of  diffi- 
culties— Tat  raifes  our  credit — that  prin- 
cipally contributes  to  give  any  of  our 
[is  fuccefs. 

To    beauty    in    colouring    correfponds, 
perhaps,  good  nature  improved  by 
breeai  ly,  as  the  ca   i 

could  furnifh  no  i  well  fancied,  no 

d      ight  fb  corre  ,  hat  would  yet  fail 

u,  were 
1 — not  fuftaii     [ 
by  e;  :h  other— void  of  their  due  harmo- 
ny ;  •;'  '  virtue  go  but  a  little 
omn       '  ition,  i    the)  Lr 
[r  pn                  i1   ge  in  an< 

and  ]  manners, 

• 

■      d    you  cannot  be 

;  a  bad  colourift.     Believe 

.    i  ha\        ien  gained  a  very  material 

concerns  you  have  in 

rid,  I       .  :0:  e  proofs  you  will  find  of 

J  11  drop  this  fubject  when 

7 


■ .     ■   '  :  Try,  cour- 
J    ice,    by   your 


I  :      e  faid  to  you,  That  if  to  make  a 
picture  is  fuch  a  cor 

i'o  much  attentioi  ttenfive  obferva- 

tion — if  an  error  in  any  of  the  principal 
pa.ts  of  painting  io  offends,  takes  off  fo 

greatly  from  the  merit  of  the  piece 

if  lie,  who  is  truly  an  artift,  overlooks  no- 
thing  that  would  be  at  all  a  blemilh  to  his 
performance,  and  would  call  each  trivial 
indecorum  a  fault:  think,  child,  what  care 
about  the  original  ought  to  equal  tlii  for 
the  portrait — of  what  infinitely  greater 
confequence  it  mud  be,  to  have  every  thing 
right  within  ourfelves,  than  to  give  a  juit 
appearance  to  the  things  without  us ;  and 
hew  much  lefs  pardonably  any  violation  of 
decorum  would  be  charged  on  your  life, 
than  on  your  pencil. 

The  molt  finifhed  reprefentation  only 
pleafes  by  its  correfpondence  to  what  it 
reprcfents,  as  nature  well  imitated  ;  and  if 
juitnefs  in  mere  reprefentation  and  imita- 
tion can  have  the  charms  you  find  in  it, 
you  may  eafily  conceive  the  fiill  greater 
delight  that  mult  arife  from  beholding  the 
beauties  of  nature  itfelf;  fuch,  particularly, 
as  the  pencil  cannot  imitate — the  beauties 
of  rational  ram  re,  thofe  which  the  poffeflbr 
gives  herlelf— which  are  often  thoufand 
times  the  moment  of  any  in  her  outward 
fymmetry — which,  how  highly  foever  they 
may  adorn  her,  profit  her  Hill  more ;  and 
arc  not  only  to  her  own  advantage,  but  to 
that  of  the  age  in  which  fhe  lives,  and  pof- 
fibly,  of  re  mote  it  generations. 

My  concern  to  fee  you  this  fair  unble- 
mifhed  original  makes  me  ftrangely  un- 
mindful on  what  topic  I  am  got.  There, 
furcly,  can  be  no  proof  wanting,  how  much 
a  wife  and  good  woman  excels  any  portrait, 
or  any  woman,  who  has  but  the  merit  of  a. 
portrait,  a  fine  appearance. 

In  '-this  way  Emilia  takes  each  opportu- 
nity to  form  the  manners  of  her.  daughter 
—  .0  give  her  throughout  juft  and  reaion- 
able  fentiments,  and  difpofe  her  to  the  ex- 
ad  difcharge  of  her  duty  in  every  relation. 

Leonora,  thus  educated,  has  the  fools 
and  the  follies  of  the  age  in  their  due  con- 
tempt— judges  wifely — acts  prudently — is 
ever  ufefully  or  innocently  employed — can 
pafs  her  evenings  very  chearfully  without  a 
card  in  her  hand — can  be  perfectly  in  hu- 
mour when  fhe  is  at  home,  and  ail  her  ac- 
quaintance  at  the  affembly;  and  feems 
likely  to  borrow  no  credit  from  her  family, 
•  ihe  will  not  fully  repay. 

We  will  difmifs  the  daughter,  and 
reprcfent  Emilia  parting  with  her  fon  in 

term^ 


BOCK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


157 


terms  like  thefe.  I  am  now  to  take  my 
leave  of  yea,  for  one  campaign  at  leaft.  It 
is  the  firft  you  ever  ferved ;  let  me  advife, 
and  do  you  act,  as  if  it  would  be  your  laft  : 
the  dangers,  to  which  you  will  be  expoied, 
give  both  of  us  reafon  to  fear  it :  if  it  pleafe 
God  that  it  mould  be  fo,  may  you  not  be 
found  unprepared,  nor  I  unreiigned  !  This 
I  am  the  lefs  likely  to  be,  when  you  have 
had  my  beft  counfel,  and  /  your  promife  to 
refleft  upon  it.  He  bowing,  and  affuring 
her,  that  whatever  me  mould  be  pleafed  to 
fay  to  him,  it  would  be  carefully  remem- 
bered; fhe  proceeded — I  could  never  con- 
ceive, what  induced  the  foldicr  to  think 
that  he  might  take  greater  liberties  than 
the  reft  of  mankind.  He  is,  'tis  true,  oc- 
cafionally  fubjefted  to  greater  hardships, 
and  he  runs  greater  hazards;  but  by  a 
«lewd  and  vicious  life,  he  makes  thefe  hard- 
fhips  abundantly  more  grievous  than  they 
otherwife  would  be — lie  disqualifies  himfelf 
to  bear  them.  What  would  you  think  of 
his  wits,  who,  becaufe  he  is  to  be  much  in 
the  cold,  fits,  as  often  as  he  can,  clofe  to 
the  hre  ?  An  habitual  fabriety  and  regula- 
rity of  manners  is,  certainly,  the  belt  pre- 
fervative  of  that  vigorous  conftitution, 
which  makes  it  leaft  u'neafy  to  endure  fa- 
tigue and  cold,  hunger  and  thirft. 

The  dangers  to  which  the  foldier  is 
expofed,  are  fo  far  from  excufmg  his  Jicen- 
tioufnefs,  when  he  has  no  enemy  near  him, 
that  they  ought  to  be  coniidered  as  the 
ftrongeft  motive  to  conform  himfelf,  at  all 
times,  to  the  rules  cf  reafon  and  religion. 
A  practice  agreeable  to  them  is  the  beft 
fupport  of  his  fpirits,  and  the  fureft  provi- 
fion  for  his  fafety — It  will  effectually  re- 
move his  fears,  and  can  alone  encourage 
his  hopes :  nothing  but  it  can  give  him.  any 
comfortable  expectation,  if  what  threatens 
him  ihould  befal  him.  He  who  is  fo  much 
in  danger,  ought  to  be  properly  armed 
againft  it,  and  this  he  can  never  be  by 
refiefting  on  the  women  he  has  corrupted 
— on  his  hours  of  intemperance,  or  on  any 
other  of  his  extravagancies.  You  won't, 
perhaps,  allow  that  he  wants  the  armour  I 
would' provide  him,  becaufe  he  never  knows 
the  apprehenfions  that  require  it.  But  I 
am  confidering  what  his  apprehenfions 
ought  to  be,  not  what  they  are.  The  na- 
ture of  things  will  not  be  altered  by  our 
opinion  about  them. 

It  is  granted,  that  a  foldier 's  life  is,  fre- 
quently, in  the  utmoft  hazard;  and  the 
queftion  is  not,  how  a  thoughtlefs,  ftupid, 
abmrd  creature  .mould   behave  in  fuch  a 


fituatjon  ;  but,  what  fhould  be  done  in  it 
by  a  man  of  prudence  and  fenfe  ?  I  fay,  he 
will  attend  to  the  value  of  what  he  hazards 
—to  the  confequence  of  its  lofs ;  and,  if 
found  of  very  great,  he  will  fo  aft,  that  the 
lefs  thereof  may  be,  if  poflible,  fome  or 
other  way  made  up  to  him,  or  accompa- 
nied with  the  feweft  inconveniences.  In- 
fenfibility  of  danger  is  the  merit  of  a  bull- 
dog. True  courage  fees  danger,  but 
defpifes  it  only  from  rational  motives— 
from  the  confiderations  of  duty.  There 
can  be  no  virtue  in  expoiing  life,  where  there 
-is  no  notion  of  its  value  ;  you  are  a  brave 
man,  when  you  fully  underftand  its  worth, 
and  yet  in  a  good  caufe  difregard  death. 

If,  thus  to  be  ready  to  die  is  commend- 
able, wholly  fi  :auft  that  makes  us 
fo,  which  is,  unqueftionably,  the  cafe ;  I 
don't  fee  how  fuch  an  indifference  to  life, 
when  honour  calls  you  to  rifle  it,  can  con- 
lift  with  paffing  it,  at  any  feafon,  immorally 
and  diflblutely. 

Here  is  a  gallant  officer  who  will  rather 
be  killed  than  quit  his  poft — than  be  want- 
ing in  the  defence  of  his  country  !  Is  not 
this  a  fine  refolution  in  one  who,  by  his 
exceffes,  makes  himfelf  every  day  lefs  able 
to  ferve  his  country ;  or  who  lets  an  ex- 
ample, which,  if  followed,  would  do  his 
country  as  much  mifchief  as  it  could  have 
to  fear  from  its  mod  determined  enemy? 

The  irsconfiderate  and  thoughtlefs  may 
laugh  at  vice — may  give  foft  terms  to  very 
bad  actions,  or  {peak  of  them,  as  if  they 
were  rather  matter  of  jeft  than  abhorrence: 
but  whoever  will  refleft  whence  all  the 
mifery  of  mankind  arifes— what  the  fource 
is  of  ail  the  evils  we  lament ;  he  cannot  but 
own,  that  if  any  thing  ought  to  make  us 
ferious — if  we  ought  to  deteft  any  thing,  it 
fhould  be  that,  from  which  fuch  terrible 
effects  are  derived. 

For  the  very  fame  reafen  that  we  prefer 
health  to  iicknefs — eafe  to  pain,  we  mult 
prefer  virtue  to  vice.  Moral  evil  feems  to 
me  to"  have  a  neceffary  connection  with 
natural.  According  to  my  notion  of  things, 
there  is  no  crime  but  what  creates  pain,  or 
has  a  tendency  to  create  it  to  others  or 
ourfelves  :  every  criminal  is  fuch,  by  doing 
fomething  that  is  directly,  or  invits  confe- 
quences,  hurtful  to  himfelf,  or  to  a  fellow- 
creature. 

Is  not  here  a  foundation  of  religion  that 
no  objeftiens  can  afreet  ?  Deprive  us  of  it, 
you  deprive  us  of  the  only  effectual  re- 
straint from  thofe  practices,  which  are  moft 
detrimental  to  the  world— you  deprive  us 

cf 


!$$  ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

of  virtue,  an  J  thereby  of  all  the  true  hap- 
pinefswe  have  here  to  expect. 


To  charge  religion  with  the  mifchief  oc- 
cafioned  by  miilakes  about  it,  I  think  full 
as  impertinent,  as  to  decry  reafon  for  the 
wrong  ufc  that  has  been  mad?  of  it;  or 
government,  for  the  bad  adminiiiration  of 
every  kind  of  it,  in  every  part  Oj 
What  lhall  pro\  :  to  the  ; 
mankind,  will,  in  all  cah  ,  dep<  id  upon 
themfelves:  that  which  is,  confefiedly, 
moll  for  it,  in  every  initance  you  can  think 
of,  you  fee,  occasionally,  abufed  ;  and  by 
that  abuie  becoming  as  hurtful,  as  ic  would, 
otherwife,  ha  e  been  beneficial.  Contro- 
verfy  I  hate  ;  and  to  read  books  of  it  as  ill 
faits  my  leifure  as  my  inclination  :  vet  I  do 
not  profefs  a  religion,  the  ground:-,  of  w  hich 
I  have  never  confidered.  And  upon  the 
very  fame  grounds  that  I  am  convinced  of 
the  truth  of  religion  in  general.  I  am  fo  of 
the  truth  of  chriftianity.  The  good  of  the 
world  is  greatly  promoted  by  it.  If  we 
would  take  chriftianity  for  our  guide 
throughout,  we  could  not  have  a  better— 
we  could  not  have  a  furer  to  all  the  hap- 
pinefs  of  which  our  prefent  ftate  admits. 
Its  Simplicity  may  have  been  difguifed — 
its  intention  perverted — its  doctrines  mif- 
reprefented,  andconclufions  drawn,  fuitinp 


rather  the  interefl  or  amb 


of  the  ex- 


poiitor,  than  the  directions  of  the  text:  but 
when  I  refort  to  the  rule  itfelf; — when  I 
find  it  aliening,  that  the  whole  of  my  duty 
is  to  love  God  above  all  things,  and  my 
neighbour  as  myfelf— to  live  always  mind- 
ful by  whom  I  am  lent  into,  and  preferred 
in,  the  world,  and  always  difpofed  to  do  in 
it  the  utmofr.  good  in  my  power ;  [  can  no 
more  doubt,  whether  .this  is  the  voice  of 
my  Creator,  than  I  can  doubt,  whether  it 
mult  be  his  will,  that,  when  he  has  made 
me  a  reafonable  creature,  1  ihould  ad  like 
one.  But  I  will  drop  a  topic,  on  w  hich  1 
am  fure  your  father  muff  have  fi  r  ci  -ntly 
enlarged :  I  can  only  fpeak  to  it  mor  '  ge- 
nerally: difficulties  and  ■  <s  \  ■  mil 
leave  him  to  obviate;  yet  thus  much  con- 
fidently affirming,  that  if  you  won:t 
an  irreligious  fcheme,  till  you  find 
clear  of  them,  you  will  continue  as  good  a 
chriflian,  as  it  has  been  our  joint  care  to 
make  you.  I  pray  God  you  may  do  fo. 
He  that  would  corrupt  your  principles,  is 
the  enemy  yen  have  molt"  to  fe;  r;  an  ene- 
my who  means  you  worfe,  than  any  you 
will  draw  your  fword  againrt. 

When  you  are  told,  that  the  foldier's  re- 
ligion is  Ids  honour,  obferve  the  practice  of 


them  from  whom  you  hear  it ;  you'll  foon 
then  have  proof  enough,  they  mean  little 
more  by  honour,  than  what  is  requifitc  to 
keep  or  advance  their  commiffions — that 
they  are  Hill  in  their  own  opinion  men  of 
nice  honour,  though  abandoned  to  the 
y  fieil  fenfuality  and  excefs  —  though 
chargeable  v/ich  ads  of  the  fouleft  perfidy 
and  injuftice — that  the  honour  by  which 
they  govern  themfelves  differs  as' widely 
from  what  is  truly  inch,  as  humour  from 
reafon.  True  honour  is  to  virtue  what 
good  breeding  is  to  good  nature,  the  po- 
liihing,  the  refinement  of  it.  And  the 
more  you  think  of  chrirHanity,  the  more 
firmly  you  will  be  perfuaded,  that  in  its 
precept;  the  flricleft  rules  of  honour  are  con- 
tained. By  thefe  I,  certainly,  would  have 
you  always  guided,  and,  on  that  very  ac- 
count, have  reminded  you  of  the  religion, 
which  not  only  (hews  you  them,  but  "pro- 
poles  the  reward  likelier!  to  attach  you  to 
them.  I  fmve  done.  Take  care  of  your- 
felf.  You  won't  fly  danger,  don't  court  it. 
If  the  one  would  bring  your  courage  into 
quefh'on,  the  other  will  your  fenfe.  The 
rain  is  as  ill  qualified  for  command,  as  the 
co  '  •  Ma)  (  i  ry  blefting  attend  you! 
'  '  "'  fecure  your  happinefs,  live  alwavs 
attenth  e  to  your  duty  ;  reverence  and  obey 
Him  to  whom  you  owe  your  being,  and 
from  whom  mull  come  whatever  good  vou 
c'n  hope  for  in  it.  Adieu.  1  can't  fay  it 
"'Otild  :  :;;.  iently  comfort  me  for  your 
lofs,  that  you  died  wirii  honour;  but  it 
would  infinitely  lefs  afflicl:  me  to  hear  of 
you  among  the  dead,  than  among  the  pro- 
fligate. 

What  has  been  the  iffue  of  inflrudions 
like  thefe  Hem  both  parents?  Scipio,  for 
fo  we  will  call  the  worthy  man,  from  the 
l1™?  ';e  ■'<■  :e!ved  his  commiffion,  has  alike 
dtftinguifhet  !  '  l  by  his  courage  and 
conduct.  The  greater!,  dangers  have  not 
ten  ified,  the  \  cull  example:  have  not  cor- 
rupted him.  Ht  has  appro\  ed  himfelf  dif- 
daining  by  cowardice  to  keep  life,  and  ab- 
horring to  fhorten  it  by  excefs  :  the  bra- 
very with  which  he  lias  hazarded  it,  is 
equalled  by  the  prudence  with  which  he 
paffes  it. 

§   149.  On  the  Employment  of  Time. 

ESSAY       T  B  V.       SECOND. 

im  animus,  cognitis  perceptifque  virtutibus,  I 
■  >rp«ns  obfequio,  indulgentiaque  difcefferk, 
voluptatemque,  ficut  Iabem  aliquam  decoris 
opprerftntjomnemque  mortis  dolofifque  timo- 
rera  effugerit,  focietate-mque  caritatis  coierit 


Cum  : 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


1S9 


Cum  nrs,  omnefijue  natura  conjAinCtos,  fuos  du- 
xerit,  cultumque  deo.um,  &  puram  religionem 
fufceperit — quid  eo,  dici  aut  excogitan  poterit 
bcatius  ?    'full,  de  LegiEus. 

Among  the  Indians  there  is  an  excellent 
fet  of  men,  called  Gymnofophifts :  thefe  I 
greatly  admire,  not  as  flailed  in  propagat- 
ing the  vine in  the  arts  of  grafting  or 

agriculture.     They  apply  not  themfelves 

to  till  the  ground to  lcarch  after  gold 

_ — to  break  the  horfe to  tame   the 

bull-; to  lhear  or  feed  fheep  or  goats. 

What  is  it  then  that  engages  them  ?  One 
thing  preferable  to  all  thefe.  Wifdom  is 
the  purfuit  as  well  of  the  old  men,  the 
teachers,  as  of  the  young,  their  difciples. 
Nor  is  there  any  thing  among  them  that 
I  fo  much  praife,  as  their  averfion  to  fioth 
and  idlenefs. 

When  the  tables  are  fpread,  before  the 
meat  is  fet  on  them,  all  the  youth,  affem- 
bling  to  their  meal,  are  afked  by  their  maf- 

ters— In  what  ufeful  talk  they  have  been 

employed  from  funriling  to  that  time. — 
One  reprefents  himfelf  as  having  been 
chofen  an  arbitrator,  and  fuccecded  by  his 
prudent  management  in  compofing  a  diffe- 
rence  in  making  them  friends  who  were 

at  variance.  A  fecond  had  been  paying 
obedience  to  his  parents  commands.  A 
third  had  made  fome  difcovery  by  his  own 
application,  or  learned  fomething  by  ano- 
ther's inftruction.  The  reft  give  an  ac- 
count of  themfelves  in  the  fame  way. 

He  who  has  done  nothing  to  deferve 
a  dinner,  is  turned  out  of  doors  without 
one. 

Dipping  into  Apukius  for  my  afternoon's 
amufement,  the  foregoing  paflage  was  the 
lair.  I  read,  before  I  fell  into  a  flumber, 
which  exhibited  to  me  a  vaft  concourfe  of 
the  fafhionable  people  at  the  court-end  of 
the  town,  under  the  examination  of  a 
Gymnofophift  how  they  had  palled  their 
jnorning.     He  begun  with  the  men. 

Many  of  them  acknowledged,  that  the 
morning,  properly  fpeaking,  was  near  gone, 
before  their  eyes  were  opened. 

Many  of  them  had  only  rifen  to  drefs— - 
to  vifit — to  amufe  themfelves  at  the  draw- 
ing-room or  coffee  houfe. 

Some  had  by  riding  or  walking  been 
confulting  that  health  at  the  beginning  of 
the  day,  which  the  clofe  of  it  would  wholly 
pafs  in  impairing. 

Some  from  the  time  they  had  got  on 
their  own  cloaths,  had  been  engaged  in 
feeing  others  put  on  theirs in  attend- 
ing levees— — in  endeavouring  to  procure 


by  their  importunity,  what  they  had  dis- 
qualified themfelves  for  by  their  idle- 
nefs. 

Some  had  been  early  out  of  their  beds, 
but  it  was  becaufe  they  could  not,  from 
their  ill-luck  the  preceding  evening,  re  ft  in 
them  ;  and  when  rifen,  as  they  had  no  fpi- 
rits,  they  could  not  reconcile  themfelves  to 
any  fort  of  application. 

Some  had  not  had  it  in  their  power  to 
do  what  was  of  much  confequence ;  in  the 
former  part  of  the  morning,  they  wanted 
to  ipeak  with  their  tradefmen ;  and  in 
the  latter,  they  could  not  be  denied  to 
their  friends. 

Others,  truly,  had  been  reading,  but 
reading  what  could  make  them  neither 
wifer  nor  better,  what  was  not  worth  their 
remembring,  or  what  they  fhould  wilh  to 
forget. 

It  grieved  me  to  hear  fo  many  of  emi- 
nent rank,  both  in  the  fea  and  land  fer- 
vice,  giving  an  account  of  themfelves  that 
levelled  them  with  the  meaner!  under  their 
command. 

Several  appeared  with  an  air  expreiling 
the  fulleft  confidence  that  what  they  had  to 
fay  for  themielves  would  be  to  the  philofo- 
pher's  entire  fatis  faction.     They  had  been 

employed    as  Virtuofi  fhould  be had 

been  exercifing  their  fkill  in  the  liberal  arts, 
and  encouraging  the  artifts.  Medals,  pic- 
tures, ftatues  had  undergone  their  exami- 
nation, and  been  their  purchafe.  They 
had  been  inquiring  what  the  literati  of 
France,  Germany,  Italy  had  of  late  publifh- 
ed ;  and  they  had  bought  what  fuited  their 
refpeftive  taftes. 

When  it  appeared,  that  the  compleating 
a  Roman  feries  had  been  their  concern,  who 
had  never  read  over,  in  their  own  language, 

a    Latin    hiftorian that   they    who 

grudged  no  expence  for  originals,  knew 
them  only  by  hearfay  from  their  worft  copies 
— —  that  the  very  perfons  who  had  paid' 
fo  much  for  the  labour  of  Ryjbrack,  upon 
Sir  Andrew's  judgment,  would,  if  they  had 
followed  their  own,  have  paid  the  fame  fum 
for  that  of  Bird's That  the  book-buy- 
ers had  not  laid  out  their  money  on  what 
they  ever  propofed  to  read,  but  on  what 
they  had  heard  commended,  and  what  they 
wanted  to  fit  a  fhelf,  and  fill  a  library  that 
only  ferved  them  for  a  breakfaft-room ; 
this  clafs  of  men  the  Sage  pronounced  the 
idle  ft  of  all  idle  people,  and  doubly  blame- 
able,  as  wafting  alike  their  time  and  their 
fortune. 

The  follies  of  one  fex  had  fo  tired  the 

phi- 


too 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


philofopher,  that  he  would  fuffer  no  account 
to  be  given  him  of  thofe  of  the  other.  It 
was  eafy  for  him  to  guefs  how  the  females 
mufl  have  been  employed,  where  fuchwere 
the  examples  in  thofe  they  were  to  honour 
cud  obey. 

For  a  fhort  fpace  there  was  a  general 
fiknce.  The  Gymnofophift  at  length  ex- 
preiTed  himfelf  to  tins  effect :  You  have 
been  reprefented  to  me  as  a  people  who 

would  ufe  your  own  reafon who  would 

think  for  yourfelves -who  would  freely 

inquire,  form  your  opinions  on  evidence, 
and  adopt  no  man's  fentiments  merely  be- 
came they  were  his.  A  character,  to 
which,  for  ought  I  can  find,  you  are  as  ill 
entitled  as,  perhaps,  molt  nations  in  the 
univerfe.  The  freedom  with  which  great 
names  are  oppofed,  and  received  opinions 
queftioned  by  fome  among  you,  is,  probably, 
no  other  than  what  is  ufed  by  fome  of  eve]  y 
country  in  which  liberal  inquiries  are  pur- 
sued. The  difference  is, you  fafely  publish 
your  fentiments  on  every  fubjecl:;  to  them 
it  would  be  penal  to  avow  any  notions  that 
agree  net  with  thofe  of  their  fuperiors. 
But  when  you  thus -pais  your  days  as  if 
you  thought  not  at  all,  have  you  any  pre- 
tence to  freedom  of  thought  ?  Can  they 
be  faid  to  love  truth,  who  fhun  conildera- 
tion  ?  "When  it  feems  your  ftudy  to  be 
ufelefs,  to  be  of  no  fervice  to  others  or 

yourfelves .when  you  treat  your  time 

as  a  burthen,  to  be  eafed  of  which  is  your 
whole  concern  — —  when  that  fituation, 
thofe  circumftances  of  life  are  accounted 
the  happieit,  which  moft  tempt  you  to  be 
idle  and  infigniiicant ;  human  nature  is  as 
much  dishonoured  by  you,  as  it  is  by  any 
of  thofe  people,  vvhofe  favagenefs  or  iuper- 
ftition  you  have  in  the  greatelt  contempt. 

Let  me  not  be  told,  how  well  you  ap- 
prove your  reafon  by  your  arguments  or 
your  fentiments.  The  proper  ule  of  reafon, 
is  to  aft  reafonably.  When  you  fo  grofsly 
fail  in  this,  all  the  juft  apprehenficns  you 
may  entertain,  all  the  right  things  you 
may  fay,  only  prove  with  what  abilities 
you  are  formed,  and  with  what  guilt  you 
mi/apply  them. 

The  Sage  here  railing  his  arm  with  his 
voice,  I  concluded  it  advifcable  not  to  ftand 
quite  fo  near  him.  In  attempting  to  re- 
move I  awoke,  and  haftened  to  commit  to 
writing  a  dream  that  had  To  much  truth  in 
it,  and  therefore  expreffed  how  feafonable  it 
will  be  to  confider  to  what  ufe  of  our  time 
we  are  directed. 


Firft,  by  our  prefent  Hate  and  condi- 
tion ; 

Secondly,  By  the  relation  wc  bear  to 
each  other ; 

Thirdly,  By  that  in  which  we  ftand  to- 
vvards  the  Deity. 

If  we  are  raifed  above  the  brutes if 

we  are  undeniably  of  a  more  excellent  kinn 
we  muft  be  made  for  a  different  purpofel 
we  cannot  have  the  faculties  they  want, 
but  in  order  to  a  life  different  from  theirs  ; 

and  when  our  life  is  not  fuch when  it 

is  but  a  round  of  eating,  drinking,  and 

fieeping,  as  theirs  is when,  by  our  idie- 

nefs  and  inattention,  we  are  almoit  on  a 
level  with  them,  both  as  to  all  fenfe  of 
duty  and  all  ufeful  knowledge  that  we  pof- 
fefs,  our  time  mult  have  been  grievoufll 
mifemployed;  there  is  no  furer  token  of 
its  having  been  fo,  than  that  we  have  done 
fo  little  to  advance  ourfelves  above  the  herd, 
when  our  Creator  had  vouchfafed  us  fo  far 
fuperior  a  capacity. 

The  creatures  below  us  are  wholly  intent 
on  the  pleafures  of  fenfe,  becaufe  they  are 
capable  of  no  other:  but  as  man  is  capable 
of  much  higher  and  nobler,  he  muft  have 

this  privilege,  that  his  purfuits  mav  be  ac- 

- L 
cordingly that  his  better  nature  mould 

be  better  employed. 

Were  we  born  only  to  fatisfy  the  appe- 
tites we  have  in  common  with  the  brute 
kind,  we  Ihould,  like  it,  have  no  higher 
principle  to  direct  us— — to  furnifh  us  with 
other  delights.  Ail  the  distinction  between 
us  that  this  principle  can  make,  was,  un- 
doubtedly, intended  by  our  Creator  to  be 
made;  and  the  lefs  any  appears,  our  abufe 
of  this  principle,  and  conl'equently  our  op- 
position to  our  Maker's  will,  is  the  more 
notorious  and  blameable. 

It  may  feem  then  plain,  that  there  are 
advantages  to  be  purfued,  and  a  certain 
degree  of  excellence  to  be  attained  by  us, 
according  to  the  powers  that  we  have,  and 
the  creatures  below  us  want.  How  indubi- 
ous we  ihould  be  to  improve  each  oppor- 
tunity for  this,  we  may  learn  by  attending, 
in  the  next  place,  to  our  uncertain,  and,  at 
all  events,  jhort  continuance  on  earth. 

We  are  fully  apprifed,  that  by  the  pains 
of  a  few  hours  or  days  no  progrefs  can  be 
made  in  any  thing,  that  has  the  flighteft 
pretence  to  commendation.  Thofe  accom- 
plishments, that  are  confined  to  our  fin- 
ger's ends,  what  months,  what  years  of 
application  do  they  coft  us  !  And,  alas  ! 
whaj  trifles  arc  Lae  molt  admired  of  them, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


161 


in  comparifon  of  a  great  number  of  others 
for  which  we  are  qualified  ;  and  which,  as 
they  are  fo  infinitely  preferable  to  thefe, 
ought  to  be  fo  much  the  more  earneftly 
fought !  When,  therefore,  the  whole  term 
allowed  for  gaining  and  ufing-  them,  is  thus 
precarious  and  ihort,  we  can  have  but  a 
very  fmall  portion  of  it  to  difpofe  of  as  we 

pleafe to  pafs  entirely  as  mere  fancy  or 

humour  Suggests.  If  much  is  to  be  done 
in  a  very  ihort  time,  the  good  hufbandry 
of  it  muft  be  confulted:  and  there  is  no 
one,  who  confiders  what  we,  univerfally, 
may  effect — in  how  many    particulars  we 

may    be   of  fervice   to  ourfelves how 

much  depends  upon  our  endeavours 

how  necefiary  they  are  for  our  attaining 
what  lhould  be  moll  valued  by  us,  what  is 
qfgreateil  confequence  to  us;  there  is,  I 
fay,  no  one,  who  confiders  thefe  things,  but 
mull  admit,  that  we  have  much  to  do,  and, 
therefore,  that  the  fcanty  term  we  have  for 

it  ought  to  be  carefully  managed can 

only  by  a  prudent  management  Suffice  for 
the  difpatch  of  fuch  a  talk. 

And  our  opportunities,  for  making  at- 
tainments thus  defirable,  fhould  be  {o  much 
the  more  diligently  watched  and  readily 
embraced,  as  they  meet  with  many  unavoid- 
able interruptions  even  in  our  fhort  life. 

How  great  a  part  of  our  time  is  necejfari- 

ly  loll  to  us is  confumed  by,  that  Shorter 

death,  our  fleep  !  We  are  really  better  ce- 
conomills  than  ordinary  in  this  inilance,  if 
only  a  third  part  of  our  life  thus  pafies  : 
and  on  the  reft  of  it  what  a  large  demand 

is  made  by  our  meals by  our  justifiable 

recreations by  the  forms  and  civilities, 

to  which  a  proper  correfpondence  with  our 
fellow  creatures  obliges  us  ?  Add  to  thefe 
neceflary  deductions,  the  many  cafual  ones 
with  which  we  all,  unavoidably,  meet,  and 
it  will  foon  appear,  what  an  exceeding 
fmall  part  of  our  fhort  continuance  on  earth, 
we  have  to  bellow  on  fuch  purpofes  of  liv- 
ing, as  alone  can  be  of  credit  to  us. 

We  are  further  to  reflect,  that  in  the 
fmall  part  of  our  life,  in  which  wc  can  be 
employed  like  reafonable  creatures,  oppor- 
tunities, for  doing  what  may  be  of  greatefl 
moment,  do  not  always  ferve  us :  and  with 
fome  of  them,  if  loll  we  never  again 
meet. 

We  depend  very  much  on  things  without 
us,  and  over  which  we  have  no  fort  of  com- 
mand. There  may  be  an  extraordinary 
advantage  derived  to  us  from  them  ;  but, 
if  the  firft  offer  of  this  be  negiecled,  we 
may  never  have  a  fecond. 


Nor  is  it  only  the  dependance  we  have 
on  things  without  us,  that  requires  us  fb 
carefully  to  watch  our  opportunities ;  we 
have  a  frill  more  awakening  call,  if  poffible, 

to  this  from  within  ourfelves from  the 

restraints  to  which  the  exercife  of  our  pow- 
ers is  fubjedled.     We  cannot  ufe  thefe  when. 

and  as  we  pleafe we  cannot  chufe  the 

time  of  life  wherein  to  avail  ourfelves  of 
our  natural  endowments,  and  to  reap  all  the 
advantage  designed  us  in  them. 

When  we  are  in  our  youth,  our  bodies 
eafily  receive  whatever  mein  or  motion  can 
recommend  us  :  where  is  the  found  fo  dif- 
ficult, which  our  tongue  cannot  be  then 
taught  to  exprefs  ?  To  what  fpeed  may 
our  feet  then  be  brought,  and  our  hands  to 
what  dexterity:  But  if  we  are  advanced 
to  manhood  before  the  forming  us  in  any 
fe  ways  _is  attempted,  all  endeavour 
after  it  will  then  either  be  quite  fruitlefs,  or, 
probably,  lefs  fuccefsful  than  it  would  have 
been  in  our  earlier  years  ;  and  whatever  its 
fuccefs  be,  a  much  greater  might  have 
formerly  been  obtained  with  half  the 
pains. 

The  very  fame  is  it  with  our  understand- 
ing, with  our  will  and  our  paffions.  There 
is  a  certain  feafon  when  our  minds  may  be 

enlarged when  a  vaft  flock   of  ufeful 

truths  may  be  acquired when  our  paf- 
fions will  readily  fubmit  to  the  government 
of  reafon — when  right  principles  may  be 
fo  fixed  in  us,  as  to  influence  every  impor- 
tant aclion  of  our  future  lives  :  but  the 
feafon  for  this  extends  neither  to  the  whole, 
nor  to  any  considerable  length  of  our  con- 
tinuance upon  earth ;  it  is  limited  to  a  few 
years  of  our  term ;  and,  it  throughout  thefe 
we  neglecf  it,  error  or  ignorance  are,  ac~ 
cording  to  the  ordinary  courfe  of  things, 
entailed  upon  us.     Our  will  becomes  our 

law our  lulls  gain  a  Strength  that  we 

afterwards  vainly  oppofe wrong  incli- 
nations become  {b  confirmed  in  us,  that 
they  defeat  all  our  endeavours  to  correct 
them, 

II.  Let  me  proceed  to  confider  what  di- 
rections are  furnifhed  us  for  the  employ- 
ment of  our  time,  by  the  relation  we  bear 
to  each  other. 

Society  is  manifestly  upheld  by  a  circu- 
lation of  kindneis :  we  are  all  of  us,  in  fome 
way  or  other,  wanting  affiflance,  and  in 
like  manner,  qualified  to  give  it.  None 
are  in  a  State  of  independency  on  their  fel- 
low-creatures. The  more  flenderly  endow- 
ed are  not  a  mere  burthen  on  their  kind ; 
even  they  can  contribute  their  fhare  to  the 
M  common 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


102 

common  good,  and  may  be  to  the  political 
body,  what  thoie  parts  of  us,  in  which  we 
leaft  pride  ourfelves,  are  to  the  natural,  not 
greatly  indeed  its  ornaments,  but  much 
for  its  real  ufe. 

.  We  learn  what  are  juffly  our  mutual 
clains,  from  this  mutual  dependency :  that 
on  its  account,  as  well  as  for  other  reafons, 
our  life  is  not  to  pafs  in  a  round  ofpleafure 
oridleneis,  or  according  to  the  fuggeifions 
of  mere  humour  and  fancy,  or  in  fordid  or 
felfifh  puriuits. 

There  can  be  nothing  more  evidently  my 
duty  than  that  I  mould  return  the  kindnefs 
I  receive — —than  that,  if  many  are  em- 
;  'in  promoting  my  intereft',  I  fhould 

;■-  .  i  iruent  on  furthering  theirs. 

All  men  are  by  nature  equal.  Their 
common  paihons  and  affections,  their  com- 
mon infirmities,  their  common  wants  give 
fuch  conftant  remembrances  of  this  equali- 
ty, even  to  them  who  are  moll  difpofed  to 
forget  it,  that  they  cannot,  with  all  their 
ende*avours,  render  themielves  wholly  un- 
mindful thereof — —they  cannot  become 
infcnfibk,  how  unwilling  foever  they  may 
be  to  conjtder,  that  their  debt  is  as  la'ro-e  as 

their  demands that  they  owe  to  others, 

as  much  as  they  can  reufonably  expect 
from  them. 

_  But  are  all  then  upon  a  level— muff  thefe 
distinctions  be  thrown  down,  which,  ; 
the  chief  fupport  of  the  order  and  peace  of 
fociety.arefuchofits  happinefs;  and  which 
nature  herfelfmay  be  judged  to  appoint,  bv 
the  very  difpofuions  and  abilities  with 
which  lhe  forms  us;  qualifying  fome  for 
rule,  and  fitting  fome  forfubjecfion? 

That,  in  many  inftances,  we  are  all  upon 
a  level,  none  can  deny,  who  regard  th 
terialscfour  bodies— the  difeafes  and 
to  which  we  are  fubject—  our  entrance  into 
the  world— the  means  ofprcferving  us  in 

it — the  length  of  our  continuance  therein 

our  paffage  out  of  it.  But  then  as  it  will 
no:  fellow,  that,  becaure  we  are  made  of 
the  fame  materials—arc  liable  to  the  fame 
accidents  and  end,  we,  therefore,  are  the 
fame  throughout;  neither  is  it  a  jmt  con- 
cluiion,  thai  bee  lute  we  are  levelled  in 
cur  dependence,  we  fhould  be  fo  in  our 
employments. 

Superiority  will  remain diftinclions 

will  be  preferred,  though  all   of  us  muft 
ferve  each  other,  while  that  feivice 
ferently  performed. 

Superioritv    has  no   fort   of  con; 
with  idlenefs  ?:  ■'   ufel  (Fnefs :  it  may  ex- 
empt us  from  the  bodily  fatigue  of'curin- 


is  dif- 


feriors,  from  their  confinement  and  hard- 
fhips — it  may  entitle  fome  to  the  deference 
and  fubmifhon  of  thofe  about  them  ;  but  it 
by  no  means  exempts  any  of  us  from  alf 
attention  to  the  common  good,  from  all 
endeavours  to  promote  it— -by  no  means 
does  it  entitle  any  cf  us  to  live,  like  fo 
many  drones,  on  the  mdufiry  cf  others,  to 
reap  all  the  benefit  we  can  from  them,  and 
be  of  none  to  them. 

The  diilinctions  cf  prince  and  fubject— 
noble  and  vulgar — rich  and  poor,  confift 
not  in  this,  that  the  one  has  a  great  deal  to 
do,  and  the  other  nothing— that  the  one 
mull  be  always  bufied,  and  the  other  may 
be  always  taking  his  plealure,  or  enjoying 
his  cafe.  No,  in  this  they  coniift,  that  thefe 
feveral  perfons  are  differently  bufied — affift 
each  other  in  different  ways. 

The  fovereign  acquaints  himfelf  with  the 
true  ftate  of  his  kingdom — directs  the  exe- 
cution of  its  laws — provides  for  the  exact 
adminiftration  of  juftice — fecures  the  pro- 
perties of  his  people — preferves  their  peace. 
Thefe  are  his  cares ;  and  that  they  may  be 
the  more  afiured  of  fuccefs,  and  have  their 
weight  more  eafily  fupported,  his  com- 
mands find  the  readi.  it  obedience — a  large 
revenue  is  affigned  him — the  higheft  ho- 
nours are  paid  him.  It  is  not,  in  any  of 
thele  inuances,  the  man  who  is  regarded, 
but  the  head  of  the  community;  and  that 
for  the  ber.i  fit  of  the  community — for  the 
its  quiet,  and  the  furtherance  of 
its  profpe  ity. 

The  .      i  i      have  it  their  tafk,  to  quali- 
fy themi  :  •  :cuting  the  more  ho- 
impo  '  -.nt  offices  of  the  com- 
xecute  thefe  offices  with 
ice  and  fidelity.     The  very  fcation, 
they  are  advanced,  is  fuppofed 
either   the    recompence   of  great   fervice 
done  the  public,  or  of  the  merit  of  an  un- 
common capacity  to  ferve  it. 

The  richer  members  of  the  ftate,  as  they 
rave  all  the  helps  that  education  can  give 
them— as  in  their  riper  age  they  have  all 
the  opportunity  they  can  wifh  for  to  im- 
prove upon  thefe  helps— as  their  circum- 
flances  exempt  them  from  the  temptations, 
to  which  poverty  is  expofed ;  to  them  is 
committed  the  <i  '  '  jf  thofe  offices  in 

the  common'  ;h  are  next  to  the 

h'gl  eft,  an     .  :  efe — they 

either  concur  inmaki  .■  the  focie- 

ty,  or  are  cniefly  concerned  in  executing 
them — commerce,  ihienee,    liberty, 

virtue,   whatever  can  -.  credit  and 

peace— fo;  Lie  cafe  and  profpexity  of.,  na- 
tion, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


163 


tion,  depends  on  the  part  they  ait — —on 
their  conduct. 

Let  them  be  a  fupine,  indolent  race, 
avcrfe  to  rational  inquiries*— to  all  ferious 
application — let  it  be  their  buiinefs  to  di- 
vert themfelves,  to  give  a  loofe  to  fancy 
and  appetite — let  all  their  fchemes  be  thofe 
of  felf-induigence,  and  their  life  a  round 
of  vanity  and  fenfuality;  fad  muft  be  the 
condition  of  the  nation  to  which  they  be- 
long !  throughout  it  mult  be  diforder  and 
confufior.— it  mull  have  the  worit  to  fear 
from  its  more  powerful  neighbours. 

And  as,  in  all  countries,  they  who  are  dif- 
tinguimed  by  their  rank  or  fortune,  have 
their  poll,  their  duty,  their  talk  for  the 
common  good — as  todifcharge  this  requires 
many  accompliihments,  the  attainment 
of  which  is,  matter  of  much  attention  and 
pains,  requires  an  improved  understanding, 
command  of  paflions,  an  integrity  and  reso- 
lution, which  only  can  be  preferved  by  an 
habitual  ferioufnefs  and  reflection — as  they 
cannot  fail  in  their  parts,  cannot  misemploy 
/£«>  leifure,  and  unfit  themfelves  for,  or  be 
negligent  in  the  fervice  appointed  them,  but 
their  country  mull  fufFer  grievoully  in  its 
moll  valuable  intererls ;  the  diligence  they 
ihould  ufe,  the  little  time  ;7^y  have  to  trifle 
away  is  evident :  it  is  moil  evident  under 
what  obligations  they  are,  not  to  abandon 
themfelves  to  merely  animal  gratifications, 
and  the  pleafures  of  fenfe — to  floth  and  in- 
activity. 

Nor  is  it  only  from  the  omimon  of  what 
they  ought  to  perform,  that  the  public  will 
in  this  cafe  fufFer,  but  from  the  example 
they  fet.  An  infenfibility  that  they  are  to 
live  to  any  ufeful  purpofes — a  thoughtleif- 
nefs  of  their  having  any  thing  to  mind  but 
their  humour  and  liking — a  grofs  careleff- 
nefs  how  their  days  pafs,  cannot  appear 
amongft  thofe  of  higher  rank,  but  the  in- 
fection will  {bread  itfelf  among  thofe  of  a 
lower;  thefe  will  dsiire  to  be  as  lazy  and 
worthlefs  as  their  fuperiors— -to  have  the 
fame  mare  of  mirth  and  jollity — to  be  of  as 
little  corifequence  to  the  public. 

That  this  will  be  the  cafe,  is  as  certain, 
as  experience  can  make  any  thing.  It  has 
been,  and  is,  every  where,  found,  that 
where  they,  who  have  the  wealth,  and  are 
therefore  fuppofed,  though  very  unreafon- 
ably,  to  have  the  fenfe  of  a  nation,  treat 
their  time  as  of  no  account,  only  think  of 
making  it  fubfervient  to  their  exceffes, 
their  vanity,  or  their  fports ;  the  fame 
wrong  notions  foon  fpread  among  their 
inferiors. 


The  populace,  indeed,  cannot  be  quite  fo 
diflblute — they  cannot  be  fo  immerfed  ia 
floth  and  fenfuality,  as  the  richer  part  of  a 
nation,  becaufe  their  circumllances  permit 
it  not :  their  maintenance  mult  coil  them 
feme  care  and  pains,  but  they  will  take  as 
Ittle  as  they  can — they  will,  as  far  as  is  in 
their  power,  have  their  fill  of  what  their 
betters  teach  them  to  be  the  comforts  of 
life,  the  enjoyments  proper  for  reafonable 
creatures — the  -/-cannot  debauch  themfelves 
in  the  more  elegant  and  expenfive  ways, 
but  they  will  in  thofe  which  fuit  their  edu- 
cation  and  condition— they  cannot  be 

wholly  ufelefs,  but  if  they  make  themfelves 
of  any  fervice,  it  lhall  only  be,  becaufe  they 
are  paid  for  it,  becaufe  they  cannot  be  fup- 
portcd  without  it. 

And  how  can  we  expect  that  things 
Ihould  be  otherwife  ?  It  is  not,  upon  the 
loweil  computation,  one  in  a  hundred  who 
forms  his  manners  upon  the  principles  of 
reafon.  Example,  cultomary  practice  go- 
vern us.  And,  as  they,  who  are  more  ef- 
pecially  dependent  upon  others,  have  it 
taught  them,  from  their  very  infancy,  to 
refpect  thofe  on  whom  they  depend — to 
obferve  them — to  be  directed  by  them  ;  no 
wonder  that  they  ihould  be  fond  of  imitat- 
ing them,  as  far  as  their  fituation  admits ; 
no  wonder  that  they  Ihould  copy  their  fol- 
lies, fince  that  they  can  do  molt  eafily, 
and  that  moil  fuits  their  natural  depravity. 

But  to  him,  whole  induftry  is  his  fup- 
port,  I  would  obferve:  he  Ihould  not  think, 
that,  if  they,  who  enjoy  the  plenty  he 
wants,  are  prodigal  of  their  time — mifem- 
ploy it — wafte  it;  their  abufe  of  it  will  at 
all  excufe  his.  He  cannot  poffibly  be  igno- 
rant how  unfitting  fuch  a  wafte  of  time  is 
— how  much  good  it  hinders — how  much 
evil  it  occasions — and  how  much  a  greater 
fuiFerer  he  will  be  from  it,  than  thofe  who 
are  in  more  plentiful  cifcumilances. 

And  let  it  be  confidered,  by  both  high 
and  low,  rich  and  poor,  that  there  can  be 
nothing  fo  becoming  them,  there  can  be 
nothing  that  will  give  them  fo  folid,  (o 
kiting  a  fatisfaction,  as  to  be  employed  in 
ferving  mankind-— in  furthering  their  hap- 
pinefs.  What  thought  can  we  entertain 
more  honourable  with  refpect  to  God  hirri- 
felf,  than  that  "  his  mercy  is  over  all  his 
"  works"— that  his  goodnefs  is  continual- 
ly difplaying  itfelf  through  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  being — that  the  unthankful  and 
the  evil  he  not  only  forbears,  but  ftill  reeks 
to  awaken  to  a  due  acknowledgment  of 
him— to  a  juft  fenfe  of  their  true  intereft, 

m  2  by 


164 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


by  perfevering  in  his  kindnefs  towards 
them,  by  continuing  to  them  the  bleffings 
they  To  ill  deferve  ? 

And  if  the  confideration  of  the  univerfal 
Creator  as  thus  acting  be  really  that  which 
makes  him  appear  more  amiable  to  us — 
which  affects  us  with  the  moil  profound 
veneration  of  him,  and  chiefly  renders  it 
pleafing  to  us  to  contemplate  his  ether 
perfections;  what  worth  do  we  evidence, 
how  highly  do  we  recommend  ourfelves, 
when  employed  either  in  qualifying  our- 
felves for  doing  good,  or  in  doing  it, — 
when  we  have  the  common  advantage  our 
conftant  purfuit — when  we  feek  for  plea- 
fure  in  making  ourfelves  cf  ufe,  and  feel 
happinefs  in  the  degree  in  which  we  com- 
municate it  ? 

ILL  What  employment  of  our  time  the 
relation  in  which  we  ftand  to  God  fuggeits 
to  us,  I  am  next  to  mew: 

Every  one  who  reads  this,  I  may  juflly 
fuppofe  fenfible  that  there  is  a  nature  iupe- 
rior  to  his  own,  and  even  poffefied  of  the 
higheft  excellencies — that  to  it  we  owe  our 
exillence,  owe  the  endowments,  which 
place  us  at  the  head  of  all  the  creatures 
upon  earth,  owe  whatever  can  make  us 
deiire  to  have  our  exiiience  continued  to  us 
— that  by  this  fuperior  nature  alone,  many 
of  our  wants  can  be  fupplied — that  on  it 
we  entirely  depend — that  from  its  favour 
the  whole  of  our  increasing  happinefs  can 
be  expected. 

From  what  we  thus  know  of  God  and 
ourfelves,  there  muft  arife  certain  duties 
towards  him,  the  performance  of  which 
will  have  its  demand  on  our  time.  His 
perfections  require  our  higheft  veneration  ; 
this  cannot  be  exercifed  or  preferved  with- 
out our  ferious  attention  to  and  recollection 
or  them.  His  mercies  demand  our  moil, 
humble  and  grateful  acknowledgments  ; 
proper  acts  of  thankfgiving  are  therefore 
what  we  fhcu'd  be  blameable  to •  omit; 
they  daily  become  us,  and  fhould  be  made 
with  all  the  folemnity  and  fervor,  that  fuit 
the  kindnefs  vouchfafed  us,  and  the  majefty 
of  him  to  whom  we  addrefs  ourfelves.*     A 


due  fenfe  of  our  weaknefs  and  wants  is 
a  conftant  admonition  to  us  to  look  up  to 
that  Being  whofe  power  and  goodnefs  are 
infinite,  and  to  cherilh  fuch  difpofitions  as 
are  moil  likely  to  recommend  us  to  him : 
hence  it  is  evident  what  ftrefs  we  fhould 
lay  upon  thofe  awful  invocations  of  the  di- 
vine interpofition  in  our  favour,  and  upon 
that  devout  confeff.on  of  our  unworthinefs 
of  it,  which  have  a  natural  tendency  to 
keep  the  Deity  prefent  to  our  remembrance, 
and  to  purify  our  hearts. 

Public  acknowledgments  of  the  good- 
nefs of  God,  and  application  for  his  blef- 
fings, contribute  to  give  a  whole  commu- 
nity  fuitable  apprehenfions  of  him  ;  and 
thefe,  if  it  be  my  duty  to  entertain,  it  is 
equally  my  duty  to  propagate;  both  as  the 
regard  I  pay  the  divine  excellencies  is 
hereby  fitly  exprefled,  and  as  the  fame 
ttage,  that  I  receive  from  iuch  appre- 
heniions,  will  be  received  by  all  whom 
they  affect  in  the  fame  manner  with  me. 
Hence  it  is  clearly  our  duty  to  join  in  the 
public  worfhip — to  promote  by  our  regular 
attendance  upon  it,  a  like  regularity  in 
others. 

Thefe  observations  will,  I  hope,  be 
thought  fufficient  proofs,  that,  from  the  re- 
lation we  bear  to  God,  a  certain  portion  of 
our  time  is  his  claim — ought  to  be  fet 
apart  for  meditation  upon  him,  for  prayer 
to  him,  and  for  fuch  other  exercife  of  our 
reafon  as  more  immediately  refpedts  him, 
and  fuits  our  obligations  towards  him. 
Dean  Bolton. 

§    150.      On  the  Employment  of  Time. 

ESSAY     THE     THIRD. 

c  Since  all  things  are  uncertain,  favour 
'  yourfelf.'  Where  have  I  met  with  it? 
Whofeibever  the  advice  is,  it  proceeds  upon 
a  fuppofition  abfolutely  falfe,  That  there  is 
an  uncertainty  in  all  things :  and  were  the 
fuppofition  true,  the  inference  would  be 
wrong  ;  did  we  allow,  that  there  was  fuch 
an  uncertainty  in  all  things,  it  would  be 
wrongly  concluded  from  thence,  that  we 
ihculd  favour  ourfelves. 


*  Never  to  acknowledge  the  enjoyments  and  privileges  we  have  received,  and  hold,  of  God,  is  in 
effect  to  deny  that  we  received  them  from  him  ;  not  to  apply  to  him  for  a  fupply  of  our  wants,  is  to 
deny,  either  our  wants,  or  his  power  of  helping  us.     Religion  cf  Nature  delineated,  p.  121. 

If  I  mould  never  pray  to  God,  or  worfhip  him  at  all,  fuch  a  total  omiffion  would  be  equivalent  to 
this  i.fferiion,  There  is  no  God,  w  ho  governs  the  world,  to  he  adored  ;  which,  if  there  is  fuch  a  Being, 
muft  he  contrary  to  truth.  Alfo  generally  and  notorioufly  to  neglect  this  duty,  though  not  always,  will 
:  ur,  if  not  directly  proclaim,  the  fame  untruth.  For  certainly  to  worfhip  God  after  this  manner, 
is  only  to  worfhip  him  accidentally,  which  is  to  declare  it  a  great  accident  that  he  is  worfhipped  at  all, 
and  this  approaches  as  near  as  polfible  to  a  total  neglect.  Bed  Jes,  fuch  a  fparing  and  infrequent  wor- 
fhipper  of  the  Deity,  betrays  fuch  an  habitual  uifrega'rd  of  him,  ao  will  render  every  religious  act  infig- 
wficant  and  null.     lb.  p.  18. 

Firft, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


165 


Firft,  there  is  not  the  uncertainty  here 
fuppofed.  With  regard  to  thofe  things, 
which  call  us  to  thoughts  very  different 
from  that  of  favouring  ourfelves — which 
mould  withdraw  our  attention  from  our 
own  will,  our  own  liking — which  fuggeit  to 
us  quite  other  confiderations  than  of  tak- 
ing our  eafe,  and  indulging  our  appetites 
—which  mould  make  the  animal  life  the 
leaft  of  our  concern — which  mould  render 
us  only  folicitous  fo  purify  ourfelves,  and 
be  ufefal  to  our  fellow-creatures;  with  re- 
gard to  thefe  things,  I  fay,  we  have  either 
abfolute  certainty,  or  the  higheft  degree  of 
probability. 

To  have  produced  fo  much  beauty  and 
order,  as  every  where  difcover  themielves, 
intelligence  was  not  only  requijite,  bat 
great  wifdom  and  power.  The  beneficial 
effects  naturally  refulting  from  the  things 
thus  beautifully  formed  and  orderly  dif- 
pofed,  demonjlrate  the  goodnefs,  as  well  as 
the  wifdom  and  power  of  their  author. 

That  the  benefits  he  defigned,  mould 
conftantly  take  place,  mufi,  as  he  is  a  good 
being,  be  agreeable  to  his  will;  and  what- 
ever hinders  their  taking  effect,  mufi  be 
difagreeable  to  it. 

We  catinot  have  a  furer  mark  of  what 
pleafes  him,  than  its  being  productive  of 
happinefs ;  and  whatever  has  mifery  ac- 
companying it,  carries  --with  it  the  cleareji 
proof  of its  difpleafing  him. 

A  virtuous  practice  greatly  furthering 
the  happinefs  of  mankind,  mufi  be  pleafing 
to  their  Maker ;  a  vicious  one  mufi  dijpleqfe 
him,  as  it  neceffarily  obftructs  their  hap- 
pinefs. 

If  from  any  accidental  indifpofition  of 
things,  as  from  the  number  of  the  cri- 
minal, virtue  fhould  here  mifs  its  reward, 
there  is  great  likelihood  that  it  will  el/e-zvhere 
receive  it;  and,  if  vice,  by  a  like  acci- 
dent, mould,  in  particular  inftances,  not 
carry  with  it  thofe  marks  of  its  offending 
the  Governor  of  the  world,  which  it  in  moil 
cafes  bears,  there  is  the  higheft  probability 
that  it  will  have  its  puniihment  in  fome 
future  ftate.  There  is  that  probability  in 
favour  of  virtue,  not  only  from  what  our 
reafonings  on  the  juftice  and  goodnefs  of 
God  induce  us  to  think  it  has  to  exnect 
from  him,  but  alfo  from  the  vifible  man- 
ner in  which  he  fignifies  his  approbation  of 
it.  He  has  impreffed  a  fenfe  of  its  worth 
on  the  minds  of  all  mankind — he  has  made 
fatisfaction  infeparable  from  a  conformity 
to  it'!— he  has  appointed  many  advantages, 


in  the  ordinary  courfe  of  things,  its  atten- 
dants; which  feem  concurring  afiuranccs, 
that  to  whatfoever  difadvantages  it  may 
now,  occafionally  expofe  us,  they  will  be  at 
length  fully  recompenfed.  And  there  is 
the  probability  I  have  mentioned,  that  the 
guilty  will  not  be  always  without  a  puniih- 
ment adequate  to  their  crimes,  not  only 
from  the  apprehenfions  we  may  fitly  en- 
tertain of  a  juft  Governor  of  the  univerfe  ; 
but,  alfo,  from  the  manner  in  which  he,  to 
the  notice  of  all  men,  expreffes  his  abhor- 
rence of  vice :  annexing  to  many  crimes 
immediate  inconveniences — giving  others 
a  very  fliort  refpite  from  the  fevereft  dif- 
trefs,  the  painfulleft  difeafes — allowing 
none  to  have  our  reafon  and  confcience 
on  their  fide,  to  be  approved  by  us  in 
our  hours  of  ferioufnefs  and  calm  reflec- 
tion. 

Virtue  is,  evidently,  preferved  and  pro- 
moted by  frequent  coniideration — by  dili- 
gence and  application — by  the  denial  of 
our  appetites — by  the  reftraint  of  our  in- 
clinations— by  a  conftant  watchfulnefs 
over  our  paflions — by  cherifhing  in  our- 
felves fentiments  of  humanity  and  bene- 
volence. Vice  is,  as  manifefily,  produced, 
and  confirmed  by  inattention — by  fupine- 
nefs  and  careleffnefs — by  favouring  our 
appetites — by  confulting  rather  what  we 
are  difpofed  to,  than  what  is  beft  for  us, 
rather  what  inclination,  than  what  reafon 
fuggeits — by  an  attachment  to  the  fatis- 
faction of  the  prefent  moment,  to  our  im- 
mediate profit  or  convenience — -by  adopt- 
ing narrow,  felnfli  principles. 

Thus  it  will  appear,  that  there  is  by 
no  means  an  uncertainty  in  all  things. 
Moll  certain  it  is  from  whence  virtue  has 
its  fecurity  and  improvement.  Equally 
certain  is  it  how  we  become  bad,  and  how 
we  are  made  worfe.  Virtue  has,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  a  reward  of  which  it 
cannot  be  deprived,  and  vice  as  fure  a 
puniihment.  All  thofe  accidents  which 
obftrudt  either  the  advantages  fuiting  a 
virtuous  practice,  or  the  fufferings  that 
a  vicious  one  ought  to  feel,  may  fitly 
carry  our  thoughts  to  fome  future  ftate, 
when  each  will  have  its  full  defert  from 
that  Being,  who  has  fo  clearly  expreifed 
as  well  his  approbation  of  virtue,  as  hn 
abhorrence  of  vice ;  and  whole  goodnefs, 
wifdom  and  power,  as  they  admit  of  de- 
monjlration,  fo  they  cannot  but  be  bchc-vei 
to  concur  in  bellowing  thofe  rewards  am! 
puniihments,  which  will  be  moft  for  th* 
y\  •?  weitar* 


1 66 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


welfare  of  the  nobleft  part  of  the  creation, 
the  intelligent  part  of  it. 

But  if  there  were  the  uncertainty  that 
is  not;  the  right  confequence  would  not 
be,  Favour  yourfelf :  it  would  be,  Secure 
yourfelf :  Provide  againft  the  worft.  Let 
your  prefent  enjoyments  be  directed  by 
the  influence  they  may  have  on  your  future 
happinefs :  confider  the  whole  pofiible  ex- 
tent of  your  exigence,  and  forego  the  fa- 
tisfaction  of  a  few  moments,  rather  than 
hazard  the  lofs  of  a  good  that  may  con- 
tinue for  endlefs  ages. 

Such  feem  the  proper  inferences  in  this 
cafe;  and  the  fecurity  of  ourfelves  is 
very  unlikely  to  be  effected  by  favouring 
ourfelves :  the  refult  of  this,  in  a  remo- 
ter period,  may,  with  the  higheft  degree 
of  probability,  be  conjectured  from  what 
is,  every  day,  experienced. 

Bear  and  forbear,  is  the  leffon  for  him 
who  merely  feeks  to  • .  •.  '  prefent  life 
all  the  comfort  in  his  power,  Great  in- 
conveniences we  cannot  even  here  avoid, 
but  by  fubmitting  to  lefier. 

Freedom  from  pain  is  the  price  of  the 
enjoyments  we  deny  ourfelves;  and  ftrength 
of  body  purchafed  by  he  e>  .  rcife  that  fo 
feverely  fatigues  it. 

To  what  ileeplefs  nights  would  '  :-  he 
condemned,  whofe  cafe  throughout  th  i  day 
was  to  have  no  int<  rruprion  ?  Ho  . 
relifh  fhould  we  ha\ .   of  our  food,  were  we 
to  know  nothing  of  the  difquiet  of  hunger  ? 
The  man  who  would  moft  talle  the  grati- 
fications of  fenfe,  muft  be  the  moll  f\  iring 
in  his  application  to  them ;  tbena 
not  only  are  heightened,  but  con-tinu 
us.     It  feem s  the  condition  of  our   b 
that  we  fhould  have  hd   pleafure  gratis** 
that  we  fhould  pay  for  each,  before    ir 
ter  its  enjoyment.    To  decline  whatever  we 
could  be  lefs  pleafed  with,  is  the  fureft  way 
to  increafe  both  the  number  of  cur  fuffer- 
ings,  and  their  weight. 

What  can  be  more  precarious  than  the 
continuance  of  human  life?  Who  in  his 
twentieth  year  acknowledges  not,  how  un- 
certain it  is  whether  he  fhall  fee  his  for- 
tieth? Yet  no  one  of  common  p  udencc 
Jeeks  barely  to  crowd  as  much  fatisfaftion 
into  his  life,  as  can  confift  with  his  reach- 
ing that  period  :  there  is  no  prudent  man 
but  denies  himfelf  many  things,  in  hopes 
of  attaining  a  much  longer  term. 

We  muft  unufually  fail  in  the  love  of 
our  children,  if  we  would  not  purfue  their 
welfare,  in  the  fame  way  by  which  we  judge 


our  own  bell  confulted.  But  where  is  the 
advocate  for  "  Favour  yourfelf,  lince  all 
"  things  are  uncertain,"  who,  if  discretion 
makes  any  part  of  his  character,  governs 
himfelf  bv  that  principle  in  their  educa- 
tion— who  does  not  reftrain  them  in  a 
thoufand  inftances  ?  while  yet  the  unea- 
fmefs  it  gives,  and  the  tears  it  coils  them, 
may  probably  never  find  that  very  Imall 
recompence,  which  muff  be  the  utmofl 
he  can  propofe  from  it,  I  fay,  this  recom- 
pence may, probably,  never  be  found;  a  late 
eminent  mathematician  having,  upon  an 
exact  calculation,  obferved,  that  one  half 
of  thofe  that  are'  born,  are  dead  in  Seventeen 
years  time. 

Some  claim  to  a  public  fpirit,  to  a  love 
of  their  country,  we  find  made  by  the  ge- 
nerality of  us,  even  in  this  very  profligate 
age.  But  from  him,  whofe  rule  it  is  to 
favour  himfelf,  'hie  public  can  have  no- 
thing to  expect.  Were  this  the  prevail- 
ing principle  among  us,  'tis  obvious  how 
little  regard  would  be  fhewn  to  the  com- 
mon welfare. 

All  of  the  learned  profefflons  would  re- 
gulate :  lication,  by  its  fubferviency 
to  their  maintenance,  and  think  they  had 
nothing  fo  much  to  ftudy,  as  how  to  make 
their  fortune. 

■'lor  would  have  no  notion 
of  any  honour  distinct  from  their  advantage 
-  -of  any  obligation  they  could  be  under, 
wiie a  :hcir  pay  might  he  Safe,  to  endanger 
their  perfons. 

The  people  would  judge  none  fo  fit  to 

reprefent  them,  as  they  who  had  been  at 

.    ■  expence  in  corrupting  them : 

lh«  nt'atives  of  the  people  would 

fee  :zc  reason  why  the  whole  of  what  was 

I  o  be  !     •  ed  fhould  go  to  their  conftituents. 

in  (horr,  nothing  but  fupinenefs  and 
floth — an  attachment  to  their  eafe,  and 
the  gratification  of  their  fenfes — low,  un- 
m;  ily  \ -iews— purfuits  throughout  the  moil 
felfifh  and  fordid  could  prevail,  among  all 
orders  and  degrees  of  men,  in  any  coun- 
try, where  the  received  doctrine  was,  fa- 
vour jourfelf. 

Kence  certainly  is  it,  that  not  only  the 
better  constituted  governments,  but  even 
the  nations  of  a  lefs  refined  policy,  have 
encouraged  fo  much  an  indifference  to  the 
fcanty  portion  of  life  here  allotted  us — to 
the  continuance,  the  eafe,  the  conveniences 
of  it ;  exciting,  by  various  methods,  each 
member  of  the  community,  to  have  chiefly 
at  heart  the  public  intereft— ■ -to  be  ever  di- 

Ugent 


BOOK'    I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


figBftt  and  active  in  promoting  it— to  fub- 

•  i •  cr       i'  ■        c  i         r         ■  e  1  • 

mit  to  any  aithculttss  ror  toe  iervnce  or  ins 
country,  and  to  defpife  death  in  its  de- 
fence. 

Nor  do  we,  univerfally,  efteem  any  cha- 
racters more,  than  thofe  of  the  perfons  who 
have  diftinguifhed  themfelves  by  their  dif- 
interedednefs — by  their  zeal  for  the  com- 
mon good — by  their  flighting  all  private  ad- 
vantages that  carne  in  competition  with  it. 

What  has  been  the  language  cf  the 
more  generous  Heathen,  but  the  very  re- 
verfe  of  Favour  thyfelf  ?  Plato  adviies  his 
friend  Archytas  to  confider  "  that  we  are 
"  not  born  for  ourfelves  alone — that  our 
"  country,  our  parents,  our  friends  have 
¥  their  reipective  claims  upon  us."  Epifi. 
ix.  p.  358.  vol.  3. 

Arijhtle,  in  fettling  the  true  difference 
between  the  lawful  and  culpable  love  of 
ourfelves,  ablerves,  that  fuch  love  of  our- 
felves is,  undoubtedly,  blameable,  as  in- 
duces us  to  feek  as  large  a  (hare  as  may 
be,  of  wealth,  honour,  and  fenfual  plea- 
sure. He,  afterwards,  confidents  a  life  of 
reafon  and  virtue,  as  the  proper  life  of  a 
man,  and  pronounces  him  the  true  lover  of 
himfelf,  who  makes  fuch  a  life  his  care. 

He  goes  on,  "  When  all  are  intent  on 
"  the  practice  of  what  is  right,  and  each 
"  lays  himfelf  out  on  the  worthier!  actions, 
"  the  public  welfare  will,  thereby,  be  ef- 
"  fedtually  provided  for,and  evt :  /  private 
"  perfon  confult  his  own  greateft  happi- 
"  nefs.  It  is  moil  truly  faid  of  the  good 
"  man,  that  he  will  ferve  his  friends  and 
v  his  country — will  do  it,  even  at  the  ex- 
**  pence  of  his  life.  For,  as  to  wealth, 
"  honour,  and  all  thofe  other  goods  about 
"  which  there  is  fo  much  ftir  in  the  world, 
9  he  will  have  no  regard  to  them,  when 
*'  they  come  into  competition  with  the  dif- 
"  charge  of  his  duty.  Fie  will  rather  cnuib 
"  to  iive  one  year  well,  than  many  at  ran- 
"  dom.  He  is  juitly  thought  the  good  man, 
P  who  has  nothing  fo  much  at  heart,  as 
*'  how  to  ad  rightly." 

To  mention  another  Greek  writer ; 

We  are  born,  fays  the  excellent  em- 
peror Antoninus,  to  affift  each  other,  1.  2. 
§.  1.  His  couafel  is,  "  Whatfoever  you 
"  do,  do  it  with  a  view  to  your  being  a 
"  good  man;  good,  not  in  the  ordinary, 
"  but  in  the  ft  act  and  proper  fenfe  of  the 
"  word,"  1.  iv.  §.  10.  In  this  delight,  in 
"  this  repofe  yoarfelf,  in  palling  from  one 
"  ufeful  action  to  another  ;  Sail  mindful  of 
"  the  Deity."  1.  vi.  §.  7, 


•167 

"  Whatfoever  I  do,  fays  he,  by  myfelf, 
"  or  the  affiftance  of  others,  ought  wholly 
"  to  be  directed  by  what  the  common  ad- 
"  vantage  requires."  1.  vii.  §.  5. 

He,  elfewhere,  cenfures  every  action  of 
ours,  that  has  no  reference  either  imme- 
diately, or  more  remotely,  to  the  duties  of 
focial  life,  1.  ix.  §.  23.  To  defpife,  fays 
Tally,  and  make  no  account  ofpleafure, 
life,  wealth,  in  comparifon  of  the  public 
welfare,  is  the  part  of  a  great  and  gener- 
ous mind. — A  life  of  toil  and  trouble  in 
order  to  promote,  if  poffible,  the  good  of 
all  mankind,  would  be  much  more  agree- 
able to  nature,  than  to  pais  one's  days  in 
folitude,  not  only  without  any  care,  but 
enjoying  the  greater!  pleafures,  and  having 
every  tiling  could  be  wanted  at  command. 
De  Oj:  1.  iii.  283,  284. 

We  are  all,  according  to  Seneca,  mem- 
bers of  one  great  body,  Ep.  95.  We  muft 
confult  the  happinefs  of  others,  if  we  would 
our  own.  In  his  treatife  of  a  Happy  Lifct 
mentioning  what  the  man  mull  be,  who 
may  hope  to  pafs  hence  to  the  abodes  of 
the  celeitial  beings ;  part  of  his  defcriptiort 
of  him  is,  "  That  he  lives  as  if  he  knew 
"  himfelf  born  for  others — confults  in  all  he 
"  does  the  approbation  of  his  confidence— 
"  regulates  his  every  action  by  conhdering 
"  it  as  well  known  to  the  public,  as  it  is  to 
"  himfelf — treats  the  whole  world  as  Ids 
"  country — regards  the  gods  as  prefent 
"  wherever  he  is,  and  as  remarking  what- 
"  ever  he  acts  and  fpeaks." 

True  happinefs  is,  throughout  this  au- 
thor's works,  confidered  as  derived  from 
virtue — from  the  ileady  puriuit  of  what  is 
right  and  our  duty. 

Thefe  reflections  will,  I  hope,  appear 
net  improperly  introducing  the  confedera- 
tion of  the  part  we  have  to  act  as  ex- 
pectants of  happinefs  in  a  future  date;  the 
iubject  of  the  following  eflay. 

This  expectation  does  not  indeed  furnifii 
any  employment  of  our  time  that  would 
not  be  comprehended  under  the  heads  on 
which  I  have  already  enlarged;  but  it  is 
the  itrongeft  poilible  enforcement  of  what 
they  teach  us. 

Can  I  fuppofe  that  beyond  the  grave 
there  is  any  happinefs  prepared  for  me, 
if  I  live  unmindful  of  the  privileges  here 
vouchfafed  me — if,  when  I  am  placed 
above  the  beads,  I  will  put  myfelf  upon  a 
level  with  them — if  that  spiritual  part  of 
inc,  which  makes  me  a  fit  iubject  for  this 
M  4  happinefe, 


i68 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


happinefs,  be  neglected,  and  all  my  care 
and  nains  laid  cut  on  my  body,  on  what 
was  earth  fo  lately,  and  muft  fd  fpeedily  be 
earth  again  ? 

Are    there    certain   difpofltions    which 
prepare  us  for,  and  which,  b     '  per- 

fected, probably  conftitute  the  happinefs 
of  another  life ;  an  Vi    iope  to  ob- 

tain it,  when  our  ;  .  rluits  contributed  to 
fupprefs  thefe  difpofitions,  or  when  we  are 
■  wholly  regardlefs  cf  cultivating;  tnem  r 
Whatever  1  hope  for  in  a  future  abode, 
I  ought  to  think  the  reward  of  fomething 
here  done  by  me  ;  and  when  the  time  for 
action  here  is  fo  fhort,  even  in  its  lengeft 
continuance— when  like-wife  our  oppor- 
tunities are  io  few,  and  fo  irrecoverably 
loft,  we  mull  conclude  it  moid  fitting,  in 
order  to  the  fuccefs  of  our  hopes,  to  em- 
brace the  opportunity  before -us;  not  to 
neglect  k  from  a  preemption  of  finding 
others  which  perhaps  may  never  come,  or, 
if  they  do  come,  may  be  lefs  favourable  to 
us_  than  the  prefent;  but  to  derive  from 
this  every  advantage  it  is  capable  cf  yield- 
ing us. 

Further,  if  according  to  the  greater  or 
lefs  ufe  of  which  we  make  ourfelves  to  our 
•  fellow-creatures,  we  more  or  lefs  anfwer  the 
end  of  our  creation,  we  muft  conceive  this 
to  be  a  point,  our  fpecial  regard  to  which 
will  be  the  neceffary  confequence  of  the 
views  we  have  beyond  the  grdvs.  The 
blifs  we  then  promife  ourfelves  cannot  be 
thought  a  likelier  reward  of  any  practice, 
■  than  of  that  which  aims  at  the  molt  exten- 
fivegood;  nor  can  one  of  common  fenfe 
think  fuch  happinefs  likely  to  be  our  por- 
tion, aiter  a  life  fpent  as  'unnrofitably,  as 
that  of  thofe  creati  ,.;.      ofwhofe 

fatisfaftions  we  all  confine  to  thofe  they  at 
prefent  enjoy— to  their  prefent  exiftence. 
Hence  our  hopes  afi  i  .:  will  be  per- 
petually urging  us  to  what  we  can  do  moil 
for  the  good  of  mankind,  and  muft  be  a 
motive  to  it  of  the  greateft  weight. 

Thus,  likewife,  when  I  contemplate  a 
more  defireable  ftate  of  being,  than  what 
I  am  now  granted,  awaiting  me  at  my  de- 
parture hence ;  as  it  is  impomble  that  I 
fhould  not  at  the  fame  time  take  into  my 
confideration,  to  whom  I  muft  owe  this 
bleftlng,  from  whom  it  can.  be  received  ; 
I  muft  hereby  be  neeeftarily  led  to  a  great 
defire  of  pleafmg  him  from  whom  it  is  to 
come,  and  therefore  to  all  fuch  applica- 
tion to  him,  and  acknowledgment^  his 
excellencies,  as  can  be  fuppofed  due  from 
and  required  of  me. 


To  all  the  feveral  talks  I  have  mention- 
ed, we  are  thus  particularly  directed  by 
attending  to  the  happinefs referved  for  us; 
the  confideration  of  it  thus  ftrongly  en-3 
forces  their  performance. 

How  far  it  muft  in  general  contribute  to 
the  b  mentofour  time,  the   fol- 

lowing obfervations  may,  I  hope,  fully  con- 
vince us. 

If  we  furvey  the  things,  on  the  value  of 
which  we  are  univerfally  agreed,  we  fhall 
perceive  few,  if  any,  of  them  obtained  or 
fecured  without  more  or  lefs  care  on  our 
part,  and  fome  of  them  only  the  recom- 
pence  of  our  painfulleft  endeavour.  The 
long  enjoyment  of  health  is  in  vain  ex- 
pected, if  we  wholly  decline  the  fatigue 
ofexercife,  and  the  uneafmefs  of  felf-de- 
nial.  The  greateft  eftate  muft  at  length 
be  wafted  by  him,  who  will  be  at  no  trouble 
in  die  management  of  it,  who  cannot  tor- 
ment his  brains  with  examining  accounts, 
and  regulating  the  various  articles  of  a 
large  expence.  Whofe  power  is  fo  eftab- 
lifhed  that  the  prefervation  of  it  cofts 
him  not  much  foiicitude — many  anxious 
thoughts;  and  compels  him  not  to  mor- 
tify himfeif  in  numerous  inftances  ?  This 
is  the  cafe  of  them  whom  nxie  efieem  the 
mod-  fortunate  of  their  kind.  As  to  the 
generality,  how  difficult  do  they  find  the 
acquifition  of  the  meaneft  of  thefe  advant- 
ages ?  What  years  of  diligence  does  it  coft 
them  to  raife  but  a  moderate  fortune? 
Vaft  numbers  we  find  ftruggling  through- 
out their  lives  for  a  bare  fupport. 

Th  :  chief  bleffings  of  life— the  goods 
moli  worthy  our  purfuit,  are  not  only/or 
1  "  (I  par:,  but  altogether,  the  fruits  of 
long  and  unwearied  endeavours  after  them. 
Where  is  the  very  ufeful  art  that  can  be 
learned  without  a  clofe  and  tedious  appli- 
cation—that we  can  make  any  tolerable 
progrefs  in,  before  many  of  our  days  are 
palled?  How  much,  and  what  an  attentive 
experience — what  repeated  obfervations, 
and  how  exact  a  reafoning  upon  them,  are 
neceffary  to  form  us  to  any  degree  of  wif- 
dom  ?  Duly  to  regulate  our  paftions— to 
have  them  under  command — rightly  di- 
rected, and  more  or  lefs  warm  propor- 
tionably  to  the  influence  their  object  has 
upon  our  happinefs,  will  colt  us,  as  every 
one  is  fenfibie,  a  watchfulnefs  and  care  of 
fuch  continuance,  as  is  fubmitted  toby  few 
even  of  thofe,  who  belt  know  how  far  it 
would  be  overpaid  by  the  good  its  pur- 
chafe. 

If  then  we  pay  fo  dear  for  every  fatis- 

fadtion 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


169 


faction  we  now  enjoy — if  there  be  nothing 
defirable  on  earth  but  what  has  its  price  of 
labour  fet  upon  it,  and  what  is  moft  defir- 
able  comes  to  us  by  the  moft  labour;  who 
in  his  wits  can  believe  that  happinefs  far 
exceeding  the  utmoft  in  our  prefent  flate, 
will  at  length  be  our  portion  without  any 
folicitude  we  need  be  at  about  it — with- 
out any  qualifications  we  have  to  acquire 
in  order  to  it — without  any  pains  we  are 
to  take  after  it  ?  Nothing  in  Paganifm  or 
Mahommedifm,  nothing  in  Paper j  is  fo  ab- 
furd  as  this  fuppofition. 

There  is  an  uniformity  in  all  the  pro- 
ceedings of  God.  As  they  are  all  ground- 
ed on  an  unerring  wifdom,  they  mult  tef- 
tify  their  correfpondence  to  it,  by  what 
they  have  to  each  other  :  and  fo  we  find 
they  do  in  all  cafes  wherein  we  can  fathom 
them.  We  know  not,  indeed,  in  what,  way 
we  are  to  be  made  happy  in  another  life  ; 
but  with  what  our  being  fo  is  connected — 
on  what  it  muft  depend,  we  are  furricient- 
ly  infbructed.  The  means  of  making  our- 
felves  thus  happy  which  are  put  in  our 
power,  plainly  teach,  that  by  their  ufe  it 
mult  be  effected.  Lefler  goods,  derived 
to  us  only  by  our  care  and  induftry,  de- 
monftrate  how  we  are  to  fecure  greater. 
The  chief  bleliings,  that  are  now  within 
our  reach,  being  Jiever  vouchfafed  but  to 
our  extraordinary  efforts — to  our  moft 
earner!  endeavours  to  gain  them,  lead  us 
to  the  fulleft  conviction,  that  the  fame  muft 
be  the  condition  of  whatever  enjoyments 
we  can  promife  ourfelves  after  our  death 
— that  they  will  only  be  the  reward  of  the 
diligence  with  which  they  have  been 
fought — of  the  difficulties  their  purfuit  has 
occasioned  us. 

The  Atheift  himfelf — he  who  having  no 
views  beyond  this  world,  gives  his  lufts 
their  full  range  in  it,  acts  with  abundantly 
more  fenfe  and  confiltency,  than  he  who, 
full  of  the  hopes  of  immortality,  yet  con- 
fults  his  humour  or  his  eafe,  his  pleafure 
or  his  profit,  regardlefs  of  any  underftand- 
ing  he  has  to  improve,  or  any  progrefs 
in  virtue  he  has  to  make.  Nor  is  there  any 
thing  that  fo  much  confirms  the  irreligi- 
ous man  in  his  bad  principles,  as  his  ob- 
ferving  this  conduct  in  them  who  pro- 
fefs  to  believe  a  God  and  another  life. 
He  thinks,  and,  I  muft  own,  but  too  juft- 
ly,  that  it  is  the  fame  thing  not  to  be  in- 
fluenced by  fuch  a  belief,  and  not  to  have 
it — that  it  is  even  much  more  reafonable 
to  give  up  all  expectations  of  future  hap- 


pinefs, than  to  expect  it,  and  yet  do  no- 
thing in  order  to  it — do  nothing  that  can 
appear  at  all  qualifying  us  for,  or  entitling 
us  to  it :  in  a  word,  he  rightly  thinks  that, 
fuppofing  there  be  a  God  of  that  perfect 
justice  and  wiidom  which  he  is  reprefent- 
ed,  he  cannot  make  any  difference  here- 
after between  them  who  have  abfolutely 
denied  his  juftice — his  wifdom — nay  his 
very  being,  and  them  who,  with  all  their 
acknowledgments  of  him  and  his  perfec- 
tions, would  yet  never  facrifice  any  of  their 
inclinations  to  him — would  not  be  at  any 
pains  to  know  his  will,  or,  if  they  did  know 
it,  would  only  fo  far  obey  it,  as  it  was 
agreeable  to  their  own. 

I  hardly  can  quit  this  fubject.  So  great 
;S  the  danger — fo  certain,  I  may  fay,  is 
the  mifchief  of  perfuading  ourfelves,  that 
an  eternal  happinefs  will  recompence  the 
little  we  do  to  fecure  it,  that  I  fcarcely 
know  when  I  have  faid  enough  to  evince 
what  conduct  alone  it  can  reward. 

As  the  vifible  world  is  the  only  univer- 
fal  guide  to  our  conjectures  on  the  invifible, 
and  therein,  as  I  have  obferved,  the  method 
of  Providence  in  difpenfing  its  bleffing,  is 
manifeft  to  every  eve ;  all  thofe  which  can 
moft  engage  our  wi.'hes  depending  wholly 
on  what  we  do  to  obtain  them :  as,  like- 
wife,  whether  we  consider  the  wifdom  of 
God,  or  his  truth,  or  his  juftice,  they  all 
concur  in  teaching  us  this  lesion,  that  an 
ever-continuing  felicity  can  only  be  pre- 
pared for  a  diitinguifhed  virtue. 

As  things,  I  fay,  are  thus,  may-it  not 
properly  be  afked,  What  can  it  be  that  fo 
ftrangely  infatuates  us — that  poffefTes  us 
with  hopes  fo  extravagantly  abfurd — that 
makes  a  purfuit  fo  lazy  and  remifs,  which 
ought  to  be  fo  vigorous  and  uninterrupted? 
I  know  not  what  this  pofiibly  can  be,  but, 
either,  the  numbers  that  countenance  our 
practice,  or,  the  reliance  we  have  on  the 
Deity's  unbounded  goodnefs. 

As  to  the  former,  how  little  ftrefs  we 
fhould  lay  on  numbers,  will  be  evident  from 
thefe  four  considerations. 

Firft,  They,  who  in  every  age,  are  moft 
commended  for  their  wifdom  and  pru- 
dence, never  take  the  multitude  for  their 
pattern  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  constant- 
ly live  in  a  direct  oppofition  to  its  prac- 
tices, and  diffuade  all,  to  whom  they  are 
well-wifhers  from  them. 

Secondly,  Thofe  follies  and  vices,  which 
are  the  reproach  of  numbers,  are  not 
therefore,  the  lefjs  mifch'ievous  in  their  con- 

fequences. 


170 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fequenees.     The  incrcafing  multitudes  of    how  groundlefs  our  reliance  muft  be  upon 

it,  when  we  aft  contrary  to  the  ends  for 
which  we  were  made — when  we  neglect 
our  opportunities,  and  abufe  our  capa- 
cities, will,  I  hope,  be  fufficiently  plain  to 
us,  if  we  attend  to  the  following  fhort  re- 
marks. 

1.  We  afcribe  goodnefs  to  God  as  a 
perfection  ;  but  nothing  can  be  a  pem:Lon 
in  him,  which  has,  morally  fpeaking,  a 
necefiary  tendency  to  make  his  creatures 
lefs  periecWiefs  careful  to  anfvver  the 
ends  of  their  creation  ;  and  this  the  divine 
goodnefs  would  certainly  do,  if  it  were  in- 
deed iuch  as  allowed  us  nothing  to  fear, 
t'iio'  we  neglected  to  ufe  rightly  the  abilities 


the  lewd  and  drunken  do  not,  in  any  in 
fiance,  occafion  lewdness  and  drunkennefs 
to  have  more  favourable  circumflances  at- 
tending them,  either  with  refpeft  to  the 
perfons,  or  the  posterity  of  the  guilty  :  and 
if  God  be,  in  no  inftance,  more  favourable 
to  the  vicious  in  this  world,  becaufe  of  their 
numbers ;  we  have  hence  too  fad  a  proof 
that  they  have  not  the  leaft  ground  to  ex- 
pect he  mould  be  fo  in  the  next. 

Thirdly,  What  we  call  great  numbers, 
are,  probably  in  refpeft  of  the  whole  crea- 
tion of  rational  beings,  extremely  few  ; 
perhaps  no  more  than  fome  few  grains    of 

fand,  in  comparifon  cf  thole  amazing  heaps  uiu  we  negxeciea  to  me  r: 
that  fpread  the  defarts  of  the  earth,  and  and  opportunities  afforded  us 
ihores  of  tlte  ocean.  Suppofing,  therefore, 
all  offenders  among  the  human  kind,  pu- 
lufhed  by  God  according  to  their  deferts ; 
that  punifhment  might  be  making  exam- 
ples of  a  very  final!,  of  the  very  fmalleic 
part  of  his  creatures,  for  the  good  of  the 
reft — for  preferving  innumerable  millions 
—an  infinite  race  in  their  due  obedien 

Fourthly,  An   eliabiifhed  order  taking 
place  in  all  the  works  of  God  that  we  are- 
acquainted  with ;  every  thing   in   the    na- 
tural world  being  fubjefted  to  certain  laws ; 
and  in  the  moral  world,    good  having  .(till 
a   tendency    to  produce    good,    nor    ever 
to  do  it,   unlefs    from   fome    acci- 
dental hindrances;  and  evil,  when  things 
are  in  their  proper  courfe,  producing  evil  ; 
we  have  very  ftrong  reafon  to  believe,  that 
an  unchangeable   God — he  whole  wifdom 
uniformly  difplays  itfelf — has  fixed  tilings 
that  thus   they  will  proceed   to    all 
y,  g<        following  fro:::  good,  evil 
evil;  \         h  alone,  with 

in   as  other   ftate,  that  all 
nfe<  uences  of 
removi    ~ 
I'irtti  ,         :    rev    ' 

the  fru       ■ 


le  of  i-e  difmai   effl 
vice  from  1  them,   who   ' 

I  ifelves  in  it.     And.  if  this 

•      l  v.  deli   nothii  g   is  more 

•'  -  then  quite   clear,  that  all 

&  '  of  the  guilty  from  their  num- 

■rly  vain — that   it  1    iu!d 
b--    fulj  0   think  a    plague 

could  not  be  a  dangerous  di  ten  ■  er,  be- 
caufe it  is  fo  infectious  an  one  ;  as  to  think 
i  e  fhall  he  fafe  amidft  our  crimes,  be- 
of  the  multitude  that  fhare  them. 
ith   regard  to  the  goodnefs  of  God, 


2.  As  God  is  the  Governor  of  the  world 
— is  acknowledged  (o  by  all  who  own  his 
being;  we  nuul,  therefore,  confider  his 
goodnefs,  as  that  of  a  governor,  or  as  con- 
fident with,  and  agreeable  to,  a  wife  go- 
vernment :  but  can  this  be  faid  of  his 
goodnefs,  if  it  exempt  from  all  punifh- 
ment our  wilful  and  continued  difobedi- 
ence  to  his  laws,  and  thereby  encourage 
us  to  difobey  them  ? 

3.  One  attribute  or  perfection  of  the 
Deity  cannot  clafh  with  another  :  Ins 
goodnefs,  for  inftance,  with  his  juilice: 
but  the  puniihment  of  evil  is  as  much  a 
part  of  juftice,  as  the  rewarding  cfgood. 
To  treat  evil,  as  if  it  were  not  evil,  can 
nei  her  be  agreeable  to  juilice  or  truth; 
and  this  w«  I  be  the  cafe — evil  would  he 
regarded  as   if  it  were  not   evil,  did  the 

xfs  of  God  fo  favour  the  wilful  of- 
fender, that  Ins  crimes  would  never  reeeive 
their  defcrt. 

4.  To  red  rain  evil,  to  obftruft  its  pro- 
grefs,  muft  be  the  care  of  a  good  Gover- 
nor,  nay  would    be    the    fureft    proof  of 

odnefs.  To  punifh,  therefore,  fuch 
as  aft  contrary  to  the  law  of  their  nature 
— contrary  to  the  well-being  of  fociety, 
and  therei  \  contrary  to  their  own  and  the 
common  happinefs,  is  not  only  a  part  of 
'  .  but  even  of  goodnefs  itfelf.  We 
could  not  confider  God  as  good,  had  he 
not  properly  guarded  againft  his  creatures 
corrupting  themfelves,  and  againft  that 
corruption  extending  itfelf:  and  what  are 
the  difcouragements  to  this,  but  in  the 
way  of  puniihment— but  by  the  fufier- 
ings  the  guilty  have  to  fear  ?  The  more 
there  are  who  act  in  defiance  of  thefe  fuf- 
ferings,  the  more  necefiary  it  becomes  to 
inflift  them ;    and  offenders  can  have  no 

reafon 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


171 


reafon  to  think  that  the  mercy  of  God  will 
fpare  them,  when  the  greateit  mercy  is 
fhewn  in  obviating  the  mifchief  of  fuch 
examples,  by  treating  them  according  to 
what  they  have  dcferved. 

Let  us  behold  the  goodnefs  of  Gcd  in 
this  light,  and  this  is  that  in  which  we 
ought  to  fee  it — this  is  its  true  rcprefen- 
tation;  and  thus  feen,  it  cannot  but  con- 
vince us  how  impofiible  it  is  that  we  fhould 
have  any  thing  to  hope  after  a  life  unpro- 
fitably,  vainly  fpent — how  much  iuch  a 
life  has  necefi'arily  to  fear. 

Dean  Bolton. 

CATECHETICAL  LECTURES. 

§    151.     IntrcduSlion  to  the  Catechifm. 

The  Catechifm  begins  with  a  recital  of 
our  baptifinal  vow,  as  a  kind  of  preface 
to  the  whole.  It  then  lays  down  the  great 
chriitian  principle  of  faith ;  and  leaving 
all  myilerious  inquiries,  in  which  this  fub- 
ject  is  involved,  it  paiTes  on  to  the  rules  of 
practice.  Having  briefly  recited  thefe,  it 
concludes  with  a  iirnple,  and  very  intelli- 
gible explanation  of  baptifm,  and  the 
Lord's  Supper. 

The  catechifm  then  begins  very  pro- 
perly, with  a  recital  of  our  baptifinal  vow, 
as  the  belt  preface  to  that  belief,  and  thofe 
rules  of  practice,  in  which  that  vow  en- 
gaged us. — But  before  we  examine  the 
vo.v  itfelf,  two  appendages  of  it  require 
explanation — the  uie  of  iponfors — and  the 
addition  of  a  name. 

With  regard  to  the  fponfor,  the  church 
probably  imitates  the  appointment  of  the 
legal  guardian,  making  the  belt  provifion 
it  can  for  the  pious  education  of  orphans, 
and  deferted  children.  The  temporal  and 
the  fpiritual  guardian  may  equally  betray 
their  truft :  both  are  culpable :  both  ac- 
countable :  but  furely  the  latter  breaks  the 
more  facred  engagement. 

As  to  promiling  and  vowing  in  the 
name  of  another  (which  feems  to  carry  fo 
harih  a  found)  the  fponfor  only  engages 
for  the  child,  as  any  one  would  engage  for 
another,  in  a  matter  which  is  manifefdy 
for  his  advantage :  and  on  a  fuppofition, 
that  the  child  hereafter  will  fee  it  to  be  fo 
—that  is,  he  promifes,  as  he  takes  it  for 
granted,  the  child  itfelf  would  have  pro-, 
mifed,  if  it  had  been  able. 

With  regard  to  the  name,  it  is  no  part 
of  the  facrament ;  nor  pretends  to  fcrip- 
tural  authority.  It  re  Its  merely  on  ancient 
ufage,     A  cuftom  had  generally  obtained, 


of  giving  a  new  name,  upon  adopting  a 
new  member  into  a  family.  We  find  it 
common  among  the  Greek,  the  Romans, 
and  the  Jews;  nay,  we  read  that  even  God 
himfelf,  when  he  received  Abram  into 
covenant,  giving  an  early  fandtion  to  this 
ufage,  changed  his  name  to  Abraham. 
In  imitation  of  this  common  practice,  the 
old  chriitians  gave  baptifmal  names  to  their 
children,  which  were  intended  to  point  out 
their  heavenly  adoption,  as  their  furnames 
diitinguilhed  their  temporal  alliance. 

From  confidering  the  ufe  of  fponfors, 
and  of  the  name  in  baptifm,  we  proceed 
next  to  the  vow  itfelf,  which  is  thus  ex- 
preficd.  "  My  godfathers  did  promife 
"  three  things  in  my  name  :  1  (t,  That  I 
"  fhould  renounce  the  devil,  and  all  his 
"  works,  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this 
"  wicked  world,  and  ail  the  finful  lufts  of 
"  the  fleth.  2aly,  That  I  fhould  believe 
"  all  the  articles  of  the  chriitian  faith  ;  and 
"  3dly,  That  I  fhould  keep  God's  holy 
"  will,  and  commandments,  and  walk  in 
"  the  fame  all  the  days  of  my  life." 

Firit  then,  we  promife  to  "  renounce 
"  the  devil,  and  ail  his  works,  the  pomps 
"  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world,  and 
"  all  the  finful  lufts  of  the  flefh."  »  The 
"  devil,  the  world,  and  the  flefli,"  is  a 
comprehend ve  mode  of  expreffing  every 
fpecies  of  fin,  however  ditinguifhed;  and 
from  whatever  fource  derived  :  all  which 
we  not  only  engage  to  renounce  as  far  as 
we  are  able ;  but  alfo  to  take  pains  in 
tracing  the  labyrinths  of  our  own  hearts  ; 
and  in  removing  the  gloffes  of  felf-deceit. 
Without  this,  all  renunciation  of  fin  is  pre- 
tence. 

Being  thus  injoined  to  renounce  our 
grofs,  habitual  fins,  and  thofe  bad  inclina- 
tions, which  lead  us  into  them  ;  we  are 
required  next  to  "  believe  all  the  articles 
"  of  the  chriitian  faith."  This  is  a  natu- 
tural  progreiiion.  When  we  are  thoroughly 
convinced  of  the  malignity  of  fin,  we  in 
courfe  wifh  to  avoid  the  ill  confequences 
of  it ;  and  are  prepared  to  give  a  fair 
hearing  to  the  evidence  of  religion. 
There  is  a  clofe  connection  between  vice 
and  infidelity.  They  mutually  fupport  each 
other.  The  fame  connection  fubfiits  be- 
tween a  well-difpofed  mind,  and  the  truths 
of  religion :  and  faith  perhaps  is  not  fo 
involuntary  an  act,  as  many  of  our  modern 
philofophers  would  perfuade  us. 

After  "  believing  the  articles  of  the 
"  chriitian  faith,"  we  are  laflly  injoined  to 
"  keep  God's   holy   will  and  command- 

"  ments." 


172 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

On  the  Creed- 


"  ments."  Here  too  is  the  fame  natural 
pro^reftion.  As  the  renunciation  of  fin 
piepares  the  way  for  faith,  fo  does  faith, 
lead  directly  to  obedience.  They  feem 
related  to  each  other,  as  the  mean  and  the 
end.  "  The  end  of  the  commandment," 
faith  the  apoftlc,  "  is  charity,  out  of  a  pure 
"  heart,  and  good  confidence,  and  faith, 
"  unfeigned."  Faith  (which  is  the  aft 
of  believing  upon  rational  evidence)  is  the 
great  fountain,  from  which  all  chriflian 
virtues  fpring.  No  man  will  obey  a  law, 
till  he  hath  informed  himfelf  whether  it 
be  properly  authorized  :  or,  in  other  words, 
till  he  believe  in  the  jurifdiftion  that  en- 
afted  it. — If  our  faith  in  Chrift  doth  not 
lead  us  to  obey  him ;  it  is  what  the  fcrip- 
tures  call  a  dead  faith,  in  oppofition  to  a 
faving  one. 

To  this  infeparable  ccnneftion  between 
faith  and  obedience,  St.  Paul's  dcftrine 
may  be  objected,  where  he  feems  to  lay 
the  vvnole  itreis  on  faith,  in  oppofition  to 
works  *. — But  it  is  plain,  that  St.  Paul's 
argument  requires  him  to  mean  by  faith, 
the  whole  fyiiem  of  the  chrifdan  religion 
(which  is  indeed  the  meaning  of  the  word 
in  many  other  parts  of  fcripture)  ;  and  by 
works,  which  he  lets  in  oppofition  to  it, 
the  moral  law.  So  that  in  raft,  the  apof- 
tle's  argument  relates  not  to  the  prefent 
queilion  ;  but  tends  only  to  eftablifh  the 
fuperiority  of  chriftianity.  The  moral  law, 
argues  the  apoille,  which  claimed  on  the 
righteouihefs  of  works,  makes  no  prcvifion 
for  the  deficiencies  of  man.  Christianity 
alone,  by  opening  a  door  of  mercy,  gave 
him  hopes  of  that  falvation,  which  the 
other  could  not  pretend  to  give. 

Upon  renouncing  fin,  believing  the  arti- 
cles of  the  chriflian  faith,  and  keeping 
God's  holy  commandments,  as  far  as  firjul 
man  can  keep  them,  we  are  entitled  by 
promife  to  all  the  privileges  of  the  gofpel. 
We  "become  members  of  Chrift,  children 
"  of  God,  and  inheritors  of  the  kingdom 
"  of  heaven."  We  are  redeemed  throuo-h 
the  merits  of  Chrift  ;  pardoned  throucrh 
the  mercies  of  God  ;  and  rewarded  with  a 
blefied  immortality. 

This  account  of  our  baptifmal  vow  con- 
cludes with  a  queftion,  leading  us  to  ac- 
knowledge the  necefiity  of  obiervino-  this 
vow ;  and  to  declare  our  belief,  that  our 
only  hope  of  keeping  it  refts  upon  the 
affiftance  of  God.  (.Hi bin. 


§  i5- 


3„.   u«  i«i  uihu — the  Belief  of  God. 

The  creed  begins  with  a  profeflion  of 
our  belief  in  "  God  the  Father  almighty, 
maker  of  heaven  and  earth." 

The  being  of  a  God  is  one  of  thofe 
truths,  which  fcarce  require  proof.  A 
proof  feems  rather  an  injury,  as  it  fup- 
pof;s  doubt.  However,  as  young  minds, 
though  not  fceptical,  are  uninformed,  it 
may  not  be  improper  to  feleft  out  of  the 
variety  of  arguments,  which  evince  this 
great  truth,  two  or  three  of  the  mofl 
fimple. 

The  exiftence  of  a  Deity,  we  prove 
from  the  light  of  nature.  For  his  attri- 
butes, at  leaft  in  any  perfection,  we  muft: 
look  into  fcripture. 

A  few  plain  and  fimple  arguments 
drawn  from  the  creation  of  the  world — 
the  prefervation  of  it — and  the  general 
confent  of  mankind,  ftrike  us  with  more, 
conviftion,  than  all  the  fubtilties  of  meta- 
phyfical  deduction. 

We  prove  the  being  of  a  God  nrft  from 
the  creation  of  the  world. 

_  The  world  muft  have  been  produced 
either  by  defign,  or  by  chance.  '  No  other 
mode  of  origin  can  be  fuppofed.  Let  us 
fee  then  with  which  of  thefe  characters  it  is 
impreffed. 

The  charafteriftic  of  the  works  of  de- 
fign, is  a  relation  of  parts,  in  order  to 
produce  an  end — The  charafteriftic  of  the 
works  of  chance  is  juft  the  reverfe.— 
When  we  fee  ftones,  anfwering  each  other, 
laid  in  the  form  of  a  regular  building,  we 
immediately  fay,  they  were  put  together 
by  defign  :  but  when  we  fee  them  thrown 
about  in  a  diforderly  heap,  we  fay  as  con- 
fidently, they  have  been  thrown  fo  by 
chance. 

Now,  in  the  world,  and  all  its  appen- 
dages, there  is  plainly  this  appearance  of 
defign.  One  part  relates  to  another;  and 
the  whole  together  produces  an  end.  The 
fun,  for  inftance,  is  connected  with  the 
earth,  by  warming  it  into  a  proper  heat,. 
&r  the  production  of  its  fruits ;  and  fur- 
nifl  ng  it  with  rain  and  dew.  The  earth 
again  is  connected  with  all  the  vegetables 
which  it  produces,  by  providing  them 
with_  proper  foils,  and  juices  for  their 
nourifhment.  Thefe  again  are  connected 
with  animals,  by  fupplying  them  with  food. 
And  the  whole  together  produces  the  great 
See  Rom.  Hi.  28.  and  indeed  great  part  of  th;  epiftle. 

end 


OOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS 


end  of  mftaining  the  lives  of  innumerable 
creatures. 

Nor  is  defign  fhevvn  only  in  the  grand 
fabric  of  the  world,  and  all  its  relative 
appendages :  it  is  equally  (hewn  in  every 
part.  It  is  feen  in  every  animal,  adapted 
in  all  its  peculiarities  to  its  proper  mode 
of  life.  It  is  feen  in  every  vegetable,  fur- 
nifhed  with  parts  exactly  fuited  to  its  fitua- 
tion.  In  the  leaft,  as  well  as  in  the  greatefl 
of  nature's  productions,  it  is  every  where 
apparent.  The  little  creeper  upon  the 
wall,  extending  its  tenacious  fibres,  draws 
nourifhment  from  'the  crannies  of. the 
itones;  and  flourishes  where  no  other  plant 
could  live. 

If  then  the  world,  and  every  part  of  it, 
are  thus  marked  with  the  characters  of 
defign,  there  can  be  no  difficulty  in  ac- 
knowledging the  author  of  fuch  defign — - 
of  fuch  amazing  contrivance  and  variety, 
to  be  a  being  of  infinite  wifdom  and 
power.  We  call  a  man  ingenious,  who 
makes  even  a  common  globe,  with  all  the 
parts  of  the  earth  delineated  upon  it. 
What  (hall  we  fay  then  of  the  •author  of 
the  great  original  itfelf,  in  all  its  gran- 
deur, and  furniihed  with  all  its  various  in- 
habitants ? 

The  argument  drawn  from  the  prefer- 
vation  of  the  world,  is  indeed  rather  the 
laft  argument  advanced  a  ftep  farther. 

If  chance  could  be  fuppofed  to  produce 
a  regular  form,  yet  it  is  certainly  beyond 
the  higherl  degree  of  credulity,  to  fuppofe, 
it  could  continue  this  regularity  for  any 
time.  But  we  find  it  has  been  continued : 
we  find,  that  near  6000  years  have  made 
no  change  in  the  order  and  harmony  cf 
the  world.  The  fun's  action  upon  the 
earth  hath  ever  been  regular.  The  pro- 
duction of  trees,  plants,  and  herbs,  hath 
ever  been  uniform.  Every  feed  produces 
now  the  fame  fruit  it  ever  did.  Every 
fpecies  of  animal  life  is  Hill  the  fame. 
Could  chance  continue  this  regular  ar- 
rangement ?  Could  any  thing  continue  it, 
but  the  hand  of  an  omnipotent  God  ? 

Laftly,  we  fee  this  great  truth,  the  being 
of  a  God,  witnefTed  by  the  general  con- 
fent  of  mankind.  This  general  confent 
mull  arife  either  from  tradition,  or  it  mull 
be  the  refult  of  men's  own  reafoning. 
Upon  either  fuppofition,  it  is  an  argument 
equally  ftrong.  If  the  firft  fuppofition  be 
allowed,  it  will  be  difficult  to  ailign  any 
fource  of  this  tradition,  but  God  himfelf. 
If  the  fecond,  it  can  fcarce  be  fuppofed 
that  all  mankind,  in  different  parts  of  the 


»73 

world,  fhould  agree  in  the  belief  of  a 
thing,  which  never  exifted.  For  though 
doubts  have  arifen  concerning  this  ge- 
neral belief,  yet  it  is  now  pretty  well 
afcertained,  from  the  accounts  of  travel- 
lers, that  no  nation  hath  yet  been  difcover- 
ed,  among  whom  fome  traces  of  religious 
worihip  have  not  been  found. 

Be  it  fo,  fays  the  cbjedlor;  yet  Mill  we 
find  fingle  perfons,  even  in  civilized  coun- 
tries, and  fome  of  them  men  of  enlarged  ca- 
pacities, who  have  not  only  had  their  doubts 
on  this  fubjeft ;  but  have  proclaimed  aloud 
their  difbelief  of  a  divine  being. 

We  anfwer,  that  it  is  more  than  pro- 
bable, no  man's  infidelity  on  this  head  was 
ever  thoroughly  fettled.  Bad  men,  rather 
endeavour  to  convince  themfelves,  than 
are  really  convinced. — But  even  on  a  fup- 
pofition, that  a  few  fuch  perfons  could  be 
found,  what  is  their  teftimony  againft  fo 
great  a  majority,  as  the  reft  of  mankind  ? 
The  light  of  the  fun  is  univerfally  acknow- 
ledged, though  it  happens,  that,  now  and 
then,  a  man  may  be  born  blind. 

But  fince,  it  feems,  there  are  difficulties 
in  fuppofing  a  divine  creator,  and  preferver 
of  the  world,  what  fyftem  of  things  does  the 
atheift  fuppofe  attended  with  fewer  ?  He 
fees  the  world  produced  before  him.  He 
fees  it  hath  been  created  ;  and  is  preferved. 
Some  account  of  this  matter  muft  be  giv'en. 
If  ours  difpleafe  him  ;  let  us  have  his. 

The  experiment  hath  been  tried.  We 
have  had  many  atheifiical  creeds:  none 
of  which  hath  flood  the  teft  of  beino-  hand- 
ed down  with  any  degree  of  credit  into 
future  times. 

The  atheifl's  great  argument  indeed 
againft  a  Deity,  is  levelled  at  the  apparent 
injuilice  of  his  government.  It  was  an 
objection  cf  ancient  date;  and  might  have 
had  its  weight  in  heathen  times  :  but  it  is 
one  of  the  bleffings,  which  attends  chrif- 
tianity,  that  it  fatisfies  all  our  doubts  on 
this  head ;  and  gives  us  a  rational  and 
eafy  folution  of  this  poignant  objection. 
What  if  we  obferve  an  inaccurate  dif- 
tribution  of  the  things  of  this  world  ? 
What  if  virtue  be  deprefled,  and  vice  tri- 
umphant ?  It  is  nothing,  fays  the  voice 
of  religion,  to  him,  who  believes  this  life 
to  be  an  inconflderable  part  of  his  being  ; 
a  point  only  in  the  expanfe  of  eternity  : 
who  believes  he  is  lent  into  this  world, 
merely  to  prepare  himfelf  for  a  better. 
This  world,  he  knows,  is  intended  neither 
for  reward,  nor  punifhment.  Happinefs 
unqueftionably  attends  virtue  even  here, 
4  and 


m 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


and  mifery,  vice  :  but  it  is  not  the  hap- 
pinefs  of  a  fplendid  Ration,  but  of  a 
peaceful  mind  ;  nor  is  it  f1  mifery  of  low 
circum fiances,  but  of  a  gui  tv  confidence. 
The  things  of  this  world  are  i  ot,  in  their 
own  nature,  connected  either  with  happi- 
nefs  or  mifery.  Attended  fometimes  by 
one,  and  fometimes  by  the  other,  they  are 
merely  the  means  of  trial.  One  man  is 
tempted  with  riches,  and  another  with 
poverty ;  but  God  intends  neither  an  ele- 
vated, nor  a  depreffed  fituation  as  the  ulti- 
mate completion  of  his  will. 

Behdes,  if  worldly  prosperity  even  was 
the  indication  of  God's  favour,  yet  good 
men  may  have  failings  and  imprudencies 
enough  about  them  to  deferve  misfortune  ; 
and  bad  men  virtues,  which  may  defer ve 
fuccefs.  Why  mould  imprudence,  though 
joined  with  virtue,  partake  of  its  reward  ? 
Or  the  generous  purpofe  (hare  in  the  pu- 
nifhment,  though  conne&ed  with  vice? 

Thus  then  we  fee  the  being  of  a  God 
is  the  univerfal  creed  of  nature.  But 
though  nature  could  inveftlgate  the  fimple 
truth,  fhe  could  net  preferve  it  from  error. 
Nature  merely  takes  her  notions  from 
what  me  {ees,  and  what  fhe  hears,  and 
hath  ever  moulded  her  gods  in  the  likenefs 
of  things  in  heaven,  and  things  on  earth. 
Hence  every  part  of  the  creation,  animate 
and  inanimate,  hath,  by  turn?,  neon  an 
object  of  worihip.  And  even  the  moll  re- 
fined nations,  we  know,  had  grofs  con- 
ceptions on  this  head.  The  wiierl  of  them 
indeed,  by  obferving  the  wonders  of  cre- 
ation, could  clothe  the  Deity  with  vvifdom 
and  power :  but  they  could  go  no  farther. 
The  virtues  of  their  heroes  afforded  them 
the  higheft  ideas  of  perfection:  and  with 
thefe  they  arrayed  their  gods;  mixing 
alfo  with  their  virtues,  fuch  vices,  as  are 
found  in  the  characters  of  the  beft  of 
men. 

For  juft  notions  of  the  Deity,  we  muft 
have  recourfe  then  to  revelation  alone. 
Revelation  removes  ail  thefe  abfurdities. 
It  difpels  the  clouds  of  ignorance :  and 
unveils  the  divine  majefty,  as  far  as  it  can 
be  the  object  of  human  contemplation. 
The  lax  notions  of  libertinifm,  on  one 
hand,  which  make  the  Deity  an  inobfervant 
governor ;  and  the  gloomy  ideas  of  fuper- 
ftition,  on  the  other,  which  fuppofe  him  to 
be  a  dark  malignant  being,  are  equally 
expofed.  Here  we  are  informed  of  the 
omnifcience  and  omniprefence  of  God. 
Here  we  learn,  that  his  wifdom  and  power 

*  In  vita  Claud.  C»f. 


are  equalled  by  his  gcodnefs;  and  that  his 
mercy  is  over  all  his  works.  In  fnort,  we 
learn  from  revelation,  that  we  are  in  the 
hands  of  a  being,  whofe  knowledge  wd 
cannot  evade,  and  whofe  power  we  cannot 
refill ;  who  is  merciful  and  good  to  all  his 
creatures  ;  and  will  be  ever  ready  to  affift 
and  reward  thofe,  who  endeavour  to  con- 
form themfelves  to  his  wiii :  but  whofe* 
juftice,  at  the  fame  time,  accompanying 
his  mercy,  will  punifh  the  bold  and  care-', 
lefs  finner  in  proportion  to  his  guilt. 

Gilpin. 

§    153.      On  the  Creed  continued— the  Belief 
of  Jefus  Chrijl. 

After  profeflmg  our  belief  in  God,  thtf 
creed  proceeds  with  a  profeilion  of  our  be- 
lief "  in  Jefus  Chrifr,  his  fon,  our  Lord." 

A  perfon  celebrated  as  Jefus  Chrift 
was,  we  may  fuppofe,  would  naturally 
find  a  place  in  the  profane  hiftory  of  his 
times.  It  may  not  be  amifs,  therefore,  to 
introduce  the  evidence  we  are  about  to 
colled,  with  the  teftimony  of  feme  of  the 
more  eminent  of  the  heathen  writers,  who 
have  mentioned  him.  They  will  at  lead 
inform  us,  that  fuch  a  perfon  lived  at  the 
time  we  affert ;  and.  that  he  was  the  au- 
thor of  a  new  religion. — I  (hall  quote  only 
Suetonius,  Tacitus,  and  Pliny. 

Suetonius*,  tells  us,  that  "  the  em- 
peror Claudius  drove  all  the  Jews  from 
Rome,  v  ho,  at  the  mitigation  of  one  Chrift, 
were  continually  Making  difturbances." 

Tacitus  f,  fpeakirtg  of  the  perfecution 
of  chriftians,  tells  us  "  that  the  author  of 
that  name  was  Chrifr.,  who  was  put  to 
dc;  th  by  Pontius  Pilate,  in  the  reign  of 
Tiberius." 

Pliny's  \  teftimony  is  more  large.  It 
is  contained  in  a  letter,  written  to  the 
emperor  Trajan,  defiring  his  inflrucYions 
with  regard  to  chriftians.  He  blames 
their  obftinacy  in  refufing  to  facrifice  to 
the  R.oman  deities—but  from  their  own 
confeffon  can  draw  nothing,  but  that  they 
affembie,  on  a  certain  day,  before  fun-rife 
—that  they  pay  divine  honours  to  Chrifr. 
as  a  God—  that  they  bind  themfelves  by  a 
facrament  not  to  Ileal,  nor  to  commit  adul- 
tery, nor  to  deceive — and  that,  after  the 
performance  of  thefe  rites,  they  join  in 
one  common  meal.  Nay,  he  examined,  he 
fays,  two  of  them  by  torture :  yet  flill  he 
finds  nothing  obnoxious  In  their  behaviour, 
except    their    abi'urd    fuperftitions.      He 


t  Lib.  15. 


\  Lib.  10. 


thinks, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RSLIGI OU  S. 


i7[ 


; thinks,  however,  the  matter  fhsuld  be  in- 
quired into:  for  chriftianity  had  brought 
:  religion  into  great  difufe.  The  markets 
■  were  crowded  with  victims ;  and  fcarce  a 
purchafer  came  near  them. 

Thefe  writers  afford  us  fafficient  tef- 
itimony,  that  Jefus  Cftrift  lived  at  the  time 
,we  afl'ert;  and  that  he  wras  the  author  of  a 
new  religion.  They  had  opportunities  of 
being  well  informed ;  could  have  no  in- 
tered  in  falfifying ;  were  no  converts  to 
the  new  feci;  but  talk  of  Chrift,  only  zs 
they  would  of  any  fmgular  perfon,  whom 
they  had  occafion  to  mention.  Their  tef- 
1  timony  therefore  is  beyond  cavil. 

Let  us  now  proceed  a  ftep  farther,  and 
examine  the  fcripture  evidence  of  Chrift, 
which  proves  not  only  his  exifrence ;  but 
that  he  is  our  Lord,  or  the  Median — and 
not  only  that  he  was  the  author  of  a  new 
religion;  but  that  this  religion  is  true. 

Upon  examining  the  grand  fcripture 
evidence  on  this  head,  we  find  the  greateft 
ftrefs  laid  upon  miracles  and  prophecies : 
both  of  which  are  direct  appeals  to  God, 
i  by  a  claim  to  fupernatural  power.  And 
though  both  thefe  modes  of  evidence  are 
calculated  as  well  for  us  who  live  in  re- 
j  moter  timet,  as  for  thofe  who  lived  in  the 
:  earlieir ;  yet  the  evidence  from  mira- 
cles feems  more  particularly  addrciTed  to 
them;  as  that  from  prophecy  is  to  us. 
They  were  the  eye-witnedes  of  the  mira- 
e'es  of  the  gofpe],  of  which  we  have  only 
the  evidence  at  fecond-hand.  Whereas 
prophecy  is  a  mode  of  evidence,  which 
increases  through  every  age.  The  early 
chriiKans  had  it  in  part ;  but  to  us  this 
amazing  web  is  dill  more  unfolded ;  and 
more  of  its  wonderful  texture  difplayed. — 
Let  us  examine  each  in  its  order. 

Among  die  eye-witnedes  of  the  gofpel 
miracles,  were  many  learned  men,  as  well 
as  unlearned.  The  former  had  oppor- 
tunity and  abilities  to  examine  the  works 
before  them  ;  to  trace  out  fraud,  if  any 
fuch  were  latent ;  and  did  unquedionably 
receive  them  with  all  that  circumfpeclion 
which  was  due  to  fuch  wonderful  exhibi- 
tions, before  they  embraced  the  chridian 
faith :  while  the  mod  ignorant  ipectatorwas 
a  competent  judge  of  matter  of  fact  ;  and 
many  of  our  Saviour's  miracles  were  fuch 
as  could  not  pofiibly,  from  the  nature  of 
the  facts  themfelves,  be  coloured  with 
fraud. 

It  had  a  drange  found  to  the  prejudices 
of  mankind,  that  a  crucified  malefactor 
was  the  Saviour  of  the  world ;   and  we 


cannot  fuppofe,  that  any  man,  much  lefs 
that  a  multitude  of  men,  would  embrace 
fuch  a  belief  without  clear  conviction : 
efpecially  as  no  worldly  advantage  lay  on 
the  dele  of  this  belief;  and  the  convert 
even  renounced  the  world,  and  embraced 
a  life  of  perfecution. — Let  us  condder  the 
fingle  miracle  of  Chrift's  refurrection. 
Jeius  had  frequently  mentioned  it  before 
his  death;  and  the  thing  was  fo  far  in 
general  credited,  that  the  fepulchre  was 
fealed,  and  an  armed  guard  appointed  to 
watch  it.  We  may  well  fuppofe,  there- 
fore, that  his  favourers  would  naturally, 
upon  this  occafion,  reafon  thus  :  «  Jefiis 
hath  now  put  his  pretendons  upon  a  fair 
idue.  He  hath  told  us,  he  will  arife  from 
the  dead  on  the  third  day : — here  then  let 
us  fufpend  our  judgment,  and  wait  the  re- 
fult.  Three  days  will  determine  whether 
he  be  an  impoitor,  or  the  real  Mediah." 
— It  is  very  natural  to  fuppofe,  that  the 
favourers  of  Jefus  would  reafon,  after  his 
death,  in  a  manner  like  this  :  and  it  is  be- 
yond credibility,  that  any  of  them  would 
have  continued  his  difciples,  had  they 
found  him  falfifying  in  this  point.  But 
we  know  they  did  continue  his  difciples 
after  this.  We  know  alfo,  that  many  pro- 
felytesj  convinced  by  this  very  event* -em- 
braced the  chridian  religion.— We  have 
aii  the  reafon  in  the  world  therefore  to  be- 
lieve, that  they  were  fully  fatisfied.  Llis 
miracles  were  to  them  a  fiifficient  proof  of 
his  pretendons.  All  candid  men  would 
have  acquiefced,  as  they  did;  and  in  their 
belief  we  have  a  very  ftrong  foundation 
for  our  own. 

Again,  with  regard  to  prophecy,  we 
obferve,  that  the  writers  of  the  Old  Tefta- 
ment  fecm,  in  various  parts,  to  characterize 
feme  extraordinary  perfon,  who  was  in 
procefs  of  time  to  make  his  appearance  in 
the  world,  The  marks  are  peculiar,  and 
can  neither  be  midaken  nor  mifapplied. '' 
"  He  was  to  be  born  of  a  virgin — he  was 
to  turn  the  hearts  of  the  difobedient  to 
the  wifdom  of  the  juft — though  dignified 
with  the  characters  of  a  prince,  he  was  to 
be  a  man  offorrows,  and  acquainted  with 
grief — though  defcribed  to  be  without  fin, 
he  was  to  be  numbered  with  tranfgreffors 
his  hands  and  his  feet  were  to  be 
pierced — he  was  to  be  made  an  offering 
for  fin— and  was  never  to  fee  corruption." 
—Thefe  prophecies  were  publilhed  many 
hundred  years  before  the  birth  of  Chrift  : 
and  had  been  all  along  in  the  hands,  not 
only  of  the  Jews,  but  of  all  men  of  letters. 

The 


i76 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


The  Old  Teftament  had  been  early  trans- 
lated into  the  Greek  language ;  and  re- 
ceived into  the  politeft  libraries  of  thofe 
times. 

With  thefe  ideas,  let  us  open  the  New 
Teftament,  and  it  is  obvious  that  no  picture 
can  be  more  like  its  original,  than  thefe 
prophecies  of  Chrift  in  one  Teftament,  are 
to  his  hiftory  in  the  other.  Here  we  fee 
that  extraordinary  virgin-birth  unravelled. 
—  Here  we  fee  a  life  fpent  in  turning  the 
hearts  of  the  difobedient  to  the  wifdom  of 
the  juft — Here  we  find  the  prince  of 
his  people,  a  man  of  forrows,  and  ac- 
quainted with  grief. Here  we  fee  the 

Lord  of  righteoufnefs  numbered  with 
tranfgreflbrs — we  fee  his  hands  and  his 
feet  pierced — we  fee  him  made  an  offer- 
ing for  fin — and  we  fee  realized  that  ex- 
traordinary idea  of  death  without  cor- 
ruption. 

It  were  an  eafy  matter  to  carry  this 
comparifon  through  a  more  minute  detail 
of  circumftances  :  but  I  mean  only  to  trace 
the  outlines  of  this  great  refemblance. 
To  compleat  the  picture  would  be  a  co- 
pious work. 

Befides  thefe  predictions,  which  related 
immediately  to  the  life  and  death  of  Chrift : 
there  were  many  others,  which  deferve 
notice.  Among  thefe  the  two  great  lead- 
ing prophecies  were  thofe  of  the  calling 
of  the  Gentiles,  and  of  the  difperfion  of 
the  lews. 

The  calling  of  the  Gentiles  was  one  of 
the  earlieft  prophecies  of  the  Old  Tefta- 
ment. The  jews  were  diftinguifhed  in 
appearance,  as  the  favourite  people  of 
God;  and  they  were  fufHciently  elated 
upon  that  diftinfticn.  But  if  they  h 
tended  clofely  to  their  ]  y.mighl 

have  difcovered,  that  all   the 
which  defcribed  ;    |  py   ftate   of  the 

church,  had  evidently  a  more  diftan 
peel,  than  to  the   i. 

in  particular,  which  were   repeated  to  the 
:       L  rchs,    were  not    nv 
their  pofterity ;  but  included  "  all  th     - 
tions  of  the  earth*." — And  vvh 
r  ts,  as  the  great  i 

I        •  a  plainer,  and    a   more    in 
language,    the  whole   nation 
v        -flood,  as  Sime< 

wifeft  and  rnoft  intelligible  of  them  did 
und  '     t  "  a  light  was  fprung  up 

to  li   hten  the  Gentil<   .:' 


The  prophecy  of  the  difperfion  of  the 
Jewifh  nation  is  alfo  very  antient,  being 
attributed  by  Mofes  to  the  patriarch  Jacob. 
"  The  fceptre  fhall  not  depart  from  Judah, 
until  Shiloh  come."  Whatever  may  be  the 
precife  meaning  of  the  word  '  fceptre'  in 
the  original ;  and  though  it  may  not  per- 
haps properly  fignify  that  idea  of  regal 
power,  which  it  conveys  to  our  ears ;  yet 
it  certainly  means  feme  badge  of  autho- 
rity, that  implies  a  formed  and  fettled  go- 
vernment. And  as  to  the  word  '  Shiloh,' 
all  commentators,  jewifh  as  well  as  chrifti- 
an,  explain  it  to  mean  the  Mefiiah — The 
fenfc  therefore  of  the  prophecy  is  plainly 
this — that  the  Jews  fhould  continue  in  the 
form  of  a  fociety,  till  the  time  of  the 
Melfiah.  Accordingly  we  find  that,  foon 
after  Chrift's  death,  the  fceptre  did  de- 
part from  Judah:  the  Jews  loft  all  form 
of  a  political  fociety ;  and  are  a  fingular 
inftance  of  a  people,  fcattered  over  the 
whole  earth,  preferved  to  this  day  fepa- 
rate  from  all  other  people,  and  yet  without 
a  fettlement  any  where. 

Our  Saviour's  prophecy  of  the  growth 
of  his  church,  is  likewife  among  the  more 
remarkable  predictions.  He  told  his  dif- 
ciples,  that  "  his  religion  was  like  a  grain 
of  muftard-feed,  which  was  the  leaft  of  all 
feeds ;  but  when  it  grew  up,  it  fhould  be- 
come a  great  tree,  and  the  fov,  Is  of  the 
air  fhould  lodge  in  the  branches  of  it." 
He  told  them  alfo,  that  «  the  gates  of  hell 
fhould  never  prevail  againft  it." 

The  Jewifh  religion  was  continually  en- 
forced by  the  idea  of  a  jealous  God, 
1  lg  over  it,  and  threatening  judg- 
ments from  heaven  upon  every  tranf- 
greflion.  The  divine  authority  was  ftamp- 
i  it.  The  people  tremble* 
and  w 

tr  Mahomet  fet  up  for 

■-.   i  -    could   net  indeed  enforce 

his  reli  divine  judgments;  but  he 

did  it  by   temporal.     He  drew  his  fword, 

of  his  oppofers; 

1  e    pre    dfed  to  the  obedient  a  full 

f  their  pafiions. 

riftian  religion,  nothing  of 

.red.     No  temporal  judg- 

atened  on  one  hand:  no  fenfual 

ences  allured  on  the  other.     A  few 

defponding   ignorant  mechanics,    the  dif- 

.  fon  crucified  as  a  common 

malefactor,  were  all  tlxc  parade,  with  which 


See  Gen.xii.  3.    xviii.  iS.     xxiuiS'.    xxvi.  4. 


thtt 


BOOK    L      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


this  religion  was  ufhered  into  the  world ; 
and  all  the  human  affiftance  which  it  had 
to  boaft.-— — And  yet  this  religion,  which 
oppoied  the  ftrongeft  prejudices,  and  was 
oppofed  by  the  greateft  princes,  made  its 
way  in  a  few  years,  from  a  remote  corner, 

through  the    whole  Roman    empire. 

Thus  was  our  Saviour's  prophecy,  in  op- 
pofition  to  all  human  calculation,  exactly 
fulfilled.  The  leaft  of  all  feeds  became  a 
fpreading  tree ;  and  a  church  was  efta- 
blifhed,  which  could  not  be  destroyed  by 
all  the  powers  of  hell. 

But  although  the  church  of  Chrift  could 
not  be  deftroyed,  it  was  corrupted ;  and 
in  a  courle  of  years  fell  from  its  genuine 
purity.  This  corrupt  ftate  of  it — >the  de- 
lufions  of  popery— the  eiforts  of  refor- 
mation, and  various  other  circumftances 
relating  to  it,  are  not  unreafonably  fup- 
pofed  to  be  held  forth,  in  the  prophetic 
parts  of  the  New  Teftament. 

But  I  forbear  to  dwell  upon  prophecies, 
which  are  not  obvious  enough  to  carry  ge- 
neral conviction,;  though  many  of  them 
have  been  well  explained  by  thofe  *,  who 
are  verfed  in  the  hiftories  to  which  they  al- 
lude. Future  times  will,  in  all  probability, 
reflecl  a  ftronger  light  upon  them.  Some 
of  the  great  prophecies,  which  we  have 
juft  considered,  ihone  but  with  a  feeble 
ray,  daring  the  times  they  were  fulfilling, 
though  they  now  ftrike  us  in  (o  forcible  a 
manner.  Gilpin. 

§  154.  The  Creed  continued—Conception 
and  Birth  of  Chrift,  <Jc. 

We  have  now  fhewn  upon  what  foun- 
dation we  believe  the  fecond  article  of  our 
creed  ;  let  us  next  coniider  the  remaining 
articles — the  hiftory  of  Chrift,  as  delivered 
in  fcripture,  and  the  bene  fits  which  he  pro- 
cured for  us — the  affiftance  of  the  Holy 
Spirit — the  remiffion  of  our  fins — and  ever- 
lafting  life. 

Firft,  then,  we  believe  that  Chrift  was 
"  conceived  of  the  Holy  Ghoft,  and  born 
of  the  virgin  Mary."  The  manner  of  this 
miraculous  conception  we  inquire  not  into. 
It  is  a  point  not  only  beyond  the  limits  of 
human  inquiry ;  but  to  us  at  leaft  a  point 
very  unimportant.  We  believe  juft  the 
Scripture-account  of  it,  and  affure    our- 


felves,  that  if  it  had  concerned  us,  it  would 
have  been  more  plainly  revealed. — One 
thing,  however,  we  may  obferve  on  this 
head,  that  nothing  is  faid  in  Scripture 
of  paying  divine  honours  to  the  virgin 
Mary.  Thofe  rites  are  totally  of  popifh 
origin. 

We  farther  believe,  that  Chrift  «  fuf- 
fered  under  Pontius  Pilate,  was  crucified, 
dead,  and  buried ;  and  that  he  defcended 
into  hell," that  is,  we  declare  our  be- 
lief of  the  Scripture-account  of  the  cir- 
cumftances and  the  reality  of  Chrift's 
death. 

To  make  an  action  clear,  it  is  neceffary, 
firft,  to  eftablifh  its  date.  This  is  ufually 
done  by  ranging  it  under  the  magiftrate 
who  then  prefided,  the  tirr.s  of  whole  go- 
vernment is  always  regifteredin  fome  pub- 
lic record. — Thus  we  believe  that  Chrift's 
death  happened  when  Pontius  Pilate  was 
governor  of  Judea.  We  believe  alio,  with 
regard  to  the  manner  of  his  death,  that  he 
was  crucified;  that  he  died  as  really  as 
any  mortal  ever  did ;  and  that  he  was 
buried  in  the  tomb  of  J  ofeph  of  Arima- 
thea  f. 

The  "defcent  into  hell"  is  undoubtedly 
a  more  obfcure  expreffion  than  might  be 
wifhed  in  a  creed,  and  was  not  indeed  add- 
ed till  many  ages  after  the  creed  was  firft 
compofedt.  But  as  creeds  are  human 
compofkions,  we  believe  this,  and  every 
other  difficulty,  only  as  confiftent  with 
Scripture.  Now  the  fenfe  which  feems 
moft  agreeable  to  Scripture,  is,  that  his 
foul  remained  till  his  refurre&ion  "in  that 
place  (whatever  that  place  is)  where  the 
fpirits  of  the  blcfl'ed  reft:  and  the  cxoref- 
fion  feems  to  have  been  added,  only  that 
we  may  the  more  ftrongly  exprefs  our  be- 
lief of  the  reality  of  his  death.  This  we 
do,  when  we  exprefs  our  belief  of  the  fepa- 
ration  of  his  foul  and  body.  "  He  was 
buried,"  —  and  "  defcended  into  hell." 
The  firft  expreffion  relates  to  his  body, 
which  was  laid  in  the  grave ;  the  fecond 
to  his  foul,  which  pafled  into  the  place  of 
departed  fpirits. 

We  farther  believe,  that  "  on  the  third 
day  he  rofe  again  from  the  dead."  The 
refurrection  of  Chrift  from  the  dead  is  a 
point  of  the  utmoft  importance  to  chrif- 


See  Bifhop  Newton's  Differtations ;  and  Bifhop  Kurd's  fermons  on  prophecy. 
f  Ifaiah  foretold  he  fhould  "  make  his  grave  with  the  rich."     And  St.  Matthew  tells  US,  that 
"r'£~  y^ey-m;,  nxQsv  avS^-Tr®^  to-Xous-©'.    Matt,  x^cvii.  57.    Ifaiah  liii,  9. 
•t  See  Bing&am's  Antiquities,  vol,  iii.  c,  3. 

N  tians. 


tji 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


tians.  On  the  certainty  of  Chrift's  refur- 
rectian  depend  all  hopes  of  our  own.  On 
this  article,  therefore,  we  fhall  be  more 
large. 

And,  in  the  firft  place,  what  is  there  in 
it  that  need  (hock  our  reafon  ?  It  was  a 
wonderful  event :  but  is  not  nature  full  of 
Wonderful  events  ?  When  we  fcrioufly 
weigh  the  matter,  is  it  lefs  ftrange,  that  a 
grain  of  corn  thrown  into  the  ground 
mould  die,  and  rife  again  with  new  vege- 
tation, than  that  a  human  body,  in  the 
fame  circumftances,  mould  aflume  new 
life  ?  The  commonnefs  of  the  former 
makes  it  familiar  to  us,  but  not  in  any  de- 
gree lefs  unaccountable.  Are  we  at  all 
more  acquainted  with  the  manner  in  which 
grain  germinates,  than  with  the  manner 
in  which  a  body  is  raifed  from  the  dead  ? 
And  is  it  not  obvioufly  finking,  that  the 
fame  power  which  can  effect  the  one,  may 
effect  the  other  alfo  ?-— But  analogy,  though 
it  tend  to  convince,  is  no  proof.  Let  us 
proceed  then  to  matter  of  fact. 

That  the  body  was  dead,  and  fafely 
lodged  in  the  tomb,  and  afterwards  con- 
veyed out  of  it,  was  agreed  on,  both 
by  thofe  who  oppofed,  and  by  thofe  who 
favoured  the  refurrection.  In  the  cir- 
cumftances of  the  latter  fad,  they  differ 
widely. 

The  difciples  tell  their  ftory — a  very 
plain  and  fimple  one — that,  fcarce  ex- 
pecting the  event,  notwithfhmding  their 
mailer  had  himfelf  foretold  it,  they  were 
furprifed  with  an  account  that  the  body 
was  gone — that  they  found  afterwards,  to 
their  great  aftonifhment,  that  their  in  after 
was  again  alive— that  they  had  been  feve- 
ral  times  with  him  ;  and  appealed  for  the 
truth  of  what  they  (aid  to  great  numbers, 
who,  as  well  as  themfelves,  had  feen  him 
after  his  refurreftion. 

The  chief  priefts,  on  the  other  fide,  de- 
clared the  whole  to  be  a  forgery  ;  aflert- 
ing,  that  the  plain  matter  of  fact  was,  the 
difciples  came  by  night,  and  ftole  the  body 
away,  while  the  foldiers  flept. 

Such  a  tale,  uniupported  by  evidence, 
would  be  liftened  to  in  no  court  of  juftice. 
It  has  not  even  the  air  of  probability. 
Can  it  be  fuppofed,  that  the  difciples,  who 
had  fled  with  tenor  when  they  might  have 
refcued  their  mailer's  life  ;  would'venture, 
in  the  face  of  an  armed  guard,  to  carry  off 
his  dead  body  ?— Or  is  it  more  probable, 
that  they  found  the  whole  guard  afleep ; 
when  we  know,  that  the  vigilance  of  cen- 


tinels  is  fecured  by  the  ftricteft  difcipline  ? 
— Befides,  what  advantage  could  arife 
from  fuch  an  attempt  ?  If  they  mifcar- 
ried,  it  was  certain  ruin,  both  to  them  and 
their  caufe.  If  they  fucceeded,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  fay  what  ufe  they  could  make  of 
their  fuccefs.  Unlefs  they  could  have  pro- 
duced their  dead  body  alive,  the  fecond 
error  would  be  worfe  than  the  firft.  Tkeir 
mailer's  prophecy  of  his  own  refurrection 
was  an  unhappy  circumftance  ;  yet  ftill  it 
was  wrapped  in  a  veil  of  obfeurity.  But 
if  his  difciples  endeavoured  to  prove  its 
completion,  it  was  their  bufinefs  to  look 
well  to  the  event.  A  detection  would  be 
fuch  a  comment  upon  their  mafter's  text, 
as  would  never  be  forgotten.— When  a 
caufe  depends  on  falfehood,  every  body 
knows,  the  lefs  it  is  moved  the  better. 

This  was  the  cafe  of  the  other  fide. 
Obfeurity  there  was  wanted.  If  the  chief 
priefts  had  any  proof,  why  did  they  not 
produce  it  ?  Why  were  not  the  difciples 
taken  up,  and  examined  upon  the  fact? 
They  never  abfeonded.  Why  were  they 
not  judicially  tried?  Why  was  not  the 
trial  made  public  ?  and  why  were  not  au- 
thentic memorials  of  the  fraud  handed 
down  to  pofterity  ;  as  authentic  memorial* 
were  of  the  fact,  recorded  at  the  very 
time,  and  place,  where  it  happened  I 
Christianity  never  wanted  enemies  to  pro- 
pagate its  disparagement.— But  nothing  of 
this  kind  was  done.  No  proof  was  at- 
tempted— except  indeed  the  teltimony  of 
men  aileep.  The  difciples  were  never 
queftioned  upon  the  fact;  and  the  chief 
priefts  relied  fatisfied  with  fpreading  an 
inconfiftent  rumour  among  the  people, 
impreffed  merely  by  their  own  autho- 
rity. 

Whatever  records  of  heathen  origin  re- 
main, evince  the  truth  of  the  refurrection. 
One  is  very  remarkable.  Pontius  Pilate 
fent  the  emperor  Tiberius  a  relation  of  the 
death  and  refurrection  of  Chrift;  which 
were  recorded  at  Rome,  as  ufual,  among 
other  provincial  matters.  This  intelli- 
gence made  {o  great  an  impreflion,  it 
feems,  upon  the  emperor,  that  he  referred 
it  to  the  fenate,  whether  Jefus  Chrift  of 
Judea  mould  not  be  taken  into  the  number 
of  the  Roman  gods  ? — Our  belief  of  this 
fact  is  chiefly  founded  upon  the  teftimony 
of  Juitin  Martyr,  and  Tertullian,  two 
learned  heathens,  in  the  age  fucceeding 
Chrift,  who  became  chriftians  from  this 
very  evidence,  among  others,  in  favour  of 

chriftianity. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


179 


pleafed  ;  but  thefe  were  not  the  people,  to 
whom  God  mewed  him  openly  :  thi  s  par- 
ticular defignatioa  was  confined  to  the 
"  chofen  witneffes." — And  is  there  any 
thing  more  in  this,  than  we  fee  daily  in  all 
legal  proceedings  ?  Does  rot  every  body 
with  to  have  the  fact,  about  which  he  is 
concerned,  authenticated  by  indubitable 
records ;  or  by  living  teftimony,  if  it  can 
be  had?  Do  we  not  procure  the  hands 
of  witneffes,  appointed  to  this  purpofe,  in  all 
our  deeds  and  writings  ? — Let  us  not,  how-r 
ever,  anfwer  the  objection  by  an  arbitrary 
explanation  of  the  text;  but  let  us  com- 
pare this  explanation  with  the  matter  of 
fact. 

On  the  morning  of  the  refurrection,  the! 
apoitles,  who  ran  to  the  fepulchre  to  make 
themfelves  acquainted  with  what  they  had 
heard,  received  a  meffage  from  their  maf- 
ter,  injoining  them  to  meet  him  in  Galilee. 
It  does  not  appear,  that  this  meffage  was 
conveyed  with  any  fecrecy :  it  is  rather 
probable  itSvas  not ;  and  that  the  difciples 
told  it  to  as  many  as  they  met.  The  wo- 
men, it  is  exprefsly  laid,  told  it  "  to  the 
eleven,  and  all  the  reft."  Who  the  reft 
were,  does  not  appear:  but  it  is  plain, 
from  the  fequel,  that  the  thing  was  gene- 
rally known ;  and  that  as  many  as  chofe 
either  to  fatisfy  their  faith,  or  gratify  their 
curioiity,  repaired  for  that  purpofe  to  Ga- 
lilee. And  thus  we  find  St.  Peter  making 
a  d  if tinction  between  the  voluntary  and  the 
chofen  witnefs — between  thofe  "  who  had 
companied  with  the  apoftles  all  the  time 
that  the  Lord  Jefus  went  in  and  out  among 
them,  from  his  baptifm  till  his  afcenfion," 
and  thofe  who  "  were  ordained  to  be  the 
witnefTes  of  his  refurreclion  J  " 

St.  Paul  goes  farther,  and  in  exprefs 
words  tells  us,  that  Chrift  was  feen  || 
"  after  his  redirection  of  above  five  hun- 
dred brethren  at  once:"  and  it  is  pro- 
bable,  from  the  exprelhon,  «  at  once," 
that  he  was  feen,  at  different  times,  by 
many  more. 

If  then  Chrift  thus  appeared  in  Galilee 
to  as  many  as  chofe  to  fee  him  j  or  even 


chriftianky.  In  their  apologies*,  ftill  ex- 
tant, one  of  which  was  made  to  the  fenate 
of  Rome,  the  other- to  a  Roman  governor, 
they  both  appeal  to  thefe  records  of  Pon- 
tius Pilate,  as  then  generally  known ; 
which  we  cannot  conceive  fuch  able  apo- 
logifts  would  have  done,  if  no  fuch  records 
had  ever exifted  f. 

Having  feen  what  was  of  old  objected 
to  the  refurreclion  of  Chrift,  it  may  be 
proper  alfo  to  fee  the  objections  of  modern 
difbelievers. 

And,  firft,  we  have  the  ftale  objection, 
that  nothing  is  more  common  among  the 
propagators  of  every  new  religion,  than 
to  delude  their  ignorant  profelytes  with 
idle  ftories.  What  a  variety  of  inconfiftent 
tales  did  the  votaries  of  heathenifm  be- 
lieve !  What  absurdities  are  adopted  into 
the  Mahometan  creed !  To  what  ftrange 
facts  do  the  vulgar  papifts  give  credit  ! 
And  can  we  fuppofe  better  of  the  refur- 
reclion of  Chrift,  than  that  it  was  one  of 
thofe  pious  frauds,  intended  merely  to  im- 
pofe  upon  the  people,  and  advance  the 
credit  of  the  new  feet  ? 

This  is  juft  as  eaiily  faid,-  as  that  his 
difciples  ftole  him  away,  while  the  guard 
flept.     Botn  are  affertiens  without  proof. 

Others  have  objected  Ch rift's  partial 
difcovery  of  him/elf,  after  his  refurreclion. 
If  he  had  boldly  fhewn.  himfelf  to  the 
chief  priefts ;  or  publickly  to  all  the  peo- 
ple ;  we  might  have  had  a  more  rational 
foundation  for  cur  belief.  But  as  he  had 
only  for  his  witneffes,  upon  this  occafion, 
a  few  of  his  chofen  companions,  the  thing 
has  certainly  a  more  fee  ret  appearance 
than  might  be  wifhed. 

This  infinuation  is  founded  upon  a  paf- 
fage  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apoitles,  in  which 
it  is  laid,  that  "  God  (hewed  him  openly, 
not  to  all  the  people,  but  unto  witnefTes 
chofen  before  of  God."  The  queftion  is, 
what  is  meant  by  witneffes  chofen  before 
of  God  ?  Certainly  nothing  more  than 
perfons  exprefsly,  and  by  particular  defig- 
nation,  intended  to  be  the  witneffes  of  this 
event.     Others    might    fee    him   if  they 

*  Juft.  Mart.  Apol.  ad  Anton.  P.— Tertull.  AdoI.  cap.  15.  T 

f  The  acts  of  Pilate,  as  thev  are  called,  are  "often  treated  with  contempt;  for  no  reaipn,  that  1 
know.  I  never  met  with  any  thing  againft  them  of  more  authority  than  a  fneer.  Probable  they 
certainly  were  ;  and  a  bare  probability,  when  nothing  oppofes  it,  has  its  weight.  But  here  the  pro- 
bability ia  ftrengthened  by  no  fmall  degree  of  pofuive  evidence  ;  which,  if  the  reader  wifhes  to  lee 
collected  in  one  point  of  view,  I  refer  him  to  the  article  of  "  Chrift's  fufifering  under  Pontius  Pilate, 
in  Bifhop  Pearfon's  expofition  of  the  Creed. 

Among  other  authorities,  that  of  the  learned  commentator  on  Eufebius,  is  worth  remarking  : 
«  Fuere  genuina  Pilati  aftaj  ad  quje  provocabant  primi  chriftiani,  unquam  ad  cercnlima  fiuei  mo- 
iiumenta." 

X  Afls  i.  21.  y  1  Cor.  xv.  .- 

N2  w 


i8o  ELEGANT 

if  he  appeared  only  to  five  hundred  people, 
of  whom  St  Paul  tells  us  the  greats;! 
part  were  ftill  alive,  when  he  wrote  this 
cpiftle,  there  can  furely  be  no  reafonable 
caufe  of  offence  at  his  appearing,  befides 
thefe,  to  a  few  of  his  chofen  companions, 
who  attended  by  exprefs  appointment,  as 
perfons  defigned  to  record  the  event. 

In  fact,  if  the  fame  method  be  purfued 
in  this  inquiry,  which  is  ufual  in  all  others, 
the  evidence  of  thefe  chofen  companions 
is  all  that  is  neceffary.  Here  are  twelve 
men  produced  (in  general  three  or  four 
men  are  thought  fufficient)  on  whole  evi- 
dence the  fact  depends.  Are  they  com- 
petent witnefles  ?  Have  they  thofe  marks 
about  them,  which  characderife  men  of  in- 
tegrity? Can  they  be  challenged  on  any 
one  ground  of  rational  exception?  If 
not,  their  evidence  is  as  ftrictly  legal,  as 
full,  and  as  fatisfaitory,  as  any  reafonable 

man   can   require. But    in  this   great 

caufe,  we  fee  the  evidence  is  carried  ftill 
farther.  Here  are  five  hundred  perfons 
waiting  without,  ready  to  add  their  tefti- 
mony,  if  any  one  ihould  require  it,  to  what 
has  already  been  more  than  legally  proved. 
So  that  the  argument  even  addreiles  itfelf 
to  that  abfurd  diiiinction,  which  we  often 
find  in  the  cavils  of  infidelity,  between  rem 
iertam,  and  rem  certijjimam. 

Upon  the  whole,  then,  we  may  affirm 
boldly,  that  this  great  event  of  the  refur- 
reclion  of  Chrift  is  founded  upon  evidence 
equal  to  the  importance  of  it.  If  we  expect 
Hill  more,  cur  anfweris  upon  record:  "  It 
ye  believe  not  Mofes  and  the  prophets," 
God's  ordinary  means  of  falvation,  "  nei- 
ther will  ye  be  perfuaded,  though  one  rofe 
from  the  dead." — There  mud"  be  bounds 
in  all  human  evidence;  and  he  who  will 
believe  nothing,  unlefs  he  have  every  pof- 
fible  mode  of  proof,  mud  be  an  infidel  in 
almoft  every  tranfacdion  of  life.  With 
fuch  perfons  there  is  no  reasoning.  They 
who  are  not  fatisfied,  becaufe  Chrift  did 
riot  appear  in  open  parade  at  jerufalem  ; 
would  farther  have  afked,  if  he  had  ap- 
peared in  the  manner  they  expected,  why 
did  he  not  appear  to  every  nation  upon 
earth?  Or,  perhaps,  why  he  did  net  ft  vv 
himfelf  to  every  ind 

To  thefe  objections  may  be  added  a 
fcruple,  taken  from  a  paffage  of  Scrip- 
ture, in  which  it  is.  fa  :  t  at  "  Chrift 
flitmld  lie  three  days  and  three  nights  in 


E  X  T  R  A  CIS     IN    PROSE, 


the  heart  of  the  earth:"  whereas,  in  fact, 
he  only  lay  two  nights,  one  whole  da}-,  and! 
a  part  of  two  others. 

But  no  figure  in  fpeech  is  more  com- 
mon than  that  of  putting  a  part  for  the 
whole.  In  the  Hebrew  language  perhaps 
this  licence  is  more  admirable,  than  in  any 
other.  A  day  and  a  night  complete  one 
whole  day :  and  as  our  Saviour  lay  in  the 
ground  a  part  of  every  one  of  thefe  three 
portions  of  time,  he  might  be  faid,  by  an 
eafy  liberty  of  fpeech,    to  have  lain  the 

iole.  Gilpin. 


,,:hr,', 


§    155.     Creed  continued. — Cbriji's    Ajlen- 
Jion. — Belief  in  the  Holy  Ghofi. 

We  believe  farther,  that  Chrift  "  aft 
cended  into  heaven,  and  fitteth  on  the 
right  hand  of  God." 

Chrift's  afceniion  into  heaven  refts  on 
the  fame  kind  of  proof,  as  his  refurrec- 
tion.  Both  of  them  are  events,  which  the 
apoftles  were  "  ordained  to  witnefs."  But 
though  their  tedimony  in  this  cafe,  as  well 
as  in  the  refurrection,  is  certainly  the  moll' 
legal,  and  authentic  proof,  and  fully  fuf- 
ficient for  any  reafonable  man ;  yet  this 
does  not  exclude  the  voluntary  teftimony. 
of  others.  It  is  evident,  that  the  apoftles 
were  not  the  fole  eye-witnefles  of  this 
event :  for  when  St.  peter  called  together 
the  firft  affembly  of  the  church  to  chufe  a 
fuccefibr  to  Judas  Ifcariof,  he  teds  them, 
they  muft  neceuarily  chufe  one,  out  of 
thofe  men,  who  had  been  witnefles  of  all 
that  Chrift  did,  from  his  baptifm  "  till 
his  afcenfion:"  and  we  find,  there  were  in 
that  meeting  an  hundred  and  twenty  per- 
ion>  ' .  thus  qualified. 

Be  it  however  as  it  will,  if  this  article 
mould  reft  on  a  \eCs  formal  proof,  than  the 
refurrection,  it  is  of  no  great  confequence  : 
for  if  the  refhrrecdion  be  fully  proved,  no- 
body can  well  denv  the  afcenfion.  If  the 
tcftimonv  of  the  evangclifts  be  allowed  to 
prove  the  one  ;  their  word  may  be  taken 
to  eftablifh  the  other. 

With  regard  to  "  the  right  hand  of 
God,"  it  is  a  fcriptural  expreftion  ufed 
merely  in  conformity  to  our  grofs  con- 
ception ;  and  is  not  intended  to  imply 
any  diftincdion  of  parts,  bat  merely  tne 
idea  of  pre-eminence. 

We  believe  farther,  that  "  Chrift  (hall 
come  to  iud^e  the  quick  and  the  dead." 
This  umcis   contains  the  moll  ferious 


■   ■ 


truthj 


BOOK    I,      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


truth,  that  ever  was  revealed  to  mankind. 
In  part  it  was  an  article  of  the  heathen 
creed.  To  unenlightened  nature  it  feemed 
probable,  that,  as  we  had  reafon  given  us 
for  a  guide,  we  fhould  hereafter  be  ac- 
countable for  its  abufe  :  and  the  poets, 
who  were  the  prophets  of  early  days,  and 
durft  deliver  thofe  truths  under  the  veil  of 
fable,  which  the  philofopher  kept  more  to 
himfelf,  give  us  many  traits  of  the  popu- 
lar belief  on  this  fubjecl  *.  But  the  gof- 
pel  alone  threw  a  full  light  upon  this  awful 
truth. 

In  examining  this  great  article,  the  cu- 
riofity  of  human  nature,  ever  delighting 
to  explore  unbeaten  regions,  hath  often 
.  been  tempted,  beyond  its  limits,  into  fruit- 
lefs  inquiries;  fcrutinizing  the  time  of  this 
event;  and  fettling,  with  vain  precifion, 
the  circumftances  of  it.  All  curiofity  of 
this  kind  is  idle  at  leaft,  if  not  prefump- 
tuous.  When  the  Almighty  hath  thrown 
.a  veil  over  any  part  of  his  difpenfation,  it 
is  the  folly  of  man  to  endeavour  to  draw 
it  afide. 

Let  us  then  leave  all  fraitlefs  inquiries 
about  this  great  event;  and  employ  our 
thoughts  chiefly  upon  fuch  circumftances 
of  it  as  molt  concern  us. — Let  us  animate 
our  hopes  with  the  foothing  reflection,  that 
we  have  ourfentence,  in  a  manner,  in  our 
own  power, — that  the  fame  gracious  gof- 
pel,  which  directs  our  lives,  mail  direct 
the  judgment  we  receive, — -that  the  fame 
gracious  perfon  (hall  be  our  judge,  who 
died  for  our  fins — and  that  his  goodnefs, 
we  are  allured,  will  Hill  operate  towards 
us;  and  make  the  kin  deft  allowances  for 
all  our  infirmities. 

But  left  our  hopes  fhould  be  too  buoyant, 
let  us  confider,  on  the  other  hand,  what  an 
awful  detail  againft  us  will  then  appear,. 
The  fubject  of  that  grand  inquiry  will  be 
all  our  tranfgreffions  of  known  duty — -all 
our  omifilons  of  knowing  better — ouriecret 
intentions — our  induced  evil  thoughts — 
the  bad  motives,  which  often  accompany 
Our  moft  plaufible  actions — and,  we  are 
told,  even  our  idle  words. — "  He  that  hath 
?ars  to  hear,  let  him  hear." — Then  fhail  it 
be  known,  whether  we  have  anfwered  the 
great  ends  of  life  ? — Whether  we  have 
made  this  world  fubfervient  to  a  better  ? 
•—Whether  we  have  prepared  ourfelves  for 
a  Hate  of  happinefs  in  heaven,  by  endea- 
vouring to  communicate  happii  efs  to  our 
fellow- creatures  upon  earth?    Whether  we 


I8l 

have  reftrained  our  appetites,  andpaffions; 
and  reduced  them  within  the  bounds  of 
reafon  and  religion  ?  Or,  whether  we  have 
given  ourfelves  up  to  pleafure,  gain,  or 
ambition;  and  formed  fuch  attachments 
to  this  world,  as  fit  us  for  nothing  elfe ; 
and  leave  us  no  hopes  either  of  gaining, 
or  of  enjoying  a  better?  It  will  be  happy 
for  us,  if  on  all  thefe  heads  of  inquiry,  we 
can  anfwer  without  difmay. — Worldly  dif- 
tin&ions,  we  know,  will  then  be  of  no 
avail.  The  proudeft  of  them  will  be  then 
confounded.  "  Naked  came  we  into  the 
world ;  and  naked  mull  we  return."  We 
can  carry  nothing  beyond  the  grave,  but 
cur  virtues,  and  our  vices. 

I  fliall  conclude  what  hath  been  faid  on 
the  laft  judgment  with  a  collection  of  paf- 
fages  on  this  head  from  Scripture  ;  where 
only  our  ideas  of  it  can  be  obtained. 
And  though  moft  of  thefe  paffages  are 
figurative  ;  yet  as  figures  are  intended  to 
illuftrate  realities,  and  are  indeed  the  only 
illuftrations  of  which  this  fubjett  is  capa- 
ble, we  may  take  it  for  granted,  that  thefe 
fiVurative  exprefiions  are  intended  to  con- 
vey a  juft  idea  of  the  truth. — With  a 
view  to  make  the  more  impreffion  upon 
you,  I  fliall  place  thefe  paflages  in  a  re- 
gular feries,  though  collected  from  various 
parts. 

"  The  Lord  himfelf  lhall  defcend  from 
heaven  with  his  holy  angels — The  trumpet 
lhall  found  ;  and  all  that  are  in  the  grave 
fhall  hear  his  voice,  and  come  forth — 
Then  lhall  he  fit  upon  the  throne  of  his 
glory  ;  and  all  nations  fhall  be  gathered 
before  him — the  books  fhall  be  opened; 
and  men  fliall  be  judged  according  to  their 
works. — They  who  have  finned  without 
law,  fhall  perifh,  (that  is,  be  judged)  with- 
out law  ;  and  they  who  have  finned  in  the 
few,  fhall  be  judged  by  the  law. — Unto 
WKOinfoever  much  is  given,  of  him  fhall 
be  much  required. — Then  fliall  he  fay  to 
them  on  his  right  hand,  Come,  ye  bleffed, 
inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you. 
And  to  them  on  his  left,  Depart  from  me* 
ye  curfed,  into  everlafting  fire,  prepared 
for  the  devil  and  his  angels.-— Then  fhall 
the  righteous  fhine  forth  in  the  prefence  of 
their  "Father ;  while  the  wicked  fhall  go 
into  everlafting  punifhment :  there  fhall 
be  wailing  and  gnafhing  of  teeth. — What 
manner  of  perfons  ought  we  then  to  be  in 
all  holy  convention,  and  godlinefs  ?  look- 
ing for,  andhaftening  unto,  the  day  of  our 


*  See  particularly  the  6th  Book  of  Virgil's  Mn. 
N  3 


Loral 


182 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Lord;  when  the  heavens  being  on  fire* 
{hall  be  diiiblved,  and  the  elements  fhall 
melt  with  fervent  heat. — Wherefore,  be- 
loved, feeing  that  we  look  for  luch  things, 
let  us  be  diligent,  that  we  may  be  found 
of  him  in  peace,  without  fpot,  and  blame- 
lefs ;  that  each  of  us  may  receive  that 
blefied  fentence,  «  Well  done,  thou  good 
and  faithful  fervant :  thou  haft  been  faith- 
ful over  a  iittle,  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of 
thy  Lord." 

We  believe,  farther,  in  "  the  Holy 
Ghoft ;"  that  is,  we  believe  every  thing 
which  the  Scriptures  tell  us  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  of  God. — We  inquire  not  into  the 
nature  of  its  union  with  the  Godhead. 
We  take  it  for  granted,  that  the  Father, 
the  Sor,  and  the  Holy  Giioft,  have  feme 
kind  of  union,  and  fome  kind  of  diftinction ; 
becaufc  both  this  union  and  this  diftinclion 
are  plainly  pointed  out  in  Scripture  ;  but 
how  they  exift  we  inquire  not ;  con- 
cluding here,  as  in  other  points  of  diffi- 
culty, that  if  a  clearer  information  had  been 
necefTafy,  it  would  have  been  afforded. 

With  regard  to  the  operations  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  of  God,  (befides  which,  little 
more  on  this  nead  is  revealed)  we  believe, 
that  it  dir  tied  the  apoftles,  and  enabled 
them  to  p-opagate  the  gofpel — and  that  it 
will  affift  all  good  men  in  the  confeientious 
difcharge  of  a  pious  life. 

The  Scripture  doclrine,  with  regard  to 
the  affiftance  we  receive  from  the  Holy 
Spirit  of  God  (which  is  the  luoft  eiiential 
part  of  this  article)  is  briefly  this: 

Our  belt  endeavours  are  inefficient. 
We  are  unprofitable  fervants,  after  all; 
and  cannot  pleafe  God,  unlefs  fan&ified, 
and  affifted  by  his  Holy  Spirit.  Hence 
the  life  of  a  good  man  hath  been  fome- 
times  called  a  Sanding  miracle  ;  fomcthing 
beyond  the  common  courfe  of  nature.  To 
attain  any  degree  of  goodnefs,  we  mirft  be 
fupernaturally  affifted. 

At  the  fame  time,  we  are  allured  of  this 
affiftance,  if  we  ftrive  to  obtain  it  by  fer- 
vent prayer,  and  a  pious  life.  If  we  truft 
in  ourfelves,  we  fhall  fail.  If  we  truft  in 
God,  without  doing  all  we  can  ourfelves, 
we  fhall  fail  hkewife.  And  if  we  con- 
tinue obftinate  in  our  perverfenefs,  we 
may  at  Length  totally  incapacitate  ourfelves 
from  being  the  temples  of  the  Holy  Ghoft. 

And  indeed  what  is  there  in  all  this, 
which  common  life  does  not  daily  illuf. 
trate?  Is  any  thing  more  common,  than 
for  the  intellect  of  one  man  to  affift  that 
of  another  ?  Is  not  the  whole  fcheme  of 


education  sn  infufion  of  knowledge  and 
virtue  not  our  own  ?  Is  it  not  evident  too, 
that  nothing  of  this  kind  can  be  communi- 
cated without  application  on  the  part  of 
the  learner  ?  Are  not  the  efforts  of  the 
teacher  in  a  manner  necefiarily  propor- 
tioned to  this  application?  If  the  learner 
becomes  languid  in  his  purfuits,  are  not 
the  endeavours  of  the  teacher  of  courfe 
difcoura^ed?  And  will  they  not  at  length 
wholly  fail,  if  it  be  found  in  the  end  they 
anfwer  no  purpofe  ? — In  a  manner  ana- 
logous to  this,  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  co- 
operates with  the  endeavours  of  man. 
Our  endeavours  are  neceffary  to  obtain 
God's  affiftance  :  and  the  more  earneftly 
thefe  endeavours  are  exerted,  the  meafure 
of  this  grace  will  of  courfe  be  greater. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  thefe  endea- 
vours languifh,  the  affiftance  of  Heaven 
will  leffen  in  proportion  ;  and  if  we  behave 
with  obftinate  perverfenefs,  it  will  by  de- 
grees wholly  fail.  It  will  not  always 
ftrive  with  man  ;  but  will  leave  him  a 
melancholy  prey  to  his  own  vicious  incli- 
nations. 

As  to  the  manner,  in  which  this  fpi- 
ritual  affiftance  is  conveyed,  we  make  no 
inquiry.  We  can  as  little  comprehend  it, 
as  we  can  the  action  of  our  fouls  upon  our 
bodies.  We  are  fenfible,  that  our  fouls 
do  aft  upon  our  bodies ;  and  it  is  a  belief 
equally  confonant  to  reafon,  that  the  divine 
influence  may  act  upon  our  fouls.  The 
advocate  for  natural  religion  need  not  be 
reminded,  that  among  the  heathens  a 
divine  influence  was  a  received  opinion. 
The  priefts  of  q\qyj  oracle  were  fuppofed 
to  be  infpired  by  their  gods ;  and  the 
heroes  of  antiquity  were  univerfaliy  be- 
lieved to  act  under  the  influence  of  a  fu-  ' 
pernatural  affiftance ;  by  which  it  was  con- 
ceived they  performed  actions  beyond 
human  power. — This  (hews,  at  leaft,  that 
there  is  nothing  in  this  doctrine  repugnant 
to  reaion.  Gilpin. 

§    156.    Creed  continued. — The  Holy  Catho- 
lic Church,  Ci?r. 

We  believe,  farther,  in  "the  "  holy  ca- 
tholic church,"  and  the  "  communion  of 
faints." 

"  I  believe  in  the  holy  catholic  church," 
is  certainly  a  very  obfeure  expreffion  to  a 
proteftant;  as  it  is  very  capable  of  a 
popifli  conltrucuon,  implying  our  truft  in 
the  infallibility  of  the  church ;  whereas  we 
attribute  infallibility  to  no  church  upon 
earth.     The  melt  obvious  fenfe,  therefore, 

in 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


l8| 


In  which  It  can  be  confidered  as  a  protef- 
tant  article  of  our  belief,  is  this,  that  we 
call  no  particular  fociety  of  chriftians  a 
holy  catholic  church ;  but  believe,  that  all 
true  and  fincere  chriftians,  of  whatever 
communion,  or  particular  opinion,  fhall  be 
the  objecls  of  God's  mercy.  The  patri- 
archal covenant  was  confined  to  a  few. 
The  Jewifh  church  Hood  alfo  on  a  very 
narrow  bafis.  But  the  chriftian  church, 
we  believe,  is  truly  catholic  :  its  gracious 
offers  are  made  to  all  mankind ;  and  God 
through  Chrift  will  take  out  of  every  na- 
tion fuch  as  fhall  be  faved. 

The  "communion  of  faints,"  is  an  ex- 
preffion  equally  obfcure  :  and  whatever 
might  have  been  the  original  meaning  of 
it,  it  certainly  does  not  refblve  itfelf  into  a 
very  obvious  one  to  us.  If  we  fay  we 
mean  by  it,  that  good  chriftians  living  to- 
gether on  earth,  mould  exercife  all  ofiices 
of  charity  among  themfelves,  no  one  will 
contradict  the  article  ;  but  many  perhaps 
may  afk,  Why  is  it  made  an  article  of 
faith  ?  It  relates  not  fo  much  to  faith,  as 
to  practice  :  and  the  ten  commandments 
might  juft  as  well  be  introduced  as  articles 
of  our  belief. 

To  this  I  can  only  fuggeft,  that  it  may 
have  a  place  among  the  articles  of  our 
creed,  as  a  teft  of  our  enlarged  ideas  of 
chriftianity,  and  as  oppofed  to  the  narrow- 
mindednefs  of  fome  chriftians,  who  haiv 
bour  very  uncharitable  opinions  againft  all 
who  are  not  of  their  own  church;  and 
fcruple  not  to  fhew  their  opinions  by  un- 
charitable actions.  The  papifts  particu- 
larly deny  falvation  to  any  but  thofe  of 
their  own  communion,  and  perfecute  thofe 
pf  other  perfuafipns  where  they  have  the 
power.— In  oppofition  to  this,  we  profefs 
our  belief  of  the  great  chriftian  law  of  cha- 
rity. We  believe  we  ought  to  think  chari- 
tably of  good  chriftians  of  all  denomina- 
tions ;  and  ought  to  praftife  a  free  and 
unreftrained  communion  of  charitable  offices 
towasds  them, 

In  this  light  the  fecond  part  of  the 
article  depends  upon  the  firft.  By  the 
*'  holy  catholic  church,"  we  mean  all  fin- 
cere  chriftians,  of  whatever  church,  or 
peculiarity  of  opinion  ;  and  by  «  the  com^ 


munion  of  faints,"  a  kind  and  charitable 
behaviour  towards  them. 

Though  it  is  probable  this  was  not  the 
original  meaning  of  the  article,  yet  as  the 
reformers  of  the  liturgy  did  not  think  it 
proper  to  make  an  alteration,  we  are  led  to 
feck  fuch  a  fenfe  as  appears  moft  confiftent 
with  fcripture.— We  are  affured,  that  this 
article,  as  well  as  the  "  defcent  into  hell," 
is  not  of  the  fame  antiquity  as  the  reft  of 
the  creed  *. 

We  profefs  our  belief  farther  in  tlae 
"  forgivenefs  of  fins." — The  Scripture- 
doclrine  of  fin,  and  of  the  guilt,  which 
arifes  from  it,  is  this  : 

Man  was  originally  created  in  a  ftate  of 
innocence,  yet  liable  to  fall.  Had  he  per- 
fevered  in  his  obedience,  he  might  have 
enjoyed  that  happinefs,  which  is  the  con- 
fequence  ofperfecl  virtue.  But  when  this 
happy  ftate  was  loft,  his  paftions  and  ap- 
petites became  difordered,  and  prone  t« 
evil.  Since  that  time  we  have  ?dl  been, 
more  or  lefs,  involved  in  fin,  and  are  all 
therefore,  in  the  Scripture-language,  «  un- 
der the  curfe ;"  that  is,  we  are  naturally 
in  a  ftate  of  unpardoned  guilt. 

In  this  mournful  exigence,  what  was  to 
be  done  f  In  a  ftate  of  nature,  it  is  true, 
we  might  be  forry  for  our  fins.  Nature 
too  might  didate  repentance.  But  forrow 
and  repentance,  though  they  may  put  us 
on  our  guard,  for  the  future,  can  make  no 
atonement  for  fins  already  committed.  A 
refolution  to  run  no  more  into  debt  may 
make  us  cautious ;  but  can  never  difcharge 
a  debt  already  contra&edf. 

In  this  diftrefs  of  nature,  Jefus  Chrift: 
came  into  the  world.  He  threw  a  light 
upon  the  gloom  that  furrounded  us. — He 
fhewed  us,  that  in  this  world  we  were  loft 
—that  the  law  of  nature  could  not  fave  us 
— that  the  tenor  of  that  law  was  perfect 
obedience,  with  which  we  could  not  com- 
ply— but  that  God — thro'  his  mediation, 
offered  us  a  method  of  regaining  happinefs 
* — that  he  came  to  make  that  atonement 
for  us,  which  we  could  not  make  for  pur- 
felves— and  to  redeem  us  from  that  guilt, 
which  would  otherwife  overwhelm  us — r 
that  faith  and  obedience  were,  on  our  parts, 
the  conditions  required  in  this  gracious  co^ 


*  See  Bingham's  Antiquities,  vol.  iv.  chap.  3. 

f  Thus  Mr.  Jenyns  expreffes  the  fame  thing  :  "  The  punifhment  of  vice  is  a  debt  due  to  juftice, 
M  which  cannot  be  remitted  without  compensation  :  repenta.ice  can  be  no  compenfation.  It  may 
"  change  a  wicked  man's  difpofuions,  and  prevent  his  offending  for  the  future  ;  but  can  lay  no  claim 
•*  to  pardon  for  what  is  paft.  If  any  one  by  profligacy  and  extravagance  cantradte  a  debt,  repentance. 
"  may  make  him  wifer,  and  hinder  him  from  running  into  farther  diftreffes,  but  can  never  pay  off  hit 
"  old  bonds,  for  which,  he  muft  he  ever  accountable,  unlefs  they  are  difcharged  by  himfelf,  or  foma 
"  other  in  his  ftead.'*  View  of  the  Intern,  Evid.  p.  na. 

N  4  vena,n! 


lSi. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


ver.ant — and  that  God  promifed  us,  on  his, 
the'pardon  of  our  fins,  and  everlafdng  life 
. — that  we  were  firft  therefore  to  be  made 
holy  through  the  gofpd  of  Chrift,  and 
then  ws  might  expect  falvation  through 
his  death:  "  Lis,  who  were  dead  in  tref- 
pafles  and  fins,  would  he  quicken.  Chrift 
would  redeem  us  from  the  curfe  of  the 
law.  By  grace  we  fhould  he  laved  thro' 
faith ;  and  that  not  of  ourfelves  :  it  was 
the  gift  of  God.  Not  of  works,  left  any 
man  fhould  boaft."  Gilpin. 

"§157.  Creed  continued. — -RefurreSiion  of  the 

Body. 

We  believe  farther  "  in  the  refurrec- 
tion  of  the  body."— This  article  pre- 
fumes  our  belief  in  the  immortality  of  the 
foul. 

What  that  principle  of  life  is  which 
we  call  the  foul;  hew  it  is  diiiinguiihed 
from  mere  animal  life;  how  it  is  con- 
nected with  the  body;  and  in  what  ftate 
it  fubfifts,  when  its  bodily  functions  ceafe; 
are  among  thofe  indiffoluble  quei 
with  which  nature  every  where  abounds. 
But  notwithstanding  the  difficulties,  which 
attend  the  difcuffion  of  thefe  queftions,  the 
truth  itfelf  hath  in  all  ages  of  the  void 
been  the  popular  creed.  Men  believed 
their  fouls  were  immortal  from  their  own 
feelings,  fo  impreffed  with  an  exp 
of' immortality— from  obferving  the  pro- 
|  reffive  ftate  of  the  foul,  capable,  even  af- 
ter the  body  had  attained  its  full  ftre 
cf  ftill  higher  improvements  both  in  know- 
ledgc,  and  in  habits  of  virtue— from  the 
analogy  of  all  nature,  dying  and  reviving 
in  every  part— from  their  fkuation  here  fo 
apparently  incomplete  in  itfelf;  and  from 
a  variety  of  other  topics,  which  the  reafon 
of  man  was  able  to  fuggeft.— 'But  though 
nature  could  obfeurely  fugged  this 
truth;  yet  Chriftianity  alon<  threw  a  clear 
light  upon  it,  and  impreffed  it  with  a  full 
decree  of  conviction  upon  our  mind: , 

But  the  article  before  us  proceeds  a  fit® 
farther.  It  not  only  implies  the  immorta- 
lity of  the  foul;  but  afierts  the  refurrec- 
tion  of  the  body.— Nor  was  this  doctrine 
y  new  to  nature.  In  its  conceptions 
of  a  future  life,  we  always  find  the  foul  in 
an  imbodied  ftate.  It  was  airy  indeed, 
and  bloodiefs;  but  ftill  it  had  the  parts  of 
rr  an  body,  and  could  perform  all  its 
operations. 

In  thefe  particulars  the  Scripture  does 
not  gratify  cur  curiofity.  From  various 
pafiages  we   are  fed  to  believe,  that  the 


body  fhall  certainly  rife  again :  but  in 
what  manner,  or  of  what  fubftance,  we 
pretend  not  to  examine.  We  learn  "  that 
it  is  fown  in  corruption,  and  raifed  in  in- 
corruption;  that  it  is  fown  in  diiheaour, 
and  raifed  in  glory ;  that  it  is  fown  a  na- 
tural body,  and  raifed  a  fpiritual  body  :" 
from  all  which  we  gather,  that  v/hatever 
famenefs  our  bodies  may  have,  they  will 
hereafter  take  a  more  lpiritualized  nature ; 
and  will  not  be  fubject  to  thofe  infirmities, 
to  which  they  were  fubjedt  on  earth.  Far- 
ther on  this  head,  it  behoves  us  not  to  in- 
quire. 

Infiead,  therefore,  of  entering  into  any 
metaphyseal  difquifitions  of  identity,  or 
any  other  curious  points  in  which  this 
ieep  fubjedt  might  engage  us,  all  which, 
as  they  are  founded  upon  uncertainty, 
muft  end  in  doubt,  it  is  better  to  draw  this 
doctrine,  as  well  as  all  others,  into  practi- 
cal ufe :  and  the  ufe  we  ought  to  make  of 
it  is,  to  pay  that  regard  to  our  bodies, 
which  is  due  to  them — not  vainly  to  adorn 
—not  luxurioufly  to  pamper  them  ;  but  to 
keep  them  as  much  as  poffible  from  the 
pollutions  of  the  world ;  and  to  lay  them 
clown  in  the  grave  undefiled,  there  to  be 
leaded  up  in  expectation  of  a  blefied  refur- 
redlion. 

Laftly,  v/c  believe  "  in  the  life  everlaft- 
mg :"  in  which  article  we  e.xprefs  our 
faith  in  the  eternity  of  a  future  ftate  of  re- 
ward- and  punifhments. 

This  article  is  nearly  related  to  the  laft, 
and  is  involved  in  the  fame  obfeurity.  In 
what  the  reward  of  the  virtuous  will  con- 
fift,  after  death,  our  reafon  gives  us  no 
information.  Conjecture  indeed  it  will, 
in  a  matter  which  fo  nearly  concerns  us; 
and  it  hath  conjectured  in  all  ages:  but 
information  it  hath  none,  except  from  the 
word  oi  God;  and  even  there,  our  limited 
capacities  can  receive  it  only  in  general 
and  figurative  expreffions.  We  are  told, 
"  there  will  then  reign  fulnefs  of  joy,  and 
pleafures  for  evermore — that  the  righteous 
fhall  have  an  inheritance  incorruptible,  un- 
defiled, that  fadeth  not  away — where  they 
fhall  fhine  forth,  as  the  fun,  in  the  prefence 
of  their  father— where  error,  and  fin,  and 
mifery  fhall  be  no  more — where  fhall  be 
afjembled  an  innumerable  companv  cf  an- 
gels, the  general  afi'embly  of 'the'' church, 
the  fpifits  of  juft  men  made  perfect — that 
they  ihall  neither  hunger,  nor  thirft  any 
more— that  all  tears  lhall  be  wiped  from 
their  eyes— that  there  fhall  be  neither 
death,  nor  ibrrow,  nor  pain.'"' 

From 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     ANJ?    RELIGIOUS. 


185 


From  thefe,  and  fuch  expreffions  _as 
thefe,  though  we  cannot  colled  the  entire 
nature  of  a  future  ftate  of  happinefs,  yet 
we  can  eafily  gather  a  few  circumflances, 
which  mull:  of  courfe  attend  it ;  as,  that  it 
will  be  very  great— that   it  will  laft  for 

ever that  it  will  be  of  a  nature  entirely 

different  from  the  happinefs  of  this  world 

that,  as  in  this  world,  our  pafficns  and 

appetites  prevail ;  in  the  next,  reafon  and 
virtue  will  have  the  fuperiority — "  hunger 
and  thirft,  tears  and  forrow,"  we  read, 
«  will  be  no  more': — that  is,  all  uneafy 
paffions  and  appetites  will  then  be  annihi- 
lated—all vain  fears  will  be  then  removed 
— all  anxious  and  intruding  cares — and  we 


ranee;  revere  the  appointments  of  God, 
whatever  they  may  be ;  and  prepare  to 
meet  them  with  holy  hope,  and  trembling 
joy,  and  awful  fubmiffion  to  his  righteous 
will. 

To  the  unenlightened  heathen  the  eter- 
nity of  future  puniihments  appeared  no 
fuch  unreafonable  doctrine.  Their  ftate 
of  the  damned  was  of  eternal  duration. 
A  vulture  for  ever  tore  thofe  entrails, 
which  were  for  ever  renewed  *. 

Of  one  thing,  however,  we  may  be 
well  affured  (which  may  fet  us  entirely  at 
reft  in  all  our  inquiries  on  this  deep  fub- 
ject,  that  every  thing  will,  in  the  end,  be 
right— that  a  juft  and  merciful  God  muft 
act  agreeably  to  juftice  and  mercy — and 
that  the  firft  of  thefe   attributes  will  moil 


fliall  feel  ourfelves  compleat  and  perfect ; 

and  our  happinefs,  not  dependent,  as  here, 

upon  a  thoufand  precarious  circumftances,     alTuredly  be  tempered  with  the  latter 

both  within    and  without    ourfelves,    but         From  the  doctrine    of  future    re 


confiftent,  uniform,  and  liable. 

On  the  ether  hand,  we  pretend  not  to 
inquire  in  what  the  punifhment  of  the 
wicked  confifts.  In  the  Scripture  we  find 
many  expreffions,  from  which  we  gather, 
that  it  will  be  very  great.  It  is  there 
called,  "  an  everlafting  fire,  prepared  for 
the  devil  and  his  angels — where  the  worm 
dieth  not,  and  the  fire  is  never  quenched 
-—where  ihall  be  weeping,  and  gnafhing  of 
teeth — where  the  wicked  mail  drink  of  the 
wrath  of  God,  poured  without  mixture 
jnto  the  cup  of  his  indignation — where 
they  fliall  have  no  reft,  neither  by  day  nor 
night." 

Though  it  becomes  us  certainly  to  put 
our  interpretations  with  the  greateft  cau- 
tion and  humility  upon  fuch  paflages  as 
thefe  ;  yet  "  the  worm  that  never  dieth," 
and  "  the  fire  that  is  never  quenched," 
are  ftrong  expreffions,  and  hardly  to  be 
evaded  by  any  refinements  of  verbal  criti- 
cifm.  Let  the  deift  bravely  argue  down 
his  fears,  by  demonftrating  the  abfurdity 
of  confuming  a  fpirit  in  material  fire.  Let 
him  fully  explain  the  nature  of  future  pu- 
nifhrperlt;  and  convince  us,  that  where  it 
cannot  reform,  it  muft  be  unjuft. — But  let 
us,  with  more  modefty,  lay  cur  hands 
humbly  upon  our  breafts,  confefs  our  igno- 


rewards 

and  puniihments,  the  great  and  moft  con- 
vincing practical  truth  which  arifes,  is,  that 
we  cannot  exert  too  much  pains  in  quali- 
fying ourfelves  for  the  happinefs  of  a  fu- 
ture world.  As  this  happinefs  will  laft  for 
ever,  how  beneficial  will  be  the  exchange 
—this  world,  "which  is  but  for  a  moment, 
for  that  everlafting  weight  of  glory  which 
fadeth  not  away  !" 

Vice,  on  the  other  hand,  receives  the 
greateft  difcouragement  from  this  doc- 
trine, as  every  fin  we  commit  in  this  world 
may  be  confidered  as  an  addition  to  an 
everlafting  account  in  the  next.         Gilpin* 


§    158.     On  the  2  en  Commandments. 

Having  confidered  the  articles  of  our 
faith,  we  proceed  to  the  rules  of  our  prac- 
tice. Thefe,  we  know,  are  of  fuch  im- 
portance, that,  let  our  faith  be  what  it 
will,  unlefs  it  influence  our  lives,  it  is  of 
no  value.  At  the  fame  time,  if  it  be 
what  it  ought  to  be,  it  will  certainly  have 
this  influence. 

On  this  head,  the  ten  commandments 
are  firft  placed  before  us ;  from  which  the 
compofers  of  the  catechifm,  as  well  as 
many  other  divines,  have  drawn  a  com- 
pleat fyilem  of  chriftian  duties.  But  this 
is  perhaps  rather  too  muchf.     Both  Mo- 

fes7 
Roflroqne  immanis  vnltur  obunco 


Immortale  jecur  tundens,  foecundaque  psenis 
Vifcera. 


a — Sedet,  aeternumque  fedebit 

Infelix  Thefens- 


/En,  vi.  596. 


lb.  616. 


■f  In  the  fourth  volume  of  Bifhop  Warburton's  commentary  on  Pope's  works,  in  the  fecond  fatireof 
Dr.  Donne,  are  thefe  lines: 

Of  vyhofeitrange  crimes  no  cannonift  can  tell 
In  which  commandment's  large  contents  they  dwell. 
'*  "Die  original,"  fays  the  bifhop,  "  is  more  humorous. 

In  which  commandment's  large  receipt  they  dwell  j 

«  as 


i86 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fes,  in  the  law,  and  Chrift  in  the  gofpe!, 
ieem  to  have  inlarged  greatly  on  morals : 
and  each  of  them,  especially  the  latter,  to 
have  added  many  practical  rules,  which  do 
not  obvioufly  fall  under  any  of  the  com- 
mandments. 

But  though  we  cannot  call  the  deca- 
logue a  compleat  rule  of  duty,  we  accept 
it  with  the  utmoft  reverence,  as  the  fhft 
great  written  law  that  ever  God  commu- 
nicated to  man.  We  confider  it  as  an 
eternal  monument,  infcribed  by  the  finger 
of  God  himfelf,  with  a  few  ftrong,  indeli- 
ble characters ;  not  defining  the  minuto 
of  morals;  but  injoining  thole  great  duties 
only,  which  have  the  moft  particular  influ- 
ence upon  the  happinefs  of  fociety ;  and 
prohibiting  thofe  enormous  crimes,  which 
are  the  greateft  fources  of  its  diftrefs. 

The  ten  commandments  are  divided 
into  two  parts,  from  their  being  originally 
written  upon  two  tables.  From  hence  one 
table  is  fuppofed  to  contain  our  duty  to 
God  ;  the  other  our  duty  to  man.  Cut 
this  feems  Co  be  an  unauthorized  divifion ; 
and  hath  a  tendency  to  a  verbal  miftake ; 
as  if  fome  duties  were  owing  to  God ; 
and  others  to  man :  whereas  in  facl  we 
know  that  all  duties  are  equally  owino-  to 
God. — However,  if  we  avoid  this  mifcon- 
ception,  the  divifion  into  our  duty  to  God, 
and  our  duty  to  man,  may  be  a  convenient 
one. — The  four  firft  commandments  are 
contained  in  the  firft  table  :  the  remaining 
fix  in  the  fecond. 

At  the  head  of  them  Hands  a  prohi- 
bition to  acknowledge  more  than  one 
God. 

The  fecond  commandment  bears  a  nep.r 
relation  to  the  firft.  The  former  forbids 
polytheifm  ;  the  latter  idolatry  :  and  with 
this  belief,  and  practice,  which  generally 
accompanied  each  other,  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth  were  tainted,  when  thefe  com- 
mandments were  given:  efpecially  thofe 
nations,  by  whom  the  Jews  were  fur- 
rounded. 

The  third  commandment  injoins  reve- 
rence to  God's  name.  This  is  a  ftrong 
religious  reftraint  in  private  life ;  and  as  a 
folemn  oath  is  the  ftricteft  obligation  a- 
mong  men,  nothing  can  be  of  greater  fer- 
vice  to  fociety,  than  to  hold  it  in  general 
refpedl. 

The   fourth  commands   the   obfervance 


of  the  fabbath ;  as  one  of  the  beft  meani 
of  preferving  a  fenfe  of  God,  and  of  reli- 
gion in  the  minds  of  men. 

The  fecond  table  begins  with  injoining 
obedience  to  parents ;  a  duty  in  a  peculiar 
manner  adapted  to  the  Jewifh  ftate,  before 
any  regular  government  was  erefted.  The 
temporal  promife,  which  guards  it,  and 
vvhrch  can  relate  only  to  the  Jews,  may 
either  mean  a  promife  of  long  life  to  each 
individual,  who.  obferved  the  precept:  or, 
of  liability  to  the  whole  nation  upon  the 
general  obfervance  of  it :  which  is  perhaps 
a  better  interpretation. 

The  five  next  commandments  are  pro- 
hibitions of  the  moll  capital  crimes,  which 
pollute  the  heart  of  man,  and  injure  the 
peace  of  fociety. 

The  firft  of  them  forbids  murder,  which 
is  the  greateft  injury  that  one  man  can  do 
another ;  as  of  all  crimes  the  damage  in 
this  is  the  molt,  irreparable. 

The  feventh  commandment  forbids  a- 
dultery.  The  black  infidelity,  and  injury 
which  accompany  this  crime ;  the  confu- 
iion  in  families,  which  often  fucceeds  it ; 
and  the  general  tendency  it  hath  to  deftroy 
all  the  domeftic  happinefs  of  fociety,  ftain 
it  with  a  very  high  degree  of  guilt. 

The  fecurity  of  our  property  is  the  ob- 
ject of  the  eighth  commandment. 

The  fecurity  of  our  characters,  is  the 
object  of  the  ninth. 

The  tenth  reftrains  us  not  only  from  the 
actual  commiflian  of  fin ;  but  from  thofe 
bad  inclinations,  which  give  it  birth. 

After  the  commandments  follows  a 
commentary  upon  them,  in  titled,  "  our 
duty  to  God,"  and  "  our  duty  to  our 
neighbour;"  the  latter  of  which  might 
more  properly  be  intitled,  "  Our  duty  to 
our  neighbour  and  ourfelves." — Thefe 
feem  intended  as  an  explanation  of  the 
commandments  upon  Chriftian  principles; 
with  the  addition  of  other  duties,  which  do 
not  properly  fall  under  any  of  them.  On 
thefe  we  lhall  be  more  large. 

The  firft  part  of  our  duty  to  God,  is,  "ta 
"  believe  in  him ;"  which  is  the  founda- 
tion of  all  religion,  and  therefore  offers  it- 
feif  firft  to  our  confideration.  But  this 
great  point  hath  been  already  considered. 

The  next  branch  of  our  duty  to  God, 
is  to  fear  him.  The  fear  of  God  is  im- 
prefted  equally  upon  the  righteous  man, 

*  as  if  the  ten  commandments  were  fo  wide,  as  to  ftand  ready  to  receive  every  thing,  which  either  the 

«    T/  "a  Ure>  7  C,he  :f!>frel  ™m™n< ls:     A  J'lft  ridicule  on  thofe  practical  commentators,  as  they  are 
called,  who  include  all  moral  and  religious  duties  within  them." 

and 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


187 


and  the  firmer.  But  the  fear  of  the  firmer 
confifts  only  in  the  dread  of  punifhment. 
It  is  the  neceffary  confequence  of  guilt ; 
and  is  not  that  fear,  which  we  confider  as 
a  duty.  The  £ear  of  God  here  meant, 
confifts  in  that  reverential  awe,  that  con- 
ftant  apprehenfion  of  his  prcfence,  which 
fecures  us  from  offending  him. — When  we 
are  before  our  fuperiors,  we  naturally  feel 
a  refpect,  which  prevents  our  doing  any 
thing  indecent  in  their  fight.  Such  (only 
in  a  higher  degree)  mould  be  our  reve- 
rence of  God,  in  whofe  fight,  we  know,  we 
always  ftand.  If  a  fenfe  of  the  divine  pre- 
fence  hath  fuch  an  influence  over  us,  as  to 
check  the  bad  tendency  of  our  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions ;  we  may  properly  be 
faid  to  be  impreffed  with  the  fear  of  God. 
—If  not,  we  neglect  one  of  the  beft  means 
of  checking  vice,  which  the  whole  circle  of 
religious  reitraint  affords. 

Some  people  go  a  ftep  farther ;  and 
fay,  that  as  every  degree  of  light  beha- 
viour, though  fhort  of  an  indecency,  is 
improper  before  our  fuperiors ;  fo  is  it 
likevvife  in  the  prefence  of  Almighty  God, 
who  is  fo  much  fuperior  to  every  thing 
that  can  be  called  great  on  earth. 

But  this  is  the  language  of  fuperftition. 
Mirth,  within  the  bounds  of  innocence, 
cannot  be  oftenfive  to  God.  He  is  offend- 
ed only  with  vice.  Vice,  in  the  loweft 
degree,  is  hateful  to  him  :  but  a  formal 
fet  behaviour  can  be  neceffary  only  to 
preferve  human  diftinctions. 

The  next  duty  to  God  is  that  of  love, 
which  is  founded  upon  his  goodnefs  to  his 
creatures.  Even  this  world,  mixed  as  it 
is  with  evil,  exhibits  various  marks  of  the 
goodnefs  of  the  Deity.  Moil  men  indeed 
place  their  affections  too  much  upon  it, 
and  rate  it  at  too  high  a  value :  but  in  the 
Qpinion  even  of  wife  men,  it  deferves  fome 
eftimation.  The  acquisition  of  knowledge, 
in  all  its  branches ;  the  intercourfe  of  fo- 
ciety ;  the  contemplation  of  the  wonderful 
works  of  God,  and  all  the  beauteous  fcenes 
of  nature ;  nay,  even  the  low  inclinations 
of  animal  life,  when  indulged  with  fobriety 
and  moderation,  furnifh  various  modes  of 
pleafure  and  enjoyment. 

Let  this  world  however  go  for  little.  In 
contemplating  a  future  life,  the  enjoyments 
of  this  are  loft.  It  is  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  futurity,  that  the  chriftian  views 
the  goodnefs  of  God  in  the  fulleft  light. 
When  he  fees  the  Deity  engaging  himfelf 
by  covenant  to  make  our  fhort  abode  here 
a  preparation   for   our   eternal  happinefs 


hereafter — when  he  is  affured  that  this 
happinefs  is  not  only  eternal,  but  of  the 
pureft  and  moft  perfect:  kind—when  he 
fees  God,  as  a  father,  opening  all  his  ftores 
of  love  and  kindnefs,  to  bring  back  to 
himfelf  a  race  of  creatures  fallen  from 
their  original  perfection,  and  totally  loft 
through  their  own  folly,  perverfenefs,  and 
wickednefs ;  then  it  is  that  the  evils  of 
life  feem  as  atoms  in  the  fun-beam ;  the 
divine  nature  appears  overflowing  with 
goodnefs  to  mankind,  and  calls  forth  every 
exertion  of  our  gratitude  and  love. 

That  the  enjoyments  of  a  future  ftate, 
in  whatever  thofe  enjoyments  confift,  are 
the  gift  of  God,  is  fufiiciently  obvious : 
but  with  regard  to  the  government  of  this 
world,  there  is  often  among  men  a  fort  of 
infidelity,  which  afcribes  all  events  to  their 
own  prudence  and  induftry.  Things  ap- 
pear to  run  in  a  ftated  courfe ;  and  the  fin- 
ger of  God,  which  acts  unfeen,  is  never 
fuppofed. 

And,  no  doubt,  our  own  induftry  and 
prudence  have  a  great  fhare  in  procuring 
for  us  the  bleffings  of  life.  God  hath  an- 
nexed them  as  the  reward  of  fuch  exer- 
tions. But  can  we  fuppofe,  that  fuch  ex- 
ertions will  be  of  any  fervice  to  us,  unlefs 
the  providence  of  God  throw  opportunities 
in  our  way  ?  All  the  means  of  worldly  hap- 
pinefs are  furely  no  other  than  the  means 
of  his  government.  Mofes  faw  among 
the  Jews  a  kind  of  infidelity  like  this, 
when  he  forbad  the  people  to  fay  in  their 
hearts,  "  My  power,  and  the  might  of  my 
hands  hath  gotten  me  this  wealth:"  where- 
as, he  adds,  they  ought  to  remember, 
"  That  it  is  the  Lord  who  giveth  power 
to  get  wealth." 

Others  again  have  objected  to  the  good- 
nefs of  God,  his  permiflion  of  evil.  A 
good  God,  fay  they,  would  have  prevent- 
ed it;  and  have  placed  his  creatures  in  a 
fituation  beyond  the  diftreffes  of  life. 

With  regard  to  man,  there  feems  to  be 
no  great  difficulty  in  this  matter.  It  is 
enough,  furely,  that  God  has  put  the  means 
of  comfort  in  our  power.  In  the  natural 
world,  he  hath  given  us  remedies  againft 
hunger,  cold,  and  difeafe ;  and  in  the  mo- 
ral world,  againft  the  mifchief  of  fin. 
Even  death  itfelf,  the  laft  great  evil,  he 
hath  fhewn  us  how  we  may  change  into 
the  moft  confummate  bleffing.  A  ftate  of 
trial,  therefore,  and  a  futue  world,  feem 
eafily  to  fet  things  to  rights  on  this  head. 

The  mifery  of  the  brute  creation  is  in- 
deed more  unaccountable.     But  have  we 

not 


sS8 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


not  the  modefty  to  fuppofe,  that  this  diffi- 
culty may  be  owing  to  our  ignorance  ? 
And  that  on  the  ftrength  of  what  we  know 
of  the  wifdom  of  God,  we  may  venture  to 
truft  him  for  thofe  parts  wkich  we  cannot 
comprehend  ? 

One  truth,  after  all,  is  very  apparent, 
that  if  we  mould  argue  ourfelves  into 
atheifm,  by  the  untractablenefs  of  thefe 
fubjeets,  we  fhould  be  fo  far  from  getting 
rid  of  our  difficulties,  that,  if  we  reafon 
juftly,  ten  thoufand  greater  would  arife, 
either  from  confidering  the  world  under  no 
ruler,  or  under  one  of  our  own  imagin- 
ing. 

There  remains  one  farther  confidera- 
tion  with  regard  to  the  love  of  God,  and 
that  is,  the  meafure  of  it.  We  are  told  we 
ought  to  love  him  "  with  all  our  heart,  with 
all  our  foul,  and  with  all  our  ftrength." 
Thefe  are  ftrong  expreffions,  and  feem  to 
imply  a  greater  warmth  of  affection,  than 
many  people  may  perhaps  find  they  can 
exert.  Tne  affections  of  fome  are  natu- 
rally cool,  and  little  excited  by  any  objects. 
The  guilty  perfon,  is  he,  whofe  affections 
are  warm  in  every  thing  but  religion.— 
The  obvious  meaning  therefore  of  the  ex- 
preffion  is,  that  whether  our  affections  are 
cool  or  warm,  we  mould  make  God  our 
chief  good— that  we  fhould  fet  our  affec- 
tions more  upon  him,  than  upon  any  thing 
elfe — and  that,  for  his  fake,  and  for  the 
fake  of  his  laws,  we  fhould  be  ready  to  re- 
fign  every  thing  we  have,  and  even  life  it- 
felf.  So  that  the  words  feem  nearly  of  the 
fame  import  with  thefe  of  the  apoftle, 
"  Set  your  affections  on  things  above,  and 
not  on  things  on  the  earth."         Gilpin. 

§  iro.  Worjbip  and  Honour  of God, 

Our  next  duty  to  God  is,  to  worfhip 
-.  ;ivc  him  thanks,  to  put  our  whole 
in  him,  and  to  call  upon  him. 

rervance  of  the  fabbath  is 

;     any  wife  and  juit  reafons, 

what  have  they  to  anfwer    for,   who  not 

ini  itution  them  felves,  but 

■    ••  •  example  into  contempt 

not  to   tl  >fe  '.. .  o 

n    ke  it  a  d      -         mraon  dii    rfion  ;  who, 

,    and    breaking 

[]  civil  and  religious  regu  is; 

fpend  it  in  the  mofl  licentious  ami     mem  ; 

fuch  people  are  pair,    all    reproof:   but   I 

ife,  who  in  other  th) 

■   (elves  to  be  ferious  people;  and,  one 

■  pe,  would  aft  right,  when  I   i 

.  inced  what  v.';';  lo 


But  our  prayers,  whether  in  public,  or 
in  private,  are  only  an  idle  parade,  unlefa 
we  put  our  trull:  in  God. 

By  putting  our  truft  in  God,  is  meant 
depending  upon  him,  as  our  happinefs,  and 
our  refuge. 

Human  nature  is  always  endeavouring 
either  to  remove  pain  ;  or,  if  eafe  be  ob- 
tained, to  acquire  happinefs.  And  thofe 
things  are  certainly  the  moft  eligible,  which 
in  thefe  refpects  are  the  moft  effectual. 
The  world,  it  is  true,  makes  us  flattering 
promifes :  but  who  can  fay  that  it  will  keep 
them  ?  We  confift  of  two  parts,  a  body, 
and  a  foul.  Both  of  thefe  want  the  means 
of  happinefs,  as  well  as  the  removal  of 
evil.  But  the  world  cannot  even  afford 
them  to  the  body.  Its  means  of  happi- 
nefs, to  thofe  who  depend  upon  them  as 
iuch,  are,  in  a  thoufand  inftances,  unfatif- 
fying.  Even,  at  beft,  they  will  fail  us  in 
the  end.  While  pain,  difeafes,  and  death, 
fhew  us,  that  the  world  can  afford  no  re- 
fuge againft  bodily  diftrefs.  And  if  it 
cannot  afford  the  means  of  happinefs,  and 
of  fecurity,  to  the  body,  how  much  lefs 
can  we  fuppofe  it  able  to  afford  them  to  the 
foul  ? 

Nothing  then,  we  fee,  in  this  world,  is  a 
fufficient  foundation  for  truft  :  nor  indeed 
can  any  thing  be  but  Almighty  God,  who 
affords  us  the  only  means  of  happinefs, 
and  is  our  only  real  refuge  in  diftrefs.  On 
him,  the  more  we  truft,  the  greater  we  fhall 
feel  our  fecurity;  and  that  man  who  has, 
on  juft.  religious  motive?,  confirmed  in 
himfelf  this  truft,  wants  nothing  elfe  to  fe-. 
cure  his  happinefs.  The  world  may  wear 
what  afpect  it  will :  it  is  not  on  it  that  he 
depends.  As  far  as  prudence  goes,  he  en- 
deavours to  avoid  the  evils  of  life ;  but 
when  they  fall  to  his  (hare  (as  fooner  or 
later  we  muft  all  fliare  them)  he  refigns 
himfelf  into  the  hands  of  that  God  who 
made  him,  and  who  knows  beft  how  to 
difpofe  of  him.  On  him  he  thoroughly 
depends,  and  with  him  he  has  a  conitant 
intercourfe  by  prayer;  trufting,  that  what- 
ever happens  is  agreeable  to  that  juft  go- 
vernment:, which  God  has  eftablifhed; 
and  that,  of  confequence,  it  muft  be  beft. 

A  /e  are  injoined  next  "  to- honour  God's 
holy  name." 

The  name  of  God  is  accompanied  with 
fuch  ideas  of  greatnefs  and  reverence,  that 
it  fhould  never  pafs  our  lips  without  fug- 
ng  thofe  ideas.  Indeed  it  fhould  ne- 
ver be  mentioned,  but  with  a  kind  of  aw- 
ful hefitation,  and  en  the  moft  folemn  oc- 

cafions ; 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


189 


Canons;  either  in  ferious  difcourfe,  or, 
when  we  invoke  God  in  prayer,  or  when 
we  fwear  bv  his  name. 

In  this  laft  light  we  are  here  particu- 
larly injoined  to  honour  the  name  of  God. 
A  folemn  oath  is  an  appeal  to  God  him- 
felf ;  and  is  intitled  to  our  utmoft  refpeft, 
were  it  only  in  a  political  light;  as  in  all 
human  concerns  it  is  the  ftrongeft  teft  of 
veracity;  and  has  been  approved  as  fuch 
by  the  wifdom  of  all  nations. 

Some  religionifts  have  difapproved  the 
ufe  of  oaths,  under  the  idea  of  prophane- 
nefs.  The  language  of  the  facred  writers 
conveys  a  different  idea.  One  of  them 
fays,  "  An  oath  for  confirmation  is  an  end 
of  all  ftrife:"  another,  "  I  take  God  for 
record  upon  my  foul :  and  a  third,  "  God 
is  my  witnefs." 

To  the  ufe  of  oaths,  others  have  object- 
ed, that  they  are  nugatory.  The  good 
man  will  fpeak  the  truth  without  an  oath ; 
and  the  bad  man  cannot  be  held  by  one. 
And  this  would  be  true,  if  mankind  were 
divided  into  good  and  bad:  but  as  they 
are  generally  of  a  mixed  character,  we 
may  well  fuppofe,  that  many  would  ven- 
ture a  ample  falfehood,  who  would  yet  be 
ftartled  at  the  idea  of  perjury*. 

As  an  oath  therefore  taken  in  a  folemn 
manner,  and  on  a  proper  cccafion,  mav  be 
confidered  as  one  of  the  higheft  acts  of  re- 
ligion ;  fo  perjury,  or  falfe  fwearing,  is 
certainly  one  of  the  higheft  afts  of  im- 
piety ;  and  the  greateft  dishonour  we  can 
poffibly  fhew  to  the  name  of  God.  It  is, 
in  effect,  either  denying  our  belief  in  a 
God,  or  his  power  to  punifh.  Other 
crimes  wifh  to  efcape  the  notice  of  Hea- 
ven ;  this  is  daring  the  Almighty  to  his 
face. 

After  perjury,  the  name  of  God  is  moft 
difhonoured  by  the  horrid  practice  of  curf- 
ing.  Its  effects  in  fociety,  it  is  true,  are 
not  fo  mifchievous  as  thofe  of  perjury;  nor 
is  it  fo  deliberate  an  aft :  but  yet  it  con- 
veys a  frill  more  horrid  idea.  Indeed  if 
there  be  one  wicked  praclice  more  pecu- 
liarly diabolical,  than  another,  it  is  this : 
for  no  employment  can  be  conceived  more 
fuitable  to  infernal  fpirits,  than  that  of 
fpending  their  rage  and  impotence  in 
curfes,  and  execrations.  If  this  fhocking 
vice  were  not  fo  dreadfully  familiar  to  our 
ears,  it  could  not  fail  to  ftrike  us  with  the 
utmoft  horror. 


We  next  confider  common  fwearing ;  a 
fin  fo  univerfally  praftifed,  that  one  would 
imagine  fome  great  advantage,  in  the  way 
either  of  pleafure  or  profit,  attended  it. 
The  wages  of  iniquity  afford  fome  temp- 
tation :  but  to  commit  fin  without  any 
wages,  is  a  ftrange  fpecies  of  infatuation, 
— May  we  then  afk  the  common  fwearer, 
what  the  advantages  are,  which  arife  from 
this  practice  ? 

It  will  be  difficult  to  point  out  one. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  faid,  that  it  adds  ftreno-th. 
to  an  affirmation.  But  if  a  man  common- 
ly ltrengthen  his  affirmations  in  this  way, 
we  may  venture  to  affert,  that  the  praclice 
will  tend  rather  to  leffen,  than  confirm  his 
credit.  It  fhews  plainly  what  he  himfelf 
thinks  of  his  own  veracity.  We  never 
prop  a  building,  till  it  becomes  ruinous. 

Some  forward  youth  may  think,  that 
an  oath  adds  an  air  and  fpirit  to  his  dif- 
courfe ;  that  it  is  manly  and  important  j 
and  gives  him  conference.  We  may 
whifper  one  fecret  in  his  ear,  which  he  may 
be  auured  is  a  truth — Thefe  airs  of  man- 
linefs  give  him  confequence  with  thofe 
only,  whofe  commendation  is  difgrace: 
others  he  only  convinces,  at  how  early  an 
age  he  wifhes  to  be  thought  proflio-ate. 

Perhaps  he  may  imagine,  that  an  oath 

gives  force  and  terror  to  his  threatening^^ 

In  this  he  may  be  right;  and  the  more 
horribly  wicked  he  grows,  the  greater  ob- 
ject, of  terror  he  may  make  himfelf.  On 
this  plan,  the  devil  affords  him  a  complete 
pattern  for  imitation. 

Paltry  as  thefe  apologies  are,  I  mould 
fuppofe,  the  praclice  of  common  fwearino- 
has  little  more  to  fay  for  itfelf. — Thcis 
however,  who  can  argue  in  favour  of  this 
fin,  I  fhould  fear,  there  is  little  chance  to 
reclaim. — But  it  is  probable,  that  the 
greater  part  of  fuch  as  are  addicted  to  it, 
aft  rather  from  habit,  than  principle.  To 
deter  fuch  perfons  from  indulging  fo  per- 
nicious a  habit,  and  to  fhew  them,  that  it  is 
worth  their  while  to  be  at  fome  pains  to 
conquer  it,  let  us  now  fee  what  arguments 
may  be  produced  on  the  other  fide. 

In  the  firft  place,  common  fwearino- 
leads  to  perjury.  He  who  is  addicted  to 
fwear  on  every  trifling  occafion,  cannot 
but  often,  I  had  almoft  faid  unavoidably, 
give  the  fanftion  of  an  oath  to  an  untruth. 
And  though  I  fhould  hope  fuch  perjury  is 
not  a  fin  of  fo  heinous  a  nature,  as  what,  in 


*  They  who  attend  our  courts  of  juftice,  often  fee  inftances  among  the  common  peonle  of  their 
afterting  roijndly  what  they  will  either  refufe  to  fwear  ;  qx,  when  fworn,  will  not  alTert. 

judicial 


i  go 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


judicial  matters,  is  called  wilful  and  cor- 
rupt; yet  it  is  certainly  flamed  with  a  very 
great  degree  of  guilt. 

But  Secondly,  common  fwearing  is  a 
large  Stride  towards  wilful  and  corrupt 
perjury,  inafmuch  as  it  makes  a  folemn 
oath  to  be  received  with  lefs  reverence. 
If  nobody  dared  to  take  an  oath,  but  on 
proper  occaiions,  an  oath  would  be  re- 
ceived with  refpecl;  but  when  we  are  ac- 
cultomed  to  hear  fwearing  the  common 
language  of  our  ilreets,  it  is  no  wonder 
that  people  make  light  of  oaths  on  every 
occafion;  and  that  judicial,  commercial, 
and  official  oaths,  are  all  treated  with  fo 
much  indifference. 

Thirdly,  common  fwearing  may  be  con- 
sidered as  an  aft  of  great  irreverence  to 
God ;  and  as  fuch,  implying  alfo  a  great 
indifference  to  religion.  If  it  would  dif- 
grace  a  chief  magiitrate  to  fuffer  appeals 
on  every  trifling,  or  ludicrous  occafion ; 
we  may  at  leaft  think  it  as  difrefpectful  to 
the  Almighty. — If  we  lofe  our  reverence 
for  God,  it  is  impoffible  we  can  retain  it 
for  his  laws.  You  fcarce  remember  a  com- 
mon fwearer,  who  was  in  other  refpecls  an 
exact  christian. 

But,  above  all,  we  mould  be  deterred 
from  common  fwearing  by  the  pofitive 
command  of  our  Saviour,  which  is  found- 


affure  ourfelves,  that  we  are  indulging  a 
practice,  which  mufl  weaken  impreffions, 
that  ought  to  be  preferved  as  Strong  as 
pofuble. 

Secondly,  fuch  light  expreflions,  and 
wanton  phrafes,  as  found  like  fwearing  are 
to  be  avoided ;  and  are  often  therefore  in- 
dulged by  filly  people,  for  the  fake  of  the 
found;  who  think  (if  they  think  at  all) 
that  they  add  to  their  difcourfe  the  fpirit 
of  fwearing  without  the  guilt  of  it.  Such 
people  had  better  lay  afide,  together  with 
fwearing,  every  appearance  of  it.  Thefe 
appearances  may  both  offend,  and  miflead 
others ;  and  with  regard  to  themfelves, 
may  end  in  realities.  At  leaft,  they  Shew 
an  inclination  to  fwearing  :  and  an  incli- 
nation to  vice  indulged,  is  really  vice. 

Gilpin. 

§  1 60.  Honour  due  to  God's  Word—wohaf 
it  is  to  fernie  God  truly,  l3c. 

As  we  are  injoined  to  honour  God's  holy 
name,  fo  are  we  injoined  alfo  "  to  honour 
his  holy  word." 

By  God's  holy  word  we  mean,  the  Old 
Teftament  and  the  New. 

The  books  of  the  Old  Teftament  open 
with  the  eariielt  accounts  of  time,  earlier 
than  any  human  records  reach ;  and  yet, 
in  many  inftances,  they  are  ftrengthened 


=d  unquestionably  upon  the  wickednefs  of    by  human  records.     The  heathen  mytho- 


the  practice  :  "  You  have  heard,"  faith 
Chrift,  "  that  it  hath  been  faid  by  them  of 
old  time,  thou  fhalt  not  forfwear  thyfelf : 
but  I  fay  unto  you,  fwear  not  at  all ;  nei- 
ther by  heaven,  for  it  is  God's  throne,  nei- 
ther by  the  earth,  for  it  is  his  footitool : 
but  let  your  communication"  (that  is, 
your  ordinary  converfation)  "be  yea,  yea, 
nay,  nay;  for  whatfoever  is  more  than 
thefe  cometh  of  evil." — St.  James  alfo, 
with  great  emphafis  preffing  his  matter's 
words,  fays,  "  Above  all  things,  my  bre- 
thren, fwear  not ;  neither  by  heaven,  nei- 
ther by  the  earth,  neither  by  any  other 
oath :  but  let  your  yea  be  yea,  and  your 
nay,  nay,  left  you  fall  into  condemnation." 

I  fhalljuft  add,  before  I  conclude  this 
fubjedt,  that  two  things  are  to  be  avoided, 
which  are  very  nearly  allied  to  fwearing. 

The  firlt  is,  the  ufe  of  light  exclama- 
tions, and  invocations  upon  God,  on  every 
trivial  occafion.  We  cannot  have  much 
reverence  for  God  himfelf,  when  we  treat 
las  name  in  fo  familiar  a  manner;  and  may 


logy  is  often  grounded  upon  remnants  of 
the  facred  Story,  and  many  of  tiie  Bible 
events  are  recorded,  however  imperfectly, 
in  prophane  biflory.  The  very  face  of 
nature  bears  witnefs  to  the  deluge. 

In  the  hiftory  of  the  patriarchs  is  exhi- 
bited a  moit  beautiful  picture  of  the  Sim- 
plicity of  ancient  manners ;  and  of  genuine 
nature  unadorned  indeed  by  fcience,  but 
impreffed  firongly  with  a  fenfe  of  religion. 
This  gives  an  air  of  greatnefs  and  dignity 
to  all  the  fentiments  and  actions  of  thefe 
exalted  characters. 

The  patriarchal  hiitoiy  is  followed  by 
the  jewifh.  Here  we  have  the  principal 
events  of  that  peculiar  nation,  which  lived 
under  a  theocracy,  and  was  fet  apart  to 
prcferve  and  propagate*  the  knowledge  of 
the  true  God  through  thofe  ages  of  igno- 
rance antecedent  to  Chrift.  Here  too  we 
find  ihofe  types,  and  reprefentations,  which 
the  apoitle  to  the  Hebrews  calls  the  Sha- 
dows of  good  things  to  come. 

To  thofe  books,  which  contain  the  le- 


*  See  the  fubjecl  very  learnedly  treated  in  one  of  the  fuft  chapters  of  Jenkins's  Reafonablenefs  of 
Christianity. 

a  giflation 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


191 


glflation  and  hiftory  of  the  Tews,  fucceed 
the  prophetic  writings.  As  the  time  of  the 
promife  drew  ftill  nearer,  the  notices  of  its 
approach  became  ftronger.  The  kingdom 
of  the  Mefiiah,  which  was  but  obfcurely 
fhadowed  by  the  ceremonies  of  the  Jewifh 
law,  was  marked  in  ftronger  lines  by  the 
prophets,  and  proclaimed  in  a  more  intel- 
ligible language.  The  office  of  the  Mef- 
iiah, his  miniftry,  his  life,  his  actions,  his 
death,  and  his  refurrettion,  are  all  very 
diftinctly  held  out.  It  is  true,  the  jews, 
explaining  the  warm  figures  of  the  pro- 
phetic language  too  literally,  and  applying 
to  a  temporal  dominion  thofe  expreffions, 
which  were  intended  only  as  defcriptive  of 
a  fpiritual,  were  offended  at  the  meannefs 
of  Chrift's  appearance  on  earth ;  and 
would  not  own  him  for  that  Meffiah,  whom 
their  prophets  had  foretold ;  though  thefe 
very  prophets,  when  they  ufed  a  lefs  figu- 
rative language,  had  described  him,  as  he 
really  was,  a  man  of  forrows,  and  ac- 
quainted with  grief. 

To  thefe  books  are  added  feveral  others, 
poetical  and  moral,  which  adminifter  much 
inftru&ion,  and  matter  *of  meditation  to 
devout  minds. 

The  New  Teftament  contains  firft  the 
fimple  hiftory  of  Chrift,  as  recorded  in  the 
four  gofpels.  In  this  hiftory  alfo  are  deli- 
vered thofe  excellent  inftructions,  which 
our  Saviour  occasionally  gave  his  difci- 
ples ;  the  precepts  and  the  example  blend- 
ed together. 

To  the  gofpels  fucceeds  an  account  of 
the  lives  and  aftions  of  fome  of  the  prin- 
cipal apoftles ;  together  with  the  early  ftate 
of  the  chriftian  church. 

The  epiftles  of  feveral  of  the  apoftles, 
particularly  of  St.  Paul,  to  fome  of  the 
new  eftablifhed  churches,  make  another 
part.  Our  Saviour  had  promifed  to  en- 
dow his  difciples  with  power  from  on  high 
to  complete  the  great  work  of  publishing 
the  gofpel :  and  in  the  epiftles  that  work  is 
completed.  The  truths  and  doctrines  of 
the  chriftian  religion  are  here  ftill  more 
unfolded,  and  inforced :  as  the  great 
fcheme  of  our  redemption  was  now  finifhed 
by  the  death  of  Chrift. 

The  facred  volume  is  concluded  with 
the  revelations  of  St.  John ;  which  are 
fuppofed  to  contain  a  prophetic  defcription 
of  the  future  ftate  of  the  church.  Some 
of  thefe  prophecies,  it  is  thought  on  very 
good  grounds,  are  already  fulfilled ;  and 
others,  which  now,  as  fublime  defcriptions 
only,  amufe  the  imagination,  will  proba- 


bly, in  the  future  ages  of  the  church,  be 
the  objects  of  the  underftanding  alfo. 

The  laft  part  of  our  duty  to  God  is,  "  to 
ferve  him  truly  all  the  days  of  our  life." 

**  To  ferve  God  truly  all  the  days  of  our 
life,"  implies  two  things :  firft,  the  mode 
of  this  fervice ;  and  fecondly,  the  term 
of  it. 

Firft,  we  muft  ferve  God  truly.  We 
muft  not  reft  fatisfied  with  the  outward 
action ;  but  muft  take  care  that  every 
action  be  founded  on  a  proper  motive.  It 
is  the  motive  alone  that  makes  an  action 
acceptable  to  God.  The  hypocrite  "  may 
fail  twice  in  the  week,  and  give  alms  of  all 
that  he  poiTefles :"  nay,  he  may  faft  the 
whole  week,  if  he  be  able,  and  give  all  he 
has  in  alms ;  but  if  his  fails  and  his  alms 
are  intended  as  matter  of  oftentation  only, 
neither  the  one,  nor  the  other,  is  that  true 
fervice  which  God  requires.  God  requires 
the  heart :  he  requires  that  an  earner!  de- 
fire  of  acting  agreeably  to  his  will,  fliould 
be  the  general  fpring  of  our  actions;  and 
this  will  give  even  an  indifferent  action  a 
value  in  his  fight. 

As  we  are  injoined  to  ferve  God  truly, 
fo  are  we  injoined  to  ferve  him  "  all  the 
days  of  our  life."  As  far  as  human  frail- 
ties will  permit,  we  fhould  perfevere  in  a 
c'onftant  tenor  of  obedience.  That  lax  be- 
haviour, which  inftead  of  making  a  fteady 
progrefs,  is  continually  relapfing  into  for- 
mer errors,  and  running  the  fame  round  of 
finning  and  repenting,  is  rather  the  life  of 
an  irrefolute  finner,  than  of  a  pious  chrif- 
tian. Human  errors,  and  frailties,  we 
know,  God  will  not  treat  with  too  fevere 
an  eye ;  but  he  who,  in  the  general  tenor 
of  Ins  life,  does  not  keep  advancing  towards 
chriftian  perfection  ;  but  fuffers  himfelf,  at 
intervals,  entirely  to  lofe  fight  of  his  call- 
ing, cannot  be  really  ferious  in  his  pro- 
feffion  :  he  is  at  a  great  diftance  from  ferv- 
ing  God  truly  all  the  days  of  his  life ;  and 
has  no  fcriptural  ground  to  hope  much 
from  the  mercy  of  God. 

That  man,  whether  placed  in  high  eftate, 
or  low,  has  reached  the  fummit  of  human 
happinefs,  who  is  truly  ferious  in  the  fer- 
vice of  his  great  Mailer.  The  things  of 
this  world  may  engage,  but  cannot  engrofs, 
his  attention ;  its  forrows  and  its  joys  may 
affect,  but  cannot  difconcert  him.  No 
man,  he  knows,  can  faithfully  ferve  two 
mailers.  He  hath  hired  himfelf  to  one— 
that  great  Mailer,  whofe  commands  he  re- 
veres, whofe  favour  he  feeks,  whofe  dif- 
pleafure  alone  is  the  real  object  of  his  fears; 

and 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


192 

and  vvhofe  rewards  alone  are  the  real  ob- 
jects of  his  hope.  Every  thing  elfe  is  tri- 
vial in  his  fight.  The  world  may  footh  ; 
cr  it  may  threaten  him :  he  perfeveres 
iteadily  in  the  fervice  of  his  God ;  and  in 
that  perfeverance  feels  his  happinefs  every 
day  the  more  eftablifhed.  Gilpin. 

§    161.     Duties  tywing  to  particular  perfons 
— duty  of  children  to  parents — re/peel  and 
cbedience — in  what  the  former  confijis — in 
tvhat    the   latter — -fuccouring  a  parent — 
brotherly    afteSion — obedience    to    laiv-*- 
founded  on  the  ad-vantages  offociety. 
From  the  two  grand  principles  of  "  lov- 
ing our  neighbour  as  ourfelves ;  and  of  do- 
ing to  others,   as   we    would    have    them 
do  to  us,"  which  regulate  our  focial  inter- 
courfe  in  general,  we  proceed  to  thofe  more 
confined  duties,  which  arife  from  particu- 
lar relations,  connections,  and  Stations   in 
life. 

Among  thefe,  we  are  firft  taught,  as  in- 
deed the  order  of  nature  directs,  to  confi- 
der  the  great  duty  of  children  to  parents. 

The  two  points  to  be  infilled  on,  are  re- 
flect and  obedience.  Both  thefe  fhould 
naturally  fpring  from  love ;  to  which  pa- 
rents have  the  higheit  claim.  And  indeed 
parents,  in  general,  behave  to  their  chil- 
dren, in  a  manner  both  to  deferve  and  to 
obtain  their  love. 

But  if  the  kindnefs  of  the  parent  be  not 
fuch  as  to  work  upon  the  affections  of  the 
child,  yet  ftill  the  parent  has  a  title  to  re- 
fpeft  and  obedience,  on  the  principle  of 
duty;  a  principle,  which  the  voice  of  na- 
ture dictates ;  which  reafon  inculcates  ; 
which  human  laws,  and  human  cuftoms,  all 
join  to  inforce ;  and  which  the  word  of 
God  Strictly  commands. 

The  child  will  fhew  refpect  to  his  pa- 
rent, by  treating  him,  at  all  times,  with  de- 
ference. He  will  confult  his  parent's  in- 
clination, and  fhew  a  readinefs,  in  a  thou- 
fand  namelefs  trifles,  to  conform  himfelf  to 
it.  He  will  never  peevifhly  contradict  his 
parent;  and  when  he  offers  a  contrary  opi- 
nion, he  will  offer  it  modeftly.  Refpect 
will  teach  him  alfo,  not  only  to  put  the  bell 
colouring  upon  the  infirmities  of  his  pa- 
rent; but  even  if  thofe  infirmities  be  great, 
it  will  foften  and  fcreen  them,  as  much* as 
poffible,  from  the  public  eye. 

Obedience  goes  a  ftcp  further,  and  fup- 
pofes  a  pofitive  command.  In  things  un- 
lawful indeed,  the  parental  authority  can- 
not bind ;  but  this  is  a  cafe  that  rarely 


happens.  The  great  danger  is  on  ths 
other  fide,  that  children,  through  obfti- 
nacy  or  fullennefs,  fhould  refufe  their  pa- 
rents' lawful  commands ;  to  the  obfervance 
of  all  which,  however  inconvenient  to  thern- 
felves,  they  are  tied  by  various  motives; 
and  above  all,  by  the  command  of  God, 
who  in  his  ficred  denunciations  againlt  fin, 
ranks  difobedience  to  parents  among  the 
worft*. 

They  are  farther  bound,  not  only  to 
obey  the  commands  of  their  parents ;  but 
to  obey  them  chearfully.  He  does  but 
half  his  duty,  who  does  it  not  from  his 
heart. 

There  remains  ftill  a  third  part  of  filial 
duty,  which  peculiarly  belongs  to  children, 
when  grown  up.  This  the  catechifm  calls 
fuccouring  or  administering  to  the  neceffi- 
ties  of  the  parent ;  either  in  the  way  of 
managing  his  affairs,  when  he  is  lefs  able 
to  manage  them  himfelf;  or  in  fupplying 
his  wants,  fhould  he  need  affiflance  in  that 
way.  And  this  the  child  fhould  do,  on  the 
united  principles  of  love,  duty,  and  grati- 
tude. The  hypocritical  Jew  would  ibme- 
times  evade  this  dqty,  by  dedicating  to  fa- 
crcd  ufes  what  fhould  have  been  expended 
in  aftifting  his  parent.  Our  Saviour  Sharply 
rebukes  this  perverfion  of  duty  ;  and  gives 
him  to  understand,  that  no  pretence  of 
ferving  God  can  cover  the  neglect  of  af- 
filting  a  parent.  And  if  no  pretence  of 
ferving  Gcd  can  do  it,  furely  every  other 
pretence  mult  ftill  be  more  unnatural. 

Under  this  head  alfo  we  may  confider 
that  attention,  and  love,  which  are  due  to 
other  relations,  efpecially  that  mutual  af- 
fection which  fhould  fubfiit  between  bro- 
thers. The  name  of  brother  expreffes  the 
higheit  degree  of  tendernefs ;  and  is  ge- 
nerally ufed  in  fcripture,  as  a  term  of  pe- 
culiar endearment,  to  call  men  to  the  prac- 
tice of  locial  virtue.  It  reminds  them  of 
every  kindnefs,  which  man  can  fhew  to 
man.  If  then  we  ought  to  treat  all  man- 
kind with  the  affection  of  brothers,  in  what 
light  inufl  they  appear,  who  being  really 
fuch,  are  ever  at  variance  with  each  other; 
continually  doing  fpiteful  actions,  and  fhew- 
ing,  upon  every  accafion,  not  only  a  want 
of  brotherly  kindnefs,  but  even  of  common 
regard  ? 

The  next  part  of  our  duty  is  "  to  ho- 
nour and  obey  the  king,  and  all  that  are 
put  in  authority  under  him." 

By  the  "  king,  and  all  that  are  put  in 
authority  undej-  him,"  is  meant  the  various 

parts 


Rom,  1.  \<*, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


*93 


parts  of  the  government  we  live  under,  of 
which  the  king  is  the  head  :  and  the  mean- 
ing of  the  precept  is,  that  we  ought  to  live 
in  dutiful  fubmiffion  to  legal  authority. 

Government  and  fociety  are  united.  We 
cannot  have  one  without  the  other;  and 
we  fubmit  to  the  inconveniences,  for  the 
fake  of  the  advantages. 

The  end  of  fociety  is  mutual  fafety  and 
convenience.  Without  it,  even  fafety 
could  in  no  degree  be  obtained:  the  good 
would  become  a  prey  to  the  bad ;  nay,  the 
very  human  fpecies  to  the  bealts  of  the 
field. 

Still  lefs  could  we  obtain  the  conveni- 
ences of  life;  which  cannot  be  had  with- 
out the  labour  of  many.  If  every  man  de- 
pended upon  himfelf  for  what  he  enjoyed, 
how  deflitute  would  be  the  fituation  of  hu- 
man affairs  ! 

But  even  fafety  and  convenience  are  not 
the  only  fruits  of  fociety.  Man,  living 
merely  by  himfelf,  would  be  an  ignorant 
unpolifhed  favage.  It  is  the  intercourfe 
of  fociety  which  cultivates  the  human 
mind.  One  man's  knowledge  and  expe- 
rience is  built  upon  another's ;  and  fo  the 
great  edifice  of  fcience  and  polifhed  life  is 
reared. 

To  enjoy  thefe  advantages,  therefore, 
men  joined  in  fociety;  and  hence  it  be- 
came neceffary,  that  government  fhould  be 
eitabliihed.  Magiftrates  were  created ; 
laws  made;  taxes  fubmitted  to;  and  every 
one,  inltead  of  righting  himfelf  (except  in 
mere  felf-defence)  is  injoined  to  appeal  to 
the  laws  he  lives  under,  as  the  belt  fecurity 
of  his  life  and  property.  Gilpin. 

%  162.  Duty  to  our  teachers  and  infruclors 
—arijivg  from  the  great  importance  of 
hiozvledge  and  religion— and  the  great 
necejfity  of  gaining  habits  of  attention, 
and  of  'virtue,  in  our  youth — analogy  of 
youth  and  manhood  to  this  world  and  the 
next. 

We  are  next  injoined  "  to  fubmit  our- 
felves  to  all  our  governors,  teachers,  fpiri- 
tual  pallors,  and  mailers."  Here  another 
fpecies  of  government  is  pointed  out.  The 
laws  of  fociety  are  meant  to  govern  our 
riper  years :  the  inllruftions  of  our  teach- 
ers, fpiritual  pallors,  and  mailers,  are 
meant  to  guide  our  youth. 

By  our  "  teachers,  fpiritual  pallors,  and 
mailers,"  are  meant  allthofewho  have  the 
care  of  our  education,  and  of  our  initruc- 
tion  in  religion;  whom  we  are  to  obey, 
and  liilen  to,  with  humility  and  attention, 


as  the  means  of  our  advancement  in  know- 
ledge and  religion.  The  inilruftions  we 
receive  from  them  are  unqueflionably  fub- 
jeft  to  our  own  judgment  in  future  life ; 
for  by  his  own  judgment  every  man  mull 
(land  or  fall.  But,  during  our  youth,  it  is 
highly  proper  for  us  to  pay  a  dutiful  fub- 
miffion to  their  inilruftions,  as  we  cannot  yet 
be  fuppofed  to  have  formed  any  judgment 
of  our  own.  At  that  early  age  it  lhould  be 
our  endeavour  to  acquire  knowledge  ;  and 
afterwards  unprejudiced  to  form  our  opi- 
nions. 

The  duty  which  young  people  owe  to 
their  inltruftors,  cannot  be  lhewn  better, 
than  in  the  effeft  which  the  inilruftions 
they  receive  have  upon  them.  They 
would  do  well,  therefore,  to  confider  the 
advantages  of  an  early  attention  to  thefe 
two  things,  both  of  great  importance, 
knowledge  and  religion. 

The  great  ufe  of  knowledge  in  all  its  va- 
rious branches  (to  which  the  learned  lan- 
guages are  generally  confidered  as  an  in- 
troduftion)  is  to  free  the  mind  from  the 
prejudices  of  ignorance  ;  and  to  give  it 
juller,  and  more  enlarged  conceptions, 
than  are  the  mere  growth  of  rude  nature. 
By  reading*  you  add  the  experience  of 
others  to  your  own.  It  is  the  improve- 
ment of  the  mind  chiefly,  that  makes  the 
difference  between  man  and  man  ;  and 
gives  one  man  a  real  fuperiority  over 
another. 

Befides,  the  mind  mull  be  employed. 
The  lower  orders  of  men  have  their  atten- 
tion much  ingroffed  by  thofe  employments, 
in  which  the  neceffities  of  life  engage 
them  :  and  it  is  happy  that  they  have. 
Labour  Hands  in  the  room  of  education  ; 
and  fills  up  thofe  vacancies  of  mind,  which, 
in  a  Hate  of  idlenefs,  would  be  ingroffed 
by  vice.  And  if  they,  who  have  more 
leifure,  do  not  fubftitute  fomething  in  the 
room  of  this,  their  minds  alfo  will  become 
tthe  prey  of  vice ;  and  the  more  {0,  as  they 
have  the  means  to  indulge  it  more  in  their 
power.  A  vacant  mind  is  exaftly  that 
houfe  mentioned  in  the  gofpel,  which  the 
devil  found  empty.  In  he  entered  ;  and 
taking  with  him  feven  other  fpirits  more 
wicked  than  himfelf,  they  took  poffeffion. 
It  is  an  undoubted  truth,  that  one  vice 
indulged,  introduces  others ;  and  that  each 
fucceeding  vice  becomes  more  depraved. — 
If  then  the  mind  mull  be  employed,  what 
can  fill  up  its  vacuities  more  rationally  than 
the  acquifition  of  knowledge  ?  Let  us 
therefore  thank  God  for  the  epportuniti  s 
O  he 


'94 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


he  hath  afforded  us ;  and  not  turn  into  a 
curie  thofe  means  of  leifure,  which  might 
become  fo  great  a  bleffing. 

But  however  neceffary  to  us  knowledge 
may  be,  religion,  we  know,  is  infinitely 
more  fo.  The  one  adorns  a  man,  and 
gives  him,  it  is  true,  fuperiority,  and  rank 
in  life  :  but  the  other  is  abfolutely  efTential 
to  his  happinefs. 

In  the  midft  of  youth,  health,  and 
abundance,  the  world  is  apt  to  appear  a 
very  gay  and  pleafing  fcene  ;  it  engages 
our  defires ;  and  in  a  degree  fatisfies  them 
alfo.  But  it  is  wifdom  to  confider,  that  a 
time  will  come,  when  youth,  health,  and 
fortune,  will  all  fail  us  ;  and  if  difappoint- 
ment  and  vexation  do  not  four  our  tafte 
for  pleafure,  at  leaft  ficknefs  and  infirmi- 
ties will  deftroy  it.  In  thefe  gloomy  fea- 
fons,  and  above  all,  at  the  approach  of 
death,  what  will  become  of  us  without  re- 
ligion ?  When  this  world  fails,  where 
fhall  we  fly,  if  we  expect  no  refuge  in 
another  ?  Without  holy  hope  in  God,  and 
refignation  to  his  will,  and  truft  in  him  for 
deliverance,  what  is  there  that  can  fecure 
us  againfl  the  evils  of  life  ? 

The  great  utility  therefore  of  know- 
ledge and  religion  being  thus  apparent,  it 
is  highly  incumbent  upon  us  to  pay  a  ftu- 
dious  attention  to  them  in  our  youth.  If 
we  do  not,  it  is  more  than  probable  that 
we  fhall  never  do  it :  that  we  fhall  grow 
old  in  ignorance,  by  neglecting  the  one; 
and  old  in  vice  by  negle&ing  the  other. 

For  improvement  in  knowledge,  youth 
is  certainly  the  fittelt  feafon.  The  mind  is 
then  ready  to  receive  any  imprcfiion. 
It  is  free  from  all  that  care  and  atten- 
tion which,  in  riper  age,  the  affairs  of  life 
bring  with  them.  The  memory  too  is 
then  ftronger  and  better  able  to  acquire 
the  rudiments  of  knowledge ;  and  as  the 
mind  is  then  void  of  ideas,  it  is  more  iuit- 
cd  to  thofe  parts  of  learning  which  are 
converfant  in  words.  Betides,  there  is 
fometimes  in  youth  a  modefty  and  duc- 
tility, which  in  advanced  years,  if  thofe 
years  efpecially  have  been  left  a  prey  to 
ignorance,  become  felf-fufiiciency  and  pre- 
judice ;  and  thefe  effectually  bar  up  all  the 
inlets  to  knowledge. — But,  above  ail,  un- 
lefs  habits  of  attention  and  application  are 
early  gained,  we  fhall  fcarce  acquire  them 
afterwards. — The  inconfiderate  youth  fel- 
dom  reflects  upon  this ;  nor  knows  hi:-  tbfs, 
till  he  knows  alio  that  it  cannot  be  re- 
trieved. 

Ncr  is  youth  more  the  feafon  to  acquire 


knowledge,  than  to  form  religious  habits. 
It  is  a  great  point  to  get  habit  on  the  fide 
of  virtue.  It  will  make  every  thing  fmooth 
and  eafy.  The  earlieit  principles  are  ge- 
nerally the  mo  ft  lafiing ;  and  thofe  of  a 
religious  caff,  are  feldom  wholly  loft. 
Though  the  temptations  of  the  world  may, 
now  and  then,  draw  the  well-principled 
youth  afide  ;  yet  his  principles  being  con- 
tinually at  war  with  his  practice,  there  is 
hope,  that  in  the  end  the  better  part  may 
overcome  the  worfe,  and  bring  on  a  refor- 
mation. Whereas  he,  who  has  fuffered 
habits  of  vice  to  get  pofTeiTion  of  his  youth, 
has  little  chance  of  being  brought  back 
to  a  fenfe  of  religion.  In  a  common  courfe 
of  things  it  can  rarely  happen.  Some 
calamity  muft  roufe  him.  He  muft  be 
awakened  by  a  ftorm,  or  fleep  for  ever. — 
How  much  better  is  it  then  to  make  that 
eafy  to  us,  which  we  know  is  belt !  And 
to  form  thofe  habits  now,  which  hereafter 
we  (hall  vvifh  we  had  formed  ! 

There  are,  who  would  reftrain  youth 
from  imbibing  any  religious  principles, 
till  they  can  judge  for  themfelves;.  left 
they  fhould  imbibe  prejudice  for  truth. 
But  why  fhould  not  the  fame  caution  be 
ufed  in  fcience  alfo ;  and  the  minds  of 
youth  left  void  of  all  impreffions  ?  The 
experiment,  I  fear,  in  both  cafes  would 
be  dangerous.  If  the  mind  were  left  un- 
cultivated during  fo  long  a  period,  though 
nothing  elfe  mould  find  entrance,  vice  cer- 
tainly would  :  and  it  would  make  the 
larger  fhoots,  as  the  foil  would  be  vacant. 
A  boy  had  better  receive  knowledge  and 
religion  mixed  with  error,  than  none  at 
all.  For  when  the  mind  is  fet  a  thinking, 
it  may  depofit  its  prejudices  by  degrees, 
and  get  right  a:  bit  :  but  in  a  ftate  of 
ftagnation  it  will  infallibly  become  foul. 

To  conclude,  our  youch  bears  the  !;ime 
proportion  to  our  more  advanced  life, 
as  this  world  does  to  the  next.  In  this 
life  we  muft  form  and  cultivate  thofe  ha- 
bits of  virtue,  which  muft  qualify  us  for  a 
better  ftate.  If  we  neglect  them  here,  and 
contract  habits  of  an  oppofite  kind,  inftead 
of  gaining  that  exalted  ftate,  which  is  pro- 
mifed  to  our  improvement,  we  lhali  of 
courfe  fink  into  that  ftate,  which  is  adapted 
to  the  habits  we  have  formed. 

Exacfly  thus  is  youth  introductory  to 
manhood :  to  which  it  is,  properly  fpeak- 
ing,  a  ftate  of  preparation.  During  this 
feafon  we  muft  qualify  ourfelves  for  the 
parts  we  are  to  act  hereafter.  In  manhood 
we  bear  the  fruit,  which  has  in  youth  been 

planted. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


*9? 


planted.  If  we  have  fauntered  away  our 
youth,  we  mull  expert  to  be  ignorant  men. 
If  indolence  and  inattention  have  taken  an 
early  poffeffion  of  us,  they  will  probably 
increafe  as  we  advance  in  life ;  and  make 
us  a  burden  to  ourfelves,  and  ufelefs  to  fo- 
ciety.  If  again,  we  fuffer  ourfelves  to  be 
milled  by  vicious  inclinations,  they  will 
daily  get  new  ftrength,  and  end  in  diffolute 
lives.  But  if  we  cultivate  our  minds  in 
our  youth,  attain  habits  of  attention  and 
induftry,  cf  virtue  and  fobriety,  we  fhall 
find  ourfelves  well  prepared  to  aft  our  fu- 
ture parts  in  life ;  and  what  above  all 
things  ought  to  be  our  care,  by  gaining 
this  command  over  ourfelves,  we  fhall  be 
more  able,  as  we  get  forward  in  the 
world,  to  refill  every  new  temptation,  as 
it  arifes.  Gilpin. 

§  163.      Behaviour  to  fuperior s. 
We  are  next  injoined  "  to  order  our- 
felves lowly  and  reverently  to  all  our  bet- 
ters." 

By  our  betters  are  meant  they  who  are 
in  a  fuperior  flation  of  life  to  our  own  ; 
and  by  "  ordering  ourfelves  lowly  and 
reverently  towards  them,"  is  meant  pay- 
ing them  that  refpecl:  which  is  due  to  their 
fration. 

The  word  '  betters'  indeed  includes  two 
kinds  of  perfons,  to  whom  our  refpect  is 
due — thofe  who  have  a  natural  claim  to 
it ;  and  thofe  who  have  an  acquired  one ; 
that  is,  a  claim  arifing  from  fome  particular 
fituation  in  life. 

Among  the  firft,  are  all  our  fuperior  re- 
lations ;  not  only  parents,  but  all  other 
relations,  who  are  in  a  line  above  us.  All 
thefe  have  a  natural  claim  to  our  refpecl, 
—There  is  a  refpecl  alio  due  from  youth 
to  age;  which  is  always  becoming,  and 
tends  to  keep  youth  within  the  bounds  of 
modefty. 

To  others,  refpecl  is  due  from  thofe 
particular  ftations  which  arife  from  fociety 
and  government.  Fear  God,  fays  the 
text;  and  it  adds,  "  honour  the  king." 

It  is  due  alfo  from  many  other  fitua* 
tions  in  life.  Employments,  honours,  and 
even  wealth,  will  exacl  it;  and  all  may 
juftly  exacl  it,  in  a  proper  degree. 

But  it  may  here  perhaps  be  inquired, 
why  God  fhould  permit  this  latter  diftinc- 
tion  among  men  ?  That  fome  Ihould  have 
more  authority  than  others,  we  can  eaf, ly 
fee,  is  abfolutely  neceflary  in  government ; 
but  among  men,  who  are  all  bcru,  equal, 


why  mould  the  goods  of  life  be  diftributed 
in  fo  unequal  a  proportion  ? 

To  this  inquiry,  it  may  be  anfwered, 
that,  in  the  firft  place,  we  fee  nothing  in 
this,  but  what  is  common  in  all  the  works 
of  God.  A  gradation  is  every  where  ob- 
fervable.  Beauty,  ftrength,  fwiftnefs,  and 
other  qualities,  are  varied  through  the 
creation  in  numberlefs  degrees.  In  the 
fame  manner  likewife  are  varied  the  gifts 
of  fortune,  as  they  are  called.  Why 
therefore  fhould  one  man's  being  richer 
than  another  furprize  us  more  than  his 
being  ftronger  than  another,  or  more 
prudent? 

Though  we  can  but  very  inadequately 
trace  the  wifdom  of  God  in  his  works, 
yet  very  wife  reafons  appear  for  this  vari- 
ety in  the  gifts  of  fortune.  It  feems  ne- 
ceflary both  in  a  civil,  and  in  a  moral 
light. 

In  a  civil  light,  it  is  the  neceffary  ac- 
companiment cf  various  employments ;  on 
which  depend  all  the  advantages  of  foci- 
ety. Like  the  flones  of  a  regular  building, 
fome  mull  range  higher,  and  fome  lower  ; 
fome  muft  fupport,  and  others  be  fupport- 
ed  ;  fome  will  form  the  ftrength  of  the 
building,  and  others  its  ornament ;  but  all 
unite  in  producing  one  regular  and  pro- 
portioned whole.  If  then  different  em- 
ployments are  neceflary,  of  courfe  differ- 
ent degrees  of  wealth,  honour,  and  confe- 
quence,  muft  follow  ;  a  variety  of  diftinc- 
tions  and  obligations ;  in  fhort,  different 
ranks,  and  a  fubordination,  muft  take 
place. 

Again,  in  a  moral  light,  the  difpropor- 
tlon  of  wealth,  and  other  worldly  adjuncts, 
gives  a  range  to  the  more  extenfive 
exercife  of  virtue.  Some  virtues  could 
but  faintly  exift  upon  the  plan  of  an. 
equality.  If  fome  did  not  abound,  there 
were  little  room  for  temperance  :  if  fome 
did  not  fuffer  need,  there  were  as  little  for 
patience.  Other  virtues  again  could  hardly 
exift  at  all.  Who  could  praclife  generofi- 
ty,  where  there  was  no  objedl  cf  it  ?  Who 
humility,  where  all  ambitious  defires  were 
excluded? 

Since  then  Providence,  in  fcattering 
thefe  various  gifts,  propofes  ultimately  the 
good  of  man,  it  is  our  duty  to  acquiefce  in 
this  order,  and  "  to  behave  ourfelves  lowly 
and  reverently"  (not  with  fervility,  but 
with  a  decent  refpecl)  "  to  all  our  fuperi- 
ors." 

Before  I  conclude  this  fubjett,  it  may 
O  2  be 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


196 

be  proper  to  obferve,  in  vindication  of 
the  ways  of  Providence,  that  we  are  not 
to  fuppofe  happinefs  and  mifery  necefiarily 
connected  with  riches  and  poverty.  Each 
condition  hath  its  particular  fources  both 
of  pleafure  and  pain,  unknown  to  the  other. 
Thofe  in  elevated  ftations  have  a  thoufand 
latent  pangs,  of  which  their  inferiors 
have  no  idea ;  while  their  inferiors  again 
have  as  many  pleafures,  which  the  others 
cannot  tafte.  I  fpeak  only  of  fuch  modes 
of  happinefs  or  mifery  as  arife  immediate- 
ly from  different  ftations.  Of  mifery,  in- 
deed, from  a  variety  of  other  caufes,  all 
men  of  every  ftation  are  equal  heirs  ;  ei- 
ther when  God  lays  his  hand  upon  us  in 
ficknefs,  or  misfortune ;  or  when,  by  our 
own  follies  and  vices,  we  become  the  mi- 
nifters  of  our  own  diftrefs. 

Who  then  would  build  his  happinefs 
upon  an  elevated  ftation  r  Or  who  would 
envy  the  poffefiion  of  fuch  happinefs  in  an- 
other? We  know  not  with  what  various 
diftreffes  that  ftation,  which  is  the  object 
of  our  envy,  may  be  attended. — Befides, 
as  we  are  accountable  for  all  we  poffefs, 
it  may  be  happy  for  us  that  we  poffefs  fo 
little.  The  means  of  happinefs,  as  far 
as  ftation  can  procure  them,  are  commonly 
in  our  own  power,  if  we  are  not  wanting 
to  ourfelves. 

Let  each  of  us  then  do  his  duty  in  that 
ftation  which  Providence  has  afligned  him; 
ever  remembering,  that  the  next  world 
will  foon  deftroy  all  earthly  diftinctions.— 
One  diftinction  only  will  remain  among  the 
ions  of  men  at  that  time- — the  diftinction 
between  good  and  bad  ;  and  this  distinc- 
tion it  is  worth  all  our  pains  and  all  our 
ambition  to  acquire.  Gilpm. 


5  164. 


by 


Againft  wronging  our  neigbhm 
injurious  nvords. 

We  are  next  inftructed  "  to  hurt  nobody 
by  word  or  deed — to  be  true  and  jull  in 
all  our  dealingc — to  bear  no  malice  nor 
hatred  in  our  hearts— to  keep  our  hands 
from  picking  and  flealing — our  tongues 
from  evil  fpeaking,  lying,  and  /lander- 
ing." 

The  duties  comprehended  in  thefe  words 
are  a  little  tranfpofed.  What  fhould  clafs 
under  one  head  is  brought  under  another. 
"  To  hurt  nobody  by  word  or  deed,"  is 
the  general  proportion.  The  under  parts 
ihould  follow  :  Firft,  "  to  keep  the  tongue 
from  evil  fpeaking,  lying,  and  fiander- 
ing;"  which  is,  **  to  hurt  nobody  by 
word."     Secondly,  "  td  be  true  and  juft 


in  all  our  dealings ;"  and  "  to  keep  our 
hands  from  picking  and  dealing  ;"  which 
is,  "  to  hurt  nobody  by  deed."  As  to 
the  injunction,  "  to  bear  no  malice  nor 
hatred  in  our  hearts,"  it  belongs  properly 
to  neither  of  thefe  heads  ;  but  is  a  dis- 
tinct one  by  itfelf.  The  duties  being 
thus  feparated,  I  fhall  proceed  to  explain 
them. 

And,  firft,  of  injuring  our  neighbour  by 
our  "  words."  This  may  be  done,  we 
fnd,  in  three  ways  ;  by  "  evil-fpeaking, 
by  lying,  and  by  flandering." 

By  <i  evil-fpeaking,"  is  meant  fpeaking 
ill  of  our  neighbour;  but  upon  a  fuppofi- 
tion,  that  this  ill  is  the  truth.  In  fome 
circumftances  it  is  certainly  right  to  fpeak 
ill  of  our  neighbour ;  as  when  we  are  called 
upon  in  a  court  of  juftice  to  give  our  evi- 
dence ;  or,  when  we  can  let  any  one 
right  in  his  opinion  of  a  perfon,  in  whom 
he  is  about  to  put  an  improper  confidence. 
Nor  can  there  be  any  harm  in  fpeaking  of 
a  bad  aclion,  which  has  been  determined 
in  a  court  of  juftice,  or  is  otherwife  be- 
come notorious. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  highly  dif- 
allowable  to  fpeak  wantonly  of  the  cha- 
racters of  others  from  common  fame;  be- 
caufe,  in  a  thoufand  inftances,  we  find 
that  ftories,  which  have  no  better  founda- 
tion, arc  mifreprefented.  They  are  per- 
haps only  half-told — they  have  been  heard 
through  the  medium  of  malice  or  envy— 
fome  favourable  circumftance  hath  been 
omitted — fome  foreign  circumftance  hath 
been  added — fome  trifling  circumftance 
hath  been  exaggerated — the  motive,  the 
provocation,  or  perhaps  the  reparation, 
hath  been  concealed — in  fhort,  the  repre- 
fentation  of  the  fact  is,  fome  war  or  other, 
totally  different  from  the  fact  itfelf. 

But  even,  when  we  have  the  beft  evi- 
dence of  a  bad  action,  with  all  its  circum- 
ftances  before  us,  we  furely  indulge  a  ve- 
ry ill-natured  pleafure  in  fpreading  the 
fhame  of  an  offending  brother.  We  can 
do  no  good  ;  and  we  may  do  harm  :  we 
may  weaken  his  good  refolutions  by  ex- 
poling  him  :  we  may  harden  him  againft 
the  world.  Perhaps  it  may  be  his  firit  bad 
action.  Perhaps  nobody  is  privy  to  it  but 
ourfelves.  Let  us  give  him  at  leaft  one 
trial.  Let  us  not  caft  the  iirft  ftone. 
•Which  of  our  lives  could  ftand  fo  ftriit 
a  fcrutiny  ?  He  only  who  is  without  fin 
himfelf  can  have  any  excufe  for  treating 
his  brother  with  feverity. 

Let  us  next  confider  "lying;"  which 

is 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


i97 


is  an  intention  to  deceive  by  falfchood  in 
'  our  words. — To  warn  us  againit  lying,  we 
fhould  do  well  to  confider  the  folly,  the 
meannefs,  and  the  wickednefs  of  it. 

The  folly  of  lying  confifts  in  its  defeat- 
ing its  own  purpofe.     A  habit  of  lying  is 
generally  in  the  end  detected ;  and,   after 
deteftion,  the  lyar,  inftead  of  deceiving, 
will  not  even  be  believed  when  he  happens 
to  fpeak  the  truth.     Nay,  every  fingle  lye 
:  is  attended  with  fuch  a  variety  of'  circum- 
ilances,  which  lead  to  a  detection,  that  it 
''•  is   often   difcovered.     The   ufe  generally 
made  of  a  lye,  is  tc  cover  a  fault ;  but  as 
the  end  is  ieldom  anfwered,  we  only  ag- 
gravate what  we  wifh  to  conceal.     In  point 
'  even    of  prudence,     an    honeil  confeiiion 
would  ferve  us  better. 

The  meannefs  of  lying  arifes  from  the 
cowardice  which  it  implies.  We  dare  not 
boldly  and  nobly  fpeak  the  truth ;  but 
.  have  recourfe  to  low  fubterfuges,  which 
always  argue  a  fordid  and  diiingenuous 
mind.  Hence  it  is,  that  in  the  falhionable 
world,  the  word  lyar  is  always  coniidered 
as  a  term  of  peculiar  reproach. 

The  wickednefs  of  lying  confifts  in  its 

perverting  one  of  the  greateft  blefTings  of 

\  God,  the  ufe  of  fpeech,  in  making  that  a 

mifchief  to  mankind,  which  was  intended 

i  for  a  benefit.     Truth  is  the  great  bond  of 

I  fociety.       Falfehood,    of  courfe,   tends  to 

its  diflblution.     If  one  man  may  lye,  why 

not  another  ?  And  if  there  is  no   mutual 

truft  among  men,  there  is  an  end  of  all 

intcrcourfe  and  dealing. 

An  equivocation  is  nearly  related  to  a 
lye.  It  is  an  intention  to  deceive  under 
words  of  a  double"  meaning,  or  words 
which,  literally  fpeaking,  are  true  ;  and  is 
equally  criminal  with  the  moft  downright 
breach  of  truth.  When  St.  Peter  afked 
Sapphira  (in  the  5th  chapter  of  the  Afts) 
"  whether  her  huiband  had  fold  the  land 
for  fo  much?"  She  anfwered,  he  had: 
and  literally  ihe  fpoke  the  truth ;  for  he 
had  fold  it  for  that  fum,  included  in  a 
larger.  But  having  an  intention  to  de- 
ceive, we  find  the  apoftle  confidered  the 
equivocation  as  a  lye. 

In  fhort,  it  is  the  intention  to  deceive, 
which  is  criminal  :  the  mode  of  deception, 
like  the  vehicle  in  which poifon  is  convey- 
ed, is  of  no  confequence.  A  nod,  or  fign, 
may^  convey  a  lye  as  eifeclually  as  the  molt 
deceitful  language. 
.  Under  the  head  of  lying  may  be  men- 
tioned a  breach  of  promife.  While  a  refo- 
lution  remains  in  our  own  breafts,  it  is  [ab- 


ject to  our  own  review  :  but  when  we  make 
another  perfon  a  party  with  us,  an  engage- 
ment is  made ;  and  every  engagement, 
though  only  of  the  lighteft  kind,  fhould  be 
punctually  obfeived.  If  we  have  added  to 
this  engagement  a  folemn  promife,  the  obli- 
gation is  fo  much  the  itionger:  and  he  who 
does  not  think  himfelf  bound  by  fuch  an 
obligation,  has  no  pretenfions  to  the  cha- 
racter of  an  honeft  man.  A  breach  of 
promife  is  ftill  worfe  than  a  lye.  A  lye 
is  fimply  a  breach  of  truth  ;  but  a  breach  of 
promife  is  a  breach  both  of  truth  and  trull. 

Forgetfulnefs  is  a  weak  excufe :  it  only 
fhews  how  little  we  are  affected  by  fo  fo- 
lemn an  engagement.  Should  we  forget 
to  call  for  a  fum  of  money,  of  which  we 
were  in  want,  at  an  appointed  time  r  Or 
do  we  think  a  folemn  promife  of  lefs  value 
than  a  fum  of  money  r 

Having  confidered  evil  fpeaking  and 
lying,  let  us  next  confider  ilandering.  By 
iiandering,  we  mean,  injuring  our  neigh- 
bour's character  by  falfehood.  Here  we 
Hill  rile  higher  in  the  fcale  of  injurious 
words.  Slandering  our  neighbour  is  the 
greateft  injury,  which  words  can  do  him; 
and  is,  therefore,  worfe  than  either  evil- 
fpeaking  or  lying.  The  mifchief  of -this 
fin  depends  on  the  value  of  our  characters. 
All  men,  unlefs  they  be  pall  feeling,  deiire 
naturally  to  be  thought  well  of  by  their 
fellow-creatures :  a  good  character  is  one 
of  the  principal  means  of  being  fervice- 
able  either  to  ourfelves  or  others ;  and 
among  numbers,  the  very  bread  they  eat 
depends  upon  it.  What  aggravated  in- 
jury, therefore,  do  we  bring  upon  every 
man,  whofe  name  we  flander  ?  And,  what 
is  fli'l  worfe,  the  injury  is  irreparable.  If 
you  defraud  a  man;  reitorewhat  you  took, 
and  the  injury  is  repaired.  But,  if  you 
flander  him,  it  is  not  in  your  power  to  fhut 
up  all  the  ears,  and  all  the  mouths,  to  which 
your  tale  mayhaveaccefs.  The  evil  fpreads, 
like  the  winged  feeds  of  fome  noxious 
plants,  which  fcatter  mifchief  on  a  breath 
of  air,  and  difperfe  it  on  every  fide,  and 
beyond  prevention. 

Before  we  conclude  this  fubjedt,  it  may 
jufi;  be  mentioned,  that  a  flander  may  be 
fpread,  as  a  lye  may  be  told,  in  various 
ways.  We  may  do  it  by  an  insinuation,  as 
well  as  in  a  direct  manner ;  we  may  fpread 
it  in  a  fecret;  or  propagate  it  under  the  . 
colour  cf  friendfhip. 

I  may  add  alfo,  trjat  it    is  a  fpec'es  of 

flander,  and  ojlen  a  very  malignant  one, 

to  leiTen;  the    merits    or    exaggerate   the. 

O  3  faili^s 


lgS 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


failings  of  others ;  as  it  is  likewife  to  omit 
defending  a  mifreprefented  character,  or 
to  let  others  bear  the  blame  of  our  offen- 
ces. Gilpin. 

§  165.  Again/}  wronging  our  neighbour  by 
injurious  adions. 
Having  thus  confidered  injurious  words, 
let  us  next  conhder  injurious  aftions.  On 
this  head  we  are  injoined  "  to  keep  our 
hands  from  picking  and  Healing,  and  to  be 
true  and  juft  in  alf  our  dealings." 

As  to  theft,  it  is  a  crime  of  fo  odious 
and  vile  a  nature,  that  one  would  imagine 
110  perfon,  who  hath  had  the  leaft  tinclure 
of  a  virtuous  education,  even  though  dri- 
ven to  neceffity,  could  be  led  into  it. — 
I  fhall  not,  therefore,  enter  into  a  diffua- 
five  from  this  crime  ;  but  go  on  with  the 
explanation  of  the  other  part  of  the  in- 
junction, and  fee  what  it  is  to  be  true  and 
juft  in  all  our  dealings. 

Juftice  is  even  ftili  more,  if  pofTible,  the 
fupport  of  fociety,  than  truth  :  inafmuch 
as  a  man  may  be  more  injurious  by  his 
aclions,  than  by  his  words.  It  is  for  this 
1-eafon,  that  the  whole  force  of  human  law 
isbert  fo  reitram  injuilice  ;  and  the  hap- 
pinefs  of  every  fociety  willincreafe  in  pro- 
po  tion  to  this  reftraint. 

We  very  much  err,  however,  if  we  fup- 
pofe,  that  every  thing  within  the  bounds  of 
law  is  juftice.  The  law  was  intended  only 
forbad  men  ;  and  it  is  impoffible  to  make 
the  melhes  of  it  fo  ftrait,  but  that  many 
very  great  enormities  will  efcape.  The 
well-meaning  man,  therefore,  knowing  that 
the  law  was  net  made  for  him,  confults  a 
better  guide — his  own  confcier.ee,  inform- 
ed by  religion.  And,  indeed,  the  great  dif- 
ference between  the  good  and  the  bad  man 
confiils  in  this ;  the  good  man  will  do  no- 
thing, but  what  his  confeience  will  allow; 
the  bad  man  will  do  any  thing  which  the 
law  cannot  reach. 

It  would,  indeed,  be  endlefs  to  defcribe 
the  various  ways,  in  which  a  man  may  be 
difhoneft  within  the  limits  of  law.  They 
are  as  various  as  our  intercourfe  with  man- 
kind. Some  of  the  moll  obvious  of  them 
I  fhall  curforily  mention. 

In  matters  of  commerce  the  knave  has 
many  opportunities.  The  different  quali- 
ties of  the  fame  commodity — the  different 
modes  of  adulteration— the  fpecious  arts  of 
vending — the  frequent  ig.-.orance  in  pur- 
chafing  ;  and  a  variety  of  other  circum- 
ftances,  open  an  endlefs  field  to  the  inge- 
nuity of  iraud.     The  honefl   fair  dealer, 


in  the  mean  time,  has  only  one  rule,  which 
is,  that  all  arts,  however  common  in  bufi- 
nefs,  which  are  intended  to  deceive,  are 
utterly  unlawful.  It  may  be  added,  upon 
this  head,  that  if  any  one,  confeious  of 
having  been  a  tranfgreffor,  is  defirous  of  re- 
pairing his  fault,  reftitution  is  by  all  means 
neceffary :  till  that  be  done,  he  continues 
in  a  courfe  of  injuftice. 

Again,  in  matters  of  contract,  a  man 
has  many  opportunities  of  being  difno- 
neft  within  the  bounds  of  law.  He  may 
be  Uriel:  in  obferving  the  letter  of  an 
agreement,  when  the  equitable  meaning 
requires  a  laxer  interpretation  :  or,  he  can 
take  the  laxer  interpretation,  when  it  ferves 
his  purpofe ;  and  at  the  loop-hole  of  fome 
ambiguous  expreffion  exclude  the  literal 
meaning,  though  it  be  undoubtedly  the 
true  one. 

The  fame  iniquity  appears  in  withhold- 
ing from  another  his  juft.  right ;  or  in  put- 
ting him  to  expence  in  recovering  it.  The 
movements  of  the  law  are  flow;  and  in 
many  cafes  cannot  be  other  wife ;  but  he 
who  takes  the  advantage  of  this  to  injure 
his  neighbour,  proves  himfelf  an  undoubt- 
ed knave. 

It  is  a  fpecies  of  the  fame  kind  of  in- 
juftice to  withheld  a  debt,  when  we  have 
ability  to  pay;  or  to  run  into  debt,  when 
we  have  net  that  ability.  The  former  can 
proceed  only  from  a  bad  difpofition  ;  the 
latter,  from  fuffering  cur  deiires  to  exceed 
our  ftation.  Some  are  excufed,  on  this 
head,  as  men  of  generous  principles,  which 
they  cannot  confine.  But  what  is  their 
generofity  ?  They  affift  one  man  by  in- 
juring another.  And  what  good  arifes  to 
fociety  from  hence  ?  Such  perfons  cannot 
acf  on  principle;  and  we  need  not  hefitate 
to  rank  them  with  thofe,  who  run  into  debt 
to  gratify  their  own  felfifh  inclinations.  One 
man  defires  the  elegancies  of  life  ;  another 
defires  what  he  thinks  an  equal  good,  the 
reputation  of  generofity. 

Oppreffion  is  another  fpecies  of  injuf- 
tice ;  by  which,  in  a  thoufand  ways,  under 
the  cover  of  law,  we  may  take  the  advan- 
tage of  the  fuperiority  of  our  power,  ei- 
ther to  crufh  an  inferior,  or  humble  him 
to  our  defigns. 

Ingratitude  is  another.  A  loan,  we 
know,  claims  a  legal  return.  And  is  the 
obligation  lefs,  if,  in/lead  of  a  loan,  vou  re- 
ceive a  kindnefs  ?  The  law,  indeed,  fays 
nothing  on  this  point  of  immorality ;  but 
an  honefl  confeience  will  be  very  loud  in 
the  condemnation  of  it, 

'   We 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


We  may  be  unjuft  alfo  in  our  refent- 
ment ;  bv  carrying  it  beyond  what  reafon 
and  religion  prefcribe. 

But  it  would  be  endlefs  to  defcribe  the 
various  ways,  in  which  injuiiice  difcovers 
.itfelf.  In  truth,  almoft  every  omiflion  of 
duty  may  be  refolved  into  injuflice. 

The  next  precept  is,  "  to  bear  no  malice 
nor  hatred  in  our  hearts." 

The  malice  and  hatred  of  our  hearts 
arife,  in  the  iirft  place,  from  injurious 
treatment ;  and  furely  no  man,  when  he  is 
injured,  can  at  firft  help  feeling  that  he  is 
fo.  But  Chriftianity  requires,  that  we 
fhould  fubdue  thefe  "feelings,  as  foon  as 
poflible  ;  "  and  not  fuffer  the  fun  to  go 
down  upon  our  wrath."  Various  are  the 
paffages  of  fcripture,  which  inculcate  the 
forgivenefs  of  injuries.  Indeed,  no  point 
is  more  laboured  than  this ;  and  with  rea- 
fon, becaufe  no  temper  is  more  productive 
of  evil,  both  to  ourfelves  and  others,  than 
a  malicious  one.  The  fenfations  of  a  mind 
burning  with  revenge  are  beyond  defcrip- 
tion;  and  as  we  are  at  thefe  feafons  very 
unable  to  judge  coolly,  and  of  courfe  liable 
to  carry  our  refentment  too  far,  the  confe- 
quence  is,  that,  in  our  rage,  we  may  do  a 
thoufand  things,  which  can  never  be  atoned 
for,  and  of  which  we  may  repent  as  long 
as  we  live. 

Befides,  one  aft  draws  on  another  ;  and 
retaliation  keeps  the  quarrel  alive.  The 
gofpel,  therefore,  ever  gracious  and  kind 
to  man,  in  all  its  precepts  enjoins  us  to 
check  all  thofe  violent  emotions,  and  to 
leave  our  caufe  in  the  hands  of  God. 
"  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,  faith 
the  Lord;"  and  he  who,  in  opposition 
to  this  precept,  takes  vengeance  into  his 
own  hands,  and  cheriihes  the  malice  and 
hatred  of  his  heart,  may  affure  himfelf  that 
he  has  not  yet  learned  to  be  a  Chrifiian. 
Thefe  precepts,  perhaps,  may  not  entirely 
agree  with  modern  principles  of  honour : 
but  let  the  man  of  honour  fee  to  that.  The 
maxims  of  the  world  cannot  change  the 
truth  of  the  gofpel. 

Nay,  even  in  recovering  our  juft  right, 
or  in  purfuing  a  criminal  to  juflice,  we 
fhould  take  care  that  it  be  not  done  in  the 
fpirit  of  retaliation  and  revenge.  If  thefe 
be  our  motives,  though  we  make  the  law 
our  inftrument,  we  are  equally  guilty. 

But  befides  injurious  treatment,  the  ma- 
lice and  hatred  of  our  hearts  have  often 
another  fource,  and  that  is  envy  :  and  thus 
in  the  litany  ;  "  envy,  malice,  and  hatred," 
are  all  joined  together  with  great  proprie- 


199 

tv.  The  emotions  of  envy  are  generally 
cooler,  and  lefs  violent,  than  thofe  which 
arife  from  the  refentment  of  injury  ;  fo  that 
envy  is  feldom  fo  mifchisyous  in  its  effefts 
as  revenge  :  but  with  regard  to  ourfelves, 
it  is  altogether  as  bad,  and  full  as  deftruc- 
tive  of  the  fpirit  of  chriftianity.  _  What  is 
the  reb>ion  of  that  man,  who  inftead  of 
thanking  Heaven  for  the  blefllngs  he  re- 
ceives, is  fretting  himfelf  continually  with 
adifai-reeable  comparifon  between  himfelf 
and  fome  other?  He  cannot  enjoy  what  he 
has,  becaufe  another  has  more  wealth,  a 
fairer  fame,  or  perhaps  more  merit,  than 
himfelf.  He  is  miferable,  becaufe  otherj 
are  happy. 

But  to  omit  the  wickednefs  of  envy,  how 
abfurd  and  foolifh  is  it,  in  a  world  where 
we  mull  neceffaiily  expert  much  real 
mifery,  to  be  pemicioufly  inventive  m 
producing  it ! 

Befides,  what  ignorance  !  We  fee  only 
the  glaring  outfide  of  things.  Under  all 
that  envied  glare,  many  unfeen  diitreffes 
may  lurk,  from  which  our  ftation  may  be 
free:  for  our  merciful  Creator  feems  to 
have  bellowed  happinefs,  as  far  as  ftation 
is  concerned,  with  great  equality  among 
all  his  creatures. 

In  conclufion,  therefore,  let  it  be  the 
great  object  of  our  attention,  and  the  fub- 
ieft  of  our  prayers,  to  rid  our  minds  of  all 
this  eurfed  intrufion  of  evil  thoughts— 
whether  they  proceed  from  malice,  or 
from  an  envious  temper.  Let  all  our  ma- 
licious thoughts  foften  into  charity  and  be- 
nevolence ;  and  let  us  «  forgive  one  an- 
other, as  God,  for  (Thrift's  fake,  has  for- 
given us."  As  for  our  envious  thoughts, 
as  far  as  they  relate  to  externals,  let  them 
fubfide  in  humility,  acquiefcence,  and  fub- 
miffion  to  the  will  of  God.  And  when  we 
are  tempted  to  envy  the  good  qualities  of 
others,  let  us  fpurn  fo  bale  a  conception, 
and  change  it  into  a  generous  emulation — 
into  an  endeavour  to  raife  ourfelves  to  an 
equality  with  our  rival,  not  to  deprefs  him 
to  a  level  with  us.  Gilpin. 

§    166.     Duties  to  our/elves. 

Thus  far  the  duties  we  have  confidered 
come  molt  properly  under  the  head  of 
thofe  which  we  owe  to  our  neighbour; 
what  follows,  relates  rather  to  ourfelves. 
On  this  head,  we  are  inftrufted  «  to  keep 
our  bodies  in  temperance,  fobernefs,  and 

chaftity." 

Thouo-h   our  fouls  fhould  be  our  great 

concern,   yet,  as  they  are  nearly  connected 

O  4  With 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


203 

with  our  bodies,  and  as  the  impurity  of  the 
one  contaminates  the  other,  a  great  degree 
of  moral  attention  is,  of  courfe,  due  to  our 
bodies  alfo. 

As  our  firft  Ration  is  in  this  world,  to 
which  our  bodies  particularly  belong,  they 
are  formed  with  fuch  appetites  as  are  re- 
quifite  to  our  commodious  living  in  it ;  and 
the  rule  given  us  is,  "  to  ufe  the  world  fo 
as  not  to  abufe  it."  St.  Paul,  by  a  beau- 
tiful allufion,  calls  our  bodies  the  "  tem- 
ples of  the  Holy  Ghoft :  "  by  which  he 
means  to  imprefs  us  with  a  ftrong  idea  of 
their  dignity;  and  to  deter  us  from  de- 
bating, by  low  pleafures,  what  mould  be 
the  feat  of  fo  much  purity.  To  youth 
thefe  cautions  are  above  meafure  necefTary, 
becaufe  their  paffions  and  appetites  are 
ftrong  ;  their  reafon  and  judgment  weak. 
They  are  prone  to  pleafure,  and  void  of 
reflection.  How,  therefore,  thefe  young 
adventurers  in  life  may  belt  fteer  their 
courfe,  and  ufe  this  finful  world  fo  as  not 
to  abufe  it,  is  a  consideration  well  worth 
their  attention.  Let  us  then  fee  under 
what  regulations  their  appetites  ihould  be 
retrained. 

By  keeping  our  bodies  in  temperance  is 
meant  avoiding  excefs  in  -eating,  with  re- 
gard both  to  the  quantity  and  quality  of 
our  food.  We  mould  neither  eat  more 
than  our  ftomachs  can  well  bear;  nor  be 
nice  and  delicate  in  our  eating. 

To  preferve  the  body  in  health  is  the 
end  of  eating ;  and  they  who  regulate 
themfelves  merely  by  this  end,  who  eat 
without  choice  or  distinction,  paying  no 
regard  to  the  pleafure  of  eating,  obferve 
perhaps  the  belt  rule  cf  temperance. 
They  go  rather  indeed  beyond  temperance, 
and  may  be  called  abftemious.  A  man 
may  be  temperate,  and  yet  allow  himfelf  a 
little  more  indulgence.  Great  care,  how- 
ever, is  here  necefTary ;  and  the  more,  as 
perhaps  no  precife  rule  can  be  affixed, 
after  we  have  paffed  the  firft  great  limit, 
and  let  the  palate  loofe  among  variety  *. 
Our  own  difcretion  mull  be  our  guide, 
which  fnould  be  conflantly  kept  awake  by 


confidering  the  many  bad  confequences 
which  attend  a  breach  of  temperance. — 
Young  men,  in  the  full  vigour  of  health, 
do  not  confider  thefe  things ;  but  as  age 
comes  on,  and  different  maladies  begin  to 
appear,  they  may  perhaps  repent  they  did 
not  a  little  earlier  practife  the  rules  of 
temperance. 

In  a  moral  and  religious  light,  the  con- 
fequences of  intemperance  are  ftill  worfe. 
To  enjoy  a  comfortable  meal,  when  it 
comes  before  us,  is  allowable  :  but  he  who 
fuffers  his  mind  to  dwell  upon  the  pleafures 
of  eating,  and  makes  them  the  employ- 
ment of  his  thoughts,  has  at  leaft  opened 
one  fource  of  mental  corruption  f . 

After  all,  he  who  would  moll  perfectly 
enjoy  the  pleafures  of  the  table,  fuch  as 
they  are,  mufl  look  for  them  within  the 
rules  of  temperance.  The  palate,  accuf- 
tomed  to  fatiety,  hath  loll  its  tone ;  and 
the  greateit  fenfualiits  have  been  brought 
to  confefs,  that  the  coarfefl  fare,  with  an 
appetite  kept  in  order  by  temperance,  af- 
fords a  more  delicious  repaft,  than  the  mofl 
luxurious  meal  without  it. 

As  temperance  relates  chiefly  to  eating, 
fobernefs  or  fobriety  relates  properly  to 
drinking.  And  here  the  fame  obfervations 
recur.  The  ltrictefl,  and  perhaps  the  belt 
rule,  is  merely  to  fatisfy  the  end  of  drink- 
ing. But  if  a  little  more  indulgence  be 
taken,  it  ought  to  be  taken  with  the  greateit 
circumfpeclion. 

With  regard  to  youth  indeed,  I  fhould 
be  inclined  to  great  flrictnefs  on  this  head. 
In  eating,  if  they  eat  of  proper  and  fimple 
food,  they  cannot  eaiily  err.  Their  grow- 
ing limbs,  and  ftrong  exercife,  require 
larger  fupplies  than  full-grown  bodies, 
which  mull  be  kept  in  order  by  a  more 
rigid  temperance.  But  if  more  indulgence 
be  allowed  them  in  eating,  lefs,  furely, 
fhould  in  drinking.  With  ftrong  liquors 
of  every  kind  they  have  nothing  to  do; 
and  if  they  fhould  totally  abftain  on  this 
head,  it  were  fo  much  the  better.  The 
languor  which  attends  age  {,  requires  per- 
haps, now  and  then,  fome  aids;  but  the 


*  ■        ■  Nam  varirc  res, 

Ut  noceant  homini,credas  memor  illius  efcsc, 

Qv.ce  fimplex  olim  tibi  federit.     At  fimul  afiis 

IVlifcueris  elixa,  fimul  conchy lia  turdis 

Dulcia  fe  in  bilem  vertent,  ftomachoque  tumultum 

Lenta  feret  pituita.— .  Hon. 

*}"  ■  Corpus  onufhim 

Hefternis  vitiis,  animum  quoque  pragravat  una, 

Atque  affigit  humodivinse  particulum  aurx.  Hon.  Sat. 

X  Ubive 

AQcedant  anni,  et  tractari  mollius  aetas 

Jmbeeilla  volet.  Ibid. 


mints 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


fpirits  of  youth  want  no  recruits  :  a  little 
reft  is  fufficient. 

As  to  the  bad  confequences  derived 
from  exceffive  drinking,  befides  filling  the 
blood  with  bloated  and  vicious  humours, 
and  debauching  the  purity  of  the  mind, 
as  in  the  cafe  of  intemperate  eating,  it  is 
attended  with  this  peculiar  evil,  the  lofs  of 
our  fenfes.  Hence  follow  frequent  incon- 
veniences and  mortifications.  We  expofe 
our  follies — we  betray  our  fecrets — we  are 
often  impofed  upon — we  quarrel  with  our 
friends — we  lay  ourfelves  open  to  our  ene- 
mies ;  and,  in  fhort,  make  ourfelves  the 
objects  of  contempt,  and  the  topics  of  ri- 
dicule to  all  our  acquaintance. — Nor  is  it 
only  the  act  of  intoxication  which  deprives 
us  of  our  reafon  during  the  prevalence  of 
it ;  the  habit  of  drunkennefs  foon  befots 
and  impairs  the  underftanding,  and  ren- 
ders us  at  all  times  lefs  fit  for  the  offices  of 
life. 

We  are  next  injoined  "  to  keep  our 
bodies  in  chaftity."  Flee  youthful  lufts," 
fays  the  apoflle,  "  which  war  againft  the 
foul."  And  there  is  furely  nothing  which 
carries  on  a  war  againft  the  foul  more  fuc- 
cefsfully.  Wherever  we  have  a  catalogue 
in  fcripture  (and  we  have  many  fuch  cata- 
logues) of  thofe  fins  which  in  a  peculiar 
manner  debauch  the  mind,  thefe  youthful 
lulls  have  always,  under  fome  denomina- 
tion, a  place  among  them.— — To  keep 
ourfelves  free  from  all  contagion  of  this 
kind,  let  us  endeavour  to  preferve  a  purity 
in  our  thoughts— our  words — and  our 
actions. 

Firft,  let  us  preferve  a  purity  in  our 
thoughts.  Thefe  dark  recefles,  which  the 
eye  of  the  world  cannot  reach,  are  the  re- 
ceptacles of  thefe  youthful  lulls.  Here 
they  find  their  firft  encouragement.  The 
entrance  of  fuch  impure  ideas  perhaps  we 
cannot  always  prevent.  We  may  always 
however  prevent  cheriihing  them  ;  we  may 
always  prevent  their  making  an  impreflion 
upon  us  :  the  devil  may  be  call  out  as  foon 
as  difcovered. 

Let  us  always  keep  in  mind,  that  even 
into  thefe  dark  abodes  the  eye  of  Heaven 
can  penetrate:  that  every  thought  of  our 
-hearts  is  open  to  that  God,  before  whom 
we  mull  one  day  Hand;  and  that  however 
fecretly  we  may  indulge  thefe  impure 
ideas,  at  the  great  day  of  account  they 
will  certainly  appear  in  an  awful  detail 
againft  us. 

Let  us  remember  again,  that  if  our 
bodies  be  the  temples  of  the  Holy  Ghoft, 
Cur  minds  are  the  very  fan&uaries  of  thofe 


201 

temples :  and  if  there  be  any  weight  in 
the  apotlle's  argument  againft  polluting 
our  bodies,  it  urges  with  double  force 
againft  polluting  our  minds. 

But,  above  all  other  confiderations,  it 
behoves  us  moft  to  keeps  our  thoughts 
pure,  becaufe  they  are  the  fountains  from 
which  our  words  and  actions  flow.  "  Out  of 
the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  fpeak- 
eth."  Obfcene  words  and  actions  are  only 
bad  thoughts  matured,  and  fpring  as  na- 
turally from  them  as  the  plant  from  its 
feed.  It  is  the  fame  vicious  depravity 
carried  a  Hep  farther ;  and  only  mews  a 
more  confirmed  and  a  more  mifchievous 
degree  of  guilt.  While  we  keep  our  im- 
purities in  our  thoughts,  they  debauch  only 
ourfelves :  bad  enough,  it  is  true.  But 
when  we  proceed  to  words  and  actions,  we 
let  our  impurities  loofe  :  we  fpread  the 
contagion,  and  become  the  corrupters  of 
others. 

Let  it  be  our  firft  care,  therefore,  to 
keep  our  thoughts  pure.  If  we  do  this, 
our  words  and  actions  will  be  pure  of 
courfe.  And  that  we  may  be  the  better 
enabled  to  do  it,  let  us  ufe  fuch  helps  as 
reafon  and  religion  prefcribe.  Let  us 
avoid  all  company,  and  all  books,  that 
have  a  tendency  to  corrupt  our  minds; 
and  every  thing  that  can  inflame  our  paf- 
fions.  He  who  allows  himfelf  in  thefe 
things,  holds  a  parley  with  vice;  which 
will  infallibly  debauch  him  in  the  end,  if 
he  do  not  take  the  alarm  in  time,  and 
break  oft'  fuch  dalliance. 

One  thing  ought  to  be  our  particular 
care,  and  that  is,  never  to  be  unemployed. 
Ingenious  amufements  are  of  great  ufe  in 
filling  up  the  vacuities  of  our  time.  Idle 
we  fhould  never  be.  A  vacant  mind  is  an 
invitation  to  vice.  Gilpin. 

§    167.   On  co-veting  and  de/iring  other  men's 


We  are  forbidden,  next,  "  to  covet,  or 
defire  other  men's  goods." 

There  are  two  great  paths  of  vice,  into 
which  bad  men  commonly  ftrike ;  that  of 
unlawful  pleafure,  and  that  of  unlawful 
gain. — The  path  of  unlawful  pleafure  we 
have  juft  examined;  and  have  feen  the 
danger  of  obeying  the  headilrong  impuKe 
of  our  appetites. — We  have  confidered  alfo 
an  immoderate  love  of  gain,  and  have  feen 
diihonefty  and  fraud  in  a  variety  of  fhapes. 
But  we  have  yet  viewed  them  only  as  they 
relate  to  fociety.  We  have  viewed  only 
the  outward  action.  The  rule  before  us, 
"  We  mull  not  covet,    nor   defire   other 


203 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


men's  goods,"  comes  a  ftep  nearer  home, 
and  confiders  the  motive  which  governs 
the  action. 

Covetoufnefs,  or  the  love  of  money,  is 
called  in  fcripture  "  the  root  of  all  evil  ;" 
and  it  is  called  fo  for  two  reafons  ;  becaufe 
is  makes  us  wicked,  and  becaufe  it  makes 
us  miferable. 

Firft,  it  makes  us  wicked.  When  it 
cnce  gets  poiTeffion  of  the  heart,  it  will  let 
no  good  principle  flcurifh  near  it.  Moll, 
vices  have  their  fits  ;  and  when  the  vio- 
lence of  the  pafiion  is  fpent,  there  is  feme 
interval  of  calm.  The  vicious  appetite 
cannot  always  run  riot.  It  is  fatigued  at 
leaf!  by  its  own  impetuofity :  and  it  is 
poffible,  that  in  this  moment  of  tranquil- 
lity, a  whifper  from  virtue  may  be  heard. 
But  in  avarice,  there  is  rarely  intermii- 
fion.  It  hangs  like  a  dead  weight  upon 
the  foul,  always  pulling  it  to  earth.  We 
might  as  well  expect  to  fee  a  plant  grow 
upon  a  hint,  as  a  virtue  in  the  heart  of  a 
mifer. 

It  make:'  us  miferable  as  well  as  wicked. 
The  cares  and  the  fears  of  avarice  are 
.proverbial;  and  it  mull  needs  be, that  iu% 
who  depends  for  happinefs  on  what  is 
liable  to  a  thoufand  accidents,  mull  of 
courfe  feel  as  many  dilfreffes,  and  almofr. 
as  many  difappointments.  The  good  man 
depends  for  happinefs  on  fomething  more 
permanent ;  and  if  his  worldly  affairs  go 
ill,  his  great  dependence  is  Hill  left  *. 
But  as  wealth  is  the  god  which  the  cove- 
tous man  worfhips  (for  "  covetoufnefs," 
we  are  told,  "  is  idolatry,")  a  disappoint- 
ment here  is  a  disappointment  indeed.  Be 
he  ever  fo  prosperous,  his  wealth  cannot 
fecure  him  againft  the  evils  of  mortality  ; 
a_!?ainft  that  time,  when  he  muft  give  up 
all  he  values ;  when  his  bargains  of  ad- 
vantage will  be  over,  and  nothing  left  but 
tears  and  defpair. 

But  even  a  defiling  frame  of  mind, 
though  it  be  not  carried  to  fuch  a  length, 
is  always  productive  of  mifery.  It  can- 
rot  be  otherwife.  While  we  fuffer  our- 
felves  to  be  continually  in  queft  of  what 
we  have  not,  it  is  impoffible  that  we  mould 
be  happy  with  what  we  have.  In  a  word, 
to  abridge  our  wants  as  much  as  poffible, 
not  to  increafe  them,  is  the  truelt  happi- 
nefs. 

Wc  arc  much  mifraken,  however,  if  we 
think  the  man  who  hoards  up  his  money 


is  the  only  covetous  man.  The  prodigal, 
though  he  differ  in  his  end,  may  be  as 
avaricious  in  his  means  f .  The  former 
denies  himfelf  every  comfort ;  the  latter 
grafps  at  every  pleafure.  Both  charac- 
ters are  equally  bad  in  different  extremes. 
The  mifer  is  more  deteflable  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  becaufe  he  enters  into  none 
of  its  joys ;  but  it  is  a  queflion,  which  is 
more  wretched  in  himfelf,  or  more  perni- 
cious to  focietv. 

As  covetoufnefs  is  efleemed  the  vice  of 
age,  every  appearance  of  it  among  young 
perfons  ought  particularly  to  be  difcou- 
raged;  becaufe  if  it  gets  ground  at  this, 
early  period,  nobedy  can  tell  how  far  it 
may  net  afterwards  proceed.  And  yet, 
on  the  other  fide,  there  may  be  great 
danger  of  encouraging  the  oppofite  ex- 
treme. As  it  is  certainly  right,  under  pro- 
per rcllri&ions,  both  to  fave  our  money, 
and  to  fpend  it,  it  would  be  highly  ufeful 
to  fix  the  due  bounds  on  each  fide.  But 
nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  raife  thefe 
nice  limits  between  extremes.  Every 
man's  cafe,  in  a  thoufand  circumftances, 
differs  from  his  neighbour's  :  and  as  no 
rule  can  be  fixed  for  all,  every  man  of 
courfe,  in  thefe  difquifitions,  mull  be  left 
to  his  own  confeience.  We  are  indeed 
very  ready  to  give  our  opinions  how 
others  ought  to  aft.  We  can  adjuft  with 
great  nicety  what  is  proper  for  them  to 
do;  and  point  out  their  miftakes  with 
much  precifion;  while  nothing  is  neceffary 
to  us,  but  to  adl  as  properly  as  we  can 
ourfelvcs  ;  obferving  as  juit  a  mean  as 
poffible  between  prodigality  and  avarice  j 
and  applying,  in  all  our  difficulties,  to  the 
word  of  God,  where  thefe  great  land- 
marks of  morality  are  the  mofl  accurately 
fixed. 

We  have  now  taken  a  view  of  what  is 
prohibited  in  our  commerce  with  man- 
kind :  let  us  next  fee  what  is  injoined. 
(We  are  ftill  proceeding  with  thofe  duties 
which  we  owe  to  ourfelves).  Inftead  of 
fpending  our  fortune  therefore  in  unlaw- 
ful pleafure,  or  increafing  it  by  unlawful 
gain;  we  are  required  "  to  learn,  and  la- 
bour truly  (that  is  honeftly)  to  get  out- 
own  living,  and  to  do  our  duty  in  that 
flate  of  life,  unto  which  it  fhall  pleafe  God 
to  call  us." — Thefe  words  will  be  fuffi- 
ciently  explained  by  confidering,  firlt,  that 
we  all   have  fome    llation   in    life — fome 


*  Sseviat,  ntque  novos  moveat  fortuna  tumultus; 

Quantum  hinc  imminuet  ?  -  ■   ■■  ■-  Hon.  Sat. 

j    A!;.eni  appctens,  fui  profu  »  .  %/. l.  dc  Catal. 


particular 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


203 


particular  duties  to  difcharge  ;  and  fecond- 
ly,  in  what  manner  we  ought  to  difcharge 
them. 

Firft,  that  man  was  not  born  to  be  idle, 
may  be  inferred  from  the  active  fpirit  that 
appears  in  every  part  of  nature.  Every 
thing  is  alive ;  every  thing  contributes  to 
the  general  good ;  even  the  very  inani- 
mate parts  of  the  creation,  plants,  ftones, 
metals,  cannot  be  called  totally  inactive, 
but  bear  their  part  likewife  in  the  general 
ufefulnefs.  If  then  every  part,  even  of 
inanimate  nature,  be  thus  employed,  furely 
we  cannot  fuppofe  it  was  the  intention  of 
the  Almighty  Father,  that  man,  who  is  the 
moll  capable  of  employing  himfelf  pro- 
perly, fhould  be  the  only  creature  with- 
out employment. 

Again,  that  man  was  born  for  active 
life,  is  plain  from  the  neceffity  of  labour. 
If  it  had  not  been  neceffary,  God  would 
not  originally  have  impofed  it.  But  with- 
out it,  the  body  would  become  enervated, 
and  the  mind  corrupted.  Idlenefs,  there- 
fore, is  juiHy  elteemed  the  origin  both  of 
dileaie  and  vice.  So  that  if  labour  and 
employment,  either  of  body  or  mind,  had 
no  ufe,  but  what  refpedxed  ourfelves,  they 
would  be  highly  proper:  but  they  have 
farther  ufe. 

The  neceffity  of  them  is  plain,  from  the 
want  that  all  men  have  of  the  affiftance  of 
others.  If  fo,  this  affiftance  fhould  be 
mutual ;  every  man  fhould  contribute  his 
part.  We  have  already  feen,  that  it  is 
proper  there  fhould  be  different  llations  in 
the  world — that  fome  fhould  be  placed 
high  in  life,  and  others  low.  The  loweil, 
we  know,  cannot  be  exempt  from  labour  ; 
and  the  highelt  ought  not :  though  their 
labour,  according  to  their  ftation,  wiil  be 
of  a  different  kind.  Some,  we  fee,  "  mule 
labour  (as  the  catechifm  phrafes  it)  to  get 
their  own  living;  and  others  fhould  do 
their  duty  in  that  ftate  of  life,  whatever 
that  ftate  is,  unto  which  it  hath  pleafed 
God  to  call  them."  All  are  affiled  :  all 
fhould  affift.  God  diftributes,  we  read, 
various  talents  among  men ;  to  fome  he 
gives  five  talents,  to  others  two,  and  to 
others  one :  but  it  is  expected,  we  find, 
that  notwithstanding  this  inequality,  each 
fhould  employ  the  talent  that  is  given  to 
the  belt  advantage  :  and  he  who  received 
five  talents  was  under  the  fame  obligation 
of  improving  them,  as  he  who  had  re- 
ceived only  one  ;  and  would,  if  he  had 
hid  his  talents  in  the  earth,  have  been 
punimed,    in    proportion    to   the    abufe. 


Every  man,  even  in  the  higher!  ftation, 
may  find  a  proper  employment,  both  for 
his  time  and  fortune,  if  he  pleafe  :  and  he 
may  affure  himfelf  that  God,  by  placing 
him  in  that  ftation,  never  meant  to  ex- 
empt him  from  the  common  obligations  of 
fociety,  and  give  him  a  licence  to  fpend 
his  life  in  eafe  and  pleafure.  God  meant 
affuredly,  that  he  fhould  bear  his  part  in 
the  general  commerce  of  life — that  he 
fhould  confider  himfelf  not  as  an  indivi- 
dual, but  as  a  member  of  the  community; 
the  interefts  of  which  he  is  under  an  obli- 
gation to  fupport  with  all  his  power ;-— 
and  that  his  elevated  ftation  gives  him  no 
other  pre-eminence  than  that  of  being  the 
more  extenfively  ufeful. 

Having  tirus  feen,  that  we  have  all 
fome  ftation  in  life  to  fupport — iome  par- 
ticular duties  to  difcharge ;  let  us  now 
fee  in  wnat  manner  we  ought  to  difcharge 
them. 

We  have  an  eafy  rule  given  us  in  fcrip- 
ture  on  this  head;  that  all  our  duties  in 
life  fhould  be  performed  "  as  to  the  Lord, 
and  not  unto  man :"  that  is,  we  fhould 
confider  our  ftations  in  life  as  trulls  re- 
pofed  in  us  by  our  Maker;  and  as  fuch 
fhould  difcharge  the  duties  of  them.  What, 
though  r.o  woildly  truft  be  repofed?  What, 
though  we  are  accountable  to  nobody  up- 
on earth  ?  Can  we  therefore  fuppofe  our- 
felves in  reality  lefs  accountable?  Can  we 
fuppofe  that  God,  for  no  reafon  that  we 
can  divine,  has  fingled  us  out,  and  given 
us  a  large  proportion  of  the  things  of  this 
world  (while  others  around  as  are  in  need) 
for  no  other  purpofe  than  to  iquander  k 
away  upon  ourfelves  ?  To  God  undoubt- 
edly we  are  accountable  for  every  blefling 
we  enjoy.  What  mean,  in  fcripture,  the 
talents  given,  and  the  ufe  aligned;  but 
the  confeientious  difcharge  of  tfie  duties 
of  life,  according  to  the  advantages,  with 
which  they  are  attended  ? 

It  matters  not  whether  thefe  advantages 
be  an  inheritance.,  or  an  acquifition  :  ftill 
they  are  the  gift  of  God.  Agreeably  to 
their  rank  in  life,  it  is  true,  all  men  fhould 
live:  human  distinctions  require  it;  and 
in  doing  this  properly,  every  one  around 
will  be  benefited.  Utility  fhould  be  con- 
fidered  in  all  ourexpences.  Even  the  very 
amufements  of  a  man  of  fortune  fhould  be 
founded  in  it. 

In  fhort,  it  is  the  conftant  injunction  of 
fcripture,  in  whatever  ftation  we  are  placed, 
to  consider  ourfelves  as  God's  fervants, 
and  as  ailing  immediately  under  his  eye, 

not 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


204, 

not  expecting  our  reward  among  men 
but  from  our  great  Mailer  who  is  in  hea- 
ven. This  fanctines,  in  a  manner,  all  our 
actions  :  it  places  the  little  difficulties  of 
our  ftation  in  the  light  cf  God's  appoint- 
ments ;  and  turns  the  moll:  common  duties 
of  life  into  acts  of  religion.  Gilpin. 

5    168.    On  the  facrameAt  of  baptifm. 

The  facrament  of  baptifm  is  next  con- 
fidered ;  in  which,  if  we  confider  the  in- 
ward grace,  we  fhall  fee  how  aptly  the 
fign  reprefents  it. — The  inward  grace,  or 
thing  fignified,  we  are  told,  is  «  a  death 
unto  fin,  and  a  new  birth  unto  righteouf- 
nefs :"  by  which  is  meant  that  great  re- 
novation of  nature,  that  purity  of  heart, 
which  the  chriftian  religion  is  intended  to 
produce.  And  furely  there  cannot  be  a 
more  fignificant  fign  of  this  than  water,  on 
account  of  its  cleanfmg  nature.  As  water 
refrefhes  the  body,  and  purifies  it  from  all 
contracted  filth  ;  it  aptly  reprefents  that 
renovation  of  nature,  which  cleanfes  the 
foul  from  the  impurities  of  fin.  Water 
indeed,  among  the  ancients,  was  more 
adapted  to  the  thing  fignified,  than  it  is  at 
prefent  among  us.  They  ufed  immerfion 
in  baptifing:  fo  that  the  child  being  dip- 
ped into  the  water,  and  railed  out  again, 
baptifm  with  them  was  more  fignificant  of 
a  new  birth  unto  righteoufnefs.  But  though 
we,  in  thefe  colder  climates,  think  immer- 
fion an  unfafe  practice ;  yet  the  original 
meaning  is  ltill  fuppofed. 

It  is  next  afked,  What  is  required  of 
thofe  who  are  baptifed  ?  To  this  we  an- 
fvver,  "  Repentance,  whereby  they  forlake 
fin;  and  faith,  whereby  they  ftedfaftly  be- 
lieve the  promifes  of  God,  made  to  them 
in  that  facrament." 

The  primitive  church  was  extremely 
ftridt  on  this  head.  In  thofe  times,  before 
chriftianity  was  eftablifhed,  when  adults 
offered  themfelves  to  baptifm,  no  one  was 
admitted,  till  he  had  given  a  very  fatif- 
factory  evidence  of  hii  repentance  ;  and 
till,  on  good  grounds,  he  could  profefs  his 
faith  in  Chrift :  and  it  was  afterwards  ex- 
pected from  him,  that  he  mould  prove  his 
faith  and  repentance,  by  a  regular  obe- 
dience during  the  future  part  of  his  life. 

If  faith  and  repentance  are  expected  at 
baptifm ;    it  is   a   very  natural   queftior, 


Why  then  are  infants  baptifed,  when,  by 
reafon  of  their  tender  age,  they  can  give 
no  evidence  of  either  ? 

Whether  infants  fhould  be  admitted  to 
baptifm,  or  whether  that  facrament  fhould 
be  deferred  till  years  of  difcretion  ;  is  a 
queftion  in  the  chriftian  church,  which 
hatii  been  agitated  with  fome  animolity. 
Our  church  by  no  means  looks  upon  bap- 
tifm as  neceffary  to  the  infant's  falvation  #. 
No  man  acquainted  with  the  fpirit  of  chrif- 
tianitv  can  conceive,  that  God  will  leave 
the  falvation  of  fo  many  innocent  fouls  in 
the  hands  of  others.  But  the  practice  is 
confidered  as  founded  upon  the  ufage  of 
the  earlieft  times  :  and  the  church  obferv- 
ing,  that  circumcihon  was  the  introductory 
rite  to  the  Jewiih  covenant;  and  that  bap- 
tifm was  intended  to  fucceed  circumcifion  ; 
it  naturally  fuppofes,  that  baptifm  fhould 
be  adminiirered  to  infants,  as  circumcifion 
was.  The  church,  however,  in  this  cafe, 
hath  provided  fponfors,  who  make  a  pro- 
feffion  of  obedience  in  the  child's  name. 
But  the  nature  and  office  of  this  proxy  hath 
been  already  examined,  under  the  head  of 
our  baptifm al  vow.  Gilpin. 

§    169.       On    the  facrament   of  the  Lord's 
fupper. 

The  firft  queftion  is  an  enquiry  into 
the  original  of  the  inftitution  :  "  Why  was 
the  facrament  of  the  Lord's  fupper  or- 
dained ?" 

It  was  ordained,  we  are  informed,— 
"  for  the  continual  remembrance  of  the 
facrifice  of  the  death  of  Chrilt;  and  of  the 
benefits  which  we  receive  thereby." 

In  examining  a  facrament  in  general,  we 
have  already  feen,  that  both  baptifm,  and 
the  Lord's  fupper,  were  original!}  infti- 
tuted  as  the  "  means  of  receiving  the 
grace  of  God;  and  as  pledges  to  allure 
us  thereof." 

But  bcfides  thefe  primary  ends,  they  have 
each  a  fecondary  one ;  in  reprefenting*  the 
two  molt  important  truths  of  religion ; 
which  gives  them  more  force  and  influence. 
Baptifm,  we  have  feen,  reprefents  that 
renovation  of  our  finful  nature,  which 
the  gofpel  was  intended  to  introduce : 
and  the  peculiar  end,  which  the  Lord's 
fupper  had  in  view,  was  the  facrifice 
of  the  death  of  Chrilt ;  with  all  the  be- 


*  The  catechifm  afferts  the  facraments  to  be  only  generally  neceffary  to  f.ilvation,  excepting 
particular  cafes.  Where  the  ufe  of  them  is  intentionally  rejected,  it  is  certainly  criminal. — The 
Quakers  indeed  reject  them  on  principle :  but  though  we  may  wonder  both  at  their  lu^ic  and  divinity, 

n»  (Vmnl.l  Vi<.  fnrrv  f  a  inrl  1  ule  rh<=m  in  an  annfhpmn. 


we  fhould  be  lorry  to  include  them  in  an  anathema. 


nef.ts 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


205 


n-efits  which  arife  from  it— the  remifflon 
of  our  fins — and  the  reconciliation  of  the 
world  to  God.  "  This  do,"  faid  our  Sa- 
viour (alluding  to  the  paflbver,  which  the 
Lord's  (upper  was  defigned  to  fuperfede) 
not  as  hitherto,  in  memory  of  your  deli- 
verance from  Egypt;  but  in  memory  of  that 
greater  deliverance,  of  which  the  other  was 
only  a  type :  "Do  it  in  remembrance  of 
me." 

The  outward  part,  or  fign  of  the  Lord's 
fupper,  is  "  bread  and  wine''- — the  things 
fignified  are  the  "  body  and  blood  of 
Chrift." — In  examining  the  facrament  of 
baptifm,  I  endeavoured  to  fhew,  how  very 
apt  a  fymbol  water  is  in  that  ceremony. 
Bread  and  wine  alfo  are  fymbols  equally 
apt  in  reprefenting  the  body  and  blood  of 
Chrift :  and  in  the  ufe  of  thcfe  particular 
fymbols,  it  is  reafonable  to  fuppofe,  that 
our  Saviour  Irad  an  eye  to  the  Jewifn 
paflbver ;  in  which  it  was  a  cuftom  to 
drink  wine,  and  to  eat  bread.  He  might 
have  inftituted  any  other  apt  fymbols  for 
the  fame  purpofe ;  but  it  was  his  ufual 
praftice,  through  the  whole  fyrtem  of  his 
inftitution,  to  make  it,  in  every  part,  as 
familiar  as  poflible :  and  for  this  reafon  he 
feems  to  have  chofen  fuch  fymbols  as  were 
then  in  ufe;  that  he  might  give  as  little 
offence  as  poffible  in  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference. 

As  our  Saviour,  in  the  inlHtution  of  his 
nipper,  ordered  both  the  bread  and  the 
wine  to  be  received ;  it  is  certainly  a  great 
error  in  papifts,  to  deny  the  cup  to  the 
laity.  They  fay,  indeed,  that,  as  both 
flefh  and  blood  are  united  in  the  fubftance 
of  the  human  body ;  fo  are  they  in  the 
facramentul  bread ;  which,  according  to 
them,  is  changed,  or,  as  they  phrale  it, 
tranfubftantiated  into  the  real  body  of 
Chrift.  If  they  have  no  other  reafon,  why 
do  they  adminifter  wine  to  the  clergy? 
The  clergy  might  participate  equally  of 
both  in  the  bread. — But  the  plain  truth  is, 
they  are  defirous,  by  this  invention,  to  add 
an  air  of  my  fiery  to  the  facrament,  and 
a  fuperftitious  reverence  to  the  pried,  as 
if  he,  being  endowed  with  fome  peculiar 
holinefs,  might  be  allowed  the  ufe  of 
both. 

There  is  a  difficulty  in  this  part  of  the 
catechifrn,  which  fhould  not  be  pa  fled  over. 
We  are  told,  that  "  the  body  and  blood  of 
Chrift  are  verily  and  indeed  taken,  and 
received  by  the  faithful  in  the  Lord's  fup- 
per." This  expreflion  founds  very  like  the 
popiOi  doftrine,  jufl  mentioned*  of  tran- 


fubftantlation.  The  true  fenfe  of  the  words 
undoubtedly  is,  that  the  faithful  believer 
only,  verily  and  indeed  receives  the  benefit 
of  the  facrament ;  but  the  expreflion  muft 
be  allowed  to  be  inaccurate,  as  it  is  capable 
of  an  interpretation  fo  entirely  oppoiite  to 
that  which  the  church  of  England  hath  al- 
ways profefled.— I  would  not  willingly  fup- 
pofe, as  fome  have  done,  that  the  compilers 
of  the  catechifm  meant  to  manage  the  af- 
fair of  tranfubftantiation  with  the  papifts. 
It  is  one  thing  to  fhew  a  liberality  of  fen- 
timent  in  matters  of  indifference;  and  an- 
other to  fpeak  timidly  and  ambiguouflv, 
where  effentials  are  concerned. 

It  is  next  afked,  What  benefits  we  re- 
ceive from  the  Lord's  fupper  ?  To  which 
it  is  anfwered,  "  The  ftrengthening  and 
refreshing  of  our  fouls  by  the  body  and 
blood  of  Chrift,  as  our  bodies  are  by  the 
bread  and  wine."  As  our  bodies'  are 
ftrengthened  and  refrefhed,  in  a  natural 
way,  by  bread  and  wine  ;  fo  fhould  our 
fouls  be,  in  a  fpiritual  way,  by  a  devout 
commemoration  of  the  paflion  of  Chrift. 
By  gratefully  remembering  what  he  fuffer- 
ed  for  us,  we  fhould  be  excited  to  a  greater 
abhorrence  of  fin,  which  was  the  caufe  of 
his  fufferings.  Every  time  we  partake  of 
this  facrament,  like  faithful  foldiers,  we 
take  a  frefh  oath  to  our  leader;  and  fhould 
be  animated  anew,  by  his  example,  to  per- 
fevere  in  the  fpiritual  conflift  in  which,  un- 
der him,  we  are  engaged. 

It  is  laftly  afked,  "  What  is  required  of 
them  who  come  to  the  Lord's  fupper?'' 
To  which  we  anfwer,  "  That  we  fhould  ex- 
amine ourfelves,  whether  we  repent  us  truly 
of  our  former  fins — ftedfaftly  purpofinw  to 
lead  a  new  life — have  a  lively  faith  in  God's 
mercy  through  Chrift — with  a  thankful 
remembrance  of  his  death;  and  to  be  in 
charity  with  all  men." 

That  pious  frame  of  mind  is  here,  in 
very  few  words,  pointed  out,  which  a 
chrii'Han  ought  to  cheriih  and  cultivate  in 
himfelf  at  all  times ;  but  efpecially,  upon 
the  performance  of  any  folemn  aft  of  reli- 
gion. Very  little  indeed  is  faid  in  fcrip- 
ture,  of  any  particular  frame  of  mind,, 
which  fhould  accompany  the  performance 
of  this  duty  ;  but  it  may  eafily  be  inferred 
from  the  nature  of  the  duty  itfelf. 

In  the  flrft  place,  "  we  fhould  repent  us 
truly  of  our  former  fins;  ftedfaftiy  purpoi- 
ing  to  lead  a  new  life."  He  who  per- 
forms a  religious  exercife,  without  being 
earneft  in  this  point;  adds  only  a  phiri- 
ulcai  hypoenfy  to  his  other  Has,     Unleft 

he 


206 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


he  ferioufly  refolve  to  lead  a  good  life,  he 
had  better  be  all  of  a  piece ;  and  not  pre- 
tend, by  receiving  the  facrament,  to  a 
piety  which,  he  does  not  feel. 

Theft  "  fled  fall:  purpofes  of  leading  a 
new  life,"  form  a  very  becoming  exercife 
to  chriftians.  The  lives  even  of  the  bell 
of  men  afford  only  a  mortifying  retrofpecL 
Though  they  may  have  conquered  fome 
of  their  worll  propenfities ;  yet  the  tri- 
umphs of  fin  over  them,  at  the  various  pe- 
riods of  their  lives,  will  always  be  remem- 
bered with  forrow ;  and  may  always  be 
remembered  with  advantage ;  keeping 
them  on  their  guard  for  the  future,  and 
flrengthening  them  more  and  more  in  all 
their  good  refolutions  of  obedience. — And 
when  can  thefe  meditations  arife  more 
properly,  than  when  we  are  performing  a 
rite,  infcituted  on  purpofe  to  commemorate 
the  great  atonement  for  fin  ? 

To  our  repentance,  and  refolutions  of 
obedience,  we  are  required  to  add  "  a 
lively  faith  in  God's  mercy  through  Chrifl; 
with  a  thankful  remembrance  of  his  death." 
We  ihouli  imprefs  ourfelves  with  the 
deepell  fenfe  of  humility — totally  reject- 
ing every  idea  of  our  own  merit — hoping 
for  God's  favour  only  through  the  merits 
of  our  great  Redeemer — and  with  hearts 
full  of  gratitude,  trulling  only  to  his  all- 
fufficient  facrifice. 

Laflly,  we  are  required,  at  the  celebra- 
tion of  this  great  rite,  to  be  "  in  charity 
with  all  men."  It  commemorates  the 
greatell  inftance  of  love  that  can  be  con- 
ceived;  and  fhould  therefore  raife  in  us 
correfpondent  affections.  It  mould  excite 
in  us  that  conilant  flow  of  benevolence,  in 
which  the  fpirit  of  religion  confills ;  and 
without  which  indeed  we  can  have  no  reli- 
gion at  all.  Love  is  the  very  diftinguifh- 
ing  badge  of  chriilianity  :  "  By  this,"  faid 
our  great  Mailer,  "  mall  all  men  know 
that  ye  are  my  difciples." 

One  fpecies  of  charity  fhould,  at  this 
time,  never  be  forgotten  ;  and  that  is,  the 
forgivenefs  of  others.  No  acceptable  gift 
can  be  offered  at  this  altar,  but  in  the  fpirit 
of  reconciliation. — Hence  it  was,  that-the 
ancient  chriftians  inftituted,  at  the  cele- 
bration of  the  Lord's  fupper,  what  they 
called  love-feafts.  They  thought,  they 
could  not  give  a  better  inftance  of  their 
being  in  pcrfeft  charity  with  each  other, 
than  by  joining  all  ranks  together  in  one 
common  meal— By  degrees,  indeed,  this 


well-meant  cuftom  degenerated;  and  it 
may  not  be  amifs  to  obferve  here,  that  the 
paflages  *  in  which  thefe  enormities  are 
rebuked,  have  been  varioufly  mifconftrued ; 
and  have  frightened  many  well  meaning 
perfons  from  the  facrament.  Whereas 
what  the  apoille  here  fays,  hath  no  other 
relation  to  this  rite,  than  as  it  was  attended 
by  a  particular  abufe  in  receiving  it ;  and 
as  this  is  a  mode  of  abufe  which  doth  not 
now  exill,  the  apoftle's  reproof  feems  not 
to  affeel  the  chriftians  of  this  age. 

What  the  primary,  and  what  the  fecon- 
dary  ends  in  the  two  facraments  were,  I 
have  endeavoured  to  explain.  But  there 
might  be  others. 

God  might  intend  them  as  trials  of  our 
faith.  The  divine  truths  of  the  gofpel 
fpeak  for  themfelves :  but  the  performance 
of  a  pofitive  duty  refls  only  on  faith. 

Thefe  inllitutions  are  alfo  ftrong  argu- 
ments for  the  truth  of  chriilianity.  We 
trace  the  obfervance  of  them  into  the  very 
earlieft  times  of  the  gofpeL  We  can  trace 
no  other  origin  than  what  the  fcriptures 
give  us.  Thele  rites  therefore  greatly  tend 
to  corroborate  the  fcriptures. 

God  alfo,  who  knows  what  is  in  man, 
might  condefcend  fo  far  to  his  weaknefs, 
as  to  give  him  thefe  external  badges  of  re- 
ligion, to  keep  the  fpirit  of  it  more  alive. 
And  it  is  indeed  probable,  that  nothing  has 
contributed  more  than  thefe  ceremonies  to 
preferve  a  ferffe  of  religion  among  man- 
kind. It  is  a  melancholy  proof  of  this, 
that  no  contentions  in  the  chriilian  church 
have  been  more  violent,  nor  carried  on 
with  more  acrimony,  and  unchriftian  zeal, 
than  the  contentions  about  baptifm  and  the 
Lord's  fupper ;  as  if  the  very  effence  of 
religion  confifted  in  this  or  that  mode  of 
obferving  thele  rites. — But  this  is  the  abufe 
of  them. 

Let  us  be  better  taught:  let  us  receive 
thefe  facraments,  for  the  gracious  purpofes 
for  which  our  Lord  injoined  them,  with 
gratitude,  and  with  reverence.  But  let  us 
not  lay  a  greater  ftrefs  upon  them  than  our 
Lord  intended.  Heaven,  we  doubt  not, 
may  be  gained,  when  there  have  been  the 
means  of  receiving  neither  the  one  facra- 
ment nor  the  other.  But  unlefs  our  affec- 
tions are  right,  and  our  lives  anfwerable  to 
them,  we  can  never  pleafe  God,  though 
we  perform  the  externals  of  religion  with 
ever  fo  much  exaclnefs.  We  may  err  in 
our   notions    about   the    facraments :    the 


*  See  i  Ccr.  xi. 


wor 


•Id 


BOOK     h      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


world  has  long  been  divided  on  thefe  fub- 
jefts ;  and  a  gracious  God,  it  may  be 
hoped,  will  pardon  our  errors.  But  in 
matters  of  practice  we  have  no  apology 
for  error.  The  great  lines  of  cur  duty  ate 
drawn  fo  ftrong,  that  a  deviation  here  is 
not  error,  but  guilt. 

Let  us  then,  to  conclude  from  the  whole, 
make  it  our  principal  care  to  purify  our 
hearts  in  the  light  of  God.  Let  us  beieech 
him  to  increafe  the  influence  of  his  Holy 
Spirit  within  us,  that  our  faith  may  be  of 
that  kind  *£  which  worketh  by  love;"  that 
all  our  affections,  and  from  them  our  ac- 
tions, may  flow  in  a  fteady  courfe  of  obe- 
dience ;  that  each  day  may  correal  the  laft 
by  a  fincere  repentance  of  our  miftakes  in 
life;  and  that  we  may  continue  gradually 
to  approach  nearer  the  idea  of  chriftian 
perfection.  Let  us  do  this,  difclaiming, 
after  all,  any  merits  of  our  own  ;  and  not 
milling  in  outward  obfervances;  but  truft- 
ing  in  the  merits  of  Chrift  to  make  up 
our  deficiencies;  and  we  need  not  fear  our 
acceptance  with  God.  Gilpin. 

§    170.     A  ferious    expojlulation  nvitb  un- 
believers. 

It  were  to  be  wifhed,  that  the  enemies 
of  religion  would  at  leaft  bring  themfelves 
to  apprehend  its  nature,  before  they  op- 
pofed  its  authority.  Did  religion  make 
its  boaft  of  beholding  God  with  a  clear  and 
perfect  view,  and  of  poffeffing  him  without 
covering  or  veil,  the  argument  would  bear 
fome  colour,  when  men  fhould  alledge,  that 
none  of  thefe  things  about  them,  do  indeed 
afford  this  pretended  evidence,  and  this 
degree  of  light.  But  fince  religion,  on  the 
contrary,  reprefents  men  as  in  a  Hate  ol 
darknefs,  and  of  eftrangement  from  God; 
fince  it  affirms  him  to  have  withdrawn  him- 
felf  from  their  difcovery,  and  to  have  cho- 
fen,  in  his  word,  the  very  ftyle  and  appel- 
lation of  Deus  abfeonditus;  laftly,  fince  it 
employs  itfelf  alike  in  eftablifhing  thefe  two 
maxims,  that  God  has  left,  in  his  church, 
certain  characters  of  himfelf,  by  which  they 
who  fincerely  feek  him,  fhall  not  fail  of  a 
fenfible  convidion;  and  yet  that  he  has,  at 
the  fame  time,  fo  far  fhaded  and  obfeured 
thefe  characters,  as  to  render  them  imper- 
ceptible to  thofe  who  do  not  feek  him  with 
their  whole  heart,  what  advantage  is  it  to 
snen,  who  prcfefs  themfelves  negligent  in 
the  fearch  of  truth  to  complain  fo  frequent- 
ly, that  nothing  reveals  aiid  display  it  to 
them  ?  For  this  very  obfeurity,  under 
which  they  labour,  and  which  they  make 


207 

an  exception  againfl  the  church,  does  itfelf 
evince  one  of  the  two  grand  points  which 
the  church  maintains  (without  aifectino- 
the  other)  and  is  fo  far  from  overthrowing 
its  doctrines,  as  to  lend  them  a  manifeil 
confirmation  and  fupport. 

If  they  would  give  their  objections  any 
ftrength,  they  ought  to  urge,  that  they  have 
applied  th^ir  utmoft  endeavour,  and  have 
ufed  all  means  of  information,  even  thofe 
which  the  church  recommends,  without 
fatisfaction.  Did  they  exprefs  themfelves 
thus,  they  would  indeed  attack  religion  in 
one  of  its  chief  preteniions ;  but  I  hope  to 
fhew,  in  the  following  papers,  that  no  ra- 
tional perfon  can  fpeak  after  this  manner; 
and  I  dare  aflert,  that  none  ever  did.  We 
know  very  well,  how  men  under  this  in- 
differency  of  fpirit,  behave  themfelves  m 
the  cafe :  they  fuppofe  themfelves  to  have 
made  the  mightier!  effort  towards  the  in- 
ftrudtion  of  their  minds,  when  they  have 
{pent  fome  hours  in  reading  the  fcriptures, 
and  have  afked  fome  queftions  of  a  clergy- 
man concerning  the  articles  of  faith.  When 
this  is  done,  they  declare  to  all  the  world, 
that  they  have -confulted  books  and  mew. 
without  fuccefs.  I  fnall  be  excufed,  if  I 
refrain  not  from  telling  fuch  men,  that  this 
neglect  of  theirs  is  infupportable.  It  is 
not  a  foreign  or  a  petty  intereft,  which  is 
here  in  debate  :  we  are  ourfelves  the  par- 
ties, and  all  our  hopes  and  fortunes  are  tlie 
depending  flake. 

The  immortality  of  the  foul  is  a  thing 
which  fo  deeply  concerns,fb  infinitely  imports 
us,  that  we  mull  have  utterly  left  our  feelings 
to  be  altogether  cold  and  remifs  in  oar 
enquiries  about  it.  And  all  our  actions  or 
defigns,  ought  to  bend  fo  very  diiFerent  a 
way,  according  as  we  are  either  encouraged 
or  forbidden,  to  embrace  the  hope  of  eter- 
nal rewards,  that  it  is  impoifible  for  us  to 
proceed  with  judgment  and  difcretion,  other- 
wife  than  as  we  keep  this  point  always  in 
view,  which  ought  to  be  cur  riding  object,, 
and  final  aim. 

Thus  is  it  our  higheft  intereft,  no  lefs 
than  cur  principal  duty,  to  get  light  into  a 
fubject  en  which  our  whole  conduit  depends*, 
And  therefore,  in  the  number  of  wavering 
and  unfatisfied  men,  I  make  the  greatefi: 
difference  imaginable  between  thofe  who 
labour  with  all  their  force  to  obtain  inftruc- 
tion,  and  thofe  who  live  without  giving 
themfelves  any  trouble,  or  fo  much  as  any 
thought  in  this  affair. 

I  cannot  but  be  touched  with  a  hearty 
companion  for  thofe  who  fmcexeJy  groan 


20S 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Under  this  diffatisfaction ;  who  look  upon 
it  as  the  greateft  of  misfortunes,  and  who 
fpare  no  pains  to  deliver  themfelves  from 
it,  by  making  thefe  refearches  their  chief 
employment,  and  moft  ferious  ftudy.  But 
as  for  thofe,  who  pafs  their  life  without  re- 
flecting on  its  iflue,  and  who,  for  this  rea- 
fon  alone,  becaufe  they  find  not  in  them- 
felves a  convincing  teftimony,  refufe  to 
feek  it  elfewhere,  and  to  examine  to  the 
bottom,  whether  the  opinion  propofed  be 
fuchaswe  are  wont  to  entertain  by  popular 
fimplicity  and  credulity,  or  as  fuch,  though 
obfcure  in  itfelf,  yet  is  built  on  folid  and 
immoveable  foundations,  I  confidcr  them 
after  quite  another  manner.  The  carelefT- 
nefs  which  they  betray  in  an  affair,  where 
their  perfon,  their  intereft,  their  whole 
eternity  is  embarked,  rather  provokes  my 
refentment  than  engages  my  pity.  Nay, 
it  ftrikes  me  with  amazement  and  aftonifh- 
ment ;  it  is  a  monfter  to  my  apprehenfion. 
I  fpeak  not  this  as  transported  with  the 
pious  zeal  of  a  fpiritual  and  rapturous  de- 
votion :  on  the  contrary,  I  affirm,  that  the 
love  of  ourfelves,  the  intereft  of  mankind, 
and  the  moft  fimple  and  artlefs  reafon,  do 
naturally  infpire  us  with  thefe  fentiments  ; 
and  that  to  fee  thus  far,  is  not  to  exceed 
the  fphere  of  unrefined,  uneducated  men. 

It  requires  no  great  elevation  of  foul, 
to  obferve,  that  nothing  in  this  world  is 
productive  of  true  contentment ;  that  our 
pleafures  are  vain  and  fugitive,  our  troubles 
innumerable  and  perpetual :  and  that,  after 
all,  death,  which  threatens  us  every  mo- 
ment, mull,  in  the  compafs  of  a  few  years 
(perhaps  of  a  few  days)  put  us  into  the 
eternal  condition  of  happinefs,  or  mifery, 
or  nothing.  Between  us  and  thefe  three 
great  periods,  or  Mates,  no  barrier  is  inter- 
pofed,  but  life,  the  moft  brittle  thing  in  all 
nature;  and  the  happinefs  of  heaven  being 
certainly  not  defigned  for  thofe  who  doubt 
whether  they  have  an  immortal  part  to  en- 
joy it,  fuch  perfons  have  nothing  left,  but 
the  miferable  chance  of  annihilation*  or 
ofhelh 

There  is  not  any  reflexion  which  can 
have  more  reality  than  this,  as  there  is  none 
which  has  greater  terror.  Let  us  fet  the 
bravefc  face  on  our  condition,  and  play  the 
heroes  as  artfully  as  we  can ;  yet  fee  here 
the  iffue  which  attends  the  goodlieft  life 
upon  earth. 

It  is  in  vain  for  men  to  turn  afide  their 
thoughts  from  this  eternity  which  awaits 
them,  as  if  they  were  able  to  deftroy  it  by 
denying  it  a  place  in  their  imagination  :  it 


fubfifts  in  fpite  of  them ;  it  advanceth  un- 
obferved  ;  and  death,  which  is  to  draw  the 
curtain  from  it,  will  in  a  fhort  time  infalli- 
bly reduce  them  to  the  dreadful  neceffity  of 
being  for  ever  nothing,  or  for  ever  mifera- 
ble. 

We  have  here  a  doubt  of  the  moft  af- 
frighting confequence,  and  which,  there- 
fore, to  entertain,  may  be  well  efteemed  the 
moft  grievous  of  misfortunes :  but,  at  the 
fame  time,  it  is  our  indifpenfable  duty  not 
to  lie  under  it,  without  ftruggling  for  deli- 
verance. 

He  then  who  doubts,  and  yet  feeks  not 
to  be  refolved,  is  equally  unhappy  and  un- 
juft  :  but  if  withal  he  appears  eafy  and  com- 
pofed,  if  he  freely  declares  his  indifference, 
nay,  if  he  takes  a  vanity  in  profefling  it, 
and  feems  to  make  this  moft  deplorable 
condition  the  fubjedt  of  his  pleafure  and 
joy,  I  have  not  words  to  fix  a  name  on  fo 
extravagant  a  creature.  Where  is  the  very 
poihbility  of  entering  into  thefe  thoughts 
and  refolutions  ?  What  delight  is  there  in 
expecting  mifery  without  end  ?  What  va- 
nity in  finding  one's  felf  encompafled  with 
impenetrable  darknefs  ?  Or  what  confola- 
tion  in  defpairing  for  ever  of  a  comforter? 

To  fit  down  with  fome  fort  of  acquief- 
cence  under  fo  fatal  an  ignorance,  is  a  thing 
unaccountable  beyond  all  expreffion;  and 
they  who  live  with  fuch  a  difpofition,  ought 
to  be  made  fenfible  of  its  abfurdity  and 
ft  upidity,  by  having  their  inward  reflexions 
laid  open  to  them,  that  they  may  grow  wife 
by  the  proipect  of  their  own  folly.  For 
behold  how  men  are  wont  to  reafon,  while 
they  obftinately  remain  thus  ignorant  of 
what  they  are,  and  refufe  all  methods  of 
initruction  and  illumination. 

Who  has  fent  me  into  the  world  I  know 
not ;  what  the  world  is  I  know  not,  nor 
what  I  am  myfelf.  I  am  under  an  aftonifh- 
ing  and  terrifying  ignorance  of  all  things. 
I  know  not  what  my  body  is,  what 
my  fenfes,  or  my  foul:  this  very  part 
of  me  which  thinks  what  I  fpeak,  which 
reflects  upon-  every  thing  elfe,  and  even 
upon  itfelf,  yet  is  as  mere  a  ftranger  to 
its  own  nature,  as  the  dulleft  thing  I 
carry  about  me.  I  behold  thefe  frightful 
fpaces  of  the  univerfe  with  which  I  am  en- 
compafled, and  I  find  myfelf  chained  to  one 
little  corner  of  the  vaft  extent,  without  un- 
derftanding  why  I  am  placed  in  this  feat, 
rather  than  in  any  other ;  or  why  this  mo- 
ment of  time  given  me  to  live,  was  afligned 
rather  at  fuch  a  point,  than  at  any  other  of 
the  whole  eternity  which  was  before  me,  or 

of 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


of  all  that  which  is  to  come  after  me.  I 
fee  nothing  but  infinities  on  all  fides,  which 
devour  and  {"wallow  me  up  like  an  atom, 
or  like  a  lhadow,  which  endures  but  a 
fingle  inftant,  and  is  never  to  return.  The 
fum  ofmy  knowledge  is,  that  I  mult  fhortly 
die  ;  but  that  which  I  am  moll  ignorant  of 
is  this  very  death,  which  I  feci  unable  to 
decline. 

As  I  know  not  whence  I  came,  fo  I 
know  not  whither  I  go ;  only  this  I  know, 
that  at  my  departure  out  of  the  world,  I 
mult  either  fall  for  ever  into  nottang,  or 
into  the  hands  of  an  incenfed  God,  without 
being  capable  of  deciding,  which  of  thefe 
two  conditions  fhall  eternally  be  my  por- 
tion. Such  is  my  Hate,  full  of  weak ne is, 
obfeurity,  and  wretchednefs.  And  from 
all  this  1  conclude,  that  I  ought,  therefore, 
to  pafs  all  the  days  ofmy  life,  without  con- 
sidering what  is  hereafter  to  befall  me  ; 
and  that  I  have  nothing  to  do,  but  to  fol- 
low my  inclinations  without  reflection  or 
difquiet,  in  doing  all  that,  which,  if  what 
men  fay  of  amiierable  eternity  prove  true, 
Will  infallibly  plunge  me  into  it.  It  is 
poffible  I  might  find  fome  light  to  clear  up 
my  doubts;  but  I  ihall  not  take  a  minute's 
pains,  nor  itir  one  foot  in  the  fearch  or"  it. 
On  the  contrary,  I  am  refolved  to  treat 
thofe  with  fcorn  andderifion  who  labour  in 
this  enquiry  and  care  ;  and,  fo  to  run  with- 
eut  fear  or  forefight,  upon  the  trial  of  the 
grand  event;  permitting  myfelf  to  be  led 
lbftly  on  to  death,  utterly  uncertain  as  to 
the  eternal  iflue  of  my  future  condition. 

In  earned,  it  is  a  glory  to  religion  to 
have  fo  unreafonable  men  for  its  profefled 
enemies;  and  their  oppofition  is  of  fo  lit- 
tle danger,-  that  it  ferves  to  illultrate  the 
principal  truths  which  our  religion  teaches. 
For  the  main  fcope  of  ChriPuaii  faith  is  to 
eitablifh  thofe  two  principles,  the  corrup- 
tion of  nature,  and  the  redemption  by  Jefus 
Chriit.  And  thefe  oppofers,  if  they  are  of 
no  ufe  towards  demonltrating  the  truth  of 
the  redemption,  by  the  fanctity  of  their 
lives,  yet  are  at  leaft  admi  ably  ufeful  in 
fhewing  the  corruption  of  nature,  by  fo 
unnatural  fentiments  and  fuggetions. 

Nothing  is  fo  important  to  any  man  as 
his  own  eltate  and  condition ;  nothing  fo 
great,  fo  amazing,  as  eternity.  If,  there- 
fore, we  find  perfons  indifferent  to  the  lofs 
.of  their  being,  and  to  the  danger  of  endlefs 
mifery,  it  is  impolTible  that  this  temper 
fhould  be  natural.  They  are  quite  other 
men  in  all  other  regards*  they  fear  the 
fmalJeit  i^convsnisneies,  they  fee  them  as 


2ag 

they  approach,  and  feel  them  if  they  ar- 
rive, and  he  who  palTeth  days  and  nights 
in  chagrin  or  defpair,  for  the  lofs  of  an  em- 
ployment, or  for  fome  imaginary  blemifh 
in  his  honour,  is  the  very  fame  monal  who 
knows  that  he  mu1  lofe  all  by  death,  and 
yet  remains  without  difquiet,  refentment,  or 
emotion.  This  wonderful  infeniibility, 
with  refpeft  to  things  of  the  moil  fatal  con- 
fequence,  in  a  heart  lb  nicely  fenfible  of 
the  meaneft  trifles,  is  an  aftoniihing  pro- 
digy, and  unintelligible  inchantment,  a 
fupernaturalbiindneis  and  infatuation. 

A  man  in  a  dole  dungeon,  who  knows 
not  whether  fentence  of  death  has  paffed 
upon  him,  who  is  allowed  but  one  hour's 
fpace  to  inform  himielf  concerning  it,  and 
that  one  hour  futficient,  in  cafe  it  have 
palled,  to  obtain  its  reverfe,  would  act  con- 
trary to  nature  and  fenfe,  lhou.d.  ne  maice 
ufe  of  this  hour  not  to  procure  information, 
but  to  purfue  his  vanity  or  fport.  And  yet 
fuch  is  the  condition  of  the  perfons  whom 
we  are  nowdefcribing  ;  only  with  tiiis  dif- 
ference, that  the  evils  with  which  they  are 
every  moment  threatened,  do  infinitely  fur- 
pafs  the  bare  lofs  of  life,  and  that  tranfient 
punilhment  which  the  prifoner  is  fuppofed 
to  apprehend:  yet  they  run  thoughtlefs 
upon  the  precipice,  having  only  calt  a  veil 
over  their  eyes,  to  hinder  them  from  dif- 
cerning  it,  and  divert  themfelves  with  the 
omcioumefs  of  fuch  as  charitably  warn  them 
of  their  danger. 

Thus  not  the  zeal  alone  of  thofe  who 
heartily  feek  God,  demonitrates  the  truth 
of  religion,  but  iikewife  the  blindnefs  of 
thofe  who  utterly  forbear  to  feek  him,  and 
who  pafs  their  days  under  fo  horrible  a 
neglea.  There  mud  needs  be  a  flange 
turn  and  revolution  in  human  nature,  be- 
fore men  can  fubmit  to  fuch  a  condition, 
much  more  ere  they  can  applaud  and 
value  themfelves  upon  it.  For  fuppofing 
them  to  have  obtained  an  abfoiute  cer- 
tainty, that  there  was  no  fear  after  death, 
but  of  falling  into  nothing,  ought  not  this 
to  be  the  fubjeft  rather  of  defpair,  than  of 
jollity  ?  And  is  it  not  therefore  the  higheft 
pitch  of  fenfelefs  extravagance,  while  we 
want  this  certainty,  to  glory  in  our  doubt 
and  diftraft  ? 

And  yet,  after  all,  it  is  too  vifible,  that 
man  has  fo  far  declined  from  his  original 
nature,  and  as  it  were  departed  from  him- 
feif,  to  nouriih  in  his  heart  a  lecrct  feed- 
plot  of  joy,  fpringiag  up  from  the  libertine 
reflections.  Tuis  brutal  eafe,  or  indolence, 
between  the  fear  of  hell,  and  annihilation, 
p  carries 


ELEG  AN  TEX  TRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


2IO 

carries  fomewhat  fo  tempting  in  it,  that 
not  only  thofe  who  have  the  misfortune  to 
be  fceptically  inclined,  but  even  thofe  who 
cannot  unfettle  their  judgment,  do  yet 
efteerh  it  reputable  to  take  up  a  counterfeit 
(UrEdence.  For  we  may  obferve  the 
la  gelt  part  of  the  herd  to  be  of  this  latter 
kind,  falfe  pretenders  to  infidelity,  and 
mere  hypocrites  in  atheifm.  The  e  are 
perfons  whom  we  have  heard  declare,  that 
the  genteel  way  of  the  world  confiils  in 
thus  acting  the  bravo.  This  is  tha  :  which 
they  term  throwing  off  the  yoke,  and  which 
the  greater  number  of  them  profefs,  not  fo 
much  out  of  opinion,  as  out  of  gallantry 
and  complaifance. 

Y-  t,  if  they  have  the  leaf:  referve  of 
common  fenfe,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to 
make  them  apprehend,  how  miferably 
they  abufe  themfelves  by  hiving  fo  falfe  a 
foundation  ofapplaufe  and  efteem.  For 
this  is  not  the  way  to  raife  a  character, 
even  with  worldly  men,  who,  as  they  are 
able  to  pafs  a  fhrewd  judgment  on  things, 
£o  they  eafily  difcern  that  the  only  method 
of  fucceeding  in  our  temporal  affair.',  is  to 
prove  curfel  ves  honeit,  faithful,  prudent,  and 
capable  of  advancing  the  interefl  of  our 
friends;  becaufemen  naturally  love  nothino- 
but  that  which  fome  way  contributes  to 
their  ufe  and  benefit.  'But  now  what 
-  benefit  can  we  any  way  derive  from  hear- 
ing a  man  confefs  that  he  has  eafed  himfelf 
of  the  burden  of  religion  ;  that  he  belie '  i 
no  God,  as  the  witnefs  and  infpeclor  of  his 
conduct;  that  he  confiders  himfelf  as 
abfolute  mailer  of  what  he  does,  and  ac- 
countable for  it  only  to  his  own  mind? 
Will  he  fancy  that  we  mail  be  hence 
induced  to  repofe  a  greater  degree  of  con- 
fidence in  him  hereafter?  or  to  depend  on 
his  comfort,  his  advice,  or  aiMance,  in  the 
neceffities  of  life?  Can  he  imagine  us  to 
take  any  great  delight  or  complacency 
when  he  tells  us,  that  he  doubts  whether 
our  very  foul  be  any  thing  more  than  a 
little  wind  ind  imoke  ?  nay,  when  he  tells 
it  uswh.ii  an  air  of  affurance,  and  a  voice 
that  teftifies  the  contentment  of  his  heart? 
Is  this  a  thing  to  be  fpoken  of  with  plea- 
fantry  ?  or  ought  ir  n<  .  ather  be  lamented 
with  the  deepeit  fadnefs,  as  the  molt 
mehmcholk  reflection  that  can  ftrike  our 
'thoughts  ? 

If  they  would  cempofe  themfelves  to 
ferious  confederation,  they  muft  perceive  the 
method  in  which  they  are  engaged  to  be  fo 
very  ill  chofen,  fo  repugnant  to  gentility, 
and  ib  remote  even  from  that  good  air  and 


grace  which  they  purfue,  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, nothing  can  more  effectually  expofe 
them  to  the  contempt  and  averfion  of  man- 
kind, or  mark  them  out  for  perfons  defec- 
tive in  parts  and  judgment.  And,  indeed, 
mould  we  demand  from  them  an  account 
of  their  fentiments,  and  of  the  reafons 
which  they  have  to  entertain  this  fufpicicn 
in  religious  matters,  what  they  offered 
would  appear  fo  miferably  .  weak  and 
trifling,  as  rather  to  confirm  us  in  our 
belief.  This  is  no  more  than  v/hat  one 
of  their  own  fraternity  told  them,  with 
great  fmartnefs,  on  fuch  anoccafion,  If  you 
continue  (fays  he}  to  difpute  at  this  rate, 
you  will  infallibly  make  me  a  Chriilian. 
And  the  gentleman  was  in  the  right:  for 
who  would  not  tremble  to  rind  himfelf  em- 
barked in  the  fame  caufe,  with  fo  forlorn, 
fo  defpicable  companions  ? 

Aval  thus  it  is  evident,  that  they  who 
wear  no  more  than  the  outward  mafk  of 
thefe  principles,  are  the  melt  unhappy 
counterfeits  in  the  world;  inafmuch  as 
they  are  obliged  to  put  a  continual  foice 
and  confbraint  on  their  genius,  only  that 
they  may  render  themfelves  the  moil  im- 
pertinent of  all  men  living. 

If  they  are  heartily  and  fmcerely 
troubled  at  their  want  of  light,  let  them 
not  diflemble  the  difeafe.  Such  a  con- 
feffion  could  not  be  reputed  fhameful ;  for 
there  is  really  no  fharhe,  but  in  being 
fhamelefs.  Nothing  betrays  fo  much 
weaknefs  of  foul,  as  not  to  apprehend  the 
mifery  of  man,  while  living  without  God 
in  the  world:  nothing  is  a  furer  token  of 
extreme  bafenefs  of  fpirit,  than  not  to  hope 
for  the  reality  of  eternal  promifes :  no  man 
is  fo  ftigmatized  a  coward,  as  he  that  acts 
the  bravo  againft  heaven.  Let  them 
therefore  leave  thefe  :mpieties  to  thofe  who 
are  born  with  fo  unhappy  a  judgment,  as 
to  be.  capable  of  entertaining  them  in 
earneft.  Ii'  they  cannot  be  Chriilian 
men,  let  them,  however,  be  men  of 
honour :  and  let  them,  in  conclufion,  ac- 
knowledge, that  there  are  but  two  forts  of 
perfons,  who  deferve  to  be  itiled  reafonable, 
either  thofe  who  ferve  God  with  all  their 
heart,  becaufe  they  know  him;  or  thofe 
who  feek  him  with  all  their  heart,  be- 
caufe as  yet  they  know  him  net. 

If  then  there  are  perfons  who  fmcerely 
enquire  after  God,  and  who,  being  truly 
fenfible  of  their  mifery,  affeftionately 
defire  to  be  refcued  from  it ;  it  is  to  thefe- 
alone  that  we  can  in  jufidce  afford  our 
labour  and  fcrvice,  for  their  direction  in 

finding 


OOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


21  I 


finding  cut  that  light  of  which  they  feel 
the  want. 

But  as  for  thofe  who  live  without  either 
knowing  God,  or  endeavouring  to  know 
him,  they  look  on  themfelves  as  fo  little 
deferving  their  own  care,  that  they  can- 
not but  be  unworthy  the  care  of  others : 
and  it  requires  all  the  charity  of  the 
religion  which  they  defpife,  not  to  de- 
fpife  them  to  fuch  a  degree,  as  even  to 
abandon  them  to  their  own  folly  :  but 
iince  the  fame  religion  ol  [iges  us  to  con- 
fider  them,  while  thev  remain  in  this  life, 
as  ftill  capable  of  God's  enlightening  grace ; 
and  to  acknowledge  it  as  very  poifible, 
that,  in  the  courfe  of  a  few  days,  they 
may  be  replenished  with  a  fuller  meafure 
of  faith  than  we  now  enjoy;  and  we  our- 
felves,  on  the  other  fide,  fall  "into  the  depths 
of  their  prefent  blindnefs  and  milery ;  we 
ought  to  do  for  them,  what  we  defire  ihould 
•  be  done  to  us  in  their  cafe;  to  intreat 
■them  that  they  would  take  pity  on  them- 
felves,  and  would  at  leaft  advance  a  ftep 
or  two  forward,  if  perchance  they  may 
•come  into  the  light.  For  which  end  it 
is  wifhed,  that  they  would  employ  in 
the  perufal  of  this  piece,  fome  few  of 
thofe  hours,  which  they  fpend  fo  unpro- 
fitable in  other  purfuits.  It  is  pofnble 
they  may  gain  fomewhat  by  the  reading  ; 
at  leafc,  they  cannot  be  great  lofers :  but 
if  any  fhall  apply  themfelves  to  it,  with 
perfect  fincerity,  and  with  an  unfeigned 
defire  of  knowing  the  truth,  I  defpair  not 
of  their  fatisfaction,  or  of  their  being  con- 
vinced by  fo  many  proofs  of  our  divine 
religion,  as  they  will  here  find  laid  to- 
gether. Monf.  Pafcal. 

§  171.  Of  the  temper  of  mind  which  is  ne- 
cejj'ary  for  the  difcovery  of  divine  truth, 
and  the  degree  of  evidence  that  ought  to 
he  expecled  in  divine  matters,  ivith  an 
epitome  of  reafons  for  the  truth  of  the 
Holy  Bible. 

If  all  our  knowledge  be  derived  from 
God,  and  if  it  has  pleafed  God  to  require 
a  certain  degree  of  probity,  ferioufnefs, 
impartiality,  and  humility  of  mind,  together 
with  hearty  prayers  to  him  for  his  direction, 
bleffing,  and  affiftance  ;  and  a  proper  fub- 
miffion  to  him,  before  he  will  communi- 
cate his  truths  to  men  ;  I  mean,  at  leaft, 
communicate  the  fame  fo  as  fhall  make  a 
due  impreffion  upon  their  minds,  and  turn 
to  their  real  profit  and  edification,  to  their 
true  improvement  in  virtue  and  happi- 
nefs :  and  if  men  at  an v  time  come  to  the 


examination  either  of  the  works  or  word 
of  God,  without  that  temper  of  mind,  and 
without  thofe  addreffes  for  his  aid,  and 
fubmifiion  to  his  will,  which  he  has  deter- 
mined fhall  be  the  conditions  of  his  com- 
munications to  them  ;  efpecially  if  they 
come  with  the  contrary  diipofitions,  with  a 
wicked,  partial,  proud,  and  ludicrous  tem- 
per, and  with  an  utter  difregard  to  God, 
his  providence,  worihip,  and  revelation  ; 
all  their  rekharches  will  come  to  nothing  : 
if,  I  fay,  this  be  the  caie,  as  to  divine 
knowledge,  as  I  believe  it  is,  it  cannot  but 
be  highly  neceffary  for  us  all  to  confider 
of  this  matter  before  hand,  and  to  endea- 
vour after  the  proper  qualifications,  before 
we  fet  ourielves  about  the  main  enquiries 
themfelves.  If  it  has  alfo  pleafed  God  to 
expect  from  us  fome  more  deference  and 
regard  for  him,  than  for  our  poor  fallible 
fellow-creatures  here  below,  and  to  claim 
our  bejief  and  obedience,  upon  plain  ex- 
ternal evidence,  that  certain  dodtrines  or 
duties  are  derived  from  him,  without  our 
being  al  vays  let  into  the  fecrets  of  his 
government,  or  acquainted  with  the  rea- 
fons of  his  conduct,  and  alfo  to  expect  that 
this  plain  external  evidence  be  treated,  as 
it  is  in  all  the  other  cafes  of  human  deter- 
minations and  judgments  :  I  mean,  that  it 
be  fubmitted  to,  and  acquiefced  in,  when 
it  appears  to  be  fuch  as  in  all  other  cafes 
would  be  allowed  to  be  fatisfadtory,  and 
plainly  fuperior  to  what  is  alledged  to  the 
contrary ;  if,  I  fay,  this  alfo  be  the  cafe,  as 
to  divine  knowledge,  as  I  believe  it  is,  it 
will  be  very  proper  for  us  all  to  confider 
of  this  matter  beforehand  alfo ;  that  fo  we 
may  not  be  afterward  difappointed,  when 
in  our  future  progrefs  we  do  not  always 
find  that  irrefiftible  and  overbearing  de- 
gree of  evidence  for  certain  divine  truths, 
which  in  fuch  cafes  is  not  to  be  had  ;  which 
in  truth  is  almoft  peculiar  to  the  mathema- 
tics ;  and  the  expectation  of  which  is  fo 
common,  though  unjuft,  a  pretence  for  in- 
fidelity among  us. 

As  to  the  former  of  thefe  enquiries,  or 
that  temper  of  mind  which  is  neceffary  for 
the  difcovery  of  divine  truth  ;  it  can  cer- 
tainly be  no  other  than  what  the  light  of 
nature,  and  the  confeiences  of  men  influ- 
enced thereby  dictate  to  us ;  thofe,  I  mean, 
already  intimated ;  fuch  as  ferioufnefs,  in- 
tegrity, impartiality,  and  prayer  to  God, 
with  the  faithful  belief,  and  ready  practice, 
of  fuch  truths  and  duties,  as  we  do  all  along 
difcover  to  be  the  word  and  will  of  God  ; 
together- with  fuch  a  medefty  or  refignation 
P  2  of 


212 


elegant   extracts   in   prose. 


of  mind,  as  will  reft  fatisfied  in  certain  fub- 
lime  points,  clearly  above  our  determina- 
tion, with  full  evidence   that  they  are  re- 
vealed by  God,  without    always   infilling 
upon  knowing  the  reafons   of  the  divine 
conduct  therein  immediately,  before  we  will 
believe   that    evidence.      Thefe   are    fuch 
things  as  all  honeil  and  fober  men,  who  have 
naturally  a  fenfe  of  virtue  and  of  God,  in 
their  minds,   mult  own  their  obligation  to. 
We  all  know,  by  the  common  light  of  na- 
ture? till  we  eclipfe  or  corrupt  it  by   our 
own  wickednefs,  that  we  are  to  deal  with 
the  utmoft  fairnefs,  honeity,  and  integrity 
in  all,  efpecially  in  religious  matters ;  that 
we  are  to  hearken  to  every  argument,  and 
to  confider  everv  teitimony  without  preju- 
dice, or  bias,  and  ever  to  pronounce  agree- 
ably to  our  convictions  ;  that  we  are  but 
weakj  frail,  dependent  creatures ;  all  whofe 
faculties,  and  the  exercife  of  them,  are  de- 
rived from  God ;  that  we  ought  therefore 
to  exercife  a  due  modefty,   and  practice  a 
due  fubmiflicn  of  mind  in  divine  matters, 
particularly  in  the  fearch  after  the  nature, 
and  laws,    and   providence    of  our   great 
Creator;  a  fubmifiion,  I  mean,  not  to  hu- 
man, but  to  divine  authority,  when  once  it 
ihall  be  authenliclymade  known  to  us,  that 
the  humble  addreiling  of  ourfelves  to  God 
for  his  aidj  direction,  and  blefling  on  our 
itudies  and  enquiries,  is  one  plain  initance 
of  fuch  our  fubmifiion  to  him  ;  and  that  a 
readv  compliance  with  divine  revelation,  and 
a  ready  obedience  to  the  divine  will,  fo  far 
as  we  have  clearly  difcovered  it,  is  another 
necefiary  inilance  of  the  fame  humble  re- 
gard to  the  divine  Majefty.  Nor  indeed,  can 
anyone  who  comes  to  thefe  facred  enquiries 
with  the  oppofite  difpofition;  of  difhoneity, 
partiality,  pride,  buffoonery,  neglect  of  all 
divine  worihip,  and  contempt  of  all  divine 
revelation,  and  of  all  divine  laws,  expeft, 
even  by  the  light  of  nature,  that  God  ihould 
be  obliged  to  difcover  farther  divine  truths 
to  him.     Nor  will  a  fober  perfon,  duly  fen- 
fible  of  the  different  itates  of  Creator  and 
creature,  imitate    Simon  Magus,   and  his 
followers,  in  the  firit  ages  of  the  goipel ; 
and  fet  up  fome  metaphyfical  fubtilties,  or 
captious  queitions,   about  the  conduct  of 
providence,  as  fufficient  to  fet  afide  the  evi- 
dence  of  confefled   miracles   themfelves ; 
but  will  rather  agree  to  that  wife  aphorifm 
kid  down  in  the  law  of  Mofes,  and  fup- 
poled  all  over  the  Bible ;  "  that  fecret  things 
"   belong   unto   the  Lord   our  God  ;    but 
"  things  that  are  revealed,  to  us  and  to  our 
■•   children,  that  we  may  do  them."    Deut. 


xxix.  29.  Now,  in  order  to  the  makiiig~ 
fome  impreflions  upon  men  in  this  matter, 
and  the  convincing  them,  that  all  our  dis- 
coveries are  to  be  derived  from  God  ;  and 
that  we  are  not  to  expert  his  bkfting  upon 
our  enquiries  without  the  foregoing  quali- 
fications, devotions,  and  obedience,  give 
me  leave  here,  inftead  of  my  own  farther 
reafoning,  to  fet  down  from  the  ancient 
Jewifh  and  Chriitian  writers,  feveral  paf- 
fages  which  feem  to  me  very  remarkable, 
and  very  pertinent  to  our  prefent  purpofe  ; 
not  now  indeed,  as  fuppoiing  any  of  thofe 
obfervations  of  facred  authority,but  as  very 
right  in  themielves ;  very  agreeable  to  the 
light  of  nature  ;  and  verv  good  teitimonies 
of  the  fenfe  of  wife  men  in  the  feveral  an- 
cient ages  of  the  world  to  this  purpofe. 
And  I  choofe  to  do  this  the  more  lar^elv 
here,  becaufe  I  think  this  matter  to  be  of 
very  great  importance  ;  becaufe  it  feems 
to  be  now  very  little  known  or  coniidered, 
at  leafl  very  little  praclifed  by  feveral  pre- 
tended enquirers  into  revealed  religion ; 
and  becaufe  the  nepjeit  hereof  feems  to  me 
a  main  occafion  of  the  fcepticifm  and  infi- 
delity of  this  age. 

"  The  Lord  fpake  unto  Mofes,  faying; 
See,  I  have  called  by  name  Bezaleel,  the 
fon  of  Uri,  the  fon  of  Hur,  of  the  tribe  of 
Judah  :  and  I  have  filled  him  with  the  Spi- 
rit of  God,  in  wifdom,  and  in  underftand- 
ing,  and  in  knowledge,  &c.  And  in  the 
hearts  of  all  that  are  wife -hearted,  I  have 
put  wifdom,  Sec."     Ex.  xxxi,  1,  2,  3,6. 

"  It  ihall  come  to  pafs,  if  thou  wilt  not 
hearken  into  the  voice  of  the  Lord  thy 
God,  to  obferve  to  do  all  his  command- 
ments, and  his  Itatutes,  which  I  command 
thee  this  day,  that  all  thefe  curfes  ihall 
come  upon  thee,  and  overtake  thee ; — — 
the  Lord  ihall  finite  thee  with  madnefs,  and 
blindnefs,  and  aitoniihment  of  heart;  and 
thou  lhalt  grope  at  noon-day,  as  the  blind 
gropeth  in  darknefs."  Deut.  xxviii.  15, 
28,  29. 

"  The  Lord  hath  not  given  you  an  heart 
to  perceive,  and  eyes  to  fee,  and  ears  t® 
hear,  unto  this  day."     Deut.  xxix.  4. 

"  Give  thy  fervant  an  underltanding 
heart,  to  judge  thy  people ;  that  I  may 
dilcern  between  good  and  bad  ;  for  who  is 
able  to  judge  this  thy  fo  great  a  people  ! 
And  the  fpeech  pleafed  the  Lord,  that  So- 
lomon had  afked  this  thing.  And  God  faid 
unto  him,  Becaufe  thou  hail  afked  this  thing ; 
—hail  afked  for  thyfelf  underltanding  to 
difcern  judgment;  behold  I  have  done  ac- 
cording to  thy  words  ;  lo,  I  have  given  thee 
S  a  wife 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


213 


a  wife  and  an  underftanding  heart ;  fo  that 
there  was  none  like  thee  before  thee,  nei- 
ther after  thee  fhajl  any  arife  like  unto  thee. 
'And  all  Ifrael  heard  of  the  judgment 
which  the  king  had  judged ;  and  they  fear- 
ed the  king  ;  for  they  law  that  the  wifdom 
of  God  was  in  him,  to  do  judgment." 
1  Kings,  iii.  9,  10,  11,  12,  28. 

"  I  faid,  days  fhoull  fpeak  ;  and  multi- 
tude of  years  mould  teach  wifdom.  But 
there  is  a  fpirit  in  man ;  and  the  inspiration 
of  the  Almighty  giveth  them  underftand- 
ing."     Job,  xxxii.  7,  8. 

"  Behold  in  this  thou  art  not  juft;  I  will 
anfwer  thee,  that  God  is  greater  than  man. 
Why  doft  thou  ftrive  againft  him  ?  For  he 
giveth  not  account  of  any  of  his  matters." 
job,  xxxiii.  12,  13. 

"  Surely  it  is  meet  to  be  faid  unto  God, 
I  have  borne  chaftifement ;  I  will  not  offend 
any  more.  That  which  I  fee  not,  teach 
thou  me  ;  if  I  have  done  iniquity,  I  will  do 
no  more."     Job,  xxxiv.  31,  32. 

"  God  thundereth  marvelloufly  with  his 
voice;  great  things  doth  he  which  we  can- 
not comprehend."     Job,  xxxvii.  5. 

"  With  God  is  terrible  majefty.  Touch- 
ing the  Almighty  we  cannot  find  him  out ; 
he  is  excellent  in  power,  and  in  judgment, 
and  in  plenty  of  juftice  :  he  will  not  afflict. 
—Men  do  therefore  fear  him  :  he  refpect- 
eth  not  any  that  are  wife  of  heart."  Job, 
xxxvii.  22,  23,  24. 

"  Who  hath  put  wifdom  in  the  inward 
parts  ?  Or  who  hath  given  under Itandin,? 
ynto  the  heart?"  Job,  xxxviii.  36. 

"  Then  Job  anfwered  the  Lord  and  faid ; 
I  know  that  thou  canft  do  every  thing,  and 
that  no  thought  can  be  with-holden  from 
thee. — Who  is  he  that  hideth  counfel  with- 
out knowledge  ?  Therefore  have  I  uttered 
that  I  underftood  not ;  things  too  wonder- 
ful for  me,  which  I  knew  not."  Job,  xlii. 
I,  2,  3. 

"  I  have  heard  of  thee  by  the  hearing 
of  the  ear,  but  now  mine  eye  fecth  thee. — 
Wherefore  I  abhor  myfelf,  and  repent  in 
dull  and  afties."     Job,  xlii.  5,  6. 

"  The  meek  will  he  guide  in  judgment : 
the  meek  will  lie  teach  his  way."  Pfalm, 
xxv.  9. 

"  The  fecret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them 
that  fear  hirn  ;  and  he  will  fliew  them  his 
covenant."     Pfalm,  xxv.  14. 

V  Thout  hrongh  thy  commandments  haft 
made  me  wifer  than  mine  enemies ;  for  they 
are  ever  with  me.  I  have  more  under- 
standing than  all  my  teachers, for  thy  teili- 
jfionies  are  my  meditation.     I  underftand 


more  than  the  ancients,  becaufe  I  keep  thy 
precepts.  Through  thy  precepts  I  get  un- 
derstanding ;  therefore  I  hate  every  falfe 
way."     Pfalm,  cxix.  98,  99,  100,  104. 

"  Lord,  my  heart  is  not  haughty,  nor 
mine  eyes  lofty  ;  neither  do  I  exercife  my- 
felf in  great  matters,  or  in  things  too  high 
forme."     Pfalm,  cxxxi.  1. 

"  The  Lord  giveth  wifdom  :  out  of  his 
mouth  cometh  knowledge  and  underftand- 
ing"    Prov.  ii.  6. 

"  Trull  in  the  Lord  with  all  thine  heart, 
and  lean  not  to  thine  own  underftanding. 
In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  him,  an  1  he 
fhall  direct  thy  paths."     Prov.  iii.  5s  6. 

"  The  froward  is  abomination  to  the 
Lord :  but  his  fecret  is  with  the  righteous." 
Prov.  iii.  32. 

"  God  gireth  to  a  man  that  is  good  in 
his  fight,  wifdom,  and  knowledge,  and  joy." 
Eccles.  ii.  26. 

"  God  hath  made  every  thing  beautiful 
in  his  time  :  alio  he  hath  fet  the  world  in 
their  heart ;  fo  that  no  man  can  find  out  the 
work  that  God  maketh  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end."     Ecclef.  iii.  11. 

"  Then  I  beheld  all  the  work  of  God, 
that  a  man  cannot  find  out  the  work  that 
is  done  under  the  fun ;  becaufe  though  a 
man  labour  to  feek  it  out:  yet  he  fhall  not 
find  it ;  yea  further,  though  a  wile  man 
think  to  know  it,  yet  fhall  he  not  be  able  to 
find  it."     Ecclef.  viii.  17. 

"  As  for  theie  four  children,  God  gave 
them  knowledge  and  (kill  in  all  learning 
and  wifdom."     Dan.  i.  17. 

"  None  of  the  wicked  mail  under- 
ftand, but  the  wife  lhall  underftand."  Dan. 
xii.  10. 

"  Who  is  wife  and  he  flia.ll  underftand 
thefe  things ;  prudent,  and  he  fhall  know 
them  :  for  the  ways  of  the  Lord  are  rig  t, 
and  the  juft  fhall  walk  in  them  :  but  the 
tranfgreffors  lhall  fall  therein."  Hof.  xiv.  g, 

"  And  the  angel  that  was  fent  unto  me, 
whofe  name  was  Uriel,  gave  me  an  anfwer, 
and  faid,  thy  heart  hath  gone  too  far  in  this 
world  :  and  thinkeft  thou  to  comprehend 
the  way  of  the  Moft  High?"     2  Eid.  iv. 

I,  2V 

"  He  faid  moreover  unto  me  ;  thine  owi? 
things,  and  fuch  as  are  grown  up  with  thee, 
canft  thou  not  know ,  how  ihould  thy  vefiel 
then  be  able  to  comprehend  the  way  of  the 
Higheft."     2  Eid.  iv.  10,  11. 

"  They  that  dwell  upon  the  earth  m;  - 
underftand  nothing  ;  but  that  which  is  lipoa 
the  earth  :  and  he  that  dwelleth  above  the 
heavens,  may  only  underftand  the  ti:; 
P  3 


ii4 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


that  are  above  the  height  of  the  heavens, 
&c."     2  Efd.  iv.  21. 

(<  Into  a  malicious  foul  wifdom  fhall  not 
enter,  nor  dwell  in  the  body  that  is  fubject 
unto  fin,  &c."     Wifd.  i.  41.  &c. 

"  Their  own  wickednefs  hath  blinded 
them."     Wifd.  ii.  21. 

"  As  for  the  myfteries  of  God,  they  know 
them  not."     Wifd.  ii.  22. 

"  Wherefore  I  prayed,  and  underuand- 
ing  was  given  me  :  I  called  upon  God,  and 
the  fpirit  of  wifdom  came  tome.",    Wifd. 

"  It  is  God  that  leadeth  unto  vviidom, 
and  direeteth  the  wife.  For  in  his  hand 
are  both  we  and  our  words ;  all  wifdom  alfo, 
and  knowledge  of  workmanfhip."  Wifd. 
vii.  15,  16. 

"  When  I  perceived  that  I  could  not 
etherwife  obtain  wifdom,  except  God  gave 
her  me;  (and  that  was  a  point  of  wifdom 
alfo,  to  know  whofe  gift  Ihe  was)  I  praved 
unto  the  Lord,  and  befought  him,  and  with 
my  whole  heart  I  faid,"  Wifd.  viii.  21. 

"  Give  me  wifdom  that  fitteth  by  thy 
throne,  and  reject  me  not  from  among  thy 
children.  For  I  thy  fervant,  and  fon  of 
thine  handmaid,  am  a  feeble  perfon,  and 
cf  a  fhort  time,  and  too  young  for  the  un- 
derftanding  of  judgment  and  laws.  For 
though  a  man  be  never  fo  perfect  amo ig 
the  children  of  men,  yet  if  thy  wildom  be 
notwith  him,he  fhall  be  nothing  regarded." 
Wifd.  ix.  4,  5,  6. 

"  Hardly  do  we  guefs  aright  at  things 
that  are  upon  earth  ;  and  with  labour  do 
we  find  the  things  that  are  before  us :  but 
#the  things  that  are  in  heaven  who  hath 
fearched  out?"  Wifd.  ix.  9. 

"  All  wifdom   cometh  from  the   Lord, 

and  is  with  him  for  ever. She  is  with 

all  flefh  according  to  his  gift;  and  he  hath 
given  her  to  them  that  leve  him."  Ec.  i. 
1,  10. 

"  If  thou  defire  wifdom,  keep  the  com- 
mandments, and  die  Lord  fhall  give  her 
lint  j  thee.  For  the  fear  of  the  Lord  is  wif- 
dom and  inftructi.n ;  and  faith  and  meek- 
nefs  are  his  delight."  Ec.  i.  26,  27. 
"  Myfteries  are  revealed  unto  the  meek. 

. Seek  not  out  the  things  that  are  too 

hard  for  thee;  neither  learch  the  things 
that  are  above  thy  ftrength.  But  what  is 
commanded  thee,  think  thereupon  with  re- 
verence ;  for  it  is  not  .needful  for  thee  to 
lee  the  tilings  that  are  in  fecret.  Ec,  iii. 
in,  21,  22. 

««  Let  thy  mind  be  upon  the  ordinances 
of  the  Lord,  and  meditate  continually  in  his 


commandments.  He  fhall  eftablifh  thine 
heart,  and  give  thee  wifdom  at  thine  own 
defire."     Ec.  vi.  37. 

"  Wifdom,  knowledge,  and  underfhand- 
ing  of  the  law,  are  of  the  Lord.  Love,  and 
the  way  of  good  works,  are  from  him. 
Error  and  darknefs  had  their  beginning  to- 
gether with  finners."  Ec.  xi.  15,  16. 

"  Fcoliih  men  fhall  not  attain  unto  wif- 
dom ;  and  finners  ihall  not  fee  her.  For 
fhe  is  far  from  pride ;  and  men  that  are 
liars  cannot  remember  her."    Ec.  xv.  7,  8. 

"  He  that  keepeth  the  law  of  the  Lord 
getteth  the  underiranding  thereof;  and  the 
perfection  of  'he  fear  of  the  Lord  is  wif- 
dom."     Ec.  xxi.  1 1. 

"  As  his  ways  are  plain  unto  the  holy, 
fo  are  they  ftumbling-biocks  unto  the 
wicked."     Ec.  xxxix.  24. 

"  The  Lord  hath  made*all  things,  and 
to  the  godly  hath  he  given  wifdom."  Ec. 
xliii.  33. 

"  If  any  man  will  do  his  will,  he  fhall 
know  of  the  doctrine  whether  it  be  of  God, 
or  whether  I  fpeak  of  myfelf."  John,  vii. 
17. 

"  O  the  depth  of  the  riches  both  of  the 
wifdom  and  knowledge  of  God  !  How  un- 
fearchabie  are  his  judgments,  and  his  ways 
pail  finding  out  I"     Rem.  xi.  33. 

"  If  any  of  you  lack  wifdom,  let  him  afk 
of  God,  that  giveth  to  all  men  liberally, 
and  upbraideth  not,  and  it  fhall  be  given 
him. — Every  good  gift,  and  every  perfect 
gift,  is  from  above,  and  cometh  down  from 
the  Father  of  lights."   James  i.  5,  17. 

Now  from  all  this  evidence,  and  much 
more  that  might  be  alledged,  it  is  apparent, 
that  the  Jewiih  and  Chrifttan  religions  al- 
ways iuppcfe,  that  there  mud  be  a  due  tem- 
per of  mind  in  the  enquirers,  or  elk  the  ar- 
guments for  thofe  religions  will  not  have 
their  due  effect.  That  the  ccurfe  of  God's 
providence  defigns  hereby  to  diftinguifh 
between  the  well-difpofed,  the  meek,  the 
humble,  and  the  pious,  which  are  thofe 
whom  the  common  light  of  nature  declares 
may  expect  the  divine  blefiir.g  on  their 
ftudies  of  this  fort;  and  the  ill-difpofed, 
the  obftinate,  the  proud,  and  the  impious ; 
which  are  thofe  whom  the  fame  common 
lh  ht  of  nature  affines  us  may  expect  the 
divine  malediction  on  the  fame  :  and  that 
'tis  net  for  want  of  convincing  and  fatis- 
factory  evidence  in  the  bufinels  of  revela- 
tion,  but  became  many  men  come  with  per- 
verfe,  iceptical,  and  wicked  difpofitions, 
that  they  fail  of  fatisfaction  therein.  Ac- 
cordingly, I  think,  it  is  true,  in  common 

obfervationj 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


2I5 


obfervation,  that  the  virtuous  and  the  re- 
ligious, I  mean  thofe  that  are  fuch  accord- 
ing to  natural  confcience.,  do  rarely,  if 
ever,  fail  on  their  enquiries  to  embrace 
and  acquiefce  in  both  the  Jewifli  and 
Chrillian  revelations,  and  that  the  debauch- 
ed and  profane  do  as  feldom  fail  on  their 
enquiries  to  reject  and  ridicule  them. 
Which  different  fuccefs  of  the  lame  exa- 
mination, agrees  exactly  with  the  whole 
tenor  of  the  Scriptures,  and  is  the  very 
fame  which  mult  be  true,  in  ca-fe  thofe 
Scriptures  be  true  alio ;  and  is,  by  confe- 
quence,  a  conliderabic  confirmation  of  their 
real  verity  and  inlpiration.  And  certainly, 
he  that  confiders  his  own  weaknefs  and  de- 
pendance  on  God,  and  that  all  truth  and 
evidence  mult  come  originally  from  him, 
will  by  natural  judgment  and  equity  pro- 
nounce, that  he  who  expects  the  divine 
bleffing  and  illumination,  in  points  of  fuch 
vaft  confequence,as  thofe  of  revelation  moil 
certainly  are,  ought  above  all  tilings  to  pu- 
rify his  will,  and  rectify  his  conduct  in  fuch 
points  as  all  the  world  knows  to  be  the 
will  of  God;  and  to  aJdrefs  himfeif  to  the 
Divine  Majefty  with  due  fervency  and  fe- 
rioulnels,  for  ids  aid  and  afftitance,  before 
he  can  juftly  promife  himfeif  fuccefs  in  & 
great  and  momentous  an  undertaking. 

But  then,  as  to  the  fecond  enquiry,  or 
the  degree  of  evidence  that  ought  to  be  ex- 
pected in  religious  matters,  it  feems  to  me 
very  neceffary  to  fay  fomewhat  upon  this 
fubject  alfo,  before  we  come  to  our  main 
defign.  For  as  en  the  one  fide  it  is  a  great 
error  in  all  cafes  to  expect  fuch  evidence 
as  the  nature  of  the  fubject  renders  impof- 
fible  ;  fo  it  is  as  weak  on  the  other  fide,  to 
lay  the  ftrefs  of  important  truths  en  fuch 
evidence,  as  is  in  its  own  nature  unfaus- 
factory  and  precarious :  or  to  afTert  with 
great  affurance  what  can  no  way  be  proved, 
even  by  that  fort  of  evidence  which  is  pro- 
per for  the  fubject  in  debate.  An  inftance 
of  the  firit  fort  we  have  in  Autolicus,  an 
Heathen,  in  his  debates  with  Theophilus 
of  Antioch;  who  appears  weakly  to  have 
infilled  upon  feeing  the  God  of  the  Chrif- 
tians,  ere  he  would  believe  his  exiltence  ; 
white  one  of  the  known  attributes  of  that 
God  is,  that  he  is  invilible.  And  almoit 
equally  prepolterous  would  any  philofophic 
fceptic  now  be,  who  fhould  require  the 
fight  of  the  air  in  which  we  breathe,  before 
he  would  believe  that  there  was  fuch  an 
element  at  all.  Whereas  it  is  clear,  that 
the  air  may  be  demonitrated  to  be  fufn- 
ciently  fenfible   and   rcaly  by  a  thouiand 


experiments ;  while  yet  none  of  thofe  ex- 
periments can  render  it  vifible  to  us:  jult 
as  the  exiltence  .of  a  fupreme  being  may 
be  demoaitrated  by  innumerable  argu- 
ments, although  none  of  thofe  arguments 
imply  even  the  poffibility  of  his  being  pro- 
perly fecn  by  any  of  his  creatures.  But 
then,  that  we  may  keep  a  mean  here,  and 
may  neither  on  one  fide,  expect  in  our  re- 
ligious enquiries,  overbearing,  or  itrictly 
mathematic  evidence,  fuch  as  is  impoffible 
to  be  denied  or  doubted  of  by  any  ;  which 
would  render  the  conflant  defign  of  pro- 
vidence, already  flated,  entirely  ineffectual, 
and  force  both  good  and  bad  to  be  be- 
lievers, without  any  regard  to  their  quali- 
fications and  temper  of  mind :  nor  on  the 
other  fide,  may  we  depend  on  fuch  weak 
and  precarious  arguments,  as  are  not  really 
fufficient  or  fatisfaetory  to  even  fair,  honeit, 
and  impartial  men.  I  intend  here  to  con  ri- 
der, what  that  degree  ofevideace  is  which, 
oug-ht  to  be  ir;Med  on  ;  without  which  we 
are  not,  and  with  which  we  are  couged  to 
acquiefce  in  divine  matters.  Now  this  de- 
gree of  evidence  I  take  to  be  that,  and  no 
other,  winch  upngnt  judges  are  deterniiri- 
ed  by  in  all  the  important  affairs  of  eftate 
and  'lie  that  come  before  them :  and  accord- 
ing to  which,  they  ever  aim  to  give  fen- 
tence  in  their  courts  of  judicature.  I  choofe 
to  initance  in  this  judicial  evidence,  and 
thefe  judicial  determinations  efpeciaiiy,  be- 
caufe  the  perfons  concerned  in  fuch  mat- 
ters  are,  by  long  ufe,  and  the  nature  cf  their 
employment,  generally  fpeaking,  the  belt 
and  moil  fagacious  discoverers  of  truth, 
and  thofe  that  judge  the  molt  unbiaffedly 
and  fairly,  concerning  funicient  or  infufE- 
cient  evidence  of  all  others.  Such  upright 
judges  then,  never  expect  itrictly  undeni- 
able, or  mathematic  evidence  ;  which  they 
know  is,  in  human  affairs,  abfolutely  im- 
poffible to  be  had  :  they  don't  require  that 
the  witneffes  they  examine  fhouid  be  infal- 
lible, or  impeccable,  which  they  are  fenT 
fible  would  be  alike  wild  and  ridiculous  i 
yet  do  they  expect  full,  fufneient,  or  con- 
vincing evidence;  and  fuch  as  is  plain- 
ly fuperior  to  what  is  alledged  on  the 
other  fide:  and  they  require  that  the.  wit- 
neffes they  believe,  be,  fo  far  as  they  are 
able  to  difcover,  of  a  good  character,  up- 
right, and  faithful.  Nor  do_they  think  it 
too  much  trouble  to  ufe  tneir  utmoa  ftrill 
and  fagacity  in  difepvering  where  the  truth 
lies;  how  far  the  witneffes  agree  with  or 
contradict  each  other ;  and  which  way  the 
feveral  circurnitarxes  may  be  belt  coni- 
p  4  pared, 


2l6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


pared,  fo  as  to  find  out  any  forgery,  or  de- 
tect any  knavery  which  may  be  fufpected 
in  any  branches  of  the  evidence  before 
them.  They  do  not  themfelves  pretend  to 
judge  of  the  reality  or  obligation  of  any 
ancient  laws,  or  acts  of  parliament,  from 
their  own  meer  gueffes  or  inclinations,  but 
from  the  authenticnefs  of  the  records  which 
contain  them,  and  though  they  are  not  able 
always  to  fee  the  reafon,  or  occafion,  or 
wifdom  of  fuch  laws,  or  acts  of  parliament ; 
yet  do  they,  upon  full  external  evidence 
that  they  are  genuine,  allow  and  execute 
the  fame  ;  as  confidering  themfelves  to  be 
not  legiflators,  but  judges  ;  and  owning 
that  ancient  laws,  and  ancient  facts,  are  to 
be  known  not  by  guefTes  or  fuppofals,  but 
by  the  production  of  ancient  records,  and 
original  evidence  for  their  reality.  Nor 
in  fuch  their  procedure  do  they  think  them- 
felves guilty  in  their  fentences,  if  at  any 
time  afterwards  they  difcover  that  they 
have  been  impofed  upon  by  falfe  witnefies, 
or  forged  records ;  fuppofmg,  I  mean,  that 
they  are  confeious,  that  they  did  their  ut- 
moft  to  difcover  t:?e  truth,  and  went  exact- 
ly by  the  beft  evidence  that  lay  before 
them  ;  as  knowing  they  have  done  their 
duty,  and  mult  in  fuch  a  cafe  be  blamelefs 
before  God  and  man,  notwithstanding  the 
miftake  in  the  fentences  themfelves.  Now 
this  is  that  procedure  which  I  would  ear- 
neftly  recommend  to  thofe  that  have  a  mind 
to  enquire  to  good  purpofe  into  revealed 
religion :  that  after  they  have  taken  care 
to  purge  themfelves  from  all  thofe  vices 
which  will  make  it  their  great  intereit  that 
religion  fhould  be  falie ;  after  they  have 
refolved  upon  honefty,  impartiality,  and 
modefly,  which  are  virtues  by  the  law  of 
nature  ;  after  they  have  devoutly  implored 
the  divine  aififtance  and  blefTing  on  this 
their  important  undertaking;  which  is  a 
duty  likewife  they  are  obliged  to  by  the 
feme  law  of  nature  ;  that  after  all  this  pre- 
paration, I  fay,  they  will  fet  about  the  en- 
quiry itfelf,  in  the  very  fame  manner  that 
has  been  already  defcribed,  and  that  all  our 
upright  judges  proceed  by  in  the  difcovery 
of  truth.  Let  them  fpare  for  no  pains,  but 
confult  all  the  originals,  whenever  they  can 
come  at  them ;  and  let  them  ufe  all  that 
diligence,  fagacity,  and  judgment,  which 
they  are  matters  of,  in  order  to  fee  wlm 
real  external  evidence  there  is  for  the  truth 
of  the  facts  on  which  the  Jewifh  and  Chrif- 
tian  religions  do  depend.  I  here  fpeak  of 
the  truth  of  facts,  as  the  furefl  way  to  deter- 
mine us  in  this  enquiry;  becaufe  all  the  world, 


I  think,  owns,  that  if  thofe  facts  be  true,  thefe 
initiations  of  religion  muit  alfo  be  true,  or 
be  derived  from  God ;  and  that  no  parti- 
cular difficulties,  as  to  the  reafons  of  feveral 
laws,  or  the  conduct  of  providence  in  feveral 
cafes,  which  thofe  inftitutions  no  where 
pretend  to  give  us  a  full  account  of,  can 
be  'ufficient  to  fet  afide  the  convincing  evi- 
dence which  the  truth  of  fuch  facts  brings 
along  with  it.  For  example  :  Thofe  who 
are  well  fatisfied  of  the  truth  of  the  Mofaic 
hiftory  ;  of  the  ten  miraculous  plagues  with 
which  the  God  of  Ifrael  fmote  the  Egyp- 
tians ;  of  the  drowning  of  the  Egvptians 
in  the  Red  fea,  while  the  Ifraelites  were 
miraculouily  conducted  through  the  fame ; 
and  of  the  amazing  manner  wherein  the 
decalogue  was  given  by  God  to  that  people 
at  mount  Sinai  ;  will  for  certain,  believe 
that  the  Jewiih  religion  was  in  the  main  de- 
rived from  God,  though  he  fhould  find  fe- 
veral occafional  paflages  in  the  Jewifh  fa- 
cred  books,  which  he  could  not  account  for, 
and  feveral  ~h  :al  laws  given  that  nation, 
which  he  C-u!d  not  guefs  at  the  reafons 
why  they  were  given  them.  And  the  cafe 
is  the  very  fame  as  to  the  miraculous  refur- 
rection,  and  glorious  afcenfion  of  our  blef- 
fed  Saviour,  Jefus  Chriit,  with  regard  to 
the  New  Teitament :  on  which  account  I 
reckon  that  the  truth  of  fuch  facts  is  to  be 
piincipally  enquired  into,  when  we  have  a 
mind  to  fatisfy  ourfelves  in  the  verity  of  the 
jewifh  and  ChrifKan  religions.  And  if  it 
be  alledged  that  fome  of  thefe  facts  are  too 
remote  to  afford  us  any  certain  means  of 
difcovery  at  this  diitance  of  time;  I  an- 
fwer,  That  then  we  are  to  felect  fuch  of 
thofe  facts  as  we  can  examine,  and  to  frarch 
into  the  acknowledgment  or  denial  of  thofe 
that  are  ancienter,  in  the  oldeft  testimonies 
now  extant ;  into  the  effects  and  confe- 
quences,  and  Handing  memorials  of  fuch 
facts  in  after  ages,  and  how  far  they  were 
real,  and  allowed  to  be  fo ;  and  in  fhort,we 
are  to  determine  concerning  them,  by  the 
befl  evidence  we  can  now  have  ;  and  not 
let  a  bare  fufpicion,  or  a  wifh  that  things 
had  been  otherwife,  overbalance  our  real 
evidence  of  facts  in  any  cafe  whatfoever. 
I  do  not  mean  that  our  enquirer  is  to 
have  no  regard  to  internal  characters,  or 
the  contents  of  the  Jewiih  and  Chriftian 
revelations ;  or  that  he  is  not  to  exa- 
mine into  that  alfo  in  the  general,  before 
he  admits  even  the  proof  from  miracles 
themfelves ;  becaufe  what  pretended  mi- 
racles foever  are  wrought,  for  the  fupport 
of  idolatry,  or  wickednefs ;    for  the  efta- 

bliihment 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


21J 


blifhment  of  notions  contrary  to  the  divine 
attributes,  or  of  an  immoral,  or  profane, 
or  cruel  religion,  though  they  may  prove 
fuch  a  religion  to  be  fupernatural,  yet  will 
they  only  prove  that  it  comes  from  wicked 
daemons,  or  evil  fpirits,  and  not  from  a  God 
of  purity  and  holinefs,  and  To  will  by  no 
means  prove  it  divine,  or  worthy  of  our  re- 
ception. But  then,  it  is,  for  the  main,  fo 
well  known,  that  the  Jewifh  and  Chriftian 
inftitutions  do  agree  to  the  divine  attri- 
butes, and  do  tend  to  purity,  holinefs,  jus- 
tice and  charity;  and  are  oppofite  to  all 
immorality,  profanenefs,  and  idolatry,  that 
I  think  there  will  not  need  much  examina- 
tion in  fo  clear  a  cafe ;  and  that,  by  con- 
fequence,  our  main  enquiry  is  to  be  as  to 
the  truth  of  the  fads  thereto  relating.  And 
in  this  cafe,  I  fear  not  to  invite  all  our 
fceptics  and  unbelievers,  to  ufe  their  great- 
eft  nicety,  their  entire  fkill,  their  fhrewdeft 
abilities,  and  their  utmoft  fagacity  in  this 
enquiry ;  being  well  aftured  from  my  own 
obfervations  in  this  matter,  that  the  proper 
reiult  of  fuch  an  exact  hiftorical  enquiry 
will  be  as  plainly  and  evidently  on  the  fide 
of  revealed  religion. 

There  is  fuch  an  inimitable  air  of  fince- 
rity,  honefty,  and  impartiality,  in  the  facred 
hiftorians ;  the  ancient  profane  testimonies 
Hill  extant  do  fo  generally  atteft  to,  and 
confirm  the  facts,  fo  far  as  they  are  concern- 
ed; the  moft  ancient  predictions  have  been 
all  along  fo  exactly  and  wonderfully  fulfil- 
led ;  the  characters  of  the  Meilias  in  the 
Old  Teftament  have  been  fo  particularly 
anfwered  in  the  New ;  our  Lord's  own  pre- 
dictions, and  thofe  of  St.  Paul  and  St.  John 
have  been  all  along  hitherto  fo  furprifingly 
accomplifhed,  the  epiftles  of  the  apoftles, 
and  the  hiftory  and  fulferings  of  them  and 
of  their  immediate  fucceflbrs,  do  io  fully 
confirm  the  miracles  and  circumftances  be- 
longing to  the  firft  times  of  the  Gofpel ; 
that  he  who  acquaints  himfelf  originally 
with  thefe  things,  if  he  come  with  an  un- 
tainted and  honeft  mind,  cannot  eafily  be 
other  than  a  believer  and  a  Chriftian. 

I  cannot  but  heartily  wifh,  for  the  com- 
mon good  of  all  the  fceptics  and  unbelievers 
of  this  age,  that  I  could  imprint  in  their 
minds  all  that  real  evidence  for  natural  and 
for  revealed  religion  that  now  is,  or  during 
my  paft  enquiries  has  been  upon  my  own 
mind  thereto  relating  ;  and  that  their  tem- 
per of  mind  were  fuch  as  that  this  evidence 
might  afford  them  as  great  fatisfaclion  as 
it  has  myfelf. — But  though  this  entire  com- 
munication of  the  evidence  that  is,  or  has 


been  in  my  own  mind,  for  the  certainty  of 
natural  religion,  and  of  the  Jewifh  and 
Chriftian  inftitutions,  be,  in  its  own  nature, 
impoffible;  yet,  I  hope,  I  may  have  leave 
to  addrefs  myfelf  to  all,  efpecially  to  the 
fceptics  and  unbelievers  of  our  age  ;  to  do 
what  I  am  able  for  them  in  this  momentous 
concern ;  and  to  lay  before  them,  as  briefly 
and  feriouily  as  I  can,  a  considerable  num-> 
ber  of  thofe  arguments  which  have  the 
greateft  weight  with  me,  as  to  the  hardeil 
part  of  what  is  here  defired  and  expected 
from  them  ;  I  mean  the  belief  of  revealed 
religion,  or  of  the  Jewifh  and  Chriftian  in* 
ftitutions,  as  contained  in  the  books  of  the 
Old  and  New  Teftament.— —  But  to  wave 
farther  preliminaries,  fome  of  the  principal 
r*afons  which  make  me  believe  the  Bible  to 
be  true  are  the  following : 

i .  The  Bible  lays  the  law  of  nature  for 
its  foundation ;  and  all  along  fupports  and 
affifts  natural  religion ;  as  every  true  reve- 
lation ought  to  do. 

2.  Aftronomy,andthe  reft  of  our  certain 
mathematic  fciences,  do  confirm  the  ac- 
counts of  Scripture ;  fo  far  as  they  are  con- 
cerned. 

3.  The  moft  ancient  and  beft  hiftorical 
accounts  now  known,  do,  generally  fpeak- 
ing,  confirm  the  accounts  of  Scripture;  fo 
far  as  they  are  concerned. 

4.  The  more  learning  has  encreafed,  the 
more  certain  in  general  do  the  Scripture 
accounts  appear,  and  its  difficult  places  are 
more  cleared  thereby. 

5.  There  are,  or  have  been  generally, 
ftanding  memorials  preferved  of  the  certain 
truths  cf  the  principal  hiftorical  facts,  which 
were  conftant  evidences  for  the  certainty  of 
them. 

6.  Neither  the  Mofaical  law,  nor  the 
Chriftian  religion,  could  poftibly  have  been 
received  and  eflablifhed  without  fuch  mi- 
racles as  the  facred  hiftory  contains. 

7.  Although  the  Jews  all  along  hated 
and  perfecuted  the  prophets  of  God:  yet 
were  they  forced  to  believe  they  were  true 
prophets,  and  their  writings  of  divine  in- 
fpiration. 

8.  The  ancient  and  prefent  ftate  of  the 
Jewifh  nation  are  ftrong  arguments  for  the 
truth  of  their  law,  and  of  the  Scripture  pro- 
phecies relating  to  them. 

9.  The  ancient  and  prefent  ftates  of  the 
Chriftian  church  are  alio  ftrong  arguments 
for  the  truth  of  the  Gofpel,  and  of  the  Scrip- 
ture prophecies  relating  thereto. 

10.  The  miracles  whereon  the  Jewifh 
and  Chriftian  religion  are  founded,  were 

of 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE 


cf  old  owned  to  be   true  by  their   very 
enemies. 

11.  The  facred  writers,  who  lived  in 
times  and  places  fo  remote  from  one  another, 
do  yet  all  carry  on  one  and  the  fame  grand 
defi'gn,  viz.  that  of  the  falvation  of  man- 
kind, by  the  worihip  of,  and  obedience  to 
the  one  true  God,  in  and  through  the  King 
Meffiah  ;  which,  without  a  divine  conduct, 
could  never  have  been  done. 

12.  The  principal  doctrines  of  the  Jewifls 
and  ChriiHan  religion  are  agreeable  to  the 
moil  ancient  traditions  of  all  ether  nations. 

13.  The  difficulties  relating  to  this  re- 
ligion are  not  fuch  as  affect  the  truth  of  the 
feels,  but  the  conduct  of  providence,  the 
reafons  of  which  the  facred  writers  never 
pretended  fully  to  know,  or  to  reveal  to 
mankind. 

14.  Natural  religion,  which  is  yet  fo 
certain  in  itfelf,  is  not  without  iuch  diffi- 
culties, as  to  the  conduit  of  providence,  as 
are  objected  to  revelation. 

3  5.  The  facred  hiftory  has  the  greateft 
marks  of  truth,  hpnefty  and  impartiality,  0? 
all  other  hiftories  whatfoever ;  and  withal 
has  none  of  the  known  marks  of  knavery 
and  impofture. 

16.  The  predictions  of  Scripture  have 
been  Hill  fulfilled  in  the  feveral  ages  of  the 
world  whereto  they  belong. 

17.  Nooppcnte  fyftems  of  the  univerfe, 
or  {themes  of  divine  revelation,  have  any 
tolerable  pretences  to  be  true,  but  thoie  of 
the  Jews  and  Chriflians. 

Thele  are  the  plain  and  obvious  argu- 
ments which  perfuade  me  of  the  truth  of 
the  lewiih  and  Chriflian  revelations. 

Whifion. 

^  172.  The  divine  legation  of  Mofes. 
The  evidence  the  Jews  had  to  believe 
the  feveral  matters  related  by  Mofes,  pre- 
ceding tire  deliverance  from  Egypt,  was, 
fo  far  as  we  know,  no  more  than  Mofes's 
word;  whofe  credit  was  fufficiently  efta- 
blifhed,  by  the  tcflimonies  given  to  him 
by  the  Deity ;  but,  at  the  fame  time,  it  is 
not  certain  that  they  had  not  fome  diftinct 
tradition  concerning  thefe  things.  But,  as 
to  his  authority,  and  the  authority  of  the 
laws  and  inftitutions  given  by  him,  they 
had,  and  their  children,  and  we  who  take 
it  from  their  children,  have  the  firongeit 
evidence  the  nature  of  the  thing  is  capable 

of.     For, 

1.  The  whole  people,  an  infinite  mul- 
titude, were  witnefles  of  all  the  miracles 
wrought  preceding  the  deliverance  from 


Egypt,  and  of  the  final  miracle  that  ac- 
chieved  their  deliverance ;  in  memory 
whereof,  the  paiibver,  an  annual  foiemni- 
ty,  was  inftituted, with  x'as  ftrorigeft  injunc- 
tions to  acquaint  their  children  with  the  caufe 
of  that  obfervance,  and  to  mark  that  night 
throughout  all  their  generations  for  ever. 

2.  The  whole  people  were  witnefles  to- 
the  miracle  in  pairing  the  R.ed  Sea,  and 
fung  that  hymn  which  Mofes  compofed  on 
that  occafion,  which  was  preferved  for  the 
ufe  of  their  children. 

3.  The  whole  people  were  witneffes  to 
the  dreadful  promulgation  of  the  law  from 
Sinai,  with  which  they  were  alfo  to  acquaint 
their  children ;  and  the  feaft  of  Penttcoil 
was  annually  to  be  obferved  en  the  day  on 
v.  inch  that  law  was  given  ;  befides  that  the 
very  tables  in  which  the  ten  commands 
were  written,  were  depofited  in  the  Ark, 
and  remained,  at  lead,  till  the  building  of 
Solomon's  temple,  and  probably  till  the 
deitruction  cf  it. 

4.  The  whole  people  were  witnefles  to 
the  many  miracles  wrought,  during  the, 
fpace  of  forty  years,  in  the  wilderneTs ;  to 
the  pillar  of  fire  and  cloud,  to  the  manna, 
quails,  &c.  a  iample  cf  the  manna  remain- 
ed to  future  generations ;  and  they  were 
directed  to  relate  what  they  faw  to  their 
children. 

5.  The  whole  people  were  witneffes  to 
the  framing  and  building  of  the  Ark,  and 
Tabernacle  ;  they  were  all  contributors  to 
it ;  they  lav  the  cloud  fill  and  red  upon  it, 
and  they  ailiiied  at  the  fervices  performed 
there ;  and,  to  commemorate  this,  as  well 
as  their  fojourning  in  tents  in  the  wilder- 
nefs,  die  annual  feaft  of  Tabernacles  was 
appointed,  which  in  Succeeding  years,  they 
were  t©  explain  to  their  children. 

As  thefe  things  were  absolutely  fufficient 
to  fatisfy  the  children  of  Ifrael,  then  in  be- 
ing, touching  the  authority  and  obligation 
of  this  law,  feveral  things  were  added  to 
enforce  the  obfervance,  and  to  preferve  the 
memory  and  evidence  of  what  was  to  be 
obferved. 

1 .  The  law  was  by  Mofes,  at  the  com- 
mand of  God,  put  into  writing,  for  the 
greater  certainty,  as  well  as  all  the  direc- 
tions for  making  the  Ark,  the  Cherubim, 
the  Tabernacle,  the  prieft's  garments,  &c. 
and  all  the  rules  of  government,  judicature, 
&c.  with  every  other  circumftance  revealed, 
for  directing  the  faith  and  the  conduct  of 
the  nation. 

2.  The  law  was  to  be  preferved,  pe- 
rufed,  and  attended  to,  in  the  moll  careful 

manner ; 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


3.19 


manner;  the  priefts,  who  were  to  judge  in 
queftions  relating  to  it,  mull  be  well  verfed 
in  it ;  the  king,  who  was  to  rule  over  the 
nation,  was  to  write  out  a  copy  of  it  for 
himfelf,  and  to  perufe  it  continually;  and 
the  people  were  to  write  out  paffages  of  it, 
and  to  wear  them  by  way  of  figns,  upon 
their  hands,  and  of  frontlets,  between  their 
eyes,  and  to  write  them  upon  the  poll  of 
their  doors,  &c.  And  they  were  to  teach 
their  children  the  moll  notable  parts  of  it, 
and  particularly  to  inftruct  them  in  the 
miracles  attending  the  deliverance  from 
Egypt,  as  they  fat  in  their  houfe,  as  they 
walked  by  the  way,  as  they  lay  down,  and 
as  they  rofe  up,  &c. 

3.  Befides  the  authority  that  promul- 
gated the  law,  there  was  a  folemn  covenant 
and  agreement  between  God  and  the  people, 
whereby  the  people  became  bound  to  keep, 
preferve,  and  obferve  this  law,  and  all  that 
was  contained  in  it :  and  God  became  bound 
to  be  the  God  of  the  Ifraelitifh  people,  to 
protect,  and  profper  them  :  and  this  cove- 
nant, towards  the  end  of  their  fojourning 
in  the  wildernefs,  was  folemnly  renewed. 

4.  The  particulars  cf  this  covenant,  up-, 
on  God's  part,  were,  to  give  the  people 
the  good  land  of  Canaan,  a  land  flow- 
ing with  milk  and  honey,  to  preferve, 
and  protect  them  in  it ;  to  give  them 
perpetual  indurance,  and  victory  over  their 
and  his  enemies ;  to  profper  them  in  ail 
their  labours ;  to  give  them  the  increafe 
of  their  fields,  and  flocks ;  and  to  make 
them  a  great,  a  happy,  and  a  flourishing 
people ;  on  condition  that  they  kept  and 
obeyed  his  law. 

5.  The  particulars,  on  the  part  of  the 
people,  were,  to  ferve  Jehovah,  and  no 
other  God,  in  the  way  directed  by  the 
law;  to  preferve,  obferve,  and  obey  the 
law  carefully  and  exactly;  and,  if  they 
failed  or  tranfgreffed,  to  fubmif  and  con- 
fent  to  the  fevere  fanction  of  the  law  and 
covenant,  which,  in  many  inftances,  was, 
to  individuals  tranfgreffing,  death  (to  be 
cut  off  from  the  people)  and  to  the  bulk 
of  the  people,  deflru&ion,  captivity,  dif- 
perfion,  blindnefs,  madnefs,  &c.  befides  thq 
forfeiture  of  all  the  good  promifes. 

6.  Befides  the  other  bleffings,  and  pre- 
eminences, God  was,  by  fome  fpecial  vifi- 
ble  fymbol  of  his  prefence,  to  refide  con- 
tinually with  the  people ;  firft,  in  the  Taber- 
nacle, which  was  made  in  the  wildernefs 
for  that  end,  and  afterwards  in  the  temple  ; 
whence  he  was  to  give  judgment  and  di- 


rections, and  to  anfvver  prayers,  and  accept 
of  vows. 

7.  This  covenant  was  alfo  reduced  into 
writing,  and  was  the  tenure  by  which  the 
Ifraelites  held  the  land  of  Canaan,  and 
on  which  all  their  hopes  were  founded: 
wherefore  it  mull:  in  all  generations  be 
confidered  by  them  as  a  thing  of  no  fmall 
moment. 

As  God  was  the  head  of  this  Irate,  and 
as  the  people  held  immediately  their  land 
of  him  ;  fo  he  made  feveral  regulations  for 
holding  that  property,  that  are  very  re- 
markable. 

1 .  The  land  was  by  his  command  di- 
vided into  twelve  lots,  one  for  each  tribe; 
and  they  were  put  in  poiTefTion  accordingly, 
to  the  excluiion  of  the  tribe  of  Levi,  who 
for  their  portion  had  no  more  than  what 
attended  the  fervice  of  God's  houfe,  and 
fome  cities  with  fuburbs,  difperfed  amonoft 
other  tribes. 

2.  Not  only  were  the  defendants  of 
each  tribe  to  enjoy,  in  excluiion  of  other 
tribes,  their  own  lot,  but  the  particular 
fields  and  parcels,  within  each  tribe,  were 
to  remain  for  ever  with  the  refpective  fa- 
milies that  firft  poffeiTed  them,  and  on 
failure  of  the  iffiie  of  the  polfeffor,  to  the 
neareft  of  that  family :  hence  all  lands 
fold  returned  at  the  jubilee  to  the  pro- 
prietor, or  his  neareft  a-kin ;  he  who  had 
a  right  to  revenge  blood  might  redeem. 

3.  This  right  of  blood,  depending  upon 
knowledge  of  defcent  and  genealopw,  made 
it  abfolutely  neceflary  for  the  children  of 
Ifrael  to  keep  very  exact  records  and  proofs 
of  their  defcent;  not  to  mention  the  ex- 
pectation they  had  of  fomething  furprif- 
ingly  lingular  from  the  many  promifes 
made  to  Abraham,  lfaac,  and  Jacob,  that 
the  ble fling  to  mankind  fhould  fpring  from 
their  Seed;  and,  in  tracing  their  genealogy, 
we  fee  they  were  very  critical,  upon  their 
return  from  Babylon  :  fo  that,  before  their 
records  were  difturbed  by  the  captivity,  it 
could  not  well  be  otherwife,  but  that  every 
body  of  any  note  amongft  the  Jews  could 
tell  you  the  name  of  his  anceftor,  who  firft 
had  the  family  -pofleffion,  in  the  days  of 
Joihua,  and  how  many  degrees,  and  by 
what  defcent  he  was  removed  from  him. 
And  as  thefe  firft  poiTefTors,  purfuant  to  the 
cuftom  of  the  nation,  muft  have  been  de- 
fcribed  by  their  father's  name,  'tis  highly 
probable,  they  could  have  quoted  by  name 
that  anceftor  who  faw  the  miracles  in 
Egypt,  who-  Caw  the  law  given,  who  en- 
tered 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


tered  into  the  covenant,  and  who  contri- 
buted to  the  fetting  up  the  Ark  and  Taber- 
nacle. 

4.  The  very  furprifmg  care  taken  by 
the  Deity  to  keep  the  breed  of  the  Jews 
pure  and  genuine,  by  the  proofs  of  virgi- 
nity, and  by  the  miraculous  waters  of jea- 
iouiy,  is  a  circumftance  that  merits  atten- 
tion, and  will  eafily  induce  a  belief  that 
defcent  and  birth  was  a  matter  much  mind- 
ed amongft  them.     And, 

5.  The  appointment  and  obfervance  of 
the  fabbatical  year,  and,  after  the  feventh 
fabbatical  year,  a  year  of  jubilee,  for  the 
general  releafe  of  debts,  lands,  &c.  is  a 
circumftance  of  great  moment,  not  only  as 
thefe  notable  periods  were  ufefiil  towards 
the  eafy  computation  of  time,  but  as  it 
made  enquiry  into  titles,  and  ccnfequently 
genealogy,  necefTary  every  fiftieth  year ; 
and  as  the  ceffation  from  culture  every 
feventh  year  gave  continual  occafions  for 
the  Deity's  difplaying  his  power  in  in- 
creasing the  crop  of  the  fixth,  purfuant  to 
his  promife. 

Now,  taking  thefe  circumftances  toge- 
ther under  confederation,  could  any  human 
precaution  have  provided  more  means  to 
keep  up  the  memory  and  evidence  of  any 
facTt  ?  Could  this  have  been  done  by  human 
forefight  or  force  ?  Has  any  thing  like  to  it 
ever  been  in  the  world  befides  ? 

What  could  tend  more  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  any  event,  than  to  deliver  a 
whole  people,  by  public  glorious  miracles, 
from  intolerable  flavery  ?  To  publifh  a 
very  extraordinary  fyftem  of  laws  imme- 
diately from  heaven  ?  To  put  this  law  in 
writing  together  with  the  covenant  for 
the  obeying  it  ?  To  make  the  tenure  of 
the  eftates  depend  on  the  original  divifion 
of  the  land,  to  men  who  faw  the  miracles, 
and  firft  took  poffeffion,  and  on  the  proxi- 
mity of  relation,  by  defcent  to  them  ?  To 
appoiit  a  return  of  lands  every  fiftieth  year, 
which  ihould  give  perpetual  occafion  to 
canvafs  thole  defcents  ?  To  order  a  fab- 
bath  every  feventh  year  for  the  land,  the 
lofs  of  which  mould  be  fupplied  by  the 
preceding  year's  increafe  ?  And  to  ielecl  a 
whole  tribe  confuting  of  many  thoufands, 
to  be  the  guardians,  in  fome  degree  the 
iudo-es  and  the  executors  of  this  law  ;  who 

r  1        j 

were  barred  from  any  portion  or  the  land, 
in  common  with  their  brethren,  and  were 
contented  with  the  contributions  that  came 
from  the  other  tribes,  without  any  fixed 
portion  amongft  them  ?  This  muft  keep 
up  the  belief  and  authority  of  that  law 


amongft  the  defcendants  of  that  people,  or 
nothing  could:  and  if  fuch  a  belief,  under 
all  thefe  circumftances,  prevailed  amongft 
a  people  fo  conftituted,  that  belief  could 
not  poflibly  proceed  from  impofture ;  be- 
caufe  the  very  means  provided,  for  proof 
of  the  truth,  are  fo  many  checks  againft 
any  pollibility  of  impofition. 

If  any  man  will  fuggeft  that  the  law  of 
the  Jews  is  no  more  than  human  invention, 
and  that  the  book  of  the  law  is  a  forgery  ; 
let  him  fay  when  it  was  impofcd  upon  that 
people,  or  at  what  period  it  could  have 
poflibly  been  impofed  upon  them,  fo  as 
to  gain  belief,  later  than  the  period  they 
mention,  and  under  other  circumftances 
than  thofe  they  relate. 

Could  the  whole  people  have  been  per- 
fuaded  at  any  one  period,  by  any  impoftor, 
that  they  were  told  Severally  by  their  fa- 
thers, and  they  by  theirs,  that  the  law  was 
given  with  fuch  circumftances,  and  under 
fuch  promifes,  and  threats,  if  they  were 
not  really  told  fo  ;  or  that  they,  throughout 
all  their  generations,  had  worn  certain 
palTages  of  the  law  by  way  of  frontlets 
and  figns,  if  it  had  not  really  been  fo  ? 

Could  the  whole  people  have  been  per- 
fuaded  to  fubmit  to  the  pain  of  death,  upon 
all  the  offences  which  the  law  makes  ca- 
pital, unlefs  their  fathers  had  done  fo,  upon 
the  evidence  of  the  authority  of  that  law  ? 

Could  the  whole  people  have  been  per- 
fuaded  that  they  had  kept  exadl  genealo- 
gies, in  order  to  entitle  them  to  the  bleffmg, 
and  to  the  inheritances  feverally,  unlefs 
they  actually  had  done  fo  ? 

Could  the  whole  people  believe  that  they 
had  kept  paffovers,  feafts  of  tabernacles, 
&c.  down  from  the  date  of  the  law,  com- 
memorative of  the  great  events  they  relate 
to,  unlefs  they  had  really  done  fo  ? 

Could  the  children  of  Ifrael  have  been 
impofed  on  to  receive  an  Ark,  and  a  Ta- 
bernacle, then  forged,  and  a  compleat  fet 
of  fervice  and  liturgy,  as  defcending  from 
Mofes  by  the  direction  of  God,  unlefs  that 
Ark  and  that  fervice  had  come  to  them 
from  their  anceftors,  as  authorized  by 
God? 

Could  the  whole  people  have  fubmitted 
to  pay  tithe,  firft  fruits,  &c.  upon  any 
feigned  revelation  ?  Or,  could  the  tribe  of 
Levi,  without  divine  authority,  have  fub- 
mitted, not  only  to  the  being  originally 
without  a  portion  in  Ifrael,  but  to  the  being 
incapable  of  any,  in  hopes  of  the  contri- 
butions of  the  people  ;  which  however  large 
when  the  whole  twelve  tribes  ferved  at  the 

fame 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELICIOUS. 


fame  temple,  became  very  fcanty  when  ten 
of  them  withdrew  their  allegiance  from 
heaven  ? 

Could  ever  the  book  of  the  law,  if  con- 
figned  to  the  Levites,  and  promulgated, 
have  been  loft,  fo  as  to  give  room  for  new 
fictions  ?  Or  could  a  book  of  the  law  have 
been  forged,  if  there  was  none  precedent, 
and  put  upon  the  people,  as  a  book  that 
had  been  delivered  to  the  Levites  by  Mo- 
fes  ?  If  ho  book  at  all  ever  was  delivered 
by  him  to  them,  what  authority  could  be 
pretended  for  fuch  a  book  ? 

Had  a  book  been  to  be  forged,  in  order 
to  be  received  by  the  people,  could  it  have 
contained  fo  many  icandalous  reflexions 
and  accufations  againft  the  people,  and  fo 
many  fatal  threats  and  predictions  con- 
cerning them  ?  and,  if  it  had  been  fo 
framed,  could  it  have  been  received  as 
authentic  ? 

If  the  law,  &c.  was  forged,  it  muit  have 
been  before  the  days  of  David  :  becaufe 
by  the  facred  hymns,  in  his  time,  the  pub- 
lication of  the  law  is  celebrated,  and  the 
Jaw  was  obierved  :  and  yet  the  time  be- 
tween the  entry  of  Ifrael  into  the  land,  and 
the  reign  of  David,  being  bat  about  four 
hundred  years,  is  too  fhort  a  fpace  for  for- 
getting the  real  manner  of  the  entry,  and 
forging  another,  to  be  received  by  a 
people,  whole  genealogy  was  fo  fixed,  and 
whofe  time  was  reckoned  by  fuch  periods. 

If  the  book  of  the  law  was  not  forged 
before  the  reign  of  David,  it  could  not 
poftibly  be  forged  after,  unlefs  the  whole 
hiftory  of  the  kingdom,  the  tabernacle,  the 
temple,  and  all  the  facred  hymns  and  pro- 
phecies, are  looked  upon  as  one  compleat 
fiction;  becaufe  the  tabernacle,  the  tem- 
ple, the  ceconomy  of  the  kingdom,  the  fa- 
cred hymns  and  all  the  other  writings  faid 
to  be  facred,  bear  formal  relation  to  the 
law. 

But,  that  all  thefe  things  were  not  fup- 
pofitious,  is  evident  from  the  anxious  zeal. 
that  pofleffed  the  Jews  who  returned  from 
the  captivity ;  from  their  folicitude  to 
reilore  the  city,  the  temple  and  the  facred 
fervice;  from  their  Uriel  examination  of 
their  genealogies,  and  fcrupulous  care  to 
comply  with  the  law. 

The  fpace  between  the  captivity  and 
the  return  was  fo  (hort,  that  fome  who  law 
the  firfl  temple,  faw  alio  the  fecond,  and 
many  who  were  themfelves,  or  at  leaft 
vvhofc  fathers  had  been,  officers  in  the  frit, 
temple,  returned  to  the  fervice  of  the  fe- 
c©nd :  fo  that  it  is  utterly  impoifible  that 


231 

the  hiftory,  the  liturgy,  the  fervice  of  the 
jews,  preceding  the  return,  fhould  be  a 
fiction,  at  leaft  that  it  fhould  be  a  fiction 
earlier  than  the  return. 

And  the  ftory  of  this  nation,  from  that 
period,  falls  in  fo  much  with  the  hiftory  of 
the  reft  of  the  world ;  their  facred  books 
have  been  fo  foon  after  that  tranflated, 
and  they  have  been  fo  famous  for  the  te- 
nacioufnefs  of  their  laws,  that  there  is  no 
poilibility  of  fufpecting  that  their  law  and 
hiftory  was  forged  later  than  the  return. 
And,  if  it  is  granted,  that  the  devotions, 
the  precepts,  the  inititutions,  and  rites  and 
ceremonies  of  this  law,  and  the  great  lines 
of  their  hiftory,  are  not  forged ;  one 
needs,  as  to  the  prefent  confideration,  be 
but  little  folicitous  concerning  the  accu- 
racy of  the  copy  of  the  books  of  the  law, 
and  of  the  other  facred  books  ;  and  whe- 
ther there  may  not  have  been  fome  miftake 
and  interpolations.  It  is  not  With  one  or 
one  hundred  words  or  fentences  we  have 
to  do ;  it  is  with  the  fyftem  of  the  facri- 
ficature,  and  the  other  religious  laws  and 
fervices  of  the  Jews,  and  with  the  political 
eftablifhment  of  their  theocratical  govern- 
ment, and  the  authority  for  the  eftablifh- 
ment of  both,  that  we  have,  at  prefent, 
concern. 

For,  if  fuch  a  fyftem  of  religious  fer- 
vices and  ceremonies  was  revealed  and 
commanded  by  God,  if,  for  the  greater 
certainty,  it  was  reduced  into  writing  by 
Mofes,  by  divine  direction ;  if  fuch  a 
model  of  government  was  framed,  as  is 
manifeftly  calculated  for  keeping  up  the 
obfervance  of  thole  fervices,  and  preferving 
the  memory  of  the  inftitution,  and  keeping 
up  the  authority  of  the  book  wherein  it 
was  recorded ;  and  if  the  nation,  to  whom 
this  inftitution  was  delivered,  have  pre- 
ferved  it  accordingly :  compleat  evidence 
thence  arifes  to  us  of  the  divinity  of  the 
inftitution;  and  leads  to  a  demonftrative 
proof  of  the  truth  of  the  Chriftian  religion, 
to  which  all  the  emblematical  inititutions 
tend,  and  in  which  they  center. 

Lord  Forbes, 

§  173.   On  the  Old  and  New  Tcjiament. 

The  Old  Teftament  hath,  by  the  general 
confent  of  learned  men,  all  the  marks  of 
pureft  antiquity;  there  being  nothing  in 
the  world  which  in  this  refpecl  is  equal  to 
it,  or  which  may  pretend  to  be  compared 
with  it;  all  other  the  moft  ancient  monu- 
ments of  antiquity  coming  Ihort  of  it  by 
many  ages.      It  was  written  in  the  frit 

and 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


•222 

and   moft  antient  language;   from   which 

the  very  alphabets  and  letters  of  all  other 
languages  were  derived. 

This  book  contains,  as  the  moil  ancient, 
fo  the  moll  exact  llory  cf  the  world,  the 
propagation  of  men,  and  the  difperfing 
of  families  into  the  feveral  parts  of  the 
earth. 

And  though  this  book  were  written  in 
feveral  ages  and  places,  by  feveral  perfons; 
yet  doth  "the  doctrine  of  it  accord  together, 
with  a  moil  excellent  harmony,  without 
any  diilbnance  or  inconfiftency. 

And  for  the  manner  of  delivering  the 
things  contained  in  it,  'tis  fo  folemn, 
reverend  and  majeflic,  fo  exactly  fuited  to 
the  nature  of  things,  as  may  juflly  provoke 

.  our  wonder  and  acknowledgment  of  its 
divine  original. 

And  as  for  the  New  Teftament ;  thofe 
various  correfpondences,  which  it  bears  to 

■  the  chief  things  of  the  Old  Teftament, 
may  fufficiently  evidence  that  mutual  rela- 
tion, dependance,  and  affinity  which  there  is 
between  them.  That  in  fuch  an  age  there 
was  fuch  a  man  as  Chriil,  who  preached 
fuch  a  doctrine,  wrought  many  miracles, 
fufiered  an  ignominious  death,  and  was 
afterwards  worfhipped  as  God,  having 
abundance  of  difciples  and  followers,  at 
firfl  chiefly  amongil  the  vulgar,  but  a 
while  after,  amongil  feveral  of  the  moil 

•  wife  and  learned  men;  who  in  a  fhort 
fpace  of  time  did  propagate  their  belief 
and  doctrine  into  the  moil  remote  parts  of 
the  world  :  I  fay,  all  this  is  for  the  truth  of 
the  matter  of  fact,  not  fo  much  as  doubted 
or  called  into  queftion,  by  Julian,  or 
Celfus,  or  the  Jews  themfelves,or  any  ether 
of  the  moil  avowed  enemies  of  Chriftianity. 
But  we  have  it  by  as  good  certainty  as 
any  rational  man  can  wifh  or  hope  for, 
that  is,  by  univerfal  teilimony,  as  well  of 
enemies  as  friends. 

And  if  thefc  things  were  fo,  as  to  the 
matter  of  fact,  the  common  principles  of 
nature  will  allure  us,  that  'tis  not  confident 
with  the  nature  of  the  Deity,  his  truth, 
wifdom,  or  juilice,  to  work  fuch  miracles 
in  confirmation  of  a  lie  or  impoilure. 

Nor  can  it  be  reafonably  objected  that 
thefe  miracles  are  now  ceafed;  and  we 
have  not  any  fuch  extraordinary  way  to 
confirm  the  truth  of  our  religion.  'Tis 
fufficient  that  they  were  upon  the  firfl 
plantation  of  it,  when  men  were  to  be 
inftituted  and  confirmed  in  that  new 
doctrine.     And  there  may  be  as  much  of 


the  wifdom  of  providence  in  the  forbear- 
ing them  now,  as  in  working  them  then; 
it  being  not  reafonable  to  think  that,  the 
univerfal  laws  of  nature  by  which  things 
are  to  be  regularly  guided  in  their 
natural  courfe,  fhould  frequently,  or 
upon  every  little  occafion,  be  violated  or 
difordered. 

To  which  may  be  added  that  wonderful 
way  whereby  this  religion  hath  been  pro- 
pagated in  the  world,  with  much  fimplicity 
and  infirmity  in  the  firfl  publiihers  of  it ; 
without  arms,  or  faction,  or  favour  of  great 
men,  or  the  perfuafions  of  pnilofophcrs  or 
orators ;  only  by  the  naked  propofal  of 
plain  evident  truth,  with  a  firm  refolution 
of  fufFering  and  dying  for  it,  by  which  it 
hath  fubdued  all  kind  of  perfecutions  and 
oppofitions,  and  furmounted  whatever  dif- 
couragement  or  reiiilance  could  be  laid  in 
its  way,  or  made  againil  it. 

The  excellency  of  the  things  contained 
in  the  Gofpel  are  alio  fo  fuitabie  to  a 
rational  being,  as  no  other  religion  or 
profeffion  whatsoever  hath  thought  of,  Or 
fo  exprefsly  infilled  upon. 

Some  of  the  learned  Heathens  have 
placed  the  happinefs  of  man  in  the  external 
feniual  delights  of  this  world. 

Others  of  the  wifer  Heathen  have 
fnoken  fometimes  doubtfully  concerning 
a  future  {late,  and  therefore  have  placed 
the  reward  of  virtue,  in  the  doing  of 
virtuous  things.  Virtue  is  its  own  re- 
ward. Wherein,  though  there  be  much  of 
truth,  yet  it  doth  not  afford  encourage- 
ment enough  for  the  vail  defires  of  a 
rational  foul. 

Others  who  have  owned  a  flate  after 
this'  life,  have  placed  the  happinefs  of  it 
in  grofs  and  fenfual  pleafures,  feafls  and 
gardens,  and  company,  and  other  fuch 
low  and  grofs  enjoyments. 

Whereas  the  doctrine  of  Chriilianity 
doth  fix  it  upon  things  that  are  much  more 
fpii  itual  and  fublime ;  the  beatific  vifion, 
a  clear  unerring  underftanding,  a  perfect 
tranquillity  of  mind,  a  conformity  to 
God,  a  perpetual  admiring  and  praifing 
of  him ;  than  which  the  mind  of  man 
cannot  fancy  any  thing  that  is  more 
excellent  or  defirable. 

As  to  the  duties  that  are  enjoined  in 
reference  to  divine  worihip,  they  are  fo 
full  of  fanctity  and  fpiritual  devotion,  as 
may  fhame  all  the  pompous  folemnities 
of  other  religions,  in  their  coflly  facriiices, 
their  dark   wild  mylleries,  and  excernal 

observances. 

3 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


223 


obfervances.  Whereas  this  refers  chiefly 
to  the  holinefs  of  the  mind,  resignation  to 
God,  love  of  him,  dependance  upon  him, 
fubmiffion  to  his  will,  endeavouring  to  be 
like  him-. 

And  as  for  the  duties  of  the  fecond 
table,  which  concern  our  mutual  conver- 
sation towards  one  another,  it  allows 
nothing  that  is  hurtful  or  noxious,  either 
to  ourfelves  or  others;  forbids  all  kind  of 
injury  or  revenge  ;  commands  to  overcome 
evil  with  gcod;  to  pray  for  enemies  and 
perfecutors ;  doth  not  admit  of  any 
mental,  much  lefs  any  corporal  unclean- 
nefs  ;  doth  not  tolerate  any  immodeft  or 
uncomelv  word  or  gefture  ;  forbids  us  to 
wrong  others  in  their  goods  and  pof- 
ieffions,  or  to  mifpend  our  own ;  requires 
us  to  be  very  tender  both  of  our  own  and 
other  men's  reputation  ;  in  brief,  it  enjoins 
nothing  but  what  is  helpful,  and  ufehil, 
and  good  for  mankind.  Whatever  any 
phttofbphers  have  prefcribed  concerning 
their  moral  virtues  of  temperance,  and  prn- 
dence,and  patience,  and  the  duties  of  feveral 
relations,  is  here  enjoined,  in  a  far  more 
eminent,  fublime,  and  comprehenfive  man- 
ner: befides  fuch  examples  and  incitations 
to  piety  as  are  not  to  be  paralleled  elfe- 
where  :  the  whole  fyitem  of  its  doctrines 
being  tranfeendently  excellent,  and  fo 
exactly  conformable  to  the  higheit  pu:  eft 
reaibn,  that  in  thofe  very  things  wherein  it 
goes  beyond  the  rules  of  moral  philofophy, 
we  cannot  in  our  beft  judgment  but  con- 
sent to  Submit  to  it. 

In  brief;  it  doth  in  every  reSpect  fo 
fully  anfwer  the  chief  fcope  and  defign  of 
religion  in  giving  all  imaginable  honour 
and  fubmiSiion  to  the  Deity,  promoting 
the  good  of  mankind,  fatisfying  and  Sup- 
porting the  mind  of  man  with  the  higheft 
kind  of  enjoyments,  that  a  rational  foul 
can  wifh  or  hope  for,  as  no  other  religion 
or  profefhon  whatfoever  can  pretend 
unto— 

Iniidcls  pretend  want  of  clear  and  in- 
fallible evidence  for  the  truth  of  Chrif- 
tianity ;  than  which  nothing  can  be  more 
abfurd  and  unworthy  of  a  rational  man. 
For  let  it  be  but  impartially  confidered; 
what  is  it,  that  fuch  men  would  have  ?  Do 
they  expect  mathematical  proof  and  cer- 
tainty in  moral  things  ?  Why,  they  may 
as  well  expect  to  fee  with  their  ears,  and 
hear  with  their  eyes :  fuch  kind  of  things 
being' altogether  asdifproportioned  to  fuch 
kind  of  proofs,  as  the  objects  of  the  feveral 
fenfes  are  to  one'  another.     The  arguments 


or  proof  to  be  ufed  in  feveral  matters  are 
of  various  and  different  kinds,  according 
to  the  nature  of  the  things  to  be  proved. 
And  it  will  become  every  rational  man  to 
yield  to  fuch  proofs,  as  the  nature  of  the 
thing  which  he  enquires  about  is  capable 
of :  and  that  man  is  to  be  looked  upon  as 
froward  and  contentious,  who  will  not  reft 
Satisfied  in  fuch  kind  of  evidence  a:s  is 
counted  fufficient,  either  by  all  others,  or 
by  moft,  or  by  the  wifeft  men. 

If  we  fuppofe  God  to  have  made  any 
revelation  of  his  will  to  mankind,  can  any 
man  propofe  or  fancy  any  better  way 
for  conveying  down  to  pofterity  the  cer- 
tainty of  it,  than  that  clear  and  univerfal 
tradition  which  we  have  for  the  hiftory 
of  the  Gofpel  ?  And  muft  not  that  man  be 
very  unreafonable,  who  will  not  be  content 
with  as  much  evidence  for  an  ancient  book 
or  matter  of  fact,  as  any  thing  of  that 
nature  is  capable  of?  If  it  be  only 
infallible  and  mathematical  certainty 
that  can  fettle  his  mind,  why  mould  he 
believe  that  he  was  born  of  fuch  parents, 
and  belongs  to  fuch  a  family?  5Tis 
poffible  men  might  have  combined  together 
to  delude  him  with  fuch  a  tradition.  Why 
may  he  not  as  well  think,  that  he  was 
born. a  Prince  and  not  a  Subject,  and  con- 
fequently  deny  all  duties  of  Subjection  and 
obedience  to  thofe  above  him?  There  is 
nothing  fo  wild  and  extravagant,  to  which 
men  may  not  expofe  themfelves  by  fuch  a 
kind  of  nice  and  Scrupulous  incredulity. 

Whereas,  if  to  the  enquiries  about 
religion  a  man  would  but  bring  with  him 
the  lame  candour  and  ingenuity,  the  fame 
readinefs  to  be  instructed,  which  he  doth 
to  the  Study  of  human  arts  and  fciences, 
that  is,  a  mind  free  from  violent  prejudices 
and  a  defire  of  contention;  it  can  hardly 
be  imagined,  but  that  he  muft  be  convinced 
and  Subdued  by  thofe  clear  evidences, 
which  offer  themSelves  to  every  inquisitive 
mind,  concerning  the  truth  of  the  princi- 
ples of  religion  in  general,  and  concerning- 
the  divine  authority  of  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures, and  the  Christian  religion. 

Bijhop  Wiltins. 

§  I  /  4-.  Chief  defign,  and  principal  int  cutis* 
of  the  civil  government  of  the  Hebrews. 
To  lay  down  a  true  plan  of  the  Hebrew 
government,  it  will  be  requisite  previously 
to  conSider,  what  particular  views  the 
lawgiver  might  have  in  it.  If  any 
particular  ends  were  deSigned,  to  promote 
which  the  plan  of  the  government  itielf  was 

to 


224 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


to  be  adjufted;  thofe  defigns  will  help  to 
explain  many  parts  and  conilitutions  of  the 
government,  as  it  will  fhevv  the  great 
wifdom  of  the  legiflator,  which  has  made 
the  plan  in  its  feveral  parts  mod  fit,  and 
proper  to  ferve,  and  fecure  thofe  ends. 

The  Hebrew  government  appears  not 
©nly  defigned  to  ferve  the  common  and 
general  ends  of  all  good  governments ; 
to  protect  the  property,  liberty,  fafety, 
and  peace  of  the  feveral  members  of  the 
community,  in  which  the  true  happinefs 
and  profperity  of  national  focieties  will 
always  confift;  but  moreover  to  be  an 
holy  people  to  Jehovah,  and  a  kingdom  of 
priefts.  For  thus  Mofes  is  directed  to 
tell  the  children  of  Ifrael,  "  Ye  have 
feen  what  I  did  unto  the  Egyptians,  and 
how  I  bore  you  on  eagles  wings,  and 
brought  you  unto  myfelf.  Now  therefore 
if  you  will  hear  my  voice  indeed,  and 
keep  my  covenant,  then  ye  fhall  be  a 
peculiar  treafure  unto  me  above  all  peo- 
ple; for  all  the  earth  is  mine,  and  ye 
mall  be  unto  me  a  kingdom  of  priefts  and 
an  holy  nation."  We  learn  what  this 
covenant  was  in  a  further  account  of  it. 
"  Ye  ftand  this  day  all  of  you  before 
the  Lord  your  God,  your  captains  of  your 
tribes,  your  elders  and  your  officers,  and 
all  the  men  of  Ifrael;  that  you  mould 
enter  into  covenant  with  the  Lord  thy 
God,  and  into  his  oath  which  the  Lord 
thy  God  maketh  with  thee  this  day ;  that 
he  may  eftablifh  thee  to-day  for  a  people 
unto  himfelf,  and  that  he  may  be  unto 
thee  a  God,  as  he  hath  faid  unto  thee, 
and  as  he  hath  fworn  unto  thy  fathers, 
to  Abraham,  Ifaac,  and  to  Jacob:  for 
ye  know,"  adds  Mofes,  "  how  we  have 
dwelt  in  the  land  of  Egypt,  and  how  we 
came  through  the  nations  which  ye  paf- 
fed  by ;  and  ye  have  feen  their  abomi- 
nations and  their  idols,  wood  and  (lone, 
filver  and  gold  which  were  among  them, 
left  there  fhould  be  among  you,  man, 
or  woman,  or  family,  or  tribe,  whofe 
heart  turneth  away  this  day  from  the 
Lord  cur  God  to  go  and  ferve  the  Gods 
of  thefe  nations." 

Without  any  enquiry  into  the  critical 
meaning  of  thcfe  expreffions  feverally, 
every  one  may  eafily  fee  this  general 
intention  of  them  ;  that  the  covenant  of 
Jehovah  with  the  Hebrew  people,  a*.d 
their  oath  by  which  they  bound  their 
allegiance  to  Jehovah  their  God  and  King, 
was,  that  they  fhould  receive  and  obey 
the  laws  which  he  fhoulJ  appoint  as  their 


fupreme  governor,  with  a  particular  en* 
gagement  to  keep  themfelves  from  the 
idolatry  of  the  nations  round  about  them, 
whether  the  idolatry  they  had  feen  while 
they  dwelt  in  the  land  of  Egypt,  or  had 
obferved  in  the  nations  by  which  they 
pa/led  into  the  promifed  land.  In  keep- 
ing this  allegiance  to  Jehovah,  as  their 
immediate  and  fupreme  Lord,  they  were 
to  expefr  the  bleffings  of  God's  immediate 
and  particular  protection  in  the  fecurity 
of  their  liberty,  peace,  and  profperity, 
againft  all  attempts  of  their  idolatrous 
neighbours ;  but  if  they  fhould  break  their 
allegiance  to  Jehovah,  or  forfake  the 
covenant  of  Jehovah,  by  going  and  ferving 
other  Gods  and  worshipping  them,  then 
they  fhould  forfeit  thefe  bleffings  of  God's 
protection,  and  the  anger  of  Jehovah 
ihould  be  kindled  againft  the  land,  to 
bring  upon  it  all  the  curfes  that  are 
written  in  this  book. 

The  true  fenfe  then  of  this  folemn  tranf- 
adlion ;  between  God  and  the  Hebrew 
nation,  which  may  be  called  the  original 
contrail:  of  the  Hebrew  government,  is 
to  this  purpofe  :  If  the  Hebrews  would 
voluntarily  confent  to  receive  Jehovah 
for  their  Lord  and  King,  to  keep  his 
covenant  and  laws,  to  honour  and  worfhip 
him  as  the  one  true  God,  in  oppofition 
to  all  idolatry ;  then,  though  God  as 
fovercign  of  the  world  rules  over  all  the 
nations  of  the  earth,  and  all  the  nations 
are  under  the  general  care  of  his  provi- 
dence, he  would  govern  the  Hebrew 
nation  by  peculiar  laws  of  his  particular 
appointment,  and  blefs  it  with  a  more 
immediate  and  particular  protection;  he 
would  fecure  to  them  the  invaluable  pri- 
vileges of  the  true  religion,  together  with 
liberty,  peace  and  profperity,  as  a  fa- 
voured people  above  all  other  nations. 
It  is  for  very  wife  reafons  you  may 
obierve,  that  temporal  bleffings  and  evils 
are  made  fo  much  ufe  of  in  this  conftitu- 
tion,  for  thefe  were  the  common  and 
prevailing  enticements  to  idolatry ;  but 
by  thus  taking  them  into  the  Hebrew 
conftitution,  as  rewards  to  obedience,  and 
punilhments  of  difobedience,  they  became 
motives  to  true  religion,  inftead  of  en- 
couragements to  idolatry. 

The  idolatrous  nations  worfhipped 
fubordinate  beings,  whom  they  owned 
fubjeCl  to  the  Supreme;  but  they  believed 
they  had  the  immediate  direction  of  the 
bleffings  of  life ;  that  they  gave  health,  long 
life,  fruitful  feafons,  plenty,  and  profpe- 
rity.- 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


225 


rlty.  This  we  are  told  by  Maimonides, 
was  a  doctrine  taught  by  the  Sabians  in 
their  books,  as  well  as  in  their  inftructions 
to  the  people. 

One  of  the  oldeft  of  the  prophets  has 
fo  fully  expreffed  this  reafonofthe  Hebrew 
conftitution,  that  we  need  no  further  evi- 
dence of  it.  "  For  their  mother  hath 
played  the  harlot,  ihe  that  conceived  them 
hath  done  fhamefully  ;  for  fne  faid,  I  will 
go  after  my  lovers,  that  give  me  m)  bread 
and  my  water,  my  wool,  and  my  flax, 
mine  oil,  and  my  drink.  For  Ihe  did 
not  know  that  I  gave  her  corn,  and  wine, 
and  oil,  and  multiplied  her  fdver  and  gold, 
which  they  prepared  for  Baal.  Therefore 
will  I  return,  and  take  away  my  corn 
in  the  time  thereof,  and  my  wine  in  the 
feafon  thereof;  and  will  recover  my  wool 
and  my  flax,  given  to  cover  her  naked- 
nefs." 

The  prophet  Jeremiah  gives  the  fame 
reafon  why  the  Jews  fell  into  the  idola- 
trous practice  of  burning  incenfe  to  the 
queen  of  heaven:  "  But  we  will  certainly 
do  whatfoever  thing  goeth  forth  out  of 
our  own  mouths  to  burn  incenfe  unto  the 
queen  of  heaven,  and  to  pour  out  drink- 
offerings  unto  her,  as  we  have  done ;  we, 
and  our  fathers,  our  kings  and  our  princes 
in  the  cities  of  Judah,  and  in  the  ftreets 
of  Jeruialem;  for  then  had  we  plenty  of 
victuals,  and  were  well,  and  faw  no  evil ; 
but  fmce  we  left  off  to  burn  incenfe  to  the 
queen  of  heaven,  and  to  pour  out  drink- 
offerings  unto  her,  we  have  wanted  ail 
things,  and  have  been  confumed  by  the 
fword  and  by  the  famine." 

This  common  doctrine  of  idolatry,  that 
the  feveral  blefiings  of  life  came  from  fome 
daemon  or  idol,  to  whom  the  authority  and 
power  of  bellowing  temporal  blefiings  were 
committed,  was  of  fo  general  and  powerful 
influence,  that  it  became  the  wifdom  of  an 
jnfHtution  defigned  to  prelerve  the  faith  and 
worihip  of  the  one  true  God,  againft  ido- 
latry, to  affert  that  God  was  the  author  of 
every  blefiing  of  life,  that  he  had  not  part- 
ed with  the  adminiftration  of  providence, 
or  given  over  the  difpofal  of  thofe  blefiings 
10  any  fubordinate  beings  whatfoever;  fo 
that  health,  long  life,  plenty  and  all  kinds 
of  profperity,  were  to  be  fought  for,  from 
him,  as  his  gift,  and  only  from  his  blefiing 
and  protection. 

Whoever  has  juft  notions  of  the  great 
evils  of  idolatry  to  the  dilhonour  of  the 
fupreme  Sovereign  and  Govemour  of  the 
world,  to   the  corruption  of  the  effential 


principles  of  true  religion  and  virtuous 
practice,  as  idolatry  directed  fo  many  bar- 
barous, immoral  and  inhuman  rite?,  and  en- 
couraged fuch  enormous  acts  of  vice,  as  acts 
of  religion,  of  which  fome  or  other  of  the 
idols  they  worihipped  were  examples,  and 
were  efleemed  to  patronize  them ;  it  will 
appear  to  them  a  defign  worthy  the  good- 
nefs,  as  well  as  the  wifdom  of  God,  to  put 
fome  flop  to  fuch  a  dangerous  evil :  efpe- 
cially  when  it  was  fo  general  and  prevail- 
ing, that  all  flefli  had  corrupted  its  way,  and 
all  the  nations  of  the  earth  were  running 
eagerly  into  it.  Even  the  Egyptians,  a 
people  fo  famed  for  wifdom  and  good  un- 
der Handing,  were  as  fenfelefs  and  as  corrupt 
in  their  idolatry,  as  any  of  their  neighbours. 
The  Hebrews  themfelves,  whatever  former 
care  had  been  taken  to  prelerve  the  know- 
ledge of  the  true  God  and  true  religion  in 
the  family  of  Abraham,  were  fo  addicted  to 
this  common  corruption  of  religion,  and 
were  fo  ready  to  fall  into  it,  that  there  feem- 
ed  no  other  way  left  to  put  any  flop  to  the 
progrefs  of  idolatry  any  where,  or  to  pre- 
serve the  true  religion  in  any  people,  but 
by  fome  conftitution  formed  on  this  plan, 
and  which  might  effectually  carry  on  this 
dclign  in  the  feveral  parts  of  it.  And  this 
the  goodnefs  and  wifdom  of  God  made  a 
principal  defign  in  the  conftitution  of  the 
Jewiih  government. 

More  effectually  to  anfwer  this  chief  de- 
fign, there  was  another  fubordinate  inten- 
tion in  the  conftitution  of  this  government. 
It  was  of  no  fmall  confequence  to  keep  this 
nation  feparate  from  other  nations,  and 
from  fuch  intercourfe  with  idolaters  as  might 
end  in  an  apoftacy  from  their  own  religion 
to  the  idolatry  of  their  neighbours.  There 
is  then  a  law  in  general  given  by  Moles, 
in  which  he  is  directed  to  fay  in  God's 
name  to  the  children  of  Ifrael,  "  I  am  the 
Lord  your  Gcd,  after  the  doings  of  the 
land  of  Egypt,  wherein  ye  dwelt,  fhall  ye 
not  do ;  and  after  the  doings  of  the  land  of 
Canaan,  whither  I  bring  you,  fhall  ye  not 
do  ;  neither  ihail  ye  walk  in  their  ordinan- 
ces, ye  fhall  do  my  judgments  and  keep 
my  ordinances  to  walk  herein  j  I  am  Je- 
hovah your  God." 

Further,  Mofes  having  recited  the  many 
and  great  abominations  committed  by  the 
Canaanites,  on  the  lofs  of  the  right  know- 
ledge of  the  one  true  God  and  of  the  true 
religion  ;  and  through  the  corruption  of 
idolatrous  doctrines  and  practices,  it  is  add- 
ed ;  "  Defile  not  ye  yourfelvts  in  any  of 
thefe  things :  for  in  all  thefe  the  nations 


2l6 


ELEGANT     I  kCTS    IN    PROSE. 


are  defil  h  I  caft  oat  before  j  ■_'." 

j  "  there 

. 
thefe  cuftoms  which  wi 

mined 

{elves  i  ;  I  ai     Jehovah  ;.  qui  <      I 

For  the  fame  pui  it  is  repeal 

ye  fhall  not 
tions  (  ;    !   I 

(  things,  arii    tin         i     : 

red  them;  but  I  hav<     tid  a  ito  you, 
ye  Lhall  inh  i  L  I  will  j 

i  t ;  a  la  in !  l :  i 
eth  with  milk  and   honey.     1  am  the  ;  -     : 
\  I  you  from 

'.tome; 
for  I  the  1 ,0.1x1  a  t  n   U 

-v  ou   from  other]  uld  be 

mine/' 

It  had  1  by  no'     icus  exan 

how  eafil 
be  enticed  • 
<  of 

too  much  i  familiarb 

while  [frael  in      ittim 

b        i  to  commit  whoredoms  ithtl 
ten  of 

i    .    I   ^jiHce  of  th 
d  )  their  gods  :" 

,\  was  the  j  r"  ora  feaftin 

tliem   on   I 

y.     "  Thus  Ifrael  join- 
ed himfelf  to  Baal-peor." 

Such  an  example  of  prev;  'olatry, 

is  juftly  gi\  en,  ;  Con  for  a 

careful    feparatii      of  th  h    people 

from  idolatrous   neighbours,   in  order    to 
prevent  fo  ven   dai  tations  in 

future  times.     Mofes    therefore   thus   ex- 
horts Ifrael,  "  Your 

the   Lord  did  or,  the 

Lord  thy  God  hath  deftroyed  them 
among  you  ;  but  ye  that 
the  Lord  your  God,  are  alive    every  one 
of  you  this  day.     Behold  I  hi 
ftatutes  and  judgments,  even  as  the  Lord 
my  God  commanded  me,  that  you 
do  fo  in  the  land  whither  ye  go  to 
it.     Keep  therefore  and  do  them,  for  that 
is  your  wifdom  and  your  i  ding,  in 

Cc  .'. 

cf  all  thefe  ftal 

great  nation  is       ;  ind  under, 

people." 

■"s  here  fpoken  c ■•". 
are!  n  of  which  appear  prin- 

e  chcfen 

■ 


i    of  every  idolatrous  rite. 
felf  for  prohibiting  inter-mar- 
riages :ly  gives  this 
(hall   you  make 
th)    daughter 
(halt  not  '.>'■                iis  daugh- 
ter dial                                   \y  fon ;  for  they 
I   :    from  following  me, 
thai                                   other    gods ;   fo  will 
Lord  be  kindled  againfl 
ee  fuddenly." 

ichat  fir/1  view  feem 

nice  and  concern,  for 

■    '■■  i  ne   look   for  no 

will  of  the  I;  w- 

ear  in  thi    view,  of  co 

id  imp  for  the  wifdom  cf 

(  hen  he  gai 

law  ious  of 

ell  explain- 
ed of  i  m  this 

I  •  :    '   ! . 

sral  reafon  for  many 
made  to   keep  men 
:h   '  .:  ■:  o     dons  as 
kin   to    idolatry;  fuch  as    the  pre- 
to  ini  ions,  <     :   ations,  fore- 

I      ing  things  by  the  ftars,  or  by  the  poffef- 
;'  or  demon,  or  confulting 
rfons.     Lie  farther  juftly  ob- 
{~cr\c>,  I  '   gs  as  are  fuppofed  to 

I    by  any  magic  aftions,  or    are 
on  any  dilpofitions  or  influences 
of  the  ftars,  necefiarily  induce  men  to  re- 
verenc  i.  '  •'  ferves 

i  >f  th<   n  i  confided  in  cer- 

,  or  the  ufe  of  c 
ntions  feveral  examples  of 
fuch    fuperfiitions ;  among  the  red  a  re- 
in of  hail. 
However  trifling  fome  of  the  Mofaical 
laws  rr  nd  unworthy 

I  dom  of  3  enact  them  as  laws ; 

•ear  quite  otherwife, 
red  as  necefiary  pro- 

jr  of  idolatry. 
voce,  that    appoints,  - 
"  Ye  fhall  not  round  the  coiners  of  your 
[halt  thou  mar  the  corners  of 
thy  1  is  appear  directions  of 

en  it  was  to  prevent  a  ma- 
i   the  idolatrous  priefts,  who 
t  /    fort  of  cutting  off  their  hair  and 
:  to  their  worlhip  ;  and  uied 
•nfequence,  in  order  to 
idols  the  feveral  blel- 
;  and  prayed  for.     A  pro- 
Idolatrous  and  magical  ce- 
.  L  fo  trivial,  or  below  t  le 
ca.e 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


Z2J 


care  of  a  wife  Law-giver,  who  had  a  defign 
in  the  conftitution  of  the  Hebrew  govern- 
ment, to  keep  that  people  from  all  idola- 
trous cuftoms. 

In  like  manner  we  may  eafily  perceive  a 
reafon  why  the  law  mould  direct.,  "  Neither 
fhall  a  garment  of  linen  and  woollen  come 
upon  thee;"  when  we  underftand,  that  fuch 
mixed  garments  of  linen  aud  woollen  were 
the  proper  habits  of  idolatrous  priefts ;  and 
which,  according  to  the profeifed doflrines 
of  their  idolatrous  worihip,  were  fuppofed 
to  have  fome  powerful  magical  virtue  in 
them. 

For  the  fame  reafon  we  can  eafily  un- 
derftand the  wifdom  of  appointing  by  law, 
that  "  the  woman  fhall  not  wear  that  which 
appertaineth  unto  a  man,  neither  mall  a 
man  put  on  a  woman's  garment ;  for  all 
that  do  fo  are  abomination  to  the  Lord  thy 
Gcd ;"  when  it  was  an  idolatrous  confu- 
tution  of  their  neighbours,  as  Maimon 
found  it  in  a  magic  book,  that  men  ought 
to  ltand  before  the  liar  of  Venus  in  the 
flowered  garments  of  women;  and  women 
were  to  put  on  the  armour  of  men 
before  the  fear  of  Mars,  as  biihop  Pa- 
trick on  the  place  truly  reprefents  its 
meaning-. 

The  fame  idolatrous  cuflom  is  obferved 
by  Macrobius,  that  men  wonhipped  Venus 
in  women's  habits,  and  women  in  the  ha- 
bits of  men. 

There  is  no  reafon  then,  we  fee,  to  ima- 
gine that  thefe  laws,  which  were  to  diftin- 
guifh  the  Hebrew  people  from  the  idola- 
trous nations,  were  made  only  out  of  hatred 
to  their  neighbours,  and  to  all  their  cuftoms 
and  manners,  good  or  bad,  innocent  as 
well  as  idolatrous.  It  appears  on  the  con- 
trary to  be  plainly  quite  another  reafon ; 
it  was  from  a  wife  care  of  their  prefer- 
vation  from  fuch  idolatrous  cuftoms,  as 
there  was  very  great  reafon  to  fear,  would 
prove^  a  dangerous  temptation  to  lead 
them  into  idolatry,  and  which  were  hardly 
t0.  ,be  ufec*  without  it.  All  reflections, 
with  how  much  confidence  foever  c 
Hebrew  laws,  as  if  they  were  eftablifhed 
upon  no  better  motives  than  the  hatred  of 
their  neighbours,  will  appear  in  this  view 
groundleis,  and  without  all  foundation, 
when  the  true  reafon  fhall  appear  fo  wife, 
fo  plain,  and  fo  natural. 

Thefe  two  views  then,  to  preferve  in 
the  Hebrew  nation  the  knowledge  and 
worihip  of  the  one  true  God,  and  to  pre- 
ferve it  from  the  fpreading  evils  of  id.,  i 


by  feparating  it  from  the  fociety  of  ido- 
laters, by  forbidding  a  i  ufe  of  idolatrous 
rites  and  cuftoms,  may  I  upon  as 

confiderable  intentions  in  the  conftitution ; 
according  to  w  ich,  v  -  e  to  examine 
and  to  judge  of  tl  wifdom  of 

the  of  which 

can  b       ■  •  -      ,  ut  taking 

thefe  int       io  co         .  ation.    If  we 

re   a  r  1  the  H  :b  \  .    :  don    only   as 

an    institution   of    i  a  id  religious 

worihip,  or  only  as  a  civil  polltj  and  a 
form  of  civil  government,  we  fhall  widely 
miftake  the  t:  ue  nature  of  it.  It  is  evident 
beyond  queftion,  the  Mofaical  ;  count  of 
it  reprefents  it  a  theocracy,  in  which  Je- 
hovah is  God,  and  King;  and  in  which  the 
true  worihip  of  the  only  true  God  was  to 
be  preferved  againft  idolatry,  and  the  na- 
tion, in  obedience  to  the  laws  of  this  infti- 
tution,  mould  enjoy  liberty,  peace,  profpe- 
rity  and  happinefs  in  the  protection  of  a 
id  powerful  government. 

It  may  be  proper  to  obferve  here,  that 
thefe  defigns  appear  in  themfelves  worthy 
the  wifdom  and  the  goodnefs  of  God  ;  that 
he  fhould  take  care  in  fome  proper  way  to 
put  a  flop  to  fo  prevailing  a  courfe  of  ido- 
latry, if  the  defign  fhall  appear  in  itfelfma- 
nifeftly  wife  and  good,  the  proper  means  to 
efj  .  ::  it  will  appear  to  be  equitable,  wife  and 
good  alfo.  Some  feem  not  to  perceive,  at 
leaft  are  not  willing  to  own  this.  The 
more  fully  then  to  make  us  ienfihle  of  it, 
let  us  b;;  :rve   fome  of  the  many 

great  evils  of  idolatry,  which  this  Hebrew 
conftitution  was  intended  and  formed  to 
prevent. 

One  of  the  chief  and  molt  influencing 
principles  of  idolatry,  was  a  falfe  perfua- 
fion  that  the  temporal  bleffings  of  life, 
health,  length  of  day:,  fruitful  feafons, 
victory  in  wars,  ana  fuch  adva  i  i .  ere 

to  be' expected  an  J  the  gifts 

of  fome  inferior  and  fubor.linate  beings, 
as  guardians  of  mortal  men  ;  or  from  ie- 
cret  influences  of  toe  ftars    and  heavenly 

animated^ 
by  fome  powerful  beings,  or    gods,  whofe 
ection  and      ■  (  ■-       -  "  ained 

by   the  ufe  of  fome  magical   -  remonies, 

•   fenfelefs 
or  fome  barbarous  rites  oi        rib  p. 

Tims  men  came   not  only  to   lofe  the 

true  knowledge    of  the    one    only    God, 

and  of  his  imiV:  provi      k  :,  and  that 

all    u::i<i    bleffin;  refcre   co.  le 

him  alone,  who  was  belt  pleafed  and 

Q_2  belt 


2-8 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


beft  vvorfhipped  by  virtue,  goodnefs,  righ- 
teoufnefs  and  true  holinefs ;  but  they  be- 
came neceffarily  vicious  and  corrupt  in 
practice,  as  well  as  principle.  They  came 
to  think  they  were  not  to  expeft  the 
bleffings  of  life  from  the  favour  of  the 
one  true  God,  a  Being  himfelf  of  infinite 
purity,  righteoufhefs,  and  goodnefs,  by 
reverencing  and  by  imitating  him ;  but 
from  the  favour  of  a  Jupiter,  who  with 
all  his  fine  titles  is  reprefented  in  his 
hiilory,  to  have  been  as  intemperate,  as 
luftful,  and  as  wicked  as  any  the  worft 
of  men  ;  or  from  a  Mercury,  a  patron 
of  thieves  and  robbers ;  or  from  a  Bac- 
chus, the  god  of  intemperance  and  drun- 
kennefs ;  or  from  a  Venus,  the  patronefs 
of  all  manner  of  unclcannefs,  and  de- 
bauchery. 

The  known  principles  and  the  mod  fa- 
cred  ceremonies  and  myff.eri.es  in  the  ido- 
latrous worfhip  of  fuch  deities,  actually 
fhewed  what  encouragement  was  given 
to  all  manner  of  vice.  They  extinguished 
all  religious  principles  cf  mora!  virtue  und 
goodnefs,  and  gave  additional  ftrength  to 
men's  natural  inclinations,  to  intempe- 
rance, lull,  fraud,  violence,  and  every  kind 
of  unrighteoufnefs  and  debauchery.  The 
Phalli,  and  the  Mylli,  known  religious 
rites  in  the  worihip  of  Bacchus,  Ofiris,  and 
Ceres,  were  fuch  obfeene  ceremonies,  that 
modefty  forbids  to  explain  them.  It  may 
be  fufficient  to  mention  the  known  cuftom 
of  virgins  before  marriage,  facrificing  their 
chaftity  to  the  honour  of  Venus,  as  a  lafci- 
vious  goddefs,  as  the  hiftorian  expreffes 
i:,  left  fhe  alone  ihould  appear  lafcivious. 
A  cuftom,  according  to  the  hiftorian,  which 
was  efpecially  ufed  in  Cyprus,  which  was 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Canaan. 

Idolatry  had  introduced  another  noil 
cruel  cuftom  of  human  facrifices.  This 
prevailed  among  the  Phenicians,  the  Ty- 
rians,  and  the  Carthaginians,  a  Tyrian 
colony;  on  which  inhuman  cullom  the 
forementioned  hiftorian  makes  this  remark, 
that  they  ufed  a  bloody  and  wicked  rite 
of  religion,  as  a  remedy.  They  offered 
men  for  facririces,  and  brought  young  chil- 
dren to  the  altars,  at  an  age  that  ufually 
moves  the  companion  of  an  enemy ;  and 
endeavoured  to  obtain  the  favour  of  the 
/rods  by  the  blood  of  thofe,  for  whofe 
lives  prayers  were  more  generally  ufed  to 
be  made  to  the  gods. 

;  his  cruel  cullom,  how  inhuman  foever, 
fuch  were  the  evil  effects  of  idolatry,  foon 


became  almoft  univerfal ;  and  fpread  itfelf 
among  the  Greeks,  the  Gauls,  and  the 
German  nations. 

Among  the  Canaanites  it  was  a  known 
cuftom  to  offer  their  children  to  Moloch, 
likely  the  fame  idol  with  Adrameleck 
and  Anameleck.  Some  learned  men  have 
indeed  been  willing  to  believe,  that  palling 
through  the  fire  to  Moloch,  might  mean  a 
fort  of  purification,  rather  than  actual  burn- 
ing them  in  the  fire ;  but  befides  the 
teftimony  of  hiitorians  in  general  to  the 
pvaftice  of  other  nations,  the  Scriptures 
plainly  mean  confuming  them  to  death  by 
lire.  So  it  is  defcribed  by  the  prophet 
Ezekiel;  "  And  have  caufed  their  fons 
whom  they  bare  unto  me,  to  pafs  through 
the  fire  to  devour  them."  Did  they  caufe 
them  to  pafs  through  the  fire,  only  to 
purify  them,  and  to  preferve  them  alive  ? 
No,  certainly ;  but  to  devour  or  confume 
them.  The  fame  prophet  elfewhere  deter- 
mine:, this  meaning,  "  Thou  haft  flam 
my  children  and  delivered  them  to  caufe 
them  to  pafs  through  the  fire."  It 
is  charged  as  an  aft  of  idolatry  in  Ahaz, 
that  he  caufed  his^fon  to  pafs  through  the 
fire,  according  to  the  abomination  of  the 
Heathen.  This  is  explained  in  another 
place,  that  "  he  burned  his  children  in 
the  fire  after  the  abomination  of  the 
Heathen."  And  it  is  exprefsly  faid  of 
Adrameleck,  and  Anameleck,  the  idols  of 
Sepharvaim,  that  "  they  burned  their 
children  in  the  fire  to  them." 

If  we  confider  the  many  other  abomi- 
nable immoralities  of  the  Canaanites,  by 
which  they  defiled  themfelves,  as  they  are 
enumerated  in  the  prohibition  of  them  to 
the  Hebrew  nation,  we  may  eafily  per- 
ceive, that  a  nation  which  had  defiled 
themfelves  in  fo  many  and  fo  great  abo- 
minations, did  well  deferve  an  exemplary 
punilhment  from  the  righteous  Judge  of 
the  earth ;  that  it  was  wife,  as  well  as 
juft,  to  fhew  iy  their  puniihment,  that  their 
idols  were  not,  as  they  imagined  and 
falfely  believed,  the  givers  of  long  life, 
peace,  and  worldly  profperity;  but  that 
the  one  true  God  was  alone  the  fupreme 
difpofer  of  all  the  bleffings  of  providence  ; 
and  that  none  of  the  idol  gods,  in  whom 
they  ttufted,  could  fave  them  out  of  his 
hand,  or  deliver  them,  when  God  fhould 
vifit  their  iniquities. 

May  we  not  alio  perceive  a  kinddefign, 
in  giving  fome  remarkable  inftances  of 
providence,  for  the  punilhment  of  fo  grofs 

immo- 


OOK    I.       MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


229 


immoralities,  the  efFefts  of  idolatrous  prin- 
ciples and  praftice,  and  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  fuch  acknowledgment  and  worihip 
of  the  true  God,  as  was  the  beft  prefer- 
vative  againft  thefe  abominations,  by  fome 
obfervable  initances  of  particular  protec- 
tion and  favour;  to  let  fuch  worihippers 
of  the  true  God  know,  that  by  keeping 
themfelves  from  thofe  abominations,  the 
natural  and  ufual  effects  of  idolatry,  they 
were  to  hope  for  the  continuance  of  fuch 
particular  protection  and  favour  in  all  after- 
times  ? 

Hence  it  may  appear,  the  feverity  with 
which  the  Hebrew  hiftory  acquaints  us, 
the  Canaanites  were  punifhed,  and  the  title 
whereby  the  Hebrews  held  their  land, 
whom  God  call  out  before  them,  were  no 
ways  inconfiftent  with  the  juftice,  or  wif- 
dom,  or  goodnefs  of  God,  as  fome  have 
infinuated.  The  queition  is  really  brought 
to  this  one  point,  Whether  fuch  abomi- 
nable immoralities,  as  followed  naturally 
and  univerfally  from  their  idolatrous  prin- 
ciples, and  forms  of  worihip,  were  not 
highly  criminal ;  fo  criminal  as  to  deferve 
a  punifhment?  that  it  became  the  juiHce 
and  wifdom  of  the  Governour  of  the  world 
to  put  fome  Hop  to  them,  to  prevent  them 
in  fome  meafure  by  forming  and  eitablifh- 
ing  a  constitution  in  which  the  knowledge 
and  worihip  of  the  one  true  God  ihould  be 
preferved  in  oppofition  to  idolatry,  a  per- 
petual fource  of  innumerable  vices  and 
immoralities.  Idolatry,  you  fee  then,  ap- 
pears in  the  natural  fruits  of  it,  not  only 
an  error  of  the  underftanding,  not  at  all 
a  matter  of  harmlefs  fpeculation,  but  a 
fountain  of  very  dangerous  immoralities, 
which  led  men  naturally,  and  even  with 
the  encouragements  of  religion,  into  in- 
temperance, uncleannefs,  murders,  and 
many  vices,  inconfntent  with  the  profperity 
and  peace  of  fociety,  as  well  as  with  the 
happinefs  of  private  perfons.  When  God 
fhall  punifh  fuch  iniquities,  he  puniihes 
men  for  their  wickednefs,  not  for  their 
errors.  He  puniihes  men  for  fuch  wick- 
ednefs,  as  deferves  to  be  punifhed,  what- 
ever pretended  principles  or  real  dictates 
of  confcience  it  may  proceed  from.  No 
man  fure,  can  reafonably  account  it  in- 
juitice  in  a  government  to  punifh  fodomy, 
beftiality,  or  the  frequent  murder  of  in- 
nocent children,  what  pretences  foever  men 
Ihould  make  to  confcience  or  religion,  in 
vindication  of  them.  The  molt  unnatural 
fins  were  countenanced  by  the  myfteries 


of  idolatrous  worfhip ;  the  ufe  of  that  ob- 
fcene  ceremony  the  Phalli,  owed  its  ori- 
ginal to  the  memory  of  the  fin  again  it 
nature,  and  to  the  hiftory  of  a  god  hallow- 
ing it  by  his  own  act.  Can  any  man 
reafonably  call  fuch  a  reftraint  of  vice  per- 
fection, when  not  to  endeavour  by  all 
means  to  reitrain  it,  would  argue  a  great 
negleft,  weaknefs,  and  folly,  in  any  ad- 
miniftration  of  government  whatfoever  ? 

If  then  the  punifhment  for  fo  heinous 
crimes  and  immoralities  will  be  juft  and 
wife  in  itfelf,  which  way  can  any  man  find 
out,  to  make  it  unjuft  or  unwife  in  the  fu- 
preme  Governour  of  the  world  ?  How  can 
it  be  unjuft  in  him,  to  appoint  fuch  perions 
as  he  fhall  think  moll  fit,  to  execute  fuch 
righteous  judgment  by  his  commiffibn? 
The  common  rights  of  nations,  and  any 
perfonal  claim  of  the  Hebrews,  are  alto- 
gether out  of  this  queftion  ;  the  hiftory 
plainly  fhews,  they  made  no  perfonal  or 
national  claim  at  all  to  the  land  of  Ca- 
naan; but  that  God  cart  out  the  people 
before  them,  for  all  their  abominations ; 
that  it  was  not  their  own  power,  but  the 
hand  of  God,  which  brought  them  out  of 
the  land  of  Egypt,  and  into  the  promifed 
land.  So  that  the  whole  is  confidered  as 
the  immediate  aft  of  God  himfelf,  for  the 
proof  of  which  the  hiftory  gives  a  long 
feries  of  miracles,  in  Egypt,  at  the  Red- 
Sea,  for  many  years  in  the  wildernefs,  at 
the  taking  of  Jeiicho,  and  fettling  the  He- 
brew nation  in  the  poffeffion  of  the  pro- 
mifed land. 

And  here  let  us  juftly  obferve,  that  this 
very  way  of  puniihing  the  Canaanites  for 
their  many  great  abominations  by  the  He- 
brew nation,  to  whom  God  gave  the  pof- 
feffion of  their  land,  has  fome  peculiar 
marks  of  wifdom,  which  may  ihew  it  fit 
to  be  preferred  to  many  other  ways  ; 
fuch  as  peftilential  diftempers,  fire  from 
heaven,  or  a  flood,  ways  in  which  God 
hath  punifhed  the  wickednefs  of  the  world 
in  former  times.  For  this  was  a  very  fit 
means  for  the  cure,  as  well  as  the  punifh- 
ment of  idolatry,  to  deftroy  the  root  of 
thefe  great  evils,  as  well  as  to  execute 
righteous  judgment  on  thofe  who  had  com- 
mitted them.  This  was  a  delign  every 
way  worthy  the  wifdom  and  goodnefs  of 
God.  Sure  then,  no  ways  inconfiftent  with 
his  juftice.  The  protection  of  the  Hebrew 
nation,  and  the  favour  of  God  to  them 
as  a  peculiar  people,  was  a  viiible  and 
Handing  confutation  of  idolatry ;  it  fhewed, 
Q^3  that 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


330 

that  Jehovah,  the  one  true  God,  the  King 
of  Ifrael,  had  himfelf  an  immediate  hand 
in  cue  administration  of  particular  provi- 
dence ;  that  he  had  not  given  it  out  cf 
his  own  hands  into  the  hands  of  any  i  1- 
ferior  bein  ;s  /hatfoever,  which  error  was 
the  great  foundation  of  idolatry.  It  fur- 
ther fliewed  the  power  of  Jehovah  the  true 
God,  manif  fled  in  the  protection  of  his 
people,  fuperior  to  the  power  of  ail  the 
idols  of  the  Heathen;  and  that  none  of 
the  faife  gods  they  worshipped  could  be 
compared  to  Jehovah. 

Thisi  s  a  queilion  then  not  to  be  argued 
from  the  common  rights  of  men,  and  na- 
tion;; for  no  !  h  1  ;hts,  either  of  inva- 
fion  or  conq  fo  much  as  pretended 

to  in  the  moil  diflant  manner.  We  fee 
the  only  point  in  queftion,  is,  what  are  the 
right     ,  God  :  authority  ?  What  is 

c  ith  the  wiJ  bm  of  his  govern- 

r  punifh  the  greater! 

in  moraliti  s  with  temporal  evils  ?  Afk  the 
,  it  will  tell  you ,  the  Hebrews 
let  up  no  title        thu       nd  of  Canaan,  ei- 
t  ■  1  civil  or  ]  u    in   their  own  right; 

it  only  makes  I  te  rij  ..;s  of  the  Sovereip-n 
of  the  world  as  extenfive  as  the  rights  of 
the  chief  magistrates  in  every  government 
are  allowed  by  the  hows  of  nature  and  ra- 
tions to  be  over  their  own  fubjecls.  The 
Scriptures  on  this  queilion  only  aflert,  that 
God  gave  a  commiffion  to  execute  his 
fentence,  which  was  either  a  forfeiture  of 
lands,  or  life,  for  a  long  commiffion  of 
crimes  that  defervedly  incurred  the  for- 
feiture of  b 

Whether  the  Hebrew  nation  had  n  ally 
fuel]  from  God,  or  no ;  whether 

■  i  by  divine  oracle; 
whether!  lers  were  really  wrought 

before  their  eyes,  and  ,  efiionable 

inflances  cf  divine  favour  and  protection 
in  a  long  feries  for  many  years,  as  the 
Hebrew  lates  :  thefe  are  all  quel- 

tion  .     But  in  all  fuch  queftions 

general  and  abstract  reafonings  can  have 
no  place,  where  the  facts  themfelves  are 
naturally  and  morally  poffible,  as  every 
one  may  perceive  they  are  in  this  ca!e.  If 
the  fupreme  Governour  of  the  world  has 
a  right  to  give  fuch  commiffion,  if"  it  is 
not  unjufl  to  ufe  the  hands  of  men,  inftead 
of  a  plague  or  fire  from  heaven,  to  punifh 
the  wickednefs  of  men,  the  only  queilion 
that  can  remain  in  fuch  a  cafe  is  this, 
whether  in  fact  the  Hebrew  nation  did 
really  receive  fuch  a  commiffion  from  Je- 


hovah, or  no:  Thus  far  then  the  whole 
will  reft  upon  the  evidence  of  the  Mofaic 
revelation  ;  and  there  I  (hall  leave  it,  it 
not  being  tire  de-fign  of  this  dillertation 
to  ent  r  into  an  argument, in  which  many, 
as  i  apprehend,  have  already  given  lb  fail 
ilion.  Re-v.  Mofes  Lawman. 

§  175.  The  fulfilment  of  the  Mofaical  pro- 
phecies concerning  the  Jews  an  unanfwer- 
able  argument  for  the  truth  of  the  Bible. 

IT  is   obfervable  that  the  prophecies 

of  Mofes    abound  mod  in  the  latter  part 

of  his  writings.     As  he   drew  nearer  his 

end,  it  pleai  :d  God  to  open  to  him  larger 

cts   of  things.     As  he  was  about  to 

the  people,  he  was  enabled  to 

.   unto  tli  em  more  particulars  of  their 

future  date  and  condition.     The  defign  of 

this  work  will  permit  us   to  take  notice 

of  fuch  only  as    have  forne  reference    to 

1  .         ;    and  we  will  confine  our- 

.  11}    to    the  28th  chapter  of 

Deuteronomy,    the   greater   part  whereof 

we  may  fee   accomplished  in  the  world  at 

this  prefent  time. 

'i  his  gj  eat  prophet  and  lawgiver  is  here 
propofing    at    large    to    the    people     the 
r  ol  cdience,  and  the  curies  for 
difobedience:  and   indeed  he  had  foretold 
1    '  .  .     ..!  occafions, 

they   mould  be    l^pry   or  miferable 
in   the  ,  as  they   were   obedient  or 

difobedient  to  tin  had  given 

■\'  could  there  be  any  ftronger 
ce  of  the  divine  original  of  the 
ical  law:  and  hath  not  the  interpo- 
fition  of  providence  been  wonderfully  re- 
markable in  their  good  or  bad  fortune  ? 
and  is  not  the  truth  of  the  prediction 
fully  atteft.ed  by  the  whole  feries  of  their 
hiftory  from  their  firft  fettlement  in  Canaan 
to  this  very  day?  But  he  is  larger  and 
more  particular  in  recounting  the  curfes 
than  the  bleflings,  as  if  he  had  a  prefcience 
of  the  people's  difobedience,  and  forefaw 
that  a  larger  portion  and  longer  conti- 
nuation of  the  evil  would  fall  to  their 
than  of  the  good.  I  know  that  fome 
critics  make  a  divifion  of  thefe  prophecies, 
and  imagine  that  one  part  relates  to  the 
former  captivity  of  the  jews,  and  to  the 
calamities  which  they  fuffcred  under  the 
Chaldasans ;  and  that  the  other  part  re- 
lates to  the  latter  captivity  of  the  Jews, 
ar.d  to  the  calamities  which  they  fuffered 
under  the  Romans:  but  there  is  no  need 

of 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS 


21! 


of  any  fuch  diftin&ioii  :  there  is  no  reafon 
to  think  that  any  fuch  was  intended  by 
the  author ;  feveral  prophecies  of  the  one 
part  as  well  as  of  the  other  have  been  ful- 
filled at  both  periods,  but  they  have  all 
more  amply  been  fulfilled  during  the  I  Lt- 
ter  period;  and  there  cannot  be  a  more 
lively  picture  than  they  exhibit,  of  the 
itate  of  the  Jews  at  prefent. 

i.  We  will  confider  them  with  a  view  to 
the  order  of  time,  rather  than  the  other 
wherein  they  lie;  and  we  may  not  im- 
properly begin  with  this  paffage,  ver.  49, 
"  The  Lord  mail  bring  a  nation  againft 
thee  from  far,  from  the  end  of  the  earth, 
as  fwift  as  the  eagle  flieth,  a  nation  whofe 
tongue  thou  (halt  not  underftand  ;"  and  the 
Chalda;ans  might  be  faid  to  come  from  far, 
in  companion  with"  the  Moabites,  Phi- 
liftines,  and  other  neighbours,  who  ufed 
to  infeft  Jutlea.  Much  the  fame  d  : 
tion  is  given  of  the  Chaldreans  by 
Jeremiah,  (v.  15.)  "  Lo,  I  wiil  bring 
a  nation  upon  you  from  far,  O  houie 
of  Ifrael,  faith  the  Lord :  it  is  a  m 
nation,  it  is  an  ancient  nation,  a  nation 
whofe  ianp-'iage  thou  knoweft  nor,  n 
underftandefl  what  they  fay."  He  com- 
pares   them    in    like    manner    to    e 

.  iv.  19.)  "  Our  perfecutors  are 
fwifter  than  the  eag'es  eft, 
purfued  us  upon  the  mountain,  :  iaid 
wail  for  us  in  the  wildernefs."  But  this 
defcription  cannot  be  applied  to  any  na- 
I  -  .  ith  fuch  propriety  as  to  the  P-omans. 
They  were  truly  brought  from  far,  from 
the  end  of  the  earth.  \ 
the  two  great  conquerors  and  deftroyers 
of  the  jews,  both  came  from  commai 
here  in  Britain.  The  Romans  too  for  the 
rapidity  of  their  conquefts  might  very  well 
be  compared  to  eagles,  and  perhaps  not 
without  an  aliufion  to  the  ftandard  of  the 
Roman  armies,  which  was  an  eagie  :  a  ad 
their  language  was  more  unknown  to  the 
Jews  tnan  the  Chaldee. 

2.  The  enemies  of  the  Jews  are  farther 
charafterifed  in  the  next  verfe.  "  A  na- 
tion of  fierce  countenance,  winch  (hall  not 
regard  the  peribn  of  the  old,  nor  (how  fa- 
vour to  the  young."  Such  were  the  Chal- 
dseans ;  and  the  facred  hi'dorian  faith  ex- 
prefsly,  (2  Chron  xxxvi.  17.)  "that for  the 
wickednei's  of  the  Jews  God  brought  upon 
them  the  king  of  the  Chaldees,  who  flew 
their  young  men  wit:  the  fword,  in  the 
houie  cf  their  faneluary,  and  had  no  com- 
paihon  upon  young  man  or  maiden,  old 
man,  or  him  that  Hooped  for  age  ;  he  gave 


them  all  into  his  hand."  Such  alfo  were 
the  Romans:  for  when  Vefpailan  en  :  .  | 
Gadara,  }ofephus  faith,  that  he  ilew  all 
man  by  man,  the  Romans  ihowing  mercy 
to  no  age,  out  of  hatred  to  the  nation,  and 
;  .<..':..    The 

[i  liter  was   made   at  Ga.mda,    for 

1   befides  two  women,   and 
1    by   conceali  g    themi 
from  f  the  Romans.     For  they 

did  not  to  :  pare  young  cl  i 

but  every  one  at   that   time  fnatching  up 
ma  iy  call  1  from  tl 

;  were  alio  to  bei  rid 

take  their  cities,  ver.  52.     "   Ai  ! 

beiiege  thee  in  all  thy  gates,  until  thy  high 

and    fenci  d    walls    come    down,    wherein 

thou  truftedft,    throughout    all    thy   land. 

[ma  king  of  Affyria  came  up 

I    ....  :    1     i,   and  befieged  it,  and  at 

the   end    of  they    took    it." 

(2Kingsxviii.  9,  10.)  "  Sodid  Sennacherib 

king  of  Affyria   come   up  againft  all  the 

fen    jd  cities  of  Judah,  ana  took  them:" 

(lb.  ver.  13.)    and  Nebuchadn 

his  captains  took  and  fpoiled   Jerufalem, 

burnt  the  city  le,  "  and  brake 

:m  round  about." 

(lb.  xxv.  io.)    So  likewife  th-  Romans,  as 

we  may  read  in    Jofephus's  hiftory  0 

Jewifh   war,   demolifhed    feveral  fortified 

places,  before  they  befieged  and  deftroyed 

iem.     And         J  lj  II 

be  laid  to  have  trailed  in  their  high  and 

fenced  walls,  for  they  feldom  ventured  a 

e  open  field.     They  confided  in 

the  flrength  and  iituation  of  Jerufalem,  as 

the  Jebufites,  the  former  inhabitants  of  the 

place,  had  done  before  them:     (2  Sam.  v. 

6,  7.)   infomuch  that  they  are  reprefented 

(Jer.  xxi.  13.)     "  Who  fhall  come 

down  againft  us  ?  or  who  fnall  enter  into 

,  bitation?"  Jerufalem  was  indeed  a 

\  and  wonderfully  fortified 

both  by  nature  and  art,  according  to  the 

defcription  of  Tacitus  as  well  as  of  Jofe- 

vet   how   many   times   was  it 

t  .    It  was  taken  by  Shifhak  king  of 

it,  by  Nebuchadnezzar,  byAntiochus 

Epiphanes,    by    Pompey,    by    Sofas    and 

Herod,    before   its    final    deilruction    by 

Titus. 

4.  In  thefe  lieges  they  were  to  fuffer 
much,  and  efpecially  from  famine,  "  in 
the  ftraitnefs  wherewith  their  enemies 
ftiould  dhlrefs  them,"  ver.  53,  &c,  And 
accordingly  when  the  king  of  Syria  be- 
fieged Samaria,  "  there  was  a  great  fa- 
mine in  Samaria;  and  behold  they  befieged 


tv 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


it,  until  an  afs's  head  was  fold  for  fourfcore 
pieces  of  filver,  and  the  fourth  part  of 
a  cab  of  dove's  dung  for  live  pieces  of 
filver."  (2  Kings  vi.  25.)  And  when  Ne- 
buchadnezzar hefieged  Jerufalem,  "  the 
famine  prevailed  in  the  city,  and  there 
was  no  bread  for  the  people  of  the  land." 
(2  Kings  xxv,  3.)  And  in  the  laft  fiege 
of  jerufalem  by  the  Romans  there  was 
a  moft  terrible  famine  in  the  city,  and 
Jofephus  hath  given  fo  melancholy  an 
account  of  it,  that  we  cannot  read  it  with- 
out fhuddering.  He  faith  particularly, 
that  women  fnatched  the  food  out  of  the 
very  mouths  of  their  hufbands,  and  fons 
of  their  fathers,  and  (what  is  mofc  mifera- 
ble)  mothers  of  their  infants :  and  in  ano- 
ther place  he  faith,  that  in  every  houfe, 
if  there  appeared  any  femblance  of  food, 
a.  battle  enfued,  and  the  dearer!  friends  and 
relations  fought  with  one  another,  match- 
ing away  the  miferable  provifions  of  life: 
fo  literally  were  the  words  of  Mofes  ful- 
filled, ver.  54,  &c.  "  the  man's  eye  (hall 
be  evil  toward  his  brother,  and  toward  the 
wife  of  his  bofom,  and  towards  his  children, 
becaufe  he  hath  nothing  left  him  in  the 
fiege,  and  in  the  ftraitnefs  wherewith  thine 
enemies  fhall  difirefs  thee  in  all  thy  gates," 
and  in  like  manner  the  woman's  "  eye 
.  fhall  be  evil  towards  the  hufband  of  her 
bofom,  and  towards  her  fon,  and  towards 
her  daughter." 

5.  Nay  it  was  exprefsly  foretold,  that 
not  only  the  men,  but  even  the  women 
fhou!d  eat  their  own  children.  Mofes 
had  foretold  the  fame  thing  before,  Levit. 
xxvi.  29.  "  Ye  fhall  eat  the  flefh  of  your 
fons,  and  the  fleih  of  your  daughters  fhall 
ye  eat."  He  repeats  it  here,  ver.  53, 
*«  And  thou  (halt  eat  the  fruit  of  thine 
own  body,  the  fleih  of  thy  fons  and  of  thy 
daughters ;"  and  more  particularly  ver. 
56,  Sec,  "  The  tender  and  delicate  wo- 
man among  you,  who  would  not  adventure 
to  fet  the  fole  of  her  foot  upon  the 
ground, for  delicatencfs  and  tendernefs — fhe 
fhall  eat  her  children  for  want  of  all  things 
fecretly  in  the  fiege  and  flraimefs,  where- 
with thine  enemies  fhall  difirefs  thee  in 
thy  gates,"  And  it  was  fulfilled  about  600 
years  after  the  time  of  Mofes  among  the 
Ifraelites,  when  Samaria  was  befieged  by 
the  king  of  Syria,  and  two  women  agreed 
together,  the  one  to  give  up  her  fon  to 
be  boiled  and  eaten  to-day,  and  the  other 
to  deliver  up  her  fon  to  be  drefXed  and 
eaten  to-morrow,  and  one  of  them  was 
eaten  accordingly.    (2  Kings  vi.  28,  20.) 


It  was  fulfilled  again  about  900  year;  aftetf 
the  time  of  Mofes,  among  the  jews  in  the! 
fii  ge  of  [erufalem  before  the  Babyionifh 
captivity;  and  Baruch  thus  exprefleth  it, 
(ii.  1,  &c.)  "  The  Lord  hath  made  good 
his  word,  which  he  pronounced  againlr.  us> 
to  bring  upon  i>s  great  plagues,  fuch  as 
never  happened  under  the  whole  heaven, 
as  it  came  to  pafs  in  Jerufalem,  accord- 
ing to  the  thing;-  that  were  written  in 
the  law  of  Mofes,  that  a  man  fhould  eat 
the  flefh  of  his  own  fon,  and  the  flefh  of 
his  even  daughter:"  and  Jeremiah  thus 
laments  it  in  his  Lamentations,  (vi.  10.) 
"  r'~ 'he  h  tnds  of  the  pitiful  women  have 
fodden  their  own  children,  they  were  their 
meat  in  the  defcruction  of  the  daughter 
of  my  people."  And  again  it  was  ful- 
filled above  1  ceo  years  after  the  time  of 
Mofes  in  the  laft  fiege  of  Jerufalem  by 
Titus,  and  we  read  in  Jofephus  particularly 
of  a  noble  woman's  killing  and  eating 
her  own  fuckirg  child.  Mofes  faith, 
"  The  tender  and  delicate  woman  among 
you,  who  would  not  adventure  to  fet  the 
fole  of  her  foot  upon  the  ground,  for  deli- 
catenefs  and  tendernefs:"  and  there  can- 
not be  a  more  natural  and  lively  defcrip- 
tion  of  a  woman,  who  was  according  to 
Jofephus  illuftrious  for  her  family  and 
riches.  Moles  faith,  "  fhe  fhall  eat  them 
for  want  of  all  things:"  and  according  to 
Jofephus  fhe  had  been  plundered  of  all 
her  fubftance  and  provifions  by  the  tyrants 
and  foldiers.  Mofes  faith,  that  fhe  ihould 
do  it  "  fecretly;"  and  according  to  Jofe- 
phus, when  ihe  had  boiled  and  eaten  half, 
fhe  covered  up  the  reft,  and  kept  it  for  ano- 
ther time.  At  fo  many  different  times 
and  diilant  periods  hath  this  prophecy  been 
fulfilled;  and  one  would  have  thought  that 
fuch  difirefs  and  honor  had  almoft  tran- 
fcended  imagination,  and  much  lefs  that 
any  perfon  could  certainly  have  forefeen 
and  foretold  it. 

6.  Great  numbers  of  them  were  to  be 
deftroyed,  ver.  62.  "  And  ye  fhall  be 
left  few  in  number,  whereas  ye  were,  as 
the  fears  of  heaven  for  multitude."  Now 
not  to  mention  any  other  of  the  calamities 
and  (laughters  which  they  have  undergone, 
there  was  in  the  laft  fiege  of  ferufalem  by 
Titus  an  infinite  multitude,  faith  Jofephus, 
who  perifhed  by  famine  :  and  he  computes, 
that  during  the  whole  fiege,  the  number 
of  thofe  who  were  deftroyed  by  that  and 
by  the  war  amounted  to  eleven  hundred 
thoufand,  the  people  being  aflembled  from 
all  parts  to  ccdebrate  the  pafibver :  and  the 

fame 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


233 


fame  author  hath  given  us  an  account  of 
1,240,490  deftroyed  in  Jerufalem  and  other 
parts,  of  Judea,  befides  99,200  made  pn- 
foners ;  as  Bafnnge  has  reckoned  them  up 
from  that  hifto nan's  account.  Indeed 
there  is  not  a  nation  upon  earth,  that  hath 
been  expofed  to  fo  many  maffacres  and 
perfections.  Their  hiitory  abounds  with 
them.  If  God  had  not  given  them  a 
promife  of  a  numerous  pofterity,  the  whole 
race  would  many  a  time  have  been  ex- 
tirpated. 

7.  They  were  to  be  carried  into  Egypt, 
and  fold  for  flaves  at  a  very  low  price,  ver. 
6S.  "  And  the  Lord  fhall  bring  thee  into 
Egypt  again,  with  fhips  :  and  there  ye 
fhall  be  fold  unto  your  enemies  for  bond- 
men and  bondwomen,  and  no  man  {hall 
buy  you."  They  had  come  out  of  Egypt 
triumphant,  but  now  they  mould  return 
thither  as  flaves.  They  had  walked  through 
the  fea  as  dry  land  at  their  coming  out, 
but  now  they  mould  be  carried  thither  in 
fnips.  They  might  be  carried  thither  in  the 
mips  of  the  Tynan  or  Sidonian  merchants, 
or  by  the  Romans  who  had  a  fleet  in  the 
Mediterranean;  and  this  was  a  much  fafer 
way  of  conveying  fo  many  prifoners,  than 
fending  them  by  land.  It  appears  from 
Jofephus,  that  in  the  reigns  of  the  two  firft 
Ptolemies  many  of  the  Jews  were  flaves  in 
Egypt.  And  when  Jerufalem  was  taken 
by  Titus,  of  the  captives  who  were  above 
17  years  he  lent  many  bound  to  the  works 
in  Egypt ;  thofe  under  1 7  were  fold ;  but 
fo  little  care  was  taken  of  thefe  captives, 
that  eleven  thoufand  of  them  perifhed  for 
want.  And  we  learn  from  St.  Jerome, 
that  after  their  laft  overthrow  by  Adrian, 
many  thoufands  of  them  were  fold,  and  thofe 
who  could  not  be  fold,  were  tranfported 
into  Egypt,  and  perifhed  by  fhipwreck  or 
famine,  or  were  maflacred  by  the  inha- 
bitants. 

8.  They  were  to  be  rooted  out  of  their 
own  land,  ver.  63.  "  And  ye  fhall  be 
plucked  from  off  the  land  whither  thou 
goeft  to  poffefs  it."  They  were  indeed 
piucked  from  off  their  own  land,  when  the 
ten  tribes  were  carried  into  captivity  by 
the  king  of  Affyria,  and  other  nations  were 
planted  in  their  flead ;  and  when  the  two 
other  tribes  were  carried  away  captive  to 
Babylon;  and  when  the  Romans  took 
away  their  place  and  nation;  befides  other 
captivities  and  tranfportations  of  the  peo- 
ple. Afterwards,  when  the  Emperor 
Adrjan  had  fubdued  the  rebellious  Jews, 


he  publifhed  an  edift  forbidding  them  upon 
pain  of  death  to  fet  foot  in  Jerufalem,  or 
even  to  approach  the  country  round  about 
it.  Tertullian  and  Jerome  fay,  that  they 
were  prohibited  from  entering  into  Judea. 
From  that  time  to  this  their  country  hath 
been  in  the  poifeilion  of  foreign  lords  and 
mafters,  few  of  the  Jews  dwelling  in  it, 
and  thofe  only  of  a  low  fervile  condition. 
Benjamin  of  Tudela  in  Spain,  a  celebrated 
Jew  of  the  twelfth  century,  travelled  into 
all  parts  to  vifit  thofe  of  his  own  nation,  and 
to  learn  an  exaft  ftate  of  their  affairs  :  and 
he  hath  reported,  that  Jeruialem  was  almofi 
entirely  abandoned  by  the  Jews.  He 
found  there  not  above  two  hundred  perfons,, 
who  were  for  the  mofl  part  dyers  of  wool, 
and  who  every  year  purchafed  the  privilege 
of  the  monopoly  of  that  trade.  They  lived 
all  together  under  David's  tower,  and  made 
there  a  very  little  figure.  If  Jerufalem 
had  fo  few  Jews  in  it,  the  reft  of  the  holy 
land  was  flill  more  depopu'ate.  He  found 
two  of  them  in  one  city,  twenty  in  another, 
moil  whereof  were  dyers.  In  other  places 
there  were  more  perfons ;  but  in  upper 
Galilee,  where  the  nation  was  in  greater! 
repute  after  the  ruin  of  Jerufalem,  he  found 
hardly  any  Jews  at  all.  A  very  accurate 
and  faithful  traveller  of  our  own  nation, 
who  was  himfelf  alio  in  the  holy  land, 
faith  that  it  is  for  the  moft  part  now  in- 
habited by  Moors  and  Arabians;  thofe 
pofTeifing  the  valleys,  and  thefe  the  moun- 
tains. Turks  there  be  few :  but  many 
Greeks  with  other  Chriftians  of  all  lefts 
and  nations,  fuch  as  impute  to  the  place 
an  adherent  holinefs.  Here  are  alfo  feme 
Jews,  yet  inherit  they  no  part  of  the  land, 
but  in  their  own  country  do  live  as  aliens. 

9.  But  they  were  not  only  to  be  plucked 
off  from  their  own  land,  but  alfo  to  be  dif- 
perfed  into  all  nations,  ver.  25.  "  And  thou 
fhalt  be  removed  in  all  the  kingdoms  of  ths 
earth;"  and  again,  ver.  64.  "  And  the  Lord 
fhall  fcatter  thee  among  all  people,  from 
one  end  of  the  earth  even  unto  the  other." 
Nehemiah  (i.  8,  9.)  confeffeth  that  thefe 
words  were  fulfilled  in  the  Babylonifh 
captivity ;  but  they  have  more  amply  been 
fulfilled  fince  the  great  difperfion  of  the 
Jews  by  the  Romans.  What  people  indeed 
have  been  fcattered  fo  far  and  wide  as  they  f 
and  where  is  the  nation,  which  is  aftranger 
to  them,  or  to  which  they  are  ftrangers? 
They  fwarm  in  many  parts  of  the  Earl,  are 
fpread  through  moft  of  the  countries  of 
Europe  and  Afiic>  and  there  are  feveral 

families 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PRC 


2J4 

families  of  them  in  t  lies.     They 

circulate  throug  Si  all  j  a 

money  circulate ; 
brokers  of"th< 

to.    Bi        ough   t]  [he 

perfed,    yet    th  :y   I 
deiiroyed,  but  lull  ful 
pie,  as  M< 
xxvi.  4.1,  "A 

be  in  i  of  th  . 

caft  them  away,"  a 
to  deftn       .  ' 

covenant  with  them         rI  ' 
like    the  1  »u    i  < 

■    " 
what    i  mar 
many    wai 
many      • 
■ 

tions,  after  fo  man  \ 

flavei  ' 
utterly,  and 
people,  yet 

themfelves ?  Where  is  ani   th 
ble  to  this  to  be  found     i 
and  in  all  the  nations  undej 

ii.  However,  they  fhould  fuffer   i 
in  their  difperfion,  and  fhci 
in  any  place,  ver.  65,  "  A 
nations    {halt    thou   find    no    e: 
fhall  the  iole  of  thy  foot  have  r 

t,.;'o  far  from  finding  reft,  that  hey 
have  been  banifhed  from  city  to  city,  from 
country  to  country.  In  many  places  they 
have  been  banifhed,  and  recalled,  and  banifh- 
ed again.  We  will  only  juft  mention  their 
great"  banifhments  in  modern  times,  and 
from  countries  very  well  known.  In  the 
latter  end  of  the  thirteenth  century  they 
were  bammed  from  England  by  Edward 
I.  and  were  not  permitted  to  return  and 
fettle  again  till  Cromwell's  time.  In  the 
latter  end  of  the  fourteenth  century  they 
were  banifhed  from  France  (for  the  feventh 
time,  fays  Mezeray)  by  Charles  VI;  and 
ever  fince  they  ;  ave  been  only  toh  . 
they  have  not  enji  ire  liberty,  e; 

.here    they    have  a  , 
In    the   latter  end  of  the  fifteen!  1    cen 
they  were  b;   ii  r<  m   .       in  b; 

rsand     and  cci      ;  g     to 

Mariana 

.      <    .      line  fay, 

who  left  the  kin; 

n  II.  for  a 
1 
jvcre"  ' 

I 

y  ear  s;      1   •  ■      were 


.     Prague    by     the     queen 
of  Bohemia. 

12.  mid    be    "   oppreffed   and 
d    evermore;"  and    their  "  houfes" 

vineyards,"     their    "  oxen"    and 

"  fhould   be  taken  from  them,  and 

;      ■!.  ed  and  crufh- 

ed  alway,"    ver.    29,  Lc.     And  what  fre- 

I  -  tde   of  their 

in  almoft  all  countries?  how  often 

they  been  fined  and  fleeced  by  almoft 

iments  ?     how   often  have    they 

I    to    redeem    their    lives  with 

dear    as    their   lives, 

-  .    ■         ices  are  innumerable. 

hift  >rian  of  our  own, 

1  [II.    always    poiied 

vv  ebb  of  his  fortunes. 

-who  was  found  delinquent, 

to  pay  feven   hundred  marks 

Aaron,  another  few, 

-  the   king  had  taken  from 

ufand   marks  of 

■       !   ( 

:d  to  the  queen.     And 

:  ;d  many  others  of  the 

ere  banifhed   in 

ward  I.   their  eftates  were 

in   n      e  funis    thereby 

accrued  to  the  crown. 

13.  "Their  fons  and   their  daughters 

unto  another  people,"  ver. 
32.  And  in  feveral  countries,  in  Spain 
and  Portugal  particularly,  their  children 
have  been  taken  from  them  by  order  of  the 
government,  to  be  educated  in  the  popifh 
religion.  The  fourth  council  of  Toledo 
ordered  that  all  their  children  fhould  be 
taken  from  them,  for  fear  they  fhould  par- 
take of  their  errors,  and  that  they  fhould  be 
fhut  up  in  monaiteries,  to  be  initructed  in 
the  Chriftian  truths.  And  when  they  were 
banifhed  from  Portugal,  the  king,  fays 
Mariana,  ordered  all  their  children,  under 
14  years  of  age,  to  be  taken  from  them, 
and  baptized:  a  practice  not  at  all  juftifi- 
.  the  hiftorian,  becaufe  none  ought 

forced  to  become  Chriftans,  nor  chil- 
dren to  be  taken  from  their  parents. 

14.  "  They  ihould  be  mad  for  the  fight 
of  their  eyes  which  they  fhould  ice," 
ver.  54.  And  into  wha  - 1  ,  fury, 
and  del]  eration  have  the)  been  pmhed  by 
the  cruel  ufage,  e:                  and  or.    reffiens 

I  underj  one  ?    We    will 

in  tances,   one 

1    ancient,  -     from     modern 

1    of  Jeru- 

[  :     Titus,     fome    of    the    worft 

of 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


235 


of  the  Jews  took  refuge  in  the  caftle  of 
Mafada,  where  being  clofely  befieged  by 
the  Romans,  they  at  the  perluafion  of 
Eleazar  their  leader,  firft  murdered  their 
wives  and  children ;  then  ten  men  were 
xhofen  by  lot  to  flay  the  reft ;  this  being 
done,  one  of  the  ten  was  chofen  in  like 
manner  to  kill  the  other  nine;  which  hav- 
ing executed,  he  let  fire  to  the  place,  and 
then  ftabbed  himfelf.  There  were  nine 
hundred  and  fixty  who  perilhed  in  this 
miferable  manner ;  and  only  two  women 
and  five  boys  efcaped  by  hiding  themfelves 
in  the  aqueducts  under  ground.  Such 
another  inftance  we  have  in  our  Englifh 
hiilory.  For  in  the  reign  cf  Richard  the 
.Firil,  when  the  people  were  inarms  to  make 
a  general  maffacre  of  them,  fifteen  hundred 
of  them  feized  on  the  city  cf  York  to 
defend  themfelves;  but  being  befieged 
they  offered  to  capitulate,  and  to  ranfome 
their  lives  with  money.  The  offer  being 
refufed,  one  cf  them  cried  in  defpair,  that  it 
was  better  to  die  courageoufly  for  the  law, 
than  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Chriftians. 
Every  one  immediately  took  his  knife,  and 
ftabbed  his  wife  and  children.  The  men 
afterwards  retired  into  the  king's  palace, 
which  they  fct  on  fire,  in  which  they  con- 
fumed  themfelves  with  the  palace  and 
furniture. 

15.  "They  fhoukl  ferve  other  gods, 
wood  and  If  one,"  ver.  36;  and  again  ver.  64., 
"  they  fhould  ferve  other  gods,  which 
neither  they  nor  their  fathers  had  known, 
even  wood  and  Hone."  And  is  it  not  too 
common  for  the  Jews  in  popilh  countries 
to  comply  with  the  idolatrous  worfhip  of 
the  church  of  Rome,  and  to  bow  down  to 
ftocks  and  ftones,  rather  than  their  effects 
fhould  be  feized  and  confifcated?  Here 
again  we  mull  cite  the  author,  who  hath 
mod  ftudied,  and  hath  belt  written  their 
modern  hiftory,  and  whom  we  have  had 
occaiion  to  quote  feveral  times  in  this 
difcourfe.  The  Spanilh  and  Portugal 
Inquiiltions,  faith  he,  reduce  them  to  the 
dilemma  of  being  either  hypocrites  or 
burnt.  The  numbers  of  thefe  diffemblers 
is  very  confiderable ;  and  it  ought  not  to 
be  concluded,  that  there  are  no  Jews  in 
Spain  or  Portugal,  becauie  they  are  not 
known :  they  are  fo  much  the  more  dan- 
gerous, for  not  only  being  very  numerous, 
but  confounded  with  the  eccleliaitics,  and 
entering  into  all  ecclefiaftical  dignities. 
In  another  place  he  faith,  The  molt  fur- 
prifmg  thing  is,  that  this  religion  fpreads 
from    generation  to   generation,  and  frill 


fubfifts  in  the  perfons  of  diffemblers  in  a 
•remote  pofterity.  In  vain  the  great  lords 
of  Spain  make  alliances,  change  their 
names  and  take  ancient  fcutcheons ;  they 
are  {till  known  to  be  of  Jewifh  race,  and 
Jews  themfelves.  The  convents  of  monies 
and  nuns  are  full  of  them.  Molt  of  the 
canons,  inquifitors,  and  bifhops  proceed 
from  this  nation.  This  is  enough  to  make 
the  people  and  clergy  of  this  country  trem- 
ble, fince  fuch  fort  of  churchmen  can  only 
profane  the  facraments,  and  want  intention 
in  cohfecrating  the  hoit  they  adore.  In 
the  mean  time  Orobio,  who  relates  the 
fa<5t,  knew  thefe  diffemblers.  He  was  one 
of  them  himfelf,  and  bent  the  knee  before 
the  facrament.  Moreover  he  brings  proofs 
of  his  afTertion,  in  maintaining,  that  there 

are  in  the  fynaffog-ue  of  Amfterdarn,  bro- 

-'00 

thers  and  filters  and  near  relations  to  good 
families  of  Spain  and  Portugal ;  and  even 
Francifcan  monks,  Dominicans,  and  Jefuits, 
who  come  to  do  penance,  and  make  amends 
for  the  crime  they  have  committed  in 
diffembling. 

16.  "  They  fhould  become  an  aftonilh- 
ment,  a  proverb,  and  a  bye-word  among 
all  nations,"  ver.  37.  And  do  we  not 
hear  and  fee  this  prophecy  fulfilled  almoft 
every  day  ?  is  not  the  avarice,  ufury,  and 
hard-heartednefs  of  a  Jew  grown  proverbial  ? 
and  are  not  their  perfons  generally  odious 
among  all  forts  of  people  ?  Mohammedans, 
Heathens,  and  Chriftians,  however  they 
may  diiagree  in  other  points,  yet  gene- 
rally agree  in  vilifying,  abufing,  and 
periecuting  the  Jews.  In  molt  places 
where  they  are  tolerated,  they  are 
obliged  to  live  in  a  feparate  quarter  by 
themfelves,  (as  they  did  here  in  the  Old 
Jewry)  and  to  wear  fome  badge  of  dif- 
tinclion.  Their  very  countenances  com- 
monly diftinguilh  them  from  the  reft  of 
mankind.  Tirey  are  in  all  refpechs  treated, 
as  if  they  were  of  another  fpecies.  And 
when  a  great  mailer  of  nature  would  draw 
the  portrait  of  a  Jew,  how  deteftable  a  cha- 
racter hath  lie  reprefented  in  the  perfon  of 
his  Jew  of  Venice  ! 

17.  Finally,  "their  plagues  fhould  be 
wonderful,  even  great  plagues,  and  of  long 
continuance,"  ver.  59.  And  have  not 
their  plagues  continued  now  thefe  1700 
years?  Their  former  captivities  were  very 
iho  t  in  companion  ;  and  Ezekiel  and 
Daniel  prophefied  in  the  land  of  the  Chal- 
daeans  :  but  now  they  have  no  true  prophet 
to  foretei  an  end  of  their  calamities,  they 
have  only  falfe   Melhahs  to   delude  them 

and 


236 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


and  aggravate  their  misfortunes.  In  their 
former  captivities  they  had  the  comfort  of 
being  conveyed  to  the  fame  place;  they 
dwelt  together  in  the  land  of  Gofhen,  they 
were  carried  together  to  Babylon  :  but  now 
they  are  difperied  all  over  the  face  of  the 
earth.  What  nation  hath  fuffered  fo  much, 
and  yet  endured  fo  long  ?  what  nation 
hathfubfifted  as  adiftinct  people  in  their  own 
country,  folong  as  thefe  have  done  in  their 
difperfion  into  all  countries  r  and  what  a 
landing  miracle  is  this  exhibited  to  the  view 
and  obfervation  of  the  whole  world  ? 

Here  are  inltances  of  prophecies,  of  pro- 
phecies delivered  above  three  thoufand 
years  ago,  and  yet  as  we  fee  fulfilling  in  the 
world  at  this  very  time  :  and  what  ftronger 
proofs  can  we  deiire  of  the  divine  legation 
ofMofes?  How  thefe  in fiances  may  affect 
others,  I  know  not;  but  for  myfelfl  mull 
acknowledge,  they  not  only  convince,  but 
amaze  and  aftonifh  me  beyond  expreffion. 
They  are  truly,  as  Mofes  foretold  they 
would  be,  "  a  (ign  and  a  wonder  for 
ever,"  ver.  45,  4.6.  "  Moreover  all  thefe 
curfes  fhali  come  upon  thee,  and  (hall  pur- 
fue  thee  and  overtake  thee,  till  thou  be 
deftroyed,  becaufe  thou  hearkened!!  not 
unto  the  voice  of  the  Lord  thy  God, 
to  keep  his  commandments,  and  his  ftatutes 
which  he  commanded  thee  :  and  they  (hall 
be  upon  thee  for  a  fign  and  for  a  wonder, 
and  upon  thy  feed  for  ever." 

Bijhcp  Newton. 

§  176.  The  Excellence  of  Scripture. 

The  incomparable  excellency  which  is 
in  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  will  fully  appear, 
if  we  confider  the  matters  contained  in 
them  under  this  threefold  capacity.  1.  As 
matters  of  divine  revelation.  2.  As  a  rule 
of  life.  3,  As  containing  that  covenant  of 
grace  which  relates  to  man's  eternal  hap- 
pinefs. 

1.  Confider  the  Scripture  generally,  as 
containing  in  it  matters  of  divine  revela- 
tion, and  therein  the  excellency  of  the 
Scriptures  appears  in  two  things.  1.  The 
matters  which  are  revealed.  2.  The  man- 
ner wherein  they  they  are  revealed. 

1 .  The  matters  which  are  revealed  in 
Scripture,  may  be  confidered  thefe  three 
ways.  1.  As  they  are  matters  of  the 
greateft  weight  and  moment.  2.  As  mat- 
ters of  the  greatefl  depth  and  myfterioufnefs. 
3.  As  matters  of  the  moll  univerfal  fatis- 
faction  to  the  minds  of  men. 

I.  They  are  matters  of  the  greatefl  mo- 
ment aid  importance  for  men  to  know. 
t 


The  wifdom  of  men  is  mod  known  by  the 
weight  of  the  things  they  fpeak  ;  and  there- 
fore that  wherein  the  wifdom  of  God  is 
difcovered,  cannot  contain  any  thing  that 
is  mean  and  trivial ;  they  mull  be  matters 
of  the  higher!  importance,  which  the  Su- 
preme Ruler  cf  the  world  vouchiafes  to 
fpeak  to  men  concerning  :  and  fuch  we 
mail  find  the  matters  which  God  hath 
revealed  in  his  word  to  be,  which  either 
concern  t'm  rectifying  our  apprehenfions 
of  his  nature,  or  making  known  to  men 
their  date  and  condition,  or  difcovering 
the  way  whereby  to  avoid  eternal  mifery. 
Now  which  is  there  of  thefe  three,  which, 
fuppofing  God  to  difcover  his  mind  to  the 
world,  it  doth  not  highly  become  him  to 
(peak  to  men  of? 

1 .  What  is  there  which  doth  more  highly 
concern  men  to  know,  than  God  himfelf? 
or  what  mere  glorious  and  excellent  object 
could  he  difcover  than  himfelf  to  the 
world  ?  There  is  nothing  certainly  which 
(liould  more  commend  the  Scriptures  to 
us,  than  that  thereby  we  may  grow  more 
acquainted  with  God  ;  that  we  may  know 
more  of  his  nature,  and  all  his  perfections, 
and  many  of  the  great  reafons  of  his 
actings  in  the  world.  We  may  by  them 
understand  with  fafety  what  the  eternal 
purpofes  of  God  were  as  to  the  way  of 
man's  recovery  by  the  death  of  his  Son; 
we  may  there  fee  and  understand  the 
great  wifdom  of  God ;  not  only  in  the 
contrivance  of  the  world,  and  ordering  of 
it,  but  in  the  gradual  revelations  of  him- 
felf  to  his  people,  by  what  fteps  he  trained 
up  his  church  till  the  fulnefs  of  time  was 
come ;  what  his  aim  was  in  laying  fuch  a 
load  of  ceremonies  on  his  people  of  the 
Jews ;  by  what  fteps  and  degrees  he  made 
way  for  the  full  revelation  of  his  will  to  the 
world  by  fpeaking  in  thefe  laft  days  by  his 
Son,  after  he  had  fpoke  at  fundry  times 
and  divers  manners  by  the  prophets,  &c. 
unto  the  fathers.  In  the  Scriptures  we 
read  the  moft  rich  and  admirable  dif- 
coveries  of  divine  goodnefs,  and  all  the 
ways  and  methods  he  ufeth  in  alluring 
finners  to  himfelf;  with  what  majefty  he 
commands,  with  what  condefcenlion  he 
intreats,  with  what  importunity  he  woos 
men's  fouls  to  be  reconciled  to  him  ;  with 
what  favour  he  embraceth,  with  what 
tendernefs  he  chailifeth,  with  what  bowels 
he  pitieth  thofe  who  have  chofen  him  to  be 
their  God  !  With  what  power  he  fup- 
porteth,  with  what  wifdom  he  directeth, 
with  what  cordials  he  refrefheth  the  fouls 

©f 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


237 


of  iuch  who  are  dejected  under  the  fenfe  of 
his  difpleafure,  and  yet  their  love  is  fincere 
towards  him!  With  what  profound  humi- 
lity, what  holy  boldnefs,  what  becoming 
diftance,  and  yet  what  reftlefs  importunity 
do  we  therein  find  the  fouls  of  God's  people 
addreffing  themfelves  to  him  in  prayer  ! 
With  what  chearfulnefs  do  they  ferve  him, 
with  what  confidence  do  they  truft  him,  with 
what  refoluticn  do  they  adhere  to  him  in  all 
ftreights  and  difficulties,  with  what  patience 
do  they  fubmit  to  his  will  in  their  greater! 
extremities !  How  fearful  are  they  of  fin- 
ning againft  God,  how  careful  to  pleafe 
him,  how  regardlefs  of  fuffering,  when  they 
mull  choofe  either  that  or  finning,  how 
little  apprehenfive  of  men's  difpleafure, 
while  they  enjoy  the  favour  of  God  ! 
Now  all  thefe  things  which  are  fo  fully  and 
pathetically  expreffed  in  Scripture,  do 
abundantly  fet  forth  to  us  the  exuberancy 
and  pleonafm  of  God's  grace  and  goodnefs 
towards  his  people,  which  makes  them 
delight  fo  much  in  him,  and  be  fo  fenfible 
of  his  difpleafure.  But  above  all  other 
difcoveries  of  God's  goodnefs,  his  fending 
his  Son  into  the  world  to  die  for  finners,  is 
that  which  the  Scripture  fets  forth  with 
the  greateft  life  and  eloquence.  By  elo- 
quence, I  mean  not  an  artificial  convpofure 
of  words,  but  the  gravity,  weight,  and 
perfuafivenefs  of  the  matter  contained  in 
them.  And  what  can  tend  more  to  melt 
our  frozen  hearts  into  a  current  of  thankful 
obedience  to  God,  than  the  vigorous  re- 
flection ofthe  beams  of  God's  love  through 
Jefus  Chrift  upon  us  ?  Was  there  ever  fo 
great  an  exprefiion  of  love  heard  of!  nay, 
was  it  pofiible  to  be  imagined,  that  that 
God  who  perfectly  hates  fin,  fhould  himfelf 
offer  the  pardon  of  it,  and  fend  his  Son  into 
the  world  to  fecure  it  to  the  finner,  who  doth 
fo  heartily  repent  of  his  fins,  as  to  deny 
himfelf,  and  take  up  his  crofs  and  follow 
Chrift  !  Well  might  the  Apoftle  fay, 
"  This  is  a  faithful  faying,  and  worthy  of 
all  acceptation,  that  Jefus  Chrift  came  into 
the  world  to  lave  finners."  How  dry  and 
faplefs  are  all  the  voluminous  difcourfes  of 
philofophers,  compared  with  this  fentence  ! 
How  jejune  and  unfatisfa&ory  are  all  the 
difcoveries  they  had  of  God  and  his  good- 
nefs, in  comparifcn  of  what  we  have  by 
the  Gofpel  of  Chrift !  Well  might  Paul 
then  fay,  "  That  he  determined  to  know 
nothing  but  Chrift  and  him  crucified." 
Chrift  crucified  is  the  library  which  trium- 
phant fouls  will  be  fludying  in  to  all  eternity. 
This  is  the  only  library  which  to  commend 


is  the  true  Ixrfuop  -fyvxyist  that  which 
cures  the  foul  of  all  its  maladies  and  dif- 
tempers ;  ether  knowledge  makes  men's 
minds  giddy  and  flatulent,  this  fettles  and 
compofes  them;  other  knowledge  is  apt  to 
fwell  men  into  high  conceits  and  opinions 
of  themfelves,  this  brings  them  to  thetrueft 
view  of"  themfelves,  and  thereby  to  humili- 
ty and  fobriety ;  other  knowledge  leaves 
men's  hearts  as  it  found  them,  this  alters 
them  and  makes  them  better.  So  tran- 
fcendent  an  excellency  is  there  in  the 
knowledge  of  Chrift  crucified  above  the 
fublimeft  fpeculations  in  the  world. 

And  is  not  this  an  ineftimable  benefit 
we  enjoy  by  the  Scripture,  that  therein  we 
can  read  and  converfe  with  all  thefe  ex- 
preffions  of  God's  love  and  goodnefs,  and 
that  in  his  own  language  ?  Shall  we 
admire  and  praife  what  we  meet  with  in 
Heathen  philofophers,  which  is  generous 
and  handfome  ;  and  ihall  we  not  adore  the 
infinite  fulnefs  ofthe  Scriptures,  which  run 
over  with  continued  expreffions  of  that 
and  a  higher  nature  ?  What  folly  is  it  to 
magnify  thofe  lean  kine,  the  notions  of 
philofophers,  and  to  contemn  the  fat,  the 
plenty  and  fulnefs  of  the  Scriptures  ?  If 
there  be  not  far  more  valuable  and  excellent 
difcoveries  ofthe  divine  nature  and  per- 
fections, if  there  be  not  far  more  excellent 
directions  and  rules  of  practice  in  the 
Sacred  Scriptures,  than  in  the  fublimeft  of 
all  the  philofophers,  then  let  us  leave  our 
full  ears,  and  feed  upon  the  thin.  But  cer- 
tainly no  fober  and  rational  fpirit,  that  puts 
any  value  upon  the  knowledge  of  God, 
but  on  the  fame  account  that  he  doth  prize 
the  difcourfes  of  any  philofophers  concern- 
ing God,  he  cannot  but  fet  a  value  of  a  far 
higher  nature  on  the  Word  of  God.  And 
as  the  goodnefs  of  God  is  thus  diicovered 
in  Scripture,  fo  is  his  juftice  and  holinefs  : 
we  have  therein  recorded  the  moll  remarka- 
ble judgments  of  God  upon  contumacious 
finners,  the  fevereft  denunciations  of  a 
judgment  to  come  againft  all  that  live  in 
fin,  the  exafteft  precepts  of  holinefs  in  the 
world ;  and  what  can  be  defired  more  to 
difcover  the  holinefs  of  God,  than  we  find 
in  Scripture  concerning  him  ?  If  therefore 
acquaintance  with  the  nature,  perfection, 
defigns  of  {0  excellent  a  being  as  God  is, 
be  a  thing  deftrable  to  human  nature,  we 
have  the  greateft  caufe  to  admire  the  ex- 
cellency and  adore  the  fulnefs  of  the 
Scriptures,  which  gives  fo  large,  rational, 
and  compleat  account  of  the  being  and 
attributes  of  God.  And  which  tends  yet  more 

to 


238 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


to  commend  the  Scripturesto  us,  thofe  things 
which  the  Scripture  doth  moll  fully  difcover 
concerning  God,  do  not  at  all  contradict 
thole  prime  and  common  notions  which  are  in 
our  natures  concerning  him,  but  do  exceed- 
ingly advance  and  improve  them,  and  tend 
the  molt  to  regulate  our  conceptions  and 
apprehennons  of  God,  that  we  may  not 
mifcarry  therein,  as  otherwife  men  are 
apt  to  do.  For  it  being  natural  to  men  fo 
far  to  love  themfelves,  as  to  fet  the  greater!, 
value  upon  thofe  excellencies  which  they 
think  themfelves  moll  matters  of:  thence 
men  come  to  be  exceedingly  miftaken  in 
their  apprehenfions  of  a  deity,  fome 
attributing  one  thing  as  a  perfection, 
another  a  different  thing,  according  to  their 
humours  and  inclinations.  Thus  imperious 
felf-willed  men  are  apt  to  cry  up  God's 
abfolute  power  and  dominion  as  Ins 
greateft  perfection  ;  eafy  and  foft-fpirited 
men  his  patience  and  goodnefs ;  fevere  and 
rigid  men  his  jullice  and  feverity  :  every 
one  according  to  his  humour  and  tei 
making  his  god  of  bis  own  complexion  : 
and  not  only  fo,  but  in  tilings  remote 
enough  from  being  perfections  at  all,  yet 
becaufe  they  are  luch  things  as  they  prize 
and  value,  they  fuppofe  of  neceffity  they 
mult  be  in  God,  as  is  evident  in  the 
Epicureans  arx^la,  by  which  they  ex- 
clude providence,  as  hath  already  been 
obferved.  And  withal  coniidering  how  very 
difficult  it  is  for  one  who  really  believes 
that  God  is  of  a  pure,  juft,  and  holy  nature, 
and  that  he  hath  j  ly  rr',  nded  him 

by  bis  fins,   to  I         t        (  od  will 

pardon    him   u  true   repentance:   it  is 

tj       ..    necel  hat   God  mould  make 

known  himfelf  to  the  world,  to  prevent 
our  mifconceptions  of  his  nature,  and  to 
allure  ;  ife  guilt;    creature, 

how  ready  he  is  to  pardon  iniquity,  tranf- 
greffion  and  fin,  to  inch  as  unfeignedly 
follies,  and  return  unto 
himfelf.  Though  the  light  of  nature  may 
di&atemuch  to  us  of  the  benignity  and 
goodnefs   oi  -  •<-■  nature,  j  et   it  is 

hard  to 

further!  ich 

lation  can  be 
gathei     '    ■  ■  s  to  pardon 

;  .'-race,  mull 

;  '  -  ■■    '  ill.     I  c; 

tj  °  fun,   m       •  rs    aie  fiich 

i      ;rant    preachers,    a  unto  us 

the    w!  ole   com  of  God    in 

iccerp!  ance  with  God 

upon   repentance,      it   is    not  every  ftar 


in  the  firmament  can  do  that  which 
the  ftar  once  did  to  the  wife  men, 
lead  them  unto  Chrift.  The  fun  in  the 
heavens  is  no  Parelius  to  the  fun  of 
righteoufnefs.  The  bell  aftronomer  will 
never  find  the  day-liar  from  on  high  in  the 
reft  of  his  number.  What  St.  Aultin  faid 
of  Tally's  works,  is  true  of  the  whole 
volume  of  the  creation.  There  are  admi- 
rable things  to  be  found  in  them :  but  the 
name  of  Chrift  is  not  legible  there.  The 
work  of  redemption  is  not  engraven  on 
the  works  of  providence  ;  if  it  had,  a  par- 
ticular divine  revelation  had  been  unnecef- 
fary,  and  the  apollles  were  fent  on  a  need- 
le T;  errand,  which  the  world  had  underftood 
without  their  preaching,  viz.  "  That  God 
was  in  Chrift  reconciling  the  world  unto 
himfelf,  not  imputing  to  men  their  tref- 
paffes,  and  hath  committed  to  them  the 
miniftry  of  reconciliation."  How  was 
the  word  of  reconciliation  committed   to 

if  it  were  common  to  them  with  the 
whole  fame  of  the  world  ?  and  the  apclllc's 
quaere  elfeWhere  might  have  been  eafily 
anfwered,  How  can  men  hear  without  a 
preacher  ?  for  then  they  might  have 
known  the  way  of  falvation,  without  any 
fpecial  mefTengers  fent  to  deliver  it  to  them. 
I  grant  that  God's  Iong-fuffering  and 
patience  is  intended  to  lead  men  to  repen- 
tance, and  that  fome  general  collections 
mi;  ht  be  made  from  providence  of  the 
placability  of  God's  nature,  and  that  God 
never  left  himfelf  without  a  witrtefs "of  his 
goodnefs  in  the  world,  being  kind  to  the 
;  :  •  kful,  and  doing  good,  in  giving  rain 
and  fruitful  feafons.  Eut  though  theie 
thi  :t  fufHciently  diicover   to  fuch 

who  were  apprehenfive  of  the  guilt  of  fin, 
that  Gc  d    not     a£l    according   to  his 

greater]  feverity,  and  thereby  did  give  meii 
encouragement  to  hearken  out  and  enquire 
after  the  true  way  of  being  reconciled  to 
God  ;  ye):  all  this  amounts  net  to  a  firm 
foundation  for  faith  as  to  the  remiffion  of 

ich  doth  fuppofe  God  himfelf  pub- 
lifhing  a  -race  and  indemnity  to  the 

world,  wherein  he  allures  the  pardon  of 
fin  to  luch  as  truly  repent  and  unfeignedly 
believe  his  holy  Gofpel.  Now  is  not  this 
an  ineftimable  advantage  we  enjoy  by  the 
Scripture:;,  that  therein  we  underftand 
God  himfelf  hath  difcovered  of  his  own 
nature  and  perfections,  and  of  his  readinefs 
to  pardon  fin  upon  thofe  gracious  terms  of 
faith  and  repentano  ,  and  that  which 
;  rily  f    ows  from   thefe  two,  hearty 

and  fincere  obedience  ? 

2.  The 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


239 


2.  The  Scriptures  give  the  moft  faith- 
ful reprefentation  of  the  ftate  and  condi- 
tion of  the  foul  of  man.  The  world  was 
almoft  loll  in  difputes  concerning  the  na- 
ture, condition,  and  immortality  of  the 
foul  before  divine  revelation  was 
known  to  mankind  by  the  gofpel  of  Chrift; 
but  "  life  and  immortality  was  brought  to 
light  by  the  gofpel,"  and  the  future  ftate 
of  the  foul  of  man,  not  difcovered  in  an 
uncertain  Platonical  way,  bat  with  the 
greateil  light  and  evidence  from  that  God 
who  hath  the  fupreme  difpofal  of  fouls, 
and  therefore  bell  knows  and  underftauds 
them.  The  Scriptures  plainly  and  fully 
reveal  a  judgment  to  come,  in  which  God 
will  judge  the  fecrets  of  all  hearts,  when 
every  one  mult  give  an  account  of  himfelf 
unto  God,  and  Gel  will  1  to  gb 

an  account  of  the .  x  Ship  here  or'  ail 

the  receipts  they  have  had  from  him,  and 
the  expences  they  !  ave   been  at, 
improvements  they  have  m  ; 
he  put  into  their  hands.      ' 
7    i  of  Chilli:  is  the  full"    fc 

ery  of  the  cert-u 
of  the  ibid,  and  the  • 

it,  upon  its  being  diflodge 
But  this  is  not  ail  which  t    : 
covers  as  to  the  ftate  of 
is  not  only  a  profpeolive-gledy  r 
its  future  irate,   but  it   is  t   s  n* 
looking-glafs,  to  difcover  all  the  fp*  i 
deformities  of  the  foul:  and  not  only  I 
where  they  are,  but  whence  t 
what  tneir   nature   is,    and  whither    they 
tend.     The  true  original   o:  :.li  that  dis- 
order and  difcompofure  which  is  in  th 
or   man,    is    only  fully    and    fa 
given    us    in  the    Word    of  God. 
nature     and     working     of    t 
tion  in  man,    had    never  been  do  c 
nianifeiled,  had  not  the    law  and  will  of 
God    been     difcovered     to     the    world  ; 
that     is     the     glafs      whereby     we 
the  fecret  workings  of  thofe  bees  in  our 
hearts,  the  corruptions  of  our  na 
fet»  forth  the  folly   of  our  imaginations, 
the  unrulinefs  of  our  paffions,  the  di 
pers  of  our  wills,  and  the  abundant  deceit- 
fulnefs  of  our  hearts.     And  it  is  hard  for 
the  moft  Elephantine   fmner   (one  of  the 
greateft  magnitude)    fo  to  trouble    thefe 
waters,    as    not    therein    to    difcover    the 
greatnefs    of  his   own    deformities.      But 
that    which    tends    moil;    to    awaken    the 
drowfy,  fenfelefs  fpirits  of  men,  the  ! 
ture  doth  moft  fully  defcribe  the  tendency 
of  corruption,  "  mat  the  wages  of  fin  is 
death,"  and  the  iffue  of  concinuance  in  fin 


will  be  the  everlafting  mifery  of  the  foul, 
in  a  perpetual  feparation  from  the  prefencc 
of  God,  and  undergoing  the  lames  and 
feverities  of  confeience  to  all  eternity. 
What  a  great  difcovery  is  this  of  the 
faithfulnefs  of  God  to  the  world,  that  he 
fufFers  not  men  to  undo  themfelves  without 
Jetting  Them  know  of  it  before  hand,  that 
they  might  avoid  it !  God  feeks  not  to 
entrap  mens  fouls,  nor  doth  he  rejoice  ia 
the  mifery  and  ruin  of  his  creatures,  but 
fully  declares  to  them  what  the  confequence 
and  iffue  of  their  fmful  practices  will  be, 
allures  them  of  a  judgment  to  come,  de- 
clares his  own  future  fe  verity  againft  con- 
lers,  that  they  might  not 
think    -  es    furprifed,   and    that    if 

n  there  had  been  fo  great 
y  would  never  have  been 
fools  as  for  the  fake  of  it  to  run  into 
God  to  prevent  this, 
with  the  greateft  plainnefs  ana  faithfulnefs, 
-  !  men  the  nature  and  danger 
of  all    their    fins,    and   afks   them  before 
in  die  end  thereof; 
y  are  able  to  bear  his  wrath,  and 
Sling  burnings?  if  not,  he 
.•  nfelves  of  what  they 
iy,  and  repent  and  amend 
left  iniquity  prove  their  ruin, 
dion  overtake  them,  and  that 
Now  if  men  have  caufe 
.:  and  value  a  faithful  monitor,  one 
•  good,  and  would  prevent 
their  ruin,  we  have  caufe  exceedingly  to 
•-due  the  Scriptures,  which  give 
us  the  trueil  reprefentation  of  the  ftate  and 
of  our  fouls. 
3.    The  Scripture  difcovers  to  us  the 
only  way  of  pleating   God  and  enjoying 
oCi.     1  hat  clearly  reveals  the  way 
h  man  might  have  fought  for  to  all 
withbut    particular    revelation) 
7  fins  may  be  pardoned,  and  what- 
e  do  may  be  acceptable  unto  God. 
it  fhews   us  that  the  ground  of  our  ac- 
.:e  with  God,  is  through  Chrift,  whom 
he  hath  1  a  propitiation  for  the  fins 

of  the  world,"  and  who  alone  is  the  true 
in     way,  whereby  we  may  "  draw 
near   to   God  with    a  true  heart,   in  full 
affu-rance     of    faith,    having    our    hearts 
V  in  an  evil  confeience."  Through 
Chrift  we  underftand  the  terms  on  which 
God  will   (hew  favour  and  grace   to  the 
'.'.'oild,  and  by  him  we  have  ground  of  a 
not  accefs  with  freedom  and  boldnefs 
unto  God.     On  his  account  we  may  hope 
not  only  for  grace  to  fubdue  our  fins,  reiiil 
tsuiDtations    conquer  the  devil    and    the 

world; 


240 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


world ;  but  having  "  fought  this  good 
fight,  and  finifhed  our  courfe,  by  patient 
continuance  in  well  doing,  we  may  juftly 
look  for  glorv,  honour,  and  immortality," 
and  that  "  crown  of  righteoufnefs  which 
is  laid  up  for  thofe  who  wait  in  faith,"  holi- 
nefs,  and  humility  for  the  appearance  of 
Chrift  from  heaven.'  Now  what  things 
can  there  be  of  greater  moment  and  im- 
portance for  men  to  know,  or  God  to  re- 
veal, than  the  nature  of  God  and  our- 
felves,  the  Hate  and  condition  of  our  fouls, 
the  only  way  to  avoid  eternal  mifery  and 
enjoy  everlafling  blifs! 

The  Scriptures  difcover  not  only  mat- 
ters of  importance,  but  of  the  greater!: 
depth  and  mviierioufnefs.  There  are  many 
wonderful  things  in  the  law  of  God,  things 
we  may  admire,  but  are  never  able  to 
comprehend.  Such  are  the  eternal  pur- 
pofes  and  decrees  of  God,  the  doctrine  cf 
the  Trinity,  the  incarnation  of  the  Son  of 
God,  and  the  manner  of  the  operation  of 
the  Spirit  of  God  upon  the  fouls  cf  men, 
which  are  all  things  of  gr?nt  weight  and 
moment  for  us  to  understand  and  believe 
that  they  are,  and  yet  may  be  unfearch- 
able  to  our  reafon,  as  to  the  particular 
manner  of  them. 

The  Scripture  comprehends  matters  of 
the  moft  univerfal  fatisfaction  to  the  minds 
of  men  ;  though  many  things  do  much  ex- 
ceed our  apprehenfions,  yet  others  are  moil 
fuitable  to  the  dictates  of  our  nature.  As 
Origen  bid  Celfus  fee,  =i  p.vj  to  t55s  ^Ww; 
y,[j.uv  run;  y.cnu7<;  in/otaj?  ctgyjidv  avvoc- 
yoptvoflu,  fj.tT oLTtfy?} ai  ra;  I'jyjujj.ovu^  uxnovla-i; 
tuiv  KiycyAvwy,  whether  it  was  not  the  agree- 
ablenefs  of  the  principles  of  faith  with  the 
common  notions  of  human  nature,  which 
prevailed  moil  upon  all  candid  and  inge- 
nuous auditors  of  them.  And  therefore,  as 
Socrates  faid  of  Heraclitus's  books,  What 
he  underilood  was  excellent,  and  therefore 
he  fuppofed  that  which  he  did  not  under- 
stand was  fo  too  :  fo  ought  we  to  fay  of  the 
Scriptures  :  if  thofe  things  which  are 
within  our  capacity  be  fo  fuitable  to  our 
natures  and  reafons,  thofe  cannot  contradict 
our  reafon  which  yet  are  above  them. 
There  are  many  things  which  the  minds 
of  men  were  fufhtiently  arTured  that  they 
were,  yet  were  to  feek  for  Satisfaction  con- 
cerning them,  which  they  could  never  mive 
had  without  divine  revelation.  As  the 
nature  of  true  happinefs,  wherein  it  lay, 
and  how  to  be  obtained,  which  the  philo- 
fophers  were  fo  puzzled  with,  the  Scrip- 
tures give  us  full   Satisfaction  concerning 


it.  True  contentment  under  the  troubles 
of  life,  which  the  Scripture  only  acquaints 
us  with  the  true  grounds  of;  and  all  the 
prefcri ptions  of  Heathen  mcralifts  fall  as 
much  ihort  of,  as  the  directions  of  an  em- 
piric do  of  a  wife  and  fkilful  phyfician. 
Avoiding  the  fears  of  death,  which  can 
alone  be  through  a  grounded  expectation 
of  a  future  Hate  of  happinefs  which  death 
leads  men  to,  which  cannot  be  had  but 
through  the  right  understanding  of  the 
Word  of  God.  Thus  we  fee  the  excel- 
lency of  the  matters  themfclves  contained 
in  this  revelation  of  the  mind  of  God  to 
the  world. 

As  the  matters  themfelves  are  of  an 
excellent  nature,  fo  is  the  manner  \\ here- 
in thev  are  revealed  in  the  Scriptures;  and 
that, 

I.  In  a  clear  and  perfpicuous  manner ; 
not  but  there  may  be  fall  fome  pailages 
which  are  hard  to  be  underilood,  as  being 
either  prophetical,  or  confuting  of  ambi- 
guous phrafes,  or  containing  matters  above 
our  comprehension ;  but  all  thofe  things 
which  concern  the  terms  of  man's  falva- 
tion,  are  delivered  with  the  greater!:  evi- 
dence and  perfpicuity.  Who  cannot  un- 
deriland  what  thefe  things  mean,  "  What 
doth  the  Lord  require  of  thee,  but  to  do 
juftly,  and  to  love  mercy,  and  to  walk 
humbly  with  thy  God?" — that  "  without 
faitli  it  is  impofiible  to  pleafe  God" — that 
"  without  holinefs  none  Shall  fee  the  Lord" 
— that  "  unlefs  we  be  born  again  we  can 
never  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven  :" 
thefe  and  fuch  like  things  are  fo  plain  and 
clear,  that  it  is  nothing  but  mens  Shutting 
their  eyes  againSt  the  light  can  keep  them 
from  understanding  them;  God  intended 
thefe  things  as  directions  to  men;  and  is 
he  not  able  to  fpeak  intelligibly  when  he 
pleafes  ?  He  that  made  the  tongue,  Shall 
he  not  fpeak  fo  as  to  be  underilood  with- 
out an  infallible  interpreter  ?  efpecially 
when  it  is  his  defign  to  make  known  to 
men  the  terms  of  their  eternal  happinefs  ? 
Will  God  judge  men  at  the  great  day  for 
not  believing  thofe  things  which  they  could 
not  undcrftand  ?  Strange,  that  ever  men 
Should  judge  the  Scriptures  obfeure  in 
matters  neceSlary,  when  the  Scripture  ac- 
counts it  fo  great  a  judgment  for  men  not 
to  understand  them.  "  [{  our  gofpel  be 
hid,  it  is  hid  to  them  that  are  loil ;  in 
whom  the  god  of  this  world  hath  blinded 
the  minds  of  them  which  believe  not,  left 
the  light  cf  the  glorious  gofpel  of  Chrift 
fhould  lhine  unto  them."   Sure  Lot's  door 

was 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


241. 


was  visible  enough,  if  it  were  a  judgment 
for  the  men  of  Sodom  not  to  fee  it ;  and 
the  S  :ripturcs  then  are  plain  and  intelli- 
gible enough,  if  it  be  fo  great  a  judgment 
not  to  understand  them. 

z.  In  a  powerful  and  authoritative 
manner ;  as  the  things  contained  in  Scrip- 
ture do  not  {q  much  beg  acceptance  as 
command  it;  in  that  the  expreffions  where- 
in our  duty  is  concerned,  are  fuch  as  awe 
men's  consciences  and  pierce  to  their 
hearts  and  to  their  fecret  thoughts  ;  all 
things  are  open  and  naked  before  this 
Word  of  God ;  every  fecret  of  the  mind 
and  thought  of  the  heart  lies  open  to  its 
ftroke  and  force ;  "  it  is  quick  and  power- 
ful, (harper  than  a  two-edged  fword,  pierc- 
ing to  the  dividing  afunder  of  foul  and 
fpirit,  and  of  the  joints  and  marrow,  and 
is  a  difcerner  of  the  thoughts  and  intents 
of  the  heart."  The  word  is  a  telefcope  to 
dilcover  the  great  luminaries  of  the  world, 
the  truths  of  higheit  concernment  to  the 
fouls  of  men,  and  it  is  fuch  a  microicope 
as  difcovers  to  us  the  fmallefc  atom  of  our 
thoughts,  and  difcerns  the  moil  fecret  in- 
tents of  the  heart.  And  as  far  as  this  light 
reacheth,  it  comes  with  power  and  autho- 
rity, as  it  comes  armed  with  the  majeityof 
that  God  who  reveals  it,  whofe  authority 
extends  over  the  foul  and  confcience  of 
man  in  its  mofi  fecret  and  hidden  re- 
cedes. 

3.  In  a  pure  and  unmixed  manner;  in 
all  other  writings,  how  good  foever,  we 
have  a  great  mixture  of  drofs  and  gold 
together;  here  is  nothing  but  pure  gold, 
diamonds  without  flaws,  funs  without  (pots. 
The  moil  current  coins  of  the  world  have 
thetr  alloys  of  bafer  metals,  there  is  no 
fuch  mixture  in  divine  truths ;  as  they  all 
come  from  the  fame  author,  fo  they  all 
have  the  fame  purity.  There  is  a  Urim 
and  Thummim  upon  the  whole  Scripture, 
light  and  perfection  in  every  part  of  it. 
In  the  Philofophers  we  may  meet,  it  may 
be,  with  fome  (battered  fragments  of  purer 
metal,  amidft  abundance  of  drofs  and  im- 
pure ore ;  here  we  have  whole  wedges  of 
gold,  the  fame  vein  of  purity  and  holinefs 
running  through  the  whole  book  of  Scrip- 
tures. Hence  it  is  called  "  the  form  of 
found  words;"  here  have  been  no  hucksters 
to  corrupt  and  mix  their  own  inventions 
with  divine  truths. 

4.  In  an  uniform  and  agreeable  man- 
ner. This  I  grant  is  not  fufficient  of  it- 
felf  to  prove  the  Scriptures  to  be  divine* 
becaufe  all  men  do  not  contradict  them- 
feives  in  their  writings,  but  yet  here  are 


fome  peculiar  circumftances  to  be  con- 
sidered in  the  agreeablenefs  of  the  parts 
of  Scripture  to  each  other,  which  are  not 
to  be  found  in  mere  human  writings. 
1.  That  this  doctrine  was  delivered  by 
perfons  who  lived  in  different  ages  and 
times  from  each  other.  Uiually  one  age 
corrects  another's  faults,  and  we  are  apt  to 
pity  the  ignorance  of  our  predeceflbrs, 
when  it  may  be  our  posterity  may  think 
us  as  ignorant,  as  we  do  them.  But  in 
the  Sacred  Scripture  we  read  not  one  age 
condemning  another;  we  find  light  (till  in- 
creasing in~theferies  of  times  in  Scripture, 
but  no  reflections  in  any  time  upon  the 
ignorance,  or  weaknefs  of  the  precedent ; 
the  dimmeft  light  was  fufficient  for  its  age, 
and  was  a  itep  to  further  diScovery.  Quin- 
tilian  gives  it  as  the  reafon  of  the  great 
uncertainty  of  Grammar  rules,  quia  non 
analogia  dimiffa  ccelo  formam  loquendi 
dedit ;  that  which  he  wanted  as  to  Gram- 
mar, we  have  as  to  divine  truths ;  they 
are  delivered  from  heaven,  and  therefore 
are  always  uniform  and  agreeable  to  each, 
other. 

2.  By  perfons  of  different  interests  in 
the  world.  God  made  choice  of  men  of 
all  ranks  to  be  inditers  of  his  oracles,  to 
make  it  appear  ifr^was  no  matter  of  State 
policy,  or  particular  intereft,  which  was 
contained  in  his  word,  which  perfons  of 
fuch  different  intereits  could  not  have 
agreed  in  as  they  do.  We  have  Mofes, 
David,  Solomon,  perfons  of  royal  rank 
and  quality;  and  can  it  be  any  mean  things 
which  thefe  think  it  their  glory  to  be 
penners  of?  We  have  Ifaiah,  Daniel,  and 
other  perfons  of  the  higheft  education  and 
accomplishments,  and  can  it  be  any  trivial 
thing  which  thefe  employ  themfelves  in  ? 
We  have  Amos,  and  other  prophets  in 
the  Old  TeStament,  and  the  apoitles  in  the 
New,  of  the  meaner  fort  of  men  in  the 
world,  yet  all  thefe  join  in  concert  to- 
gether ;  when  God  tunes  their  Spirits,  all 
agree  in  the  fame  Strain  of  divine  truths,  and 
give  light  and  harmony  to  each  other. 

3.  By  perfons  in  different  places  and 
conditions ;  fome  in  -prosperity  in  their 
own  country,  fome  under  banishment  and 
adverfity,  yet  all  agreeing  in  the  fame 
fubftance  of  doctrine ;  of  which  no  altera- 
tion we  fee  was  made,  either  for  the  flattery 
of  thofe  in  power,  or  for  avoiding  iniieries 
and  calamities.  And  under  all  the  dif- 
ferent difpenfatiohs  before,  under,  and 
after  the  law,  though  the  management  of 
things  was  different,  yet  the  doctrine  and 
deSkm  was  for  fubftance  the  fame  in  all. 

°R  All 


t\l 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


All  the  different  difpenfations  agree  in  the 
fame  common  principles  of  religion ;  the 
fame  ground  of  acceptance  with  God,  and 
obligation  to  duty  was  common  to  all, 
though  the  peculiar  inftances  wherein 
God  was  ferved  might  be  different  ac- 
cording to  the  ages  of  growth  in  the 
church  of  God.  So  that  this  great  uni- 
formity coniidered  in  thefe  circumftances, 
is  an  argument  that  thefe  things  came  ori- 
ginally from  the  fame  Spirit,  though  con- 
veyed through  different  inftruments  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  world. 

5.  In  a  perfuafive  and  convincing  man- 
ner :  and  that  thefe  ways,   1.  Bringing  di- 
vine truths  down  to  our  capacity,  clothing 
fpiritual  matter  in  familiar  expreffions  and 
fimiiitudes,  that  fo  they  might  have  the 
eafier  admilfion  into  our  minds.     2.  Pro- 
pounding things  as  our  intereff,  which  are 
our  duty:  thence  God   fo    frequently   in 
Scripture,    recommends  our    duties  to  us 
under  all  thofe  motives  which  are  wont  to 
have  the  greateft   force  on  the  minds  of 
men;  and  annexeth  gracious  promifes  to 
our  performance  of  them  ;    and   thofe  of 
the  mod  weighty  and   concerning  things. 
Of  grace,  favor,  protection,  deliverance, 
audience  of  prayers,  and  eternal  happinefs, 
and  if  thefe  will  not   prevail  with   men, 
what  motives    will?     3.   Courting    us    to 
obedience,  when  he  might  not  only  com- 
mand us  to  obey  but  punifh  prefently  for 
difobedience.     Hence  are   all  thofe   moil 
pathetical  and  affectionate  ftrains  we  read 
in  Scripture:  "  O  that  there  were  fuch  a 
heart  within  them,  that  they  would  fear 
me  and  keep  all  my  commandments  al- 
ways, that  it  might  go  well  with  them,  and 
with  their  children  after  them  ! — Woe  unto 
thee,  O  Jerufalem,  wilt  thou  not  be  made 
clean  ?  when  (hall  it  once  be  ? — Turn  ye, 
turn  ye  from  your  evil  ways  for  why  will 
ye  die,    O  houfe   of   Ifrael?     How  mail 
I  give   thee   up,  Ephraim  ?   how  mail  I 
deliver  thee  Ifrael  ?  how  (hall  1  make  thee 
asAdmah?  how  fhall  I  fet  thee  as   Ze- 
boim? — Mine  heart  is  turned  within  me, 
my  repentings  are  kindled  together. — O 
Jerufalem,  Jerufalem,  how  often  would  I 
have  gathered  thy  children  together,  as  a 
hen    gathereth    her   chickens    under   her 
wings,  and  ye  would  not  ?"  What  majefty 
and  yet  what  fweetnefs  and  condefcen/ion 
is  there  in  thefe  expreffions !  What  obiti- 
nacy  and  rebellion  is  it  in  men  for  them 
to  ffand    out  againft  God,    when  he  thus 
«omes  down  from  his    throne  of  majefty 
and  woos  rebellious  finners  to  return  unto 
him  that  they  may  be  pardoned!  Such  a 


matchlefs  and  unparalleled  rtrain  of  rhe- 
toric is  there  in  the  Scripture,  far  above  the 
art  and  infinuations  of  the  moft  admired 
orators.  Thus  we  fee  the  peculiar  excel- 
lency of  the  manner  wherein  the  matters 
contained  in  Scripture  are  revealed  to  us : 
thus  we  have  coniidered  the  excellency  of 
the  Scripture,  as  it  is  a  difcovery  of  God's 
mind  to  the  world. 

The  Scriptures  may  be  confidered  as 
a  rule  of  life,  or  as  a  law  of  God,  which 
is  given  for  the  government  of  the  lives 
of  men,  and  therein  the  excellency  of 
it  lies  in  the  nature  of  die  duties,  and  the 
encouragements  to  the  practice  of  them. 

I.  In  the  nature  of  the  duties  required^ 
which  are  moft  becoming  God  to  require, 
moft  reafonable  for  us  to  perform. 

1.  Moil  becoming  God  to  require,  as 
they  are  moil  fui table  and  agreeable  to  the 
divine  nature,  the  imitation  of  which  in 
our  actions  is  the  fubftance  of  our  religion. 
Imitation  of  him  in  his  goodnefs  and  holi- 
nefs,  by  our  conftant  endeavours  of  morti- 
fying ffn  and  growing  in  grace  and  piety. 
In  his  grace  and  mercy,  by  our  kindnefs 
to  all  men,  forgiving  the  injuries  men  do 
unto  us,  doing  good  unto  our  greateft  ene- 
mies. In  his  juifice  and  equity,  by  doing 
as  we  would  be  done  by,  and  keeping  a 
confeience  void  of  offence  towards  God 
and  towards  men.  The  firil  takes  in  the 
duties  of  the  firft,  the  other  the  duties  of 
the  fecond  table.  All  acls  of  piety  towards 
God,  are  a  part  of  juilice;  for  as  Tully  faith> 
Quid  aliud  eft  pietas  nifi  juftitia  adverfuj 
deos  ?  And  fo  our  loving  God  with  our 
whole  hearts,  cur  entire  and  fincere  obe- 
dience to  his  will,  is  a  part  of  natural 
juftice  ;  for  thereby  we  do  but  render  unto 
God  that  which  is  his  due  from  us  as  we 
are  his  creatures.  We  fee  then  the  whole 
duty  of  man,  the  fearing  God  and  keeping 
his  commandments,  is  as  neceffary  a  part 
of  juilice,  as  the  rendering  to  every  man 
his  own  is. 

2.  They  are  moft  reafonable  for  us  to 
perform,  in  that  t.  Religion  is  not  only 
a  fervice  of  the  reafonable  faculties  which 
are  employed  the  moft  in  it,  the  com- 
mands of  the  Scripture  reaching  the 
heart  moft,  and  the  fervice  required 
being  a  fpiritual  fervice,  not  lying  in 
meats  and  drinks,  or  any  outward  ob- 
fervations,  but  in  a  fan&ified  temper  of 
heart  and  mind,  which  difcovers  itfelf  in 
the  courfe  of  a  Chriftian's  life  :  but 
z.  The  fervice  itfelf  of  religion  is  rea- 
fonable; the  commands  of  the  gofpel  are 
fuch,  as  no  man's  reafon  which  conhders 

them, 


OOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


243 


them,  can  doubt  of  the  excellency  of  them. 
All  natural  worihip  is  founded  from  the 
dictates  of  nature,  all  inftituted  worihip  on 
God's  revealed  will;  and  it  is  one  of  the 
prime  dictates  of  nature,  that  God  mull:  be 
univerfally  obeyed.  Beiides,  God  requires 
nothing  but  what  is  apparently  man's  in- 
te'reft  to  do ;  God  prohibits  nothing  but 
what  will  deltroyhim  if  he  doth  it;  fo  that 
the  commands  of  the  Scriptures  are  very 
juft  and  reafonable. 

2.  The  encouragements  are  more  than 
proportionable  to  the  difficulty  of  obe- 
dience. God's  commands  are  in  them- 
felves  eafy,  and  moil  fukable  to  our  natures. 
What  more  rational  for  a  creature  than  to 
obey  his  Maker  ?  All  the  difficulty  of  re- 
ligion arifeth  from  the  corruption  of  nature. 
Now  God,  to  encourage  men  to  conquer 
the  difficulties  arifing  thence,  hath  pro- 
pounded the  flrongeil  motives,  and  moil: 
prevailing  arguments  to  obedience.  Such 
are  the  considerations  of  God's  love  and 
goodnefs  manifeflcd  to  the  world  by  fend- 
ing his  Son  into  it  to  die  for  fmners,  and 
to  give  them  an  example  which  they  are  to 
follow,  and  by  his  readinefs  through  him 
to  pardon  the  fins,  and  accept  the  perfons 
of  fuch  who  fo  receive  him  as  to  walk  in 
him ;  and  by  his  promifes  of  grace  to  affift 
them  in  the  wreftling  with  the  enemies  of 
their  falvation.  And  to  all  thefe  add  that 
glorious  and  unconceivable  reward  which 
God  hath  promifed  to  all  thofe  who  fin- 
cerely  obey  him,  and  by  thefe  things  we 
fee  how  mu:h  the  encouragements  over- 
weigh  the  difficulties,  and  that  none' can 
make  the  leafl  pretence  that  there  is  no 
motive  fufficient  to  down-weigh  the  trou- 
bles which  attend  the  exercife  of  obedience 
to  the  will  of  God.  So  that  we  fee  what 
a  peculiar  excellency  there  is  in  the 
Scriptures  as  a  rule  of  life,  above  all  the 
precepts  of  mere  moraliils,  the  foundation 
of  obedience  being  laid  deeper  in  man's 
obligation  to  ferve  his  Maker,  the  prac- 
tice of  obedience  being  carried  higher  in 
thofe  moil  holy  precepts  which  are  in 
Scripture,  die  reward  of  obedience  being 
incomparably  greater  than  what  men  are 
able  to  conceive,  much  lefs  to  promife  or 
bellow. 

The  excellency  of  the  Scriptures  appears 
as  they  contain  in  them  a  covenant  of 
grace,  or  the  tranfactions  between  God 
and  man  in  order  to  his  eternal  happinefs. 
The  more  memorable  any  tranfactions  are, 
the  more  valuable  are  any  authentic  re- 
cords of  them.     The  Scriptures  contain 


in  them  the  Magna  Charta  of  heaven,  an 
act  of  pardon  with  the  royal  aifent  of  hea- 
ven, a  proclamation  of  good-will  from  God 
towards  men ;  and  can  we  then  fet  too 
great  a  value  on  that  which  contains  all 
tire  remarkable  paffages  between  God  and 
the  fouls  of  men,  in  order  to  their  felicity, 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world  ?  Can  we 
think,  fmce  there  is  a  God  in  the  world 
of  infinite  goodnefs,  that  he  fnould  fuffer 
ail  mankind  to  perifh  inevitably  without 
his  propounding  any  means  for  efcaping 
of  eternal  miferyp  Is  God  i'o  good  to  men 
as  to  this  pre  lent  life;  and  can  we  think, 
if  man's  foul  be  immortal,  that  he  hould 
wholly  neglect  any  offer  of  good  to  men 
as  to  their  eternal  welfare?  Or  is  it  poffible 
to  imagine  that  man  fhould  be  happy  in 
another  world  without  God's  promiiing  it, 
and  prefcribing  conditions  in  order  to  it? 
If  fo,  then  this  happinefs  is  no  free  gift  of 
God,  unlefs  he  hath  the  bellowing  and 
pfomifing  of  it ;  and  man  is  no  rational 
agent,  unlefs  a  reward  fuppofe  conditions 
to  be  performed  in  order  to  the  obtaining 
it;  or  man  may  be  bound  to  conditions 
which  were  never  required  of  him  ;  or  if 
they  mufl:  be  required,  then  there  muil  be 
a  revelation  of  God's  will,  whereby  he 
doth  require  them :  and  if  fo,  then  there 
are  fome  records  extant  of  the  tranfactions 
between  God  and  man,  in  order  to  his 
eternal  happinefs :  for  what  reaibn  can  we 
have  to  imagine  that  fuch  records,  if  once 
extant,  fhould  not  continue  Hill,  efpecially 
fince  the  fame  goodnefs  of  God  is  engaged 
to  preferve  fuch  records,  which  at  firft 
did  caufe  them  to  be  indited?  Suppofing 
then  fuch  records  extant  fomewhere  in  the 
world,  of  thefe  grand  tranfacdions  between 
God  and  men's  fouls,  our  buiinefs  is  brought 
to  a  period;  for  what  other  records  are 
there  in  the  world  that  can  in  the  leafl  vie 
with  the  Scriptures,  as  to  the  giving  fo 
juft  an  account  of  all  the  tranfactions  be- 
tween God  and  men  from  the  foundation 
of  the  world?  which  gives  us  all  the  fleps, 
methods,  and  ways  whereby  God  hath 
made  known  his  mind  and  will  to  the 
world,  in  order  to  man's  eternal  falva- 
tion ?  It  remains  only  then  that  we  adore 
and  magnify  the  goodnefs  of  God  in 
making  known  his  will  to  us,  and  that 
we  fet  a  value  and  efleem  on  the  Scrip- 
tures, as  the  only  authentic  inilruments  of 
that  Grand  Charter  of  peace,  which  God 
hath  revealed  in  order  to  man's  eternal 
happinefs.  StillingfleeU 


R  z 


%  177 


244 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§    177.  The  prevalence  of  Chriftianity   an 
/  argument  of  its  divinity. 

The  eftablifhment  cf  the  Christian  re- 
ligion among  men  is  the  greateft  of  all 
miracles.  In  fpite  of  all  the  power  of 
Rome  ;  in  fpite  of  all  the  paffions,  interests, 
and  prejudices  of  fo  many  rations;  fo 
many  philofophers ;  fo  many  different  re- 
ligions"; twelve  poor  fifhermen,  without 
art,  without  eloquence,  without  power, 
publish  and  fpread  their  doctrine  through- 
out the  world.  In  fpite  of  a  perfecution 
for  three  centuries,  which  feemed  every 
moment  ready  to  extinguish  it;  in  fpite 
of  continued  and  innumerable  martyrdoms 
of  perfons  of  all  conditions,  texes,  and 
countries;  the  truth  in  the  end  triumphs 
over  error,  purfuant  to  the  predictions 
both  01  the  old  and  new  law.  Let  any  one 
fhew  fome  other  religion,  which  has  the 
fame  marks  of  a  divine  protection. 

A  powerful  conqueror  may  eflablifh,  by 
his  arms,  the  belief  of  a  religion,  which 
flatters  the  fenfuality  of  men ;  a  wife  legi- 
slator may  gain  himfelf  attention  and  re- 
fpect  by  the  ufefulnefs  of  his  laws ;  a  feci: 
in  credit,  and  fupported  by  the  civil  power, 
may  abufe  the  credulity  of  the  people  : 
all  this  is  poffible  :  but  what  could  victo- 
rious, learned,  and  fuperititious  nations 
fee,  to  induce  them  fo  readily  to  Jefus 
Chrift,  who  promifed  them  nothing  in  this 
world  but  perfecutions  and  Sufferings ; 
who  propofed  to  them  the  practice  of  a 
morality,  to  which  all  darling  paffions  mull 
be  Sacrificed.  Is  not  the  conversion  of 
the  world  to  fuch  a  religion,  without  mira- 
cles, a  greater  and  more  credible  one,  than 
even  the  greateft  of  thofe  which  fome  re- 
fufe  to  believe?  Fenelon. 

§  178.  A  fummary  of  arguments  for  the 
truth  of  the  Go/pel. 

He  that  well  confiders  the  force  of 
thole  arguments  which  are  brought  to 
eftabliSh  the  truth  of  the  Christian  reli- 
gion ;  that  fees  how  they  all  (though  drawn 
from  different  topics)  confpire  in  the  molt 
perfect  manner  to  convince  the  world  of 
the  divine  original  of  this  faith ;  would 
fcarce  think  it  poSfible,  that  the  reafon  and 
understanding  of  mankind  Should  ever  op- 
pofe  it;  will  therefore  conclude  there  is 
fomething  more  than  pure  infidelity  at  the 
bottom,  and  that  they  are  not  mere  fcruples 
cf  the  mind  which  create  fo  long  and  vio- 
lent contention. 

If  he  thinks  on  the  excellency  of  the 


precepts  of  the  Christian  religion,  he  finds 
them  of  the  SitteSt  nature  poffible  to  per- 
fuade  him  to  receive  it  as  the  contrivance 
of  heaven.  They  are  all  fo  worthy  of 
God,  So  beneficial  and  improving  to  human 
nature,  and  fo  conducive  to  the  welfare 
and  happinefs  cf  fociety. 

When  he  considers  the  Strange  and 
fpeedy  propagation  of  this  faith  through 
the  world,  with  its  triumph  over  the  wit 
and  policy,  the  force  and  malice  of  its 
formidable  enemies;  and  all  this  accom- 
plished by  fuch  methods,  as  the  reafon  of 
mankind  would  have  pronounced  the  moSt 
fooliih  and  abfurd  :  he  fees  here  the  over- 
ruling hand  of  God,  which  alone  could 
g\\  e  it  fuch  aitonilhing  fucceffes,  by  thofe 
very  ways  and  means  from  which  its  utter 
confufion  was  to  be  expected. 

The  exact  accomplishment  of  exprefs 
and  unquestionable  prophecies,  concerning 
the  rnoit  remarkable  events  of  the  world, 
is  a  folemn  appeal  to  all  reasonable  nature, 
whether  that  revelation  be  not  truly  divine, 
which  contains  fuch  plain  and  wonderful 


preaictions. 


Laflly,  The  miracles  wrought  by  Jefus 
Chrift  and  his  apoitles,  in  confirmation  of 
this  faith  and  doctrine,  are  Such  proofs  of 
the  near  concern  which  heaven  had  there- 
in ;  that  he  who  considers  them,  and  at  the 
fame  time  calls  Christianity  an  impoitu:  e, 
mult  either  take  pains  to  avoid  knowing 
the  finger  of  God,  when  he  fees  it,  or  elk 
do  infinitely  worfe,  by  afcribing  the  mani- 
fest effects  thereof  to  mean  artifice,  or  dia- 
bolical power. 

From  thefe  topics  the  truth  of  Christia- 
nity has  been  fo  Substantially  argued,  and 
fo  clearly  proved;  that,  by  all  the  rules 
of  right  reafon  in  ufe  amongit  mankind, 
it  is  rendered  plainly  abfurd  and  irrational 
to  reject  it.  One  need  not  wifh  to  fee  an 
adverfary  reduced  to  worfe  extremities, 
than  one  of  thofe  arguments  well  managed 
and  preffed  home  would  reduce  him  to; 
provided  he  were  kept  from  excursions, 
and  obliged  to  return  no  anfwers  but  what 
were  directly  to  the  purpofe. 

Humphrey  Dctton. 

§  179.  The  fails  related  in  the  Evangel. <ft 's 
may  be  depended  on. 

That  there  was  fuch  a  perfon  as  Jefus 
of  Nazareth,  in  Galilee,  in  the  time  of 
Tiberius  Casfar,  the  Roman  emperor;  that 
he  had  a  company  of  poor  men  for  his  difci- 
ples  ;  that  he  and  his  difciples  went  about 
the  country  of  Judea,  teaching  and  preach- 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


24i 


ing;  that  he  was  put  to  death  upon  the 
crofs,  after theRomanmanner,under  Pontius 
Pilate,  "the  Roman  governor  of  Judea ;  that 
after  his  death,  his  difciples  went  about  into 
all,  or  moll  parts  of  the  then  known  world, 
teaching  and  preaching,  that  this  Jems  was 
the  Chrift,  the  Son  of  God,  and  Saviour  of 
the  world,  and  that  he  was  rifen  from  the 
dead,  and  gone  into  heaven ;  that  in  a 
few  years  they  converted  a  very  great 
number  of  people,  in  all  places  to  this 
belief;  that  the  profeiTors  of  this  belief 
were  called  Chriflians ;  that  they  were  moil 
cruelly  perfecuted,  and  many  thouiands  of 
them  put  to  death,  and  that  with  the  moil 
exquiiite  torments,  for  no  other  reafon,  but 
becaufe  they  were  Chriilians ;  that  thefe 
perfecutions  were  feveral  times  renewed 
againil  them,  for  the  fpace  of  about  three 
hundred  years  ;  and  yet,  for  all  this,  that 
the  number  of  Chriilians  daily  encreafed, 
and  that  not  onlv  idiots  and  unlearned 
men,  but  great  fcholars  and  philofophers 
were  converted  to  Chriilianity,  even  in  the 
times  of  perfecution  ;  all  this,  being  merely 
matter  of  fad,  was  never  yet  denied  by  the 
greataft  enemies  of  the  Chriflian  religion. 
And,  indeed,  thefe  things  are  fo  abun- 
dantly teflified  by  the  hiilories,  and  other 
writings  of  thofe  times ;  and  have  been  fo 
generally  received  for  truth,  as  well  by 
the  oppofers  as  believers  of  Chriilianity, 
by  a  conilant,  univerfal,  and  uninterrupted 
tradition,  from  thofe  days,  even  unto  this 
time  ;  that  a  man  may  as  well  deny  the 
truth  of  any,  or  of  all,  the  hiilories  of  the 
world,  as  of  this.  Archbijhop  Synge. 

§  1 80.   Superiority  of  the  Gofpel  to  all  other 
writings,  an  argument  of  its  truth. 

To  what  was  it  owing,  that  the  Jewifh 
writers  should  have  fuch  lovely  and  great 
ideas  of  God,  and  fuch  juil  notions  of  the 
worfhip  due  to  him,  far  above  any  thing 
which  we  meet  with  in  the  writings  of  the 
greateil  lights  of  the  Heathen  world ;  every 
one  of  which  either  patronized  idolatry,  or 
fell  into  errors  of  worfe  confequence  ?  Can 
it  be  accounted  for  by  the  force  of  natural 
or  human  amilances  ?  No,  the  eminent 
philofophers  of  Athens  and  Rome  equalled 
them,  it  is  certain,  in  natural  abilities,  and 
exceeded  them  confeffedly  in  the  fuper- 
flruflures  of  acquired  knowledge,  and  all 
the  advantages  of  a  refined  education.  It 
mufl  be  therefore  owing  to  fome  fuper- 
natural  or  divine  helps ;  and  none,  but  he, 
in  whom  are  contained  all  the  treafures  of 


wifdom,  could  have  enriched  their  minds 
to  fuch  a  degree,  and  furnifhed  fuch  a 
vail  expence  of  thought.  If  Judea  was 
enobled  by  thefe  exalted  notions,  of  which 
other  nations,  who  were  funk  into  the 
dregs  of  polytheifm  and  idolatry,  were 
deilitute ;  if  the  kindly  dew  of  heaven  de- 
fended on  this  fleece  only,  while  all  the 
earth  around  betrayed  a  want  of  refrefh- 
ing  moiflure ;  this  was  the  Lord's  doing, 
and  ought  to  be  marvellous  in  our  eyes. 

Had  God  revealed  himfelf  to  the  Greeks, 
or  fome  other  nation  famed  for  their  curi- 
ous refearches  into  every  branch  of  litera- 
ture, and  for  the  depths  of  wifdom  and 
policy ;  thofe  truths,  which  were  fo  many 
emanations  from  the  great  fountain  of  light, 
would  have  been  looked  upon  as  the  refult 
of  their  penetration,  and  their  own  dif- 
coveries :  but  by  communicating  his  will 
to  a  people  of  no  inventive  and  enter- 
prizing  genius,  of  no  enlarged  reach  and 
compafs  of  thought ;  fuch  fufpicions  are 
avoided,  and  the  proofs  of  a  revelation 
more  confpicuous  and  illuilrious.  And 
this  may  be  one  reafon  among  others,  why, 
at  a  time  when  the  reft  of  the  world  were 
bigoted  to  fuperftition,  idolatry,  and  a 
falfe  religion,  God  fingled  out  this  nation, 
in  that  point  not  fo  corrupt  as  others, 
to  be  the  guardian  and  depcutary  of  the 
true. 

If  nothing  recommended  the  Scripture 
but  this  angle  confideratioi'L,  that  all  thofe 
collected  beams  of  fpiritual  light  center  in 
it  alone,  which  were  widely  dufufed  amidft 
a  variety  of  treatifes,  and    loll   amidft  a 
crowd  of  palpable    abfurdities;  even  this 
would  be  no  improbable   argument  ofits 
divinity :  but  this   is    not  all :  let    us,  in 
order  to   compile  an    adequate,    unerring 
ftandard  of  religious   truths,    take 'in    all 
the    afiiftances   we  can    get    from    all  the 
philofophers    in    Greece,   from    Tully    at 
Rome,  nay  even  from  Confucius  as  far  as 
China ;  and  yet,  after  all,  the  fcheme  will 
be  defective  in    what  the  Scriptures  have 
recommended,  a  pure,  rational  worfhip  of 
God  only,  in  fpirit  and  in  truth,  a  fulnefs 
of  pardon  for   every  fin  upon  repentance, 
and  the  noblenefs  of  the  rewards  hereafter. 
The  love  of  God  will  not  be  required  in  fo 
high  a  degree,  as  it   is  in  the  Scriptures; 
nor  enforced  by  fo  ftrong  a  motive  as  our 
Saviour's  dying  for  mankind  has  done ;  nor 
our  charity  and  love  to  the    diilrefied  re- 
commended by  fo  powerful  an  incentive,  as 
that    our    Redeemer  has    made    them  his 
reprefentatives,  and  will  place  to  his  own 
R  3  account. 


246 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


account,  whatever  was  done  for  his  fake  to 
them. 

One  may  challenge  any  man  to  produce, 
before  Chriitianity,  among  the  Heathen 
world,  Inch  a  complete  fyftem  of  morality, 
reaching  ail  the  duties  of  life,  without  any 
defect;  and  full  without  overflowing,  or 
any  redundancy,  as  the  fcriptures  contain. 
— And  it  is  needlefs  to  tell  any  man  of 
plain  fenfe,  that  there  mull  be  always  a 
proportion  between  thecaufe  and  the  effect. 
Now,  if  we  exclude  the  divine  - 
what  proportion  can  we  find  between  the 
caufes  of  Chriflianity,  and  Chriitianity 
itfelf  ?  Chriflianity  is  a  religion,  which 
has  difabuied  the  world,  and  reicuedit  from 
thofe  many  vicious  practices,  fuch  as  the 
expofmg  of  infants,  polygamy,  &c.  which 
were  univerfally  defended  among  the 
Pagans,  and  from  human  facrifiG.es,  and 
from  innumerable  abominable  and  brutal 
rites;  a  religion  fo  perfective  of  human 
nature,  and  lo  expreffive  of  the  divine;  that 
we  want  ideas  to  carry  us  to  a  conception 
of  any  thing  beyond  it.  And  who  were 
the  authors  or  caufes  of  this  religion  ? 
Why,  a  fct  of  men  bred  up  in  low  life  to 
mean  employments,  which  cramp  the 
native  powers  of  the  mind.  And  can  we 
ferioufiy  think,  that  a  let  of  unlettered, 
unenterprising  men,  could  open  feveral  rich 
mines  of  truth,  which  had  efcaped  the  la- 
borious refearches  of  the  profoundeft 
fcholars,  and  th?  happy  fagacity  of  the  moil 
penetrating  wits? 

Since  therefore  every  effect  muft  have  a 
competent  and  proportionable  caufe ;  and 
fince  the  fuppofed  natural  caufes  and  au- 
thors of  Chriitianity,  confidered  as  mere 
men,  excluiive  of  divine  infpiration,  were 
plainly  unequal  to  the  tail-,  nor  could  ever 
have  brought  to  light  inch  doctrines,  as 
exceeded  whatever  the  philofophers  beiore 
had  done. ;  though,  laying  afide  their  dregs, 
weihoulddraw  off  the  very  flower  and  iph  it 
of  their  writings :  it  is  evident,  we  mull  have 
recourfe  to  fome  fupernatural  and  adequate 
caufe  which  interelted  itfelf  in  this  affair. 
And  to  whom,  but  to  the  Father  of  Lio-ht, 
in  whom  there  is  no  darknefs  at  all,  can  we 
be  indebted,  that  now,  persons  of  the 
flendcreft  capacities  may  view  thofe 
elevated  and  beneficial  ti  uths  in  the 
ftrongeft  point  of  light,  which  the  fineft 
fpirits  of  the  gentile  world  could  not  before 
fully  afcertain  ;  that  our  meaneit  mechanics, 
with  a  moderate  mare  oi'  application,  may 
have  jufter  and  fuller  notions  of  God's  at- 
tributes, cf  eternal  happineis,  of  every 
duty  reflecting  their  Maker,  mankind,  and 


themfelves,  than  the  moil  diftinguifhed 
fcholars  among  the  Heathens  could  attain 
to,  after  a  life  laid  out  in  painful  re- 
fearches ?  Seed. 

§    I  S 1 .       Various    reafun'i7igs    in  favour  of 
Chrifiianity. 

God  only  knows,  and  God  only  can  tell, 
whether  he  will  forgive,  and  upon  what 
terms  he  will  forgive  the  offences  done 
againit  him  ;  what  mode  of  worihip  he 
requires ;  what  helps  he  will  afford  us  ;  and 
what  condition  he  will  place  us  in  hereafter. 
All  this  God  actually  has  told  us  in  the 
gofpel.  It  was  to  tell  us  this,  he  fent  his 
Son  into  the  world,  whofe  million  was  con- 
firmed by  the  higheft  authority,  by  figns 
from  heaven,  and  miracles  on  earth  ;  whofe 
life  and  doctrine  are  delivered  down  to  us 
by  the  moil  unexceptionable  witneffes, 
who  fealed  their  teftimony  with  their 
blood ;  who  were  too  curious  and  incre- 
dulous to  be  themfelves  impofed  upon,  too 
hone  it  and  fincere,  too  plain  and  artlefs,  to 
impofe  upon  others. 

What  then  can  be  the  reafon  that  men 
dill  refufe  to  fee,  and  perfift  in  "  loving 
darknefs  rather  than  light?"  They  will 
tell  you  perhaps  that  it  becaufe  the  gofpel 
is  full  of  incredible  myfleries ;  but  our 
Saviour  tells  you,  and  he  tells  you  much 
truer,  that  it  is  "  becaufe  their  deeds  are 
evil."  The  myfleries  and  difficulties  of  the 
gofpel  can  be  no  real  objection  to  any  man 
that  coniiders  what  myfleries  occur,  and 
what  infuperable  objections  may  be>ftarted, 
in  almoit  every  branch  of  human  know- 
ledge ;  and  how  often  we  are  obliged,  in 
our  moil  important  concerns,  to  decide  and 
to  aft  upon  evidence,  incumbered  with  far 
greater  difficulties  than  any  that  are  to  be 
found  in  Scripture.  If  we  can  admit  no 
religion  that  is  not  free  from  my  fiery,  we 
mull,  I  doubt,  be  content  without  any 
religion.  Even  the  religion  of  nature 
itfelf,  the  whole  conilitution  both  of  the 
natural  and  the  moral  world,  is  full  of 
myflery ;  and  the  greateil  myflery  of  all 
would  be,  if,  with  fo  many  irreiiilible  marks 
of  truth,  Chriitianity  fhould  at  lail  prove 
falfe.  It  is  not  then  becaufe  the  gofpel 
has  too  little  light  for  thefe  men  that  they 
reject  it,  but  becaufe  it  has  too  much. 
For  "  every  one  that  doth  evil  hateth  the 
light,  neither  cometh  to  the  light,  left  his 
deeds  ihould  be  reproved."  The  light  of 
the  gofpel  is  too  prying  and  inquifitive  for 
fuch  an  one.  It  reveals  certain  things 
which  he  could  wifhto  conceal  from  all  the 
world,  and  if  pofuble  from  himfelf.     Nor 

is 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


247 


is  this  all;  it  not  only  reveals,  but  it 
reproves  them.  It  ftrifces  him  with  an 
evidence  he  cannot  bear;  an  evidence  not 
only  of  its  own  truth,  but  of  his  un- 
worthy conduct.  The  gofpel  does  indeed 
offend  him  ;  but  it  is  not  his  understanding, 
it  is  his  confcience,  that  is  mocked:  he 
could  eaSily  credit  what  it  requires  him  to 
believe;  but  he  cannot,  or  rather  he  will 
not,  practice  what  it  commands  him  to  do. 

It  is  plain  that  fuch  a  man  cannot 
poffibly  admit  a  revelation  that  condemns 
him;  and  it  is  as  plain  that  the  man  of  virtue 
cannot  fpurn  the  hand  that  is  gracioufly 
itretched  out  to  reward  him.  Ifheisa 
truly  virtuous  man,  that  is,  one  who  iin- 
cerely  labours  to  know  his  duty,  and 
fincerely  intends  to  perform  it,  he  cannot 
but  wifli  for  more  light  to  guide  him  in  the 
investigation,  more  afTiftance  to  fupport 
him  in  the  difcharge  of  it,  more  happinefs 
to  crown  his  perfeverance  in  it,  than  bare 
reafon  alone  can  afford  him.  This  is  what  all 
the  beft  and  wifeil  Heathens  moil  ardently 
defired,  what  nature  has  been  continually 
looking  out  for  with  the  utmoil  earneitnefs 
of  expectation.  When  with  a  mind  thus 
difpofed  he  fits  down  to  examine  the  gofpel, 
fuggeft  to  me  the  lead  ihadow  of  a  reafon 
why  he  Should  reject  it  ?  He  finds  in  it  a 
religion,  pure,. holy,  and  benevolent,  as  the 
God  that  gave  it.  He  finds  not  only  its 
moral  precepts  but  even  its  fublimelt  myite- 
ries,  calculated  to  promote  internal  fanctitv, 
vital  piety,  univerfal  philanthropy.  He  finds 
it  throughout  fo  great  and  noble,  fo  conge- 
nial to  the  fineft  feelings,  and  moil:  generous 
fentiments  of  his  foul;  that  he  cannot  but 
wifh  it  may  be  true,  and  never  yet,  I  be- 
lieve, did  any  good  man  wifh  it  to  be  true, 
but  he  actually  found  it  fo.  He  fees 
in  it  every  expectation  of  nature  anfwered, 
every  infirmity  fupported,  every  want  fup- 
plied,  every  terror  difiipated,  every  hope 
confirmed ;  nay,  he  fees  that  God  "  has 
done  exceeding  abundantly  above  all  that 
he  could  either  afk  or  think;"  that  he  has 
given  him,  what  reafon  could  hardly  have  the 
idea  of,  eternal  happinefs  in  a  life  to  come. 

It  is  not  a  matter  of  indifference  whe- 
ther you  embrace  Christianity  or  not. 
Though  reafon  could  anfvver  all  the  pur- 
pofes  of  revelation,  which  is  far,  very  far 
from  being  the  cafe,  yet  you  are  not  at  liberty 
to  make  it  your  fole  guide,  if  there  be  fuch 
a  thing  as  a  true  revelation.  We  are  the 
fubjects  of  the  Almighty  ;  and  whether  we 
will  acknowledge  it  or  not,  we  live,  and 
cannot  but  live,   under  his   government 


His  will  is  the  law  of  his  kingdom.  If  he 
has  made  no  exprefs  declaration  of  his  will, 
we  muft  col!e<5l  it  as  well  as  we  can  from  what 
we  know  of  his  nature  and  our  own.  But 
if  he  has  expreflly  declared  his  will,  that  is  the 
law  we  are  to  be  governed  by.  We  may 
indeed  refufe  to  be  governed  by  it ;  but  it 
is  at  our  peril  if  we  do;  for  if  it  proves  to 
be  a  true  declaration  of  his  will,  to  reject 
it  is  rebellion. 

But  to  reject  or  receive  it,  you  may 
aliedge,  is  not  a  thing  in  your  own  power. 
Belief  depends  not  on  your  will,  but  your 
understanding.  And  will  the  righteous 
judge  of  the  earth  condemn  you  for  want  of 
understanding  ?  No;  but  he  may  and  will 
condemn  you  for  the  wrong  conduct  of  your 
understanding.  It  is  not  indeed  in  your 
power  to  believe  whatever  you  pleafe, 
whether  credible  or  incredible;  but  it  is  ia 
your  power  to  confider  thoroughly,  whether 
a  fuppofed  incredibility  be  real  or  only 
apparent.  It  is  in  your  power  to  beftow 
a  greater  or  lefs  degree  of  attention  on  the 
evidence  before  you.  It  is  in  your  power 
to  examine  it  with  an  earneft  defire  to  find 
out  the  truth,  and  a  firm  refolution  to  embrace 
it  wherever  you  do  find  it;  or  on  the  con- 
trary, to  bring  with  you  a  heart  full  of 
incorrigible  depravity,  or  invincible  prepof- 
fefiions.  Have  you  then  truly  and  honeltly 
done  every  thing  that  is  confefledly  in  your 
power,  towards  forming  a  right  judgment 
of  revelation  ?  Have  you  ever  laid  before 
yourfelf  in  one  view  the  whole  collective 
evidence  of  Christianity?  The  confidence, 
harmony,  and  connection,  of  all  its  various 
parts ;  the  long  chain  of  prophecies  unde- 
niably compleated  in  it ;  the  aitonifhing  and 
well-atteited  miracles  that  attended  it;  the 
perfect  fanctity  of  its  author;  the  purity 
of  its  precepts ;  the  fublimity  of  its 
doctrines ;  the  amazing  rapidity  of  its  pro- 
grefs;  the  illuflrious  company  ofconfeflbrs, 
faints,  and  martyrs,  who  died  to  confirm 
its  truth;  together  with  an  infinite  number 
of  collateral  proofs  and  fubordinate  circum- 
stances, all  concurring  to  form  fuch  a  body 
of  evidence,  as  no  other  truth  in  the  world 
can  Shew;  fuch  as  mutt  necefiarily  bear 
down,  by  its  own  weight  and  magnitude, 
all  trivial  objections  to  particular  parts  ? 
Surely  thefe  things  are  not  trifles;  furely 
they  at  leaft  demand  ferioufnefs  and  atten- 
tion. Have  you  then  done  the.  gofpel  this 
common  piece  of  juftice?  Have  you  ever 
fat  down  to  confider  it  with  impartiality 
and  candour ;  without  any  favourite  vice 
or  early  prejudice,  without  any  fondnefa 
R  4  for 


24? 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE: 


for  applaufe,  or  novelty,  or  refinement,  to 
mi  Head  you?  Have  you  examined  it  with 
the  iame  care  and  diligence,  that  you 
would  examine  a  title  to  an  eitate  ?  Have 
you  enquired  forproper  books?  Have  you 
read  the  defences  of  revelation  as  well  as 
the  attacks  upon  it?  Have  you  in  difficult 
points  applied  for  the  opinion  of  wife  and 
learned  friends;  juffc  as  you  would  confult 
the  ableil  lawyers  when  your  property  was 
concerned,  or  the  moil  flcilful  phyiicians 
when  your  life  was  at  flake?  If  you  can 
truly  lay,  that  you  have  done  all  thefe 
things ;  if  you  have  faithfully  bellowed  on 
thefe  enquiries,  all  the  leifure  and  abilities 
you  are  mailer  of,  and  called  in  every  help 
within  your  reach,  there  is  little  danger  of 
any  material  doubts  remaining  upon  your 

mind. St.-    John's     affection    for    his 

departed  friend  did  not  terminate  with  his 
life.     It  was  continued  after  his  crucifixion, 
to  _  his    memory,     his   character,    and   his 
religion.     After  a  long  life  fpent  in  teach- 
ing and  filtering  for  that  religion,  he  con- 
cluded it   with  a  work   of  infinite  utility, 
the   revifal  of  the  three  gofpels   already 
written,    and   the  addition  or  his   own  to 
fupply  what  they  had  omitted.     With  this 
view  principally  he  gives  us  feveral  of  our 
Savour's  difcourfes  with  his  difciples,  winch 
are  no  where  elfe  to  be  met  with  ;  and  it  is 
very  obfervable,  that  thefe,  as  well  as  the 
many  other  occurrences  of  his  life,  which 
he  introduces  as  fupplementa!  to  the  other 
evangelifts,    are   fuch    as    fet  his    beloved 
mafter   in  the  moft  amiable  and  graceful 
point  of  view,  fuch  as  a  favourite  difciple 
would   be  moil  likely   to  felect,   and  moil 
difpofed   to   enlarge   upon.     Of  this  kind, 
for    initance,    are  cur    Saviour's   difcourfe 
with  the  woman  of  Samaria;  the  cure   of 
the  infirm  man  at  the  pool  of  Bethefda ;  the 
acquittal  of  the  woman  taken  in  adultery  ; 
the  defcription  of  the  good  fhepherd  and 
hisfheep;  the  affecting  hiflory  of  Lazarus; 
the   condescending  and    expreflive    act  of 
warning  his  difciples    feet;  his  inimitably 
tender  and  cor/o'atory  difcourfe    to    them 
juft  ^  before      his     fuffering  ;      his     moil 
admirable     prayer     on      the     fame     oc- 
caficn  ;  and    his     pathetic    recommenda- 
tion of  his  flieep  to  St.  Peter   after     his 
refuTeaion.     Thefe   pafiages    are    to    be 
found  only  in  St.  John's  gofpel,  and  who- 
ever reads  them  with  attention  willdifcovcr 
in    them  plain  indications   not   only  of  a 
heaven-directed  hand,  but  of  a  feeling  and 
a  grateful  heart,  fmitten  with  the  love  of  a 
departed  friend,  penetrated  with  a  fenfe  of 


his  difcinguifned  kindnefs,  perfectly  well 
informed  and  thoroughly  intereiled,  in 
every  tender  fcene  that  it  defcribes,  footh- 
ing  itfelf  with  the  recollection  of  little 
domeitic  incidents  and  familiar  converfa- 
tions,  and  tracing  out  not  only  the  larger 
and  more  obvious  features  of  the  favourite 
character,  but  even  thofe  finer  and  more 
delicate  flrokes  in  it,  which  would  have 
eluded  a  lefs  obferving  eye,  or  lefs  faithful 
memory,  than  thofe  of  a  beloved  companion 
and  friend. — 

Our  divine  lawgiver  fhowed  his  wif- 
dom  equally  in  what  he  enjoined,  and  what 
he  left  unnoticed.  He  knew  exactly,  what 
no  Pagan  philofepher  ever  knew,  where  to 
be  iilent  and  where  to  fpeak. — — 

That  which  principally  attracts  our 
notice  in  St.  John's  writings,  and  in  his 
conJuct,  is,  a  simplicity  and  fmglenefs  of 
heart,  a  fervent  piety,  an  unbounded  benevo- 
lence, an  unaffected  modeify,  humility, 
meeknds,  and  gentlenefs  of  diip  -fitioii. 
Thefe  are  evidently  the  great  characteriiuc 
virtues  that  took  the  lead  in  his  foul,  and 
break  forth  in  every  page  of  his  gofpel  and 

his  epiities. To  know  what  friendfnip 

really  is,  we  muil  look  for  it  in  that  facred 
repofitory  of  every  thing  great  and  excel- 
lent, the  gofpel  of  Chriii. 

Our  Saviour  has  allured  us  that  he  will  con- 
llder  every  real  Chriltian  as  united  to  him 
by  defer  ties  than  even  thofe  of  friend- 
fhip.  This  ailurance  is  given  us  in  one  of 
thofe  noble  ftrains  of  eloquence  which 
are  fo  common  in  the  Sacred  Writings. 
Our  Lord  being  told  that  his  mother  and 
his  brethren  flood  without,  defiring  to 
fpeak  with  him,  he  gives  a  turn  to  this 
little  incident,  perfectly  new,  and  inex- 
preilibly  tender  and  affectionate.  «  Who 
is  my  mother,  and  who  are  my  brethren  ? 
And  he  ilretched  forth  his  hands  towards 
his  difciples,  and  faid,  Behold  my  mother 
and  my  brethren  !  For  whofoever  fhall 
do  the  will  of  my  Father  which  is  in 
heaven,  the  fame  is  my  brother,  and  filer, 
and  mother."  Bijhop  Porteus. 

§  182.  Difficulties  in  the  Word  of '  Gcd to  he 
expccled,  nuitb  the  duty  of  cxatnining  its 
evidence. 

Origen  has  obferved,  with  lingular  faga- 
city,  that  he  who  believes  the  Scripture  to 
have  proceeded  from  him  who  is  the  Author 
of  nature,  may  well  expect  to  find  the  fame 
fort  of  difficulties  in  it,  as  are  found  in 
the  confutation  of  nature.     And  in  a  like 

way 


BOOK    I.     MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


249 


way  of  reflection  it  may  be  added,  that  he 
who  denies  the  Scripture  to  have  been  from 
God,  upon  account  of  thefe  diificulties, 
may,  for  the  very  fame  reafon,  deny  the 

world  to  have  been  from  him. 

ChrilHanity  being  fuppofed  either  true 
or  credible,  it  is  unfpeakable  irreverence, 
and  really  the  moft  prefumptuous  rafhnefs, 
to  treat  it  as  a  light  matter.  It  can 
never  juftly  be  efteemed  of  little  confe- 
quence,  till  it  be  pofitively  fuppofed  falfe. 
Nor  do  I  know  a  higher  and  more  important 
obligation  which  we  are  under,  than  that, 
of  examining  moft  ferioufly  into  the 
evidence  of  it,  fuppofing  its  credibility ; 
and  of  embracing  it  upon  fuppofition  of  its 
truth.  Butler. 

§    183.     The   information   the  Go/pel  gives 
moft  deferable. 

The  ChrifKan  revelation  has  fuch  pre- 
tences, at  leaft,  as  may  make  it  worthy  of 
a  particular  coniideration  :  it  pretends,  to 
come  from  heaven  ;  to  have  been  delivered 
by  the  Son  of  God ;  to  have  been  con- 
firmed by  undeniable  miracles  and  pro- 
phecies ;  to  have  been  ratified  by  the  blood 
of  Chrift  and  his  apoftles,  who  died  in 
afTerting  its  truth  :  it  can  fhew  likewife  an 
innumerable  company  of  martyrs  and  con- 
feffbrs :  its  doctrines  are  pure  and  holy,  its 
precepts  juft  and  righteous ;  its  vvorlhip  is 
a  reasonable  fervice,  refined  from  the  errors 
of  idolatry  and  fuperflition,  and  fpiritual, 
like  the  God  who  is  the  object  of  it:  it 
offers  the  aid  and  affiftance  of  heaven  to 
the  weaknefs  of  nature ;  which  makes  the 
religion  of  the  gofpel  to  be  as  practicable, 
as  it  is  reafonable;  it  promifes  infinite 
rewards  to  obedience,  and  threatens  eternal 
punifhment  to  obftinate  offenders ;  which 
makes  it  of  the  utmoft  confequence  to  us 
foberly  to  confider  it,  fince  every  one  who 
rejects  it  flakes  his  own  foul  againft  the 
truth  of  it. 

Look  into  the  Gofpel;  there  you  will 
find  every  reafonable  hope  of  nature,  nay 
every  reafonable  fufpicion  of  nature, 
cleared  up,  and  confirmed,  every  difficulty 
anfwered  and  removed.  Do  the  prefent 
circnmftances  of  the  world  lead  you  to  fuf- 
pect  that  God  could  never  be  the  author  of 
fuch  corrupt  and  wretched  creatures  as  men 
now  are  ?  Your  fufpicions  are  juft  and  well 
founded.  «  God  made  man  upright;" 
but  through  the  temptation  of  the  devil  fin 
entered,  and  death  and  deftruction  followed 
after. 


Do  you  fufpeft,  from  the  fuccefs  of 
virtue  and  vice  in  this  world,  that  the 
providence  of  God  does  not  interpofe  to 
protect  the  righteous  fom  violence,  or  to 
puniih  the  wicked?  The  fufpicion  is  not 
without  ground.  God  leaves  his  beft 
fervants  here  to  be  tried  oftentimes  with 
affliction  and  forrow,  and  permits  the 
wicked  to  flourifh  and  abound.  The  cL\ 
of  the  gofpel  is  not  to  honour  and  riches 
here,  but  to  take  up  our  crofs  and  follow 
Chrift. 

Do  you  judge,  from  comparing  the  pre- 
fent ftate  of  the  world  with  the  natural 
notion  you  have  of  God,  and  of  his  juflice 
and  goodnefs,  that  there  muft  needs  be 
another  ftate  ill  which  juflice  fhall  take 
place  ?  You  reafon  right ;  and  the  gofpel 
confirms  the  judgment.  God  has  appoint- 
ed a  day  to  judge  the  world  in  righteouf- 
ne is  :  then  thole  who  mourn  fhall  rejoice, 
thofe  who  weep  fhall  laugh,  and  the  perfe- 
cted and  afflicted  fervants  of  God  fhall  be 
heirs  of  his  kingdom. 

Have  you  fometimes  mifgivings  of 
mind  ?  Are  you  tempted  to  miftrufl  this 
judgment,  when  you  fee  the  difficulties 
which  furround  it  on  every  fide ;  feme 
which  affect  the  foul  in  its  feparate  ftate, 
fome  which  affect  the  body  in  its  ftate  of 
corruption  and  diflblution  ?  Look  to  the 
gofpel  :  there  thefe  difficulties  are  ac- 
counted for  ;  and  you  need  no  longer  puz- 
zle yourfelf  with  dark  queftions  concerning 
the  ftate,  condition,  and  nature  of  feparate 
fpirits,  or  concerning  the  body,  however  to 
appearance  loft  and  deffroyed;  for  the 
body  and  foul  fhall  once  more  meet  to 
part  no  more,  but  to  be  happy  for  ever. 
In  this  cafe  the  learned  cannot  doubt,  and 
the  ignorant  rnaybefure,  that  'tis  the  man, 
the  very  man  himfelf,  who  fhall  rife  again  : 
for  an  union  of  the  fame  foul  and  body  is 
as  certainly  the  reftoration  of  the  man, 
as  the  dividing  them  was  the  deftruc- 
tion. 

Would  you  know  who  it  is  that  gives 
this  affurance  ?  'Tis  one  who  is  able  to 
make  good  his  word  :  one  who  loved  you 
fo  well  as  to  die  for  you ;  yet  one  too  great  to 
be  held  a  prifoner  in  the  grave.  No  ;  he 
rofe  with  triumph  and  glory,  the  firft-borh 
from  the  dead,  and  will  in  like  manner  call 
from  the  duft  of  the  earth  all  thofe 
who  put  their  truft  and  confidence  in 
him. 

But  who  is  this,  you'll  fay,  who  was  fub- 
ject   to   death,  and   yet  had  power  over 

death  ? 


25°  ELEGANT    EXTR 

death  ?  How  could  fo  much  weaknefs  and 
fo  much  ftrength  meet  together  ?  That 
Gcd  has  the  power  of  life,  we  know ;  but 
then  he  cannot  die  :  that  man  is  mortal, 
we  know;  but  then  he  cannot  eive 
life. 

Confider ;  does  this  difficulty  defervc  an 
anfwer,  or  does  it  not?  Our  blefied  Sa- 
viour lived  among  us  in  a  low  and  poor 
condition,  expofed  to  much  iii  treatment 
from  his  jealous  countrymen  :  when  he  fell 
into  their  power,  their  rage  knew  no 
bounds  :  they  reviled  him,  infulted  him, 
mocked  him,  fccurged  him,  and  at  laft 
nailed  him  to  a  crofs,  where  by  a  ihameful 
and  wretched  death  he  finimed  a  life  offor- 
row  and  affliction.  Did  we  know  no  more 
of  him  than  this,  upon  what  ground  could 
we  pretend  to  hope  that  he  will  be  able 
to  fave  us  from  the  power  of  death  ?  We 
might  fay  with  the  difciples,  "  We  trailed 
this  had  been  he  who  ihould  have  laved 
Jfrael ;"  but  he  is  dead,  he  is  gone,  and 
all  our  hopes  are  buried  in  his  grave. 

If  you  think  this  ought  to  be  anfwered, 
and  that  the  faith  of  a  Chriitian  cannot  be 
a  reafonable  faith,  unlefs  it  be  able  to  ac- 
count for  this  feeming  contradiction  ;  I  be- 
feech  you  then  never  more  complain  of  die 
gofpel  for  furnifhing  an  anfwer  to  this 
great  objection,  for  removing  this  ftum- 
bling-blcck  out  of  the  way  of  our  faith. 
He  was  a  man,  and  therefore  he  died.  He 
was  the  Son  of  God,  and  therefore  he  rcfe 
from  the  dead,  and  will  give  life  to  all  his 
truediiciples.  He  it  was  who  formed  this 
world  and  all  things  in  it,  and  for  the  fake  of 
man  was  content  to  become  man,  and  to 
tafte  death  for  all,  that  all  through  him 
may  live.  This  is  a  wonderful  piece  of 
knowledge  which  God  has  revealed  to  us 
in  his  gofpel ;  but  he  has  not  revealed  it 
to  raife  our  wonder,  but  to  confirm  and 
eftabliih  our  faith  in  him  to  whom  he 
hath  committed  all  power,  «  whom  he 
hath  appointed  heir  of  ail  things." 

Had  the  gofpel  required  of  us  to  expect 
from  Chrift  the  redemption  of  oar  fouls 
and  bodies,  and  given  us  no  reafon  to 
think  that  Chrift  was  endowed  with  power 
equal  to  the  work,  we  might  jullly  have 
complained ;  and  it  would  have  been  a 
Handing  reproach,  that  Chriftians  believe 
they  know  not  what.  But  to  expecf 
redemption  from  the  Son  of  God,  the  re- 
furrecfion  of  our  bodies  from  the  fame  hand 
which  at  firft  created  and  formed  them, 
are  rational  and  well-founded  ads  of  faith; 


ACTS     IN     PROSE. 

and  it  is    the  Christian's   glory,   that    he 
knows  in  whom  he  has  believed. 

That  the  world  was  made  by  the  Son  of 
God,  is  a  propofition  with  which  reafon 
has  no  fault  to  find:  that  he  who  made  the 
world  Ihould  have  power  to  renew  it  to  life 
again,  is  highly  confonant  to  reafon.  All 
the  myftery  lies  in  this,  that  fo  high  and 
great  a  perfon  fhould  condefcend  to  be- 
come man,  and  fubjecl  to  death,  for  the 
fake  of  mankind.  But  are  we  fit  perfons 
to  complain  of  this  tranfcendent  myfterious 
love  ?  or,  does  it  become  us  to  quarrel 
with  the  kindnefs  of  our  bleffed  Lord  to- 
wards us,  only  becaufe  it  is  greater  than 
we  can  conceive  r  No  ;  it  becomes  us  to 
blefs  and  to  adore  this  exceeding  love,  by 
which  we  are  faved  from  condemnation,  by 
which  we  expecl  to  be  refcued  from  death ; 
knowing  that  the  power  of  our  bleffed 
Lord  is  equal  to  his  love,  and  that  he  is 
"  able  to  fubdue  all  things  to  himielf." 

Sherlock. 

§    184.     Chrijl  and  Mahomet  compared. 

Go  to  your  natural  religion,  lay  before 
her  Mahomet  and  his  difciples  arrayed  in 
armour  and  in  blood,  riding  in  triumph 
over  the  fpoils  of  thoufands  and  ten  thou- 
fands,  who  fell  by  his  victorious  fword. 
Shew  her  the  cities  which  he  fet  in  flames, 
the  countries  which  he  ravaged  and 
deftroyed,  and  the  miferable  diftrefs  of  all 
the  inhabitants  of  the  earth.  When  fhe 
has  viewed  him  in  this  fcene,  carry  her 
into  his  retirements,  fiiew  her  the  prophet's 
chamber,  his  concubines  and  wives,  and  let 
her  fee  his  adulteries,  and  hear  him  alledge 
revelation  and  his  divine  commiffion 
to  juftify  his  lufts  and  his  oppreflions. 
When  fhe  is  tired  with  this  profpecl:, 
then  fhew  her  the  blefied  Jefus,  humble 
and  meek,  doinr'-  good  to  ail  the  fons  of 
men,  patiently  inftrucling  the  ignorant 
and  the  perverfe.  Let  her  fee  him  in  his 
moil  retired  privacies,  let  her  follow  him 
to  the  mount  and  hear  his  devotions  and 
fuppiicaticns  to  God.  Carry  her  to  his 
table,  to  view  his  poor  fare  and  hear  his 
heavenly  difcourfe.  Let  her  fee  him  in- 
jured but  not  provoked;  let  her  attend 
him  to  the  tribunal,  and  confider  the 
patience  with  which  he  endured  the  feoffs 
and  reproaches  of  his  enemies.  Lead 
her  to  his  crofs,  and  let  her  view  him  in 
the  agonies  of  death,  and  hear  his  laft 
prayer  for  his  perfecutors,  "  Father, 
forgive    them,   for   they    know  not   what 

they 


BOOK     I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


251 


they  do."  When  natural  religion  has 
viewed  both,  afk  which  is   the  prophet  of 

God  ? But  her  anfwer  we  have  already 

had,  when  fhe  faw  part  of  this  fcene 
through  the  eyes  of  the  Centurion  who 
attended  at  the  crofs ;  by  him  the  faid, 
"  Truly  this  was  the  Son  of  God." 

Sherlock. 

§  185.  The  abfurdity  andmadnefs  of  infidelity. 
If  a  perfon  that  had  a  fair  eftate  in  re- 
verfion,  which  in  all  probability  he  would 
fpeedily  be  poffeffed  of,  and  of  which  he 
might  reafonably  promife  to  himfelf  a  long 
and  happy  enjoyment,  mould  be  allured 
by  fome  fkilful  phyhcian,  that  in  a  very 
ihort  time  he  would  inevitably  fall  into  a 
difeafe  which  would  fo  totally  deprive 
him  of  his  underftanding  and  memory,  that 
he  lhould  lofe  the  knowledge  of  all  things 
without  him,  nay  all  confcioufnefs  and 
fenfe  of  his  own  perfon  and  being :  if,  I 
fay,  upon  a  certain  belief  of  this  indication, 
the  man  mould  appear  overjoyed  at  the 
news,  and  be  mightily  tranfported  with 
the  difcovery  and  expectation,  would  not 
all  that  faw  him  be  aitonifhed  at  fuch 
behaviour  ?  Would  they  not  be  forward  to 
conclude,  that  the  diilemper  had  feized  him 
already,  and  even  then  the  miierable  crea- 
ture was  become  a  mere  fool  and  an  idiot? 
Now  the  carriage  of  our  atheifts  is  iniinite- 
ly  more  amazing  than  this ;  no  dotage  fo 
infatuate,  no  phrenfy  fo  extravagant  as 
theirs.  They  have  been  educated  in  a 
religion  that  initrucled  them  in  the  know- 
ledge of  a  Supreme  Being?  a  Spirit  moll 
excellently  glorious,  fuperlatively  power- 
ful, and  wife,  and  good,  Creator  of  all 
things  out  of  nothing;  that  hath  endued 
the  fons  of  men,  his  peculiar  favourites, 
with  a  rational  fpirit,  and  hath  placed  them 
as  fpedators  in  this  noble  theatre  of  the 
world,  to  view  and  applaud  thefe  glorious 
fcenes  of  earth  and  heaven,  the  workman- 
ship of  his  hands ;  that  hath  furnilhed  them 
in  general  with  a  fufhcient  itore  of  all 
things,  either  necefiary  or  convenient  for 
life  ;  and,  particularly  to  fuch  as  fear  and 
obey  him,  hath  promiied  a  fupply  of  all 
wants,  a  deliverance  and  protection  from 
all  dangers:  that  they  that  feek  him,  fhall 
want  no  manner  of  thing  that  is  good. 
Who,  befides  his  munificence  to  them  in 
this  life,  "  hath  fo  loved  the  world,  that 
he  fent  his  only-begotten  Son,  the  exprefs 
image  of  his  fubltance,"  and  partaker  of 
hjs  eternal  nature  and  glory,  to  bring  life 


and  immortality  to  light,  and  to  tender 
them  to  mankind  upon  fair  and  gracious 
terms  ;  that  if  they  fubmit  to  his  eafy  yoke, 
and  light  burden,  and  obferve  his  com- 
mandments, which  are  not  grievous,  he 
then  gives  them  the  promife  of  eternal 
falvation ;  he  hath  referved  for  them  in 
heaven  "  an  inheritance  incorruptible,  and 
undefi  led,  and  that  fadeth  not  away ;"  he  hath 
prepared  for  them  an  unfpeakable,  un- 
conceivable perfection  of  joy  and  blifs, 
things  that  "  eye  hath  not  feen,  nor  ear 
heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man."  What  a  delightful  ravilhing 
hypothecs  of  religion  is  this  !  And  in  this 
religion  they  have  had  their  education. 
Now  let  us  fuppofe  fome  great  profeffor  in 
atheifm  to  fuggeft  to  fome  of  thefe  men, 
that  all  this  is  mere  dream  and  impofture; 
that  there  is  no  fuch  excellent  being,  as 
they  fuppofe,  that  created  and  preferves 
them ;  that  all  about  them  is  dark  fenfelefs 
matter,  driven  on  by  the  blind  impulfes  of 
fatality  and  fortune;  that  men  firft  fprung 
up,  like  mufhrcoms,  out  of  the  mud  and 
flime  of  the  earth;  and  that  all  their 
thoughts,  and  the  whole  of  what  they  call 
foul,  are  only  the  various  action  and  re- 
percuffion  of  fmall  particles  of  matter, 
kepta-while  a  moving  by  fome  mechanifm 
and  clock-work,  which  finally  mull:  ceafe 
and  periih  by  death.  If  it  be  true  then 
(as  we  daily  find  it  is)  that  men  liften 
with  complacency  to  thefe  horrid  fu^gef- 
tions ;  if  they  let  go  their  hope  of  everlaft- 
ing  life  with  wiliingnefs  and  joy;  if  they 
entertain  the  thoughts  of  final  perdition 
with  exultation  and  triumph;  ought  they 
not  to  be  efteemed  moft  notorious  fools, 
even  •deftitute  of  common  fenfe,  and 
abandoned  to  a  calloufnefs  and  numbnefs 
of  foul? 

What  then,  is  heaven  itfelf,  with  its 
pleafures  for  evermore,  to  be  parted  with 
fo  unconcernedly  ?  Is  a  crown  of  righteouf- 
nefs,  a  crown  of  life,  to  be  furrendered 
with  laughter  ?  Is  an  exceeding  and  eternal 
weight  of  glory  too  light  in  the  balance 
againit  the  hopelefs  death  of  the  atheiit, 
and  utter  extinction  ?  Bcntley. 

§  I  86.   The  books  of  the  Ne-iv  Tefamcnt  could 
not  have  been  forged  in  the  dark  ages. 

Some  adverfaries  of  the  Chriftian  doc- 
trine have  been  fo  bold  and  fhamelefs  as 
to  deny  in  a  lump  the  antiquity  claimed 
by  each  of  the  New  Teftament  books,  i.  e. 

to 


252 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


to  deny  that  they  were  written  in  the  firft 
century,  by  the  writers  to  whom  they  are 
afcribed.  Toland  is  charged  with  having 
betrayed  a  fufpicion  of  this  ibrt  in  his  life  of 
Milton  :  but  in  his  Amyntor,  or  defence  of 
the  life  of  Milton,  he  difavows  his  having 
meant  the  writings,  which  we  receive  as 
infpired,  by  the  words  upon  which  the 
charge  is  grounded.  But  an  anonymous 
Italian,  ventured,  in  a  letter  to  Le  Clerc, 
to  throw  out  the  following  fufpicion:  It  is 
poffible  that  in  the  fifth  century,  about  the 
time  when  the  Goths  over-ran  Italy,  four 
men  of  fuperior  underftanding  might 
unite  in  inventing  and  forging  the  writ- 
ings of  the  apoftles,  as  well  as  of  the 
fathers,  and  falfify  foroe  pafTages  of 
jofephus  and  Suetonius,  in  order  to  intro- 
duce into  the  world,  by  the  means  of  this 
fraud,  a  new  and  more  rational  religion. 

Thefe  four  men,  who  mult  have  been 
very  converfant  in  the  Jewiih  theology, 
and  Heathen  antiquity,  are  here  charged 
with  the  immenfe  labour  of  forging  the 
writings  of  the  fathers,  and  of  inventing 
that  diverfity  of  ftyle  and  fentiment,  by 
which  they  were  diftinguiihed  from  each 
other.  But  it  would  not  have  been  fife 
for  our  fceptic,  to  attribute  to  them  a  lefs 
laborious  enterprize.  His  credulity,  which 
in  the  prefent  age  men  commonly  affecl:  to 
call  by  the  name  of  unbelief,  would  have 
been  fhocked  by  the  teftimony  of  the  fa- 
thers, had  he  confined  his  imputation  of 
forgery  to  the  apoftles.  Le  Clcrc  returned 
a  ftrong  and  fenfible  anfwer  to  his  letter, 
in  his  Biblcotheque  ancienne  et  moderne, 
torn  xx'u  p.  440. 

However,  there  are  very  few  unbelievers 
among  Chriftians,  who  have  thrown  out 
this  fufpicion  againft  the  writings  of  the 
apoftles ;  and  indeed  it  is  i'o  manifeftly 
groundlefs,  that  whoever  does  throw  it  out, 
muft  be  impudently  invincible  by  truth  and 
argument.     For, 

1.  The  ftyle  of  the  apoftles  is  fo  dif- 
ferent, that  their  epi ftles  could  not  with- 
out great  difficulty  be  written  by  the  fame 
hand.  St.  Paul  is  uniform  in  all  his  epif- 
tles ;  his  manner  is  plainly  different  from 
that  of  other  writers,  and  very  difficult  to 
be  imitated.  At  leaft  all  the  epiftles  to 
which  his  name  is  prefixed  are  the  work  of 
one  hand.  St.  John  again  is  totally  dif- 
ferent from  him ;  and  whoever  writes  in  a 
ftyle  like  that  of  St.  Paul,  cannot  imitate 
the  ftyle  of  St.  John. 

2.  In  order  to  invent  writings,  and  af- 


cribe  them  to  perfons  who  lived  fome  cen- 
turies ago,  it  is  neceffary  to  have  an  under- 
ftanding and  judgment,  and  a  knowledge 
of  hiftory  and  antiquity  beyond  the  powers 
of  man,  elfe  the  inventor  muft  commit  fre- 
quent errors.  Now  the  writings  of  the 
New  Teftament  are  cncxceptionable  in  this 
refpecL  The  better  we  are  acquainted 
with  Jewiih  and  Heathen  antiquity,  with 
the  hiftory  of  the  Romans,  and  the  ancient 
geography  of  Pnleftine,  the  face  of  which 
country  was  totally  changed  by  the  con- 
quefts  of  the  Romans  ;  the  more  clearly 
we  difcern  their  agreement  with  the  New 
Teftament,  even  in  fome  circumftances  fo 
minute,  that  probably  they  would  have  ef- 
caped  the  noft  artful  and  moft  circumfpecl 
impofture.  The  commentators  abound 
with  obfervations  from  antiquity,  which 
may  ferve  to  exemplify  this  :  the  learned 
Dr.  Lardner  in  particular  has  done  eminent 
fervice  in  tins  reipecl. 

3.  The  moft  ancient  fathers,  even  thofe 
v  hi  were  conteniporarv  with  the  apoftles, 
Clemens  Romanus,  for  inftance,  and  Ig- 
natius, quote  the  books  of  the  New  Tefta- 
ment, and  afcribe  them  to  the  apoftles. 
"vv  e  muft  therefore  either  fuppofe,  with  the 
Italian  abovementioned,  that  all  the  writ- 
ings of  the  fithers  for  fome  centuries  were 
iorged  :  a  fufpicion  which  may  be  more 
effectually  removed  by  medicinal  applica- 
tions than  by  the  force  of  argument;  or 
we  muft  admit  the  books  of  the  New 
Teftament,  which  they  quote,  to  be  in 
faft  as  ancient  as  they  are  pretended  to 
be. 

4.  There  are  fome  very  old  verfions  of  the 
New  Teftament ;  the  Latin  at  leaft,  feems 
to  have  been  done  fo  early  as  in  the  firft 
century  after  the  birth  of  Chrift;  and  it  is 
highly  probable  that  the  Syriac  verfion  is 
not  lefs  ancient. 

Is  it  poffible  to  fuppofe  that  fome  cen- 
turies after  Chrift,  when  the  Hebrew 
tongue  was  not  underftood  in  the  weftern 
church,  either  fome  blind  chance  proved 
io  fortunate,  or  the  cunning  of  fome  Ita- 
lian impoitors  was  attended  with  fo 
much  thought  and  learning,  as  to  add 
to  the  credibility  of  the  writings  forged 
for  the  apoftles,  by  an  extempore  Latin 
verfion  full  of  Hebrew  idioms,  and  by  a 
Syriac  interpretation  ?  not  to  mention 
the  Gothic  tranflation  of  Ulphilas,  which, 
befides,  was  done  before  the  irruption  of 
the  Goths  into  Italy. 

But  if  thele  writings  are  as  ancient  as 

they 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


253 


they  are  pretended  to  be,  they  certainly 
carry  with  them  an  undeniable  and  in- 
delible mark  of  their  divine  original: 
for  the  epiftles  refer  to  certain  miracu- 
lous gifts,  which  are  faid  to  have  been 
imparted  by  the  impofttion  of  hands,  and 
to  have  been  conferred  by  God,  in  con- 
firmation of  the  oral  and  written  doc- 
trine of  the  apoftles.  If  thefe  _ epiftles  are 
ancient  and  genuine,  and  written  by  St. 
Paul  to  the  churches  to  which  they  are 
addrefied,  then  none  can  deny  thefe  mi- 
racles. The  matter  is  important  enough 
to  merit  further  attention. 
-  St.  Paul's  firft  epiftle  to  the  Theflalo- 
nians  is  addreft'ed  to  a  church  which  was 
hardly  founded,  to  which  he  had  not 
preached  the  gofpel  more  than  three 
Sabbath  days,  Acts"xvii.  2.  He  had  been 
obliged  to  quit  this  church  abruptly^  on 
account  of  an  impending  persecution, 
ver.  10.  and  being  apprehenfive  left  the 
perfecution  fhould  caufe  fome  to  waver  in 
the  faith,  he  lays  before  them,  in  the  three 
firft  chapters,  arguments  to  prove  the  truth 
of  his  gofpel.  The  firft  of  thefe  arguments 
is,  that  which  confirmed  his  doctrine  at 
Theflalonica,  chap.  i.  6—10.  "  For  our 
gofpel,"  fays  he,  "  came  not  to  you  in 
word  only,  but  alfo  in  power,  and  in  the 
Holy  Ghoft."  Power  is  an  expreifion 
made  ufe  of  elfewhere  in  the  New  Tefta- 
ment  to  fignify  miraculous  acts.  Admit 
him  only  to  have  been  a  rational  man,  and 
we  cannot  fuppofe  him  to  write  this  to  an 
infant  church,  if  no  member  thereof  had 
ever  feen  a  miracle  of  his,  or  received  a 
miraculous  gift,  of  the  Holy  Ghoft,  by  the 
impofition  of  his  hands. 

He  appeals  to  the  fame  proof,  in  his  firft 
epiftle  to  the  Corinthians,  who  were  ex- 
tremely dilTatisfied  with  him  and  his  man- 
ner of  teaching,  1  Cor.  ii.  4.  "  My  fpeech, 
and  my  preaching,  was  not  with  enticing 
words  of  man's  wifdom,  but  in  demon- 
ftration  of  the  fpirit,  and  of  power." 
The  fpirit  is  a  word  he  elfewhere  ufes  to 
fignify  the  extraordinary  gifts  of  the  "  fpi- 
rit," fuch  as  the  gift  of  tongues,  &c. — 
The  Hebrews  were  on  the  point  of  falling 
off  from  Chriftianity,  yet  he  confidently 
tells  them  how  great  their  condemnation 
will  be,  if  they  deny  a  dodhine,  to  which 
God  had  borne  "  witnefs  with  figns  and 
wonders,  and  gifts  of  the  Holy  Ghoft." 
Heb.  xi.  4.  and  chap.  vi.  4,  5.  He  re- 
monftrates  to  them,  that  they  had  been 
«  made  partakers  of  the  Holy  Ghoft,  and 


had  tafted  the  powers  of  the  world  to 
come."  In  like  manner  he  endeavours 
to  convince  the  Galatians,  who  had  de- 
ferted  the  pure  doctrine  01  the  gofpel,  that 
the  law  of  Moles  was  abolifhed ;  by  put- 
ting to  them  this  queftion,  "  Received  ye 
the  fpirit  by  the  works  of  the  law,  or  by 
the  hearing  of  faith?"  Gal.  iii.  2.  Is 
it  poflible,  that  a  deceiver  of  a  found  un- 
deritanding,  fuch  as  St.  Paul's  epiftles  fhew 
him  to  have  pofieffed,  ihonld  refer  the  ene- 
mies of  his  religion,  of  his  office,  and  of 
the  doctrines  which  diftinguifhed  him  from 
other  feels  of  his  religion,  not  only  to  the 
miracles  whichhe  pretends  to  have  wrought, 
but  to  miraculous  gifts  which  he  pretends 
to  have  communicated  to  them,  if  they  had 
it  in  their  power  to  anfwer,  that  they  knew 
nothing  of  thefe  miraculous  gifts  ? 

In  the  J  2th,  13th,  and  14th  chapters  of 
the  firft  to  the  Corinthians,  he  reprehends 
the  abufe  of  certain  miraculous  gifts  of 
tongues,  and  prefcribes  a  better  application 
of  them.  If  he  actually  wrote  this  to  the 
Corinthians,  and  they  had  no  miraculous 
gifts,  no  knowledge  of  foreign  tongues, 
then  St.  Paul  is  not  an  impoftor  but  a  mad- 
man, which,  I  apprehend,  is  not  the  charge 
of  unbelievers  agamic  him. 

But  if  thefe  miracles  be  true,  then  the 
doctrine,  and  the  book  in  confirmation  of 
which  they  were  wrought,  are  divine  ;  and 
the  more  certainly  fo,  as  there  is  no  room 
for  deception.  A  juggler  may  perfuade 
me,  that  he  performs  miracles,  but  he  can 
never  perfuade  me,  and  a  whole  body  of 
men  of  found  intellects,  that  he  has  com- 
municated to  us  the  gift  of  working  mira- 
cles, and  fpeaking  foreign  languages,  unlefs 
we  can  work  the  miracles,  and  fpeak  the 
languages.  Michaelis. 

§    187.   The  Extent,  Object,  and  End  of  the 
p  rophctic  fcheme. 

If  we  look  into  the  writings  of  the  Old 
and  New  Teitament  we  find,  firft,  That 
prophecy  is  of  a  prodigious  extent;  that  it 
commenced  from  the  lapfe  of  man,  and 
reaches  to  the  confurnraaticn  of  all  things  ; 
that,  for  many  ages,  it  was  delivered  dark- 
ly, to  hxv  perfons,  and  with  large  intervals 
from  the  date  of  one  prophecy  to  that  of 
another  ;  but,  at  length,  became  more  clear, 
more  frequent,  and  was  uniformly  carried 
on  in  the  line  of  one  people,  feparated  from 
the  reft  of  the  world,  among  other  reafons 
affigned,  for  this  principally,  to  be  the  re- 
pofitory  of  the  Divine  Oracles ;  that,  v  ith 

fome 


^54 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


feme  intermiflion,  the  fpirit  of  prophecy 
fubfifted  among  that  people,  to  the  coming 
t>f  Chrift ;  that  he  himfelf  and  his  apoftles 
exercifed  this  power  in  the  molt  confpicu- 
ous  manner;  and  left  behind  them  many 
predictions,  recorded  in  the  books  of  the 
New  Teitament,  which  profefs  to  refpeet 
very  diftant  events,  and  even  run  out  to 
the  end  of  time,  or,  in  St.  John's  cxpref- 
fion,  to  that  period,  "  when  the  myftery  of 
God  (hall  be  perfefted." 

2.  Further,  befides  the  extent  of  this 
prophetic  fcheme,  the  dignity  of  the  per- 
fon,  whom  it  concerns,  deferves  our  confi- 
deration.  He  is  defcribed  in  terms,  which 
excite  the  molt  auguit  and  magnificent 
ideas.  He  is  fpoken  of,  indeed,  fometimes 
as  being  "  the  feed  of  the  woman,"  and  as 
lC  the  fon  of  man ;"  yet  fo  as  being  at  the 
fame  time  of  more  than  mortal  extraction. 
He  is  even  reprefented  to  us,  as  being  fu- 
perior  to  men  and  angels  ;  as  far  above  all 
principality  and  power,  above  all  that  is 
accounted  great,  whether  in  heaven  or  in 
earth ;  as  the  word  and  wiidom  of  God  ; 
as  the  eternal  Son  of  the  Father ;  as  "  the 
"  heir  of  all  things,  by  whom  he  made  the 
"  worlds ;"  as  "  the  brightnefs  of  his  glory, 
"  and  the  exprefs  image  of  his  perfon." 

We  have  no  words  to  denote  greater 
ideas,  than  thefe ;  the  mind  of  man  cannot 
elevate  itfelf  to  nobler  conceptions.  Of 
fuch  tranfeendent  worth  and  excellence  is 
that  Jefus  faid  to  be,  to  whom  all  the  pro- 
phets bear  witnefs  ! 

3.  Laftly,  the  declared  purpofe,  for 
which  the  Mefiiah,  prefigured  by  fo  long 
a  train  of  prophecy,  came  into  the  world, 
correfponds  to  all  the  reft  of  the  reprefen- 
tation.  It  was  not  to  deliver  an  opprefl'ed 
nation  from  civil  tyranny,  or  to  erect-  a 
oreat  civil  empire,  that  is,  to  atchieve  one 
cf  thofe  acts,  which  hiftory  accounts  moft 
heroic.  No  ;  it  was  not  a  mighty  ftate,  a 
victor  people — 

Non  res  Romans  perituraque  regna— • 

that  was  worthy  to  enter  into  the  contem- 
plation of  this  divine  perfon.  It  was  an- 
other and  far  fublimer  purpofe,  which  he 
came  to  accompliih  ;  a  purpofe,  in  com- 
parifon  of  which,  all  cur  policies  are  poor 
and  little,  and  all  the  performances  of  man 
as  nothing.  It  was  to  deliver  a  world  ' 
ruin;  to  abolifh  fin  and  death;  to  purify 
and  immortalize  human  nature  ;  and  thus, 
in  the  molt  exalted  fenfe  of  the  words,  to 
be  the  Saviour  of  all  men,  and  the  bleffing 
ei  -.';!  nations. 
4 


There  is  no  exaggeration  in  this  account. 
I  deliver  the  undoubted  fenfe,  if  not  always 
the  very  words  of  Scripture. 

Confider  then  to  what  this  reprefentation 
amounts.  Let  us  unite  the  feveral  parts  of 
it,  and  bring  them  to  a  point.  A  Ipirit  of 
prophecy  pervading  all  time — characteriz- 
ing one  perfon,  of  the  higheft  dignity— and 
proclaiming  the  acconvpliihment  of  one 
purpofe,  the  molt  beneficent,  the  moft  di- 
vine, that  imagination  itfelf  can  project. — 
Such  is  ihe  fcriptural  delineation,  whether 
we  will  receive  it  or  no,  of  that  ceconomy, 
which  we  call  prophetic  ! 

And  now  then  (if  we  muft  be  reafohing 
from  our  ideas  of  fit  and  right,  to  the  rec- 
titude of  the  divine  conduct)  let  me  afk,  in 
one  word,  whether,  on  the  fuppofition  that 
it  fhould  ever  pleafe  the  moral  Governor 
of  the  world  to  reveal  himfelf  by  prophecy 
at  all,  we  can  conceive  him  to  do  it,  in  a 
"  manner,"  or  for  "  ends,"  more  worthy  of 
him  ?  Does  not  the  "  extent"  of  the  fcheme 
correspond  to  our  beft  ideas  of  that  infinite 
Being,  to  whom  all  duration  is  but  a  point, 
and  to  whofe  view  all  time  is  equally  pre- 
fent  ?  Is  not  the  "  object"  of  this  fcheme, 
"  the  Lamb  of  God  that  was  flain  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world,"  worthy,  in 
our  conceptions,  of  all  the  honour  that  can 
be  reflected  upon  him  by  fo  vaft  and  fplen- 
did  an  ceconomy  ?  Is  not  the  "  end '''  of 
tliis  fcheme  fuch  as  we  fhould  think  moft  fit 
for  fuch  a  fcheme  of  prophecy  to  predict, 
and  for  fo  divine  a  perfon  to  accomplifh ? 

You  fee,  every  thing  here  is  of  a  piece; 
all  the  parts  cf  this  difpenfation  are  afto- 
nifhingly  great,  and  perfectly  harmonize 
with  e"ach  other.  Hurd. 

§  1S8.    Our  philofophical  principles  mnjl  be 

learnt  from  the  book  of  Nature,  our  religious 
from  the  book  of  Grace. 

In  order  to  attain  right  conceptions  of 
the  conftitution  of  Nature,  as  laid  before 
us  in  the  volume  of  Creation,  we  are  not 
to  affiime  hypothefes  and  notions  of  our 
own,  and  from  them,  as  from  eftablifhed 
principles,  to  account  for  the  feveral  phae- 
nomena  that  occur;  but  we  are  to  begin 

ith  the  effects  themfelves,  and  from  thefe, 
diligently  collected  in  a  variety  of  well- 
chofen  experiments,  to  inveftigate  the  caufes 
which  produce  them.  By  fuch  a  method, 
directed  and  improved  by  the  helps  of  a 
fublime  geometry,  we  may  reafonably  hope 
to  arrive  at  certainty  in  our  phyfical  enqui- 
ries,  and  on  the  bans  of  fad  and  demon- 
ftration  may  erect  a  fyftem  of  the  world, 

that 


OOK    L      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS, 


z$$ 


that  fhall  be  true,  and  worthy  of  its  au- 
thor. Whereas,  by  purfuing  a  contrary 
path,  our  conjectures  at  the  belt  will  be 
precarious  and  doubtful ;  nor  can  we  ever 
be  fure  that  the  moil  ingenious  theories  we 
can  frame  are  any  thing  more  than  a  well- 
invented  and  confiitent  fable. 

With  the  fame  caution  we  are  to  proceed 
in  examining  the  constitution  of  Grace,  as 
unfolded  to  our  view  in  the  volume  of  Re- 
demption. Here  alfo  we  are  not  to  exco- 
gitate conceits  and  fancies  of  our  own,  and 
then  diilort  the  expreffions  of  holy  writ,  to 
Favour  our  misfhapen  imaginations  ;  but 
we  are  firft  to  advert  to  what  God  has 
actually  made  known  of  himfelf  in  the  de- 
clarations of  his  word  ;  an  J  from  this,  care- 
fully interpreted  by  the  rules  of  found  cri- 
ticism and  logical  deduction,  to  elicit  the 
genuine  doctrines  of  revelation.  By  fuch 
an  exertion  of  our  intellectual  powers,  af- 
firmed and  enlightened  by  the  aids  which 
human  literature  is  capable  of  furniihing, 
we  may  advance  with  eafe  and  fafety  in 
our  knowledge  of  the  divine  difpenfations, 
and  on  the  rock  of  Scripture  may  build  a 
fyflem  of  religion,  that  lhall  approve  itfelf 
to  our  moil  enlarged  understandings,  and 
be  equally  fecured  from  the  injuries  and 
infults  of  enthuiiails  and  unbelievers.  On 
the  other  hand,  previously  to  determine 
from  our  own  reafon  what  it  is  fit  for  a  be- 
ing of  infinite  wifdom  to  do,  and  from  that 
pretended  htnefs  to  infer  that  he  has  really 
done  it,  is  a  mode  of  procedure  that  is  lit- 
tle fuited  to  the  imbecilitv  of  our  mental 
faculties,  and  Hill  lefs  calculated  to  lead  us 
to  an  adequate  comprehension  of  the  will 
or  works  of  Heaven.  Hallifax. 

§    189.   Comparifon  between  He  at  hen: fm  and 
Cbrijiianity. 

The  apoftle  faith,  "  After  the  world  by 
"  wifdom  knew  not  God,  it  pleafed  God 
"  to  fave  believers  by  the  foolifhnefs  of 
«  preaching."  That  is  to  fay,  fince  the 
mere  fyflems  of  reafon  were  eventually  in- 
fufficient  for  the  falvation  of  mankind  ;  and 
fince  it  was  impofhble  that  their  fpecula- 
tions  ihould  obtain  the  true  knowledge  of 
God ;  God  took  another  way  to  inilruct 
them :  he  revealed  by  preaching  of  the 
goipel  what  the  light  of  nature  could  not 
difcover,  fo  that  the  fyilem  of  Jefus  Chriil, 
and  his  apoflles,  fupplied  all,  that  was 
wanting  in  the  fyflems  of  the  ancient  phi- 
lofophers. 

But,  it  is  not  in  relation  to  the  ancient 


philofophers  only,  that  we  mean  to  confider 
the  propoiition  in  our  text ;  we  will  exa- 
mine it  alfo  in  reference  to  modern  philo- 
fophy.  Our  philosophers  know  more  than 
all  thofe  of  Greece  knew  :  but  their  fci- 
ence,  which  is  of  unfpeakable  advantage, 
while  it  contains  itfelf  within  its  proper 
fphere,  becomes  a  fource  of  errors,  when 
it  is  extended  beyond  it.  Human  reafon 
now  lodgeth  itfelf  in  new  entrenchments, 
when  it  refuieth  to  fubmit  to  the  faith. 
It  even  puts  on  new  armour  to  attack  it, 
afcer  it  hath  invented  new  methods  of  felf- 
defence.  Under  pretence  that  natural  Sci- 
ence hath  made  greater  progrefs,  revela- 
tion is  defpifed.  Under  pretence  that  mo- 
dern notions  of  God  the  Creator  are  purer 
than  thofe  of  the  ancients,  the  yoke  of  God 
the  Redeemer  is  broken  off".  We  are  go- 
ing to  employ  the  remaining  part  of  this 
dilcourfe  in  juilifying  the  propofition  of  St. 
Paul,  in  the  fenfe  that  we  have  given  it: 
we  are  going  to  endeavour  to  prove,  that 
revealed  religion  hath  advantages  infinitely 
fuperior  to  natural  religion :  that  the  great- 
eft  geniuffes  are  incapable  of  difcovering 
by  their  own  reafon  all  the  truths  neceffaiy 
to  falvation  :  and  that  it  difplays  the  good- 
nefs  of  God,  not  to  abandon  us  to  the  un- 
certainties of  our  own  wifdom,  but  to  make 
us  the  rich  prefent  of  revelation. 

We  will  enter  into  this  difcuffion,  by 
placing  on  the  one  fide  a  philofopher  con- 
templating the  works  of  nature:  on  the 
other,  a  difciple  of  jefus  Chriil  receiving 
the  doflrines  of  revelation.  To  each  we 
will  give  four  Subjects  to  examine :  the  at- 
tributes of  God  :  the  nature  of  man  :  the 
means  of  appeafmg  the  remorfe  of  confei- 
ence :  and  a  future  ftate.  From  their 
judgments  on  each  of  thefe  fubjects,  evi- 
dence will  arife  of  the  fuperior  worth  of 
that  revelation,  which  fome  minute  philo- 
fophers affect  to  defpife,  and  above  which 
they  prefer  that  rough  draught,  which  they 
fketch  out  by  their  own  learned  fpec Na- 
tions. 

I.  Let  us  confider  a  difciple  of  natural 
religion,  and  a  difciple  of  revealed  reli- 
gion, meditating  on  the  attributes  of  God. 
When  the  difciple  of  natural  religion  con- 
fulers  the  Symmetry  of  this  univerfe  ;  when 
he  ^  obferves  that  admirable  uniformity, 
which  appears  in  the  fucceffion  of  feafons, 
and  in  the  conilant  rotation  of  night  and 
day ;  when  he  remarks  the  exact  motions 
of  the  heavenly  bodies ;  the  flux  and  reflux 
of  the  fea,  fo  ordered  that  billows,  which 

fvvelt 


2$6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fwfcll  into  mountains,  and  feem  to  threaten 
the  world  with  an  univerfal  deluge,  break 
away  on  the  Shore,  and  refpect  on  the  beach 
the  command  of  the  Creator,  who  faid  to 
the  Tea,  "  hitherto  ihalt  thou  come,  but  no 
farther  ;  and  here  fhall  thy  proud  waves 
be  ftayed:"  when  he  attends  to  all  thefe 
marvellous  works,  he  will  readily  conclude, 
that  the  Author  of  nature  is  a  being  pow- 
erful and  wife.  But  when  he  obferves 
winds,  tempefts,  and  earthquakes,  which 
feem  to  threaten  the  reduction  of  nature  to 
its  primitive  chaos  ;  when  he  fees  the  fea 
overflow  its  banks,  and  burit,  the  enormous 
moles,  that  the  induitry  of  mankind  had 
raifed ;  his  fpeculations  will  be  perplexed, 
he  will  imagine,  he  fees  characters  of  infir- 
mity among  fo  many  proofs  of  creative  per- 
fection and  power. 

When  he  thinks,  that  God,  having  en- 
riched the  habitable  world  with  innumera- 
ble productions  of  infinite  worth  to  the  in- 
habitant, hath  placed  man  here  as  a  fove- 
reign  in  a  fuperb  palace  ;  when  he  confi- 
ders  how  admirably  God  hath  proportioned 
the  divers  parts  of  the  creation  to  the  con- 
struction of  the  human  body,  the  air  to  the 
lungs,  aliments  to  the  different  humours  of 
the  body,  the  medium,  by  which  objects 
are  rendered  vifible,  to  the  eyes, -that,  by 
which  founds  are  communicated,  to  the 
ears  ;  when  he  remarks  how  God  hath  con- 
nected man  with  his  own  fpecies,  and  not 
with  animals  of  another  kind  ;  how  he  hath 
distributed  talents,  fo  that  fome  requiring 
the  afliStance  of  others,  all  mould  be  mutu- 
ally united  together ;  how  he  hath  bound 
men  too-ether  by  invifible  ties,  fo  that  one 
cannot  fee  another  in  pain  without  a  fym- 
pathy,  that  inclines  him  to  relieve  him  : 
when  the  difciple  of  natural  religion  medi- 
tates on  thefe  grand  fubjects,  he  concludes 
that  the  Author  of  nature  is  a  beneficent 
being.  But,  when  he  fees  the  innumerable 
miferies,  to  which  men  are  fubject ;  when 
he  finds,  that  every  creature,  which  contri- 
butes to  fupport,  contributes  at  the  fame 
time  to  deltroy  us ;  when  he  thinks,  that 
the  air,  which  afliits  refpiration,  conveys 
epidemical  difeafes,  and  imperceptible  poi- 
fons ;  that  aliments,  .which  nouriih  us,  are 
often  our  bane;  that  the  animals,  that  ferve 
us,  often  turn  Savage  againil  us ;  when  he 
obferves  the  perfidioufnefs  of  fociety,  the 
mutual  induitry  of  mankind  in  tormenting 
each  other;  the  arts,  which  they  invent 
to  deprive  one  another  of  life ;  when  he 
attempts  to  reckon   up  the  innumerable 


maladies,  that  confume  us ;  when  he  consi- 
ders death,  which  bows  the  loftieft  heads, 
diflblves  the  iirmeft  cements,  and  fubverts  " 
the  beit-founded  fortunes :  when  he  makes 
thefe  reflections,  he  will  be  apt  to  doubt, 
whether  it  be  goodnefs,  or  the  contrary  at- 
tribute, that  inclineth  the  Author  of  our 
being  to  give  us  existence.  When  the  dif- 
ciple of  natural  religion  reads  thofe  re- 
verfes  of  fortune,  of  which  hiftory  furnifh- 
eth  a  great  many  examples ;  when  he  feeth 
tyrants  fall  from  a  pinnacle  of  grandeur; 
wicked  men  often  punifhed  by  their  own 
wickednefs,  the  avaricious  punifhed  by  the 
objects  of  their  avarice,  the  ambitious  by 
thofe  of  their  ambition,  the  voluptuous  by 
thofe  of  their  voluptuoufnefs ;  when  he 
perceives,  that  the  laws  of  virtue  are  fo 
eiiential  to  public  happinefs,  that  without 
them  fociety  would  become  a  banditti, 
at  leaft,  that  fociety  is  more  or  lefs  happy, 
or  miferable,  according  to  its  loofer  or 
clofer  attachment  to  virtue  ;  when  he  con- 
siders all  thefe  cafes,  he  will  probably  con- 
clude, that  the  Author  of  this  univerfe  is  a 
juft  and  holy  being.  But,  when  he  fees 
tyranny  eftablifned,  vice  enthroned,  hu- 
mility in  confuiion,  pride  wearing  a  crown, 
and  love  to  holinefs  fometimes  expofmg 
people  to  many  and  intolerable  calamities ; 
he  will  not  be  able  to  juftify  God,  amidft 
the  darknefs  in  which  his  equity  is  in- 
volved in  the  government  of  the  world. 

But,  of  all  thefe  myiteries,  can  one  be 
propofed,  which  the  Gofpel  dcth  not  un- 
fold ;  or,  at  lean1,  is  there  one,  on  which 
it  doth  not  give  us  fome  principles*  that 
are  Sufficient  to  conciliate  it  with  the  per- 
fections of  the  Creator,  how  oppofite  fo- 
ever  it  may  feem  ? 

Do  the  diforders  of  the  world  puz- 
zle the  difciple  of  natural  religion,  and 
produce  difficulties  in  his  mind  ?  With 
the  principles  of  the  Gofpel  I  can  folve 
them  all.  When  it  is  remembered,  that 
this  world  hath  been  defiled  by  the  fin  of 
man,  and  that  he  is,  therefore,  an  object 
of  divine  difpleafure  ;  when  the  princi- 
ple is  admitted,  that  the  world  is  not  now 
what  it  was,  when  it  came  out  of  the  hands 
of  God;  and  that  in  comparifon  with  its 
priitine  Slate,  it  is  only  a  heap  of  ruins, 
the  truly  magnificent,  but  actually  ruinous 
heap  of  an  edifice  of  incomparable  beauty, 
the  rubbifh  of  which  is  far  more  proper 
to  excite  our  grief  for  the  lofs  of  its  pri- 
mitive grandeur,  than  to  fuit  our  prefent 
wants,    When  thefe  reflections  are  made, 

can 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND     R  E  L  I    G I  O  U  5. 


257 


can  we  find  any  objections,  in  the  dis- 
orders of  the  world,  againit  the  wifdom  of 
cur  Creato   ? 

Are  the  miferies  of  man,  and  is  the  fatal 
neceffity  of  death,  in  contemplation  ?  With 
the  principles  of  the  Gofpel,  I  folve  the 
difficulties,  which  thefe  fad  objects  produce 
in  the  mind  of  the  diiciple  of  natural  reli- 
gion. If  the  principles  of  Chriilianity  be 
admitted,  if  we  allow,  that  the  afflictions  of 
good  men  are  profitable  to  them,  and  that, 
m  many  cafes,  profperity  would  be  fatal 
to  them  ;  if  we  grant,  that  the  prefent  is 
a  tranfitory  ftate,  and  that  this  momentary 
life  will  be  fucceeded  by  an  immortal  itate; 
if  we  recollect  the  many  fimilar  truths, 
which  the  Gofpel  abundantly  declares ; 
can  we  find,  in  human  miferies,  and  in  the 
neceffity  of  dying,'  objections  againff.  the 
goodnefs  of  the  Creator? 

Do  the  profperities  of  bad  men,  and  ad- 
verlities  of  the  good,  confufe  our  ideas  of 
God  ?  With  the  principles  of  the  Gofpel, 
f  can  remove  all  the  difficulties,  which 
thefe  different  conditions  produce  in  the 
mind  of  the  diiciple  of  natural  religion. 
If  the  principles  of  the  Gofpel  be  admitted, 
if  we  be  perfuaded,  that  the  tyrant,  whofe 
profperity  aftoniiheth  us,  fulfils  the  coun- 
fel  of  God;  if  ecclefiaftical  hillory  affure 
us,  that  Herods,  and  Piiates,  themfelves 
contributed  to  the  eftablilhrneiit  of  that 
very  Chriffianity,  which  they  meant  to 
dellroy ;  eipecially,  if  we  admit  a  flate 
of  future  rewards  and  punifhments ;  can 
the  obfcurity,  in  which  providence  hath 
been  pleafed  to  wrap  up  feme  of  its  de- 
figns,  raife  doubts  about  the  jullice  of  the 
Creator  ? 

In  regard,  then,  to  the  firif.  object  of 
contemplation,  the  perfection  of  the  nature 
of  God,  revealed  religion  is  infinitely  fupe- 
rior  to  natural  religion ;  the  diiciple  of  the 
firfr.  religion  is  infinitely  wifer  than  the 
pupil  of  the  laft. 

II.  Let  us  confider  thefe  two  difciples 
examining  the  nature  of  man,  and  endea- 
vouring to  know  themfelves.  The  difciple 
of  natural  religion  cannot  know  mankind; 
he  cannot  perfectly  underftand  the  nature, 
the  obligations,  the  duration  of  man. 

I.  The  difciple  of  natural  religion  can 
only  imperfectly  know  the  nature  of  man, 
the  difference  of  the  two  fubftances,  of 
which  he  is  compofed.  His  reafon,  indeed, 
may  fpeculate  the  matter,  and  he  may  per- 
ceive that  there  is  no  relation  between  mo- 
tion and  thought,  between  the  diliblution 
of  a  few  fibres  and  violent  fenfarions  of  pain, 
between  an  agitation  of  humours  and  pro- 


found reflections;  he  may  infer  frcm  two 
different  effects,  that  there  ought  to  be  two 
different  caufes,  a  cauie  of  motion,  and  a 
caufe  of  fenfation,  a  caufe  of  agitating 
humours,  and  a  caufe  of  reflecting, 
that  there  is  body,  and  that  there  is 
fpirit. 

But,  in  my  opinion,  thofe  philofophers, 
who  are  bed;  acquainted  with  the  nature  of 
man,  cannot  account  for  two  difficulties, 
that  are  propofed  to  them,  when,  on  the 
mere  principles  of  reafon,  they  affirm,  that 
man  is  compofed  of  the  two  fubilances  of 
matter  and  mind.  I  afk,  firlt,  Do  ye  {o 
well  underftand  matter,  are  your  ideas  of 
it  fo  complete,  that  ye  can  affirm,  for  cer- 
tain, it  is  fufceptible  of  nothing  more  than 
this,  or  that  ?  Are  ye  fure  that  it  implies 
a  contradiction  to  affirm,  it  hath  one  pro- 
perty, which  hath  efcaped  your  obferva- 
tion  ?  And,  confequently,  can  ye  actually 
demonitrate,  that  the  effence  of  matter  is 
incompatible  with  thought  ?  Since,  when 
ye  cannot  difcover  the  union  of  an  attribute 
with  a  fubject,  ye  inflantly  conclude,  that 
two  attributes,  which  feem  to  you  to  have 
no  relation,  fuppofe  two  different  fubjects  : 
and  fince  ye  conclude  that  extent  and 
thought  compofe  two  different  fubjects, 
body  and  foul,  becaufe  ye  can  difcover  no 
naturalrelationbetweenextent  and  thought; 
if  I  difcover  a  third  attribute,  which  appears 
to  me  entirely  unconnected  with  both  ex- 
tent and  thought,  I  mall  have  a  right,  in 
my  turn,  to  admit  three  fubjects  in  man ; 
matter,  which  is  the  fubject  of  extent;  mind, 
which  is  the  fubject  of  thought;  and  a  third 
fubject,  which  belongs  to  the  attribute,  that 
feems  to  me  to  have  no  relation  to  either 
matter  or  mind.  Now  I  do  know  fuch  an 
attribute  :  but  I  do  not  know  to  which  of 
your  two  fubjects  I  ought  to  refer  it :  I 
mean  fenfation.  I  find  it  in  my  nature, 
and  I  experience  it  every  hour.  But  I 
am  altogether  at  a  lofs,  whether  I  ought 
to  attribute  it  to  body,  or  to  fpirit.  I  per- 
ceive no  more  natural  and  neceffary  rela- 
tion between  fenfation  and  motion,  than 
between  fenfation  and  thought. 

There  are,  then,  on  your  principle,  three 
fubftances  in  man,  one  the  fubilratum, 
which  is  the  fubject  of  extenfion  ;  another, 
which  is  the  fubject  of  thought;  and  a 
third,  which  is  the  fubjeel  o£  fenfation  : 
or  rather,  I  fulpect,  there  is  only  one  fab- 
flance  in  man,  which  is  known  to  me  very 
imperfectly,  to  which  all  thefe  attributes 
belong,  and  which  are  united  together, 
although  I  am  not  abk  to  difcover  their 
relation. 

S  Revealed 


258 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Revealed  religion  removes  thefe  diffi- 
culties, and  decides  the  quettion.  It  tells 
us,  that  there  are  two  beings  in  man, 
and,  if  I  may  exprefs  myfelf  fo,  two  dif- 
ferent men,  the  material  man,  and  the  im- 
material man.  The  Scriptures  fpeak,  on 
thefe  principles,  thus ;  "  The  duft  mail  re- 
turn to  the  earth  as  it  was,"  this  is  the 
material  man:  "  The  fpirit  lhall  return  to 
God  who  gave  it,"  this  is  the  immaterial 
man.  "  Fear  not  them  which  kill  the 
body,"  that  is  to  fay,  the  material  man  : 
"  fear  him,  which  is  able  to  dcitroy  the 
foul,"  that  is,  the  immaterial  man.  "  We 
are  willing  to  be  abfent  from  the  body," 
that  is  from  the  material  man :  "  and  to  be 
prefent  with  the  Lord,"  that  is  to  fay,  to 
have  the  immaterial  man  difembodied. 
"  They  ftoned  Stephen,"  that  is,  the  ma- 
terial man :  "  calling  upon  God,  and  fay- 
ing, Lord  Jefus,  receive  my  fpirit,"  that 
is  to  fay,  receive  the  immaterial  man. 

2.  The  diiciple  of  natural  religion  can 
obtain  only  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the 
obligations,  or    duties  of  man.     Natural 
religion    may   indeed    conduct    him    to    a 
certain  point,  and  tell  him,  that  he  ought 
to  love  his  benefactor,  and  various  iimilar 
maxims.    But  is  natural  religion,  think  ye, 
fufEcient  to  account  for  that  contrariety,  of 
which  every  man  is  conicious,  that  oppo- 
fition  between  inclination  and  obligation  ? 
A  very  folid  argument,  I  grant,  in  favour 
of  moral  rectitude  arifeth  from  obferving, 
that,  to  whatever  degree  a  man  may  carry 
his  fin,  whatever  efforts   he  may  make  to 
eradicate   thofe  feeds   of   virtue    from  his 
heart,   which  nature    has   fown    there,   he 
cannot  forbear  venerating  virtue,  and  re- 
coiling at  vice.    This  is  certainly  a  proof, 
that  the  Author  of  our  being   meant  to 
forbid  vice,  and  to  enjoin  virtue.     But  is 
there  no  room  for  complaint  ?  Is  there  no- 
thing fpecious  in  the  following  objection  ? 
As,  in  fpiteof  alliny  endeavours  to  deftroy 
virtuous  difpofuions,  I  cannot  help  refpedt- 
ing  virtue,  ye  infer,  that  the  Author  of  my 
being  intended  I  fhould   be  virtuous :  fo, 
as,  in  fpite  of  all  my  endeavours  to  eradi- 
cate vice,  I  cannot  help  loving  vice,  have 
I  not  reafon  for  inferring,  in  my  turn,  that, 
the  Author  of  my  being  defigned  I  fhould 
be   vicious;  or,  at  leaft,    that   he    cannot 
jufilv  n'nute  guilt  to  me  for  performing 
thofe  aftions,   which   proceed   from  fome 
principles,  that  were   born  with    me?    Is 
there  no  fhew  of  reafon  in  this  famous  fo- 
phifm  ?  Reconcile  the  God  of  nature  with 
the  God  of  religion.     Explain  how  the 


God  of  religion  can  forbid  what  the  God 
of  nature  infpires ;  and  how  he,  who  fol- 
lows thofe  dictates,  which  the  God  of  na- 
ture infpires,  can  be  punilhed  for  fo  doing 
by  the  God  of  religion. 

The  Gofpel  unfolds  this  myflery.  It 
attributes  this  feed  of  corruption  to  the 
depravity  of  nature.  It  attributeth  the 
reipecl,  that  we  feel  for  virtue,  to  the 
remains  of  the  image  of  God,  in  which 
we  were  formed,  and  which  can  never  be 
entirely  effaced.  Becaufe  we  were  born 
in  fin,  the  Gofpel  concludes,  that  we 
ought  to  apply  all  our  attentive  endeavours 
to  eradicate  the  feeds  of  corruption.  And, 
becaufe  the  image  of  the  Creator  is  partly 
erafed  from  our  hearts,  the  Gofpel  con- 
cludes, that  we  ought  to  give  ourfelves 
wholly  to  the  retracing  of  it,  and  fo  to  an- 
fwer  the  excellence  of  our  extraction. 

3.  A  difciple  of  natural  religion  can  ob- 
tain only  an  imperfect,   knowledge  of  the 
duration  of  man,  whether  his  foul  be  im- 
mortal, or  whether  it.be  involved  in  the 
ruin    of  matter.      Reafon,    I    allow,    ad- 
vanceth  fome  folid  arguments  in  proofs  of 
the  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  foul. 
For  what  neceffity  is  there  for  fuppoling, 
that  the  foul,  which  is  a  fpiritual,  indivi- 
fible,  and  immaterial  being,  that  conffi- 
tutes  a  whole,  and  is  a  diitinct.  being,  al- 
though   united    to    a   portion   of  matter, 
fhould  ceafe  to  exifl,  when  its  union  with 
the  body  is  difTolved  ?  A  pofitive  act  of  the 
Creator  i:  necefiary  to  the  annihilation  of 
a  fubftance.     The  annihilating  of  a  being, 
that  fubfifts,    requiretii    an   act  of  power 
fimilar  to  that,  which  gave  it  exiflence  at 
firft.     Now,  far  from  having  any  ground 
to  believe,  that  God  will  caufe  his  power 
to  intervene  to  annihilate  our  fouls,  every 
thing,  that  we  know,  perfuadeth  us,  that 
he  himfelf  hath  engraven  characters  of  im- 
mortality on  them,  and  that  he  will  pre- 
icv\c    them    for    ever.      Enter   into    thy 
heart,  frail  creature  !    fee,    feel,   confider 
thofe  grand  ideas,  thofe  immortal  defigns, 
that  thirft  for  exiiling,  which  a   thoufand 
ages   cannot  quench,    and  in    thefe  lines 
and  points  behold  the  finger  of  thy  Creator 
writing  a  promife  of  immortality  to  thee. 
But,  how  folid  foever  thefe  arguments  may 
be,    however  evident  in  themfelves,    and 
linking  to  a  philofopher,  they  are  objec- 
tionable, becaufe  they  are  not  popular,  but 
above   vulgar  minds,   to  whom  the  bare 
terms,   fpirituality  and  exiflence,  are  en- 
tirely barbarous,  and  convey  no  meaning 
at  all. 

x  Moreover, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


Moreover,  the  union  between  the  ope- 
rations of  the  foul,  and  thofe  of  the  body, 
is  fo  clofe,  that  all  the  philofophers  in  the 
world  cannot  certainly  determine,  whether," 
the  operations  of  the  body  ceafing,  the 
operations  of  the  foul  do  not  ceafe  with 
them.  I  fee  a  body  in  perfect  health,  the 
mind,  therefore,  is  found.  The  fame  body 
is  difordered,  and  the  mind  is  difconcerted 
with  it.  The  brain  is  filled,  and  the  foul 
is  indantly  confufed.  Thebrifker  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood  is,  the  quicker  the 
ideas  of  the  mind  are,  and  the  more  ex- 
tenfive  its  knowledge.  At  length  death 
comes,  and  difiblves  all  the  parts  of  the 
body ;  and  how  difficult  is  it  to  perfuade 
one's  felf,  that  the  foul,  which  was  affefted 
with  every  former  motion  of  the  body, 
will  not  be  diffipated  by  its  entire  diflb- 
lution  ! 

Are  they  the  vulgar  only,  to  whom  phi- 
lofophical  arguments  for  the  immortality 
of  the  foul  appear  deficient  in  evidence  ? 
Do  not  fuperior  geniufes  require,  at  lead, 
an  explanation  of  what  rank  ye  affign  to 
beafls,  on  the  principle,  that  nothing  capa- 
ble of  ideas  and  conceptions,  can  be  in- 
volved in  a  diflblution  of  matter  ?  Nobody 
would  venture  to  affirm  now,  in  an  aflem- 
bly  of  philofophers,  what  was  fome  time 
ago  maintained  with  great  warmth,  that 
beads  are  mere  felf-moving  machines.  Ex- 
perience feems  to  demonflrate  the  faliity 
of  the  metaphyfical  reafonings,  that  have 
been  propofed  in  favour  of  this  opinion ; 
and  we  cannot  obferve  the  actions  of  beads, 
without  being  inclined  to  infer  one  of 
thefe  two  confequences :  either  the  fpirit 
of  man  is  mortal,  like  his  body  ;  or  the 
fouls  of  beads  are  immortal,  like  thofe  of 
mankind. 

Revelation  diffipates  all  our  obfcurities, 
and  teacheth  us  clearly,  and  without  a 
may-be,  that  God  willeth  our  immorta- 
lity. It  carries  our  thoughts  forward  to  a 
future  date,  as  to  a  fixed  period,  whither 
the  greated  part  of  the  promifes  of  God 
tend.  It  commandeth  us,  indeed,  to  con- 
sider all  the  bleflings  of  this  life,  the  ali- 
ments, that  nourifh  us,  the  rays,  which 
enlighten  us,  the  air,  that  we  breathe, 
fceptres,  crowns,  and  kingdoms,  as  effe&s 
of  the  liberality  of  God,  and  as  grounds 
of  our  gratitude.  But,  at  the  fame  time, 
it  requireth  us  to  furmount  the  mod  mag- 
nificent earthly  objects.  It  commandeth 
us  to  confider  light,  air,  and  aliments, 
crowns,  fceptres,  and  kingdoms,  as  unfit 
to  conditute  the  felicity  of  a  foul  created 


259 

in  the  image  of  the  blefled  God,  and  with 
whom  the  blefled  God  hath  formed  a  clofe 
and  intimate  union.  It  aflureth  us,  that 
an  age  of  life  cannot  fill  the  wifh  of  dura- 
tion, which  it  is  the  noble  prerogative  of 
an  immortal  foul  to  form.  It  doth  not 
ground  the  doctrine  of  immortality  on 
metaphyfical  fpeculations,  nor  on  complex 
arguments,  uninvedigable  by  the  greated 
part  of  mankind,  and  which  always  leave 
fome  doubts  in  the  minds  of  the  ableft 
philofophers.  The  Gofpel  grounds  the 
doctrine  on  the  only  principle  that  can 
fupport  the  weight,  with  which  it  is  en- 
cumbered. The  principle,  which  I  mean, 
is  the  will  of  the  Creator,  who,  having 
created  our  fouls  at  fird  by  an  adl  of  his 
will,  can  either  eternally  preferve  them, 
or  abfolutely  annihilate  them,  whether  they 
be  material,  or  fpiritual,  mortal,  or  im- 
mortal, by  nature.  Thus  the  difciple  of 
revealed  religion  doth  not  float  between 
doubt  and  aflurance,  hope  and  fear,  as  the 
difciple  of  nature  doth.  He  is  not  obliged 
to  leave  the  mod  intereding  quedion,  that 
poor  mortals  can  agitate,  undecided;  whe- 
ther their  fouls  perifli  with  their  bodies, 
or  furvive  their  ruins.  He  does  not  fay, 
as  Cyrus  faid  to  his  children  ;  I  know  not 
how  to  perfuade  myfelf,  that  the  foul  lives 
in  this  mortal  body,  and  ceafeth  to  be, 
when  the  body  expires.  I  am  more  in- 
clined to  think,  that  it  requires  after  death 
more  penetration  and  purity.  He  doth 
not  fay,  as  Socrates  faid  to  his  judges; 
And  now  we  are  going,  I  to  Aider  death, 
and  ye  to  enjoy  life.  God  only  knows 
which  is  the  bed.  He  doth  not  fay  as  ' 
Cicero  faid,  fpeaking  on  this  important 
article ;  I  do  not  pretend  to  fay,  that 
what  I  affirm  is  as  infallible  as  the  Pythian 
oracle,  I  fpeak  only  by  conjefture.  The 
difciple  of  revelation,  authorized  by  the 
tedimony  of  Jefus  Chrid,  "  who  hath, 
brought  life  and  immortality  to  light 
through  the  Gofpel;"  boldly  affirms, 
"  Though  our  outward  man  perilh,  yet 
the  inward  man  is  renewed  day  by  day. 
We,  that  are  in  this  tabernacle,  do  groan, 
being  burdened;  not  for  that  we  would 
be  unclothed,  but  clothed  upon,  that 
mortality  might  be  fwallowed  up  of  life. 
I  know  whom  I  have  believed,  and  I  am 
perfuaded  that  he  is  able  to  keep  that, 
which  I  have  committed  unto  him,  againd 
that  day." 

III.  We  are  next  to  confider  the  difciple 
of  natural  religion,  and  the  difciple  of 
'revealed  religion,  at  the  tribunal  of  God 


a6o 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


as  penitents  foliciting  tor  pardon.  The 
former  cannot  find,  even  by  feeling  after 
it,  in  natural  religion,  according  to  the 
language  of  St.  Paul,  die  grand  mean  of 
reconciliation,  which  God  hath  given  to 
the  church ;  I  mean  the  facrifke  of  the 
crofs.  Reafon,  indeed,  discovers,  that  man 
is  guilty,  as  the  confeffions,  and  acknow- 
ledgments, which  the  Heathens  made  of 
their  crimes,  prove.  It  difcerns,  that  a 
fmner  deferves  punilhment,  as  the  remorie 
and  fear,  with  which  their  confciences  were 
often  excruciated,  demonftrate.  It  pre- 
fumes,  indeed,  that  God  will  yield  to 
the  entreaties  of  his  creatures,  as  their 
prayers,  and  temples,  and  altars  teftify. 
It  even  gees  fo  far  as  to  perceive  the 
neceffity  of  fatisfying  divine  juftice,  this 
their  facrifices,  this  their  burnt  offerings, 
this  their  human  victims,  this  the  rivers  of 
blood,  that  flowed  on  their  altars,  (hew. 

But,  how  likely  foever  all  thefe  fpecu- 
lations  may  be,  they  form  only  a  fyftematic 
body  without  a  head ;  for  no  pofitive  pro- 
mife  of  pardon  from  God  himfelf  belongs 
to  them.  The  myfiery  of  the  crofs  is  en- 
tirely invifible;  for  only  God  could  reveal 
that,  becaufe  only  God  could  plan,  and 
only  he  could  execute  that  profound  relief. 
How  could  human  reafon,  alone,  and  un- 
afiifted,  have  difcovered  the  myilery  of  re- 
demption, when,  alas  !  after  an  infallible 
God  hath  revealed  it,  reafon  is  abforbed 
in  its  depth,  and  needs  all  its  fubmiffion  to 
receive  it,  as  an  article  of  faith  ? 

But  that,  which  natural  religion  cannot 
attain,  revealed  religion  clearly  difcovers. 
Revelation  exhibits  a  God-  Man,  dying  for 
the  fins  of  mankind,  and  letting  grace  be- 
fore every  penitent  fmner:  grace  for  all 
mankind.  The  fchools  have  often  agitated 
the  queftions,  and  fometimes  very  indif- 
creetly,  Whether  Jefus  Chrift  died  for 
all  mankind,  or  only  for  a  fmall  number? 
Whether  his  blood  were  (hed  for  all,  who 
hear  the  gofpel,  or  for  thofe  only,  who 
believe  it  r  We  will  not  difpute  thefe 
points  now  :  but  we  will  venture  to  affirm, 
that  there  is  not  an  individual  of  all  our 
hearers,  who  hath  not  a  right  to  fay  to 
himfelf,  If  I  believe,  I  fhall  be  faved ;  I 
fhall  believe,  if  I  endeavour  to  believe. 
Confequently,  every  individual  hath  a 
right  to  apply  the  benefits  of  the  death  of 
Chrift  to  himfelf.  The  gofpel  reveals 
grace,  that  pardons  the  molt  atrocious 
crimes,  thofc  that  have  the  moll  fatal  in- 
fluences. Although  ye  have  denied  Chrift 
v, ith  Peter,  betrayed  him  with  Judas,  per- 


fected him  with  Saul  ;  yet  the  blood  of 
a  God-Man  is  fufheient  to  obtain  your 
pardon,  if  ye  be  in  the  covenant  of  re- 
demption. Grace  which  is  accefTible  at 
all  times,  at  every  inltant  of  life.  Woe 
be  to  you,  my  brethren ;  woe  be  to  you, 
if,  abufing  this  reflection,  ye  delay  your 
return  to  God  till  the  lall  moments  of 
your  lives,  when  your  repentance  will  be 
difficult,  not  to  fay  impracticable  and  im- 
pollible  !  But  it  is  always  certain,  that  God 
every  inltant  opens  the  trealures  of  his-'* 
mercv,  when  finners  return  to  him  by  fin- 
cere  repentance.  Grace,  capable  of  ter- 
minating all  the  melancholy  thoughts,  that 
are  produced  by  the  fear  of  being  aban- 
doned by  God  in  the  midft  of  our  race,  and 
of  having  the  work  of  falvation  left  im- 
perfect. For,  after  he  hath  given  us  a 
prefent  fo  magnificent,  what  can  he  refufe  ? 
"  He  that  fparednot  his  own  Son,  but  de- 
livered him  up  for  us  all,  how  fhall  he 
not  with  him  alfo  freely  give  us  all 
things  ?"  Grace,  fo  clearly  revealed  in 
our  Scriptures,  that  the  moll  accurate 
reafoning,  herefy  the  molt  extravagant, 
and  infidelity  the  moll  oblUnate,  cannot 
enervate  his  declarations.  For,  the  death 
of  Chrift  may  be  confidered  in  different 
views:  it  is  a  fufheient  confirmation  of  his 
dottrine;  it  is  a  perfect  pattern  of  patience, 
it  is  the  moll  magnanimous  degree  of  ex- 
traordinary excellencies,  that  can  be  ima- 
gined :  but  the  gofpel  very  feldom  prefents 
it  to  us  in  any  of  thefe  views,  it  leaves  them 
to  our  own  perception  ;  but  when  it  fpeaks 
of  his  death,  it  ufually  fpeaks  of  it  as  an 
expiatory  facrifice.  Need  we  repeat  here 
a  number  vf  formal  texts,  and  exprefs  de- 
cisions on  this  matter?  Thanks  be  to  God, 
we  are  preaching  to  a  Chriftian  auditory, 
who  make  the  death  of  the  Redeemer  th« 
foundation  of  faith  !  The  gofpel,  then, 
affureth  the  penitent  fmner  of  pardon.  Zeno, 
Epicurus,  Pythagoras,  Socrates,  Porch, 
Academv,  Lycamm,  what  have  ye  to  offer 
to  your  difciples,  equal  to  this  promife  of 
the  gofpel  ? 

IV.  But  that,  which  principally  difplays 
the  prerogatives  of  the  Chriftian  above 
thofe  of  the  philofopher,  is  an  all-fufficient 
provifion  againft  the  fear  of  death.  A 
comparifon  between  a  dying  Pagan  and  a 
dying  Chriftian  will  fhew  this.  I  confider 
a  Pagan,  in  his  dying-bed,  fpeaking  to 
himfelf  what  follows.  On  which  fide  fo- 
ever I  confider  my  ftate,  I  perceive  no- 
thing but  trouble  and  defpair.  If  I  ob- 
ferve  the  fore-runners  of  death,  I  fee  aw- 
ful 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


261 


ful  fymptoms,  violent  ficknefs,  and  into- 
lerable pain,  which  furround  my  lick-bed, 
and  are  the  firft  fcenes  of  the  bloody  tra- 
gedy. As  to  the  world,  my  deareft  ob- 
jects difappear;  my  clofeft  connexions  are 
"diffolving;  my  moll  fpecious  titles  are  ef- 
facing ;  my  nobleft  privileges  are  vanifh- 
ing  away;  a  difmal  curtain  falls  between 
my  eyes  and  all  the  decorations  of  the  uni- 
verfe.  In  regard  to  my  body,  it  is  a  mafs 
without  motion,  and  life ;  my  tongue  is 
about  to  be  condemned  to  eternal  filencc  ; 
my  eyes  to  perpetual  darknefs ;  all  the  or- 
gans of  my  body  to  entire  diffolution;  and 
the  miferable  remains  of  my  carcafe  to 
lodge  in  the  grave,  and  to  become  food  for 
the  worms.  If  I  confider  my  foul,  I 
fcarcely  know  whether  it  be  immortal  ; 
and  could  I  demonftrate  its  natural  im- 
mortality, I  mould  not  be  able  to  fay, 
whether  my  Creator  would  difplay  his  at- 
tributes in  preferving,  or  in  deftroying  it ; 
whether  my  wifhes  for  immortality  be  the 
dictates  of  nature,  or  the  language  of  fin. 
If  I  confider  my  pall  life,  I  have  a  wit- 
nefs  within  me,  attefting  that  my  practice 
hath  been  lefs  than  my  knowledge,  how 
imall  foever  the  latter  hath  been  ;  and  that 
the  abundant  depravity  of  my  heart  hath 
thickened  the  darknefs  of  my  mind.  It  I 
confider  futurity,  I  think  I  difcover  thro' 
many  thick  clouds  a  future  ftate;  my  rea- 
fon  fuggefts,  that  the  Author  of  nature 
hath  not  given  me  a  foul  fo  fublime  in 
thought,  and  fo  expanfive  in  defire,  merely 
to  move  in  this  little  orb  for  a  moment  : 
but  this  is  nothing  but  conjecture  ;  and, 
if  there  be  another  a^conomy  after  this, 
fhould  I  be  lefs  miferable  than  I  am  here  ? 
One  moment  I  hope  for  annihilation,  the 
next  I  Ihudder  with  the  fear  of  being  an- 
nihilated ;  my  thoughts  and  defires  are  at 
war  with  each  other,  they  rife,  they  reiift, 
they  defiroyone  another.  Such  is  the  dy- 
ing Heathen.  If  a  few  examples  of  thofe, 
who  have  died  otherwife,  be  adduced,  they 
ought  not  to  be  urged  in  evidence  againft 
what  we  have  advanced ;  for  they  are  rare, 
and  very  probably  deceptive,  their  outward 
tranquillity  being  only  a  concealment  of 
trouble  within.  Trouble  is  the  greater 
for  confinement  within,  and  for  an  affected 
appearance  without.  As  we  ought  not  to 
believe,  that  philofophy  hath  rendered  men 
infenfible  of  pain,  becaufe  fome  philofo- 
phers  have  maintained  that  pain  is  no  evil, 
and  have  feemed  to  triumph  over  it :  fo 
neither  ought  we  to  believe,  that  it  hath 


difarmed  death  in  regard  to  the  difciples 
of  natural  religion,  becaufe  fome  have  af- 
firmed, that  death  is  not  an  object  c/f  fear. 
After  all,  if  fome  Pagans  enjoyed  \a  real 
tranquillity  at  death,  it  was  a  groundlefs 
tranquillity,  to  which  reafon  contributed 
nothing  at  all. 

O  !  how  differently  do  Chrifcians  die  ! 
How  doth  revealed  religion  triumph  over 
the  religion  of  nature  in  this  refpect !  May 
each  of  our  hearers  be  a  new  evidence  of 
this  article  !  The  whole,  that  troubles  an 
expiring  Heathen,  revives  a  Chrifuan  in 
his  dying  bed. 

Thus  (peaks  the  dying  Chriflian.  When 
I  confider  the  awful  fyrnptoms  of  death, 
and  the  violent  agonies  of  diffolving  na- 
ture, they  appear  to  me  as  medical  prepa- 
ration?, (harp,  but  falutary;  they  are  ne- 
ceffary  to  detach  me  from  life,  and  to  fepa- 
rate  the  remains  of  inward  depravity  from 
me.  Befide,  I  mall  not  be  abandoned  to 
my  own  frailty  ;  but  my  patience  and  con- 
ftancy  will  be  proportional  to  my  fuffer- 
ings,  and  that  powerful  arm,  which  hath 
fupported  me  through  life,  will  uphold  me 
under  the  preffure  of  death.  If  I  confider 
my  fins,  many  as  they  are,  I  am  invulner- 
able; for  I  go  to  a  tribunal  of  mercy,  where 
God  is  reconciled,  and  juftice  is  fatisfied. 
If  I  confider  my  body,  I  perceive,  1  am 
putting  off  a  mean  and  corruptible  habit, 
and  putting  on  robes  of  glory.  Fall,  fall 
ye  imperfect  fenfes,  ye  frail  organs,  fall 
iiouie  of  clay  into  your  original  dull ;  ye 
will  be  "  fown  in  corruption,  but  raifed 
in  incorruption ;  fown  in  difhonour,  but 
railed  in  glory  ;  iown  in  weakn-efs,  but 
raifed  in  power."  If  I  confider  my 
foul,  it  is  palling,  I  fee,  from  llavery  to 
freedom.  I  fhall  carry  with  me  that,  which 
thinks  and  reflects.  I  fhall  carry  with  me 
the  delicacy  of  tatte,  the  harmony  of  founds, 
the  beauty  of  colours,  the  fragrance  of  odo- 
riferous fmells.  I  fhall  furmount  heaven 
and  earth,  nature  and  all  terreflrial  things,' 
and  my  ideas  of  all  their  beauties  will  mul- 
tiply and  expand.  If  I  confider  the  future 
ceconomy,  to  which  I  go,  I  have,  I  own, 
very  inadequate  notions  of  it :  but  my  in- 
capacity is  the  ground  of  my  expectation. 
Could  I  perfectly  comprehend  it,  it  would 
argue  its  refemblance  to  fome  of  the  pre- 
fent  objecis  of  my  fenfes,  or  its  minute  pro- 
portion to  the  prefent  operations  of  my 
mind.  If  worldly  dignities  and  grandeurs, 
if  accumulated  treafures,  if  the  enjoyments 
of  the  moft  refined  voluptuoufr.efs,  were  to 
S  3  repre-feni 


>.6z 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


reprefent  to  me  celeflial  felicity,  I  fhould 
fuppofe,  that,  partaking  of  their  nature, 
they  partook  of  their  vanity.  But,  if  no- 
thing here  can  reprefent  the  future  ftate,  it 
j  becauie  that  ftate  furpafleth  every  other. 
My  ardour  is  increafed  by  my  imperfect 
knowledge  of  it.  My  knowledge,  and 
virtue,  I  know,  will  be  perfected ;  I  know 
I  lhall  comprehend  truth,  and  obey  order; 
I  know,  I  lhall  be  free  from  all  evils,  and 
in  poflefiion  of  all  good ;  I  lhall  be  prefent 
with  God,  I  know,  and  with  all  the  happy 
fpirits,  who  furround  his  throne  ;  and  this 
perfeft  ftate,  I  am  fure,  will  continue  for 
ever  and  ever. 

Such  are  the  all-fufHcient  fupports,  which 
revealed  religion  affords  againft  the  fear  of 
death.  Such  are  the  meditations  of  a  dy- 
ing Chriftian  ;  not  of  one,  whole  whole 
Chriftianity  confifts  of  dry  Speculations, 
which  ha^e  no  influence  over  his  practice  : 
but  of  one,  who  applies  his  knowledge  to 
relieve  the  real  wants  of  his  life. 

Chriftianity,  then,  we  have  feen,  is  fu- 
perior  to  natural  religion,  in  thefe  four  re-     they  form  a  body  of  natural  religion  by  the 
fpetts.     To  thefe  we  will  add  a  few  more     light  of  the  gofpel,  and  then  they  attribute 


tion.  Modern  philofophers  have  derived 
the  cleareft  and  beft  parts  of  their  fyftems 
from  the  verv  revelation,  which  they  affect 
to  defpife.  We  grant,  the  doctrines  of 
the  perfections  of  God,  of  providence,  and 
of  a  future  ftate,  are  perfectly  conformable 
to  the  light  of  reafon.  A  man,  who  fhould 
purfue  rational  tracks  of  knowledge  to  his 
utmoft  power,  would  difcover,  we  own,  all 
thefe  doctrines :  but  it  is  one  thing  to 
grant,  that  thefe  dodtrines  are  conformable 
to  reafon  ;  and  it  is  another  to  affirm,  that 
reafon  actually  discovered  them.  It  is  one 
thing  to  allow,  that  a  man,  who  fhould  pur- 
fue rational  tracks  of  knowledge  to  his  ut- 
moft power,  would  difcover  all  thefe  doc- 
trines :  and  it  is  another  to  pretend,  that 
any  man  hath  purfued  thefe  tracks  to  the 
utmoft,  and  hath  actually  difcovered  them. 
It  was  the  gofpel  that  taught  mankind 
the  ufe  of  their  reafon.  It  was  the  gof- 
pel, that  aftifted  men  to  form  a  bo- 
dy of  natural  religion.  Modern  phi- 
lofophers   avail   themfclves  of  thefe  aids ; 


refleftions  in  farther  evidence  of  the  fupe 
riority  of  revealed  religion  to  the  religion 
of  nature. 

I .  The  ideas  of  the  ancient  philofophers 
concerning  natural  religion  were  not  col- 
lected into  a  body  of  doftrine.  One  philo- 
fopher  had  one  idea,  another  ftudious  man 
had  another  idea ;  ideas  of  truth  and  vir- 
tue, therefore  lay  difperfed.  Who  doth 
not  fee  the  pre-eminence  of  revelation,  on 
this  article  ?  No  human  capacity  either 
hath  been,  or  would  ever  have  been  equal 
to  the  noble  conception  of  a  perfect  body 
of  truth.  There  is  no  genius  fo  narrow,  as 
not  to  be  capable  of  propoling  fome  clear 
truth,  fome  excellent  maxim :  but  to  lay 
down  principles,  and  to  perceive  at  once  a 
chain  of  confequences,  thefe  are  the  efforts 
of  great  geniufes ;  this  capability  is  phi- 
lofophical  perfection.  If  this  axiom  be  in- 
conteftible,  what  a  fountain  of  wifdom  does 
the  fyftem  of  Chriftianity  argue  !  It  re- 
prefents  us,  in  one  lovely  body,  of  perfect 
fymmetry,  all  the  ideas,  that  we  have  enu- 
merated. One  idea  fuppofeth  another 
idea  ;  and  the  whole  is  united  in  a  manner 
fo  compact,  that  it  is  impoffible  to  alter  one 


to  their  own  penetration  what  they  derive 
from  foreign  aid. 

3.  "What  was  moft  rational  in  the  natu- 
ral religion  of  the  Pagan  philofophers  was 
mixed  with  fancies  and  dreams.  There 
was  not  a  fingle  philofopher,  who  did  not 
adopt  fome  abfurdity,  and  communicate  it 
to  his  difciples.  One  taught,  that  every 
being  was  animated  with  a  particular  foul, 
and  on  this  abfurd  hypothefis  he  pretended 
to  account  for  all  the  phenomena  of  nature. 
Another  took  every  ftar  for  a  god,  and 
thought  the  foul  a  vapour,  that  pafied  from 
one  body  to  another,  expiating  in  the  body 
of  a  beaft  the  fins  that  were  committed  in 
that  of  a  man.  One  attributed  the  crea- 
tion of  the  world  to  a  blind  chance,  and 
the  government  of  all  events  in  it  to  an  in- 
violable fate.  Another  affirmed  the  eter- 
nity of  the  world,  and  faid,  there  was  no. 
period  in  eternity,  in  which  heaven  and 
earth,  nature  and  elements,  were  not  vifible. 
Ore  faid,  every  thing  is  uncertain;  we  are 
not  fure  of  our  own  exiftence  ;  the  diilinc- 
tion  between  juft  and  unjuft,  virtue  and 
vice,  is  fanciful,  and  hath  no  real  founda- 
tion in  the  nature  of  things.   Another  made 


particle    without  defacing    the   beauty   of    matter  equl  to  God  ;  and  maintained,  that 


2.  Pagan  philofophers  never  had  a'fyf- 
tem  of  natural  religion  comparable,  with 
that  of  modern  philofophers,  although  the 
latter  g  ory  in  their  contempt  of  revela- 


it  concurred  with  the  fupreme  Being  in  the 
formation  of  the  univerfe.  One  took  the 
world  for  a  prodigious  body,  of  which  he 
thought  God  was  the  foul.  Another  af- 
firmed the  materiality  of  the  foul,  and  at- 
tributed 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


263 


trlbuted  to  matter  the  faculties  of  thinking 
and  reafoning.  Some  denied  the  immor- 
tality of  the  foul,  and  the  intervention  of 
providence ;  and  pretended,  that  an  infi- 
nite number  of  particles  of  matter,  indivi- 
fible,  and  indeftructible,  revolved  in  the 
unive.-fe ;  that  from  their  fortuitous  con- 
courfe  arofe  the  prefent  world ;  that  in  all 
this  there  was  no  defign  ;  that  the  feet 
were  not  formed  for  walking,  the  eyes  for 
feeing,  nor  the  hands  for  handling.  The 
gofpel  is  light  without  d.irknefs.  It  hath 
nothing  mean  ;  nothing  falfe ;  nothing 
"that  doth  not  bear  the  characters  of  that 
wifdom,  from  which  it  proceeds. 

4.  What  was  pure  in  the  natural  reli- 
gion of  the  Heathens  was  not  known, 
nor  could  be  known  to  any  but  philofo- 
phers.  The  common  peopie  were  inca- 
pable of  that  penetration  and  labour,  which 
the  invelligating  of  truth,  and  the  diftin- 
guifhing  of  it  from  that  fal'hood,  in  which 
paffion  and  prejudice  had  enveloped  it,  re- 
quired. A  mediocrity  of  genius,  I  allow, 
is  fufheient  for  the  purpoie  of  inferring  a 
part  of  thofe  confequences  from  the  works 
of  nature,  of  which  we  form  the  body  of 
natural  religion  :  but  none,  but  geniufes 
of  the  firft  order,  are  capable  of  kenning 
tbofe  diftant  confluences,  which  are  in- 
folded in  darknefs.  The  bulk  of  mankind 
wanted  a  fhort  way  proportional  to  every 
mind.  They  wanted  an  authority,  the  in- 
fallibility of  which  all  mankind  might  ea- 
fily  fee.  They  wanted  a  revelation  found- 
ed on  evidence  plain  and  obvious  to  all  the 
world.  Philofophers  could  not  fhew  the 
world  fuch  a  fhort  way  :  but  revelation  hath 
ihewed  it.  No  philofopher  could  affume 
the  authority,  neceflary  to  eftabliih  fuch  a 
way :  it  became  God  alone  to  dictate  in 
fuch  a  manner,  and  in  revelation  he  hath 
done  it.  Sauritt. 

.    §    190.    The  Gofpel  fuperior  to  the  writings 
of  the  Heathens  in  oratory. 

Objection  to  the  Holy  Scriptures.  If 
Chrift  were  the  Son  of  God,  and  his  apof- 
tles  infpired  by  the  Holy  Ghoft,  and  the 
Scriptures  were  God's  Word,  they  would 
excel  all  other  men  and  writings  in  all  true 
rational  worth  and  excellency;  whereas 
Ariftotie  excelleth  them  in  logic  and  philo- 
fophy,  and  Cicero  and  Demofthenes  in  ora- 
tory, and  Seneca  in  ingenious  exprefiions 
of  morality,  &c, 

Anfwer.  You  may  as  well  argue,  that 
Ariftotie  was  no  wifer  than  a  minftrel,  be- 


caufe  he  could  not  fiddle  fo  well ;  or  than 
a  painter,  becaufe  he   could  not  limn  fo 
well;  or  than  a  harlot,  becaufe  he  could 
not  drefs  himfelf  fo  neatly.     Means  are 
to  be  eftimated  according  to  their  fitnefs 
for  their  ends.     Chrift  himfelf  excelled  all 
mankind,  in  all  true  perfections ;  and  yet 
it  became  him  not  to  exercife  all  men's 
arts,  to  ihew  that  he  excelleth  them.     He 
came  not  into  the  world  to  teach  men  ar- 
chitecture, navigation,  medicine,  aftrono- 
inv,  grammar,  mufic,  logic,  rhetoric,  &c. 
and  therefore  fhewed  not  his  fkill  in  thefe. 
The  world  had  fufficient  helps  and  means 
for  thefe  in  nature.     It  was  to  fave  men 
from  fin  and  hell,  and  bring  them  to  par- 
don, hoiinefs  and  heaven,  that  Chrift  was 
incarnate,  and  that  the  apoftles  were  in- 
fpired, and  the  Scriptures  written  :  and  to 
be  fitted  to  thefe  ends,  is  the  excellency  to 
be  expected  in  them  :  and  in  this  they  ex- 
cel ail  perfons  and  writings  in  the  world. 
As  God  doth  not  fyllogize  or  know  by  our 
imperfect  way    of  ratiocination,    but    yet 
knoweth  all  things  better  than  fyllogizers 
do  ;  fo  Chrift  hath  a  more  high  and  excel- 
lent kind  of  logic  and  oratory,  and  a  more 
apt  and  fpiritual  and  powerful  Style,  than 
Ariftotie,  Demofthenes,  Cicero,  or  Seneca. 
He    fhewed   not   that  fkill   in   methodical 
healing,    which    Hypocrates    and    Galen 
fhewed  :  but  he  fhewed  more  and  better 
fkill,  when  he  could  heal  with  a  word,  and 
raife  the  dead,  and  had  the  power  of  life 
and  death;  fo  did  he  bring  more  convinc- 
ing evidence  than  Ariftotie,  and  perfuaded 
more  powerfully  than  Demofthenes  or  Ci- 
cero.    And   though  this    kind  of  formal 
learning  was   below  him,   and  below   the 
infpired  meffengers  of  his  Gofpel,    yet  his 
inferior  fervants  (an  Aquinas,  a  Scotus,  an 
Ockam,  a  Scaliger,  a  Ramus,  a  Gaflendus) 
do  match  or  excel  the  old  philofophers, 
and  abundance  of  Chriftians   equalize   or 
excel  a  Demofthenes  or  Cicero,  in  the  trueft 
oratory.  Baxter. 

\    191.     Obfcurities    in    the    Scriptures    tw 
proof  of  their  not  being  genuine. 
That  there  are  obfcurities  and  difficul- 
ties in  Holy  Writ  is  acknowledged  by  all 
perfons  that  are  converfant  in  the  Sacred 
Volume.     And  truly,  if  we  confider  things 
aright,  we  fhall  find,  this  is  not  unworthy 
either  of  God  or  of  his  Holy  Word.     Not 
of  God  himfelf,  who  indited  the   Sacred 
Scriptures ;  for  he  hath  moll  wifely  order- 
ed, that  there  fhould  be  forns  things  ob- 
S  4  {cure 


264 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


fcure  and  myfterious  in  them,  to  create  a 
becoming  reverence,  and  to  let  us  know, 
that  thefe  writings  are  not  penned  after 
an  ordinary  manner.  Thefe  clouds  and 
darknefs  are  fuitable  to  the  majefty  of 
heaven  ;  they  are  proper  to  beget  in  us 
humility,  and  mean  thoughts  of  onrfelves, 
to  convince  us  of  the  fhallownefs  of  our  in- 
tellects, to  fhew  us  how  ftiort- lighted  we 
are,  to  give  check  to  our  prefumption,  to 
quafh  oui  towering  conceits  of  our  know- 
ledge, to  fuperfede  our  vain  boafting,  to 
repel  our  vaunting  pride  and  iniolence. 
They  are  ferviceable  alfo  to  rebuke  our 
floth  and  negligence,  to  provoke  our  care 
and  ftudy,  and  to  excite  our  utmoft  dili- 
gence. Thus  it  hath  pleafed  God  to  ex- 
ercife  the  underftandings  of  men,  and  to 
make  trial  of  their  indufiry  by  thefe  diffi- 
cult paflages  which  occur  in  Scripture.  If 
all  places  were  eafy,  this  book  would  be 
liable  to  contempt,  and  there  would  be  no 
room  left  for  our  diligent  fearch  and  en- 
quiry. But  now  at  every  reading  of  it  we 
ftill  find  fomething  to  employ  our  under- 
ftandings afreih,  and  to  improve  our  mod 
inquifftive  faculties.  Here  our  minds  may- 
be perpetually  buffed ;  here  is  enough  to 
entertain  our  greateft  leifure  and  moll  ear- 
ned ftuJy.  Here  are  many  myfteries  to  be 
unfolded,  many  depths  to  be  fathomed, 
many  abilrufities,  both  in  the  things  and 
in  the  words  that  convey  the  notice  of  them 
to  our  minds,  to  be  difcovered  :  fo  that  to 
the  greateft  ftudent  and  mo  ft  ambitious  en- 
quirer, that  will  happen  which  the  Son  of 
Sirach  faith  in  another  cafe,  "  When  a  man 
"  hath  done,  then  he  beginneth."  Here 
are  not  only  fords  and  (hallows  which  we 
may  eafily  wade  through,  but  here  are  un- 
payable depths  and  abyfles.  It  hath  fecm- 
ed  good  to  the  wife  Governor  of  the  world, 
that  there  mould  be  in  the  Holy  Scripture 
fome  things  hard  to  be  underftood,  that 
hereby  the  excellency  of  thefe  (acred  writ- 
ings might  appear,  and  that  by  this  means 
it  might  be  feen  of  what  univerfal  ufe  they 
are :  for  thofe  places  which  are  plain  and 
clear  are  fitted  to  ordinary  capacities,  and 
thofe  other  portions  which  are  deep  and 
intricate  arc  the  proper  entertainment  of 
the  learned  ;  and  thus  the  whole  book  is 
calculated  for  the  general  benefit  of  all. 
St.  Chryfoftorn  hath  fummed  it  up  thus 
very  briefly  :  All  paflages  in  Scripture 
are  not  plain  and  perfpicuous,  left  we 
'hould  be  lazy;  nor  are  all  obfeure,  left 
■  c   (hould   defpond.     This  excellent  tem- 


pering of  the  facred  writ  is  a  high  com- 
mendation of  it,  and  is  no  other  than  the 
wife  contrivance  of  Heaven. 

And  as  this  obfeurity  of  fome  part;  of 
Scripture  is  not  unworthy  of  God  himfelf, 
fo  ncit'ier  is  it  any  disparagement  to  his 
facred  word.  For  we  mull  know,  that  this 
difficulty  happens  from  the  very  nature  of 
the  things  themfelves,  which  are  here  re- 
corded. It  cannot  be  otherwife  but  that 
fome  portions  of  Scripture  muft  be  dark 
and  obfeure,  and  consequently  muft  labour 
under  different  and  contrary  expositions, 
becaufe  they  were  written  fo  long  ago,  and 
contain  in  them  fo  many  old  cuftoms  and 
ufages,  fo  many  relations  concerning  dif- 
ferent people,  fo  many  and  various  idioms 
of  tongues,  fuch  diverfity  of  ancient  ex- 
prefiions,  laws,  and  manners  of  all  nations 
in  the  world.  It  is  unreafonable  to  expeft 
that  we  (hould  exactly  underftand  all  thefe. 
It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  thefe  oc- 
casion doubts,  difficulties,  miftakes.  And 
it  is  certain,  that  the  being  ignorant  of 
fome  of  thefe,  is  no  blemilh,  either  to  the 
facred  writings,  or  to  the  perfons  who  read 
and  ffudy  them.  Suppofe  I  <!o  not  know 
what  the  houfe  of  Afuppim  is,  1  Chron. 
xx\  i.  ic.  or  what  kind  of  trees  the  Almug 
or  Algum  trees  are,  1  Kings  x. !  2.  !  Chron. 
xx.  8.  or  who  a,-e  meant  by  the  Gamma- 
dim,  hzek.  xxvii.  11.  What  though  I 
am  not  fo  well  (killed  in  the  Jewifh  modes 
and  fafhtons,  as  to  tell  what  kind  of  wo- 
men's ornament  the  houi'es  of  the  foul  are, 
in  If  iii.  zo.  or  what  particular  idols  or 
Pagan  deities  Gad  and  Meni  are,  If.  lxv. 
s  x.  or  which  of  the  Heathen  gods  is  meant 
by  Chiun  or  Remphan,  Amos  v.  26.  Acts 
vii.  4.3.  Some  of  the  molt  learned  expofi- 
tois  and  critics  have  confefied  their  igno-: 
ranee  as  to  thefe  places  of  fcripture ;  par- 
ticularly upon  the  laft  of  them  our  pro- 
found antiquary,  Stlden,  hath  thefe  de- 
fpairing  words  :  For  my  part  I  perceive 
my  blindnefs  to  be  fuch,  that  I  can  fee  no- 
thing at  all  !  And  to  the  fame  purpofe 
this  admirable  perfon  fpeaks  concerning 
feveral  other  paflages  in  Scripture,  as  of 
Nifhroc,  Nergal,  and  other  idols  mentioned 
there,  the  origin  and  meaning  of  which 
names  are  hid  from  us.  Many  other  rea- 
fens  might  be  alledged  of  the  real  or  feem- 
ing  difficulty  of  fome  places,  namely,  the 
fublimity  of  the  matter,  the  ambiguity  and 
different  ffgnifications  of  the  words,  the 
inadvertency  of  expofitors,  and  fometimes 
their    unflcilfulnefs,    and   oftentimes    their 

wilful 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


wilful  defigning  to  pervert  the  words,  in 
'  order  to  the  maintaining  Come  opinions  or 
pra&ices  which  they  adhere  to.  But  no 
man  of  a  fedate  mind  and  reafon  can  think, 
that  the  Scriptures  themfelves  are  difpa- 
raged  by  thefe  difficulties  and  miltakes ; 
for  they  are  not  arguments  of  the  Scrip- 
ture's imperfection,  but  of  man's.  Befides, 
thefe  obfcurities,  which  are  accompanied 
with  the  various  ways  of  rendering  fome 
expreffions,  and  determining  the  fenfe,  are 
no  proof  of  the  imperfe&ion  of  this  holy 
book,  becaufe  in  matters  of  faith  and  man- 
ners, which  are  the  main  things  we  are 
concerned  in,  and  for  which  the  Bible  was 
chiefly  writ,  thefe  writings  are  plain  and 
intelligible.  All  neceflary  and  fundamen- 
tal points  of  religion  are  fet  down  here  in 
fuch  expreffions  as  are  fuitable  to  the  ca- 
pacities of  the  molt  fimple  and  vulgar. 
God  hath  gracioufly  condefcended  to  the 
infirmities  of  the  meaneft  and  moil  un- 
learned by  {peaking  to  them  in  thefe  writ- 
ings after  the  manner  of  men,  and  by  pro- 
pounding the  greateit  myfteries  in  a  fami- 
liar ftyle  and  way.  The  Scripture,  fo  far 
as  it  relates  to  our  belief  and  practice,  is 
very  eafy  and  plain,  yea,  much  plainer 
than  the  glofies  and  comments  upon  it  of- 
tentimes are.  In  a  word,  molt  of  the 
places  of  Scripture  call  not  for  an  inter- 
preter, but  a  pradtifer.  As  for  other  paf- 
fages,  which  are  obfcure  and  intricate,  but 
which  are  very  few  in  refpeft  of  thofe  that 
are  plain,  they  were  defigned,  as  hath  been 
already  fuggeftecl,  to  employ  our  more  in- 
quiiitive  and  elaborate  thoughts,  and  to 
whet  our  induftry  in  the  ftudying  of  this 
holy  volume ;  that  at  laft,  when  we  have 
thehappinefs  of  retrieving  the  loft  fenfe  of 
the  words,  and  reftonng  them  to  their  ge- 
nuine meaning,  we  may  the  more  prize  our 
acqueft  which  hath  coil  us  fome  pains.  Or, 
if  after  all  our  attempts  we  cannot  reach 
the  true  meaning,  we  have  reafon  to  en- 
tertain reverend  thoughts  of  thofe  difficult 
texts  of  Scripture,  and  to  perfuade  our- 
felves,  that  they  are  worthy  of  the  divine 
Enditer,  though  our  weak  minds  cannot 
comprehend  them.  If  human  authors  de- 
light to  darken  their  writings  fometimes, 
and  it  is  accounted  no  blemifh,  furely  we 
may  conclude,  that  the  myfteries  of  the 
facred  and  infpired  ftyle  are  rather  an  en- 
hancement than  a  diminution  of  its  excel- 
lency. Shall  we  not  think  it  fit  to  deal  as 
fairly  with  the  facred  code,  as  Socrates  did 
with  Heraclitus'  writings,  that  is,  not  only 


265 


pronounce  fo  much  as  we  underftand  of 
them  to  be  excellent  and  admirable,  but 
believe  alfo,  that  what  we  do  not  under- 
ftand is  fo  too  ?  It  is  certainly  an  undeni- 
able truth,  that  neither  the  wifdom  of  God, 
nor  the  credit  of  this  infpired  book,  are 
impaired  by  any  difficulties  we  find  in  it. 

Ed-uuards. 

§  192.      The  Bible  fuperior  to  all  other  books. 

In  what  other  writings  can  we  defers 
thofe  excellencies  which  we  find  in  the  Bi- 
ble ?  None  of  them  can  equal  it  in  anti- 
quity ;  for  the  firft  penman  of  the  Sacred 
Scripture  hath  the  ftavt  of  all  philofophers, 
poets  and  hiftorians,  and  is  absolutely  the 
ancienteft  writer  extant  in  the  world.  No 
writings  are  equal  to  thefq  of  the  Bible,  if 
we  mention  only  the  ftock  of  human  learn- 
ing contained  in  them.  Here  linguifts  and 
philologifts  may  find  that  which  is  to  be 
found  no  where  elfe.  Here  rhetoricians 
and  orators  may  be  entertained  with  a  more 
lofcy  eloquence,  with  a  choicer  compofure 
of  words,  and  with  a  greater  variety  of 
ftyle,  than  any  other  writers  can  afford 
them.  Here  is  a  book,  where  more  is 
underftood  than  exprefled,  where  words  are 
few,  but  the  fenfe  is  full  and  redundant. 
No  books  equal  this  in  authority,  becaufe 
it  is  the  Wo:  d  of  God  himfelf,  and  dictated 
by  an  unerring  Spirit.  It  excels  all  other 
writings  in  the  excellency  of  its  matter, 
which  is  the  higheft,  nobleft,  and  worthieft, 
and  of  the  greateft  concern  to  mankind. 
LaPrly,  the  Scriptures  tranfeend  all  other 
writings  in  their  power  and  efficacy. — 

Wherefore,  with  great  ferioufnefs  and 
importunity,  I  requeft  the  reader  that  he 
would  entertain  fuch  thoughts  and  perfua- 
fions  as  thefe,  that  Bible-learning  is  the 
higheft  accomplishment,  that  this  book  is 
the  molt  valuable  of  any  upon  earth,  that 
here  is  a  library  in  one  fingle  volume,  that 
this  alone  is  fufficient  for  us,  though  all  the 
libraries  in  the  world  were  deftroyed. 

Ed-xuards. 

§  193.     All  the  religious  knowledge  in  the 
ivorld  derived  from  Revelation. 

Deifm,  or  the  principles  of  natural  wor- 
fhip,  are  only  the  faint  remnants  or  dying 
flames  of  revealed  religion  in  the  pofterity 
of  Noah ;  and  our  modern  philofophers, 
nay,  and  fome  of  our  philofophifing  divines, 
have  too  much  exalted  the  faculties  of  our 
fouls,  when  they  have  maintained  that  by 
their  force,  mankind  has  been  able  to  find 

out 


t66 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


out  that  there  is  one  fupreme  agent  or  in- 
tellectual being  which  we  call  God ;  that 
praife  and  prayer  are  his  due  worfhip ;  and 
the  reft  of  thofe  deducements,  which  I  am 
confident  are  the  remote  effedis  of  revela- 
tion, and  unattainable  by  our  difcourfe,  I 
mean  as  fimply  confidered,  and  without  the 
benefit  of  divine  illumination.     So  that  we 
have  not  lifted  up  ourfelves  to  God  by  the 
weak  pinions  of"  our  reafon,  but  he  has 
been  pleafed  to  defcend  to  us ;  and  what 
Socrates  faid  of  him,  what  Plato  writ,  and 
the  reft  of  the  Heathen  philofophers  of  fe- 
deral nations,  is  all  no  more  than  the  twi- 
light of  revelation,  after  the  fun  of  it  was 
fet  in  the  race  of  Noah.     That  there  is 
fomething  above  us,  fome  principle  of  mo- 
tion, our  reafon  can  apprehend,  though  it 
cannot  difcover  what  it  is  by  its  own  vir- 
tue.    And   indeed   'tis   very   improbable, 
that  we,  who  by  the  ftrength  of  our  facul- 
ties  cannot  enter  into   the  knowledge  of 
any  being,  not  fo  much  as   of  cur  own, 
fhould  be  able  to  find  out  by  them  that 
Supreme  Nature,  which  we  cannot  other- 
wile  define  than  by  faying  it  is  infinite ;  as 
if  infinite  were  definable,  or  infinity  a  fub- 
jecl  for  our  narrow  underftanding.     They 
who  would  prove  religion  by  reafon,  do 
but  weaken  the  caufe  which  they  endea- 
vour to  fupport.     It  is  to  take  away  the 
pillars  from    our  faith,  and  prop  it  only 
with  a  twig;  it  is  to  defign  a  tower  like 
that  of  Babel,  which,  if  it  were  poffible, 
as  it  is  not,  to  reach  heaven,  would  come  to 
nothing  by  the  confufion  of  the  workmen. 
For  every  man  is  building  a  feveral  way  ; 
impotently  conceited   of  his  own  model, 
and  of  his  own  materials.     Reafon  is  al- 
ways ftriving,  always  at  a  Iofs ;  and  of  ne- 
ceflity  it  muft  fo  come  to  pafs,  while  it  is 
exercifed  about  that  which  is  not  its  proper 
objea.     Let  us  be  content  at  laft  to  know 
God    by   his  own   methods ;   at   leaft   fo 
much  of  him  as  he  is  pleafed  to  reveal  to  us 
in  the  Sacred  Scriptures.     To  apprehend 
them  to  be  the  Word  of  God,  is  all  cur 
reafon  has  to  do ;  for  all  beyond  it  is  the 
work  of  faith,  which  is  the  feal  of  Heaven 
imprefled  upon  our  human  underftanding. 

Dryden. 

S  194.     The  nveaknefs  of  Infidels,  with  the 
Unbeliever's  Creed. 

The  publication  of  Lord  Bolingbroke's 
pofthumous  works  has  given  new  life  and 
fpirit  to  free- thinking.  We  feem  at  pre- 
fent  to  be  endeavouring  to  unlearn  our  ca- 


chifm,  with  all  that  we  have-  been  taught 
about  religion,  in  order  to  model  our  faith 
to  the  fafhion  of  his  lordfhip's  fyftem.  We 
have  now  nothing  to  do,  but  to  throw 
away  our  Bibles,  turn  the  churches  into 
theatres,  and  rejoice  that  an  aft  of  parlia- 
ment now  in  force,  gives  us  an  opportu- 
nity of  getting  rid  of  the  clergy  by  tranf- 
portation.  J  was  in  hopes  the  extraordi- 
nary price  of  thofe  volumes  would  have 
confined  their  influence  to  perfons  of  qua- 
lity. As  they  are  placed  above  extreme 
indigence  and  abfolute  want  of  bread,  their 
loofe  notions  would  have  carried  them  no 
farther  than  cheating  at  cards,  or  perhaps, 
plundering  their  country :  but  if  thefe  opi- 
nions fpread  among  the  vulgar,  we  (hall  be 
knocked  down  at  noon -day  in  our  ftreets, 
and  nothing  will  go  forward  but  robberies 
and  murders. 

The  inftances  I  have  lately  feen  of  free- 
thinking  in  the  lower  part  of  the  world, 
make  me  fear,  they  are  going  to  be  as  fa- 
fhionable  and  as  wicked  as  their  betters. 
I  went  the  other  night  to  the  Robin  Hood, 
where  it  is  ufual  for  the  advocates  againft 
religion  to  aflemble  and  openly  avow  their 
infidelity.      One  of  the  queftions   for  the 
night  was—Whether  lord  Bolingbroke  had 
not  done  greater  fervices  to  mankind  by 
his  writings,  than  the  Apofllcs  or  Evange- 
Iifts?— As  this  fociety  is  chiefly  compofed 
of  lawyers'  clerks,  petty    trad'efmen,  and 
the  loweft  mechanics,  I   was  at  firft  fur- 
prized  at  fuch  amazing  erudition   among 
them.     Toland,  Tindal,   Collins,    Chubb, 
and  Mandeville,  they  feemed  to  have  got 
by   heart.     A   fhoe-maker  harangued  his 
five  minutes  upon  the  excellence  of  the  te- 
nets maintained  by  lord  Bolingbroke  ;  but 
I  ioon  found  that  his  reading  had  not  been 
extended    beyond    the  idea    of  a    patriot 
king,  which  he  had  miftaken  for  a  glorious 
fyftem  of  free-thinking.     I  could  not  help 
fmihng  at  another  of  the  company,  who 
took  pains  to  fhew  his  difbelief  of  the  gof- 
pel  by  unfainting  the  apoftles,  and  calling 
them  by  no  other  title  than  plain  Paul  or 
plain  Peter.     The  proceedings  of  this  fo- 
ciety have  indeed  almoft  induced  me  to 
wxlh  that  (like  the  Roman  Catholics)  they 
were  not  permitted  to  read  the  Bible,  rather 
than  that  they  fhould  read  it  only  to  a- 
bufe  it. 

I  have  frequently  heard  many  wife 
tradefmen  fettling  the  moft  important  arti- 
cles of  our  faith  over  a  pint  of  beer.  A 
baker  took  occafion  from  Canning's  affair 

to 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


267 


to  maintain,  in  opposition  to  the  Scriptures, 
that  man  might  live  by  bread  alone,  at 
Jeaft  that  woman  might ;  for  elfe,  faid  he, 
how  could  the  girl  have  been  fupported 
for  a  whule  monch  by  a  few  hard  cruris  r 
In  anfwer  to  this,  a  barber-furgeon  fet 
forth  the  improbability  of  that  ftory  ;  and 
thence  inferred,  that  it  was  inipoflible  for 
Our  Savioui  to  have  failed  forty  days  in  the 
Vv'.;  [erh  fs.  I  lately  heard  a  midfhipman 
that  the  3ible  was  all  a  lie;  for  he 
ail  -d  round  the  world  with  lord  Anion, 
cid  if  there  had  been  any  Red  Sea  he  mult 
have  met  with  it.  I  know  a  brick-layer, 
v  'o.  while  he  was  working  by  line  and 
rule,  and  carefully  laying  one  brick  upon 
another,  vould  argue  with  a  fellow- labourer 
that  the  world  whs  made  by  chance ;  and 
a  cook,  w  10  thought  more  of  his  trade, 
than  his  Bible,  in  a  difpute  cone  rning  the 
mirac'  s,  made  a  plcatant  miftake  about 
the  fiat,  and  gravely  aiked  his  antagonift 
what  ho  thought  of  the  fupper  at  Cana. 

This  affectation  or  free  thinking  among 
the  lower  dais  of  people,  is  at  prefent  hap- 
pily confined  to  the  men.  On  Sundays, 
wnile  the  hulhaads  are  toping  at  the  ale- 
houfe,  the  good  women,  their  wives,  think 
it  their  duty  to  go  to  church,  fay  their 
prayers,  bring  home  the  text,  and  hear  the 
children  their  catechifm.  But  our  polite 
ladies  are,  I  fear,  in  their  lives  and  con- 
vcrfations  little  better  than  free-thinkers. 
Going  to  church,  fince  it  is  now  no  longer 
the  falhion  to  carry  on  intrigues  there,  is 
almoft  wholly  laid  afide  :  and  i  verily  be- 
lieve, that  nothing  but  another  earthquake 
can  fill  the  churches  with  people  of  quality. 
The  fair  fex  in  general  are  too  thoughtlefs 
to  concern  themfelves  in  deep  enquiries 
into  matters  of  religion.  It  is  furhcient 
that  they  are  taught  to  believe  them- 
felves angels.  It  would  therefore  be  an 
ill  compliment,  while  we  talk  of  the  hea- 
ven they  beftow,  to  perfuade  them  into  the 
Mahometan  notion,  that  they  have  no 
fouls ;  though,  perhaps,  our  fine  gentle- 
men may  imagine,  that  by  convincing  a 
lady  that  fhe  has  no  foul,  (he  will  be  lefs 
fcrupulous  about  the  difpofal  of  her  body. 

The  ridiculous  notions  maintained  by 
free-thinkers  in  their  writings,  fcarce  de- 
ferve  a  ferious  refutation ;  and  perhaps 
the  beft  method  of  anfwering  them  would 
be  to  feledl  from  their  works  all  the  ab- 
furd  and  impracticable  notions,  which  they 
fo  ftiffly  maintain  in  order  to  evade  the  be- 
lief of  the  Chriftian  religion.     I  (hall  here 


throw  together  a  few  of  their  principal  te- 
nets, under  the  contradictory  title  of 
The  Unbeliever' 'j  Creed. 

I  believe  that  there  is  no  God,  but  that 
matter  is  God,  and  God  is  matter ;  and 
that  it  is  no  matter  whether  there  is  any 
God  or  no. 

I  believe  alfo,  that  the  world  was  not 
made  ;  that  the  world  made  itfelf ;  that  it 
had  no  beginning  ;  that  it  will  lad  for 
ever,  world  without  end. 

I  believe  that  a  man  is  a  beaft,  that  the 
foul  is  the  body,  and  the  body  is  the  foul ; 
and  that  after  death  there  is  neither  body 
nor  foul. 

I  believe  that  there  is  no  religion ;  that 
natural  religion  is  the  only  religion ;  and 
that  all  religion  is  unnatural.  I  believe 
not  in  Mofes ;  I  believe  in  the  firft  philo- 
sophy ;  I  believe  not  the  Evangelifts ;  I 
believe  in  Chubb,  Collins,  Toland,  Tin- 
dal,  Morgan,  Mandeville,  Woolilon, 
Hobbes,  Shaftelbury ;  I  believe  in  lord 
Bolingbroke ;  I  believe  not  St.  Paul. 

I  believe  not  revelation  ;  I  believe  in 
tradition  ;  I  believe  in  the  Talmud ;  I  be- 
lieve in  the  Alcoran ;  I  believe  not  the 
Bible  ;  I  believe  in  Socrates  ;  I  believe  in 
Confucius ;  I  believe  in  Sanconiathan ;  I 
believe  in  Mahomet ;  I  believe  not  in 
Chrift. 

Laftly,  I  believe  in  all  unbelief. 

Anonymous. 

§  195.  A  moral  demonft  ration  of  the  truth  tf 
the  Chriftian  religion. 

This  difcourfe,  of  all  the  difputables 
in  the  world,  (hall  require  the  feweft  things 
to  be  granted ;  even  nothing  but  what 
was  evident ;  even  nothing  but  the  very 
fubjeel  of  the  quellion,  viz.  That  there 
was  fuch  a  man  as  Jefus  Chrift;  that  he 
pretended  fuch  things,  and  taught  fuch 
doctrines :  for  he  that  will  prove  thefe 
things  to  be  from  God,  muft  be  allowed 
that  they  were  from  fomething  or  other. 

But  this  poftulate  I  do  not  afk  for  need, 
but  for  order's  fake  and  art ;  for  what  the 
hiflories  of  that  age  reported  as  a  public 
affair,  as  one  of  the  molt  eminent  trans- 
actions of  the  world,  that  which  made  fo 
muchnoife,  which  caufed  fo  many  changes, 
which  occafioned  fo  many  wars,  which  di- 
vided fo  many  hearts,  which  altered  fo 
many  families,  which  procured  fo  many 
deaths,  which  obtained  fo  many  laws  in 
favour,  and  fuffered  fo  many  refcripts  in 
the  disfavour,  of  ittlf;   that  which  was 

not 


268 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


not  done  in  a  corner,  but  was  thirty-three 
years  and  more  in  acting ;  which  caufed  fo 
many  feels,  and  was   oppofed  by  fo  much 
art,  and  fo  much  power  that  it  might  not 
grow,  which  rilled  the  world  with  noife, 
which  effected  fuch  great  changes  in  the 
bodies  of  men  by  curing  the  difeafed,  and 
fmiting    the    contumacious    or  the  hypo- 
crites, which  drew  fo  many  eyes,  and  rilled 
fo  many  tongues,  and  employed  fo  many 
pens,  and  was  the  care  and  the  queftion 
of  the  whole  world  at  that  time,  and  im- 
mediately  after;  that  which  was  configned 
bv  public  acts  and  records  of  courts,  which 
was  in  the  books  of  friends  and  enemies, 
which  came  accompanied   and    remarked 
with  eclipfes    and  ftars  and  prodigies  of 
heaven  and  earth ;  that  which  the   Jews 
even  in  fpite  and  againft  their  wills  con- 
feffed,  and  which  the  witty  adverfaries  in- 
tending to  overthrow,  could  never  fo  much 
as  challenge  of  want  of  truth  in  the  matter 
of  fad  and  ftory ;    that  which   they  who 
are  infinitely  concerned  that  it  mould  not 
be  believed,  or  more,  that  it  had  never 
been,  do  yet  only  labour  to  make  it  appear 
not  to  have  been  divine :  certainly,  this 
thing  is  fo  certain  that  it  was,  that  the  de- 
fenders of  it  need  not  account  it  a  kind- 
nefs   to  have  it   prefuppofed ;   for   never 
was   any  ftory  in   the  world  that  had   fo 
many  degrees  of  credibility,   as   the  ftory 
of  the  perfon,   life,  and  death,  of  Jefus 
Chrift :    and  if  he  had  not  been  a  true 
prophet,  yet  that  he  was  in  the  world,  and 
faid  and  did  fuch  things,  cannot  be  denied ; 
for  even  concerning  Mahomet  we  make 
no  queftion  but  he  was  in  the  world,  and 
led  a  great  part  of  mankind  after  him,  and 
what  was  lefs  proved  we  infinitely  believe  : 
and  what  all  men  fay,  and  no  man  denies, 
and  was  notorious  in  itfelf,  of  this  we  may 
make  further  inquiries  whether  it  was  all 
that  which  it  pretended;  for  that   it   did 
make   pretences   and    was   in    the  world, 
needs  no  more  probation. 

B.it  now,  whether  Jefus  Chrift  was  fent 
from  God  and  delivered  the  will  of  God, 
wc  are  to  take  accounts  from  all  the  things 
of  the  world  which  were  on  him,  or  about 
hiirij  or  from  him. 

Bijhop  Taylor. 

§  196.    Confederations  re/petting  the  Perfcn 
of  Jefus  Chrift, 

I.  Confider,    firft,   his  perfon:  he   was 

old  by  all   the  prophets  :    he,  I  fay, 

hat     appears    >y     the     event,     and 

the  correfnondencie:   of  their   fayings   to 


this  perfon  :  he  was  defcribed  by  infal- 
lible charatterilms,  which  did  fit  him,  and 
did  never  fit  any  but  him;  for,  when  he 
was  born,  then  was  the  fulnefs  of  time, 
and  the  Meflias  was  expected  at  the  time 
when  Jefus  did  appear,  which  gave  occa- 
fion  to  many  of  the  godly  then  to  wait  for 
him,  and  to  hope  to  live  till  the  time  of 
his  revelation :  and  they  did  fo,  and  with 
a  fpirit  of  prophecy,  which  their  own 
nation  did  confefs  and  honour,  glorified 
God  at  the  revelation  :  and  the  moft  ex- 
cellent and  devout  perfons  that  were  con- 
fpicuous  for  their  piety  did  then  rejoice  in 
him,  and  confefs  him  ;  and  the  expectation 
of  him  at  that  time  was  fo  public  and  fa- 
mous, that  it  gave  occafion  to  divers  im- 
porters to  abufe  the  credulity  of  the  peo- 
ple, in  pretending  to  be  the  Meffias ;  but 
not  only  the  predictions  of  the  time,  and 
the  perfect  Synchronisms,  did  point  him 
out,  but  at  his  birth  a  ftrange  ftar  appeared, 
which  guided  certain  Levantine  princes 
and  fages  to  the  inquiry  after  him ;  a 
ftrange  ftar,  which  had  an  irregular  place 
and  an  irregular  motion,  that  came  by  de- 
fign,  and  acted  by  counfel,  the  coumel  of 
the  Almighty  Guide,  it  moved  from  place 
to  place,  till  it  ftood  juft  over  the  houfe 
where  the  babe  did  fleep ;  a  ftar,  of  which 
the  Heathen  knew  much,  who  knew  no- 
thing of  him ;  a  ftar,  which  Chalcidius 
affirmed  to  have  fignified  the  defcent  of 
God  for  the  falvation  of  man  ;  a  ftar,  that 
guided  the  wife  Chaldees  to  worfhip  him 
with  gifts  (as  the  fame  difciple  of  Plato 
does  affirm,  and)  as  the  holy  Scriptures 
deliver;  and  this  ftar  could  be  no  fecret ; 
it  troubled  all  the  country;  it  put  Herod 
upon  ftrange  arts  of  fecurity  for  his  king- 
dom ;  it  effected  a  fad  tragedy  accidentally, 
for  it  occafioned  the  death  of  all  the  lit- 
tle babes  in  the  city,  and  voifmage  of 
Bethlehem :  but  the  birth  of  this  young 
child,  which  was  thus  glorified  by  a  ftar, 
was  alfo  fignified  by  an  angel,  and  was 
effected  by  the  holy  Spirit  of  God,  in  a 
manner  which  was  in  itfelf  fupernatural  ; 
a  virgin  was  his  mother,  and  God  was  his 
father,  and  his  beginning  was  miraculous ; 
and  this  matter  of  his  birth  of  a  virgin 
was  proved  to  an  interefted  and  jealous 
perfon,  even  to  Jofeph,  the  fuppofed  fa- 
ther of  Jefus ;  it  was  affirmed  publicly  by 
all  his  family,  and  by  all  his  difciples, 
and  published  in  the  midft  of  all  his  ene- 
mies, who  by  no  artifice  could  reprove  it ; 
a  matter  fo  famous,  that  when  it  was 
urged  as  an  argument  to  prove  Jefus  to 

be 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


269 


be  the  Meffias,  by  the  force  of  a  prophecy 
in  I  fa' ah,  "  A  Virgin  fhall  conceive  a 
Son,"  they  who  obitinately  refufed  to  ad- 
mit him,  did  not  deny  the  matter  of  fact, 
but  denied  that  it  was  fo  meant  by  the 
prophet,  which,  if  it  were  true,  can  only 
prove  that  Jefus  was  more  excellent  than 
was  foretold  by  the  prophet;;,  but  that 
there  was  nothing  lefs  in  him  than  was 
to  be  in  the  Mefhas ;  it  was  a  matter  fo 
famous,  that  the  Arabian  phyncians,  who 
can  affirm  no  iuch  things  of  their  Mahomet, 
and  yet  not  being  able  to  deny  it  to  be 
true  of  the  holy  Jefus,  endeavour  to  alle- 
viate and  lellen  the  thing,  by  faying, 
It  is  not  wholly  beyond  the  force  of  nature, 
that  a  virgin  mould  conceive;  fo  that  it 
was  on  all  hands  undeniable,  that  the  mo- 
ther of  Jefus  was  a  virgin,  a  mother  with- 
out a  man. 

This  is  that  Jefus,  at  whofe  prefence, 
before  he  was  born,  a  babe  in  his  mother's 
belly  alfo  did  leap  for  joy,  who  vyas  alfo 
a  perfon  extraordinary  himfelf,  conceived 
in  his  mother's  old  age,  after  a  long  bar- 
rennefs,  fignified  by  an  angel  in  the  temple, 
to  his  father  officiating  his  prieftly  office, 
who  was  alfo  ftruck  dumb  for  his  not  pre- 
ient  believing :  all  the  people  faw  it,  and 
all  his  kindred  were  witnefTes  of  his  refti- 
tuticn,  and  he  was  named  by  the  angel, 
and  his  office  declared  to  be  the  fore-runner 
of  the  holy  Jefus ;  and  this  alfo  was  fore- 
told by  one  of  the  old  prophets ;  for  the 
whole  ftory  of  this  divine  perfon  is  a  chain 
of  providence  and  wonder,  every  link  of 
which  is  a  verification  of  a  prophecy,  and 
all  of  it  is  that  thing  which,  from  Adam 
to  the  birth  .of  Jefus,  was  pointed  at 
and  hinted  by  all  the  prophets,  whofe 
words  in  him  paffed  perfectly  into  the 
event. 

This  is  that  Jefus,  who,  as  he  was 
born  without  a  father,  fo  he  was  learned 
without  a  matter :  he  was  a  man  without 
age,  a  doftor  in  a  child's  garment,  dif- 
puting  in  the  fanctuary  at  twelve  years 
old.  He  was  a  Ibjourner  in  Egypt,  be- 
caufe  the  poor  babe,  born  of  an  indigent 
mother,  was  a  formidable  rival  to  a  po- 
tent King ;  and  this  fear  could  not  come 
from  the  defign  of  the  infant,  but  muft 
needs  arife  from  the  illuftrioufnefs  of  the 
birth,  and  the  propheciei  of  the  child, 
and  the  fayings  of  the  learned,  and  the 
journey  of  the  wife  men,  and  the  decrees 
of  God  ;  this  journey  and  the  return  were 
both  managed  by  the  conduct  of  an  angel 


and  a  divine  dream,  for  to  the  Son  of  God 
all  the  angels  did  rejoice  to  minifter. 

This  blefled  perfon,  made  thus  excellent 
by  his  Father,  and  glorious  by  miraculous 
confignations,  and  illuftrious  by  the  miniftry 
cf  heavenly  fpirits,  and  proclaimed  to 
Mary  and  to  Jofeph  by  two  angels,  to 
the  fhepherds  by  a  multitude  of  the  hea- 
venly hoft,  to  the  wife  men  by  a  prophecy 
and  by  a  ftar,  to  the  ]e\vs  by  the  fhepherds, 
to  the  Gentiles  by  the  three  wife  men,  to 
Herod  by  the  doctors  of  the  law,  and  to 
himfelf  perfeftly  known  by  the  inchafing 
his  human  nature  in  the  bofom  and  heart 
of  God,  and  by  the  fulnefs  of  the  Spirit 
of  God,  was  yet  pleafed  for  thirty  years 
together  to  live  an  humble,  a  laborious,  a 
chafte  and  a  devout,  a  regular  and  an 
even,  a  wife  and  an  exemplar,  a  pious 
and  an  obfcure  life,  without  complaint, 
without  fin,  without  defign  of  fame,  or 
grandeur  of  fpirit,  till  the  time  came  that 
the  clefts  of  the  rock  were  to  open,  and 
the  diamond  give  its  luftre,  and  be  worn  in 
the  diadems  of  kings,  and  then  this  per- 
fon was  wholly  admirable ;  for  he  was 
ulhered  into  the  world  by  the  voice  of 
a  loud  crier  in  the  wildernefs,  a  perfon 
auftere  and  wife,  of  a  ftrange  life,  full 
of  holinefs  and  full  of  hardnefs,  and  a 
great  preacher  of  righteoufnefs,  a  man 
believed  by  all  the  people  that  he  came 
from  God,  one  who  in  his  own  nation  ga- 
thered difciples  publicly,  and  (which 
arnongft  them  was  a  great  matter)  he 
was  the  doctor  of  a  new  inftitution,  and 
baptized  all  the  country ;  yet  this  man, 
fo  great,  fo  revered,  fo  followed,  fo  liftened 
to  by  king  and  people,  by  doctors  and  by 
idiots,  by  Pharifees  and  Sadducees,  this 
man  preached  Jefus  to  the  people,  pointed 
out  the  Lamb  of  God,  told  that  he  muft 
increafe,  and  himfelf  from  all  that  fame 
muft  retire  to  give  him  place;  he  received 
him  to  baptifm,  after  having  with  duty 
and  modefty  declared  his  own  unworthinefs 
to  give,  but  rather  a  worthinefs  to  receive 
baptifm  from  the  holy  hands  of  Jefus;  but 
at  the  folemnity  God  fent  down  the  Holy 
Spirit  upon  his  holy  Son,  and  by  a  voice 
from  heaven,  a  voice  of  thunder  (and  God 
was  in  that  voice)  declared  that  this  was 
his  Son,  and  that  he  was  delighted  in 
him. 

This  voice  from  heaven  was  fuch,  fo 
evident,  fo  certain  a  conviction  of  what 
it  did  intend  to  prove,  fo  known  and  ac- 
cepted as  the  way  of  divine  revelation 
*  under 


270 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


under  the  fecond  temple,  that  at  that 
time  every  man  that  defired  a  fign  honeftly, 
would  have  been  fatisfied  with  fuch  a  voice ; 
it  being  the  teftimony,  by  which  God  made 
all  extraordinaries  to  be  credible  to  his 
people,  from  the  days  of  Ezra,  to  the 
death  of  the  nation ;  and  that  there  was 
fuch  a  voice,  not  only  then,  but  divers 
times  after,  was  as  certain,  and  made  as 
evident,  as  things  of  that  nature  can  ordi- 
narily be  made.  For  it  being  a  matter  of 
fact,  cannot  be  fuppofed  infinite,  but  limited 
to  time  and  place,  heard  by  a  certain 
number  of  perfons,  and  was  as  a  clap  of 
thunder  upon  ordinary  accounts,  which 
could  be  heard  but  by  thofe  who  were 
within  the  fphere  of  its  own  activity  ;  and 
reported  by  thofe  to  others,  who  are  to 
give  teflimony,  as  teftirr.onies  are  required, 
which  are  credible  under  the  teft  of  two  or 
three  difintereited,  honeft,  and  true  men ; 
and,  though  this  was  done  in  the  prefence 
of  more,  and  oftener  than  once,  yet  it 
was  a  divine  teftimony  but  at  firlt,  but  is 
to  be  conveyed  by  the  means  of  men; 
and,  as  God  thundered  from  heaven  at  the 
giving  of  the  law  (though  that  he  did  fo, 
we  have  notice  only  from  the  books  of 
Mofes,  received  from  the  Jewifh  nation,) 
fo  he  did  in  the  days  of  the  Bap  till,  and 
fo  he  did  to  Peter,  James,  and  John,  and 
fo  he  did  in  the  prefence  of  the  Pharifees 
and  many  of  the  common  people  ;  and,  as 
it  is  not  to  be  fuppofed  that  all  thefe  would 
join  their  divided  interefts,  for  and  again  ft 
themfelves,  for  the  verification  of  a  lie  ; 
fo,  if  they  would  have  done  it,  they 
could  not  have  done  it  without  reproof 
of  their  own  parties,  who  would  have 
been  glad  by  the  difcovery  only  to 
difgrace  the  whole  ftory.  But,  if  the 
report  of  honeft  and  juft  men  fo  re- 
puted, may  be  queftioned  for  matter  of 
fact,  or  may  not  be  accounted  fufficient  to 
make  faith,  when  there  is  no  pretence  of 
men  to  the  contrary,  befides,  that  we  can 
have  no  ftory  tranfmitted  to  us,  no  records 
kept,  no  acts  of  courts,  no  narratives  of 
the  days  of  old,  no  traditions  of  cur  fa- 
thers; fo  there  could  not  be  left  in  nature 
any  ufual  inftrument,  whereby  God  could 
after  the  manner  of  men  declare  his  own 
will  to  us,  but  either  we  fhould  never  know 
the  will  of  Heaven  upon  earth,  or  it  muft 
be,  that  God  muft  not  only  tell  it  once  but 
always,  and  not  only  always  to  fome  men, 
but  always  to  all  men  ;  and  then,  as  there 
would  be  no  ufe  of  hiftory,  or  the  honeily 


of  men,  and  their  faithfulnefs  in  telling  any 
act  of  God  in  declaration  of  his  will,  fo 
there  would  be  perpetual  neceflitv  of  mira- 
cles, and  we  could  not  ferve  God  directly 
with  our  underftanding;  for  there  would 
be  no  fuch  thing  as  faith,  that  is,  of  affent 
without  conviction  of  underftanc'ing,  and 
we  could  not  pleafe  God  with  believing, 
becaufe  there  would  be  in  it  nothing  of 
the  will,  nothing  of  love  and  choice ;  and 
that  faith  which  is,  would  be  like  that  of 
Thomas,  to  believe  what  we  fee  or  hear, 
and  God  fhould  not  at  all  govern  upon 
earth,  unlefs  he  did  continually  come  him- 
felf;  for  thus,  all  government,  all  teachers, 
all  apeftles,  all  meffengers  would  be  need- 
lefs,  becaufe  they  could  not  fnew  to  the 
eye  what  they  told  to  the  ears  of  men ;  and 
it  might  as  well  be  difbelieved  in  all 
courts  and  by  all  princes,  that  this  was 
not  the  letter  of  a  prince,  or  the  act  of 
a  man,  cr  the  writing  of  his  hand,  and 
fo  all  human  intercourfe  muft  ceafe,  and 
all  fenfes,  but  the  eye,  be  ufelefs  as  to 
this  affair,  or  elfe  to  the  ear  all  voices 
muft  be  ftrangers  but  the  principal,  if,  I 
fay,  no  reports  fhall  make  faith.  But  it 
is  certain,  that  when  thefe  voices  were 
fent  from  heaven  and  heard  upon  earth, 
they  prevailed  amongft  many  that  heard 
them  not,  and  difciples  were  multiplied 
upon  fuch  accounts ;  or  elfe  it  muft  be  that 
none,  that  did  hear  them,  could  be  believed 
by  any  of  their  friends  and  neighbours; 
for,  if  they  were,  the  voice  was  as  effective 
at  the  reflex  and  rebound,  as  in  the  direct 
emiffion,  and  could  prevail  with  them  that 
believed  their  brother  or  their  friend,  as 
certainly  as  with  them  that  believed  their 
own  ears  and  eyes. 

I  need  not  fpeak  of  the  vaft  numbers  of 
miracles  which  he  wrought;  miracles, 
which  were  not  more  demonftrations  of 
his  power,  than  of  his  mercy ;  for  they 
had  nothing  of  pompoufnefs  and  oftenta- 
tion,  but  infinitely  of  charity  and  mercy, 
and  that  permanent  and  lafting  and  often : 
he  opened  the  eyes  of  the  blind,  he  made 
the  crooked  ftraight,  he  made  the  weak 
ftrong,  he  cured  fevers  with  the  touch  of 
his  hand,  and  an  ift'ue  of  blood  with  the 
hem  of  his  garment,  and  fore  eyes  with 
the  fpittle  of  his  mouth  and  the  clay  of 
the  earth ;  he  multiplied  the  loaves  and 
fifties,  he  raifed  the  dead  to  life,  a  young 
maiden,  the  widow's  fon  of  Nairn,  and 
Lazarus,  and  caft  out  devils  by  the  word 
of  his  mouth,  which  he  could  never  do, 

but 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


271 


but  by  the  power  of  God.  For  Satan  does 
not  caftout  Satan,  nor  a  houfe  fight  againft 
itfelf,  if  it  means  to  ftand  long ;  and  the 
devil  could  not  help  jefus,  becaufe  the 
holy  Jefus  taught  men  virtue,  called  them 
from  the  worfnipping  devils,  taught  them 
to  refift  the  devil,  to  lay  afide  all  thofe 
abominable  idolatries  by  which  the  devil 
doth  rule  in  the  hearts  of  men :  he  taught 
men  to  love  God,  to  fly  from  temptations 
to  fin,  to  hate  and  avoid  all  thofe  things 
of  which  the  devil  is  guilty;  for  Chriftia- 
nity  forbids  pride,  envy,  malice,  lying,  and 
yet  affirms,  that  the  devil  is  proud,  envious, 
malicious,  and  the  father  of  lies ;  and  there- 
fore, wherever  Chriltianity  prevails,  the 
devil  is  not  worshipped,  and  therefore,  he 
that  can  think  that  a  man  without  the 
power  of  God  could  overturn  the  devil's 
principles,  crofs  his  defigns,  weaken  his 
ftrength,  baffle  him  in  his  policies,  befool 
him  and  turn  him  out  of  poffeflion,  and 
make  him  open  his  own  mouth  againft 
himfelf,  as  he  did  often,  and  confefs  him- 
felf  conquered  by  Jefus,  and  tormented, 
as  the  oracle  did  to  Auguitus  Caefar,  and 
the  devil  to  Jefus  himfelf;  he,  I  fay,  that 
thinks  a  mere  man  can  do  this,  knows  not 
the  weaknefl'es  of  a  man,  nor  the  power  of 
an  angel ;  but  he  that  thinks  this  could  be 
done  by  compact,  and  by  confent  of 
the  devil,  mull  think  him  to  be  an  intel- 
ligence without  understanding,  a  power 
without  force,  a  fool  and  a  fot  to  afiift  a 
power  againft  himfelf,  and  to  perfecute 
the  power  he  did  afiift,  to  ftir  up  the 
world  to  deftroy  the  ChriiUans,  whofe 
Mafter  and  Lord  he  did  afiift  to  deftroy 
himfelf;  and,  when  we  read  that  Porphy- 
rias an  Heathen,  a  profefTed  enemy  to 
Chriftianity,  did  fay,  lnai  ti/^o^^b  t»«  Seu» 
oyifAoalce,;  »^»Aes«{  a*  jja-S/lo,  that  fince  Jefus 
was  worshipped,  the  gods  could  help  no 
man,  that  is,  the  gods  which  they  wor- 
fhipped;  the  poor  baffled  enervated  dae- 
mons :  he  muft  either  think  that  the  devils 
are  as  foolifh  as  they  are  weak,  or  elfe, 
that  they  did  nothing  towards  this  decli- 
nation of  their  power;  and  therefore  that 
they  fuffer  it  by  a  power  higher  than  them- 
felves,  that  is,  by  the  power  of  God  in  the 
hand  of  Jefus. 

But,  befides  that  God  gave  teftimony 
from  heaven  concerning  him,  he  alfo  gave 
this  teftimony  of  himfelf  to  have  come  from 
God,  becaufe  that  ."  he  did  God's  will ;" 
for  he  that  is  a  good  man  and  lives,  by  the 
laws  of  God  and  of  his  nation,  a  life  inno- 


cent and  fnnple,  prudent  and  wife,  holy 
and  fpotlefs,  unreprcved  and  unfufpefted, 
he  is  certainly  by  all  wife  men  faid  in  a 
good  fenfe  to  be  the  fon  of  God;  but 
he  who  does  well  and  fpeaks  well,  and  calls 
all  men  to  glorify  and  ferve  God,  and 
ferves  no  ends  but  of  holinefs  and  charity, 
of  wifdom  of  hearts  and  reformation  of 
manners,  this  man  carries  great  authority 
in  his  fayings,  and  ought  to  prevail  with 
good  men  in  good  things,  for  good  ends, 
which  is  all  that  is  here  required. 

But  his  nature  was  fo  fweet,  his  man- 
ners fo  humble,  his  words  fo  wife  and 
compofed,  his  comportment  fo  grave  and 
winning,  his  anfwers  fo  feafonable,  his 
queflions  fo  deep,  his  reproof  fo  fevere  and 
charitable,  his  pity  fo  great  and  merciful, 
his  preachings  fo  full  of  reafon  and  holi- 
nefs, of  weight  and  authority,  his  conver- 
fation  fo  ufeful  and  beneficent,  his  poverty 
great  but  his  alms  frequent,  his  family  fo 
holy  and  religious,  his  and  their  employ- 
ment fo  profitable,  his  meeknefs  fo  incom- 
parable, his  paflions  without  difference, 
fave  only  where  zeal  or  pity  carried  him 
on  to  worthy  and  apt  expreflions,  a  perfon 
that  never  laughed,  but  often  wept  in  a 
fenfe  of  the  calamities  of  others  ;  he  loved 
every  man  and  hated  no  man,  he  gave 
counfel  to  the  doubtful,  and  inftru&ed  the 
ignorant,  he  bound  up  the  broken  hearts, 
and  Strengthened  the  feeble  knees,  he  re- 
lieved the  poor,  and  converted  the  finners, 
he  defpifed  none  that  came  to  him  for 
relief,  and  as  for  thofe  that  did  not,  he 
went  to  them;  he  took  all  occafions  of 
mercy  that  were  offered  him,  and  went 
abroad  for  more ;  he  fpent  his  days  in 
preaching  and  healing,  and  his  nights  in 
prayers  and  converfation  with  God:  he 
was  obedient  to  laws  and  fubjecl:  to  princes, 
though  he  was  the  Prince  of  Judaea  in  right 
of  his  mother,  and  of  all  the  world  in  right 
of  his  father ;  the  people  followed  him,  but 
he  made  no  conventions;  and  when  they 
were  made,  he  fuffered  no  tumults ;  when 
they  would  have  made  him  a  king,  he 
withdrew  himfelf;  when  he  knew  they 
would  put  him  to  death,  he  offered  him- 
felf; he  knew  men's  hearts,  and  converfed 
fecretlv,  and  gave  anfwer  to  their  thoughts 
and  prevented  their  queftions;  he  would 
work  a  miracle  rather  than  give  offence, ' 
and  yet  fuller  every  offence  rather  than 
fee  God  his  father  difhonoured ;  he  ex- 
actly kept  the  law  of  Mofes,  to  which  he 
came  to  put  a  period,  and  yet  chofe  to 

fignify 


2?Z 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


lignify  his  purpofe  only  by  doing  adls  of 
mercy  upon  their  fabbath,  doing  nothing 
which  they  could  call  a  breach  of  a  com- 
mandment, but  healing  fick  people,  a  cha- 
rity, which  themfelves  would  do  to  beafts, 
and  yet  they  were  angry  at  him  for  doing 
it  to  their  brethren. 

In  all  his  life,  and  in  all  his  converfation 
with  his  nation,  he  was  innocent  as  an 
angel  of  light;  and  when,  by  the  greatnefs 
of  his  worth,  and  the  Severity  of  his 
doctrine,  and  the  charity  of  his  miracles, 
and  the  noiies  of  the  people,  and  his  im- 
menfe  fame  in  all  that  part  of  the  world, 
and  the  multitude  of  his  difciples,  and  the 
authority  of  his  fermons,  and  his  free  re- 
proof of  their  hypocrify,  and  his  difcovery 
of  their  falle  doctrines  and  weak  traditions, 
he  had  branded  the  reputation  of  the  vi- 
cious rulers  of  the  people,  and  they  refolved 
to  put  him  to  death,  they  who  had  the 
biggeft  malice  in  the  world,  and  the  weakeft 
accufations,  were  forced  to  fupply  their 
want  of  articles  againft  him  by  making 
truth  to  be  his  fault,  and  his  office  to  be 
his  crime,  and  his  open  confeifion  of  what 
was  afked  him  to  be  his  article  of  condem- 
nation ;  and  yet  after  all  this  they  could 
not  perfuade  the  competent  judge  to  con- 
demn him,  or  to  find  him  guilty  of  any 
fault,  and  therefore  they  were  foiced  to 
threaten  him  with  Csefar's  name,  againft 
whom  then  they  would  pretend  him  to  be 
an  enemy,  though  in  their  charge  they 
neither  proved,  nor  indeed  laid  it  againlt 
him;  and  yet  to  whatfoever  they  objected 
he  made  no  return,  but  his  filence  and  his 
innocence  were  remarkable  and  evident, 
without  labour  and  reply,  and  needed  no 
more  argument,  than  the  fun  needs  an  ad- 
vocate to  prove,  that  he  is  the  brightest  ltar 
in  the  firmament. 

Well,  fo  it  was,  they  crucified  him ; 
and,  when  they  did,  they  did  as  much 
put  out  the  eye  of  heaven,  as  deftroy 
the  Son  of  God :  for,  when  with  an  in- 
comparable fweetnefs,  and  a  patience  ex- 
emplar to  all  ages  of  fufferers,  he  endured 
affronts,  examinations,  fcorns,  infolencies 
of  rude  ungentle  tradefmen,  cruel  whip- 
pings, injurious,  unjuft,  and  unreafonable 
ufages  from  thofe  whom  he  obliged  by  all 
the  arts  of  endearment  and  offers  of  the 
biggelt  kindnefs,  at  laft  he  went  to  death, 
as  to  the  work  which  God  appointed  him, 
that  he  might  become  the  world's  facrifice, 
and  the  great  example  of  holinefs,  and  the 
inftance  of  reprefenting  by  what  way  the 
world  was  to  be  made  happy   (even  by 


fufferings  and  fo  entering  into  heaven }) 
that  he  might  (I  fay)  become  the  Saviour 
of  his  enemies,  and  the  elder  brother  to 
his  friends,  and  the  Lord  of  Glory,  and 
the  fountain  of  its  emanation.  Then  it 
was,  that  God  gave  new  teilimonies  from 
heaven :  the  fun  was  eclipfed  all  the  while 
he  was  upon  the  crofs,  and  yet  the  moon 
was  in  the  full  ;  that  is,  he  loft  his  light, 
not  becaufe  any  thing  in  nature  did  invert 
him,  but  becaufe  the  God  of  nature  (as  a 
Heathen  at  that  very  time  confeffed,  who 
yet  faw  nothing  of  this  fad  iniquity)  did 
fuffer.  The  rocks  did  rend,  the  veil  of 
the  temple  divided  of  itfelf  and  opened 
the  inclofures,  and  difparked  the  fanctuary, 
and  made  it  pervious  to  "the  Gentiles  eye  ; 
the  dead  arofe,  and  appeared  in  jerufalem 
to  their  friends,  the  Centurion  and  divers 
of  the  people  fmote  their  hearts,  and  were 
by  thefe  ftrange  indications  convinced  that 
he  was  the  Son  of  God.  His  garments 
were  parted,  and  lots  caft  upon  his  inward 
coat,  they  gave  him  vinegar  and  gall  to 
drink,  they  brake  not  a  bone  of  him, 
but  they  pierced  his  fide  with  a  fpear, 
looking  upon  him  whom  they  had 
pierced ;  according  to  the  prophecies  of 
him,  which  were  fo  clear,  and  defended 
to  minutes  andcircumiiances  of  his  paffion, 
that  there  was  nothing  left  by  which  they 
could  doubt  whether  this  were  he  or  no 
who  was  to  come  into  the  wurld :  but  after 
all  this,  that  all  might  be  finally  verified, 
and  no  fcruple  left,  after  three  days  burial, 
a  great  ftone  being  rolled  to  the  face  of 
the  grave,  and  the  ftone  fealed,  and  a 
guard  of  foldiers  placed  about  it,  he  arofe 
from  the  grave,  and  for  forty  days  together 
converfed  with  his  followers  and  difciples, 
and  beyond  all  fufpicion  was  feen  of  five 
hundred  brethren  at  once,  which  is  a 
number  too  great  to  give  their  confent  and 
teftimony  to  a  lie,  and,  it  being  fo  pub- . 
licly  and  confidently  affirmed  at  the  very 
time  it  was  done,  and  for  ever  after  urged 
by  all  Chriflians,  ufed  as  the  moft  mighty 
demonftration,  proclaimed,  preached,  talked 
of,  even  upbraided  to  the  gainfayers,  affirm- 
ed by  eye-witneffes,  perfuaded  to  the 
kindred  and  friends  and  the  relatives  and 
companions  of  all  thofe  five  hundred  per- 
fons  who  were  eye-witneffes,  it  is  infinitely 
removed  from  a  reafonable  fufpicion ;  and 
at  the  end  of  thofe  days  was  taken  up  into 
heaven  in  the  fight  of  many  of  them,  as 
Elias  was  in  the  prefence  of  Elifha. 

Now  he,  of  whom  all  thefe  things  are 
true,  muft  needs  be  more  than  a  mere 

man; 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


2§I 


man;  and,  that  they  were  true,  was 
affirmed  by  very  many  eye-witnefles, 
men,  who  were  innocent,  plain  men, 
men  that  had  no  bad  ends  to  ferve ;  men, 
that  looked  for  no  preferment  by  the 
thing  in  this  life;  men,  to  whom  their 
mailer  told  they  were  to  expect  not  crowns 
and  fceptres,  not  praife  of  men  or  wealthy 
pofTeffions,  not  power  and  eafe,  but  a 
voluntary  calling  away  care  and  attendance 
upon  fecular  affairs,  that  they  might  attend 
their  miniilry  ;  poverty  and  prilons,  trou- 
ble and  vexation,  perfecution  and  labour, 
whippings  and  banifhment,  bonds  and 
death  ;  and  for  a  reward  they  muft  ftay  till 
a  good  day  came,  but  that  was  not  to  be 
at  all  in  this  world ;  and,  when  the  day  of 
reilitution  and  recompenfe  fhould  come, 
they  fhculd  never  know  till  it  came,  but 
upon  the  hope  of  this  and  the  faith  of  Je- 
fus,  and  the  word  of  God  fo  taught,  fo 
configned,  they  muft  rely  wholly  and  for 
ever. 

Now  let  it  be  confidered,  how  could 
matters  of  fa<ft  be  proved  better  ?  and  how 
could  this  be  any  thing,  but  fuch  as  to 
rely  upon  matters  of  faft  ?  what  greater 
certainty  can  we  have  of  any  thing  that 
was  ever  done  which  we  faw  not,  or  heard 
not,  but  by  the  report  of  wife  and  honeft 
perfons  ?  efpecially,  fince  they  were  fuch 
whofe  life  and  breeding  was  fo  far  from 
ambition  and  pompoufnefs,  that,  as  they 
could  not  naturally  and  reafonably  hope 
for  any  great  number  of  profelytes,  fo  the 
fame  that  could  be  hoped  for  amongft 
them,  as  it  muft  be  a  matter  of  their  own 
procuring,  and  confequently  uncertain,  fo 
it  muft  needs  be  very  inconfiderable,  not 
fit  to  outweigh  the  danger  and  the  lofs, 
nor  yet  at  all  valuable  by  them  whofe 
education  a.nd  pretences  were  againft  it  ? 
Thefe  we  have  plentifully.  But  if  thefe 
men  are  numerous  and  united,  it  is  more. 
Then  we  have  more ;  for  fo  many  did 
affirm  thefe  things  which  they  faw  and 
heard,  that  thoufands  of  people  were  con- 
vinced of  the  truth  of  them :  but  then,  if 
thefe  men  offer  their  oath,  it  is  yet  more, 
but  yet  not  fo  much  as  we  have,  for  they 
fealed  thofe  things  with  their  blood  ;  they 
gave  their  life  for  a  teftimony ;  and  what 
reward  can  any  man  expeft,  if  he  gives 
his  life  for  a  lie  ?  who  fhall  make  him  re- 
compenfe, or  what  can  tempt  him  to  do  it 
knowingly  ?  but,  after  all,  it  is  to  be  re- 
membered, that  as  God  hates  lying,  fo  he 
hates  incredulity;  as  we  muft  not  believe 
a  lie,    fo  neither  flop    up  our  eyes  and 


ears  againft  truth ;  and  what  we  do  every 
minute  of  our  lives  in  matters  of  little  and 
of  great  concernment,  if  we  refufe  to  do 
in  our  religion,  which  yet  is  to  be  con- 
dueled  as  other  human  affairs  are,  by 
human  inftruments  and  arguments  of  per- 
fuafion,  proper  to  the  nature  of  the  thing, 
it  is  an  obftinacy,  that  is  as  contrary 
to  human  reafon,  as  it  is  to  divine 
faith. 

Thefe  things  relate  to  the  perfon  of  the 
holy  Jefus,  and  prove  fufficiently  that  it 
was  extraordinary,  that  it  was  divine,  that 
God  was  with  him,  that  his  power  wrought 
in  him ;  and  therefore  that  it  was  his  will 
which  Jefus  taught,  and  God  figned.  But 
then  if  nothing  of  all  this  had  been,  yet 
even  the  dodlrine  itfelf  proves  itfelf  divine, 
and  to  come  from  God. 

Bijbop  Taylor. 

§  197.  Confederations  refpeSIing  the  doSlrint 
of  Jefus  Chriji. 

II.  For  it  is  a  doctrine  perfective  of 
human  nature,  that  teaches  us  to  love  God 
and  to  love  one  another,  to  hurt  no  man, 
and  to  do  good  to  every  man;  it  propines 
to  us  the  nobleft,  the  higheft,  and  the 
braveft  pleafures  of  the  world ;  the  joys 
of  charity,  the  reft  of  innocence,  the  peace 
of  quiet  fpirits,  the  wealth  of  beneficence, 
and  forbids  us  only  to  be  beafts  and  to  be 
devils ;  it  allows  all  that  God  and  nature 
intended,  and  only  reftrains  the  excrefcen- 
cies  of  nature,  and  forbids  us  to  take  plea- 
fure  in  that  which  is  the  only  entertain- 
ment of  devils,  in  murders  and  revenges, 
malice  and  fpiteful  words  and  actions ;  it 
permits  corporal  pleafures,  where  they  can 
beft  minifter  to  health  and  focieties,  to 
confervation  of  families  and  honour  of 
communities ;  it  teaches  men  to  keep  their 
words,  that  themfelves  may  be  fecured  in 
all  their  juft  interefts,  and  to  do  good  to 
others,  that  good  may  be  done  to  them  ; 
it  forbids  biting  one  another,  that  we  may 
not  be  devoured  by  one  another ;  and 
commands  obedience  to  fuperiors,  that  we 
may  not  be  ruined  in  confufion  ;  it  com- 
bines governments,  and  confirms  all  good 
laws,  and  makes  peace,  and  oppofes  and 
prevents  wars  where  they  are  not  juft,  and 
where  they  are  not  neceffary.  It  is  a  re- 
ligion that  is  life  and  fpirit,  not  confiding 
in  ceremonies  and  external  amufements, 
but  in  the  fervices  of  the  heart,  and  the 
real  fruit  of  lips  and  hands,  that  is,  of  good 
words  and  good  deeds ;  it  bids  us  to  do 
that  to  God  which  is  agreeable  to  his  ex- 
T  cellencies, 


*74 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


cellencies,  that  is,  worfhip  him  with  the 
bed  tiling  wc  have,  and  make  all  things 
elfe  minifter  to  it;  it  bids  us  do  that  to 
our  neighbour,  by  which  he  may  be  bet- 
ter :  it  is  the  perfection  of  the  natural  law, 
and  agreeable  to  our  natural  neceikties,  and 
promotes  our  natural  ends  and  defigns :  it 
does  net  deilrcy  reafon,  but  inftrufts  it  in 
very  many  things,  and  complies  with  it  in 
ail ;  it  hath  in  it  both  heat  and  light,  arid 
is  not  more  effectual  than  it  is  beauteous  : 
it  promifes  every  thing  that  we  can  defire, 
and  yet  promifes  nothing  but  what  it  does 
effect ;  it  proclaims  war  againft  all  vices, 
and  generally  does  command  every  virtue  ; 
it  teaches  us  with  eafe  to  mortify  thofe  af- 
fections which  reafon  durft  fcarce  reprove, 
becaufe  fhe  hath  not  ftrength  enough  to  con- 
quer; and  it  does  create  in  us  thofe  virtues 
which  reafon  of  herfelf  never  knew,  and  af- 
ter they  are  known,  could  never  approve  fuf- 
ikiently  :  it  is  a  doctrine,  in  which  nothing 
is  fuperfluous  or  burdenfome ;  nor  yet  is 
there  any  thing  wanting,  which  can  pro- 
cure happinefs  to  mankind,  or  by  which 
God  can  be  gkmfied  :  and,  if  vvifdom,  and 
mercy,  and  juilice,  and  {implicit}',  and  ho- 
linefs,  and  puritv,  and  meekneis,  and  con- 
tentednefs,  and  charity,  be  images  of  God 
and  rays  of  divinity,  then  that  doctrine,  in 
which  all  thefe  ihine  fo  glorioully,  and  in 
which  nothing  elfe  is  ingredient,  mull 
needs  be  from  God ;  and  that  all  this  is 
true  in  the  doctrine  of  Jefus  needs  no  other 
probation,  but  the  reading  the  words. 

For,  that  the  words  of  Jefus  are  con- 
tained in  the  gofpels,  that  is,  in  the  writ- 
ings of  them,  who  were  eye-witneffes  and 
ear-witneffes  of  the  actions  and  fcrmon.s  of 
Jefus,  is  net  at  all  to  be  doubted  ;  for  in 
every  feet  we  believe  their  own  records 
of  doctrine  and  iniUtution  :  for  it  is  mad- 
nefs  to  fuppofe  the  Chriftians  to  pretend  to 
be  fervants  of  the  laws  of  Jefus,  and  yet  to 
.make  a  law  of  their  own  which  he  made 
not :  no  man  doubts  but  that  ..the  Alcoran 
is  the  law  of  Mahomet,  that  the  Old  Tef- 
tament  contains  the  religion  of  the  Jews ; 
and  the  authority  of  thefe  books  i ;  proved 
by  all  the  arguments  of  the  religion,  for 
all  the  arguments  perfuading  to  the  reli- 
gion are  intended  to  prove  no  other,  than 
is  contained  in  thofe  books ;  and,  thefe 
hiving  been,  for  fifteen  hundred  years  and 
more,  received  r.bfolutely  by  all  Chriftian 
affemblies,  if  anv  man  fhall  offer  to  make 
a  queftion  of  their  authority,  he  muft  de- 
clare his  reafons,  for  the  difciples  of  the 


religion  have  fufheient  prefumption,  fecu*. 
rity  and  poffeffion,  till  they  can  be  reafch- 
ably  disturbed ;  but,  that  now  they  can 
never  be,  is  infinitely  certain,  becaufe  we 
have  a  long,  immemorial,  univerfal  tradi- 
tion that  thefe  bocks  were  written  in  thofe 
times,  by  thofe  men  whofe  names  they 
bear,  they  were  accepted  by  all  clu  rc:ies 
at  the  very  firit.  notice,  except  fc  me  few  of 
the  later,  which  were  firft  received  by  fome 
churches,  and  then  confented  to  by  all ; 
they  were  acknowledged  by  the  fame,  and 
by  the  next  age  for  genuine,  their  authority 
publiihed,  their  words  cited,  appeals  made 
to  them  in  all  quellions  of  religion,  becaufe 
it  was  known  and  confeffed  that  they  wrote 
nothing  but  that  they  knew,  fo  that  they 
were  not  deceived ;  and  to  fay,  they  would 
lie,  mult  be  made  to  appear  by  fomething 
extrinfical  to  this  inquiry,  and  was  never 
fo  much  as  plaufibly  pretended  by  any  ad- 
verfaries,  and  it  being  a  matter  of  another 
man's  will,  muft  be  declared  by  actions,  or 
not  at  all. 

But,  bcfidcs,  the  men,  that  wrote  them, 
were  to  be  believed,  becaufe  they  did  mi- 
racles, they  wrote  prophecies,  which  are 
verified  by  the  event,  perfons  were  cured 
at  their  fepulchres,  a  thing  fo  famous  that 
it  was  confeffed  even  by  the  enemies  of 
the  religion  :  and,  after  all,  that  which  the 
world  ought  to  rely  upon,  is  the  wiidom 
and  the  providence,  and  the  goodnefs  of 
God  ;  ail  which  it  concerned  to  take  care 
that  the  religion,  which  himfelf  fo  adorned 
and  proved  by  miracles  and  mighty  figns, 
fhould  no:  be  loll,  nor  any  falie  writings 
be  obtruded  inftead  of  true,  left,  without 
■c-r  fault,  the  will  of  God  become  impoffi- 
ble  to  be  obeyed. 

But  to  return  to  the  thing  :  all  thofe  ex- 
cellent things,  which  fingly  did  make  fa- 
mous fo  many  feels  of  phiiofophers,  and 
remarked  lb  many  princes  of  their  fects, 
ad  them  united,  and  many  more,  which 
their  eyes,  o^ala  yvxliffitcv,  dark  and  dirn, 
could  not  fee,  are  heaped  together  in  this 
fyftem  of  wifdom  and  holinefs.  Here,  are 
plain  precepts  full  of  deepeft  myftery;  here, 
are  the  meafures  of  holinefs  and  approaches 
to  God  defcribed;  obedience  and  confor- 
mity, mortification  of  the  body,  and  eleva- 
tions cf  the  fpirit,  abftractious  from  earth, 
and  arts  of  fociety,  and  union  with  heaven, 
degrees  of  excellencies,  and  tendencies  to 
perfection,  imitations  of  God,  and  con- 
ventions with  him ;  thefe  are  the  heights 
and  defcents,  upon  the  plain  grounds  of 

natural 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


27S 


natural  reafon,  and  natural  religion  ;  for 
there  is  nothing  commanded  but  what  our 
reafon  by  nature  ought  to  chooie,  and  yet 
nothing  of  natural  reafon  taught  but  what 
is  heightened  and  made  more  perfect,  by 
the  Spirit  of  God  ;  and,  when  there  is  any 
thing  in  the  religion,  that  is  againft  flefh 
and  blood,  it  is  only  when  flcfh  and  blood 
is  againft  us,  and  againft  reafon,  when  fieih 
and  blood  either  would  hinder  us  from 
great  felicity,  or  bring  us  into  great  mi- 
l'ery  :  to  conclude,  it  is  fuch  a  law,  that 
nothing  can  hinder  men  to  receive  and  en- 
tertain, but  a  pertinacious  bafenefs  and 
love  to  vice,  and  none  can  receive  it  but 
thofe  who  refolve  to  be  good  and  excel- 
lent; and,  if  the  holy  'Jefus  had  come  into 
the  world  with  lefs  iplendor  of  power  and 
mighty  demon  fixations,  yet,  even  the  ex- 
cellency of  what  he  taught,  makes  him 
alone  fit  to  be  the  mailer  of  the  world. 

Bijhop  Taylor. 

§    198.     Conjideratisns  refpeiiing   the  effe£i, 
and  the  inftruments,  of  Chriji's  religion. 

III.  But  then  let  us  confider  what  this 
excellent  peribn  did  effect.,  and  with  what 
inftruments  he  brought  fo  great  things  to 
pate.  He  was  to  put  a  period  to  the  rites 
of  Mofes,  and  the  religion  of  the  temple, 
of  which  the  Jews  were  zealous  even  unto 
pertinacy  ;  to  reform  the  manners  of  all 
mankind,  to  confound  the  wifdom  of  the 
Greeks,  to  break  in  pieces  the  power  of 
the  devil,  to  deftroy  the  worfhip  of  all 
falfe  gods,  to  pull  down  their  oracles,  and 
change  their  laws,  and  by  principles  wife 
and  holy  to  reform  the  falfe  difcourfes  of 
the  world. 

But  fee  wr.at  was  to  be  taught,  A  trinity 
in  the  unity  of  the  Godhead,  r^iet  'h  x«»  ek 
t§i«,  that  is  the  Chriitian  arithmetic,  Three 
are  one,  and  one  are  three,  fo  Lucian  in 
his  Philopatris,  or  forne  other,  derides  the 
Chriftian  doclrine  ;  fee  their  philofophy. 
Ex  nihilo  nihil  fit.  No  :  Ex  nihilo  om- 
nia, all  things  are  made  of  nothing;  and  a 
man-god  and  a  god-man,  the  fame  perion 
finite  and  infinite,  born  in  time,  and  yet 
from  all  eternity  the  Son  of  God,  but  yet 
born  of  a  woman,  and  fhe  a  maid,  but  vet 
a  mother  ;  refurrecdion  of  the  dead,  re- 
union of  foul  and  body ;  this  was  part  of 
the  Chriflian  phyficks  or  their  natural  phi- 
lofophy. 

But  then  certainly  '  their  moral  was 
eafy  and  delicious.'  It  is  fo  indeed,  but 
not  to  flefh  and  blood,  whofe  appetites  it 


pretends  to  regulate  or  to  deflroy,  to  re- 
ftrain  or  elfe  to  mortify  :  "  failing  and  pe- 
nance, and  humility,  loving  our  enemies, 
reflitution  of  injuries,  and  felf-denialj,  and 
taking  up  the  crofs,  and  lofing  all  our 
goods,  and  giving  our  life  for  Jefus  :"  as 
the  other  was  hard  to  believe,  fo  this  is  as 
hard  to  do. 

But  for  whom  and  under  whofe  condufl 
was  all  this  to  be  believed,  and  all  this  to 
be  done,  and  all  this  to  be  fuffered  ?  Sure- 
ly, for  forne  glorious  and  mighty  prince, 
whofe  fplendor  as  far  outihines  the  Roman 
empire,  as  the  jewels  of  Cleopatra  out- 
fhined  the  fwaddiing  clothes  of  the  babe  at 
Bethlehem.  No,  it  was  not  fo  neither. 
For  all  this  was  for  Jefus,  whom  his  fol- 
lowers preached  ;  a  poor  babe,  born  in  a 
liable,  the  ion  of  a  carpenter,  cradled  in  a 
cratch,  fwaddled  in  poor  clouts ;  it  was 
for  him  whom  they  indeed  called  a  God, 
but  yet  whom  all  the  world  knew,  and- 
they  themfelves  faid,  was  whipped  at  a  poft, 
nailed  to  a  crofs ;  he  fell  under  the  malice 
of  the  Jews  his  countrymen,  and  the  power 
of  his  Roman  lords,  a  cheap  and  a  pitiful 
facriiice,  without  beauty  and  without  fplen- 
dor. 

The  defign  is  great,  but  does  not  yet 
feem  poflible ;  but  therefore  let  us  fee 
what  inftruments  the  Holy  Jefus  chofe, 
to  effect,  thefe  fo  mighty  changes,  to  per- 
fuade  fo  many  propofitions,  to  endear  fo 
great  fufferings,  to  overcome  fo  great  ene- 
mies, to  mailer  fo  many  impoflibihties 
which  this  doclrine  and  this  law  from  this 
Mailer  were  fure  to  meet  withal. 

Here,  here  it  is  that  the  Divinity  of  the 
power  is  proclaimed.  When  a  man  goes 
to  war,  he  raifes  as  great  an  army  as  he 
can  to  out-number  his  enemy  ;  but,  when 
God  fights,  three  hundred  men,  that  lap 
like  a  dog,  are  fufHcient ;  nay,  one  word 
can  diffolve  the  greatefc  army.  He  that 
means  to  effect,  any  thing  mail  have  means 
of  his  own  proportionable  ;  and  if  they  be 
not,  he  mule  fiii,  or  derive  them  from  the 
mighty.  See  then  with  what  inftruments 
the  holy  Jefus  fets  upon  this  great  refor- 
mation of  the  world. 

Twelve  men  of  obfeure  and  poor  birth, 
of  contemptible  trades  and  quality,  with- 
out learning,  without  breeding  ;  thefe  men 
were  fent  into  the  inidft  of  a  knowing  and 
wife  world,  to  aifputc  with  the  moil  famous 
philofophers  of  Greece,  to  out-wit  all  the 
learning  of  Athens,  to  out-preach  ail  the 
Roman  orators  ;  to  introduci-  into  a  newly- 
T  2  fettled 


276 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


fettled  empire,  which  would  be  impatient 
of  novelties  and  change,  fucli  a  change  as 
muft  deftroy  all  their  temples,  or  remove 
thence  all  their  gods:  againlt  which  change 
all  the  zeal  of  the  world,  and  all  the  paf- 
fions,  and  all  the  feeming  pretences  which 
they  could  make,  mull;  needs  be  violently 
oppofed  :  a  change,  that  introduced  new 
laws,  and  caufed  them  to  reverfe  the  old, 
to  change  that  religion  under  which  their 
fathers  long  did  profper,  and  under  which 
the  Roman  empire  obtained  fo  great  a 
grandeur,  for  a  religion,  which  in  appear- 
ance was  filly  and  humble,  meek  and  peace- 
able, not  apt  indeed  to  do  harm,  but  expof- 
ing  men  to  all  the  harm  in  the  world,  abat- 
ing their  courage,  blunting  their  fwords, 
teaching  peace  and  unaftivenefs,  and  mak- 
ing the  foldiers  arms  in  a  manner  ufelef-, 
and  untying  their  military  girdle :  a  reli- 
gion, which  contradidted  their  reafons  of 
ftate,  and  erected  new  judicatories,  and 
made  the  Roman  courts  to  be  filent  and 
without  caufes ;  a  religion,  that  gave  coun- 
tenance to  the  poor  and  pitiful  (but  in  a 
time  when  riches  were  adored,  and  ambi- 
tion efteemed  the  greater!  noblenefs,  and 
pleafure  thought  to  be  the  chiefeft  good) 
it  brought  no  peculiar  bleffing  to  the  rich 
or  mighty,  unlefs  they  would  become  poor 
and  humble  in  fome  real  fenfe  or  other  ;  a 
religion,  that  would  change  the  face  of 
things,  and  would  alfo  pierce  into  the  fe- 
crets  of  the  foul,  and  unravel  all  the  in- 
trigues of  hearts,  and  reform  all  evil  man- 
ners, and  break  vile  habits  into  gentlenefs 
and  counfel :  that  fuch  a  religion  in  fuch  a 
time,  preached  by  fuch  mean  perfons, 
Ihou'd  triumph  over  the  philofophy  of  the 
world,  and  the  arguments  of  the  fubtle, 
and  the  fermons  of  the  eloquent,  and  the 
power  of  princes,  and  the  intereit  of  ftates, 
a;  '  the  inclinations  of  nature,  and  the 
blindnefs  of  zeal,  and  the  force  of  cuftom, 
and  the  pleafures  of  fin,  and  the  bufy  arcs 
of  the  devil,  that  is,  againft  wit,  and  pow- 
er, and  money,  and  religion,  and  wilful- 
nefs,  and  fame,  and  empire,  which  are  all 
the  things  in  the  world  that  can  make  a 
thing  impofiible  ;  this,  I  fay,  could  not  be 
by  the  proper  force  of  fuch  instruments  ; 
for  no  man  can  fpan  heaven  with  an  in- 
fant's palm,  nor  govern  wiie  empires  with 
diagrams. 

It  were  impudence  to  fend  a  footman  to 
command  Ca-far  to  lay  down  his  arms,  to 
difband  his  legions,  and  throw  himfclf  into 
T_yber,  or  keep  a  tavern  ne:-,t  to  Pompey's 


theatre ;  but,  if  a  fober  man  fhall  ftand 
alone,  unarmed,  undefended,  or  unprovid- 
ed, and  fhall  tell  that  he  will  make  the  fun 
ftand  Hill,  or  remove  a  mountain,  or  reduce 
Xerxes's  army  to  the  fcantling  of  a  fmgle 
troop,  he  that  believes  he  will  and  can  do 
this,  muff,  believe  he  does  it  by  a  higher 
power,  than  he  can  yet  perceive ;  and  fo 
it  was  in  the  prefent  tranfa-flion.  For  that 
the  holy  Jefus  made  invifible  powers  to  do 
him  vifible  honours,  that  his  apoftles  hunt- 
ed the  daemons  from  their  tripods,  their  na- 
vels, their  dens,  their  hollow  pipes,  their 
temples,  and  their  altars ;  that  he  made  the 
oracles  filent,  as  Lucian,  Porphyry,  Celfus, 
and  other  Heathens  confefs  ;  that,  againlf. 
the  order  of  new  things,  which  let  them  be 
never  fo  profitable  or  good  do  yet  fuffer 
reproach,  and  cannot  prevail  unlefs  they 
commence  in  a  time  of  advantage  and  fa- 
vour ;  yet,  that  this  mould  flourilh  like 
the  palm  by  preffure,  grow  glorious  by 
oppofition,  thrive  by  perfecution,  and  was 
demonftrated  by  objections,  argues  a  higher 
caufe  than  the  immediate  inftrument.  Now 
how  this  higher  caufe  did  intervene,  is  vi- 
fible and  notorious  :  the  apollles  were  not 
learned,  but  the  holy  Jefus  promifed  that 
he  would  fend  down  wifdem  from  above, 
from  the  father  of  fpirits ;  they  had  no 
power,  but  they  mould  be  inverted  with 
power  from  on  high ;  they  were  ignorant 
and  timorous,  but  he  would  make  them 
learned  and  confident,  and  fo  he  did  :  he 
promifed  that  in  a  h\v  days  he  would  fend 
the  Holy  Ghoft  upon  them,  and  he  did  fo  ; 
afcer  ten  days  they  felt  and  faw  glorious 
immiflion  from  heaven,  lights  of  moveable 
fire  fitting  upon  their  heads,  and  that  light 
did  illuminate  their  hearts,  and  the  mighty 
rufhing  wind  infpired  them  with  a  power  of 
fpei  king  divers  languages,  and  brought  to 
their  remembrances  all  that  Jefus  did  and 
taught,  and  made  them  wife  to  conducl 
fouls,  and  bold  to  venture,  and  prudent  to 
advife,  and  powerful  to  do  miracles,  and 
witty  to  convince  gainfayers,  and  hugely 
inifrufted  in  the  fcriptures,  and  gave  them 
the  fpirit  of  government,  and  the  fpirit  of 
prophecy. 

This  thing  was  fo  public,  that  at  the  firft 
notice  of  it  three  thoufand  fouls  were  con- 
verted on  that  very  day,  at  the  very  time 
when  it  was  done;  for  it  was  certainly  a 
vifible  demonll ration  of  an  invifible  power, 
that  ignorant  perfons,  who  were  never 
taught,  fhould  in  an  inilant  fpeak  all  the 
languages  of  the  Roman  empire ;  and  in- 
deed 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


277 


cieed  this  thing  was  fo  neceffary  to  be  fo, 
and  fo  certain  that  it  was  fo,  fo  public  and 
fo  evident,  and  fo  reafonable,  and  fo  ufeful, 
that  it  is  not  eafy  to  fay  whether  it  was 
the  indication  of  a  greater  power,  or  a 
greater  wifdom  ;  and  now  the  means  was 
proportionable  enough  to  the  biggeft  end  : 
without  learning,  they  could  not  confute 
the  learned  world ;  but  therefore  God  be- 
came their  teacher :  without  power,  they 
could  not  break  the  devil's  violence ;  but 
therefore  God  gave  them  power  :  without 
courage,  they  could  not  conteft  againft  all 
the  violence  of  the  Jews  and  Gentiles ; 
but  therefore  God  was  their  ftrength,  and 
gave  them  fortitude  :  without  great  cau- 
tion and  providence,  they  could  not  avoid 
the  traps  of  crafty  perfecutors ;  but  there- 
fore God  gave  them  caution,  and  made 
them  provident,  and,  as  Befeleel  and  Aho- 
liab  received  the  fpirit  of  God,  the  fpirit 
of  underftanding  to  enable  them  to  work 
excellently  in  the  Tabernacle,  fo  had  the 
apofties  to  make  them  wife  for  the  work  of 
God  and  the  miniftries  of  this  diviner  ta- 
bernacle, which  God  pitched,  not  man. 

Immediately  upon  this,  the  apofties,  to 
make  a  fulnefs  of  demonftration  and  an 
undeniable  conviction,  gave  the  fpirit  to 
Others  alfo,  to  Jews  and  Gentiles,  and  to 
the  men  of  Samaria,  and  they  fpake  with 
tongues  and  prophefied  ;  then  they  preach- 
ed to  all  nations,  and  endured  all  perfec- 
tions, and  cured  all  difeafes,  and  raifed  the 
dead  to  life,  and  were  brought  before  tri- 
bunals, and  confeiled  the  name  of  Jefus, 
and  convinced  the  blafphemous  Jews  out 
of  their  own  prophets,  and  not  only  pre- 
vailed upon  women  and  weak  men,  but 
even  upon  the  braveft  and  wifeft.  All  the 
difciples  of  John  the  Baptift,  the  Naza- 
renes  and  Ebionites,  Nicodemus  and  Jo- 
feph  of  Arimathea,  Sergius  the  prefident, 
Pionyiius  an  Athenian  judge,  and  Poly- 
carpus,  Juftinus  and  Irenaeus,  Athenago- 
ras  and  Origen,  Tertullian  and  Clemens 
of  Alexandria,  who  could  not  be  fuch  fools 
as,  upon  a  matter  not  certainly  true  but 
probably  falfe,  to  unravel  their  former 
principles,  and  to  change  their  liberty  for 
a  prifbn,  wealth  for  poverty,  honour  for 
difreputation,  life  for  death,  if  by  fuch  ex- 
change they  had  not  been  fecured  of  truth 
and  holinefs  and  the  will  of  God. 

But,  above  all  thefe,  was  Saul,  a  bold 
and  a  witty,  a  zealous  and  learned  young 
man,  who,  going  with  letters  to  perlecute 
the  Chriftians  of  Damafcus,  was  by  a  light 


from  heaven  called  from  his  furious  march* 
reproved  by  God's  angel  for  perfecuting 
the  caufe  of  Jefus,  was  fent  to  the  city, 
baptized  by  a  Chriftian  minifter,  inftrutt- 
ed  and  fent  abroad;  and  he  became  the 
prodigy  of  the  world,  for  learning  and 
zeal,  for  preaching  and  writing,  for  la- 
bour and  fufFerance,  for  government  and 
wifdom ;  he  was  admitted  to  fee  the  holy 
Jefus  after  the  Lord  was  taken  into  hea- 
ven, he  was  taken  up  into  Paradife,  he 
converfed  with  angels,  he  faw  unfpeaka- 
ble  rays  of  glory;  and  befides  that  himfelf 
faid  it,  who  had  no  reafon  to  lie,  who 
would  get  nothing  by  it  here  but  a  conju- 
gation of  troubles,  and  who  fhould  get  nc*» 
thing  by  it  hereafter  if  it  were  falfe  ;  be- 
fides this,  I  fay,  that  he  did  all  thofe  afts 
of  zeal  and  obedience  for  the  promotion  of 
the  religion,  does  demonftrate  he  had  rea- 
fon extraordinary  for  fo  fudden  a  change, 
fo  ftrange  a  labour,  fo  frequent  and  in- 
comparable fufferings ;  and  therefore,  as 
he  did  and  fuffered  fo  much  upon  fuch 
glorious  motives,  fo  he  fpared  not  to  pub- 
lifh  it  to  all  the  world,  he  fpake  it  to  kings 
and  princes,  he  tcld  it  to  the  envious  Jews; 
he  had  partners  of  his  journey,  who  were 
witneffes  of  the  miraculous  accident ;  and 
in  his  publication  he  urged  the  notoriouf- 
nefs  of  the  fact,  as  a  thing  not  feigned,  not 
private,  but  done  at  noon-day  under  the 
teft  of  competent  perfons ;  and  it  was  a 
thing  that  proved  itielf,  for  it  was  effective 
of  a  prefent,  a  great,  and  a  permanent 
change. 

But  now  it  is  no  new  wonder,  but  a 
purfuance  of  the  fame  conjugation  of  great 
and  divine  things,  that  the  fame  and  reli- 
gion of  Jefus  was  with  fo  incredible  a 
iwiftnefs  Scattered  over  the  face  of  the  ha- 
bitable world,  from  one  end  of  the  earth 
unto  the  other;  it  filled  all  Afia  immedi- 
ately, it  pafled  prefently  to  Europe,  and 
to  the  furtheft  Africans ;  and  all  the  way 
it  went  it  told  nothing  but  an  holy  and  an 
humble  ftory,  that  he  who  came  to  bring  it 
into  the  world,  died  an  ignominious  death, 
and  yet  this  death  did  n6t  take  away  their 
courage,  but  added  much  :  for  they  could 
not  fear  death  for  that  Mailer,  whom  they 
knew  to  have  for  their  fakes  fuffered  death, 
and  came  to  life  again.  But  now  infinite 
numbers  of  perfons  of  all  {exes,  and  all 
ages,  and  all  countries,  came  in  to  the 
Holy  crucifix ;  and  he  that  was  crucified 
in  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  was  in  the  time 
of  Nero,  even  iij  Rome  itfelf,  and  in 
T  3  Nero's 


278 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Nero's  family  by  many  perfons  efteemed 
for  a  God  ;  and  it  was  upon  public  record 
that  he  was  fo  acknowledged  ;  and  tins 
was  by  a  Chriftian,  Juftin  Martyr,  urged 
to  the  fenate,  and  to  the  emperors  them- 
felves,  who  if  it  had  been  otherwife  could 
eafily  have  confuted  the  bold  allegation  of 
the  Christian,  who  yet  did  die  for  that  Je- 
fus  who  was  fo  fpeedily  reputed  for  a  God; 
the  crofs  was  worn  upon  breafts,  printed 
in  the  air,  drawn  upon  foreheads,  carried 
on  banners,  put  upon  crowns  imperial ; 
and  yet  the  Christians  were  fought  for  to 
puuifhments,  and  exquifite  punishments 
fought  forth  for  them  ;  their  goods  were 
confifcate,  their  names  odious,  prifons 
were  their  houfes,  and  fo  many  kinds  of 
tortures  invented  for  them  that  Domilius 
Ulpianus  hath  fpent  feven  books  in  de- 
fcribing  the  variety  of  tortures  the  poor 
Chriitian  was  put  to  at  his  firft  appearing; 
and  yet,  in  defpite  of  all  this,  and  ten 
thoufand  other  objections  and  impoflibili- 
ties,  whatfoever  was  for  them  made  the  re- 
ligion grow,  and  whatfoever  was  againft 
them  made  it  grow  ;  if  they  had  pea-:?,  the 
religion  was  profperous  ;  if  they  had  per- 
secution, it  was  dill  profperous ;  if  princes 
favoured  them,  the  world  came  in,  becaufe 
the  Chriftians  lived  holily;  if  princes  were 
incenfed,  the  world  came  in,  becaufe  the 
Chriftians  died  bravely.  They  fought  for 
death  with  greedinef,  they  deft  red  to  he 
grinded  in  the  teeth  of  lions;  ana  with  joy 
they  beheld  the  wheels  and  the  bended 
trees,  the  racks  and  the  gibbets,  the  fires 
and  the  burning  irons,  which  were  like  the 
chair  cf  Elias  to  them,  instruments  to  carry 
them  to  heaven,  into  the  bofom  of  their 
beloved  Tefu«. 

Who  would  not  acknowledge  the  divi- 
nity cf  this  pcrfon,  and  the  excellency  of 
this  institution,  that  fhould  fee  infants  to 
weary  the  hands  of  hangmen  for  the  tefti- 
mony  of  Jefus;  and  wife  men  preach  this 
doftrinc  for  no  other  viable  reward,  but 
fhame  and  death,  poverty  and  banish- 
ment ?  and  hangmen  converted  by  the 
blood  of  martyrs,  ipringing  upon  their 
laces,  which  their  impious  hands  and  cords 
have  ftrair.ed  through  their  ftelh  ?  Who 
would  not  have  confefted  the  honour  of 
Jefus,  when  he  fhould  fee  miracles  done  at 
the  tombs  of  martyrs,  and  devils  tremble 
at  the  mention  of  the  name  of  Jefus,  and 
the  world  running  to  the  honour  of  the 
poor  Nazarene,  and  kings  and  queens  kif- 
iing  the  feet  of  the  poor  fevvants  of  J'efus  ? 


Could  a  Jew  fifherman  and  a  publican  effeft 
ail  tins,  for  the  fon  of  a  poor  maiden  of 
Judea?  can  we  fuppofe  all  the  world,  or  fo 
great  a  uart  of  mankind,  can  cenfent  by 
chance,  or  Suffer  fuch  changes  for  nothing  ? 
or  for  any  thing  lefs  than  this  ?  The  foa 
of  the  poor  maiden  was  the  Son  of  God  : 
and  the  iifhermen  fpake  by  a  divine  {pint; 
and  they  catched  the  world  with  holinefs 
and  miracles,  with  wifdom  and  power 
bigger  than  the  ftrength  of  all  the  R\oman 
legions.  And  what  can  be  added  to  all 
this,  but  this  thing  alone  to  prove  the  di- 
vinity of  Jefus?  He  is  a  God,  or  at  leafl 
is  taught  by  God,  who  can  foretel  future 
contingencies;  and  fo  did  the  holy  Jefus, 
and  fo  did  his  difciples. 

Our  blefled  Lord,  while  he  was  alive, 
foretold  that  after  ins  death  his  religion 
fhould  flourish  more  than  when  he  was 
alive  :  he  foretold  perfections  to  his  dif- 
ciples ;  he  foretold  the  miflion  cf  the  Holy 
Ghoft  to  be  in  a  very  few  days  after  his 
afceniion,  which  within  ten  days  came  to 
pafs ;  he  propheftcd  that  the  fact,  of  Mary 
Magdalene,  in  anointing  the  head  and  feet 
of  her  Lord,  fhould  be  public  and  known 
as  the  gofpel  itfelf,  and  fpoken  of  in  the 
fame  place ;  he  foretold  the  destruction  of 
Jerufalem  and  the  Signs  of  its  approach, 
and  that  it  Should  be  by  war,  and  particu- 
larly after  the  manner  of  prophets,  fym- 
bolicaily,  named  the  nation  fliould  do  it, 
pointing  out  the  Roman  eagles  ;  he  fore- 
told his  death,  and  the  manner  of  it,  and 
plainly  bef'ore-har.d  published  his  refurrec- 
tion,  and  told  them  it  fhould  be  the  ftgn  to 
that  generation,  viz.  the  great  argument  to 
prove  him  to  be  the  Chrift ;  he  propheited 
that  there  fhould  arife  falfe  Chrifts  after 
him,  and  it  came  to  pafs  to  the  extreme 
great  calamity  of  the  nation  ;  and  laftly, 
he  foretold  that  his  beloved  difciple  St. 
John  fhould  tarry  upon  the  earth  till  his 
coming  again,  that  is,  to  his  coming  to 
judgment  upon  Jerufalem  ;  and  that  his 
religion  fhould  be  preached  to  the  Gen- 
tiles, that  it  Should  be  fcattered  over  all  the 
world,  and  be  received  by  all  nations ;  that 
it  fliould  ftay  upon  the  face  of  die  earth 
till  his  laft  coming  to  judge  all  the  world, 
and  that  "  the  gates  of  hell  fnould  not  be 
able  to  prevail  againft  his  church;"  which 
prophecy  is  made  good  thus  long,  till  this 
day,  and  is  as  a  continual  argument  to 
juftify  the  divinity  of  the  author:  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  religion  helps  to  continue 
it,  for  it  provss  that  it  came  from  God, 

who 


BOOK    I.       MORAL 

who  foretold  that  it  fhould  continue;  and 
therefore  it  mull  continue,  becaafe  it  came 
from  God  ;  and  therefore  it  came  from 
God,  becaufe  it  does  and  lhall  for  ever 
continue  according  to  the  word  of  the 
holy  Jefus. 

But,  after  our  blefled  Lord  was  entered 
into  glory,  the  difciples  alio  were  prophets. 
Agabus  foretold  the  dearth  that  was  to  be 
in  the  Roman  empire  in  the  days  of  Clau- 
dius Csefar,  and  that  St.  Paul  fhould  be 
bound  at  Jeruialem  :  St.  Paul  foretold  the 
cntering-in  of  Hereticks  into  Aha  after 
his  departure ;  and  he  and  St.  Peter  and 
St.  Jude,  and  generally  the  reft  of  the 
apoftles,  had  two  great  predictions,  which 
they  ufed  not  only  as  a  verification  of  the 
docirine  of  Jefus,  but  as  a  means  to 
ilrengthen  the  hearts  of  the  difciples,  who 
were  fo  broken  with  perfecution  :  the  one 
was,  that  there  mould  ariie  a  feci  of  vile 
men,  who  fhould  be  enemies  to  religion 
and  government,  and  caufe  a  great  aporla- 
cy,  which  happened  notoriously  in  the  feci 
of  the  Gnoftics,  which  thofe  three  apoftles 
and  St.  John  notorioufly  and  plainly  do 
defcribe  :  and  the  other  was  that  although 
the  Jewiih  nation  did  mightily  oppofe  the 
religion,  it  fhould  be  but  for  a  while,  for 
they  fhould  be  deilroyed  in  a  lhort  time, 
and  their  natic.n  made  extremely  misera- 
ble; but,  for  the  Chriftians,  if  they  would 
fly  from  Jerufajem  and  go  to  Pella,  there 
fhould  not  a  hair  of  their  head  pcrilh  :  the 
verification  of  this  prophecy  the  Chriftians 
extremely  longed  for,  and  wondered  it 
flayed  fo  long,  and  began  to  be  troubled  at 
the  delay,  and  fufpe&ed  all  was  not  well, 
when  the  great  proof  of  their  religion  was 
not  verified  ;  and,  while  they  were  in 
thoughts  of  heart  concerning  it,  the  fad 
catalylis  did  come,  and  fvvept  away  eleven 
hundred  thoufand  of  the  nation ;  and  from 
that  day  forward  the  nation  was  broken  in 
pieces  with  intolerable  calamities  :  they 
are  fcattered  over  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  are  a  vagabond  nation,  but  yet,  like 
oil  in  a  veflel  of  wine,  broken  into  bubbles 
but  kept  in  their  own  circles ;  and  they 
fha.ll  never  be  an  united  people,  till  they 
are  fervants  of  the  holy  Jefus ;  but  fhall 
remain  without  prieft  or  temple,  without 
altar  or  facrifice,  without  city  or  country, 
without  the  land  of  promife,  or  the  pro- 
mife  of  a  blefhng,  till  our  Jefus  is  their 
high  Prieft,  and  the  Shepherd  to  gather 
them  into  his  fold:  and  this  very  thing  is 
^  mighty  demonftrauon  againft  the  Jews 


AND    RELIGIOUS.  279 

by  their  own  prophets ;  for  when  Ifaiah, 
and  Jeremiah,  and  Malachi,  had  prophe- 
fied  the  rejection  of  the  Jews  and  the  call- 
ing of  the  Gentiles,  and  the  change  of  the 
old  law,  and  the  introduction  of  a  new  by 
the  Meifias  ;  that  this  was  he,  was  there- 
fore certain,  becaufe  he  taught  the  world 
a  new  law,  and  prefently  after  the  publica- 
tion of  this,  the  old  was  abrogate,  and  not 
only  went  into  defuetude,  but  into  a  total 
abolition  among  all  the  world;  and  for 
thofe  of  the  remnant  of  the  fcattered  Jews 
who  obllinately  blafpheme,  the  law  is  be- 
come impofTible  to  them,  and  they  placed 
in  fuch  circumftances,  that  they  need  not 
difpute  concerning  its  obligation;  for  it 
being  external  and  corporal,  ritual  and  at 
laftmade  alfo  local,  when  the  circumftances 
are  impoffible,  the  law,  that  was  wholly 
ceremonial  and  circumftantial,  mull  needs 
pafs  away :  and  when  they  have  loft  their 
priefthood,  they  cannot  retain  the  law,  as 
no  man  takes  care  to  have  his  beard  fhav- 
ed,  when  his  head  is  off. 

And  it  is  a  wonder  to  ccnfider  how  the 
anger  of  God  is  gone  out  upon  that  mifer- 
able  people,  and  that/o  great  a  blindnefs  is 
fallen  upon  them  ;  it  being  evident  and  no- 
torious that  the  Old  Teftament  was  nothing 
but  a  fhadow  and  umbrage  of  the  New ; 
that  the  prophecies  of  that  are  plainly  ve- 
rified i.i  this;  that  all  the  predictions  of  the 
Meffias  are  moil  undeniably  accomplished 
in  the  perfon  of  Jefus  Chriil,  fo  that  they 
cannot  with  any  plauhblenefs  or  colour  be 
turned  any  other  way,  and  be  applied  to 
any  other  perfon,  although  the  Jews  make 
illiterate  allegations,  and  prodigious  dreams, 
by  which  they  have  fooled  themfelves  for 
fixteen  hundred  years  together,  and  ftill 
hope  without  reafon,  and  are  confident 
without  revelation,  and  purfue  a  fhadow 
while  they  quit  the  glorious  body ;  while, 
in  the  mean  time,  the  Chriftian  prays  for 
his  converfion,  and  is  at  reft  in  the  truth  of 
Jefus,  and  hath  certain  unexpreffible  confi- 
dences and  internal  lights,  ciaraties  of  the 
Holv  Spirit  of  God,  and  loves  to  the  holy 
Jefi-s  produced  in  his  foul  that  he  will  die 
when  he  cannot  difpute,  and  is  fatisfied  and 
he  knows  not  how,  and  is  fure  by  comforts, 
and  comforted  by  the  excellency  of  his  be- 
lief, which  fpeaks  nothing  but  holinefs,  and 
light  and  reafon,  and  peace  and  fatisfac- 
tions  infinite,  becaufe  he  is  fure  that  all  the 
world  can  be  happy  if  they  would  live  by 
the  religion  of  Jefus,  and  that  neither  fo- 
cietifs  of  men  nor  fingle  perfons  can  have 
y   *  felicity 


:So 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


felicity  but  by  this  ;  and  that  therefore 
God,  who  fo  decrees  to  make  men  happy, 
hath  alfo  decreed  that  it  fhall  for  ever  be 
upon  the  fice  of  the  earth,  till  the  earth 
itfelf  fhall  be  no  more.     Amen. 

Bijhop  Taylor. 

§  1 99.   Conjiderations  on  the  nueak  Pretences 
of  ether  Religions. 

IV.  Now,  if  againft  this  vafl  heap  of 
things  any  man  ihall  but  confront  the  pre- 
tences of  any  other  religion,  and  fee  how 
they  fail  both  of  reafon  and  holinefs,  of 
wonder  and  divinity,  how  they  enter  by 
force,  and  are  kept  up  by  human  in- 
terells,  how  ignorant  and  unholy,  how  un- 
learned and  pitiful  are  their  pretences ; 
the  darknefi'es  of  thefe  mull  add  great 
eminency  to  the  brightnefs  of  that. 

For  the  Jews  religion,  which  came  from 
heaven,  is  therefore  not  now  to  be  prattifed, 
becaufe  it  did  come  from  heaven,  and  was 
to  expire  into  the  Chriflian,  it  being  no- 
thing  but  the  image  of  this    perfection  : 
and  the  Jews  needed  no  other  argument 
but  this,   that  God  hath  made  theirs  im- 
pofTible  now  to  be  done;  for  he  that  ties 
to  ceremonies  and  outward  ufages,  temples 
and  altars,  faciifices  and  prieits,  trouble- 
feme  and  expenfive   rites   and  figures  of 
future  fignification,  means  that  there  Ihould 
hi  an  abode  and  fixt  dwelling,  for  thefe 
are  not  to  be  done  by  an  ambulatory  peo- 
ple ;  and  therefore,  fince  God  hath   fcat- 
tered  the  people  into  atoms  and  crumbs 
(  1  fociety,  without  temple  or  prieft,  with- 
out facrifice    or    altar,    without  Urim  or 
Thummim,  without  prophet  or  vifion,  even 
communicating    with    them    no   way  but 
by  ordinary  providence,  it  is  but  too  evi- 
dent, that  God  hath  nothing  to  do  with 
them  in  the  matter  of  that  religion;  but 
that  it  is  expired,  and  no  way  obligatory 
to  them  or  pleafmg  to  him,  which  is  be- 
come impoffible  to  be  afted  :  whereas,  the 
Chriftian  religion  is  as  eternal  as  the  foul 
of  a  man,    and  can  no  more   ceafe  than 
our  fpirits  can  die,  and  can  worfhip  upon 
mountains  and  caves,  in  fields  and  churches, 
in  peace  and  war,  in  folitude  and  fociKty, 
in  perfecution  and  in  fun-lhine,   by  night 
and  by  day,  and  be  folemnized  by  clergy 
and  laity  in  the  effential  parts  of  it,  and  is 
the  perfection  of  the  foul,  and  the  hi" belt 
reafon  of  man,    and  the  glorification   of 
God. 

But  for  the  Heathen  religions,  it  is  evi- 
dently to  be  feen,  that  they  are  nothing 


but   an    abufe  of  the   natural  inclination, 
which  all  men    have  to  worfhip   a    God, 
whom  becaufe  they  know  not,   they  guefs 
at    in    the    dark ;    for    that    they    know 
there    is    and    ought    to     be    fomething 
that  hath  the  care  and  providence  of  their 
affairs.     But  the  body  of  their  religion  is 
nothing  but  little  arts  of  governments,  and 
ftratagems  of  princes,  and  devices  to  fecure 
the  government  of  new  ufurpers,    or    to 
make  obedience  to  the  laws  fure,  by  being 
facred,  and  to  make  the  yoke  that  was  not 
natural,    pleafant    by  fomething    that  is. 
But  yet,  for  the  whole  body  of  it,  who  fees 
not,  that  their  worihippings  could  not  be 
facred,  becaufe  they  "were  done  by  fome- 
thing that  is  impure  ?  They  appeafed  their 
gods  with  adulteries  and  impure  mixtures, 
by  fuch  things  which  Cato  was  afhamed  to 
fee,  by   gluttonous  eatings   of  flefh,  and 
impious  drinkings,  and  they  did  litare  in 
humano  fanguine,  they  facrificed  men  and 
women  and  children  to  their  daemons,    as 
is  notorious  in  the  rites  of  Bacchus  Omefta 
amongft  the  Greeks,  and  of  Jupiter,  to 
whom  a  Greek  and  a  Greekefs,  a  Gala- 
tian  and  a  Galatefs,  were  yearly  offered ; 
in  the   anfvvers  of  the  oracles  to  Calchas, 
as  appears  in  Komer  and  Virgil.     Who 
fees  not,  that  crimes  were  warranted  by 
the  example  of  their  immortal  gods ;  and 
that  what  did  diihonour  themfelves,  they 
fang  to  the  honour  of  their  gods,  whom 
they  affirmed  to  be  paffionate  and  proud, 
jealous  and  revengeful,  amorous  and  luft- 
ful,  fearful  and  impatient,  diunken   and 
fleepy,  weary  and  wounded?  that  the  reli- 
gions were  made    lafting    by   policy  and 
force,    by   ignorance,    and    the    force    of 
cuitom;  by  the  preferring  an  inveterate 
error,    and   loving    cf  a    quiet  and  pro- 
fperous  evil ;  by  the  arguments  of  plea- 
fure  and  the  correfpondencies  of  fenfua- 
lity  ;  by  the  fraud  of  oracles,  and  the  pa- 
tronage of  vices ;  and  becaufe  they  feared 
every  change  as   an  earthquake,  as  fup- 
pofing  overturnings  of  their  old  error  to 
be  the  everfion  of  their   well-eftablifhed 
governments  ?   And  it  had  been  ordinarily 
impoflible   that    ever    Chriftianity   Ihould 
have  entered,  if  the  nature  and  excellency 
of  it  had  not  been  fuch  as  to  enter  like  rain 
into  a   fleece   of  wool,  or  the  fun   into  a 
window,  without  noife  or  violence,  without 
emotion  and  difordering  the  political  con- 
ititution,  without  caufing  trouble   to  any 
man  but  what  his  own  ignorance  or  peevifh- 
nefs  was  pleafed  to  fpin  out  of  his  own 

bowels; 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS, 


2$C 


bowels ;  but  did  eftablifh  governments,  fe- 
cure  obedience,  made  the  laws  firm,  and 
the  perfons  of  princes  to  be  facred;  it  did 
not  oppofe  force  by  force,  nor  ftrikc  princes 
for  juflice  ;  it  defended  itfelf  againil  ene- 
mies bv  patience,  and  overcame  them  by 
kindnefs ;  it  was  the  great  inftrument  of 
God  to  demonilrate  his  power  in  our 
weaknefies,  and  to  do  good  to  mankind 
by  the  imitation  of  his  excellent  good- 
nefs. 

Laftly,  he  that  confiders  concerning 
the  religion  and  perfon  of  Mahomet;  that 
he  was  a  vicious  perfon,  lullful  and  ty- 
rannical ;  that  he  propounded  incredible 
and  ridiculous  proportions  to  his  difciples ; 
that  it  entered  by  the  fword,  by  blood  and 
violence,  by  murder  and  robbery ;  that  it 
propounds  fenfual  rewards,  and  allures  to 
compliance  by  bribing  our  bafefl  lufts ; 
that  it  conferves  itfelf  by  the  fame  means 
it  entered ;  that  it  is  unlearned  and  fooliih, 
againft  reafon,  and  the  difcouries  of  all 
wife  men ;  that  it  did  no  miracles,  and 
made  falle  prophecies ;  in  fhort,  that  in 
the  perfon  that  founded  it,  in  the  article 
it  perfuades,  in  the  manner  of  prevailing, 
in  the  reward  it  offers,  it  is  unholy  and 
fooliih  and  rude  :  it  mull;  needs  appear  to 
'  be  void  of  all  pretence  ;  and  that  no  man 
of  reafon  can  ever  be  fairly  perfuaded  by 
arguments,  that  it  is  the  daughter  of  God, 
and  came  down  from  heaven. 

Conclusion. 

Since  therefore  there  is  fo  nothing  to  be 
faid  for  any  other  religion,  and  fo  very 
much  for  Chrillianity,  every  one  of  vvhofe 
pretences  can  be  proved,  as  well  as  the 
things  themfelves  do  require,  and  as  all 
the  world  expects  fuch  things  mould  be 
proved ;  it  follows,  that  the  holy  Jefus  is 
the  Son  of  God  ;  that  his  religion  is  com- 
manded by  God,  and  is  that  way  by  which 
he  will  be  worshipped  ar.d  honoured ;  and 
that  "  there  is  no  other  name  under  hea- 
ven by  which  we  can  be  laved,  but  only 
the  name  of  the  Lord  Jefus." 

Bijhop  Taylor. 

§  200.    To  the  Sceptics  and  Infidels  of  the 
Age. 
Gentlemen, 
Suppofe  the  mighty  work  accomplished, 
the  crois  trampled  upon,  Chrillianity  every 
where  profcribed,  and  the  religion  of  na- 
ture once  more  become  the  religion  of 


Europe ;  what  advantage  will  you  have 
derived  to  your  country,  or  to  yourfelves, 
from  the  exchange  f  I  know  your  anfwer— 
you  will  have  freed  the  world  from  the 
hypocrify  of  prieils,  and  the  tyranny  of 
fuperitition. — No ;  you  forget  that  Ly- 
curgus,  and  Numa,  and  Odin,  and  Mango- 
Copac,  and  all  the  great  legiflators  of  an- 
cient or  modern  Itory,  have  been  of  opi- 
nion, that  the  affairs  of  civil  fociety  could 
not  well  be  conducted  without  fome  reli- 
gion; you  mull  of  neceflity  introduce  a 
prieithood,  with,  probably,  as  much  hypo- 
crify; a  religion,  with,  afTuredly,  more 
fuperitition,  than  that  which  you  now  re- 
probate with  fuch  indecent  and  ill-grounded 
contempt.  Eut  I  will  tell  you,  from  what 
you  will  have  freed  the  world ;  you  will 
have  freed  it  from  its  abhorrence  of  vice, 
and  from  every  powerful  incentive  to 
virtue ;  you  will,  with  the  religion,  have 
brought  back  the  depraved  morality,  of 
Paganifm  ;  you  will  have  robbed  mankind 
of  their  firm  aflurance  of  another  life;  and 
thereby  you  will  have  defpoiled  them  of 
their  patience,  of  their  humility,  of  their 
charity,  of  their  chaitity,  of  all  thofe  mild 
and  iilent  virtues,  which  (however  defpi- 
cable  they  may  appear  in  your  eyes)  are 
the  only  ones,  which  meliorate  and  fub'.ime 
our  nature  ;  which  Paganifm  never  knew, 
which  fpring  from  Chrillianity  alone, 
which  do  or  might  conflitute  our  comfort 
in  this  life,  and  without  the  pofleffion  of 
which,  another  life,  if  after  all  there  fhould 
happen  to  be  one,  mull  be  more  vicious 
and  more  miferable  than  this  is,  unlefs  a 
miracle  be  exerted  in  the  alteration  of  our 
difpofition. 

Perhaps  you  will  contend,  that  the  uni- 
verfal  light  of  reafon,  that  the  truth  and 
fitnefs  of  things,  are  of  themfelves  fuffi- 
cient  to  exalt  the  nature,  and  regulate  the 
manners  of  mankind.  Shall  we  never  have 
done  with  this  groundiefs  commendation 
of  natural  law?  Look  into  the  firll  chapter 
of  Paui's  epiille  to  the  Romans,  and  you 
will  fee  the  extent  of  its  influence  over  the 
Gentiles  of  thofe  days ;  or  if  you  diflike 
Paul's  authority,  and  the  manners  of  anti- 
quity ;  look  into  the  more  admired  ac- 
counts of  modern  voyagers ;  ana  examine 
its  influence  over  the  Pagans  of  our  own 
times,  over  the  fenfual  inhabitants  of  O- 
tahcite,  over  the  cannibals  of  New  Zeland, 
or  the  remorfelets  favages  of  America. 
But  thefe  men  are  Barbarians. — Your  law 
of  nature,   notwithitanding,  extends  even 

to 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


282 

to  them: — but  they  have  mifufed  their 
reafon  ; — they  have  then  the  more  need 
of,  and  would  be  the  mere  thankful  for 
that  revelation,  which  you,  with  an  ig- 
norant and  faftidious  felf-fufficiency  deem 
ufelefs. — But,  they  might  of  themfeives,  if 
they  thought  fit,  become  wife  and  vir- 
tuous.— I  anfwer  with  Cicero,  Ut  nihil 
intereft,  utrum  nemo  valeat,  an  nemo  ra- 
lere  poflitj  fie  non  intelligo  quid  inter- 
fit,  utrum  nemo  Sit  fapiens,  an  nemo  efie 
polTit. 

Thefe,  however,  you  will  think,  are  ex- 
traordinary inftances ;  and  that  we  ought 
not  from  thefe,  to  take  our  meafure  of 
the  excellency  of  the  law  of  nature  ;  but 
rather  from  the  civilized  ftates  of  China 
and  Japan,  or  from  the  nations  which 
Hourifned  in  learning  and  in  arts,  before 
Chriilianity  was  heard  of  in  the  w  irld. 
You  mean  to  fay,  that  by  the  law  of  na- 
ture, which  you  are  defirous  of  fubftituting 
in  the  room  of  the  gofpel,  you  do  not 
undcrftand  thofe  rules  of  conduct,  which 
an  individual,  abtlra&ed  from  the  com- 
munity, and  deprived  of  the  invitation  of 
mankind,  could  excogitate  for  himfelf;  but 
fuch  a  fyftem  of  precepts,  as  the  moil  en- 
lightened men  of  the  moil  enlightened  ages, 
have  recommended  to  our  obfervance. 
Where  do  you  find  this  fyftem  ?  We  can- 
not meet  with  it  in  the  works  of  Stobaeus, 
or  the  Scythian  Anacharfis ;  nor  in  thofe 
of  Plato,  or  of  Cicero,  nor  in  thofe  of  the 
emperor  Antoninus,  or  the  Have  Epic- 
tetus ;  for  we  are  perfuaded,  that  the  moll 
animated  cenfiderations  of  the  •mpntov,  and 
the  hbneftum,  of  the  beauty  of  virtue,  and 
the  fitnefs  of  things,  are  not  able  to  furnifh, 
even  a  Brutus  himfelf,  with  permanent 
principles  of  action ;  much  lefs  are  they 
able  to  purify  the  polluted  recefTes  of  a 
vitiated  heart,  to  curb  the  irregularities  of 
appetite,  or  reftrain  the  impetuofity  of 
paffion  in  common  men.  If  you  order 
us  to  examine  the  works  of  Grotius,  or 
Puftvndorf,  of  Burlamaqui,  or  Hutchinfon, 
for  what  you  underhand  by  the  law  of 
nature;  we  apprehend  that  you  are  in  a 
great  error,  in  taking  your  notions  of  na- 
tural law,  as  difcoverable  by  natural  rea- 
fon, from  the  elegant  fyftem s  of  it,  which 
have  been  drawn  up  by  ChrifHan  philo- 
fopheri ;  fince  they  have  all  laid  their  foun- 
ons,  either  tacitly  or  exprefsly,  upon  a 
iple  derived  from  revelation^  A 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  being  and  at- 
tributes of  God:  and  even  thofe  among  It 


yourfelves,  who,  rejecting  Chriftianity,  ftill 
continue  Theifts,  are  indebted  to  revelation 
(whether  you  are  either  aware  of,  or  dif- 
noied  to  acknowledge  the  debt,  or  not) 
for  thofe  fublime  fpeculations  concerning 
the  deity,  which  you  have  fondly  attri- 
buted to  the  excellency  of  your  own  un- 
ai  lied  reafor,.  If  yen  would  know  the 
real  ftrength  of  natural  reafon,  and  how 
far  it  can  proceed  in  th:  inveftigation  or 
inforcement  of  moral  duties,  you  mall 
confult  the  manners  and  the  writings  of 
thofe,  who  have  never  heard  of  either  the 
Jewifh  or  the  ChrifHan  difpenfation,  or  of 
thofe  other  manifestations  of  himfelf,  which 
God  vcuchfafed  to  Adam  and  to  the  pa- 
triarchs, before  and  after  die  flood.  It 
would  be  difficult  perhaps  any  where,  to 
find  a  people  entirely  deftitute  of  tradi- 
tionary notices  concerning  a  deity,  and 
of  traditionary  fears  or  expectations  of 
another  life;  and  the  morals  of  mankind 
may  have,  perhaps,  been  no  where  quite 
fo  abandoned,  as  they  would  have  been, 
had  th  ■;.'  been  left  wholly  to  themfeives 
in  thefe  points :  however,  it  is  a  truth, 
which  cannot  be  denied,  how  much  fo- 
ever  it  may  be  lamented,  that  though  the 
generality  of  mankind  have  always  had 
fome  faint  conceptions  of  God,  and  his 
providence;  yet  they  hare  been  always 
greatly  inefficacious  in  the  production  of 
good  morality,  and  highly  derogatory  to 
his  nature,  amongft  all  the  people  of  the 
earth,  except  the  Jews  and  Chriftians ; 
and  fome  may  perhaps  be  defirous  of 
excepting  the  Mahometans,  who  derive 
all  that  is  good  in  their  Koran  from 
Chriftianity. 

The  laws  concerning  juftice,  and  the 
reparation  of  damages,  concerning  the 
fecurity  of  property,  and  the  performance 
of  contrails ;  concerning,  in  fhort,  what- 
ever affefts  the  well-being  of  civil  fociety, 
have  been  every  where  underftood  with 
fufHcient  precifion;  and  if  you  choofe  to 
ftile  Juftiriian's  code,  a  code  of  natural 
law,  though  you  will  err  agalnft  propriety 
of  fpeech,  yet  you  are  fo  far  in  the  right, 
that  natural  reafon  difcovered,  and  the 
depravity  of  human  nature  compelled  hu~ 
man  kind,  to  eftablifh  by  proper  fandtions 
the  laws  therein  contained ;  and  you  will 
have  moreover  Carneades,  no  mean  philo- 
fopher,  on  your  fide  ;  who  knew  of  no  law 
of  nature,  different  from  that  which  men 
had  inftituted  for  their  common  utility ; 
and  which  was  various  according  to  the 

manners 


EOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


2*3 


manners  of  men  in  different  climates,  and 
changeable  with  a  change  of  times  in  the 
fame.  And  in  truth,  in  all  countries  where 
Pap-anifm  has  been  the  eftabliihed  religion, 
though  a  philofopher  may  now  and  then 
have  Hepped  beyond  the  paltry  prefcript 
of  civil  jurifprudence,  in  his  purfuit  of 
virtue  ;  yet  the  bulk  of  mankind  have  ever 
been  contented  with  that  fcanty  pittance 
of  morality,  which  enabled  them  to  efcape 
the  lam  of  civil  puniihrnent:  I  call  it  a 
fcanty  pittance;  becaufe  a  man  may  be 
intemperate, iniquitous,  impious,  a  thoufand 
ways  a  profligate  and  a  villain,  and  yet 
elude  the  cognizance,  and  avoid  the  puniih- 
ment of  civil  laws. 

I  am  fenlible,  you  will  be  ready  to  fav, 
what  is  ail  this  to  the  purpofe  ?  though  the 
bulk  of  mankind  may  never  be  able  to 
inveftigate  the  laws  of  natural  religion,  nor 
difpofed  to  reverence  their  Sanctions  when 
investigated  by  others,  nor  Solicitous  about 
any  other  Standard  of  moral  rectitude,  than 
civil  legiflation;  yet  the  inconveniences 
which  may  attend  the  extirpation  of 
Christianity,  can  be  no  proof  of  its  truth. 
—I  have  not  produced  them,  as  a  proof 
of  its  truth ;  but  they  are  a  Strong  and 
conclufive  proof,  if  not  of  its  truth,  at 
leaSt  of  its  utility;  and  the  confideration 
of  its  utility,  may  be  a  motive  to  yourfelves 
for  examining,  whether  it  may  not  chance 
to  be  true ;  and  it  ought  to  be  a  reafon 
with  every  good  citizen,  and  with  every 
man  of  found  judgment,  to  keep  his  opi- 
nions to  himfelf,  if  from  any  particular 
circumstances  in  his  Studies  or  in  his  edu- 
cation he  mould  have  the  misfortune  to 
think  that  it  is  not  true.  If  you  can  dis- 
cover to  the  riling  generation,  a  better  re- 
ligion than  the  Chriftian,  one  that  will 
more  effectually  animate  their  hopes,  and 
fubdue  their  paffions,  make  them  better 
men,  or  better  members  of  fociety,  we 
importune  you  to  publiih  it  for  their  ad- 
vantage ;  but  till  you  can  do  that,  we  beg 
of  you,  not  to  give  the  reins  to  their 
paihons,  by  inftilling  into  their  unfufpi- 
cious  minds  your  pernicious  prejudices  : 
even  now,  men  fcruple  not,  by  their  law- 
lefs  lull,  to  ruin  the  repoSe  of  private  fami- 
lies, and  to  fix  a  Stain  of  infamy  on  the 
nobleit :  even  now,  they  helitate  not,  in 
lifting  up  a  murderous  arm  againit  the  life 
of  their  friend,  or  againSt  their  own,  as 
often  as  the  fever  of  intemperance  ftimu- 
lates  their  refentment,  or  the  Satiety  of  an 


ufelefs  life  excites  their  defpondency:  even 
now,whilthveare  perfuaded  of  a  reSurreftion 
from  the  dead,  and  of  a  judgment  to  come, 
we  find  it  difficult  enough  to  refill:  the  Soli- 
citations of  fenfe,  and  to  efcape  unfpotted 
from  the  licentious  manners  of  the  world: 
But  what  will  become  of  our  virtue,  what 
of  the  consequent  peace  and  happinefs 
of  fociety,  if  you  perfuade  us,  that  there 
are  no  fuch  things  ?  in  two  words, — you 
may  ruin  yourfelves  by  your  attempt,  and 
you  will  certainly  ruin  your  country  by 
your  fuccefs. 

But  the  consideration  of  the  inutility  of 
your  defign,  is  not  the  only  one,  which 
Should  induce  you  to  abandon  it ;  the  ar- 
gument a  tuto  ought  to  be  warily  managed, 
or  it  may  tend  to  the  Silencing  cur  op- 
position to  any  Svltem  of  Superstition,  which 
has  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  fancliSied 
by  public  authority ;  it  is,  indeed,  liable 
to  no  objection  in  the  prefent  cafe;  we 
do  not,  however,  wholly  rely  upon  its 
cogency.  It  is  not  contended,  that  Chris- 
tianity is  to  be  received,  merely  becauSe  it 
is  ufeful :  but  becaufe  it  is  true.  This 
you  deny,  and  think  your  objections  well 
grounded;  we  conceive  them  originating 
in  your  vanity,  your  immorality,  or  your 
miSapprehenfion.  There  are  many  woxth- 
leSs  doctrines,  many  fuperllitious  obser- 
vances, which  the  fraud  or  folly  of  man- 
kind have  every  where  annexed  to  Chriiti- 
anity, (efpecially  in  the  church  of  Rome) 
as  effential  parts  of  it ;  if  you  take  thefe 
Scrry  appendages  to  Chriitianity,  for 
Christianity  itSelf,  as  preached  by  Chrirt, 
and  by  the  apoitles ;  if  you  confound  the 
Roman,  with  the  Chriltian  religion,  you 
quite  miSapprehend  its  nature ;  and  are  in 
a  ltate  Similar  to  that  of  men,  (mentioned 
by  Plutarch,  in  his  treatife  of  fuperlli- 
tion) who  flymg  from  SuperStition,  leapt 
over  religion,  and  Sunk  into  downright 
atheiSm. — Chriitianity  is  not  a  religion 
very  palatable  to  a  voluptuous  age ;  it  will 
not  conform  its  precepts  to  the  Standard 
oSfiihion;  it  will  not  leiTen  the  deformity 
of  vice  by  lenient  appellations ;  but  calls 
keeping,  whoredom  ;  intrigue,  adultery  ; 
and  duelling,  murder ;  it  will  not  pander 
the  lull,  it  will  not  licenfe  the  intem- 
perance of  mankind;  it  is  a  troubleSome 
monitor  to  a  man  of  pleaSure ;  and 
your  way  of  life  may  have  made  you 
quarrel  with  your  religion. —  As  to  your 
vanity,  as  a  caufe  of  your  infidelity,  Suffer 

me 


2S4 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


me  to  produce  the  fentiments  of  M.  Bayle 
upon  that  head;  if  the  defcription  does 
not  fuit  your  character,  you  will  not  be 
offended  at  it;  and  if  you  are  offended 
with  its  freedom,  it  will  do  you  good, 
*  This  inclines  me  to  believe,  that  liber- 
tines, like  Des-Barreaux,  are  not  greatly 
perfuaded  of  the  truth  of  what  they  fay. 
They  have  made  no  deep  examination  ; 
they'  have  learned  fome  few  objections, 
which  they  are  perpetually  making  a  noife 
with;  they  fpeak  from  a  principle  of  orien- 
tation, and  give  themfelves  the  lie  in  the 
time  of  danger. — Vanity  has  a  greater 
ihare  in  their  difputes,  than  confcier.ee  ; 
they  imagine,  that  the  Angularity  and 
boldnefs  of  the  opinions  which  they  main- 
tain, will  give  them  the  reputation  of  men 
of  parts : — by  degrees,  they  get  a  habit 
of  holding  impious  difecurfes;  and  if  their 
vanity  be  accompanied  by  a  voluptuous 
life,  their  prcgrefs  in  that  road  is  the 
fwifter.' 

The  main  ftrefs  of  your  objections,  reils 
not  upon  the  infufiiciency  of  the  external 
evidence  to  the  truth  of  Chriffianity  ;  for 
few  of  you,  though  you  may  become  the 
future  ornaments  of  the  fenate,  or  of  the 
bar,  have  ever  employed  an  hour  in  its 
examination  ;  but  it  reils  upon  the  diffi- 
culty of  the  doctrine;,  contained  in  the 
New  Teftament:  they  exceed,  you  fay, 
your  ccmprehenfion ;  and  you  felicitate 
yourfelves,  that  you  are  not  yet  arrived 
at  the  true  ftandard  of  orthodox  faith, — 
credo  quia  impoflibile.  Ycu  think,  it 
would  be  taking  a  fuperfluous  trouble,  to 
enquire  into  the  nature  of  the  external 
proefs,  by  which  Chriltianity  is  eilablifhed; 
iince,  in  your  opinion,  the  book  itfelf  car- 
ith  it  its  own  refutation.  A  gentle- 
man as  acute,  probably,  as  any  of  you; 
vho  once  believed,  perhaps,  as  little 
a,  any  of  you,  has  drawn  a  quire  different 
conclufion  from  the  perufal  of  the  New 
Teftament;  his  book  (however  exception-: 
able  it  may  be  tl  ought  in  fome  particular 
parts)  exhibits,  not  only  a  diilinguifhed 
triumph  of  reafon  over  prejudice,  of 
Chriftianity  over  deifm  ;  but  it  exhibits, 
what  is  infinitely  more  rare,  the  character 
of  a  man,  who  ha  >  had  courage  and  candour 
enough  to  acknowledge  it. 

But  what  if  there   fhould  be  fome  in- 
.    tnpi     i     fil       doctrines  in   the  Chriftian 

ligion;    fome    circumftances,   which    in 
caufes,  or  their  conferences,   fu.r- 


pafs  the  reach  of  human  reafon  ;  are  they 
to  be  rejected  upon  that  account  ?  You 
are,  or  would  be  thought,  men  of  read- 
ing, and  knowledge,  and  enlarged  under- 
ftandings ;  weigh  the  matter  fairly ;  and 
confider  whether  revealed  religion  be  not, 
in  this  refpect,  juft  upon  the  fame  footing, 
with  every  other  object  of  your  contem- 
plation. Even  in  mathematics,  thefcience 
of  demonstration  itfelf,  though  you  get 
over  its  firft  principles,  and  learn  to  digeit 
the  idea  of  a  point  without  parts,  a  line 
without  breadth,  and  a  furface  without 
thicknefs  ;  yet  you  will  find  yourfelves  at 
a  lofs  to  comprehend  the  perpetual  ap- 
proximation of  lines,  which  can  never 
meet ;  the  doctrine  of  incommenfurables^ 
and  of  an  infinity  of  infinites,  each  in- 
finitely greater,  or  infinitely  lefs,  not  only 
than  any  finite  quantity,  but  than  each 
other.  In  phyfics,  ycu  cannot  compre- 
hend the  primary  caufe  of  any  thing  ;  not 
of  the  light,  by  which  you  fee ;  nor  of 
the  elallicity  of  the  air,  by  which  you 
hear;  nor  of  the  fire,  by  which  you  are 
warmed.  In  phyfiology,  you  cannot  tell, 
what  firft  gave  motion  to  the  heart ;  nor 
what  continues  it ;  nor  why  its  motion  is 
lefs  voluntary,  than  that  of  the  lungs ;  nor 
why  you  are  able  to  move  your  arm,  to 
the  right  or  left,  by  a  fimple  volition :  you 
cannot  explain  the  caufe  of  animal  heat; 
nor  comprehend  the  principle,  by  which 
your  body  was  at  firft  formed,  nor  by 
which  it  is  fuftained,  nor  by  which  it  will 
be  reduced  to  earth.  In  natural  reli- 
gion, you  cannot  comprehend  the  eternity 
or  omniprefence  of  the  Deity  ;  nor  ea- 
fily  underftand,  how  his  prefcience  can 
be  confiftent  with  your  freedom,  or  his 
immutability  with  his  government  of  moral 
agents ;  nor  why  he  did  not  make  all  his 
creatures  equally  perfect ;  nor  why  he  did 
not  create  them  fooner :  la  lhort,  you 
cannot  look  into  any  branch  of  knowledge, 
but  you  will  meet  with  fubjects  above 
your  comprehenfion.  The  fall  and  the 
redemption  of  human  kind,  are  not  more 
incomprehenfible,  than  the  creation  and 
the  confervation  of  the  univerfe ;  the  infinite 
author  of  the  works  of  providence,  and  of 
nature,  is  equally  infcrutable,  equally  pail 
our  finding  out  in  them  both.  And  it  is 
fomewhat  remarkable,  that  the  deepefl  in- 
quirers into  nature,  have  ever  thought  with 
i  ofj  reverence,  and  fpoken  with  moft 
diffidence,  concerning  thole  things,  which 

in 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


2S5 


in  revealed  religion,  may  feem  hard  to  be 
underftood;  they  have  ever  avoided  that 
felf-fufficiency  of  knowledge,  which  fprings 
from  ignorance,  produces  indifference,  and 
ends  in  infidelity.  Admirable  to  this  pur- 
pofe,  is  the  reflection  of  the  greateft  mathe- 
matician of  the  prefent  age,  when  he  is 
combating  an  opinion  of  Newton's,  by  an 
hypothecs  of  his  own,  ftill  lefs  defensible 
than  that  which  he  oppofes  : — Tous  les 
jours  que  je  vols  de  ces  efprits-forts,  qui 
critiquent  les  verites  de  notre  religion,  et 
s'en  mocquent  meme  avec  la  plus  imperti- 
nente  fufhTance,  je  penfe,  chetifs  mortel ! 
combien  et  cornbien  des  chofes  fur  lefquels 
vous  raifonnez  fi  legerement,  font  elles 
plus  fublimes,  et  plus  eleves,  que  celles 
fur  lefquelles  le  grand  Newton  s'egare  ii 
groffierement. 

Plato  mentions  a  fet  of  men,  who  were 
very  ignorant,  and  thought  themfelves 
fupremely  wife;  and  who  rejected  the 
argument  for  the  being  of  a  God,  derived 
from  the  harmony  and  order  of  the  uni- 
verfe,  as  old  and  trite ;  there  have  been 
men,  it  feems,  in  all  ages,  who  in  affecting 
Angularity,  have  overlooked  truth  :  an  ar- 
gument, however,  is  not  the  worfe  for 
being  old ;  and  furely  it  would  have  been 
a  more  juft  mode  of  reafoning,  if  you  had 
examined  the  external  evidence  for  the 
truth  of  Chriftianity,  weighed  the  old  ar- 
guments from  miracles,  and  from  prophe- 
cies, before  you  had  rejecled  the  whole 
account  from  the  difficulties  you  met  with 
in  it.  You  would  laugh  at  an  Indian,  who 
in  peeping  into  a  hiftory  of  England,  and 
meeting  with  the  mention  of  the  Thames 
being  frozen,  or  of  a  fhower  of  hail,  or  of 
fnow,  mould  throw  the  book  afide,  as 
unworthy  of  his  further  notice,  from  his 
want  of  ability  to  comprehend  thefe  phe- 
nomena. 

In  considering  the  argument  from  mi- 
racles, you  will  Toon  be  convinced,  that  it 
is  poflible  for  God  to  work  miracles ; 
and  you  will  be  convinced,  that  it  is  as 
poflible  for  human  teftimony  to  eftablifh 
the  truth  of  miraculous,  as  of  physical 
or  hiftorical  events ;  but  before  you  can 
be  convinced  that  the  miracles  in  queftion 
are  fupported  by  fuch  teftimony  as  de- 
ferves  to  be  credited,  you  muft  inquire  at 
what  period,  and  by  what  perfons,  the 
books  of  the  Old  and  New  Te  [lament  were 
compofed;  if  you  reject  the  account,  with- 
out making  this  examination,  you  reject  it 
from  prejudice,  not  from  reafon. 


There  is,  however,  a  fhort  method  of 
examining  this  argument,  which  may, 
perhaps,  make  as  great  an  impreflion  on 
your  minds,  as  any  other.  Three  men  of 
diftinguiihed  abilities,  rofe  up  at  different 
times,  and  attacked  Chriftianity  with 
every  objection  which  their  malice  could 
fuggeft,  or  their  learning  could  devife; 
but  neither  Celfus  in  the  fecond  century, 
nor  Porphyry  in  the  third,  nor  the  emperor 
Julian  himfelf  in  the  fourth  century,  ever 
questioned  the  reality  of  the  miracles  re- 
lated in  the  gofpels.  Do  but  you  grant 
us  what  thefe  men  (who  were  more  likely 
to  know  the  truth  of  the  matter,  than  you 
can  be)  granted  to  their  adverfaries,  and 
we  will  very  readily  let  you  make  the  moll 
of  the  magic,  to  which,  as  the  laft  wretched 
fhift,  they  were  forced  to  attribute  them. 
We  can  find  you  men,  in  our  days,  who 
from  the  mixture  of  two  colourlefs  liquors, 
will  produce  you  a  third  as  red  as  blood, 
or  of  any  other  colour  you  defire  ;  et  dido 
citius,  by  a  drop  refembling  water,  will 
reftore  the  tranfparency  ;  they  will  make 
two  fluids  coalefce  into  a  folid  body;  and 
from  the  mixture  of  liquors  colder  than 
ice,  will  inftantly  raife  you  a  horrid  explo- 
sion, and  a  tremendous  flame:  thefe,  and 
twenty  other  tricks  they  will  perform,  with- 
out having  been  fent  with  our  Saviour  to 
Egypt  to  learn  magic ;  nay,  with  a  bottle 
or  two  of  oil,  they  will  compofe  the  undu- 
lations of  a  lake  ;  and  by  a  little  art,  they 
will  reftore  the  functions  of  life  to  a  man, 
who  has  been  an  hour  or  two  under  wa- 
ter, or  a  day  or  two  buried  in  the  fnow : 
but  in  vain  will  thefe  men,  or  the  greateft 
magician  that  Egypt  ever  faw,  fay  to  a 
boillerous  fea,  "  Peace,  be  ftill ;"  in  vain 
will  they  fay  to  a  carcafe  rotting  in  the 
grave,  "  Come  forth ;"  the  winds  and  the 
fea  will  not  obey  them,  and  the  putrid  car- 
cafe  will  not  hear  them.  You  need  not 
fuffer  yourfelves  to  be  deprived  of  the 
weight  of  this  argument ;  from  its  having 
been  obferved,  that  the  Fathers  have  ac- 
knowledged the  fupernatural  part  of  Pa- 
ganifm;  fince  the  Fathers  were  in  no  con- 
dition to  detect  a  cheat,  which  was  fup- 
ported both  by  the  difpofltion  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  the  power  of  the  civil  magiftrate; 
and  they  were,  from  that  inability,  forced 
to  attribute  to  infernal  agency  what  was 
too  cunningly  contrived  to  be  detedled, 
and  contrived  for  too  impious  a  pur- 
pofe,  to  be  "credited  as  the  work  of 
God, 

With 


2S6 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    EN    PROSE. 


With  refpect  to  prophecy,  you  may, 
perhaps,  have  accuflomed  yourfelves  to 
confider  it,  as  originating  in  Aiiatic  en- 
thufiafm,  in  Chaldean  myilery,  or  in  the 
iubtle  Aratagem  of  interefted  priefts;  and 
have  given  yourfelves  no  more  trouble 
concerning  the  predictions  of  facred,  than 
concerning  the  oracles  of  Pagan  hiflory. 
Or,  if  you  have  ever  call  a  glance  upon 
this  fubjecE  the  diffenfions  of  learned  men 
concerning  the  proper  interpretation  of 
the  revelation,  and  other  difficult  prophe- 
cies, may  have  made  you  rafhly  conclude, 
that  all  prophecies  were  equally  unintel- 
ligible ;  ar.d  more  indebted  for  their  ac- 
complilhment,  to  a  fortunate  concurrence 
of  events,  and  the  pliant  ingenuity  of  the 
expohtor,  than  to  the  infpired  forefight  of 
the  prophet.  In  all  that  the  prophets  of 
the  Old  Teflament  have  delivered,  con- 
cerning the  deftruction  of  particular  cities 
and  the  defoiation  of  particular  kingdoms, 
you  may  fee  nothing  but  fhrewd  conjec- 
tures, which  any  one  acquainted  with  the 
hiflory  of  the  rife  and  fall  of  empires, 
might  certainly  have  made  :  and  as  von 
would  not  hold  him  for  a  prophet,  who 
ihould  now  affirm,  that  London  or  Paris 
would  afford  to  future  ages,  a  fpectacle 
juft  as  melancholy,  as  that  which  u  e  now 
contemplate,  with  a  ugh,  in  the  nuns  of 
Aeriwentnm  or  Palmyra;  fo  vou  cannot 
perfuade  yourfelves  to  believe,  that  the 
denunciations  of  the  prophets  againft  the 
haughty  cities  of  Tyre  or  Babylon,  for 
initance,  proceeded  from  the  infpiration 
of  the  Deity.  There  is  no  doubt,  that  by 
fome  fuch  general  kind  of  reafoning,  many 
are  influenced  to  pay  no  attention  to  an 
argument,  which,  if  properly  confidered, 
carries  with  it  the  ftrongeft  conviction. 

Spinoza  had,  That  he  would  have 
broken  his  atheiftic  fyftem  to  pieces,  and 
embraced  without  repugnance  the  ordinary 
faith  of  Chritdans,  if  he  could  have  per- 
fuaded  himfclf  of  the  refurreclion  of  Laza- 
rus from  the  dead ;  and  I  queftion  not, 
that  there  are  many  difbelievers,  who 
would  relinquifh  their  deillic  tenets,  and 
receive  the  gofpel,  if  they  could  perfuade 
themfelves,  that  God  had  ever  fo  far  inter- 
fered in  the  moral  government  of  the 
world,  as  to  illumine  the  mind  of  any 
one  man  with  the  knowledge  of  future 
events.  A  miracle  ftrikes  the.  denies  of 
the  perfons  who  fee  it,  a  prop'ecy  ad- 
dreffes  itielf  to  the  underflandings  of  thole 


who  behold  its  completion ;  and  it  re* 
quires,  in  many  cafes,  fome  learning,  in 
all  fome  attention,  to  judge  of  the  corre- 
fpondence  of  events  with  the  predictions 
concerning  them.  No  one  can  be  con- 
vinced, that  what  Jeremiah  and  the  other 
prophets  foretold  of  the  fate  of  Babylon, 
that  it  ihould  be  beiieged  by  the  Medes ; 
that  it  ihould  be  taken,  when  her  mighty 
ffi*n  were  drunken,  when  her  fprings  were 
dried  up  ;  and  that  it  mould  become  a  pool 
of  water,  and  ihould  remain  defolate  for 
ever ;  no  one,  I  fay,  can  be  convinced, 
that  all  thefe,  and  other  parts  of  the  pro- 
phetic denunciation,  have  been  minutely 
fulfilled,  without  fpending  fome  time  in 
reading  the  accounts,  which  profane  hiflo- 
rians  have  delivered  down  to  us  con- 
cerning its  being  taken  by  Cyrus;  and 
which  modern  travellers  have  given  us  of 
its  prefent  fituation. 

Porphyry  was  fo  perfuaded  of  the  coin- 
cidence between  the  prophecies  of  Daniel 
and  the  events,  that  he  was  forced  to  affirm 
the  prophecies  were  written  after  the 
tilings  prophefied  of  had  happened;  ano- 
ther Porphyry  has,  in  our  days,  been  fo 
aftoniihed  at  the  correfpondence  between 
the  prophecy  concerning  the  deft.ruct.iori 
of  Jerufalem,  as  related  by  St.  Matthew, 
and  the  hiflory  of  that  event,  as  recorded 
by  Joiephus ;  that,  rather  than  embrace 
Chrillianity,  he  has  ventured  to  afTest 
(contrary  to  the  faith  of  all  ecclefialtical 
hiflory,  the  opinion  of  the  learned  of  all 
ages,  and  all  the  rules  of  good  criticifm) 
that  St.  Matthew  wrote  his  Gofpel  after 
Jerufalem  had  been  taken  and  deftroyed 
by  the  Romans.  You  may  from  thefe 
inflances  perceive  the  flrength  of  the  ar- 
gument from  prophecy ;  it  has  not  been 
able  indeed  to  vanquish  the  prejudices  of 
either  the  antient  or  the  modern  Por- 
phyry ;  but  it  has  been  able  to  compel 
them  both,  to  be  guilty  of  obvious  falfe- 
hoods,  which  have  nothing  but  impudent 
ailertions  to  fupport  them. 

Some  over-zealous  interpreters  of  fcrip- 
ture  have  found  prophecies  in  funple  nar- 
rations, extended  real  predictions  beyond 
the  times  and  circumftances  to  which  they 
naturally  were  applied,  and  perplexed  their 
readers  with  a  thoufand  quaint  allufions 
and  allegorical  conceits ;  this  proceeding 
has  made  unthinking  men  pay  lefs  re- 
gard to  p-ophecy  in  general ;  there  are 
iome  predictions  however,  fuch  as  thofe 
£  concerning 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


?.Sf 


fcCncerning  the  prefent  ftate  of  the  Jewifh 
people,  and  the  corruption  of  Chriftianity, 
which  are  now  fulfilling  in  the  world  ;  and 
which,  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to 
examine  them,  you  will  find  of  inch  an 
extraordinary  natu.e,  that  you  will  not 
perhaps  hefitate  to  refer  them  to  God  as 
their  autnor;  and  if  you  once  become  per- 
fuaded  of  the  truth  of  any  one  miracle,  or 
of  the  completion  cf  any  one  prophecy, 
you  will  reiolve  all  your  difficulties  (con- 
cerning the  manner  of  God's  interpoiition, 
in  the  moral  government  of  our  fpecies, 
and  the  nature  of  the  doctrines  contained 
in  revelation)  into  your  own  inability  fu]ly 
to  comprehend  the  whole  fcheme  of  divine 
providence. 

We  are  told  however,  that  the  ftrange- 
•nefs  of  the  narration,  and  the  difficulty  of 
the  doctrines  contained  in  the  New  Tefta- 
meut,  are  not  the  only  circumftances  which 
induce  you  to  reject  it;  you  have  dif- 
tovered,  you  think,  fo  many  contradictions, 
in  the  accounts  which  the  Evangelifts  have 
■given  of  the  life  of  Chriii,  that  you  are 
compelled  to  confider  the  whole  as  an  ill  — 
digefted  and  improbable  ftory.  You  would 
not  reafon  thus  upon  any  other  cccafion; 
you  would  not  reject  as  fabulous  the  ac- 
counts given  by  Livy  and  Polybius  ofHan- 
nibal  and  the  Carthaginians,  though  you 
ihould  difcover  a  difference  betwixt  them 
in  feveral  points  cf  little  importance.  You 
cannot  compare  the  hiftory  of  the  fame 
events  as  delivered  by  any  two  hiiiorians, 
but  you  will  meet  with  many  circum- 
ftances, which,  though  mentioned  by  one, 
are  either  wholly  omitted  or  differently 
related  by  the  other ;  and  this  obfervation 
is  peculiarly  applicable  to  biographical 
writings:  But  no  one  ever  thought  of  dis- 
believing the  leading  circumttances  of  the 
lives  of  Vitellius  or  Vefpafian,  bec.vafe  Ta- 
citus and  Suetonius  did  not  in  every  thing 
correfpond  in  their  accounts  of  thefe  em- 
perors ;  and  if  the  memoirs  of  the  life  and 
doclrines  of  M.  de  Voltaire  himfelf,  were 
fome  twenty  or  thirty  years  after'  his  death, 
to  be  delivered  to  the  world  by  four  of 
his  mofl  intimate  acquaintance ;  I  do  not 
apprehend  that  we  Ihould  difcredit  the 
whole  account  of  fuch  an  extraordinary 
man,  by  reaibn  of  fome  flight  inconfiften- 
cies  and  contradictions,  which  the  avowed 
enemies  of  his  name  might  chance  to  dif- 
cover in  the  feveral  narrations.  Though 
we  fhould  grant  you  then,  that  the  Evan- 
geliits had  fallen  into  fome  trivial  con- 


tradictions, in  what  they  have  related  con- 
cerning the  life  of  C.  rift;  vet  you  ought 
not  to  draw  any  otner  inferei  c-.  from  our 
conce.i  on,  than  that  they  had  net  plotted 
together,  as  cheats- would  have  done,  in 
order  to  give  an  unexceptionableconfi  :er  y 
to  their  fraud.  We  are  n.  t  novvevei  dif- 
pofed  to  make  you  any  mch  conceifion; 
we  will  rather  ihew  you  the  futility  of 
your  general  argument,  by  touching  upon 
a  few  of  the  places,  which  you  think  are 
moft  liable  to  your  cenfure. 

You  obferve,  that  neither  Luke,  nor 
Mark,  nor  John  have  mentioned  the 
cruelty  of  Herod  in  murdering  the  infants 
of  Bethlehem;  and  that  no  account  is  to 
be'  found  of  this  matter  in  Jofephus,  who 
wrote  the  life  of  Herod ;  and  therefore 
the  fact  recorded  by  Matthew  is  not  true. 
—The  concurrent  teftimony  of  many  in- 
dependent writers  concerning  a  matter  of 
fad,  unquestionably  adds  to  its  probabi- 
lity ;  but  if  nothing  is  to  be  received  as 
true,  upon  the  teftimony  of  a  fingle  author, 
we  muft  give  up  fome  of  the  belt  writers, 
and  difbelieve  fome  of  the  moil  interefting 
fafts  of  antient  hiftory. 

According  to  Matthew,  Mark,  and 
Luke,  there  was  only  an  interval  cf  three 
months,  you  fay,  between  the  baptifm  and 
crucifixion  of  Jefus;  from  which  time, 
taking  away  the  forty  days  of  the  temp- 
tation, there  will  only  remain  about  fix. 
weeks  for  the  whole  period  of  his  public 
miniftry  ;  which  laded  however,  according 
to  St.  John,  at  the  leaft  above  three  years. 
— Your  objection  fairly  ftated  ftands  thus; 
Matthew,  Mark,  and  Luke,  in  writing 
the  hillory  of  Jefus  Chrift,  mention  the 
feveral  events  of  his  life,  as  following  one 
another  in  continued  fucceilion,  without 
taking  notice  cf  the  times  in  which  they 
happened;  but  is  it  a  juft  conclufion  from 
their  filence,  to  infer  that  there  really  were 
no  intervals  of  time  between  the  trans- 
actions which  they  feem  to  have  connected  r 
Many  inflances  might  be  produced  from 
the  moft  admired  biographers  of  antiquity, 
in  which  the  events  are  related,  as  im- 
mediately confeqnent  to  each  other,  which 
did  not  happen  but  at  very  diftant  periods : 
we  have  an  obvious  example  of  this  man- 
ner of  writing  in  St.  Matthew;  who  con- 
nects the  preaching  of  John  the  Baptift 
with  the  return  of  Jofeph  from  Egypt, 
though  we  are  certain,  that  the  latter 
event  preceded  the  former  by  a  great  many 
years-. 

John 


2SS 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


John  has  faid  nothing  of  the  inftitutlon  appeared  four  times,  according  to  John's 
of  the  Lord's  fupper;  tne  other  Evange-  account,  he  mufl  have  appeared  twice, 
lifts  have  faid   nothing  of  the  warning  of    according  that     of    Matthew    and 


the  difciples'  feet : — What  then  I  are  yoa 
no"  ijhamed  to  produce  thefe  facts,  as  in- 
flate s  of  contradiction  ?  if  omiffions  are 
contradictions,  look  into  the  hiftory  of  the 
age  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  or  into  the 
general  hiftory  of  M.  do  Voltaire,  and 
you  will  meet  with  a  great  abundance  of 
contradictions. 

John,  in  mentioning  the  difcourfe  which 
Jefus  haa  with  hio  mother  and  is  beloved 
diiciple,  at  the  time  of  his  crucifixion, 
lays,  that  ftie,  with  Mary  Magdalene, 
flood  near  the  crofs;  Matthew,  on  the 
ether  hand,  fays,  that  Mary  Magdalene 
and  the  other  women  were  there,  behold- 
ing afai  off:  this  you  think  a  manifeff. 
contradiction ;  and  fcoftiugly  inquire,  whe- 
ther the  women  and  the  beloved  diiciple, 
which  were  near  the  crofs,  could  be  the 
fan)-3  with  thofe,  who  flood  far  from  the 
crois : — It  is  difficult  not  to  tranfgrefs  the 
bounds  of  moderation  and  good  manners, 
in  anfwering  fuch  fophifcry:  what!  have 


Luke,  and    thrice,   according    to  that  of 
Mark. 

The  different  Evangelifts  are  not  only 
accufed  of  contradicting  each  other,  but 
Luke  is  faid  to  have  contradicted  him- 
felf;  for  in  his  gofpel  he  tells  us,  that  Jefus 
afcended  into  heaven  from  Bethany  ;  and 
in  tiie  Acts  of  the  Apoftles,  of  which  he 
is  ti'if  reputed  author,  he  informs  us,  that 
Jefus  afcended  from  Mount  Olivet.— Your 
objection  proceeds  either  from  your  igno- 
rance of  geography,  or  your  ill  will  to 
Chriinanity;  ana  upon  either  fuppofition, 
deferves  our  contempt:  be  pleafed,  how- 
ever, to  remember  for  the  future,  that 
B'  thany  was  not  on'y  the  name  of  a  town, 
but  of  a  diitnct.  of  Mount  Olivet  adjoining 
to  the  town. 

From  this  fpecimen  of  the  contra- 
dictions, afcribed  to  the  hiftorians  of  the 
life  of  Chriil,  you  may  judge  for  your- 
felves,  what  little  reafon  there  is  to  reject 
Chriftianity  upon  their  account;  and  how 
you  to  learn,  that  though  the  Evangelifts  fadly  you  will  be  impofed  upon  (in  a 
fpeak  of  the  crucifixion,  as  of  one  event,  matter  of  more  confequence  to  you  than 
it  was  not  accomplifhed  in  one  inftant,  any  other)  if  you  take  every  thing 
but  lafted  feveral  hours  ?  And  why  the  for  a  contradiction,  which  the  uncandid 
women,  who  were  at  a  distance  from  the  adverfaries  of  Chriftianity  think  proper  to 
crofs,  might  not,  during  its  continuance,     call  one. 

draw  near  the  crofs ;  or  from  being  near  Before  I  put  an  end  to  this  addrefs,  I 
the  crofs  might  not  move  from  the  cannot  help  taking  notice  of  an  argument, 
crofs,  is  more  than  you  can  explain  to  by  which  forne  philofophers  have  of  late 
either  us,  or  yourfelves.  And  we  take  endeavoured  to  overturn  the  whole  fyftem 
from  you  your  only  refuge,  by  denying  of  revelation  :  and  it  is  the  more  neceffary 
exprefsly,  that  the  different  Evangelifts,  in  to  give  an  anfwer  to  their  objection,  as  it 
their  mention  of  the  women,  fpeak  of  the  is  become  a  common  fubject  of  philofophical 
fame  point  of  time.  converfation,  efpecially  amonglt  thofe,  who 

The  Evangelifts  you  affirm,  are  fallen  have  vifi ted  the  continent.  The  objection 
into  grofs  contradictions,  in  their  accounts  tends  to  invalidate,  as  is  fuppofed,  the  autho- 
of  the  appearances,  by  which  Jefus  mani-  rity  oflviofes;  by  ihewing, that  the  earth  is 
felted  himfelf  to  his  difciples,  after  his  re-  much  older,than  it  can  be  proved  to  be  from 
furrection  from  the  dead;  for  Matthew  his  account  of  the  creation,  and  the  fcrip- 
fpeaks  of  two,  Mark  of  three,  Luke  of  ture  chronology.  We  contend,  that  fix 
two,  and  John  of  four.  That  contra-  thoufand  years  have  not  yet  elapfed,  fince 
didtory  proportions  cannot  be  true,  is  the  creation ;  and  thefe  philofophers  con- 
readily  granted ;  and  if  you  will  produce  tend,  that  they  have  indubitable  proof  of 
the  place,  in  which  Matthew  fays,  that  J e-  the  earth's  being  at  the  leaft  fourteen 
fus  Chrift  appeared  twice,  and  no  oftener,  thoufand  years  old ;  and  they  complain, 
it  will  be  further  granted,  that  he  is  that  Mofes  hangs  as  a  dead  weight  upon 
contradicted  by  John,  in  a  very  material  them,  and  blunts  all  their  zeal  for  in- 
part  of  his  narration  ;  but  till  you  do  that,     quiry. 

you  muft  excufe  me,  if  J  cannot  grant,  The  Canonico  Recupero,  who,  it  feems, 
that  the  Evangelifts  have  contradicted  each  is  engaged  in  writing  the  hiftory  of  mount 
other  in  this  point ;  for  to  common  under-  Etna,  has  difcovered  a  ftratum  of  lava, 
ftandings  it  is  pretty  evident,  that  if  Chrift  which  flowed  from  that  mountain,  ac- 
cording 


BOOK    I.     MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


hording  to  his  opinion,  in  the  time  of  the 
fecond  Punic  war,  or  about  two  thoufand 
years  ago ;  this  ftratum  is  not  yet  covered 
with  foil,  fufficient   for  the  produ&ion  of 
cither  corn  or  vines ;  it  requires  then,  fays 
the  Canon,  two  thoufand  years,  at  leaft,  to 
convert  a   ftratum  of  lava  into  a  fertile 
field.     In  finking  a  pit  near  Jaci,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Etna,    they  have  dif- 
covered  evident   marks   of  feven  diftincl: 
lavas,  one  under  the  other;  the  furfaces  of 
which  are  parallel,  and  moll  of  them  co- 
vered with  a  thick  bed  of  rich  earth  ;  now, 
the  eruption,  which  formed  the  loweft  of 
thefe  lavas  (if  we  may  be  allowed  to  rea- 
fon,  fays  the  Canon,  from  analogy,)  flowed 
from  the  mountain  at  leaft  fourteen  thou- 
fand years  ago. — It  might  be  briefly  an- 
fvvered  to  this  objection,  by  denying,  that 
there  is  any  thing  in  the  hiftory  of  Mofes 
repugnant  to  this  opinion  concerning  the 
great  antiquity  of  the  earth ;  for  though  the 
rife   and    progrefs    of  arts   and   fciences, 
and  the  fmall  multiplication  of  the  human 
fpecies,  render  it  almoft  to  a  demonftration 
probable,  that  man  has  not  exifted  longer 
upon  the  furface  of  this  earth,  than  ac- 
cording to  the  Mofaic  account ;  yet,  that 
the  earth  was  then  created  out  of  nothing, 
when  man  was  placed  upon  it,  is  not,  ac- 
cording to  the  fentiments  of  fome  philofo- 
phers,   to    be  proved    from    the   original 
text  of  facred   fcripture  j    we    might,    I 
fay,    reply,   with    thefe   philofophers,    to 
this  formidable  objection  of  the  Canon, 
by  granting  it  in  its  fulleft  extent;  we 
are  under  no  neceflity,  however,  of  adopt- 
ing their  opinion,    in  order  to  fhew  the 
weaknefs  of  the  Canon's  reafoning.     For 
in  the  firft  place,  the  Canon  has  not  fa- 
tisfactorily  eftablifhed  his  main  fact,  that 
the  lava  in  queftion,  is  the  identical  lava, 
which  Diodorus  Siculus  mentions  to  have 
flowed  from  Etna,  in  the  fecond  Cartha- 
ginian war ;  and  in  the  fecond  place,  it 
may  be  obferved,  that  the  time  neceffary 
for  converting  the  lavas  into  fertile  fields, 
muft  be  very  different,  according  to  the 
different   confiftencies    of  the   lavas,   and 
their  different  fituations,  with  refpedt  to 
elevation  or  depreffion;  to  their  being  ex- 
pofed  to  winds,  rains,  and  to  other  circum- 
itances;   juft  as  the  time,    in  which  the 
heaps  of  iron  flag  (which  refembles  lava) 
are  covered  with  verdure,  is  different  at 
different  furnaces,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  flag,  and  fituation  of  the  furnace  ; 
and  fometliing  of  this  kind  is  deducible  from 


the  account  of  the  Canon  himfelf ;  fines 
the  crevices  of  this  famous  ftratum  are- 
really  full  of  rich,  good  foil,  and  hav« 
pretty  large  trees  growing  in  them. 

But  if  all  this  lhould  be  thought  not 
fufficient  to  remove  the  objection,  I  will 
produce  the  Canon  an  analogy,  in  oppo- 
fition  to  his  analogy,  and  which  is  grounded 
on  more  certain  fadts.  Etna  and  Vefu- 
vius  refemble  each  other,  in  the  caufe* 
which  produce  their  eruptions,  and  in  th<$ 
nature  of  their  lavas,  and  in  the  time  ne- 
ceffary to  mellow  them  into  foil  fit  for 
vegetation ;  or  if  there  be  any  flight  dif- 
ference in  this  refpeft,  it  is  probably  no? 
greater  than  what  fubfifts  between  different 
lavas  of  the  fame  mountain.  This  being 
admitted,  which  no  philofopher  will  deny* 
the  Canon's  analogy  will  prove  juft  nothing 
at  all,  if  we  can  produce  an  inftance  of 
feven  different  lavas  (with  interjacent 
ftrata  of  vegetable  earth)  which  have 
flowed  from  mount  Vefuvius,  within  the 
fpace,  not  of  fourteen  thoufand,  but  of 
fomewhat  lefs  than  feventeen  hundred 
years  ;  for  then,  according  to  our  analogy, 
a  ftratum  of  lava  may  be  covered  with 
vegetable  foil,  in  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  inftead  of  requiring  two  thou- 
fand for  the  purpofe.  The  eruption  of 
Vefuvius,  which  deftroyed  Herculaneum 
and  Pompeii,  is  rendered  ftill  more  famous 
by  the  death  cf  Pliny,  recorded  by  his 
nephew,  in  his  letter  to  Tacitus ;  this  event 
happened  in  the  year  jy;  it  is  not  yet 
then  quite  feventeen  hundred  years,  fince 
Herculaneum  was  fwallowcd  up :  but  we 
are  informed  by  unqueftionable  authority, 
that  i  the  matter  which  covers  the  ancient 
town  of  Herculaneum,  is  not  the  produce 
of  one  eruption  only ;  for  there  are  evi- 
dent marks,  that  the  matter  of  fix  eruptions 
has  taken  its  courfe  over  that  which  lies 
immediately  above  the  town,  and  was  the 
caufe  of  its  deftruclion.  Thefe  ftrata  are 
either  of  lava  or  burnt  matter,  with  veins 
of  p-ood  foil  betwixt  them.'— -I  will  not 
add  another  word  ugon  this  fubject.;  ex^ 
cept  that  the  bifhop  of  the  diocefe,  was  not 
much  out  in  his  advice  to  Canonico  Re- 
cupero — to  take  care,  not  to  make  his 
mountain  older  than  Mofes ;  though  it 
would  have  been  full  as  well,  to  have  fhut 
his  mouth  with  a  reaforr,  as  to  Eave  flop- 
ped it  with  the  dread  of  an  ecclefiaftical 
cenfure. 

You  perceive,  with  what  eafe  a  little  at- 
tention will  remove  a  great  difficulty ;  but 
U  fead 


59® 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


had  we  been  able  to  fay  nothing,  in  expla- 
nation of  this  phenomenon,  we  mould  net 
have  afted  a  very  rational  part,  in  making 
©ur  ignorance  the  foundation  of  our  infide- 
lity, or  fuffering  a  minute  philoibpher  to 
rob  us  of  our  religion. 

Your  objections  to  revelation,  may  be 
numerous ;  you  may  find  fault  with  the  ac- 
count, which  Mofes  has  given  of  the  crea- 
tion and  the  fall ;  you  may  not  be  able  to 
get  water  enough  for  an  univerfal  deluge  ; 
nor  room  enough  in  the  ark  of  Noah,  for 
all  the  different  kinds  of  aerial  and  terref- 
trial  animals  ;  you  may  be  diflatisfied  with 
the  command  for  facrificing  of  Ifaac,  for 
plundering  the  Egyptians,  and  for  extir- 
pating the  Canaanites ;  you  may  find  fault 
with  the  Jewiih  ceconomy,  for  its  ceremo- 
nies its  Sacrifices,  and  its  multiplicity  of 
priefts ;  you  may  objecT:  to  the  impreca- 
tions in  the  Pfaltns,  and  think  the  immo- 
ralities  of  David,   a  fit  fubject  for  dra- 
matic ridicule ;   you  may  look  upon  the 
partial   promulgation   of  Chriftianity,   as 
sn  infuperable  objection  to  its  truth ;  and 
waywardly    reject   the  goodnefs   of   God 
toward   yourfelves,    becaufe   you    do   not 
comprehend,  how  you   have  defer ved    it 
more  than  others;  you  may  know  nothing 
©f  the  entrance  of  fin  and  death  into  the 
world,   by  one   man's  tranfgreflion ;    nor 
be  able  to  comprehend  the  doctrine  of  the 
erofs  and  of  redemption  by  Jefus  Chrifl  ; 
in  fhort,  if  your  mind  is  fo  difpofed,  you 
may  find  food  for  your  fcepticifm  in  every 
page  of  the  Bible,  as  well  as  in  every  ap- 
pearance of  nature  ;  and  it  is  not  in  the 
power  of  any  perfon,   but  yourfelves,  to 
clear  up  your  doubts ;  you  muft  read,  and 
you  muft  think  for  yourfelves  ;  and  you 
muft  do  both  with  temper,  with  candour, 
and  with  care.     Infidelity  is  a  rank  weed  ; 
it  is  nurtured  by  our  vices,  and  cannot  be 
plucked  up  as  eafily  as  it  may  be  planted : 
your  difficulties,  with  refpedt  to  revelation, 
may  have  firft  arifen,  from  your  own  re- 
flection   on   the    religious    indifference  of 
thofe,  whom,  from  your  earlieft  infancy, 
you  have  been  accuftomed  to  revere  and 
imitate  j    domeftic    irrcligion    may    have 
made  you  willing  hearers  of  libertine  con- 
verfation;  and  the  uniform  prejudices  of 
the  world,  may  have  finifhed  the  bufmefs 
at  a  very  early  age  ;  and  left  you  to  wan- 
der through  life  without  a  principle  to  di- 
rect your  conduft,  and  to  die  without  hope. 
We  are  far  from  wifhing  you  to  truft  the 
word  of  the  clergy  for  the  truth  of  your  xt~ 


ligion ;  we  beg  of  you  to  examine  it  to 
the  bottom,  to  try  it,  to  prove  it,  and  not 
to  hold  it  faft  unlefs  you  find  it  good.  Till 
you  are  difpofed  to  undertake  this  talk,  it 
becomes  you  to  confider  with  great  feriouf- 
nefs  and  attention,  whether  it  can  be  for 
your  intereft  to  efteem  a  few  witty  farcafms, 
or  metaphyseal  fubtleties,  or  ignorant  mif. 
reprefentations,  or  unwarranted  affertions, 
as  unanfwerable  arguments  againft  revela- 
tion; and  a  very  flight  reflection  will  con- 
vince you,  that  it  will  certainly  be  for  your 
reputation,  to  employ  the  flippancy  of  your 
rhetoric,  and  the  poignancy  of  your  ridi- 
cule, upon  any  fubject,  rather  than  upon 
the  fubject  of  religion. 

I  take  my  leave  with  recommending  to 
your  notice,  the  advice  which  Mr.  Locke 
gave  to  a  young  man,  who  was  defirous  of 
becoming  acquainted  with  the  doclrines  of 
the  Chriftian  religion.  *  Study  the  holy 
fcripture,  efpecially  the  New  Teftament : 
Therein  are  contained  the  words  of  eternal 
life.  It  has  God  for  its  author  ;  Salvation 
for  its  end ;  and  Truth  without  any  mix- 
ture of  error  for  its  matter.' 

Bijbop  Watfon. 

§   201.     Mijlakes  in  judging  of  the  Scrip* 
tureftyhj  &c. 

The  books  of  the  Old  Teftament,  which 
were  written  by  the  divine  will  and  infpi- 
ration,  were  by  the  Jews  of  old  ufually  di- 
vided into  three  feveral  claffes,  whereof  the 
firft  comprehended  the  five  books  of  Mofes; 
the  fecond,  all  the  prophets  ;  and  the  third, 
thofe  writings  which  they  called  Chetubim, 
the  Greeks  Hagiographa  ;  or  books  that 
were  written  by  holy  men,  but  not  with 
fuch  fulnefs  of  fpirit  as  to  be  ranked  among 
the  prophets.  In  this  divifion  they  rec- 
koned five  books  in  the  firft  clafs ;  eight  in 
the  fecond ;  and  nine  in  the  third ;  in  all 
two-and-twenty  ;  according  to  the  num- 
ber of  the  letters  of  their  alphabet,  and  as 
fully  comprehending  all  that  was  neceffary 
to  be  known  and  believed,  as  the  number 
of  their  letters  did  all  that  was  requifite  t© 
be  faid  or  written ;  for  in  this  method  it  is 
that  they  range  them. 


The  books  of  Mofes. 


Genefis. 

Exodus. 

Leviticus. 

Numbers. 

Deuteronomy* 


Jour 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


*9l 


^        ,      ,       <•  ,     c  C   Joftiua 

Four  books  of  the  former  » 


prophets. 
4- 

Four  books  of  the  latter 
prophets. 

4- 


.And  the  reft  of  the  holy 
writers. 

9- 


judges,  and  Ruth. 
Samuel  I.  and  2. 
Kings  I.  and  z. 
Ifaiah. 

Jeremiah,  and  his  Lamentations. 
EzekieL 

The  books  of  the  1 2  lefler  prophets, 
'"  King  David's  Pfalms. 
King  Solomon's  Proverbs. 
His  Ecclefiaftes. 
His  Song  of  Songs. 
■(    The  book  of  job. 
The  book  of  Daniel. 
The  book  of  Ezra  and  Nehemiah. 
The  book  of  Either. 
L  The  book  of  Chronicles  i.  and  2* 


But  be  the  books  ever  fo  genuine,  and 
their  tradition  ever  lb  certain,  yet  we  can- 
not fuppofe  them  wrote  by  perfons  divine- 
ly infpired,  fo  long  as  we  lee  in  them  cer- 
tain characters  inconfiftent  with  fuch  a  fup- 
pofition.  Surely  the  pureft  language,  the 
moll  perfeft  ftyle,  the  greater*  clearnefs, 
the  moft  exacl  method,  the  foundeft  reafon- 
ing,  the  man  of  apparent  confiftency,  and, 
in  a  word,  all  the  excellencies  of  good 
writing,  might  be  expected  in  a  piece 
compofed  or^didiated  by  the  Spirit  of  God ; 
but  books  wherein  we  find  the  reverfe  of 
all  this,  it  is  idle,  if  not  impious,  to  afcribe 
£0  the  Deity. 

I.  One  great  miftake  which  the  gene- 
rality ef  readers  run  into,  is,  to  judge  of 
the  compofition  of  the  scripture,  not  from 
its  original,  but  from  its  tranllations :  for, 
befides  that  in  ancient  writings,  fuch  as 
the  Bible  is,  there  are  alluvions  to  many 
rites  and  cuftoms  that  are  now  laid  afide , 
and,  for  this  reafon,  mult  needs  feem  flat 
or  impertinent ;  which,  when  they  were  in 
ufe,  had  a  great  deal  of  fpirit  and  pro- 
priety in  them ;  and  befides  that  the  He- 
brew, in  particular,  is  a  language  of  a  pe- 
culiar call,  both  in  the  contexture  of  its 
words,  and  the  cadence  of  its  periods,  and 
contains  certain  expreffions,  whole  em- 
phalis  can  no  more  be  tranllated  into  an- 
other language,  than  the  water  of  a  dia- 
mond can  be  painted,  without  detracting 
from  the  original :  befides  all  this,  I  fay, 
the  tranfktors  themfelves,  fometimes  by 
running  into  miftakes,  and  at  all  times  by 
adhering  too  religioufiy  to  the  letter  of  the 
text,  have  contributed  not  a  little  to  make 
the  ftyle  of  the  Sacred  Writings  appear 
leis  advantageous.     Por,   whereas   other 


tranflators  have  taken  a  liberty  to  accom- 
modate the  beauties  of  the  language 
whereinto  they  tranflate,  to  the  idiotifros 
of  that  wherein  their  author  wrote  ;  thefe 
have  thought  themfelves  reltrained  from 
ufing  fuch  freedom  in  a  divine  compofi- 
tion', and  have  therefore  left  feveral  He- 
braic, and  otr.er  foreign  phrafes  in  their 
verfion,  which  feem  a  little  uncouth,  zi\\ 
give  the  reader,  who  can  look  no  farther, 
a  very  odd  notion  of  the  original :  though 
it  is  certainly  manifeft,  that  the  moft  ele- 
gant piece  of  oratory  that  ever  was  fram- 
ed, if  we  render  it  literally,  and  not  give 
it  the  true  genius  of  the  language  where- 
unto  we  are  admitting  it,  we  Jofe  all  its 
beauty,  and  appear  with  the  fame  difad- 
vantage. 

II.  Another  miftake  that  we  run  into, 
is,  when  we  confine  eloquence  to  any  na- 
tion, and  account  that  the  only  proof  of  it, 
which  is  accommodated  to  the  prefent  fcafte. 
We  indeed,  in  thefe  European  countries, 
whofe  languages,  in  a  great  meafure,  are 
derived  from  Greek  and  Latin,  make 
them  the  patterns  for  our  imitation,  and 
account  them  the  ftandard  of  perfection ; 
but  there  is  no  reafon  why  the  eaftern  na- 
tions, whofe  languages  have  no  affinity 
with  them,  fhould  do  the  fame  ;  much  lei's 
is  it  reaibnable  to  exped  it  in  writers  who 
lived  long  before  thefe  Greek  or  Latin  au- 
thors, we  fo  much  admire,  were  born.  It 
is  fufficient  for  them  that  they  wrote  ac- 
cording to  the  falhionable,  and  efteemed 
eloquence  of  their  own  times :  but  that 
the  Holy  Ghoft  fhould  infpire  with  certain 
fchemes  of  fpeech,  adapted  to  the  modem 
tafte,  and  fuch  as  were  utterly  unknown  in 
the  countries  where  they  livedo  is  a  thing 

y  z  &® 


392 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


that  can  never  enter  Into  any  fober  man's 
consideration.  The  truth  is,  Since  Mofes 
was  bred  up  in  all  the  refined  learning  and 
wii'dom  of  the  Egyptians ;  fince  Solomon 
was  excellent  in  all  kind  of  knowledge, 
and  in  a  manner  idolized  by  the  eaftern 
world;  and  fince  Daniel's  promifing  youth 
was  improved  by  the  learning  of  the  Chal- 
dean fages  ;  we  have  all  the  reafon  ima- 
ginable to  believe,  that  they  wrote  accord- 
ing to  the  perfection  of  ftyle  which  was 
then  in  ufe ;  that  though  their  eloquence 
differs  from  ours,  yet  it  is  excellent  in  its 
kind ;  and  that,  if  we  have  other  notions 
of  it,  it  is  only  becaufe  we  are  unacquaint- 
ed with  tho{e  bold  allegories,  and  figura- 
tive ways  of  difcourfe  ;  thofe  dark  fen- 
tences,  furprifing  brevities,  and  inconnect- 
ed  transitions,  wherein  the  nature  of  their 
true  fublime  did  confift. 

III.  Another  miftake  we  run  into  is, 
when  we  fuppofe  that  the  critical  rules  of 
eloquence  are  any  ways  neceflary  in  divine 
compolitions.  The  deiign  of  God,  in  re- 
cording his  laws,  was  to  inform  our  under- 
standings, to  cure  our  paihons,  and  rectify 
cur  wills ;  and  if  this  end  be  but  attained, 
it  is  no  great  matter  in  what  form  of  dic- 
tion the  prefcription  be  given.  We  never 
expect  that  a  phyfician's  receipt  fhould  be 
wrote  in  a  Ciceronian  ftyle  :  and  if  a  law- 
yer has  made  us  a  firm  conveyance  of  an 
eftate,  we  never  inquire  what  elegancies 
there  are  in  the  writing.  When,  therefore, 
God  intends  to  do  us  far  greater  things 
than  thefe ;  when  he  is  delivering  the 
terms  of  our  Salvation,  and  prefcribino-  the 
rules  of  out  duty  ;  why  mould  we  expect 
that  he  mould  infift  on  the  niceties  of  ftvle 
«.nd  exprefuon,  and  not  rather  account  it  a 
diminution  of  his  authority,  to  be  elabo- 
rate in  trifles,  when  he  has  the  momentous 
iifues  of  another  life  to  command  our  at- 
tention, and  affect  our  pafiions  ?  In  feme 
of  the  greateft  works  of  nature,  God  has 
not  confined  himfelf  to  any  fuch  order  and 
exactnefs.  The  liars,  we  fee,  are  not  call 
into  regular  figures ;  lakes  and  rivers  are 
»ot  bounded  by  Straight  lines ;  nor  are 
hills  and  mountains  exact  cones  or  pyra- 
mids. When  a  mighty  prince  declares  his 
will  by  laws  and  edicts  to  his  Subjects,  is 
he,  do  we  think,  careful  at  all  about  a 
pure  ftyle,  or  elegant  compofltion  ?  [s  not 
the  phrafe  thought  proper  enough,  if  it 
conveys  as  much  as  was  intended  ?  And 
would  not  the  fine  Strains  of  fome  modern 
critics  be  thought  pedantic  and  affected  on 


fuch  occafions  ?  Why  then  fhould  we  ex- 
pect in  the  Oracles  of  God  an  exa&nefs 
that  would  be  unbecoming,  and  beneath 
the  dignity  of  an  earthly  monarch,  and 
which  bears  no  proportion  or  reSemblance 
to  the  magnificent  works  of  the  creation  ? 
A  Uriel  obfervation  of  the  rules  of  gram- 
mar and  rhetoric,  in  elegant  expreffions, 
harmonious  periods,  and  technical  defini- 
tions and  partitions,  may  gratify  indeed 
fome  readers ;  but  then  it  mull;  be  granted 
that  thefe  things  have  the  air  of  human, 
contrivance  in  them ;  whereas  in  the  Sim- 
ple, unaffected,  artlefs,  unequal,  bold,  figu- 
rative ftyle  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  ther* 
is  a  character  Angularly  great  and  majeftic, 
and  what  looks  more  like  divine  inspira- 
tion, than  any  other  form  of  composi- 
tion. 

Thefe  obfervations  being  premifed,  if 
we  fhould  now  confider  the  nature  of  elo- 
quence in  general,  as  it  is  defined  by  Arif- 
totle  to  be  a  faculty  of  perfuafion,  which 
Cicero  makes  to  confiit  in  three  things, 
inftrucling,  delighting,  and  moving  our 
readers  or  hearers  mind,  we  fhall  find  that 
the  Holy  Scriptures  have  a  fair  claim  to 
thefe  feveral  properties. 

For  where  can  we  meet  with  fuch  a 
plain  reprefentation  of  things,  in  point  of 
hiftory,  and  fuch  cogent  arguments,  in 
point  of  precept,  as  this  one  volume  fur* 
nifties  us  with  ?  Where  is  there  an  hiftory 
written  more  fimply  and  naturally,  and  at 
the  fame  time  more  nobly  and  loftily,  than 
that  of  the  creation  of  the  world  ?  Where 
are  the  great  leflbns  of  morality  taught 
with  fuch  force  and  perfpicuity  (except  in 
the  Sermons  of  Chriit,  and  the  writings  of 
the  apoftles)  as  in  the  book  of  Deutero- 
nomy ?  Where  is  the  whole  compafs  of 
devotion,  in  the  feveral  forms  of  confef- 
flon,  petition,  Supplication,  thankfgiving, 
vows,  and  praifes,  fo  punctually  taught  us, 
as  in  the  book  of  PSalms  ?  Where  are  the 
rules  of  wifdom  and  prudence  fo  convinc- 
ingly laid  down,  as  in  the  Proverbs  of 
Solomon,  and  the  choice  Sentences  of  Ec- 
clefialtes  r  Where  is  vice  and  impiety  of 
all  kinds  more  jultly  displayed,  and  more 
fully  confuted,  than  in  the  threats  and  ad- 
monitions of  the  prophets  ?  And  what  do 
the  little  warmths,  which  may  be  raifed  in 
the  fancy  by  an  artificial  compofure  and 
vehemence  of  ftyle,  fignify  in  comparifon 
of  thofe  ftrong  impulfes  and  movements 
which  the  Holy  Scriptures  make  upon  good 
men's  fouls,  y/hea  they  reprefeat  the  fright- 
ed 


BOOK.    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


293 


ful  juftice  of  an  angry  God  to  ftubbom 
offenders,  and  the  bowels  of  his  compaf- 
fion,  and  unfpeakable  kindnefs,  to  all  true 
penitents  and  faithful  fervants  ? 

The  Holy  Scripture  indeed  has  none  of 
thole  fkihy  ornaments  of  fpeech,  where- 
with human  compofitions  fo  plentifully 
abound;  but  then  it  has  a  fufficient  ftock 
of  real  and  peculiar  beauties  to  recom- 
mend it.  To  give  one  inltance  for  all  out 
of  the  hittory  of  Jofeph  and  his  family  : 
the  whole  relation  indeed  is  extremely  na- 
tural :  but  the  manner  of  his  difcovering 
himfeif  to  his  brethren  is  inimitable.  "  And 
Jofeph  could  no  longer  refrain  himfeif — 
but,  lifting  ur>  his  voice  with  tears,  faid— 
J  am  Joiep"i---doth  my  father  yet  live  ?— 
And  his  brethren  could  not  anAver  him ; 
for  they  were  troubled  at  his  prefence. 
A"d  Jofeph  laid  to  his  brethren,  come 
near  me,  1  pray  you  :  and  they  came  near, 
and  he  laid  I  am  Jofeph— your  brother — 
whom  ye  fold  into  Egypt."  Nothing 
certainly  can  be  a  more  lively  defcription 
of  Joieph's  tender  refpeft  for  his  father, 
and  love  for  his  brethren :  and,  in  like 
manner,  when  his  brethren  returned,  and 
told  their  father  in  what  fplendor  and 
glory  his  fon  Jofeph  lived,  it  is  faid,  "that 
Jacob's  heart  fainted,  for  he  believed  them 
not ;  but  when  he  faw  the  waggons  which 
Jofeph  had  fent  for  him,  the  fpirit  of  Ja- 
cob, their  father,  revived ;  and  Ifrael  faid, 
it  is  enough — Jofeph  my  fon  is  yet  alive 
— I  will  go— and  fee  him— before  I  die." 
Here  is  fuch  a  contrail  of  different  paffions, 
of  utter  defpondency,  dawning  hope,  and 
confirmed  faith,  triumphant  joy,  and  pa- 
ternal affeclion,  as  no  orator  in  the  world 
could  exprefs  more  movingly,  in  a  more 
eafy  manner,  or  ihorter  compafs  of  words. 

Nay  more,  had  I  leifcre  to  gratify  the 
curious,  I  might  eafily  ihew,  that  thofe 
very  figures  and  fchemes  of  fpeech,  which 
are  fo  much  admired  in  profane  authors, 
as  their  great  beauties  and  ornaments,  are 
no  where  more  confpicuous  than  in  the  fa- 
cred. 

One  figure,  for  inftance,  eiteemed  very 
florid  among  the  mailers  of  art.  is,  when  all 
the  members  of  a  period  begin  with  the 
fame  word.  The  figure  is  called  ana- 
phora;^ and  yet  (if  i  milbke  not)  the 
15th  pfalm  affords  us  a  very  beautiful  paf- 
fage  of  this  kind.  "  Lord,  who  lhall 
abide  in  thy  tabernacle  ?  Who  mail  dwell 
in  thy  holy  hill  ?  He  that  walketh  up- 
rightly ;  he  that  baclc-bitsth  not  with  his 


tongue ;  he  that  maketh  much  of  them 
that  fear  the  Lord;  he  that  fweareth  to  his 
hurt,  and  changeth  not;  he  that  putteth 
not  out  his  money  to  ufury,  nor  taketh  re- 
ward againft  the  innocent.  He  that  does 
thefe  things  lhall  never  be  moved." 

The  ancient  orators  took  a  great  deal 
of  pride  in  ranging  finely  their  antitheta. 
Cicero  is  full  of  this,  and  ufes  it  many 
times  to  a  degree  of  affeftation ;  and  yet  I 
cannot  find  any  place  wherein  he  has  fur- 
paffed  that  paffage  of  the  prophet.  «  He 
that  killeth  an  ox,  is  as  if  he  flew  a  man; 
he  that  facrificeth  a  lamb,  as  if  he  cut  off 
a  dog's  neck ;  he  that  offereth  an  obla- 
tion, as  if  he  offered  fwine's  blood."  But 
above  all  other  figures,  that  whereon  poets 
and  orators  love  chiefly  to  dwell,  is  the 
hypotypofis,  or  lively  defcription  ;  and 
yet  we  lhall  hardly  find  in  the  belt  claihc 
authors,  any  tiling  comparable,  in  this  re- 
gard, to  the.  Egyptians'  deltruction  in  the 
Red  Sea,  related  in  the  fong  of  Mofes  and 
Miriam ;  to  the  defcription  of  the  Levia- 
than in  Job  ;  to  the  defcent  of  God,  and  a 
ftorm  at  fea  in  the  Pialmiil ;  to  the  in- 
trigues of  an  adulterous  woman  in  the  Pro- 
verbs;  to  the  pride  of  the  Jewiih  ladies  in 
Ifaiah ;  and  to  the  plague  of  locufts  in 
Joel ;  which  is  reprefented  like  the  ravag- 
ing of  a  country  ;  and  ltorming  a  city  by 
an  army  :  "  A  fire  devoureth  before  them, 
and  behind  them  a  defolate  wildernefs,  and 
nothing  lhall  efcape  them.  Before  their 
face  people  lhall  be  pained  ;  all  faces  lhall 
gather  blacknefs.  They  lhall  run  like 
mighty  men  ;  they  lhall  climb  the  wall  like 
men  of  war ;  they  lhall  march  every  one 
in  his  way,  and  they  lhall  not  break  their 
ranks.  They  lhall  run  to  and  fro  in  the 
city;  they  lhall  run  upon  the  wall;  they 
mail  climb  up  upon  the  houfes ;  they  fhail 
enter  into  the  windows  as  a  thief."  The 
defcription  is  more  remarkable,  becaufe 
the  analogy  is  carried  quite  throughout 
without  ltraining,  and  the  whole  proceffes 
of  a  conquering  army  in  the  manner  of 
their  march,  their  deitroying  the  provilion, 
and  burning  the  country,  in  their  fcaling 
the  walls,  breaking  into  houfes,  and  run- 
ning about  the  vanquilhed  city,  are  fully 
delineated  and  fet  before  our  eyes. 

From  thefe  few  examples  (for  it  would 
be  endlefs  to  proceed  in  inftances  of  this 
kind)  it  appears,  that  the  Holy  Bible  is 
far  frGm  being  defective  in  point  of  elo- 
quence ;  and  (what  is  a  peculiar  commen- 
dation of  it)  its  ftyle  is  full  of  a  grateful 
U  3  variety; 


g94 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


variety ;  fometimes  majeftic  as  becomes 
that  "  high  and  holy  one  who  inhabiteth 
eternity  ;"  fometimes  fo  low  as  to  anfwer 
the  other  part  of  his  character,  "  who 
dwelleth  with  him  that  is  of  an  humble 
fpirit;'*  and,  at  all  times  fo  proper,  and 
adapted  fo  well  to  the  fevera!  fubje&s  it 
treats  of,  that  whoever  confiders  it  atten- 
tively will  perceive,  in  the  narrative  parts 
of  it,  a  ftrain  fo  fimple  and  unaffected ;  in 
the  prophetic  and  devotional,  fomething 
fo  animated  and  fublime ;  and  in  the  doc- 
trinal and  preceptive,  fuch  an  air  of  dig- 
nity and  authority,  as  feems  to  fpeak  its 
original  divine. 

We  allow  indeed,  that  method  is  an  ex- 
cellent art,  highly  conducive  to  the  clear- 
nefs  and  perfpicuity  of  difcourfe  ;  but  then 
we  affirm,  that  it  is  an  art  of  modern  in- 
vention in  comparifon  to  the  times  when 
the  facred  penmen  wrote,  and  incompati- 
ble with  the  manner  of  writing  which  was 
then  in  vogue.  We  indeed  in  Europe, 
who,  in  this  matter,  have  taken  our  ex- 
amples from  Greece,  can  hardly  read  any 
thing  with  pleafure  that  is  not  digefted 
into  order,  and  forted  under  proper  heads; 
but  the  eaflern  nations,  who  were  ufed  to 
a  free  way  of  difcourfe,  and  never  cramped 
their  notions  by  methodical  limitations, 
would  have  defpifed  a  compofition  of  this 
kind,  as  much  as  we  do  a  fchool-boy's 
theme,  with  all  the  formalities  of  its  exor- 
diums, ratios,  and  confrmations.  And,  if 
this  was  no  precedent  for  other  nations, 
much  lefs  can  we  think,  that  God  Al- 
mighty's methods  ought  to  be  confined  to 
human  laws,  which,  being  defigned  for  the 
narrownefs  of  our  conceptions,  might  be 
improper  and  injurious  to  his,  whofe 
u  thoughts  are  as  far  above  ours,  as  the 
heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth." 

The  truth  is,  infpiration  is,  in  fome 
meafure,  the  language  of  another  world, 
and  carries  in  it  the  reafoning  of  fpirits, 
which,  wihout  controverfy,  is  vaftly  dif- 
ferent f  om  ours.  We  indeed,  to  make 
things  lie  plain  before  our  underftandings, 
are  forced  to  fort  them  out  into  diftincl 
partitions,  and  confider  them  by  little  and 
little,  that  fo  at  lair,  by  gradual  advances, 
we  may  come  to  a  tolerable  conception  of 
them ;  but  this  is  no  argument  for  us  to 
think  that  pure  fpirits  do  reafon  after  this 
manner.  Their  underftandings  arc  quick 
and  intuitive  :  they  fee  the  whole  compafs 
of  rational  inferences  at  once;  and  have 
no  need  of  tbofe  little  methodical  diflinc- 
I. 


tions  which  oftentimes  help  the  imperfec* 
tion  of  cur  intellects.  Now,  though  we 
do  not  aflert,  that  the  language  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures  is  an  exact  copy  of  the 
reafoning  of  the  fpiritual  world  ;  yet,  fince 
they  came  by  the  infpiration  of  the  Holy 
Ghofr,  it  is  but  reafonable  to  expect  that 
they  ihould  preferve  fome  fmall  relifh  of 
it;  as  books  tranflated  into  another  tongue 
always  retain  fome  marks  of  their  origi- 
nals. And  hence  it  comes  to  pafs,  that 
though  the  Holy  Ghoir.  does  vouchfafe  to 
fpeak  in  the  language  of  men,  yet,  in  his 
divine  compofitions,  there  are  fome  traces 
to  be  found  of  that  bold  and  unlimited  ra- 
tiocination which  is  peculiar  to  the  hea- 
venly inhabitants,  whofe  noble  and  flaming 
thoughts  are  never  clogged  with  the  cold 
and  jejune  laws  of  human  method. 

Stackhoufe. 

§  2  02.     A  Prayer  or  Pfalm. 

Molt  gracious  Lord  God,  my  merciful 
Father;  from  my  youth  up,  my  Creator, 
my  Redeemer,  my  Comforter.  Thou,  O 
Lord,  founded  and  fearcheft  the  depths 
and  fecrets  of  all  hearts ;  thou  acknow- 
ledger! the  upright  of  heart ;  thou  judgeir. 
the  hypocrite  ;  thou  ponderer!  men's 
thoughts  and  doings  as  in  a  balance ;  thou 
meafurefl  their  intentions  as  with  a  line  ; 
vanity  and  crooked  ways  cannot  be  hid 
from  thee. 

Remember,  O  Lord,  how  thy  fervant 
hath  walked  before  thee;  remember  what 
I  have  firft  fought,  and  what  hath  been 
principal  in  my  intentions.  I  have  loved 
thy  afTemblies,  I  have  mourned  for  the  di- 
visions of  thy  church,  I  have  delighted  in 
the  brightnefs  of  thy  farfiuary.  This 
vine,  which  thy  right  hand  hath  planted  in 
this  nation,  I  have  ever  prayed  unto  thee, 
that  it  might  have  the  firir.  and  the  latter 
rain,  and  that  it  might  ftretch  her  branches 
to  the  feas,  and  to  the  floods.  The  flate 
and  bread  of  the  poor  and  opprefl'ed  have 
been  precious  in  mine  eyes ;  I  have  hated 
all  cruelty  and  hardnefs  of  heart;  I  have 
(though  in  a  defpifed  weed)  procured  the 
good  of  all  men.  If  any  have  been  my 
enemies,  I  thought  not  of  them,  neither 
hath  the  fun  alroofr.  fet  upon  my  difplea- 
fures,  but  I  have  been  as  a  dove,  free  from 
fuperfluity  of  malicioufnefs.  Thy  crea- 
tures have  been  my  books,  but  thy  Scrip- 
tures much  more.  I  have  fought  thee  in 
the  courts,  fields,  and  gardens ;  but  I  have 
found  thee  in  thy  temples. 

Thoufandi 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


29S 


Thoufands  have  been  my  fins,  and  ten 
-thoufands  my  tranfgreffions,  but  thyfancli- 
iications  have  remained  with  me,  and  my 
heart  (through  thy  grace)  hath  been  an 
unquenched  coal  upon  thine  altar. 

O  Lord,  my  ftrength !  I  have  fince  my 
youth  met  with  thee  in  all  my  ways,  by 
thy  fatherly  companions,  by  thy  comforta- 
ble chaftifements,  and  by  thy  moft  viiible 
providence.  As  thy  favours  have  en- 
creafed  upon  me,  fo  have  thy  corrections ; 
fo  as  thou  hall  been  always  near  me,  O 
Lord  !  And  ever  as  my  worldly  bleffings 
were  exalted,  fo  fecret  darts  from  thee  have 
pierced  me ;  and  when  I  have  afcended 
before  men,  I  have  defcended  in  humilia- 
tion before  thee.  And  now,  when  I 
thought  moft  of  peace  and  honour,  thy  hand 
is  heavy  upon  me,  and  hath  humbled  me 
according  to  thy  former  loving-kindnefs, 
keeping  me  ftill  in  thy  fatherly  fchool, 
not  as  a  baftard,  but  as  a  child.  Juft  are 
thy  judgments  upon  me  for  my  fins,  which 
are  more  in  number  than  the  fands  of  the 
fea,  but  have  no  proportion  to  thy 
mercies ;  for  what  are  the  fands  of  the  fea? 
Earth,  heavens,  and  all  thefe,  are  nothing 
to  thy  mercies.  Befides  my  innumerable 
fins,  I  confefs  before  thee,  that  I  am  a 
debtor  to  thee  for  the  gracious  talent  of 
thy  gifts  and  graces,  which  I  have  neither 
put  into  a  napkin,  nor  put  it,  as  I  ought, 
to  exchangers,  where  it  might  have  made 
beft  profit,  but  mif-fpent  it  in  things  for 
which  I  was  leaft  fit ;  fo  I  may  truly  fay, 
my  foul  hath  been  a  ftranger  in  the  courfe 
of  my  pilgrimage.  Ee  merciful  unto  me, 
O  Lord,  for  my  Saviour's  fake,  and  receive 
me  into  thy  bofom,  or  guide  me  into  thy 
ways.  Lord  Bacon. 

§  203.  The  doclrine  of  Chriji  a  doclrine 
of  truth  and  jhnplicity. 
The  Gofpel  of  Chrift,  as  taught  by 
himfelf  and  his  apoftles,  in  its  original 
plainnefs  and  purity,  is  a  doclrine  of  truth 
and  fimplicity,  a  doclrine  fo  eafy  to  be 
underftood,  fo  reafonable  to  be  praclifed, 
fo  agreeable  to  the  natural  notions  and 
reafon  of  mankind,  fo  beneficial  in  its 
eitecls,  if  men  were  really  governed  by  it; 
teaching  them  nothing  but  the  worfhip  of 
the  true  God,  through  the  mediation  of 
Chrift;  and  towards  each  other,  juftice, 
righteoufnefs,  meeknefs,  charity,  and  uni- 
verfal  good-will;  in  expectation  of  a 
future  judgment,  and  of  a  lafting  ftate  of 
happinefs  in  a  better  world,  for  them  who 
love  God  and  keep  his  commandments ; 


this  doclrine  of  Chrift,  I  fay,  in  its  native 
fimplicity  and  purity,  is  fo  reafonable,  io 
excellent,  and  of  fuch  irrefiftible  evidence, 
that  had  it  never  been  corrupted  by 
fuperftitions  from  within,  it  never  couid 
have  been  oppofed  by  power  from  without ; 
but  it  muft  of  neceffity  have  captivated 
mankind  to  the  obedience  of  faith ;  'till 
the  knowledge  of  the  Lord  had  filled  the 
earth,  as  the  waters  cover  the  fea. — — 

Whatever  difficulties  there  may  be  in 
fome  of  the  hiftorical,  or  prophetical,  or 
controverfial  parts  of  the  books  of  Scrip- 
ture, yet  as  to  the  praclical  part,  the  duties 
required  of  a  Chriftian  in  order  to  falva- 
tion,  there  is  no  man  that  ever  read  the 
fermons  of  Chrift  and  his  apoftles,  or  ever 
heard  them  read,  but  underftood  perfeclly 
well  what  our  Saviour  meant  by  com- 
manding us  to  worlhip  the  one  true  God 
of  nature,  the  Author  and  Lord  of  the 
univerfe,  and  to  do  to  all  men  as  we  would 
they  fhoulddo  to  us;  and  that,  "  denying- 
ungodlinefs  and  worldly  lufts,  we  fhould 
live  foberly,  righteoufly,  and  godly  in  this 
prefent  world;"  in  expeclation  of  being 
righteoufly  and  impartially  adjudged,  ac- 
cording to  our  works,  to  a  ftate  of  happi- 
nefs or  mifery  in  the  world  to  come ;  by 
our  Saviour  himfelf,  our  merciful  and  com- 
panionate judge.  There  never  was  any 
man  in  the  chriftian  world,  but  felt  the 
reafonablenefs  and  importance  of  this  doc- 
trine ;  and,  whenever  thefe  things  have 
been  repeated  to  him,  was  immediately 
confcious  to  himfelf,  either  of  having  fol- 
lowed or  tranfgrefled  thefe  precepts. 

Dr.  Clark. 

§   204.    On  the  fuperiority  of  Sacred  Hiflory 
and  Chriftian  Philofophy. 

In  the  hiftories  which  have  been  left  us 
by  men,  we  fee  nothing  but  the  agency  of 
man.  They  are  men  who  obtain  the  vic- 
tories, who  take  towns,  who  fubdue  king- 
doms, who  dethrone  fovereigns,  to  elevate 
themfelves  to  the  fupreme  power :  God 
appears  in  no  part,  men  are  the  fole  aclors 
of  all  thefe  things.  But  in  the  hiftory  of 
the  Holy  Books  it  is  God  alone  who  per- 
forms the  whole ;  God  alone  caufeth  kings 
to  reign,  placeth  them  upon  their  thrones, 
or  depofeth  them  again.  It  is  God  alone 
who  oppofeth  the  enemy,  who  facks  towns, 
who  difpofeth  of  kingdoms  and  empires, 
who  giveth  peace  or  exciteth  war;  God 
alone  appeareth  in  this  Sacred  Hiftory  :  it 
is  he,  if  I  may  fo  fpeak,  who  is  the  fole 
hero.     The  kings  aud  the  conquerors  of 


M 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  earth  appear  but  as  the  minifters  of 
his  will.  In  ftiort,  thefe  Divine  Books 
unfold  the  ways  of  Providence.  God, 
who  conceals  himfelf  in  the  other  events 
recorded  in  oar  hillories,  feems  to  reveal 
himfelf  in  thefe :  and  it  is  in  this  book 
alone  that  we  ought  to  learn  to  read  the 
other  hiftories  which  men  have  left  us. 

The  Holy  Books  which  have  preferved 
religion  to  our  times,  contain  the  firft  mo- 
numents of  the  origin  of  tilings.  They 
are  more  ancient  than  all  thef  abulous  pro- 
ductions of  the  human  mind,  which  have 
fmce,  in  fo  melancholy  a  manner,  amufed 
the  credulity  of  the  following  ages.  And 
as  error  always  fprings  from  truth,  and  is 
a  corrupt  imitation  of  it,  it  is  in  the  prin- 
cipal actions  of  this  Divine  Hiitory,  that 
the  fables  of  Paganifm  find  their  founda- 
tion ;  fo  that  one  may  fay,  there  is  no  error 
which  pays  not  thereby  homage  to  the  an- 
tiquity and  authority  of  our  Sacred  Wiit- 
ings. 

The  fincerity  of  Mofes  appears  in  the 
fimplicity  of  his  hiftory.  He  ufed  no  pre- 
cautions to  gain  credit,  becaufe  he  fuppofes 
thofe  for  whom  he  wrote  were  not  deiritute 
of  faith,  and  becaufe  he  relates  none  but 
fafts  which  were  publicly  known,  to  pre- 
serve the  memory  of  them  rather  among 
their  defcendants,  than  to  inilrudt.  that  ge- 
neration in  the  nature  of  them. 

He  concealeth  not  in  a  myfterious  man- 
ner the  holy  books  from  the  people,  left 
they  ihould  difcover  the  falfehood  of 
them,  like  as  the  vain  oracles  of  the  Sybils 
were  laid  up  with  care  in  the  Capitol, 
which  was  built  to  keep  up  the  pride  of 
the  Romans,  expofed  to  the  eyes  of  the 
priefts  alone,  and  produced  from  time  to 
time  by  fragments  to  juftify  to  the  minds 
of  the  people,  either  a  dangerous  enter- 
prize,  or  an  unjuil  war.  Here  the  pro- 
phetic books  were  daily  read  by  a  whole 
people ;  the  young  and  old,  the  women  and 
children,  the  priefts  and  the  common  peo- 
ple, the  kings  and  fubjetts,  were  bound 
without  ceafing  to  have  them  in  their 
hands ;  every  one  had  right  to  fludy  their 
duty,  and  to  difcover  their  hopes  there. 
Far  from  flattering  their  pride,  they  de- 
clared fully  the  ingratitude  of  their  fa- 
thers ;  they  announced  in  every  page  their 
mhfortunes  to  be  the  juft  chaftiiement  of 
their  crimes  ;  they  reproached  kings  with 
their  lewdnefs ;  priefts  with  their  injuflice  ; 
the  great  with  their  profufion  ;  the  peo- 
ple with  their  incondancy  and  infidelity, 
and  this  notwithftanding  thefe  holy  books 


were  dear  to  them ;  and  by  the  oracles 
which  they  faw  there  to  be  accomplished 
every  day,  they  waited  with  confidence  the 
fulfilment  of  thofe  of  which  all  the  world 
at  this  dav  are  the  witnefles.— - 

There  is  a  noblenefs,  and  an  elevation 
in  the  maxims  of  the  Gcfpel,  to  which 
mean  and  grovelling  minds  cannot  attain. 
The  religion  which  forms  great  fouls,  ap- 
pears to  be  made  only  for  them :  and  in 
oi'der  to  be  great,  or  to  become  fo,  there 
is  a  neceiTity  of  being  a  Chriftian.-— 

Philofophy  difcovered  the  ihame  of  the 
pafhons  ;  but  ihe  did  not  teach  how  to 
conquer  them  :  her  pompous  precepts  were 
rather  the  eulogium  of  virtue,  than  the  re- 
medy of  vice.  It  was  even  necefTary  for 
the  glory  and  triumph  of  religion,  that  the 
gnrateft  geniufies,  and  all  the  power  of 
human  reafon  ihould  have  exhaufteci  them- 
felves,  in  order  to  render  men  virtuous. 
If  the  Socratefes  and  the  Platos,  had  not 
been  teachers  of  the  wdid  before  Jefua 
Chrift,  and  had  not  in  vain  attempted  to 
regulate  manners,  and  correct  Ken  by  the 
fole  force  of  reafon,  man  might  have  been 
able  to  do  honour  by  his  virtue  to  the  fu- 
periority  of  reafon,  or  the  beauty  r.f  virtue 
itfelf :  but  thefe  preachers  of  wifdom  did 
not  make  wife  men  ;  and  it  was  necefTary 
that  the  vain  efforts  of  philofophy  Ihould 
prepare  new  triumphs  for  grace. 

Inihortjitwas  religion,  which  exhibited 
to  the  world  the  true  wife  man,  fo  long 
fmce  announced  to  us,  by  all  the  pomp  and 
parade  of  human  reafon.  She  has  not  li- 
mited all  her  glory,  like  philofophy,  to  the 
eftay  of  hardly  forming  one  fage  in  a  cen- 
tury amopgft  men:  fhe  hath  peopled  with 
them  cities,  empires,  defarts ;  and  the 
whole  univerfe  has  been  to  her  another 
Lycjeum,  where  in  the  midft  of  public 
places  flie  hath  preached  wifdom  to  all 
mankind.  It  is  not  only  amongft  the  moil 
polite  nations  that  lhe  hath  chofen  her  wife 
men  :  the  Greek  and  Barbarian,  the  Ro- 
man and  Scythian,  have  been  equally  cal- 
led to  her  divine  philofophy  :  it  is  not  only 
for  the  learned  that  fhe  hath  referved  the 
fublime  knowledge  of  her  myfteries ;  the 
Ample  have  prophefied  as  well  as  the  fage  ; 
and  theignorantthemfelves  have  become  her 
doctors  and  apoftles.  It  was  necefTary  that 
the  true  wifdom  ihould  become  the  wifdom 
of  all  men. 

But  further  ftill :  her  doctrine  was  foolifh- 
nefs  in  appearance;  and  yet,  the  philofo- 
phers  fubmitted  their  proud  reafon  to  this 
holy  folly :    fhe  announced  nothing   but 

crcftes 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND     RELIGIOUS. 


297 


SrolTes  and  fufferings ;  and  yet  the  Caafars 
became  her  difciples.  She  alone  came  to 
teach  mankind  that  chaftity,  humility, 
temperance  might  be  feated  on  the  throne, 
and  that  the  feat  of  the  paffions  and  of 
pleafures,  might  become  the  feat  of  virtue 
and  innocence.  What  a  glory  was  this 
for  religion.     Mafflllon,  Bijhop  of  Clermont, 

§  205.  The  Light  ofReafon  imperfeSi, 
If  the  glorious  light  of  the  Gofpel  be  fome- 
fcimes  overcaft  with  clouds  of  doubt,  fo  is  the 
light  of  our  reafon  too,  But  mail  we  de- 
prive ourfelves  of  the  advantage  of  either, 
becaufethofe  clouds  cannot  perhaps  be  en- 
tirely removed  while  we  remain  in  this 
mortal  life  ?  Shall  we  obllinately  and  fro- 
wardiy  fhut  our  eyes  againil  that  day- 
fpring  from  on  high  that  has  vifited  us, 
becaufe  we  are  not  as  yet  able  to  bear  the 
full  blaze  of  his  beams  ?  Indeed,  not  even 
jn  heaven  itfelf,  not  in  the  higheft  ftate  of 
perfection  to  which  a  finite  being  can  ever 
attain,  will  all  the  counfels  of  Providence, 
all  the  height  and  the  depth  of  the  infinite 
wifdom  of  God,  be  ever  difclofed  or  under- 
stood, Faith,  even  then,  will  be  neceffary  ; 
and  there  will  be  myfteries  which  cannot 
be  penetrated  by  the  moil  exalted  arch- 
angel, and  truths  which  cannot  be  known 
by  him  otherwiie  than  from  revelation,  or 
believed  upon  any  other  ground  of  affent 
than  a  fubmifiive  confidence  in  the  divine 
wifdom.  What,  then,  mall  man  prefume 
that  his  weak  and  narrow  underilanding  is 
fuificient  to  guide  him  into  all  truth,  with- 
out any  deed  of  revelation  or  faith  ?  Shall 
he  complain  that  the  ways  of  God  are  not 
like  his  ways,  and  paft  his  finding  out  ? 
True  philofophy,  as  well  as  true  Chrillianity, 
would  teach  us  a  wifer  and  modeller  part. 
It  would  teach  us  to  be  content  within 
thofe  bounds  which  God  has  afiigned  to 
us,  "  calling  down  imaginations,  and  every 
high  thing  that  exalteth  itfelf  againil 
the  knowledge  of  God,  and  bringing  in- 
to captivity  every  thought  to  the  obe- 
dience of  Chrift."  Lord  Littleton. 

$  206.    The fimplicity  of  the  Sacred  Writers, 

I  cannot  forbear  taking  notice  of  one 
other  mark  of  integrity  which  appears  in 
all  the  compofitions  of  the  facred  writers, 
and  particularly  the  Evangelifls;  and 
that  is,  the  fimple,  unafFe£ted,unornamen- 
tal,  and  unollentatious  manner,  in  which 
they  deliver  truths  fo  important  and  fub- 
lime,  and  fatts  fo  magnificent  and  wonder- 
ful, as  are  capable,  one  would  think,  of 


lighting  up  a  flame  of  oratory,  even  in  the 
dulleft  and  coldeftbreafts,  They  fpeak  of 
an  angel  defcending  from  heaven  to  foretel 
the  miraculous  conception  of  Jefus ;  of  ano- 
ther proclaiming  his  birth,  attended  by  a 
multitude  of  the  heavenly  hoil  praifing 
God,  "  and  faying,  Glory  to  God  in  the 
higheft,  and  on  earth  peace,  good-will 
towards  men ;"  of  his  liar  appearing  in 
the  Eaft  ;  of  angels  miniftring  to  him  in 
the  wildernefs ;  of  his  glory  in  the  mount ; 
of  a  voice  twice  heard  from  heaven,  fay- 
ing, "  This  is  my  beloved  Son;"  of 
innumerable  miracles  performed  by  him, 
and  by  his  difciples  in  his  name ;  of  his 
knowing  the  thoughts  of  men;  of  his 
foretelling  future  events ;  of  prodigies 
accompanying  his  crucifixion  and  death  ; 
of  an  angel  defcending  in  terrors,  opening 
his  fepulchre,  and  frightening  away  the 
foldiers  who  were  fet  to  guard  it;  of  his 
rifmg  from  the  dead,  afcending  into 
heaven,  and  pouring  down,  according  to 
his  promife,  the  various  and  miraculous 
gifts  of  the  Holy  Spirit  upon  his  apollles 
and  difciples.  All  thefe  amafing  incidents 
do  thefe  infpired  hiilorians  relate  nakedly 
and  plainly,  without  any  of  the  colourings 
and  heigh tenings  of  rhetoric,  or  fo  much 
as  a  fingle  note  of  admiration ;  without 
making  any  comment  or  remark  upon 
them,  or  drawing  from  them  any  concluiion 
in  honour  either  of  their  mailer  or  them- 
felves,  or  to  the  advantage  of  the  religion 
they  preached  in  his  name ;  but  content- 
ing themfelves  with  relating  the  naked 
truth,  whether  it  feems  to  make  for  them 
or  againil  them;  without  either  magnifying 
on  the  one  hand,  or  palliating  on  the  other, 
they  leave  their  caufe  to  the  unbiaffed 
judgment  of  mankind,  feekin»,like  genuine 
apollles  of  the  Lord  of  truth,  to  convince 
rather  than  to  perluade ;  and  therefore 
coming,  as  St.  Paul  fpeaks  of  his  preach- 
ing, "  not  with  excellency  of  fpeech, — — 
not  with  enticing  words  of  man's  wifdom, 
but  with  demonftration  of  the  Spirit, 
and  of  power,  that,"  adds  he,  "  your 
faith  fhould  not  Hand  in  the  wifdom  of 
men,  but  in  the  power  of  God."  And 
let  it  be  remembered  that  he,  who  fpeaks 
this,  wanted  not  learning,  art  or  eloquence, 
as  is  evident  from  his  fpeeches  recorded 
in  the  A&s  of  the  Apollles,  and  from  the 
teftimony  of  that  great  critic  Longinus, 
who,  in  reckoning  up  the  Grecian  ora- 
tors, places  among  them  Paul  of  Tarfus  ; 
and  furely,  had  they  been  left  folely  to 
the  fuggeilions   and  guidance  of  human 

wifdom, 


2$% 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


wifdom,  they  would  not  have  failed  to 
lay  hold  on  fuch  topics,  as  the  wonders  of 
their  mailer's  life,  and  the  tranfcendent 
purity  and  perfection  of  the  noble,  gene- 
rous, benevolent  morality  contained  in  his 
precepts,  furnifhed  them  with-  Thefe  to- 
pics, I  fay,  greater  than  ever  Tully,  or 
Dernofthenes,  or  Plato,  were  poffeiTed  of, 
mere  human  wifdom  would  doubtlefs  have 
prompted  them  to  make  ufe  of,  in  order 
to  recommend,  in  the  ftrongeft  manner,  the 
religion  of  Jefus  Chrifr.  to  mankind,  by 
turning  their  attention  to  the  divine  part 
cf  his  character,  and  hiding,  as  it  were,  in 
a  blaze  of  heavenly  light  and  glory,  his 
infirmities,  his  fufferings,  and  his  death. 
And  had  they  upon  fuch  topics  as  thefe, 
and  in  fuch  a  caufe,  called  into  their  affift- 
ance  all  the  arts  of  compofition,  rhetoric, 
and  logic,  who  would  have  blamed  them 
for  it  ?  Not  thofe  perfons,  I  prefume,  who, 
dazzled  and  captivated  with  the  glittering 
ornaments  of  human  wifdom,  make  a  mock 
at  the  fimplicity  cf  the  Gofpel,  and  think 
it  wit  to  ridicule  the  ftyle  and  language  of 
the  Holy  Scriptures.  But  the  all -wife 
Spirit  of  God,  by  whom  thefe  facred  writ- 
ers were  guided  into  all  truth,  thought  fit 
to  direct  or  permit  them  to  proceed  in  a 
different  method  ;  a  method,  however, 
very  analogous  to  that,  in  which  he  hath 
been  plealed  to  reveal  himfelf  to  us  in  the 
great  book  of  nature,  the  llupendous  frame 
of  the  univerfe  ;  all  whofe  wonders  he  hath 
judged  it  fufficient  to  lay  before  us  in 
iilence,  and  expects  from  our  observations 
the  proper  comments  and  deductions, 
which,  having  endued  us  with  reafon,  he 
hath  enabled  us  to  make.  And  though  a 
carelefs  and  fuperficial  fpectator  may  fancy 
he  perceives  even  in  this  fair  volume  ma- 
ny inconfiftencies,  defects,  and  fuperflui- 
ties ;  yet  to  a  diligent,  unprejudiced,  and 
rational  enquirer,  who  will  take  pains  to 
examine  the  laws,  confider  and  compare 
the  feveral  parts,  and  regard  their  ufe  and 
tendency,  with  reference  to  the  whole  de- 
fign  of  this  amafing  ftructure,  as  far  as  his 
fnort  abilities  can  carry  him,  there  will  ap- 
pear, in  thofe  inftances  which  he  is  capable 
of  knowing,  fuch  evident  characters  of 
wifdom,  goodnefs,  and  power,  as  will  leave 
him  no  room  to  doubt  of  their  author,  or 
to  fufpect  that  in  thofe  particulars  which 
he  hath  not  examined,  or  to  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  which  he  cannot  perhaps  at- 
tain, there  is  nothing  but  folly,  weaknefs, 
and  malignity.  The  fame  thing  might  be 
iaid  of  the  written  book,  the  fecond  vo- 


lume, if  I  may  fo  fpeak,  of  the  revelation 
of  God,  the  Holy  Scriptures.  For  as  in 
the  firfc,  fo  alfo  in  this  are  there  many 
paflages,  that  to  a  curibry,  unobferving 
reader  appear  idle,  unconnected,  unac- 
countable, and  inconfiftent  with  thofe 
marks  of  truth,  wifdom,  juftice,  mercy, 
and  benevolence,  which  in  others  are  (6 
vifible,  that  the  moft  carelefs  and  inatten- 
tive cannot  but  difcern  them.  And  even 
thefe,  many  of  them  at  leaft,  will  often  be 
found,  upon  a  clofer  and  ftricter  examina- 
tion, to  accord  and  coincide  with  the  other 
more  plain  and  more  intelligible  paffages, 
and  to  be  no  heterogeneous  parts  of  one 
and  the  fame  wife  and  harmonious  compo- 
fition. In  both,  indeed,  in  the  natural  as 
well  as  the  moral  book  of  God,  there  are, 
and  ever  will  be  many  difficulties,  which 
the  wit  of  man  may  never  be  able  to  re- 
folve  ;  but  will  a  wife  philofopher,  becaufe 
he  cannot  comprehend  every  thing  he  fees, 
reject  for  that  reafon  all  the  truths  that  lie 
within  his  reach,  and  let  a  few  inexplicable 
difficulties  over-balance  the  many  plain 
and  infallible  evidences  of  the  finger  of 
God,  which  appear  in  all  parts,  both  of 
his  created  and  written  works  ?  Or  will 
he  prefume  fo  far  upon  his  own  wifdom, 
as  to  fay,  God  ought  to  have  expreffed 
himfelf  more  clearly  ?  The  point  and 
exact  degree  of  clearnefs,  which  will 
equally  fuit  the  different  capacities  of 
men  in  different  ages  and  countries,  will, 
I  believe,  be  found  more  difficult  to  fix 
than  is  imagined ;  fmce  what  is  clear  to 
one  man  in  a  certain  fituation  of  mind, 
time,  and  place,  will  inevitably  be  obfeure 
to  another,  who  views  it  in  other  pofitions, 
and  under  other  circumflances.  How  va- 
rious and  even  contradictory  are  the  read- 
ings and  comments,  which  feveral  men,  in 
the  feveral  ages  and  climates  of  the  world, 
have  made  upon  nature  !  And  yet  her 
characters  are  equally  legible,  and  her 
laws  equally  intelligible,  in  all  times  and 
in  all  places  :  "  There  is  no  fpeech  nor 
language  where  her  voice  is  not  heard  : 
her  found  is  gone  out  through  all  the 
earth,  and  her  words  to  the  end  of  the 
world."  All  thefe  mifreprefentations 
therefore,  and  mifconftructions,  of  her 
works,  are  chargeable  only  upon  man- 
kind, who  have  fet  themfelves  to  ftudy 
them  with  various  degrees  of  capacity, 
application,  and  impartiality.  The  quef- 
tion  then  mould  be,  Why  hath  God  given 
men  fuch  various  talents  ?  And  not,  Why 
hath  not   God    expreffed    himfelf  more 

clearly  | 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


299 


dearly  ?  And  the  anfwer  to  this  queftion, 
as  far  as  it  concerns  man  to  know,  is,  that 
God  will  require  of  him  according  to  what 
he  hath,  and  not  according  to  what  he  hath 
not.  If  what  is  neceffary  for  all  to  know, 
is  knowable  by  all  ;  thofe  men,  upon 
whom  God  hath  been  plealed  to  bellow 
capacities  and  faculties  fuperior  to  the 
vulgar,  have  certainly  no  juft  reafon  to 
complain  of  his  having  left  them  mate- 
rials for  the  exercife  of  thofe  talents, 
which,  if  all  things  were  equally  plain  to 
all  men,  would  be  of  no  great  advantage 
to  the  poffeffors.  If,  therefore,  there  are 
in  the  facred  writings,  as  well  as  in  the 
works  of  nature,  many  paffages  hard  to  be 
underflood,  it  were  to  be  wifhed,  that  the 
wife  and  learned,  inftead  of  being  offend- 
ed at  them,  and  teaching  others  to  be  fo 
too,  would  be  perfuaded,  that  both  God 
and  man  expect  that  they  would  fet  them- 
felves  to  confider  and  examine  them  care- 
fully and  impartially,  and  with  a  fincere 
defire  of  difcovering  and  embracing  the 
truth,  not  with  an  arrogant  unphiloiophi- 
cal  conceit  of  their  being  already  iuffici- 
ently  wife  and  knowing.  And  then  I  doubt 
not  but  molt,  of  thefe  objections  to  revela- 
tion, which  are  now  urged  with  the  great- 
eft  confidence,  would  be  cleared  up  and 
removed,  like  thofe  formerly  made  to 
Creation,  and  the  Being  and  Providence 
of  God,  by  thofe  molt  ignorant,  moll  ab- 
furd,  and  yet  moft  felf-fufficient  pretenders 
to  reafon  and.  philofophy,  the  Atheifts  and 
Sceptics.  Weft. 

§   207.     The  fuperior  ity  of  Chriftian  philo- 
fophy over  the  Stoical. 

EpiCtetus  often  lays  it  down  as  a  maxim, 
that  it  is  impoffible  for  one  perfon  to  be  in 
fault,  and  another  to  be  the  fufferer.  This, 
on  the  fuppofition  of  a  future  ftate,  will 
certainly  be  made  true  at  laft ;  but  in  the 
itoical  fenfe,  and  fyftem,  is  an  abfolute  ex- 
travagance. Take  any  perfon  of  plain 
underftanding,  with  all  the  feelings  of  hu- 
manity about  him,  and  fee  whether  the 
fubtleft  Stoic  will  ever  be  able  to  convince 
him,  that  while  he  is  infulted,  opprefled, 
and  tortured,  he  doth  not  fuffer.  See 
what  comfort  it  will  afford  him,  to  be  told, 
that,  if  he  fupports  his  afflictions  and  ill- 
treatment  with  fortitude  and  patience, 
death  will  fet  him  free,  and  then  he  and 
his  perfecutor  will  be  equally  rewarded ; 
will  equally  lofe  all  perfonal  exiftence,  and 
return   to  the  elements.     How  different 


are  the  confolations  propofed  by  Chris- 
tianity, which  not  only  affures  its  difciples, 
that  they  fhall  reft  from  their  labours  in 
death,  but  that  their  works  fhall  follow 
them  :  and  by  allowing  them  to  rejoice  in. 
hope,  teaches  them  the  moft  effectual  way 
of  becoming  patient  in  tribulation. 

The  Stoical  doCtrine,  that  human  fouls 
are  literally  parts  of  the  Deity,  was  equally 
fhocking,  and  hurtful ;  as  it  fuppofed  por- 
tions of  his  being  to  be  wicked  and  mi- 
ferable ;  and  by  debafing  men's  ideas  of 
the  divine  dignity,  and  teaching  them  to 
think  themfelves  effentially  as  good  as  he, 
nourifhed  in  their  minds  an  irreligious  and 
fatal  prefumption.  Far  differently  the 
Chriftian  fyftem  reprefents  mankind,  not 
as  a  part  of  the  effence,  but  a  work  of  the 
hand  of  God :  as  created  in  a  ftate  of  im- 
proveable  virtue  and  happinefs ;  fallen  by 
an  abufe  of  free  will,  into  fin,  rnifery,  and 
weaknefs ;  but  redeemed  from  them  by  an. 
Almighty  Saviour ;  furnifhed  with  addi- 
tional knowledge  and  ftrength  ;  command- 
ed to  ufe  their  beft  endeavours  ;  made  fen- 
fible,  at  the  fame  time,  how  wretchedly  de- 
fective they  are  ;  yet  affured  of  endlefs  fe- 
licity on  a  due  exertion  of  them.  The 
Stoic  philofophy  infults  human  nature  and 
difcourages  all  our  attempts,  by  enjoining 
and  promifing  a  perfection  in  this  life,  of 
which  we  feel  ourfelves  incapable.  The 
Chriftian  religion  fhows  companion  to  our 
weaknefs,  by  prefcribing  to  us  only  the 
practicable  talk  of  aiming  continually  at 
further  improvements,  and  animates  our 
endeavours,  by  the  promife  of  a  divine 
aid,  equal  to  every  trial. 

Specifying  thus  the  errors  and  defects 
of  fo  celebrated  a  fyftem,  is  an  unpleafing 
employment :  but  in  an  age,  fond  of  pre- 
ferring the  guefles  of  human  fagacity  be- 
fore the  unerring  declarations  of  God,  it 
feemed  on  this  occafion  neceffary  to  ob- 
ferve,  that  the  Chriftian  morality  is  agree- 
able to  reafon  and  nature ;  that  of  the 
Stoics,  for  the  moft  part,  founded  on  no- 
tions, intelligible  to  few  ;  and  which  none 
could  admit,  without  contradiction  to  their 
own  hearts.  They  reafoned,  many  times, 
admirably  well,  but  from  falfe  principles  ; 
and  the  nobleft  of  their  practical  precepts, 
being  built  on  a  fandy  bafis,  lay  at  the 
mercy  of  every  ftrong  temptation. 

Stoicifm  is  indeed  in  many  points  infe- 
rior to  the  dottrine  of  Socrates,  which  did 
not  teach,  that  all  externals  were  indif- 
ferent, which  did  teach  a  future  ftate  of 

recompense ; 


300 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


tecompsnce  ;  and  agreeably  to  that,  forbad 
fuicide.  It  doth  not  belong  to  the  pre- 
fent  f abject  to  ihow,  how  much  even  this 
belt  fyftem  is  excelled  by  ChrifHanity.  It 
is  fufficient  jull  to  obferve,  that  the  author 
of  it  died  in  a  profeffion,  which  he  had 
always  made  of  his  belief  in  the  popular 
deities,  whofe  fuperftitions,  and  impure 
worfhip  was  the  great  fource  of  corrup- 
tion in  the  Heathen  world;  and  the  Lift 
words  he  uttered,  were  a  direction  to  his 
friend,  for  the  performance  of  an  idola- 
trous ceremony.  This  melancholy  in- 
ilance  of  ignorance  and  error,  in  the  moll 
illuftrious  character  for  wifdom  and  virtue 
in  all  heathen  antiquity,  is  not  mentioned 
as  a  reflection  on  his  memory,  but  as  a 
proof  of  human  weaknefs  in  general. 
Whether  reafon  could  have  difcovered  the 
great  truths,  which  in  thele  days  are  af- 
cribed  to  it,  becaufe  now  leen  fo  clearly 
by  the  light  of  the  Gofpel,  may  be  a  quef- 
tion;  but  that  it  never  did,  is  an  undeni- 
able fact ;  and  that  is  enough  to  teach  us 
thankiulnefs  for  the  blefiing  of  a  better  in- 
formation. Socrates,  who  had,  of  all  man- 
kind, the  fairell  pretenfions  to  let  up  for  an 
inilructor,  and  reformer  of  the  world,  con- 
ferred that  he  knew  nothing,  referred  to 
tradition,  and  acknowledged  the  want  of  a 
fuperior  guide  :  and  there  is  a  remarkable 
paffage  in  Epictetas,  in  which  he  repre- 
sents "it,  as  the  office  of  his  fupreme  God, 
or  of  one  deputed  by  him,  to  appear  among 
mankind,  as  a  teacher  and  example. 

Upon  the  whole,  the  feveral  feds  of 
Heathen  philofophy  ferve,  as  fo  many 
ih-iking  inllances  of  the  imperfection  of 
human  wifdom ;  and  of  the  extreme  need 
of  a  divine  afliltance,  to  rectify  the  miftakes 
of  depraved  reafon,  and  to  replace  natural 
xelio-ion  on  its  true  foundation.  The  Stoics 
every  where  teltify  the  nobleft  zeal  for 
virtue,  and  the  honour  of  God ;  but  they 
attempted  to  eitabliih  them  on  principles 
inconliftent  with  the  nature  of  man,  and 
contradictory  to  truth  and  experience.  By 
a  direct  confequence  of  thefe  principles, 
they  were  liable  to  be  feduced,  and  in  fact, 
often  were  feduced  into  pride,  hard-hcart- 
ednefs,  and  the  lalt  dreadful  extremity  of 
human  guilt,  felf-murder. 

But  however  indefenfible  the  philofophy 
of  the  Stoics-  in  feveral  inftances  may  be, 
it  appears  to  have  been  of  very  important 
ufe,  in  the  heathen  world;  and  they  are, 
on  many  accounts,  to  be  confidered  in  a 
very  refpeftable  light.     Their  doctrine  of 


evidence  and  fixed  principles,  was  an  ex- 
cellent prefervative  from  the  mifchiefs, 
that  might  have  arifen  from  the  fcepticifm 
of  the  Academics  and  Pyrrhonifts,  if  un~ 
oppofed ;  and  their  zealous  defence  of  a 
pai  ticular  providence,  a  valuable  antidote 
to  the  atheiftical  fcheme  of  Epicurus.  To 
this  may  be  added,  that  their  ftrict  no- 
tions of  virtue  in  molt  points,  (for  they 
fadly  failed  in  fome)  and  the  lives  of  fe- 
veral among  them,  mult  contribute  a  good 
deal  to  preferve  luxurious  ftates  from  an 
absolutely  univerfal  difiblutenefs ;  and  the 
fubjects  of  arbitrary  government,  from  a 
wretched  and  contemptible  pufillanimity. 

Even  now,  their  compofitions  may  be 
read  with  great  advantage,  as  containing 
excellent  rules  of  felf-government,  and  of 
focial  behaviour ;  of  a  noble  reliance  on 
the  aid  and  protection  of  heaven,  and  of  a 
perfect  resignation  and  fubmiffion  to  the 
divine  will ;  points,  which  are  treated  with, 
great  clearnefs,  and  with  admirable  fpirit,' 
in  the  leflbns  of  the  Stoics;  and  though 
their  directions  are  feldom  practicable  on 
their  principles,  in  trying  cafes,  may  be 
rendered  highly  ufeful  in  fubordination  to 
Chriftian  reflections. 

If,  among  thofe,  who  are  fo  unhappy 
as  to  remain  unconvinced  of  the  truth  of 
Chriitianity,  any  are  prejudiced  againit  it 
by  the  influence  of  unwarrantable  inclina- 
tions ;  fuch  perfons  will  find  very  little  ad- 
vantage in  rejecting  the  doctrines  of  the 
New  Tdiament  for  thofe  of  the  Portico ; 
unlefs  they  think  it  an  advantage  to  be 
laid  under  moral  reftraints,  almoit  equal  to 
thofe  of  the  Gofpel,  while  they  are  depriv- 
ed of  its  encouragements  and  fupports. 
Deviations  from  the  rules  of  fobriety,  juf- 
tice,  and  piety,  meet  with  fmall  indulgence 
in  the  ltoic  writings ;  and  they,  who  pro- 
fefs  to  admire  Epictetus,  unlefs  they  purfue 
that  feverely  virtuous  conduct  which  he 
everywhere  prescribes,  will  find  themfelves 
treated  by  him  with  the  utmolt  degree  of 
fcorn  and  contempt.  An  immoral  cha- 
racter is  indeed,  more  or  lefs,  the  out-caft 
of  all  fects  of  philofophy;  and  Seneca 
quotes  even  Epicurus,  to  prove  the  uni- 
verfal obligation  of  a  virtuous  life.  Of 
this  great  truth,  God  never  left  himfelf 
without  witnefs.  Perfons  of  diftinguifhed, 
talents  and  opportunities  feem  to  have 
been  raifed,  from  time  to  time,  by  Provi- 
dence, to  check  the  torrent  of  corruption, 
and  to  preferve  the  fenfe  of  moral  obliga- 
tions  on  the  minds  of  the  multitude,  to 

whom 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


301 


whom  the  various  occupations  of  life  left 
but  little  leifure  to  form  deductions  of 
their  own.  But  then  they  wanted  a  pro- 
per commiffion  to  enforce  their  precepts ; 
they  intermixed  with  them,  through  falfe 
reasoning,  many  grofs  miftakes ;  and  their 
unavoidable  ignorance,  in  feveral  impor- 
tant points,  entangled  them  with  doubts, 
which  eafily  degenerated  into  pernicious 
errors. 

If  there  are  others,  who  reject  Chriftia- 
nity,  from  motives  of  diflike  to  its  pecu- 
liar doctrines,  they  will  fcarcely  fail  of 
entertaining  more  favourable  impreffions 
of  it,  if  they  can  be  prevailed  on,  with 
impartiality,  to  compare  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures, from  whence  alone  the  chriftian  re- 
ligion is  to  be  learned,  with  the  ftoic  writ- 
ings ;  and  then  fairly  to  confider,  whether 
there  is  any  thing  to  be  met  with  in  the 
difcoveries  of  our  blcffed  Saviour,  in  the 
writings  of  his  apoitles,  or  even  in  the  ob- 
fcureft  parts  of  the  prophetic  books,  by 
which,  equitably  interpreted,  either  their 
fenfes,  or  their  reafon  are  contradicted,  as 
they  are  by  the  paradoxes  of  thefe  philo- 
fophers :  and  if  not,  whether  notices  from 
above,  of  things  in  which,  though  we  com- 
prehend them  but  imperfectly,  we  are 
poffibly  much  more  interested,  than  at  prq- 
fent  we  difcern,  ought  not  to  be  received 
with  implicit  veneration ;  as  ufeful  exer- 
cifes  and  trials  of  that  duty,  which  finite 
understandings  owe  to  infinite  wifdom. 
Mifs  Carter* 

§  208.  The  more  nve  fiudy  the  Scriptures 
the  more  ive  Jhail  percei-ve  their  divine 
origin,  and  the  more  <vje  Jhall  admire 
them. 

The  more  we  read,  the  more  we  medi- 
tate on  the  Holy  Scriptures,  the  more  we 
fhall  difcover  in  them  an  inexhauftible 
fource  of  light,  and  of  all  manner  of  in- 
duction ;  that  their  language  is  not  the 
language  of  men,  nor  the  fubject  a  pro- 
duction of  their  ingenuity ;  that  they  have 
a  character  peculiar  to  themfelves,  and  dif- 
ferent from  the  compofitions  even  of  the 
greateft  and  belt  men ;  that  they  are  ex- 
empt from  all  vulgar  pafiions  and  interefts, 
and  to  the  ordinary  views  of  human  pru- 
dence and  forecaft;  in  fine,  that  no  man 
ever  raifed  himfelf  fo  much  above  huma- 
nity as  to  produce  a  work,  in  which  all  is 
fo  fuperior  to  man. 

The  moil  accurate  of  the  Pagan  au- 
thors are  juftly  charged  with  errors,  dark- 


nefs,  and  uncertainties,  with  refpedt  both 
to  facts  and  doctrine  :  but  it  became  the 
wife  and  great  Being,  who  infpired  the 
facred  penmen,  to  exempt  their  works  from 
all  fuch  imputations ;  and,  accordingly,  he 
has  favoured  them  with  every  argument  of 
truth  and  perfuafion,  adorned  them  with 
the  graces  of  language  and  fentiment, 
lighted  up  and  enlivened  them  with  the 
brighter!,  examples  of  virtue  and  fanctity, 
annexed  to  their  ftudy  and  meditation  fuch 
helps  and  communications  of  his  Holy 
Spirit  as  cannot  be  defcribed,  and  made 
the  belief  and  practice  of  them  the  only 
foundation  of  true  peace  andhappinefs. — 
Every  one  readily  allows  no  fubject  can 
be  equal  to  the  life  of  our  Lord  and  Sa- 
viour Jefus  Chrift;  that  is,  to  the  incarna- 
tion and  birth  ;  the  miracles  and  doctrine  ; 
the  fufferings  and  death ;  the  refurrectioa 
and  afcenfion  of  a  God  become  man  to 
reform  and  fave  a  finful  and  loft  world : 
And  whoever  imagines  this  hiftory  can  be 
better  wrote  than  it  is  by  the  Evangelifts, 
has  it  yet  to  learn.  Bat  though  it  becomes 
a  Chriftian  to  be  particularly  converfant  in 
this  and  the  other  writings  of  the  New 
Teftament,  yet  there  is  not  any  part  of 
the  Old  which  does  not  furnifh  ample 
matter  of  inftruction. — The  book  of  Ge- 
nefis,  in  the  account  it  gives  of  the  crea- 
tion, of  the  fall  and  puniihment  of  our  firft 
parents,  of  the  righteoufnefs  of  Noah,  of 
the  deluge,  of  the  wonderful  obedience  of 
Abraham,  and  the  promife  made  by  God 
to  reward  it,  of  the  destruction  of  Sodom, 
and  the  providence  of  God  over  the  pa- 
triarch Jofeph,  prefents  to  our  minds  the 
molt  fuitable  fubjects  to  fill  them  with 
every  chriftian  fentiment  of  reverence  for 
the  Supreme  Being  and  his  laws,  love  of 
his  goodnefs,  and  dread"  of  his  juftice* 
When  we  go  on  to  Exodus,  we  fee  the 
wonders  wrought  by  the  Almighty  in  fa- 
vour of  his  people,  the  impenitence  of 
Pharaoh,  and  the  various  chaftifements  by 
which  the  murmurings  and  idolatry  of  the 
Ifraelites  in  the  defart  were  punimad.  Le- 
viticus and  Numbers  fet  forth  the  accuracy 
which  God  exacts  in  his  worfhip  :  Deuter- 
onomy, the  fanctity  of  his  laws  ;  Jofhua, 
the  accomplifhment  of  his  promifes.  In 
the  book  of  Judges,  we  fee  the  ftrength 
and  weaknefs  of  Sampfon;  in  that  of  Ruth, 
the  plain-dealing  and  equity  of  Boaz  ;  in 
thofe  of  Kings,  the  holinefs  of  Samuel,  of 
Elijah,  of  Elifha,  and  the  other  prophets : 
the  reprobation  of  Saul ;  the  fall  and  re^ 

pentance. 


£02 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


pentance  of  David,  his  mildnefs  and  pa- 
tience ;  the  wifdom  and  fin  of  Solomon ; 
the  piety   of  Hezekiah  and   Jofiah.     In 
Efdras,  the  zeal  for  the  law  of  God;   in 
Tobit,  the  conduct  of  a  holy  family;  in 
Judith,  the  power    of  grace ;    in   Either, 
prudence;  in  Job,  a  pattern  of  admirable 
patience.     The  Maccabees  afford  fuch  in- 
stances of  perfonal  and  national  bravery  ; 
fuch  an  exalted  and  generous  love  of  our 
country,  and  all  this  grounded  on  the  true 
principles  of  valour  and  patriotiim,  as  the 
mod    boaftech -  achievements    in    profane 
itory  are  perfect  ftrangers  to.     The  Pro- 
verbs and  Ecclefiaftes,  and  the  other  two 
books  which  go  under  the  title  of  the  Wif- 
dom  of  Solomon  and  of  the  Son  of  Sirach, 
teach  a  more  ufeful  and  fublime  philofophy 
than  all  the  writings  which   Greece  and 
Rome  have  publifhed.     The  noble  images 
and  reflect  ions,  the  profound  reafonings  on 
human  actions,  and  excellent  precepts  for 
the  government  of  life,  fufficiently  witnefs 
their  infpired  origin.     This  treafure,  in- 
deed,  is  thrown   together   in  a  confufed 
magnificence,  above  all  order,  that  every 
one  may  collect  and  digeft  fuch  obferva- 
tions  as  chiefly  tend  to  his  own  particular 
instruction.     And  though  it  behoves  us  to 
reverence  the  dodlrine  of  the  Holy  Ghoit, 
rather  than  pretend  to  affign  the  reafons 
for  his  difpenfing  it  in  this  or  that  manner, 
yet,  I  think,  we  perceive  the  fitnefs  of  the 
method  here  taken,  in  letting  forth  the  na- 
ture, fubftance,  and  end  of  our  obligations; 
and,  without  entering  on  minute  difcuf- 
fions,  in  taking  in  the  whole  compafs  of 
duty ;  for  by  this  means  the  paths  of  life 
are  not  only  pointed  out  to  each  indivi- 
dual, and  his  perfonal  character  formed; 
but  the  minds  of  mankind,  in  general,  are 
furnifhed  and  enriched  v/ith    the  beauty, 
copioufnefs,  arid  variety  of  all  virtues.-— 
The  Prophets  announce  not  only  the  pro- 
mifes,  but  alfo  the  characteristic  marks  of 
the  Mefuah,  with  the  threats  againft  Sin- 
ners,  and  thofe  calamities  which  were  to 
befal  the  Jews  and  other  -nations.     The 
Pfalms  unite  in  themfelves  the  chief  Sub- 
jects, and  all  the  different  excellencies  of 
the   Old  Teftaraent.      In  a   word,   every 
thing  in  the  Sacred  Writings  will  appear, 
as  it  truly  is,  holy,  grand,  and  profitable, 
provided  it  be  read  with  fuitable  difpoSi- 
tioas, '  Phillips. 


§   2C9.     Beautiful   inftances    of  Friendjhip 

in  the  Scriptures. 

One  of  the  ftrongeft  and  moft  affecting 
inftances  of  a  faithful  attachment  to  be 
met  with  in  hillory,  occurs  in  the  friend- 
fhip  which  fubfifted  between  two  females. 
The  inftan.ee  alluded  to,  is  recorded  in 
the  Jewifh  annals,  and  moft  pathetically 
related  by  one  of  the  facred  pen-men. 
The  reader  need  not  be  told,  that  this  is 
the  friendfhip  of  Naomi  and  Ruth. 

Two  very  remarkable  inftances  of  friend- 
fhip occur,  in  the  hiitory  of  our  Saviour's 
life  :  it  may  not  perhaps  be  altogether  un- 
neceflary  to  ftate  them  in  all  their  Striking 
circumftances. 

The  Evangelift,  in  relating  the  miracle3 
which  Chrift  performed  at  Bethany,  by  re- 
ftoring  a  perfon  to  life  who  had  lain  fome 
days  in  the  grave,  introduces  his  narrative 
by  emphatically  obferving,  that  "  Jefua 
loved  Lazarus ; "  intimating,  it  fhould 
feem,  that  the  fentiments  which  Chrift 
entertained  of  Lazarus,  were  a  diltincr, 
and  peculiar  fpecies  of  that  general  bene- 
volence with  which  he  was  actuated  to- 
wards all  mankind.  Agreeably  to  this 
explication  of  the  facred  hiltorian's  mean- 
ing, when  the  filters  of  Lazarus  fent  to 
acquaint  Jefus  with  the  ftate  in  which  their 
brother  lay ;  they  did  not  even  mention 
his  name ;  but  pointed  him  out  by  a  more 
honourable  and  equally  notorious  defigna- 
tion ;  the  terms  of  their  meflage  were, 
"  behold  !  he  whom  thou  loveft  is  lick  !" 
Accordingly,  when  he  informs  his  difci- 
ples  of  the  notice  he  had  thus  received, 
his  expreffion  is,  "  our  friend  Lazarus 
fleepeth."  Now  that  Chrilt  did  not  upon 
this  occafion  ufe  the  word  friend  in  its 
loofe  undiltinguifhing  acceptation,  but  in 
a  reftrained  and  ftrictly  appropriated  fenfe; 
is  not  only  manifeft  from  this  plain  ac- 
count of  the  fact  itfelf,  but  appears  farther 
evident  from  the  fequel.  For,  as  he  was 
advancing  to  the  grave,  accompanied  with 
the  relations  of  the  deceafed,  he  difcover- 
ed  the  fame  emotions  of  grief  as  fwelled 
the  bofoms  of  thofe  with  whom  Lazarus 
had  been  moft  intimately  connected  ;  and 
Sympathizing  with  their  common  forrow, 
he  melted  into  tears.  This  circumstance 
was  too  remarkable  to  efcape  particular 
obfervation  :  and  it  drew  from  the  Specta- 
tors, what  one  fhould  think  it  mull  necef- 
farily  draw  from  every  reader,  this  natural 

and 


OOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


and  obvious  reflection,  "  behold  !  bow  he 
loved  him  !" 

But  in  the  concluding  catafrrophe  of  our 
Saviour's  life,  he  gave  a  ftill  more  decifive 
proof,  that  fentiments  of  the  ftrongelt  per- 
fonal  attachment  and  friendfhip,  were  not 
unworthy  of  being  admitted  into  his  facred 
bofom.  They  were  too  deeply,  indeed, 
impreffed,  to  be  extinguifhed  even  by  the 
raoft  excruciating  torments.  In  thofe  dread- 
ful moments,  obferving  among  the  afflicted 
witneffes  of  his  painful  and  ignominious 
fufFerings,  that  faithful  follower,  who  is  de- 
fcribed  by  the  hiltorian  as  "  the  difciple 
whom  he  loved ;"  he  diftinguifhed  him  by 
the  moll  convincing  inftance  of  fuperior 
confidence,  eileem,  and  affection  that  ever 
was  exhibited  to  the  admiration  of  man- 
kind. For,  under  circumftances  of  the 
moll  agonizing  torments,  when  it  might 
be  thought  impoffible  for  human  nature  to 
retain  any  other  fenfibility  but  that  of  its 
©wn  inexpreffible  fufFerings ;  he  recom- 
mended to  the  care  and  protection  of  this 
his  tried  and  approved  friend,  in  terms  of 
peculiar  regard  and  endearment,  the  moll 
tender  and  facred  objeft  of  his  private  af- 
fections. But  no  language  can  reprefent 
this  pathetic  and  affecting  fcene,  with  a 
force  and  energy  equal  to  the  fublime  lim- 
plicity  of  the  Evangelifl's  own  narrative : 
"  Now  there  flood  by  the  crofs  of  Jefus, 
his  mother  and  his  mother's  filler,  and 
Mary  Magdalene.  When  Jefus  faw  his 
mother,  and  the  difciple  by,  whom  he 
loved ;  he  faith  to  his  mother,  Behold  thy 
fon  !  Then  he  faith  to  the  difciple,  Behold 
thy  mother  I  And  from  that  hour  that  dif- 
ciple took  her  to  his  own  home." 

It  may  fafely  be  afferted,  that  among  all 
thofe  memorable  examples  of  friendfhip, 
which  have  been  celebrated  with  the  high- 
ell  encomiums  by  the  ancients  j  there  can- 
not be  produced  a  fingle  inftance,  in  which 
the  moll  diilinguifhing  features  of  exalted 
amity  are  fo  llrongly  difplayed,  as  in  the 
foregoing  relation.  The  only  one,  per- 
haps, that  bears  even  a  faint  refemblance 
to  it,  is  that  famous  tranfaclion,  recorded 
by  Lucian  in  his  dialogue  intitled  Toxa- 
ris.  Eudamidas  being  on  his  death  bed 
made  his  will,  by  which  he  bequeathed 
his  aged  mother  to  the  care  and  protec- 
tion of  Aretheus;  and  his  daughter  .to 
Chanxenus,  to  be  difpofed  of  in  marriage 
according  to  his  difcretion ;  injoining  him, 
at  the  lame  time,  to  give  her  as  ample  a 
portion  as  his  circumftances  would  admit. 


3«5 


He  added,  that  in  cafe  either  of  the  lega- 
tees fhculd  happen  to  die,  he  fubftituted 
the  furvivor  in  his  Head.  Charixenus  died 
very  foon  after  the  teitator :  in  confequence 
of  which,  Aretheus  took  each  of  thefe  An- 
gularly confidential  legacies  to  himfelf; 
and  celebrating  the  marriage  of  his  only 
daughter  and  that  of  his  friend,  on  the 
fame  day,  he  divided  his  fortune  equally 
between  them. 

When  the  very  different  circumftanceg 
attending  thefe  refpective  examples,  are 
duly  confidered ;  it  mufl  be  acknowledg- 
ed, that  the  former  rifes  as  much  above  the 
latter  in  the  proof  it  exhibits  of  fublime 
friendfhip,  as  it  does  in  the  dignity  of  the 
characters  concerned.  Upon  the  whole 
then  it  appears,  that  the  divine  founder  of 
the  Chriftian  religion,  as  well  by  his  own 
example,  as  by  the  fpirit  of  his  moral  doc- 
trine, has  not  only  encouraged  but  confe- 
crated  friendfhip.  Melmoth. 

§210.     Fine  Morality  of  the  Go/pel. 

Is  it  bigotry  to  believe  the  fublime  truths 
of  the  Gofpel  with  full  affurance  of  faith  ? 
I  glory  in  fuch  bigotry :  I  would  not  part 
with  it  for  a  thoufand  worlds :  I  congratu- 
late the  man  who  is  poffeffed  of  it ;  for, 
amidfl  all  the  viciffitudes  and  calamities 
of  the  prefent  ftate,  that  man  enjoys  an  in- 
exhauftible  fund  of  confolation,  of  which  it 
is  not  in  the  power  of  fortune  to  deprive 
him. 

— —There  is  not  a  book  on  earth  fo  fa- 
vourable to  all  the  kind,  and  all  the  fublime 
affections,  or  fo  unfriendly  to  hatred  and 
perfecution,  to  tyranny,  injuftice,  and  everv 

fort  of  malevolence  as  the  Gofpel. Jc 

breathes  nothing  throughout  but  mercy, 
benevolence,  and  peace. 

Poetry  is  fublime,  when  it  awakens  in 
the  mind  any  great  and  good  affection,  as 
piety,  or  patriotifrn.  This  is  one  of  the 
nobleft  effects  of  the  heart.  The  Pfalms 
are  remarkable,  beyond  all  other  writings, 
for  their  power  of  infpiring  devout  emo- 
tions. But  it  is  not  in  this  refpect  only 
that  they  are  fublime.  Of  &3  .Divide  na- 
ture they  contain  the  moll  magnificent  de- 
fections that  the  foul  of  man  can  com- 
prehend. The  hundred  and  fourth  Pfalm, 
in  particular,  difplays.  the  power  and  good- 
nefs_  of  Providence,  in  creating  and  pre- 
ferring the  world,  and  the  various  tribes  of 
animals  in  it,  with  fuch  majeltic  brevity 
and  beauty,  as  it  is  vain  to  look  for  in  any- 
human  compofition. — — = 

Such 


3°4 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


Such  of  the  do&rines  of  the  Gofpel  as 
are  level  to  human  capacity  appear  to  be 
agreeable  to  the  pureft  truth  and  the  found- 
eft  morality.  All  the  genius  and  learning 
of  the  Heathen  world ;  all  the  penetration 
•f  Pythagoras,  Socrates,  and  Ariftotle,  had 
never  been  able  to  produce  fuch  a  fyftem 
of  moral  duty,  and  fo  rational  an  account 
of  providence  and  of  man,  as  is  to  be  found 
in  the  New  Teftan.ent.  Compared,  in- 
deed, to  this,  all  other  moral  and  theolo- 
gical wifdom 

Lofes  difcountenanced,  and  like  folly 
{hews.  Bcattie. 

§211.  Beneficence  to  the  poor  more  forcibly 
enjoined  by  the  Gofpel,  than  by  any  other 
writings. 

The  Chriilian  Scriptures  are  more  co- 
pious and  explicit  upon  our  obligation  to 
bellow  relief  upon  the  poor  than  almoft 
any  other.  The  defcription  which  Chriil 
hath  left  us  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Lift 
day,  eftabliihes  the  obligation  of  bounty,  fo 
far  as  his  authority  can  be  depended  upon, 
beyond  controverfy.  "  When  the  Son  of 
man  fhall  come  in  his  glory,  and  all  the 
holy  angels  with  him,  then  fhall  he  fit  upon 
the  throne  of  his  glory,  and  before  him 
fhall  be  gathered  all  nations ;  and  he  fhall 
feparate  them  one  from  another. — Then 
fhall  the  king  fay  unto  them  on  his  right 
hand,  Come  ye  blefled  of  my  Father,  in- 
herit the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world :  for  I  was  an 
hungred,  and  ye  gave  me  meat :  I  was 
thirfty,  and  ye  gave  me  drink  :  1  was  a 
Granger,  and  ye  took  me  in :  naked,  and 
ye  clothed  me :  I  was  fick,  and  ye  vihted 
me :  1  was  m  prifon,  and  ye  came  unto 
me. — And  inafmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  to 
one  of  the  lealt  of  thefe  my  brethren,  ye 
have  done  it  unto  me."  It  is  not  neceffary 
to  understand  this  paffage  as  a  literal  ac- 
count of  what  will  actually  pafs  on  that 
day.  Suppofmg  it  only  a  fcenical  defcrip- 
tion of  the  rules  and  principles  by  which 
the  fupreme  arbiter  of  our  deftiny  will  re- 
gulate his  decifions,  it  conveys  the  fame 
leffon  to  us ;  it  equally  demonftrates  of 
how  great  value  and  importance  thefe  du- 
ties in  the  fight  of  God  are,  and  what  ftrefs 
will  be  laid  upon  them.  The  apoftles  alio 
defcribe  this  virtue  as  propitiating  the  di- 
vine favour  in  an  eminent  degree:  and 
thefe  recommendations  have  produced  their 
effedh  It  does  not  appear  that  before  the 
simea  of  Christianity,  a  hofpital,  infirmary, 


or  public  chanty  of  any  kind,  existed  l 
the  world ;  whereas  moft  countries  v. ) 
Chriftendom  have  long  abounded  witi 
thefe  inltitutions.  To  which  may  be  add 
ed,  that  a  fpirit  of  private  liberality  feem 
to  flourish  amidft  the  decay  of  many  othe 
virtues :  not  to  mention  the  legal  provi 
fion  for  the  poor,  which  obtains  in  thi 
country,  and  which  was  unknown  and  un- 
thought  of  by  the  molt  polifhed  nations  o. 
antiquity.  Rev.  W.  Paley. 

§  212.     *The Jimplicity  of  the  Gofpel  gi-ves  i:' 
an  air  of  Jublimity. 

The  graceful  negligence  of  nature  always 
pleafes  beyond  the  truelt  ornaments  that 
art  can  devife.  Indeed,  they  are  then 
truelt,  when  they  approach  the  neareft  to 
this  negligence.  To  attain  it,  is  the  very- 
triumph  of  art.  The  wife  artift,  therefore, 
always  compleats  his  ltudies  in  the  great 
fchool  of  creation,  where  the  forms  of  ele- 
gance lie  fcattered  in  an  endlefs  variety : 
and  the  writer  who  wiihes  to  poffefs  fome 
portion  of  that  fovereign  excellence,  fim- 
plicity,  even  though  he  were  an  infidel, 
would  have  recourfe  to  the  Scriptures,  and 
make  them  his  model. 

The  pathetic  and  fublime  Simplicity  of 
our  Saviour's  whole  defcription  of  the  laft 
judgment  cannot  be  paralleled  in  any  wri- 
ting of  any  age. 

—In  the  Gofpel  we  find  no  pompous 
difplays  of  reafoning  ;  no  laboured  and  dif- 
ficult dillin&ions ;  no  long  and  learned  en- 
quiries concerning  the  nature  and  kinds  of 
virtue  ;  but  virtue  itfelf  reprefented  to  the 
life ;  in  examples,  and  precepts,  which  are 
level  to  the  plaineit  underftandings ;  in  fa- 
miliar occurrences ;  in  fhort  and  fimple 
narrations ;  in  actions,  or  difcourfes,  real 
or  imagined.  And  perhaps,  among  other 
things,  it  is  this  unfyltematic  form,  this 
neglect  of  art  and  method,  which  produces 
that  graceful  eafe,  that  venerable,  majeftic 
fimplicity,  that  air  of  truth  and  originality, 
which  diftinguiih  the  Scriptures  from  all 
human  writings.       Rev.  J.  Mainivaring. 

§  213.     The  Bible,  as  a  'very  curious  and 
ancient  hiftory,  worthy  our  attention. 
Were  the  Bible  but  considered  impar- 
tially and  attentively,  in  its  moft  advan- 
tageous lights  ;  as  it  contains  all  the  writ- 
ten revelation  of  God's  will  now  extant; 
as  it  is  the  bafis  of  our  national  religion, 
and  gives  vigour  and  fpirit  to  all  our  fo- 
cial  laws ;  as  it  is  the  molt  ancient,  and  con- 
sequently. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL 

fequently,  curious  collection  of  hiftorical 
incidents,  moral  precepts,  and  political  in- 
ftitutions ;  as  the  ftyle  of  it  is,  in  fome 
places,  nobly  fublime  and  poetical,  and  in 
others,  fweetly  natural,  plain,  and  un- 
affected :  in  a  word,  as  the  being  well  ac- 
quainted with  it  is  highly  requifne,  in 
order  to  make  men  ufeful  and  ornamental 
in  this  life,  to  fay  nothing  of  their  happi- 
nefs  in  the  next,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  a 
cool  reflection  or  two  of  this  fort,  might 
induce  the  more  ingenious  and  rational 
among  them,  to  let  the  Bible  takes  its  turn, 
in  their  riper  years,  among  thofe  volumes 
which  pafs  through  their  hands  either  for 
amufement  or  inftruction.  And  fhould 
fuch  an  entertainment  once  become  fa- 
lhionable,  of  what  mighty  fervice  would 
it  be  to  the  intereft  of  religion,  and  con- 
fequently  the  happinefs  of  mankind  ! 

Rev.  S.  CroxalL 

$  214.     Excelle?ice  of  the  Sacred  Writings, 

If  we  examine  the  Sacred  Records,  we 
mail  find  they  confift  of  four  different 
kinds,  the  poetic,  oratorical,  hillorical,  and 
didactic  forms.  The  poetic  lies  chiefly  in 
the  book  of  Pfalms,  of  Job,  and  feveral 
detached  paffages  in  the  Prophets,  parti- 
cularly of  Ifaiah.  They  contain  many 
noble  efforts  of  unmixed  poetry  or  pure 
imitation  ;  yet  thefe,  being  all  centered  in 
one  intention,  that  of  extolling  the  works, 
and  celebrating  the  power,  wifdom,  and 
goodnefs  of  the  Deity,  do  generally 
partake  of  the  character  of"  eloquence, 
being  chiefly  of  the  lyric  kind.  In  all 
thefe,  the  great  character  of  firnplicity  is 
fo  ftrongly  predominant,  that  every  atteniDt 
to  embellilh  them,  by  adding  the  fupernu- 
merary  decorations  of  ftyle  in  tranflation, 
hath  ever  been  found  to  weaken  and  debafe 
them. 

As  to  the  oratorical  or  pathetic  parts, 
innumerable  might  be  produced,  equal,  if 
not  fupcrior  to  any  recorded  by  profane 
antiquity.  In  thefe,  the  leading  character 
of  firnplicity  is  no  lefs  remarkable.  Our 
Saviour's  parables  and  exhortations  are 
generally  admirable  in  this  quality.  Filled 
with  unfeigned  companion  for  the  weaknefs 
and  rniferies  of"  man,  they  breathe  nothing 
but  the  pureft  benevolence.  St.  Paul's 
laft  converfation  with  his  friends  at  Ephe- 
fus,  on  his  departure  for  Jeruialem ;  his 
difcourfe  on  the  rcfurrection,  and  on 
charity;  his  reproofs,  his  commendations, 
his  apologies,  efpeciaUy  that  before  Agrip- 


AND     RELIGIOUS.  305 

pa,  are  wrote  in  the  nobleft  ftrain  of 
hmplicity.  And  as  a  perfect  model  of 
this  kind,  we  may  give  the  ftory  of  Jofeph, 
and  his  brethren,  which  for  tendernefs,  true 
pathos,  and  unmixed  firnplicity,  is  beyond 
compare,  fuperior  to  any  thing  that  ap- 
pears in  ancient  ftory. 

But  as  the  moft  important  part  of  Scrip- 
ture lies  in  the  hiftorical  and  preceptive 
part;  efpeciaUy  in  the  New  Teftament, 
whence  chiefly  our  idea  of  duty  mult  be 
drawn  ;  fo  we  find  this  uniform  and  Ample 
manner  eminently  prevailing  throughout, 
in  every  precept  and  narration.  The 
hiftory  is  conveyed  in  that  artlefs  ftrain 
which  alone  could  ad.iptit  to  the  capacities 
of  all  mankind;  the  precepts  delivered  by 
our  Saviour  are  drawn  from  the  principles 
of  common  fenfe,  improved  by  the  mod 
exalted  love  of  God  and  man  ;  and  either 
expreffed  in  clear  and  direct  terms,  or 
couched  under  fuch  images  and  alluflons,  as 
are  every  where  to  be  found  in  nature, 
fuch  as  are,  and  mull  ever  be  univerfally 
known,  and  familiar  to  all  mankind;  in 
which  we  may  further  obferve,  his  man- 
ner of  teaching  was  greatly  fuperior  to 
the  juftly  applauded  Socrates,  who,  for  the 
moft  part  drew  his  images  and  alluflons 
from  the  lefs  known  arts  and  manners  of 
the  city.  Through  all  this  variety  of 
ftriking  alluflon  and  moral  precept  the  ftyle 
ever  continues  the  fame,  unadorned,  Ample, 
vehement  and  majeftic;  yet  never  drawing 
the  reader's  attention  on  itfelf,  but  on  the 
divine  fentiments  it  conveys. 

To  this  we  may  further  add,  that  thefe 
feveral  kinds  of  composition  are  mixed 
and  united  with  fuch  propriety  and  force, 
as  is  fcarce  to  be  equailed  in  any  other 
writings.  The  poetical  parts  are  heighten- 
ed by  the  greateft  ftrokes  of  eloquence  and 
precept;  the  pathetic  by  the  nobleft 
imagery  and  ftricteft  morals;  and  the 
preceptive  is  ftrengthened  and  enforced 
by  all  the  aids  of  poetry,  eloquence  and 
parable ;  calculated  at  once  to  engage  the 
imagination,  to  touch  the  paifions,  and 
command  the  reafon  of  mankind. 

Rev.  "J.  Bronjjn. 

§   215.     Shteen  Anne  s  Prayer. 

Almighty  and  eternal  Gcd,  the  dif- 
pofer  of  all  the  affairs  in  the  world,  there, 
is  nothing  fo  great  as  not  to  be  fubject  to 
thy  power,  nor  fo  fmall,  but  it  comes  with- 
in thy  care ;  thy  goodnefs  and  wifdom 
fnew  themfelves  through  all  thy   works, 

X  and, 


3o5 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE*. 


and  thy  loving  kindnefs  and  mercy  do  ap- 
pear in  the  feveral  difpenfations  of  thy 
providence,  of  which,  at  this  time  I 
earneftly  defire  to  have  a  deep  and  humble 
fenfe.  It  has  pleafed  thee  to  take  to  thy 
mercvmy  deareir  hufband,vvhowas  the  com- 
fort and  joy  of  my  life,  after  we  had  Hved 
together  many  years  happily  in  all  conjugal 
love  and  affe&ion.  May  I  readily  fubmit 
mvfelf  to  thy  good  pleaiure,  and  fmcerely 
rc'iign  mine  own  will  to  thine,  with  all 
Chriitian  patience,  meeknefs  and  humility. 
Do  thou  gracioufly  pardon  the  errors  and 
failings  of  my  life,  which  have  been  the 
occaiton  of  thy  difpleafure  ;  and  let  thy 
judgments  bring  me  to  fmcere  and  un- 
feigned repentance,  and  to  anfwer  the  wife 
ends  for  which  thou  hail  fent  them.  Be 
thou  pleafed  fo  to  affift  me  with  the  grace 
of  thy  Holy  Spirit,  that  I  may  continue  to 
govern  the  people  which  thou  hail  com- 
mitted to  my  charge,  in  godlinefs,  righte- 
oufnefs,  juftice,  and  mercy.  In  the  ma- 
nagement of  all  affairs,  public  and  private, 
grant  I  may  have  a  Uriel  regard  to  thy 
holy  will,  that  I  may  diligently  and  heartily 
advance  thy  glory,  and  ever  entirely  de- 
pend on  thy  providence.  Do  thou,  O 
gracious  Father,  be  pleafed  to  grant  I  may 
do  the  greateil  good  I  can  in  all  my  capa- 
city, and  be  daily  improving  every 
Chriilian  grace  and  virtue :  fo  that  when 
thou  fhalt  think  fit  to  put  an  end  to  this 
fhort  and  uncertain  life,  I  may  be  made  a 
partaker  of  thofe  gracious,  endlefs  joys, 
which  thou  haft  prepared  for  thofe  that 
love  and  fear  thee,  through  Jefus  Chriil 
our  Lord.      Amen. 

§  216.      Prince  Engc?^^  Prayer. 

I  believe  in  thee,  O  my  God  !  Do  thou 
ftrengvhen  my  faith  :  I  hope  in  thee  ;  con- 
firm my  hopes :  1  love  thee;  inflame  my 
love  more  and  more  :' I  repent  of  all  my 
fins ;  but  do  thou  encreafe  my  repentance  ! 
As  my  firft  beginning  I  worfhip  thee;  as 
my  lail  end  I  long  for  thee :  as  m)  eternal 
benefactor,  I  praife  thee ;  and  as  my 
fupreme  protector  I  pray  unto  thee;  that 
it  may  pleafe  thee,  O  Lord,  to  guide  and 
lead  me  by  thy  providence,  to  keep  me  in 
obedience  to  thy  juftice;  to  comfort  me  by 
thy  mercy,  and  to  protect  me  by  thy 
almighty  power.  I  fubmit  unto  thee  all 
my  thoughts,  words,  and  actions,  as  well 
as'  my  arrficliom;,  pains,  and  fufferings,  and 
I  defire  to  have  thee  always  in  my  mind, 
t«  do  a:i  my  works  in  thy  name,    and  for 


thy  fake  to  bear  all  adverfity  with  patiencev 
I  will  nothing  but  what  thou  willed,  O 
God  ;  becaufe  'tis  agreeable  unto  thee.' 
O  give  me  grace  that  I  may  be  attentive 
in  my  prayer,  temperate  in  my  diet,  vigi- 
lant in  my  cenduft,  and  unmoveabie  in  all 
good  purpofes.  Grant,  molt  merciful  Lord, 
that  I  may  be  true  and  faithful  to  thofe 
that  have  entrufted  me  with  their  fecrets; 
that  I  may  be  courteous  and  kind  towards 
all  men,  and  that  both  in  my  words  and 
a<SHons,  I  may  fhew  unto  them  a  good 
example.  Difpofe  my  heart  to  admire  and 
praife  they  goodnefs,  to  hate  all  errors  and 
evil  works,  to  love  my  neighbour,  and  to 
defpife  the  world.  AiTift  me  good  God, 
in  fubduing  luft  by  mortification,  cove- 
toufnefs  by  liberality,  anger  by  miklnefs, 
and  lukew  armnefs  by  zeal  and  fervency. 
Enable  me  to  conduct  myfelf  with  prudence 
in  all  tranfaftions,  and  to  fhew  courage  in 
danger,  patience  in  adverfity,  and  in  prof- 
perity  an  humble  mind.  Let  thy  grace 
illuminate  my  underflanding,  direft  my 
will,  fanenfy  my  body,  and  blefs  my  fouk- 
Make  me  diligent  in  curbing  all  irregular 
affections,  zealous  in  imploring  thy  grace, 
careful  in  keeping  thy  commandments, 
and  conftant  in  working  out  my  own  falva- 
tion.  Finally,  O  God,  make  me  feniible 
how  little  is  the  world,  how  great  thy 
heavens,  how  fhort  time,  and  how  long 
will  be  the  bleffed  eternity.  O  that  I  may 
prepare  mvfelf  for  death !  that  I  may 
dread  thy  judgments,  that  I  may  avoid  the, 
torments  of  hell,  and  obtain  of  thee,  O 
God  !  eternal  life  through  the  merits  of 
Jefus  Chrift  our  Lord.     Amen. 

§    217.      The  gay, young  Alt amont  dying. 

The  fad  evening  before  the  death  of 
this  noble  youth  I  was  with  him.  No  one 
was  there,  but  his  phyfician,  and  an  inti- 
mate friend  whom  he  loved,  and  whom  he 
had  ruined.     At  my  coming  in,  he  faid; 

You,  and  the  phyfician,  are  come  too- 
late. — i  have  neither  life,  nor  hope.  _  You 
both  aim  at  miracles.  You  would  raife  the 
dead. 

Heaven,  I  faid,  was  merciful. — 
Or  I  could  not  have  been  thus  guilty. 
What  has  it  not  done  to  biefs,  and  to  fave 
me? — I    have  been  too  ftrong  for  Omni- 
potence !   I  plucked  down  ruin  ! 

I  faid,  The  blefied  Redeemer 

Hold  !  hold  !  you  wound  rue  ! — This  is 
the  rock  on  which  I  fplit — I  denied  his 
name. 

Refufmg 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


Refufmg  to  hear  any  thing  from  me,  or 
take  any  thing  from  the  phyfician,  he  lay 
filent,  as  far  as  fudden  darts  of  "pain  would 
permit,  till  the  clock  ftruck.  Then  with 
vehemence; 

Oh,  time  !  time  !  it  is  fit  thou  fhouldcft 
thus  frrike  thy  murderer  to  the  heart. — How 
art  thou  fled  for  ever  ! — ft  month  ! — Oh, 
for  a  fmgle  week  !  I  afk  not  for  years ; 
tho'  an  age  were  too  little  for  the  much  I 
have  to  do. 

On  my  frying,  we   could  not  do  too 
much :  that  heaven  was  a  blcfled  place- 
So   much   the  worfe.      'Tis  loft  !    'tis 
loft! — Heaven   is   to  me  the  fevereft  part 
of  hell ! 

Soon  after  I  propofed  prayer. 

Pray  you  that  can.  I  never  prayed. 
I  cannot  pray — Nor  need  I.  Is  not  heaven 
on  my  fide  already  ?  It  clofes  with  my 
confcience.  Its  fevereft  ftrokes  but  fecond 
my  own. 

His  friend  being  much  touched,  even  to 
tears,  at  this,  (who  could  forbear  ?  I  could 
not)  with  a  moil  affectionate  look,  he 
faid: 

Keep   thofe  tears  for  thyfelf.     I  have 

undone  thee. Doft  weep  for  me  ?  That's 

cruel.     What  can  pain  me  more  ? 

Here  his  friend,  too  much  affected, 
would  have  left  him. 

No,  ftay.  Thou  ftill  mayefi:  hope. — 
Therefore  hear  me.  How  madly  have  I 
talked  ?  How  madly  haft  thou  liftened  and 
believed?  But  look  on  my  prefent  ftate, 
as  a  full  anfwer  to  thee,  and  to  myfelf. 
This  body  is  all  weaknefs  and  pain;  but 
my  foul,  as  if  ftrung  up  by  torment  to 
greater  ftrength  and  fpirit,  is  full  powerful 
to  reafon  ;  full  mighty  to  fuffer.  And  that, 
which  thus  triumphs  within  the  jaws  of 
mortality,  is  doubdefs,  immortal. — And, 
as  for  a  Deity,  nothing  lefs  than  an 
Almighty  could  inflict  what  I  feel. 

I  was  about  to  congratulate  this  paffive, 
involuntary,  confeflbr,  on  his  aliening  the 
two  prime  articles  of  his  creed,  extorted 
by  the  rack  of  nature  ;  when  he  thus,  very 
paffionately : 

No,  no !  let  me  fpeak  on.  I  have  not 
longtofpeak — My  much  injured  friend  ! 
my  foul,  as  my  body,  lies  in  ruins ;  in 
fcattered  fragments  of  broken  thought : 
remorfe  for  the  paft,  throws  my  thoughts 
on  the  future.  Worfe  dread  of  the  future, 
{hikes  it  back  on  the  paft.  I  turn,  and 
turn,  and  find  no  ray.  Didft  thou  feel 
half  the  mountain  that  is    on  me,  thou 


307 

wouldft  ftruggle  with  the  martyr  for  his 
ftake;  and  blefs  heaven  for  the  flames; — 
that  is  not  an  everlafting  flame  ;  that  is  not 
an  unquenchable  fire. 

How  were  we  ftruck!  Yet,  foon  after, 
ftill  mere.  With  what  an  eye  of  diftrac- 
tion,  what  a  face  of  defpair,  he  cried  out : 

My  principles  have  poiibned  my  friend ; 
my  extravagance  has  beggared  my  boy; 
my  unkindnefs  has  murdered  my  wife ! 
And  is  there  another  hell  ? — Oh !  thou 
blafohemed,  vet  molt  indulgent,  Lord 
God  !  Hell  it'felf  is  a  refuge,  if  it  hides 
me  from  thy  frown. 

Soon  after  his  underftanding  failed.  His 
terrified  imagination  uttered  horrors  not  to 
be  repeated,  or  ever  forgot.  And  ere 
the  fun  arofe,  the  gay,  young,  noble,  in- 
genious, accomplifhed,  and  raoft  wretched 
Altamont  expired.  Young, 

§    218,     The  Majefty  and  Supremacy  of  th? 
Scriptures  confejj'ed by  a  Sceptic. 

I  will  confefs  to  you,  that  the  majefty  of 
the  Scriptures  ftrikes  me  with  admiration, 
as  the  purity  of  the  Gofpel  hath  its  in- 
fluence on  my  heart.  Perufe  the  works  of 
our  philofonhers  with  all  their  pomp  of 
diction  :  how  mean,  how  contemptible  are 
they  compared  with  the  Scripture  !  Is  it 
pcfiible  that  a  book,  at  once  fo  Ample  and 
fublime,  fnould  be  merely  the  work  of 
man  ?  Is  it  poffible  that  the  facred  per- 
fonage,  whofe  hiitory  it  contains,  fhould  be 
himfelf  a  mere  man?  Do  we  find  that  he 
aflumed  the  tone  of  an  enthufiaft  or 
ambitious  fectary  ?  What  fweetnefs,  what 
purity  in  his  manner!  What  an  affecting 
gracefulnefs  in  his  delivery !  What  fubli- 
mity  in  his  maxims  !  What  profound  wif- 
dom  in  his  difcourfes  !  What  prefence  of 
mind,  what  fubtlety,  what  truth  in  his 
replies !  How  great  the  command  over  his 
paflions !  Where  is  the  man,  where  the 
philofopher,  who  could  fo  live,  and  fo  die, 
without  weaknefs,  and  without  oftentation  ? 
When  Plato  defcribed  his  imaginary  good 
man  loaded  with  all  the  ftiame  of  guilt, 
yet  meriting  the  higheft  rewards  of  virtue, 
he  defcribes  exactly  the  character  of  jefus 
Chrift :  the  refemblance  was  fo  ftriking, 
that  all  the  Fathers  perceived  it. 

What  prepoffeiTion,  what  blindnefs  muft 
it  be,  to  compare  the  fon  of  Sophronifcus 
to  the  fon  of  Mary  !  What  an  infinite  dif- 
proportion  there  is  between  them  !  Socrates 
dying  without  pain  or  ignominy,  eafily  fup- 
ported  his  character  to  the  laft;   and  if 

X  2  his 


3o3 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN"     PROSE. 


his  death,  however  eafy,  had  net  crowned 
his  life,  it  might  have  been  doubted  whether 
Socrates,  with  all  his    wifdom,    was    any 
thing  more  than  a  vain  lophiit.     He  in- 
vented, it  is   faid,   the  theory  of  moials. 
Others,  however,  had  before  put  them  in 
practice;    he    had  only    to    (ay  therefore 
what   they  had  done,  and  to  reduce  their 
examples  to  precepts.     AriiKdes  had  been 
juft  before  Socrates  defined  juft'ce  ;  Leoni- 
das  had  given  up  his  life  for  his  country 
before  Socrates  declared  patrictifm  to  be 
n  duty  ;  the  Spartans  were  a  fober  people 
before  Socra  es    recommended    fobriety  ; 
before  he  had  even  defined  virtue,  Greece 
abounded  in  virtuous    men.     But    where 
could  Jefus  learn,  among  his  competitors, 
that  pure   and  fublime  morality,  of  which 
he  only  hath  given   us   both  precept  and 
example.     The  greated  wifdom  was  made 
known  amongft  the  moft  bigoted  fanati- 
cifm,  and  the  iimplicity  of  the  molt  heroic 
virtues  did  honour  to  the  vi'eft  people  on 
earth.     The  death  of  Socrates,  peaceably 
philosophizing    with    his  friends,  appears 
the  moft  agreeable  that  could  be  wiihed 
for;  that   of   jefus,  expiring  in  the  midft 
of  agonizing  pains,  abufed,  infulted,  and 
accufed   by    a  whole  nation,    is  the  moft 
horrible  that   could  be  feared.      Socrates 
in  receiving    the  cup  of   poifon,    blefled 
indeed  the  weeping  executioner  who  ad- 
miniflered   it;  but  Jefus,    in  the  midft  of 
excruciating  tortures,  prayed  for  his  mer- 
cilefs    tormentors.     Yes,  if  the    life  and 
death  of  Socrates  were  thefe  of  a  fage,  the 
life  and  death  of  Jefus  are  thofe  of  a  God. 
Shall  we  fuppofe  the  evangelic   hiftory  a 
mere  fiction  ?   Indeed,  my  friend,  it  bears 
not  the  marks  of  fiction;  on  the  contrary, 
the    hiftory  of    Socrates,    which    nobody 
prefumes  to  doubt,  is  not  fo  well  attcfted 
as  that  of  Jefus   Chrift.     Such  a  fuppofi- 
tion,  in  fact,  only  fhifts  the  difficulty  with- 
out obviating  it :   it  is  more  inconceivable 
that  a  number  of  perfons   fhould  agree   to 
write  fuch   a  hiftory,  than  that  one  only 
fhould    furnifh    the    fubjecl    of  it.       The 
TeXvifh    authors    were    incapable    of    the 
diction,  and  Grangers  to  the  morality  con- 
tained in  the  Golpel,  the  marks  of  whofe 
truth  are  fo   finking   and  inimitable,  that 
the  inventor  would  be  a  more  aftonifhing 
character  than  the  hero. 

Rou/Teau. 


§    219.       John    'Earl  cf  Rocbefler's    dying 

Recantation. 

When  John  Earl  of  RocheRer  came  to 
fee  and  corridor  his  prodigious  guilt  and 
danger,  what  invectives  did  he  ufe  againft 
himfelf,  terming  himfclf  an  ungrateful 
dog,  and  the  vileft  wretch  that  the  fun 
fhone  upon  ;  wiihing  he  had  been  a  crawl- 
ing leper  in  a  ditch,  a  link-boy,  or  a 
beggar,  or  had  lived  in  a  dungeon,  rather 
than  offended  God  as  he  had  done  !  He 
fent  awful  meilages  to  his  copartners  in 
fin,  and  advifed  a  gentleman  of  character, 
that  came  to  vifit  him  in  thefe  words:  Q 
remember  that  you  contemn  God  no  more. 
He  is  an  avenging  God,  and  will  vifit  vou 
for  your  fins  ;  and  will,  I  hope,  in  mercy, 
touch  your  confeience  as  he  hath  done 
mine.  Ycu  and  I  have  been  friends  and 
finners  together  a  great  while,  therefore  I 
am  the  more  free  with  you.  We  have 
been  all  miilaken  in  our  conceits  and 
opinions ;  our  perfuafions  have  been  falfe 
and  groundlefs,  therefore  God  grant  you 
repentance.  And  feeing  the  fame  gentle- 
man the  next  day,  he  faid,  Perhaps  you 
were  difobliged  by  my  plainnefs  with  you 
yefterday :  I  fpake  the  words  of  truth 
and  fobernef? ;  and  linking  his  hand  on 
his  breaft,  added,  I  hope  God  will  touch 
your  heart. 

He  condemned  that  foclifh  and  abfurd 
philofophv  which  the  world  fo  much  ad- 
mired, propagated  by  the  late  Thomas 
Hobbs ;  which,  he  faid,  had  undone  him, 
and  many  more  cf  the  beft  parts  in  the 
nation. 

He  commanded  that  his  profane  writings 
and  obicene  pictures  fhould  be  burnt. 

He  wiihed  his  ion  might  never  be  a 
wit ;  which  is,  as  he  explained  it,  one  cf 
thofe  wretched  creatures,  who  pride  them- 
felves  in  abufing  God  and  religion. 

He  proti.ikd  he  would  not  commit  any 
known   fin  to  gain  a  kingdom. 

And  for  the  admonition  of  others,  he 
fubferibed  the  following  recantation,  and 
ordered  it  to  be  pub'ifhed,  (viz.) 

For  the  benefit  of  all  thofe  whom  I  may 
have  drawn  into  fin  by  my  example  and 
encouragement,  I  leave  to  the  world  thift 
my  laft  declaration,  which  I  deliver  in  the 
prefence  of  the  grer.t  God,  who  knows  the 
iectets  of  all  hearts,  and  before  whom  I 
am  now  appearing  to  be  judged:  That 
from  the  bottom  of  my  foul,  I  deteft  and 
abhor    the    whole  couifie    of   my  former 

uicked 


BOOK    I.       MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


wicked  life ;  that  I  think  I  can  never 
fufficiently  admire  the  goodnefs  cf  God, 
who  has  given  me  a  true  ienfe  of  my  perni- 
cious opinions  and  vile  practices,  by  which 
I  have  hitherto  lived  without  hope,  and 
without  God  in  the  world  ;  have  been  an 
open  enemy  to  Jefus  Chrift,  doing  the 
utmo'ft.  defpite  to  the  Holy  Spirit  cf  grace: 
and  that  the  greateil  teflimony  of  my 
charity  to  fuch,  is,  to  warn  them,  in  the 
name  of  GoJ,  as  they  regard  the  welfare 
of  their  immortal  fouls,  no  more  to  deny 
his  being  or  his  providence,  or  defpife  his 
goodnefs ;  no  more  to  make  a  mock  of 
fin,  or  contemn  the  pure  and  excellent  re- 
ligion of  my  ever  bleifed  Redeemer,  thro' 
whofe  merits  alone,  I,  one  of  the  greatefl 
of  fmners,  do  yet  hope  for  mercy  and 
forgivenefs.     Amen, 

Declared  and  figned  in  the 
preience  cf  Ann  Rochelter, 
Robert  Parfons,  June  19,  1680. 

J.  Rochester. 

§    220.      To  the  Biographer  of  Hume. 

Upon  the  whole,  Do£lor,  your  meaning 
is  good ;  but  I  think  you  will  not  fucceed, 
this  time.  You  would  perfuade  us,  by  the 
example  of  David  Hume,  Elq;  that 
atheifm  is  the  only  cordial  for  low  fpirit.% 
and  the  proper  antidote  againft  the  fear  of 
death.  But  fureiy,  he  who  can  reiledt,  with 
complacency,  on  a  friend  thus  milemploy- 
ing  his  talents  in  his  life,  and  then,  amufing 
himfelf  with  Lucian,  Whift,  and  Charon,  at 
his  death,  may  fmile  over  Babylon  in  ruins ; 
eftecm  the  earthquake,  which  deflroyed  Lif-. 
bon,  an  agreeable  occurrence ;  and  congra- 
tulate the  hardened  Pharoah,  on  his  over- 
throw in  the  Red  Sea.  Drollery  in  fuch 
circumitances,  is  neither  more  nor  leis,  than 

Moody  madnefs,  laughing  wild, 
Amid  fevereft  v\oe. 

Would  we  know  the  baneful  and  pefti- 
lential  influences  of  falfe  philoiophy  on  the 
human  heart  ?  We  need  on'y  contemplate 
them  in  this  moll  deplorable  initance  of 
Mr.  Plume.  Thefe  layings,  Sir,  may  ap- 
pear harlh ;  but  they  are  falutary.  And 
if  departed  ipirits  have  any  knowledge  of 
what  is  paffing  upon  earth,  that  perfon  will 
be  regarded  by  your  friend  as  rendering 
him  the  trueft  fervices,  who,  by  energy  of 
exprefiion,  and  warmth  of  exhortation, 
fhall  mod  contribute  to  prevent  his  writings 
from  producing  thofe  effects  upon  mankind 
y/hich  he  no   longer  wifhes  they  fhould 


309 

produce.  Let  no  man  deceive  himfelf,  or 
be  deceived  by  others.  It  is  the  voice  of 
eternal  Truth,  which  crieth  aloud,  and 
faith  to  you,  Sir,  and  to  me,  and  to  all  the 
world — "  He  that  believeth  on  the  Son, 
"  hath  everlafting  life ;  and  he  that  be- 
"  lieveth  not  the  Son,  fhall  not  fee  life  ; 
"  but  the  wrath  of  God  abideth  on  him." 
By  way  of  contrail  to  the  behaviour  of 
Mr.  Hume,  at  the  clofe  of  a  life,  pafTed 
without  God  in  the  world,  permit  me,  Sir, 
to  lay  before  yourfelf,  and  the  public,  the 
lafl  fentiments  of  the  truly  learned,  judi- 
cious, and  admirable  Hooker,  who  had 
fpent  his  days  in  the  fervice  of  his  Maker 
and  Redeemer. 

After  this  manner,  therefore,  fpake  the 
author    of   the    Ecclefiaflical  Polity,  in 
mediately  before  he  expired  : — 

I  have  lived  to  fee,  that  this  wor! 
made  up  of  perturbations ;  and  I  i.y  . 
been  long  preparing  to  leave  it,  and  gathe,  - 
ing  comfort  for  the  dieadful  hour  cf  mak- 
ing my  account  with  God,  which  I  now 
apprehend  to  be  near.  And  the  ugh  I 
have,  by  his  grace,  loved  him  in  my  yout::, 
and  feared  him  in  mine  age,  and  laboured 
to  have  a  conscience  void  of  offence, 
towards  him,  and  towards  ail  men;  vet, 
"  if  thou,  Lord,  fhouidefl  be  extreme  lo 
"  mark  what  1  have  done  amiis,  who 
"  can  abide  it?"  And  therefore,  where  I 
have  failed,  Lord  fhew  mercy  to  me,  for  I 
plead  not  my  righteoufneis,  but  the  for- 
givenefs of  my  unrighteoufnefs,  through 
his  merits,  who  died  to  purchaie  pardon  for 
penitent  fmners.  And  fmce  I  owe  thee  a 
death,  Lord,  let  it  not  be  terrible,  and  then 
take  thine  own  time  ;  I  fubmit  to  it.  "  Let 
"  not  mine,  O  Lord,  but  thy  will  be 
"  done!" — God  hath  heard  'my  daily 
petitions ;  for  I  am  at  peace  with  all  men, 
and  he  is  at  peace  with  me.  From  luch 
bleffed  aiiurance  I  feel  that  inward  joy, 
which  this  world  can  /neither  give,  nor- 
take  from  me.  My  confeience  beareth 
me  this  witnefs,  and  this  witnefs  makes  the 
thougnts  of  death  joyful.  I  could  wifh  to 
live,  to  do  the  church  more  fervice ;  but 
cannot  hope  it ;  for  "  my  days  are  paft,  as 
"  a  ihadow  that  returns  not." 

Plis  worthy  Biographer  adds— — 

More  he  would  have  ipoken,  but  his. 
fpirits  failed  him  ;  and,  after  a  fhort  con- 
flict between  nature  and  death,  a  quiet  figh 
put  a  period  to  his  lafl  breath,  and  fo,  he 
fell  afieep — And  now  he  feems  to  reft  like 
Lazarus  in  Abraham's    bofom.     Let  me 

■^  3  here 


10 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


here  draw  his  curtain,  till,  with  the  moft 
glorious  company  of  the  patriarchs  and 
apoftles,  and  the  moft  noble  army  of  mar- 
tyrs and  confeflbrs,  this  moft  learned,  moft 
humble,  and  moft  holy  man  (hall  alfo  awake 
to  receive  an  eternal  tranquillity,  and  with 
it  a  greater  degree  of  glory,  than  common 
Chriftians  (hall  be  made  partakers  of!  — 
Doctor  Smith,  when  the  hour  of  his  de- 


parture hence  fhall  arrive,  will  copy  the 
example  of  the  believer,  or  the  infidel,  as 
it  liketh  him  beft.  I  muft  freely  own,  I 
have  no  opinion  of  that  reader's  head,  or 
heart,  who  will  not  exclaim,  as  I  find  my- 

felf  obliged  to  dc 

"  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous, 
and  let  my  laft  end  be  like  his  !" 

Rev.  G.  Home. 


PHYSICO-THEOLOGICAL     REFLECTIONS. 


§  I.  RefleSiions  on  the  Heavens. 
THE  planets  and  comets  which  move 
round  the  bun  as  their  .centre,  conftitute 
what  is  called,  the  Solar  Syftem.  Thofc 
planets  which  are  near  the  Sun  not  only 
iiniih  their  circuits  fooner,  but  likewile 
move  fafter  in  their  refpeetive  orbits,  than 
thole  which  are  more  remote  from  him. 
The  motions  of  the  planets  are  all  per- 
formed from  weft  to  eaft,  in  orbits  nearly 
circular.  Their  names,  diftances,  bulks, 
and  periodical  revolutions,  are  as  follow  : 

The  Sun,  an  immenfe  globe  of  fire,  is 
placed  near  the  common  centre  of  the 
orbits  of  all  the  planets  and  comets ;  and 
turns  round  his  axis  in  25  days  6  hours. 
Llis  diameter  is  computed  to  be  763,000 
miles. 

Mercury,  the  neareft  planet  to  the  Sun, 
goes  round  him  in  87  day  23  hours,  which 
is  the  length  of  his  year.  .But,  being  fel- 
dom  feen,  and  no  fpots  appearing  on  his 
iurface,  the  time  of  his  rotation  on  his 
axis,  is  as  yet  unknown.  His  diftance 
from  the  Sun  is  computed  to  be  32,000,000 
of  miles,  and  his  diameter  2,600.  In  his 
courfe  round  the  Sun,  he  moves  at  the 
rate  of  95,000  miles  every  hour.  His  light 
and  heat  art  ahnoft  feven  times  as  great 
as  ours  ;  and  tlic  Sun  appears  to  him  al- 
moft  iuven  times  as  large  as  to  us. 

Venus,  the  next  placet  in  order,  is 
computed  to  be  59,000,000  miles  from 
the  fun;  and  by  moving  at  the  rate  of 
69,000  miles  every  hour  in  her  orbit,  fhe 
goes  rou,.  i  the  Sun  in  225  of  our  days 
near]  .  Hjr  diameter  is  7,906  miles;  and 
by  her  mourn  upon  her  axis  me  inha- 
bitants  are  carried  43  miles  e\rry  hour. 

The  Earth  is  the  next  planet  above 
Venus  in  tiie  fyftem.  It  is  82,000,000 
miles  from  tne  Sun,  and  gees  round  him  in 
a  little  more  than  365  aays.  It  travels  at  the 
rate  ,f  1,000  miles  every  houi  oa  its  axis ; 
is  about  8,000  miles  in  diameter.     In  its 


orbit  it  moves  at  the  rate  of  58,000  every1 
hour;  which  motion,  though  120  times 
fwifter  than  that  of  a  cannon  bail,  is  little 
more  than  half  as  fwiit  as  Mercury's  mo- 
tion in  his  orbit. 

The  Moon  is  not  a  planet,  but  only  an 
attendant  npon  the  Earth ;  going  round  it 
in  a  little  more  than  29  days,  and  round 
the  Sun  with  it  every  year.  The  Moon's 
diameter  is  2,180  miles,  and  her  diftance 
from  the  Earth's  centre  24.0,000.  She 
goes  round  her  orbit  in  about  27  days,  at 
the  rate  of  near  2,300  miles  every  hour. 

Mars  is  the  planet  next  in  order,  being 
the  iirft  above  the  Earth's  orbit.  His  dif- 
tance from  the  Sun  is  computed  to  be 
125,000,000  miles  ;  and  by  travelling  at 
the  race  of  47,000  miles  every  hour,  he 
goes  round  the  Sun  in  about  687  of  our 
days.  His  diameter  is  4,444  miles,  and 
by  his  diurnal  rotation  the  inhabitants  are 
carried  556  miles  every  houri 

Jupiter,  the  biggeft  of  all  the  planets/* 
is  ftili  higher  in  the  fyftem,  being  about 
426,000,000  miles  from  the  Sun;  and  go- 
ing at  the  rate  of  25,000  miles  every  hour 
in  his  orbit.  His  annual  period  is  finished 
in  about  12  of  our  years.  He  is  above 
1 .000  times  as  big  as  the  Earth,  for  his  dia- 
meter is  81,000  miles ;  which  is  more  than 
ten  times  the  diameter  of  the  Earth.  Ju- 
piter turns  round  his  axis  in  near  labours, 
and  his  year  contains  upwards  of  10,000 
of  our  days.  His  equatorial  inhabitants 
are  carried  nearly  26,000  miles  every 
hour,  befides  the  25,000  above  mentioned 
by  his  annual  motion. 

Jupiter  has  four  moons.  The  firft  goes 
round  him  in  about  two  of  our  days,  at  the 
diftance  of  22,900  miles  from  his  centre  : 
the  iecond  performs  its  revolution  in  about 
three  days  and  a  half,  at  364,000  miles 
diftance:  the  third  in  a  little  more  than 
feven  days,  at  the  diftance  of  580,000 
miles :  and  the  fourth  in  near  1  7  days,  at 

the 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


3H 


the-  diitance  of  1,000,000  miles  from  his 
Centre. 

Befides  thefe  moons,  Jupiter  is  fur- 
rcunded  by  faint  fubitances,  called  belts, 
in  which  fo  many  changes  appear,  that 
philofophers  are  not  agreed  either  concern- 
ing their  nature  or  ufe. 

Saturn,  the  next  to  Jupiter,  is  about 
780,000,000  miles  from  the  Sun;  and 
travelling  at  the  rate  of  18,000  miles 
every  hour,  performs  its  annual  circuit  in 
about  30  years.  Its  diameter  is  67,000 
miles ;  and  therefore  it  is  near  600  times 
as  big  as  the  Earth. 

This  planet  has  five  moons  :  the  firil 
goes  round  him  in  near  two  days,  at  the 
diilance  of  14.0,000  miles  from  its  centre  : 
the  fecond  in  near  three  days,  at  the  dif- 
tance  of  187,000  miles:  the  third  in  four 
days  and  a  half,  at  the  diitance  of  263,000 
miles  :  the  fourth  in  about  16  days,  at  the 
diilance  of  600,000  miles  :  and  the  fifth 
in  about  80  days,  at  the  diilance  of 
1, 800,000  miles. 

Belides  thefe  moons,  Saturn  is  attended 
with  a  thin  broad  ring,  as  an  artificial 
globe  is  by  an  horizon ;  the  nature  and 
ufe  of  which  are  but  little  known  at  prefent. 

Georgium  Sidus,  the  remoter!,  of  all  the 
planets  yet  difcovered,  is  near  40,000 
miles  in  diameter,  and  upwards  of  83  years 
in  performing  its  revolution.  How  many 
moons  this  planet  is  attended  by  is  un- 
known. Two  have  been  already  difco- 
vered. And,  if  the  ingenious  and  inde- 
fatigable Mr.  Kerfchel  is  fpared  with  life 
and  health,  we  may  expect  to  be  favoured 
with  Hill  further  difcoveries. 

Every  perfon  who  looks  upon,  and  com- 
pares the  fyftems  of  moons  together,  which 
belong  to  Jupiter,  Saturn,  and  the  Geor- 
gium Sidus,  mull  be  amazed  at  the  vail 
magnitude  of  thefe  three  planets,  and  the 
noble  attendance  they  have  in  reipecl:  to 
our  little  Earth:  and  can  never  bring  him- 
felf  "to  think,  that  an  infinitely  wife  Creator 
fhould  difpole  of  all  his  animals  and  vege- 
tables here,  leaving  the  other  planets  bare 
and  deilitute  of  rational  .  creatures.  To 
juppofe  that  he  had  any  view  to  pur  be- 
nefit, in  creating  thefe  moons,  and  giving 
them  their  motions  round  their  refpeclive 
primaries  ;  to  imagine,  that  he  intended 
thefe  vaft  bodies  for  any  advantage  to  us, 
when  he  well  knew,  that  they  could  never 
be  feen  but  by  a  few  aftronomers  peeping 
through  telefcopes ;  and  that  he  gave  to 
|he  planets  regular  returns  of  day  and  night, 


and  different  feafons  to  all,  where  they 
would  be  convenient ;  but  of  no  manner 
of  fervice  to  us,  except  only  what  imme- 
diately regards  our  own  planet,  the  Earth; 
to  imagine,  I  fay,  that  he  did  all  this  on 
our  account,  would  be  charging  him  im- 
pioufly  with  having  done  much  in  vain  : 
and  as  abfurd,  as  to  imagine  that  he  has 
created  a  little  fun  and  a  planetary  fyftem 
within  the  fhell  of  our  Earth,  and  intended 
them  for  our  ufe.  Thefe  consideration's 
amount  to  little  lefs  than  a  pofitive  proof, 
that  all  the  planets  are  inhabited  :  for  if 
they  are  not,  why  all  this  care  in  furnifh- 
ing  them  with  fo  many  moons,  to  fupply 
thofe  with  light,  which  are  at  the  greater 
distances  from  the  Sun  ?  Do  we  not  fee, 
that  the  farther  a  planet  is  from  the  Sun, 
the  greater  apparatus  it  has  for  that  pur- 
pofe  ?  fave  only  Mars,  which  being  but  a 
fmall  planet,  may  have  moons  too  fmall  to 
be  feen  by  us.  We  know  that  the  Earth 
goes  round  the  Sun,  and  turns  round  its 
own  axis,  to  produce  the  viciifitudes  of 
fummer  and  winter  by  the  former,  and  of 
day  and  night  by  the  latter  motion,  for 
the  benefit  of  its  inhabitants.  May  we 
not  then  fairly  conclude,  by  parity  of  rea- 
fon,  that  the  end  and  defign  of  all  the 
other  planets  is  the  Tame  r  And  is  not  this 
agreeable  to  the  beautiful  harmony  which 
exiils  throughout  the  univerfe  ?  Surely  it 
is :  and  raiies  in  us  the  moll  magnificent 
ideas  of  the  Supreme  Being,  who  is  every 
where,  and  at  all  times  prefent;  difplaying 
his  power,  wifdorn  and  goodnefs,  among 
all  his  creatures  !  and  diilributing  happi- 
nefs  to  innumerable  ranks  of  various  be- 
ings ! 

The  comets  are  folid  opaque  bodies, 
with  long  tranfparent  tails  or  trains,  iliu- 
ing  from  that  fide  which  is  turned  away 
from  the  Sun.  They  move  about  the  Sun, 
in  very  eccentric  ellipfes,  and  are  of  a  much 
greater  denfity  than  the  Earth  ;  for  fome 
of  them  are  heated  in  every  period  to  fuch 
a  degree,  as  would  vitrify  or  diffipate  any 
fubflance  known  to  us.  Sir  Ifaac  Newton 
computed  the  heat  of  the  comet,  which 
appeared  in  the  year  1680,  when  nearer! 
the  Sun  to  be  2,000  times  hotter  than  red- 
hot  iron,  and  that,  being  thus  heated,  it 
mult  retain  its  heat  until  it  comes  round 
again,  although  its  period  fhould  be  more 
than  20,000  years ;  and  it  is  computed  to 
be  only  575. 

It  is  believed,  that  there  are  at  leafl 
2 1  comets  belonging  to  our  fyftem,  mov- 

X  4  i.ig 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


312 

ing  in  all  forts  "of  directions.     But  of  all 
thefe  the  periods  of  three  only  are  known 
with  any  degree  of  certainty.  '  The  firft  of 
the   three   appeared    in   the    years     1531, 
1607,   1682,    and    1758,  and  is    expect- 
ed   to  appear    every     75th    year.      The 
fecond   of  them    appeared  in    1532    and 
1 66 1,    and    may    be    expected    to    return 
in  1789,  and  every  129th  year  afterwards. 
The  third,  having  lait  appeared  in  1680, 
and  its  period  being  no  leis  than  575  years, 
cannot  return  until  the  year  2225.     This 
comet,  at  its  greateft    diftance,    is    about 
1 1, 200,000,000  miles  from   the  Sun;  and 
at  its  leail  diftance  from  the  Sun's  centre, 
which  is  49,000  miles,  is  within  lefs  than 
a  third  part    of   the   Sun's  femi -diameter 
from  his  furface.     In  that  part  of  its  orbit 
which  is  neareft  the  Sun,  it  flies  with  the 
amazing  fwiftnefs  of  880,000  miles   in  an 
hour  ;  and  the  Sun,  as  feen  from  it,  appears 
an    100   degrees  in  breadth,  confequently 
40,000  times  as  large  as  he  appears  to  us. 
The  aftonifhing  length  that  this  comet  runs 
out    into   empty    fpace,     fuggefls   to    our 
minds  an  idea  of  the  vail  diftance  between 
the   Sun  and  the   neareft    fixed   ftars ;    of 
whofe  attractions  all  the  comets  mnil  keep 
clear,  to  return  periodically,  and  go  round 
the  Sun  ;  and   it   (hews   us   alfo,  that    the 
neareft    ftars,    which    are   probably   thofe 
that  feem  the   larger!,  are  as  big   as   our 
Sun,  and    of  the  fame  nature  with  him  ; 
otherwife,  they  could  not  appear  fo  large 
and  bright  to  us  as    they    do    at  fuch  an 
immenfe  diftance. 

The  extreme  heat,  the  denfe  atmofphere, 
the  grofs  vapours,  the  chaotic  Mate  of  the 
comets,  feem  at  firft  fight  to  indicate  them 
altogether  unfit  for  the  purpofes  of  animal 
life,  and  a  moft  miferable  habitation  for 
rational^  beings  ;  and  therefore  fome  are 
of  opinion,  that  they  are  lb  many  hells 
for  tormenting  the  damned  with  perpetual 
viciiTitudes  of  heat  and  cold.  But  when 
we  confider,  on  the  other  hand,  the  in- 
finite power  and  goodnefs  of  the  Deity  ; 
the  latter  inclining,  the  former  enabling 
him  to  make  creatures  Anted  to  all  Hate's 
and  circumftances;  that  matter  exifts  only 
for  the  fake  of  intelligent  beings  ;  and 
that  wherever  we  find  it,  we  always  find 
it  pregnant  with  life,  or  neceffarily  fubfer- 
vient  thereto  ;  the  numberlefs  fpecies,  the 
aftonifhing  diverfity  of  animals  in  eaith, 
air,  water,  and  even  on  other  animals  ; 
every  blade  of  grafs,  tvery  tender  leaf, 
every  natural   fluid,  fwarming  with  life  ; 


and  every   one    of  thefe    enjoying    fuch 
gratifications  as    the  nature  and  ffate    of 
each  requires :  when  we  reflect  moreover, 
that  fome   centuries  ago,    till    experience 
undeceived  us,  a  great  part  of  the  earth 
was  judged  uninhabitable  ;  the  torrid  zone, 
by  reafon  of  exceflive  heat,  and   the  two 
frigid^  zon:s    becaufe  of  their  intolerable 
cold  ;  it  feems  highly  probable,  that  fuch  nu- 
merous and  large  mafles  of  durable  matter 
as  the  comets  are,  however  unlike  they  be 
to  our  earth,  are  not  deftitute  of  beings 
capable  of   contemplating    with    wonder, 
and  acknowledging    with    gratitude,    the 
wifdom,  fymmetry,  and  beauty  of  the  crea- 
tion ;  which  is  more  plainly  to  be  obferved 
in  their  extenfive  tour  th  ough  the  heavens, 
than  in  our  more  confined  circuit.     If  far- 
ther conjecture  is  permitted,  may  we  not 
fuppofe  them  inftrumental  in  recruiting  the 
expended  fuel  of  the  Sun  ;  and  fupplying 
the  exhaufted  moifture  of  the  planets  ?— 
However  difficult  it  maybe,  circumftanced 
as  we  are,  to  find  out  their  particular  def- 
tination,  this  is   an  undoubted  truth,  that 
wherever  the  Deity  exerts  his  power,  there 
he  alfo  manifefts  his   wifdom  and   good- 
nefs. 

The  fixed  ftars,  as  appears  from  feveral 
conftderations,  are  placed  at  an  immenfe 
diftance  from  us.  Our  Earth  is  at  fo  great 
a  diftance  from  the  Sun,  that  if  feen  from 
thence,  it  would  appear  no  bigger  than  a 
point,  although  its  circumference  is  known 
to  be  upwards  of  25,000  miles.  Yet  that 
diftance  is  fo  fmali,  compared  with  th-» 
bath's  diftance  from  the  fi;:ed  ftars,  that 
if  the  orbit  in  which  the  Earth  moves 
round  the  Sun  were  folid,  and  feen  from 
the  neareft  ftar,  it  would  likewife  appear 
no  bigger  than  a  point,  although  it  is  at 
lead  162,000,000  miles  in  diameter.  For 
the  Earth  in  going  round  the  Sun  is 
162,000,000  miles  nearer  to  fome  of  the 
ftars  at  one  time  of  the  year,  than  at  ano- 
ther ;  and  yet  their  apparent  magnitudes, 
fituaticns,  and  diftances  fom  one  another 
ftill  remain  the  lame;  and  a  telefeppe  which 
magnifies  above  200  times,  does  not  fen- 
fib'y  magnify  them  :  which  proves  them 
to  be  at  leaft  400,000  times  farther  from 
us  than  we  are  from  the  Sun. 

It  is  not  to  be  imagined,  that  all  the 
ftars  are  placed  in  one  concave  furface,  fo 
as  to  be  equally  diftant  from  us  ;  but  that 
they  anj  Icattered  at  immenfe  diftances 
from  one  another  through  unlimited  fpace. 
So  that  there  may  be  as  great  a  diftanCe 

between 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


between  any  two  neighbouring  ftars,  as 
between  our  Sun  and  thofe  which  are 
neareft  to  him.  Therefore  an  obferver, 
who  is  neareft  any  fixed  ftar,  will  look 
upon  it  alone  as  a  real  fun ;  and  confider 
the  reft  as  fo  many  fnining  points,  placed 
at  equal  diftance;,  from  him  in  the  firma- 
ment. 

By  the  help  of  telefcopes  we  difcover 
thbufands  of  ftars  which  are  invifi'ole  to 
the  naked  eye  ;  and  the  better  our  glaffes 
are,  ftill  the  more  become  vifible;  lo  that 
we  can  let  no  limits  either  to  their  number 
or  their  diftances.  The  celebrated  Huy- 
gens  carries  his  thoughts  fo  far,  as  to  be- 
lieve it  not  impoilible,  that  there  may  be 
ftars  at  fuch  inconceivable  diftances,  that 
their  light  has  not  yet  reached  the  Earth 
fmce  its  creation,  although  the  velocity  of 
light  be  a  million  of  times  greater  than  the 
velocity  of  a  cannon-bullet:  and  Mr.  Ad- 
difon  very  juftly  obferves,  this  thought  is 
far  from  being  extravagant,  when  we  con- 
fider, that  the  univerfe  is  the  work  of  in- 
finite power,  prompted  by  infinite  good- 
nefs  'r  having  an  infinite  fpace  to  exert 
itielf  in  ;  fo  that  our  imagination  can  fet 
no  bounds  to  it. 

The  Sun  appears  very  bright  and  large 
in  comparifon  of  the  fixed  itars,  becaufe 
we  keep  conftantly  near  the  Sun,  in  com- 
parifon of  our  immenfe  diftance  from  the 
ftars.  For  a  fpedlator,  placed  as  near  to 
any  ftar  as  we  are  to  the  Sun,  would  fee 
that  ftar  a  body  as  large  and  bright  as  the 
Sun  appears  to  us :  and  a  fpectiitor,  as  far 
diftant  from  the  Sun  as  we  are  from  the 
ftars,  would  fee  the  Sun  as  fmall  as  we  fee 
a  ftar,  divefted  of  all  its  circumvohnng 
planets ;  and  would  reckon  it  one  of  the 
itars  in  numbering  them. 

The  ftars,  being  at  fuch  immenfe  dift- 
ances from  the  Sun,  cannot  pofiibly  receive 
from  him  fo  ftrong  a  light  as  they  feem  to 
have  ;  nor  any  brightnefs  fufficient  to  make 
them  vifible  to  us.  For  the  Sun's  rays 
mull  be  fo  fcattered  and  diffipated  before 
they  reach  fuch  remote  objefts,  that  they 
can  never  be  tranfmitted  back  to  our  eyes, 
fo  as  to  render  thefe  objecls  vifible  by  re- 
flection. The  ftars  therefore  fhine  with 
their  own  native  and  unborrowed  luftre,  as 
the  Sun  does ;  and  fince  each  particular 
ftar,  as  well  as  the  Sun,  is  confined  to  a 
particular  portion  of  fpace,  it  is  plain,  that 
the  ftars  are  of  the  fame  nature  with  the 
Sun. 

It  is  no   ways  probable,  that  the  Al- 


3*3 

mighty,  who  always  afts  with  infinite  wif- 
dom,  and  does  nothing  in  vain,  (hould 
create  fo  many  glorious  funs,  fit  for  fo 
many  important  purpofes,  and  place  them 
at  fuch  diftances  from  one  another,  without 
proper  objecls  near  enough  to  be  benefited 
by  their  influences.  Whoever  imagines  they 
were  created  only  to  give  a  faint  glimmer- 
ing light  to  the  inhabitants  of  this  globe, 
mull  have  a  very  fuperficial  knowledge  of 
aftronomv,  and  a  mean  opinion  of  the 
Divine  Wifdom  :  fince,  by  an  infinitely  lefs 
exertion  of  creating  power,  the  Deity  could 
have  given  our  Earth  much  more  light  by 
one  fingle  additional  moon. 

Inftead  then  of  one  fun  and  one  world 
only  in  the  univerfe,  as  the  unfkilful  in 
aftronomy  imagine,  that  fcience  difcovers 
to  us  fuch  an  inconceivable  number  of 
funs,  fyftems  and  worlds,  difperfed  through 
boundlefs  fpace,  that  if  our  Sun,  w.th  all 
the  planets,  moons,  and  comets  belonging 
to  it,  were  annihilated,  they  would  be  no 
more  milled,  by  an  eye  that  could  t;'ke  in 
the  whole  creation,  than  a  grain  of  fand 
from  the  lea  fhore.  The  fpace  they  poftefs 
being  comparatively  fo  fmall,  that  it  would 
fcarce  be  a  fenfible  blank  in  the  univerfe, 
although  Saturn,  the  outermoft  of  our 
planets,  revolves  about  the  Sun  in  nn  orbit 
of  488,400,000  miles  in  circumference, 
and  fome  of  our  comets  make  excurfions 
upwards  of  10,000,000,000  miles  beyond 
Saturn's  orbit  ;  and  yet,  at  that  amazing 
diftance,  they  are  incomparably  nearer  to 
the  Sun  than  to  any  of  the  ftars ;  as  is  evi- 
dent from  their  keeping  clear  of  the  at- 
tractive power  of  all  the  ftars,  and  return- 
ing periodically  by  virtue  of  the  Sun's  at- 
traction. 

From  what  we  know  of  our  own  fyftem, 
it  may  be  reafonably  concluded,  that  all  the 
reft  are  with  equal  wifdom  contrived,  iitu- 
ated,  and  provided  with  accommodations 
for  rational  inhabitants.  Let  us  therefore 
take  a  furvey  of  the  fyftem  to  which  we  be- 
long; the  only  one  accefiible  to  us;  and 
from  thence  we  (hall  be  the  better  enabled 
to  judge  of  the  nature  and  end  of  the  other 
fyftems  of  the  univerfe.  For  although 
there  is  almoft  an  infinite  variety  in  the 
parts  of  the  creation  which  we  have  op- 
portunities of  examining,  yet  there  is  a 
general  analogy  running  through  and  con- 
necting all  the  parts  into  one  fcheme,  one 
defign,  one  whole  ! 

And  then,  to  an  attentive  confiderer,  it 
will    appear    highly    probable,    that    the 

planets 


3H 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


planets  of  our  fyftem,  together  with  their 
moons,  are  much  of  the  lame  nature  with 
cur  Earth,  and  deftined  for  the  like  pur- 
pofes.  For  they  are  folid  opaque  globes, 
capable  of  fupporting  animals  and  vege- 
tables. Some  of  them  are  bigger,  fomelefs, 
and  fome  much  about  the  fize  of  our  Earth. 
They  all  circulate  round  the  Sun,  as  the 
Earth  does,  in  a  fhorter  or  longer  time, 
according  to  their  refpe&ive  diftances  from 
him  ;  and  have,  where  it  would  not  be  in- 
•  convenient,  regular  returns  of  fummer  and 
winter,  fpring  and  autumn.  They  have 
warmer  and  colder  climates,  as  the  various 
productions  of  our  Earth  require  :  and,  in 
iuch  as  afford  a  poffibility  of  difcovering  it, 
wcobferve  a  regular  motion  round  their  axes 
like  that  of  our  Earth,  caufmg  an  alternate 
return  of  day  and  night;  which  is  necef- 
fary  for  labour,  reft,  and  vegetation,  and 
that  all  parts  of  their  furfaces  may  be  ex- 
pofed  to  the  rays  of  the  Sun. 

Such  of  the  planets  as  are  farthest  from 
the  Sun,  and  therefore  enjoy  leafc  of  his 
light,  have  that  deficiency  made  up  by  lev  eral 
moons,  which  constantly  accompany,  and 
revolve  about  them,  as  our  Mocn  revolves 
about  the  Earth,  The  remotest  planet  has, 
over  and  above,  a  broad  ring  encompaf- 
fmgit;  which,  like  a  lucid  zone  in  the 
heavens,  reflects  the  Sun's  light  very  copi- 
oufly  on  that  planet:  fo  that~if  the  remoter 
planets  have  the  Sun's  light  fainter  by  day 
than  we,  they  have  an  addition  made  to  it 
morning  and  evening  by  one  or  more  of 
their  moons,  and  a  greater  quantity  of 
light  in  the  night-time. 
_.  On  the  furface  of  the  Moon,  becaufe  it 
is  nearer  us  than  any  other  of  the  celeftial 
bodies  are,  we  difcover  a  nearer  referrj- 
b.lance  of  our  Earth.  For,  by  the  alli- 
ance of  telefcopes,  we  obferve  the  Moon  to 
be  full  of  high  mountains,  large  valleys, 
deep  cavities,  and  even  volcanoes.  Thefe 
similarities  leave  us  no  room  to  doubt,  but 
that  all  the  planets  and  moons  in  the  fyf- 
tem are  designed  as  commodious  habita- 
tions for  creatures  endowed  with  capacities 
of  knowing  and  adoring  their  beneficent 
Creator. 

Since  the  fixed  ftars  are  prodigious  fpheres 
of  fire,  like  our  Sun,  and  at  inconceivable 
diftances  from  one  another,  as  well  as  from 
us,  it  is  reafonable  to  conclude,  they  are 
made  for  the  fame  purpofes  that  the  Sun 
is ;  each  to  bellow  light,  heat,  and  vege- 
tation on  a  certain  number  of  inhabited 
planets,  kept  by  gravitation  within  the 
Iphere  of  its  acuvity. 


What  an  auguft  !  what  an  amazing  con- 
ception, if  human  imagination  can  con- 
ceive it,  does  this  give  of  the  works  of 
the  Creator  !  Thousands  of  thoufands  of 
funs,  multiplied  without  end,  and  ranged 
all  around  us,  at  immenfe  diftances  from 
each  other,  attended  by  ten  thoufand  times 
ten  thoufand  worlds,  all  in  rapid  motion, 
yzt  calm,  regular,  and  harmonious,  inva- 
riably keeping  the  paths  prefcribed  them ; 
and  thefe  worlds  peopled  with  myriads  of 
intelligent  beings,  formed  for  endlefs  pro- 
greffion  in  perfection  and  felicity. 

If  fo  much  power,  wifdom,  goodnefs, 
and  magnificence  is  difp'ayed  in  the  ma- 
terial creation,  which  is  the  leaft  consider- 
able part  of  the  univerfe,  how  great,  how 
wife,  how  good  mull  he  be,  who  made  and 
governs  the  whole  !  Fergufon. 

§   2.    ReflcSliotu  en  the  Earth  a?id  Sea. 

It  has  been  already  obferved,  that  the 
Earth  ranks  as  a  planet  in  the  folar  fyftem  ; 
that  its  diameter  is  near  S,ooo  miles,  and 
its  circumference  about  25,000.  The 
furface  of  it  is  divided  into  land  and  water  ; 
the  land  is  again  divided  into  four  parts, 
which  are  called,  Europe,  Afia,  Africa,  and 
America.  The  feas  and  unknown  parts  of 
its  furface  contain  160.522,026  fquare 
miles;  the  inhabited  parts  38,990,509: 
Europe  4,456,065  :  1    ,768,823;  Af- 

rica 9,654,807  ;a  14,110,874;  in 

all  199,512,595  is  the  number  of 

fquare  miles  on  tl  ai  face  of  cur  globe. 

And  if  we  examine  it  a  little  farther, 
what  an  admirable  fpecimen  have  we  of 
the  divine  fk.il!  and  goodnefs  ?  This  globe 
is  intended,  not  only  iov  an  habitation,  but 
for  a  ftorehoufe  of  conveniences.  And  if 
we  examine  the  feveral  apartments  of  our 
great  abode,  we  fhall  find  reafon  to  be 
charmed  with  the  displays  both  of  nice 
ceconomy  and  boundlefs  profusion. 

The  furface  of  the  ground,  coarfe  as  it 
may  feem,  is  yet  the  laboratory  where  the 
molt  exquifite  operations  are  performed. 
And  though  a  multitude  of  generations  have 
been  accommodated  by  it,  it  ftill  continues 
inexhaustible. 

The  unevennefs  of  the  ground,  fir  from 
being  a  defect,  heightens  its  beauty  and 
augments  its  ufefulnefs.  Here  it  is  fcooped 
into  deep  and  fheltered  vales,  almofl  con- 
stantly covered  with  verdure,  which  yields 
an  eafy  couch  and  agreeable  food  to  the 
various  tribes  of  cattle'.  There  it  extends 
into  a  wide,  open  country,  which  annually 
bears  a   copious  harveft;    an  harvest  not 

only 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND     RELIGIOUS. 


only  of  the  principal  wheat,  which  is  the 
ftaff  of  cur  life,  but  of  the  appointed  bar- 
ley, and  various  other  grain,  which  are 
food  for  our  animals. 

The  furrows  vary  their  produce.  They 
bring  forth  flax  and  hemp,  which  help  us  to 
fome  of  the  molt  necefiary  accommodations 
of  life.  Thefe  are  wove  into  ample  volumes 
of  cloth,  Which  fixed  to  the  mail,  give 
wings  to  our  (hips'.  It  is  twilled  into  vaft 
lengths  of  cordage,  which  gives  nerves  to 
the  crane,  and  finews  w  the  pulley,  or  elfe 
adhering  to  the  anchor,  fecure  the  vefiel, 
even  amidft  the  driving  tempelt.  It  covers 
our  tables  with  a  graceful  elegance,  and 
furrounds  our  bodies  with  a  cheriihing 
Warmth. 

Yonder  arife  the  hills,  like  a  grand  am- 
phitheatre !  Some  are  clad  with  mantling 
vines,  fome  crowned  with  towering  cedars, 
fome  ragged  with  mis-ihapen  rocks  or 
yawning  with  iubterraneous  caves.  And 
even  thofe  macceihble  crags,  thofe  gloomy 
cavities,  are  not  only  a  refuge  for  wild 
goats,  but  lometimes  for  thole  of  whom 
the  world  was  not  wortny. 

At  a  greater  dillance  the  mountains 
penetrate  the  clouds,  with  their  alpiring 
brows.  Their  fides  arfeft  and  condenfe  tne 
vapours  as  they  float  along.  Their  ca- 
verned  bowels  colled  the  dripping  trea- 
fures,  and  fend  them  gradually  ab.oad  by 
trickling  fprings :  and  hence  the  waters 
increafmg  roil  down,  till  they  have  fwept 
through  the  moft  exteniive  climes,  and  re- 
gained their  native  feas. 

The  vine  requires  a  ftrong  reflection  of 
the  fun-beams  and  a  large  proportion  of 
warmth.  How  commodioufly  do  the  hills 
and  mountains  miniher  to  this  purpofe  ! 
May  we  not  call  thofe  vail  declivities  the 
garden-walls  of  nature  ?  Thefe  concentre 
the    folar  fire,    and  completely  ripen   the 

frape  !     O  that  any  ihould  turn  fo  valua- 
le  a  gift  of  God  into  an  inftrument   cf 
fin! 

What  is  nature  but  a  feries  of  wonders  ? 
That  fuch  a  variety  of  fruits  fhould  rife 
from  the  infipid,  fordid  earth?  I  take  a 
walk  through  my  garden  or  orchard  in 
December.  There  {land  feveral  logs  of 
wood  on  the  ground.  They  have  neither 
fenfe  nor  motion ;  yet  in  a  little  time  they 
are  beautified  with  biolfoms,  they  are  co- 
vered with  leaves,  and  at  laft  loaded  with 
fruit.  I  have  wondered  at  the  account  of 
thofe  prodigious  engines,  invented  by  Ar- 
chimedes. But  what  are  all  the  inventions 
of  men,  to  thofe  nice  automata  of  nature? 


515 

The  foreft  rears  myriads  cf  marly  bo- 
dies, which,  though  neither  gay  with  blof- 
foms,  nor  rich  with  fruit,  fupply  us  with 
timber  of  various  kinds.  But  who  fhall 
cultivate  them  ?  The  toil  were  endlefs. 
See  therefore  the  ever  wife  and  gracious 
ordination  of  Providence  !  They  nave 
no  need  of  tne  fpade  or  the  pruning- 
knife.     Tney  want  no  help  from  man. 

When  fawed  into  beams,  they  fuftain 
the  roofs  of  our  houfes.  They  make  car- 
riages to  convey  our  heaviefl  loads.  Their 
fubib.nce  is  fo  pliant,  that  they  are  eafily 
formed  into  every  kind  of  furniture  :  yet 
their  texture  fo  folid,  that  they  compofe 
the  moll:  important  parts  of  the  large!! 
engines.  At  the  fame  time  their  prefl'ure 
is  fo  light,  that  they  float  upon  the  waters. 
Thus  while  they  ferve  all  the  ends  of  ar- 
chitecture, and  bellow  numbedefs  conve- 
niences on  the  family,  they  confeitute  the 
very  bafis  of  navigation,  and  give  being 
to  commerce. 

Jf  we  defcend  from  the  ground  floor  of 
our  habitation  into  the  fubterraneous 
lodgments,  we  fhall  find  there  alio  the  moll 
exquifite  contrivance  acling  in  concert 
with  the  moft  profufe  goodnefs.  Here  are 
various  minerals  of  fovereign  efficacy : 
beds  fraught  with  metals  of  richeil  value  : 
and  mines,  which  yield  a  metal  of  a  meaner 
afpect,  but  luperior  uicfalnefs.  Without 
the  allillance  of  iron,  what  would  become 
of  all  our  mechanic  feill  ?  without  this  we 
could  fcarce  either  fix  the  mall,  or  drop  the 
faithful  anchor.  We  Ihould  fcarce  have  any 
ornament  for  polite,  or  utenfil  for  com- 
mon life. 

Here  is  an  inexhauftible  fund  of  com- 
buftible  materials.  Thefe  mollify  the 
moll  ftubborn  bars.  They  melt  even  the 
moll  ftubbom  flint,  and  make  .  it  more 
ductile  than  the  fofteft  clay.  By  this 
means  we  are  iurnifhed  with  the  moft  ca- 
rious and  ferviceable  manufacture  in  the 
world ;  which  admits  into  our  houfes  the 
chearing  light,  yet  excludes  the  wind  and 
rain :  which  gives  new  eyes  to  decrepit 
age,  and  more  enlarged  views  to  philo- 
fophy;  bringing  near  what  is  immensely 
remote,  and  making  vifible  what  is  im- 
menfely fmall. 

Here  are  quarries  flocked  with  Hones, 
which  do  not  fparkle  like  gems,  but  are 
more  eminently  ufeful.  Thefe  form 
houfes  for  peace,  fortifications  for  _war. 
Thefe  conftitute  the  arches  of  the  bridge, 
the    arms    of  the    mole    or   quay,  which 


fcreen  our  ftrips  from  the  moft  temps 


feas. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


3i6 

feas.  Thefe  are  comparatively  foft  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  but  harden  when  in 
the  open  air.  Was  this  remarkable  pecu- 
liarity reverfed,  what  difficulties  would  at- 
tend the  labours  of  the  mafon  ?  His  ma- 
terials could  not  be  extracted  from  their 
bed,  ncr  fafhioned  without  infinite  toil. 
And  were  his  work  completed,  it  could 
not  long  withftand  the  fury  of"  the  ele- 
ments. 

Here  are  various  afTortments  and  beds 
of  clay,  which  however  contemptible  in 
its  appearance,  is  abundantly  more  bene- 
ficial'than  the  rocks  of  diamond  or  veins 
of  gold  :  this  is  moulded  into  veffels  of 
any  fhape  and  fize  :  fome  fo  delicately 
fine  as  to  fuit  the  table  of  a  princefs; 
others  fo  remarkably  cheap,  that  they  mi- 
nifter  to  the  convenience  cf  the  poorer! 
peafant:  all  fo  perfectly  neat,  as  to  give 
no  difguft  even  to  the  nicer!  palate. 

A  multiplicity  of  other  valuable  ftorcs 
is  locked  up  in 'thefe  ample  vaults.  But 
the  key  of  all  is  given  to  induftry,  in  or- 
der to  produce  each  as  neceffity  demands. 

Which  fhall  we  moft  admire,  the  bounty 
or  wifdom  of  our  great  Creator?  How 
admirable  is  his  precaution  in  removing 
thefe  cumbrous  wares  from  the  furface, 
and  bellowing  them  under  the  ground  in 
proper  repofitories  ?  Were  they  fcattered 
over  the  furface  of  the  foil,  it  would  be 
embarrafied  with  the  enormous  load.  Our 
roads  would  be  blocked  up,  and  fcarce 
any  room  left  for  the  operations  of  huf- 
bandry.  Were  they,  on  the  other  hand, 
buried  at  a  great  depth,  it  would  core  us 
immenfe  pairs  to  procure  them.  Were 
they  uniformly  fpread  into  a  pavement  for 
nature,  universal  barrennefs  muft  enfue : 
whereas  at  prefent  we  have  a  magazine  of 
metallic,  without  leffening  our  vegetable 
treafures.  Foffilsof  every  kind  enrich  the 
bowels  verdure  adorns  the  face  of  the 
earth. 

Well  then  may  even  the  inhabitants  of 
heaven  lift  up  their  voice  and  fing,  Great 
and  marvellous  are  thy  works,  O  Lord  God 
Almighty  !  And  is  there  not  infinite  rea- 
fon  for  us  to  join  this  triumphant  choir  ? 
Since  all  thefe  things  are  to  us,  not  only  a 
noble  fpeftacle,  bright  with  the  difplay  of 
our  Creator's  wifdom,  but  likewife  an  in- 
efHmable  gift,  rich  with  the  emanations  of 
his  jroodnefs.  The  earth  hath  he  fet  before 
the  inhabitants  of  his  glory  :  but  he  hath 
piven  it  to  the  children  of  men.  Has  he 
not  then  an  undoubted  right  to  make  that 


tender  demand,  My  fon,  give  vie  thins 
heart? 

The  rocks  which  bound  the  fea,  are 
here  prodigioufly  high  and  flrong,  an 
everlafting  barrier  againfi  both  winds  and 
waves.  Not  that  the  omnipotent  engineer 
has  any  need  of  thefe  here.  It  is  true, 
they  intervene,  and  not  only  rcprefs  the 
rolling  billows,  but  fpeak  the  amazing 
Majefty  of  the  Maker.  But  in  other 
places  the  Creator  (hews,  he  is  confined 
to  no  expedient.  Ke  bids  a  bank  of  de^ 
fpicable  fand  repel  the  moft  furious  fhocks 
of  afTaulting  feas.  And  though  the  ivaves 
tofs  t hem/elves,  they  cannot  prevail :  though 
they  rear,   yet  they  cannot  tofs  ever. 

Nay,  is  it  not  remarkable,  that  fand  is 
a  more  effectual  barrier  againft  the  fea 
than  reck  ?  Accordingly  the  fea  is  con- 
tinually gaining  upon  a  rocky  more  :  but 
it  is  continually  loiing  on  a  fandy  more  : 
unlefs  where  it  fets  in  with  an  eddy.  Thus 
it  has  been  gaining,  from  age  to  age,  upon 
the  iile  of  Portland  and  the  Land's  End  in 
Cornwall,  undermining,  throwing  cown, 
and  fwallov  ing  up  one  huge  rock  after 
Mean  time  the  fandy  (bores 
fcw  1  on  our  foufhern  and  wefcern  coafts, 
i  continu  lly  upon  the  lea. 

Beneath  the  i  >cks  frequently  lies  a 
fmooth,  level  fand,  almofr.  as  firm  as  a 
well  compacted  caufeway:  infomuch  that 
the  tread  of  an  horfe  fcarce  impreffes  it, 
and  the  waters  never  penetrate  it.  With- 
out this  wife  contrivance  the  fearching 
waves  would  infinuate  into  the  heart  cf  the 
earth  ;  and  the  earth  itfelf  would  in  fome 
places  be  hollow  as  an  honey-comb,  in 
others  bibulous  as  a  fponge.  But  this 
clofely-cemented  pavement  is  like  claying 
the-bottomof  the  univerfal  canal:  fo  that 
the  returning  tides  only  confolidate  its 
fubflance,  and  prevent  the  fun  from  cleav- 
ing it  with  chinks. 

IIhyc  the  main  rolls  its  furges  from 
world  to  world.  What  a  fpedacle  of  mag- 
nificence and  terror  1  Hew  it  fills  the 
mind  and  ama7.es  the  imagination  !  It  is 
the  moll  auguft  object  under  the  whole 
heaven.  What  are  all  the  canals  on  earth, 
to  this  immenfe  refervatory  f  What  are  the 
proudeit  palaces  on  earth,  to  yonder  con- 
cave of  the  fkies  ?  What  the  mod  pom- 
pous illuminations,  to  this  fource  of  day  ? 
They  are  afpark,  an  atom,  a  d;op.  Nay 
in  every  fpark,  and  atom,  and  drop,  that 
proceeds  from  the  hand  of  the  Almighty, 
there   is   the  manifestation   of  a   wifdom 

and 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


and    a    power    absolutely    incomprehen- 

fible. 

Let  us  examine  a  fingle  drop  of  water, 
only  fo  much  as  will  adhere  to  the  point  of 
a  needle.  In  this  fpeck  an  eminent  philo- 
fopher  computes  no  lefs  than  thirteen 
thoufand  globules.  And  if  fo  many  thou- 
fands  exift  in  fo  fmall  a  fpeck,  how  many 
in  the  unmeafured  extent  of  the  ocean  ? 


3»7 

the  fpacious  regions  of  the  deep.  How 
various  is  their  figure  1  The  fhells  of  fome 
feem  to  be  the  rude  production  of  chance, 
rather  than  of  (kill  or  defign.  Yet  even 
in  thefe  we  find  the  niceft  difpofitions. 
Uncouth  as  they  are,  they  are  exaclly  fuited 
to  the  exigencies  of  their  refps&ive  tenants. 
Some  on  the  other  han'd  are  extremely 
neat.     Their  ftruclure  is  all  fymmetry  and 


Who  can  count  them  ?  As  well  may  we  elegance.  No  enamel  is  comparable  to 
grafp  the  wind  in  our  fift,  or  mete  out  the  their  polifh.  Not  a  room  in  all  the  palaces 
univerfe  with  our  fpan.  of  Europe  is  fo  adorned  as  the  bed-cham- 

Nor    are    thefe    regions  without    their     ber  of  the  little  fifli  that  dwells  in  mother 

proper  inhabitants,  clothed  in  exadl  con-     of  pearl.     Where  elfe  is  fuch  a  mixture  of 

formity  to  the  clime  :  not  infwelling  wool,     red,  blue  and  green,  fo  delightfully  ftain- 

or  buoyant    feathers,   but   with  as   much     ing  the  mod  clear  and  glittering  ground  ? 

compaclnefs    and  as    little    fuperfluuy    as         But  what  I  admire  more  than  all  their 

poffible.    They  are  clad,  or  rather  fheathed     beauty,  is    the  provifion   made  for  their 

in  fcales,  which  adhere  clofe,  and  are  laid     fafety.     As  they  have  no  fpeed  to  efcape, 

in  a  kind    of  natural  oil :  than  which  ap-     lo  they  have  no  dexterity  to  elude  their 

parel  nothing  can  be  more  light,  and  at     foe.     So  that  were  they  naked,  they  mull: 

the   fame    time    nothing  more-  folii.       It     be  an  eafy  prey  to  every  free-booter.    To 

hinders  the    fluid  from  penetrating  their     prevent  this,  what  is  only  cloatlung  to  other 

flelh:  it  prevents  the  cold    from    chilling     animals,  is  to  them  a  cloathmg,  an  houfe, 

their  blood;  and  enables  them  to  make  their     and  a   caftle.     They  have  a  fortification 

way  through  the  waters,  with  the  utmoft     which  grows  with  them,  and  is  a  part  of 

facility.      And    they    have    each  an  air-     themfelves.     And  by  means  of  this  they 

bladder,   a   curious   inflrument,  by  which     live  fecure    amidft    millions  of  ravenous 

they  rife  to  what  height  or  fink   to  what     jaws. 

denth  they  pleafe.  Here    dwell    mackerel,     herring,    and 

It  is  impofiible  to  enumerate  the   fcaly     various   other    kinds,    which    when   lean 

herds.     Here    are    animals  of   monltrous     wander  up  and  down  the  ocean  :  but  when 

fhapes,  and  amazing  qualities.    The  upper     fat  they  throng  our  creeks  and  bays,  or 
jaw  of  the  fword-fifh  is  lengthened  into  a     haunt    the    running    ' 

ibongand  (harp  fword,  with  which  (though 

not  above  fixteen  feet  long)    he  fcruples 

not  to  engage  the    whale   himfelf.     The 

fun-filh  is  one  round  mafs  of  flelh;  only  it 

has  two  hns,  which  aft  the  part  of  oars. 

The  polypus,  with  its  numerous  feet  and 

claws,  feems  fitted  only  to  crawl.     Yet  an 

excrefcence  riling  on   the  back  enables  it 

to  fleer  a  fteady  courfe  in  the  waves.     The 

fhell  of  the  nautilus  forms  a  kind  of  boat, 

and  he  unfurls  a  membrane  to  the  wind     fhores.  The  latter  would  fright  the  valuable 


the  running  itreams.  Who  bids 
thefe  creatures  leave  our  fhores  when  they 
become  unfit  for  our  fervice  ?  Who  rallies 
and  recalls  the  undifciplined  vagrants,  as 
foon  as  they  are  improved  into  defirable 
food?  Surely  the  furlovv  is  figned,  the 
fummons  iifued,  and  the  point  of  re-union 
fettled,  by  a  providence  ever  indulgent  to 
mankind,  ever  loading  us  with  benefits. 

Thefe  approach,  while  thofe  of   enor- 
mous   fize  and  appearance  abandon  our 


for  a  fail.  He  extends  alfo  two  arms, 
with  which,  as  with  oars,  he  rows  himfelf 
along.  When  he  "is  difpofed  to  dive,  he 
ltrikes  fail,  and  at  once  finks  to  the  bottom. 
When  the  weather  is  calm,  he  mounts 
again,  and  performs  his  voyage  without 
either  chart  or  compafs 


fifh  from  our  ccafts ;  they  are  therefore 
kept  in  the  abyfles  of  the  ocean:  juft  as 
wild  beafts,  impelled  by  the  fame  over- 
ruling power,  hide  themfelves  in  the  re- 
cedes of  the  foreft. 

One  circumftance  relating  to  the  natives 
of  the  deep  is  very  alionifhing.     As  they 


Here  are  fhoals  upon  fhoals  of    every     are   continually  obliged    to    devour    one 
fize  and  form.  Some  lodged  in  their  (hells,     another    for   neceffary  fubfiilence,  without 


feem  to  have  no  higher  employ,  than  im-     extraordinary  recruits,  the  whole  watery 
bibing  nutriment,  and  are  almoft  rooted  to     race  muff  foon  be  totally  extinft.     Were 
the  rocks  on  which  they  lie  :  while  others     they  to  bring  forth  no  more  at  a  birth  than 
ling  flood,  and  range    land  animals,  the  increafe  would  be  far  too 

fmaU 


fhoot  along  the  yielding 


318 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


fmall  for  the  confumption.  The  weaker 
fpecies  would  foov  be  deftroyed  by  the 
Stronger,  and  the  ftronger  themfelves  muft 
foon  after  perifn.  Therefore  to  fupply 
millions  of  animals  with  their  food,  and 
yet  not  depopulate  the  watery  realms,  the 
iffue  produced  by  every  breeder  is  almoil 
incredible.  They  fpawn  not  by  fcores, 
but  by  millions  :  a  fingle  female  is 'preg- 
nant with  a  naticn.  Mr.  Lewenhock 
counted  in  an  ordinary  cod,  9,384,000 
eggs.  By  this  amazing  expedient,  con- 
ftant  reparation  is  made,  proportionable  to 
the  immenfe  havock. 

And  as  the  fea  abounds  with  animal  in- 
habitants, fo  it  does  alfo  with  vegetable 
productions :  fomc  foft  as  wool,  others 
hard  as  ftone.  Some  rife  like  a  leaflefs 
ihrub,  fome  are  expanded  in  the  form  of  a 
net ;  fome  grow  with  their  heads  down- 
ward, and  feem  rather  hanging  on,  than 
fpringing  from  the  juttings  of  the  rocks. 
But  as  we  know  few  particulars  concern- 
ing thefe,  I  would  only  offer  one  remark 
in  general.  The  herbs  and  trees  on  the 
dry  land  are  fed  by  the  juices  that  permeate 
the  foil,  and  fluctuate  in  the  air.  For  this 
purpofe  they  are  furnifhed  with  leaves  to 
colled:  the  one,  and  with  roots  to  attrad  the 
other.  Whereas  the  fea  plants,  having 
fufheient  nourifhment  in  the  circumambient 
waters,  have  no  need  to  detach  roots  into 
the  ground,  or  forage  the  earth  for  fuite- 
nance.  Inite  id  therefore  of  penetrating, 
they  are  but  juft  tacked  to  the  bottom,  and 
adhere  to  fome  folid  fubftance  only  with 
fuch  a  degree  of  tenacity,  as  may  fecure 
them  from  being  toft  to  and  fro  by  the 
agitation  of  the  waves. 

We  fee  from  this  and  numberlefs  other 
inftances,  what  diverfity  there  is  in  the 
operations  of  the  great  Creator.  Yet 
every  alteration  is  an  improvement,  and 
each  new  pattern  has  a  peculiar  htnefs  of 
its  own. 

Confidered  in  another  view,  the  fea  is 
that  grand  refervoir  which  fupplies  the 
earth  with  its  fertility :  and  the  air  and 
fun  are  the  mighty  engines,  which  work 
without  intermifiion,  to  raife  the  water 
from  this  inexhauflible  ciftern.  The 
clouds  as  aqueducts  convey  the  genial 
ftores  along  the  atmofphere,  and  diftribute 
them  in  feafonable  and  regular  propor- 
tion?, through  all  the  regions  of  the 
globe. 

How  hardly  do  we  extrafl  a  drop  of 
perfectly  fwect  water  fro  n  this  vaft  pit  of 


brine  ?  Yet  the  fun  draws  off  every  mo- 
ment millions  of  tons  in  vaporous  exhala- 
tions, which  beinp;  fecurely  lodged  in  the 
bottles  of  heaven,  are  fent  abroad  fweeten- 
ed  and  refined,  without  the  leaft  brackifh 
tinflure,  or  bituminous  fediment :  fent 
abroad  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind,  to 
deftil  in  dews  and  rain,  to  ooze  in  foun- 
tains, to  trickle  along  in  rivulets,  to  roll 
from  the  fides  of  mountains,  to  flow  in 
copious  icreams  amidft  burning  defarts,  and 
through  populous  kingdoms,  in  order  to 
refrelh  and  fertilize,  to  beautify  and  enrich 
every  foil  in  every  clime. 

How  amiable  is  the  goodnefs,  how 
amazing  the  power,  of  the  world's  adorable 
Maker!  How  amiable  his  goodnefs,  in 
diltributing  lo  largely  what  is  fo  exten- 
fively  beneficial!  That  water,  without 
which  we  can  fcarce  perform  any  bufmefs, 
or  enjoy  any  comfort,  mould  ftream  by  our 
houies,  ftart  up  from  the  ground,  drop 
down  from  the  clouds  !  Should  come  from 
the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  ferve  us,  from  the 
extremities  of  the  ocean  !  How  amazing 
his  power  !  That  this  boundlefs  mafs  of 
fluid  fait,  fo  intolerably  naufeous  to  the 
tafte,  fhould  be  the  original  fpring,  which 
quenches  the  thirft  both  of  man  and  every 
animal  !  Doubtlefs  the  power  by  which 
this  is  effe&ed,  can  make  all  things  work 
together  for  our  good. 

Vaft  and  various  are  the  advantages 
which  we  receive  from  this  liquid  element. 
The  waters  glide  on  in  fpacious  currents, 
which  not  only  chear  the  adjacent  country, 
but  by  giving  a  brifk  motion  to  the  air, 
prevent  the  ftagnation  of  the  vapours. 
They  pafs  by  large  cities,  and  quietly  rid 
them  of  a  thoufand  nuifances.  But  they 
are  alfo  fit  for  more  honourable  fervices. 
They  enter  the  gardens  of  a  prince,  float 
in  the  canal,  afcend  in  the  jet  d'eau,  or 
fall  in  the  grand  cafcade.  In  another  kind 
they  ply  at  our  mills,  toil  inceffantly  at  the 
wheel,  and  by  working  the  largeft  engines, 
take  upon  them  an  unknown  (hare  of  our 
fatigue,  and  fave  us  both  labour,  time,  and 
expence. 

So  forcibly  do  they  a£t  when  collected. 
And  how  do  they  inhnuate  when  detached  ? 
They  penetrate  the  minuteft  tubes  of  a 
plant,  and  find  a  paffage  through  all  its 
meanders.  With  how  much  difficulty 
does  the  labourer  pufh  his  way  up  the 
rounds  of  a  ladder?  While  thefe  carry 
their  loads  to  a  much  greater  height,  and 
climb  with  the  utmoit  eafe.    They  convey 

nourifhment 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


nourishment  from  the  loweft  fibres  that  are 
plunged  in  the  earth,  to  the  topmoft  twigs 
that  wave  amidft  the  clouds.  Thus  they 
furniSh  the  whole  vegetable  world  with 
neceflary  provifion,  by  means  of  which 
the  trees  of  the  Lord  are  full  of  fap,  even 
the  cedars  of  Lebanon,  nuhicb  he  hath  planted. 
And  notwithstanding  their  vail  elevation 
and  prodigious  diffusion,  not  a  fingle 
branch  is  destitute  of"  leaves,  nor  a  fingle 
leaf  of  moifiure. 

Befides  the  falutary  and  ufeful  circula- 
tion of  the  rivers,  the  fea'  has  a  motion  no 
lefs  advantageous.  Daily  for  five  or  fix 
hours,  it  flows  toward  the  land,  and  for 
the  fame  time,  retires  to  its  inmoft  caverns. 
How  great  is  the  power  that  protrudes  to 
the  Shores  fuch  an  inconceivable  weight  of 
waters,  without  any  concurrence  from  the 
winds,  often  in  direct  opposition  to  them  ? 
Which  bids  the  mighty  element  revolve 
with  the  moil  exact  punctuality  ?  Did  it 
advance  with  a  lawlefs  and  unlimited  fwell, 
it  might  deluge  whole  continents.  Was 
it  irregular  and  uncertain  in  its  approaches, 
navigation  would  be  at  a  Hand.  But 
being  conftant  in  its  ftated  period,  and 
never  exceeding  its  appointed  bounds,  it 
does  no  prejudice  to  the  country,  and 
ferves  all  the  ends  of  traffic. 

Is  the  failor  returned  from  his  voyage  ? 
The  flux  is  ready  to  convey  his  veSTel  to 
the  very  doors  of  the. owner,  without  any 
hazard  of  Striking  on  the  rocks,  or  of 
being  fattened  in  the  fands.  Has  the 
merchant  freighted  his  fhip  ?  The  reflux 
bears  it  away  with  the  utmoft  expedition 
and  fiafety.  Behold,  O  man,  how  highly 
thou  art  favoured  by  thy  Maker  !  He  hath 
put  all  things  in  fubjeclion  under  thy  feet. 
All  Jheep  and  oxen,  all  the  beafts  of  the 
feld :  the  fo-ivls  of  the  air,  and  the  fijhes 
ef  the  fea.  Yea,  the  furges  of  the  fea  are 
fubfervient  to  thee.  Even  thefe,  wild  and 
impetuous  as  they  are,  are  ready  to  re- 
ceive thy  load,  and  like  an  indefatigable 
.  beaSt  of  burden,  carry  it  to  the  place  which 
thou  choofeSl. 

What  preferves  this  vaft  flood  in  per- 
petual purity  ?  It  receives  the  refufe  and 
filth  of  the  whole  world.  Whatever  would 
defile  the  land  and  pollute  the  air,  is 
tranfmitted  to  the  ocean.  How  then  is 
this  receptacle  cf  every  nuifance  kept 
clean,  kept  from  contracting  a  noifome  and 
pestilential  taint?  'Tis  partly  by  its  in- 
ceflant  motion,  and  partly  by  its  faltnefs. 
By  the  one  it.  is  fecured  from  any  internal 


principle  cf  corruption  ;  by  the  other  it 
works  itfelf  clear  of  any  adventitious 
defilement. 

Confider  the  fea  in  another  capacity, 
and  it  connects  the  remotest  realms  of  the 
univerfe,  by  facilitating  the  intercourfe 
between  their  respective  inhabitants.  The 
ancients  indeed  looked  on  the  ocean  as  an 
impaflable  gulph.  But  we  find  it  juft  the 
reverfe ;  not  a  bar  of  Separation,  but  the 
great  bond  of  union.  For  this  purpofe 
it  is  never  exhausted,  though  it  Supplies 
the  whole  earth  with  rain  :  nor  overflows, 
though  all  the  rivers  in  the  univerfe  are 
perpetually  augmenting  its  ftores.  By: 
means  of  this  we  travel  farther,  than  birds 
of  the  Strongest  pinions  fly.  We  crofs  i.he 
flaming  line,  vifit  the  frozen  pole,  and 
wing  our  way  even  round  the  globe. 

What  a  multitude  of  (hips  are  continu- 
ally paffing  and  repaffing  this  univerfal 
thorough- fare  !  Whole  harveits  of  corn, 
and  vintages  of  wine,  lodged  in  volatile 
flore-houfes,  are  wafted  by  the  breath  of 
heaven,  to  the  very  ends  of  the  earth: 
wafted,  enormous  and  unwieldy  as  they 
are,  almoit  as  fpeedily  as  the  roe  bounds, 
over  the  hills. 

Aftonifhing,  that  an  element  fo  unstable*, 
Should  bear  fo  immenfe  a  weight!  That; 
the  thin  air  Should  drive  on  with  fuch  fpeed 
thofe  vaft  bodies,  which  the  Strength  of  a 
legion  could  fcarce  move !  That  the  air 
and  water  Should  carry  to  the  distance  of 
many  thoufand  miles,  what  the  united  force 
of  men  and  machines  could  fcarce  drag  a 
fingle  yard ! 

How  are  the  mariners  conducted  thro* 
this  fluid  common,  than  which  nothing  is 
more  wide  or  more  wild  ?  Here  is  no  tract, 
no  pofts  of  direction,  nor  any  hut  where 
the  traveller  may  afk  his  way.  Are  they 
guided  by  a  pillar  of  fire  ?  No,  but  by  a 
mean  and  otherwife  worthlefs  foSfil.  Till 
this  furprifing  Stone  was  difcovered,  Ships 
crept  timoroufly  along  the  coafts.  But 
this  guides  them,  when  nothing  but  Skies 
are  feen  above,  and  nothing  but  fea's 
below.  This  gives  intelligence  that  Shines 
clear  in  the  thickeft  darknefs,  and  remains 
Steady  in  the  moft  tempeftuous'  agitations. 
This  emboldens  us  to  launch  into  the 
heart  of  the  ocean,  and  to  range  from 
pole  to  pole.  By  this  means  are  imported 
to  our  islands  the  choice  productions'  of 
every  nation  under  heaven.  Every  tide 
conveys  into  our  ports,  the  treafures  of  the 
remoteft  climes.    And  almoft  every  private 

houie 


p.o 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


houfe  in  the  kingdom,  is  accommodated 
from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  At 
the  fame  time  that  the  fea  adorns  the 
abodes  of  the  rich,  it  employs  the  hands 
of  the  poor.  What  a  multitude  of  people 
acquire  a  livelihood,  by  preparing  com- 
modities for  exportation  ?  And  what  a 
multitude  by  manufacturing  the  wares  im- 
ported from  abroad  ?  Thus,  though  it  is  a 
falfe  fuppofition,  that  the  waters  themfelves 
are  llrained  through  fubterranean  paffages 
into  the  inland  countries,  yet  it  is  true, 
that  their  effects  are  transfufed  into  every 
town,  every  hamlet,  and  every  cottage. 

§   3.     RefleSticns  on  the  Atmofphere. 

If  we  turn  our  thoughts  to  the  atmof- 
phere, we  find  a  moll  curious  and  exquifite 
apparatus  of  air.  This  is  a  fource  of  in- 
numerable advantages ;  ail  which  are 
fetched  from  the  very  jaws  of  ruin.  To 
explain  this.  The  prefTure  of  the  air  on 
a  perfon  of  a  moderate  fize  is  equal  to  the 
weight  of  twenty  thoufand  pounds. 
Tremendous  confideration  !  Should  an 
houfe  fall  upon  us  with  half  that  force,  it 
would  break  every  bone  of  our  bodies. 
Yet  fo  admirably  has  the  Divine  wifdom 
contrived  the  air,  and  fo  nicely  counter- 
poifcd  its  dreadful  power,  that  we  fuffer  no 
manner  of  inconvenience;  we  even  enjoy 
the  load.  Inilead  of  being  as  a  mountain 
on  our  loins,  it  is  as  wings  to  our  feet,  or 
iinews  to  our  limbs.  Is  not  this  common 
ordination  of  Providence  fomewhat  like 
the  miracle  of  the  burning  bum  ?  Well 
may  we  fay  unto  God,  O  how  terrible, 
yet  how  beneficent,  art  thou  in  thy  works ! 

The  air,  though  too  weak  to  fupport 
our  flight,  is  a  thoroughfare  for  innumerable 
wings.  Here  the  whole  commonwealth 
of  birds  expatiate,  beyond  the  reach  of 
their  adverfaries.  Were  they  to  run  upon 
the  earth,  they  would  be  in  ten  thoufand 
dangers,  without  fhength  to  refill,  or  fpeed 
to  eicape  them  :  whereas  by  mounting  the 
Ikies,  they  are  fecure  from  peril,  they  fcorn 
the  horfe  and  his  rider.  Some  of  them 
perching  on  the  boughs,  or  foaring  aloft, 
entertain  us  with  their  notes.  Many  of 
them  >  ield  us  wholefome  and  agreeable 
food,  and  yet  give  us  no  trouble,  put  us  to 
no  expence;  but  till  the  time  we  want  them, 
are  wholly  out  of  the  way. 

The  air  is  charged  alfo  with  feveral 
ofhees,  abfolutely  needful  for  mankind. 
In    our   lungs    it    ventilates    the    blood, 


qualifies  its  warmth,  promotes  the  animal 
fecretions.  We  might  live  even  months^ 
without  the  light  of  the  fun,  yea,  or  the 
glimmering  of  a  ilar.  Whereao,  if  we 
are  deprived  but  a  few  minutes  of  this,  we 
ficken,  we  faint,  we  die.  The  fame  univer- 
fal  nurfe  has  a  cor.fiderab'e  (hare  in  clierifh- 
ing  the  feveral  tribes  of  plants.  It  tranf- 
fuies  vegetable  vigour  into  the  trunk  of 
an  oak,  and  a  blooming  gaiety  into  the 
leaves  of  a  rofe. 

The  air  likewife  conveys  to  our  noflrils 
the  extremely  fubtle  effluvia  which  exhale 
from  odoriferous  bodies :  particles  fo  final], 
that  they  elude  the  moil  careful  hand.  But 
this  receives  and  tranfmks  the  inviiible 
vagrants,  without  lofing  even  a  fingle 
atom  ;  entertaining  us  with  the  delightful 
fenfations  that  arife  from  the  fragrance  of 
flowers,  and  admonifhing  us  to  withdraw 
from  an  unwholefome  fituation,  to  beware 
of  pernicious  food. 

The  air  by  its  undulating  motion  con- 
ducts to  our  ear  all  the  diverfities  of  found. 
While  danger  is  at  a  confiderable  diftance, 
this  advertifes  us  of  its  approach ;  and 
with  a  clamorous  but  kind  importunity, 
urges  us  to  provide  for  our  fafety. 

The  air  wafts  to  our  fenfe  all  the  modu- 
lations of  mufic,  and  the  more  agreeable 
entertainments  of  converfation.  It  diftri- 
butes  every  mufical  variation  with  the 
utmoft  exactnefs,  and  delivers  the  meffage 
of  the  fpeaker  with  the  moil  punfrual  fideli- 
ty :  whereas,  without  this  internuncio,  all 
would  be  iuilen  and  unmeaning  fiience. 
We  lhould  neither  be  charmed  by  the 
harmonious,  nor  improved  by  the  arti- 
culate accents. 

Plow  gentle  are  the  breezes  of  the  air 
when  unconfined  !  but  when  collected,  they 
act  with  fuch  immenfe  force,  as  is  fufficient 
to  whirl  round  the  hugefl  wheels,  though 
clogged  with  the  moll  incumbering  loads. 
They  make  the  ponderous  rnillflones  move 
as  fwiftly  as  the  dancer's  heel ;  and  the 
maffy  beams  play  as  nimbly  as  the  mufi- 
cian's  lingers. 

In  the  higher  regions  there  is  anendlefs 
fucceffion  of  clouds,  fed  by  evaporations 
from  the  ocean.  The  clouds  are  them- 
felves a  kind  of  ocean,  fufpended  in  the 
air.  They  travel  in  detached  parties,  over 
all  the  tcrrellrial  globe.  They  fructify,  by- 
proper  communications  of  moiflure,  the 
fpacious  panares  of  the  wealthy,  and 
gladden*  with  no  lefs  liberal  mowers  the 
cottager's  little  fpot. 

Nay, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


^21 


Nay,  they  fatisfy  the  defolate  and  wafte 
ground,  and  caufe  the  bud  of  the  tender 
herb  to  fpring  forth :  that  the  natives  of 
the  lonely  defert,  the  herds  which  know 
no  matter's  Mall,  may  neverthelefs  expe- 
rience the  care  of  an  ail-fupporting  parent, 

How  wonderful !  that  pendant  lakes 
fhould  be  diffufed,  fluid  mountains  heaped 
over  our  heads,  and  both  fullained  in  the 
thinned  part  of  the  atmofphere  !  How 
furpriiing  is  the  expedient  which  without 
veflels  of  (tone  or  brafs,  keeps  fuch  loads 
of  water  in  a  buoyant  itate  !  Job  consider- 
ed this  with  holy  admiration.  Do/}  thou 
knerjj  the  balancings  of  the  clouds  ?  How  fuch 
ponderous  bodies  are  made  to  hang  in  even 
poife,  and  hover  like  the  lighter!:  down  ? 
He  bindeth  up  the  'Waters  in  his  thick 
cloud :  and  the  cloud,  though  nothing  is 
more  loofe  and  fluid,  becomes  by  his  order 
tenacious,  as  cafes  of  iron,  is  not  rent  under 
all  the  weight. 

When  the  fluices  are  opened  and  the 
waters  defcend,  one  would  think  they 
fhould  pour  down  in  torrents.  Whereas 
inttead  of  this,  which  would  be  infinitely 
pernicious,  they  coalefce  into  globules, 
and  are  difpenfed  in  gentle  mowers.  They 
fpread  themfelves  as  if  {trained  through 
the  orifices  of  the  flneit  watering  pot,  and 
form  thofe  fmall  drops  of  rain  which  the 
clouds  diftil  upon  man  abundantly.  Thus 
inftead  cf  drowning  the  earth,  and  fweep- 
irtg  away  its  fruits,  they  cherifn  universal 
nature,  and  (like  their  great  Matter) 
distribute  their  (tores,  to  men,  animals, 
vegetables,  as  they  are  able  to  bear  them. 

"  But  befide  waters,  here  are  cantoned 
various  parties  of  winds,  mild  or  fierce, 
gentle  or  boifterous,  furniftied  with  breezy 
wings,  to  fan  the  glowing  firmament,  or 
die  fitted  to  act  as  an  univerfal  befom,  and 
by  fweeping  the  chambers  of  the  atmof- 
phere to  cleanfe  the  fine  aereal  fluid. 
Without  this  wholefome  agency  of  the 
winds,  the  air  would  Aagnate  and  become 
putrid :  fo  that  all  the  great  cities  in  the 
world,  inltead  of  beir.g  ieats  of  elegance, 
would  degenerate  into  finks  of  corruption. 

At  fea,  the  winds  fvvell  the  mariner's 
fails,  and  fpeed  his  courfe  along  the  watery 
way.  By  land  they  perform  the  office  of 
an  immenfe  feeds -man,  fcattering  abroad 
the  feeds  of  numberlefs  plants,  which, 
though  the  fupport  of  many  animals,  are 
too  fmall  for  the  management,  or  too  mean 
for  the  attention  of  man. 

Here  are  lightnings  Rationed,  in  act  to 
fpring    whenever   their  piercing  flafh  is 


neceflary,  either  to  defiroy  the  fulphureous 
vapours,  or  diflodge  any  other  noxious 
matter,  which  might  prejudice  the  delicate 
temperature  of  the  ether,  and  oblcure  its 
more  than  chryftalline  tranfparency. 

Above  all  is  fituate  a  radiant  and  ma- 
jeftic  orb,  which  enlightens  and  chears  the 
inhabitants  of  the  earth :  while  the  air, 
by  a  Angular  addrefs,  amplifies  its  ufeful- 
nefs.  Its  reflecting  power  augments  that 
heat,  which  is  the  life  of  nature :  its  re- 
fracting power  prolongs  that  fplendor, 
which  is  the  beauty  of  the  creation. 

I  fay,  augments  the  heat.  For  the  air 
is  a  cover  which,  without  oppreffing  us 
with  any  perceivable  weight,  confines,  re- 
flects, and  thereby  increafes  the  vivifying 
heat  of  the  fun.  The  air  increafes  this, 
much  in  the  fame  manner  as  our  cloaths 
give  additional  heat  to  our  body  :  whereas 
when  it  is  lefs  in  quantity,  when  it  is 
attenuated,  the  folar  heat  is  very  fenfibly 
diminiihed.  Travellers  on  the  lofty  moun- 
tains of  America,  fometimes  experience 
this  to  their  colt.  Though  the  clime  at 
the  foot  of  thofe  vaft  mountains,  is  ex- 
tremely hot  and  fultry,  yet  at  the  topt  ha 
cold  is  fo  excefiive,  as  often  to  freeze  both 
the  horfe  and  rider  to  death.  We  have 
therefore  .great  reafon  to  praife  God,  for 
placing  us  in  the  commodious  concavity, 
the  cherifhing  wings  of  an  atmofphere. 

The  emanations  of  light,  though  formed 
of  inactive  matter,  yet  (afionifhing  power 
of  divine  wifdom!)  are  refined  almolt  to 
the  fubtilty  of  fpirit,  and  are  fcarce  in- 
ferior even  to  thought  in  fpeed.  By  which 
means  they  fpread,  with  almoft  inltanta- 
neous  fwiftnefs,  through  an  whole  heroif- 
phere  :  and  though  they  fill  whatever  they 
pervade,  yet  they  ftraiten  no  place,  em- 
barrals  no  one,  encumber  nothing. 

Every  where  indeed,  and  in  every  ele- 
ment we  may  difcern  the  footfteps  of  the 
■Creator's  wifdom.  The  fpacious  canopy 
over  our  heads  is  painted  with  blue;  and 
the  ample  carpet  under  our  feet  is  tinged 
with  green.  Thefe  colours, .  by  their  Toft 
and  chearing  qualities,  yield  a  perpetual 
refrefhnient  to  the  eye.  Whereas  had  the 
face  of  nature  glittered  with  white,  or 
glowed  with  fcarlet,  fuch  dazzling  hues, 
inltead  of  chearing,  would  have  fatigued 
the  fight.  Befides,  as  the  feveral  brighter 
colours  are  interfperfed,  and  form  the 
pictures  in  this  magnificent  piece,  the  green 
and  the  blue  make  an  admirable  ground, 
which  (hews  them  all  to  the  mmoft  ad- 


vantage. 
Y 


Had 


322 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Had  the  air  been  much  grafter,  it  would 
have  dimmed   trie   rays    of   the    fun  and 
darkened  the  day.     Our  lungs  would  have 
been  clogged  in1  their  vital  function,  and 
men  drowned  or  fuffocated  therein;    Were 
it  much  more  Subtle,  birds  would  not  be 
able  to  wing  their  way  through  the  firma- 
ment :  neither  could  the  cloud:,  be  fufl 
in  fo  thin  an  atmofphere.     It  v 
likewife    the   organs    of    refpiration:     we 
ihould  gafp  for  breath  with  as  mud 
cult)  andaslittk    uccefs  as  fifties  do, 
out  of  their  native  element. 

§   4.     Refisdions  or.  the  Vegetable  creation. 

As  to  vegetation  itfelf,  we  are  feni  bl  : 
all  our  reafonings  about  the  wonderful 
operations  of  nature,  arc  fo  full  of  uncer- 
tainty, that  as  the  wife  man  truly  obferves, 
Hardly  do  ive  guefs  aright  at  the  things  that 
are  upon  earn:,  and  nvith  L  ■       ive  find 

the  things  that  ere  r,  fore  us.  'J  'his  is 
abundantly  verified  in  vegetable  nature. 
For  though  its  productions  arc  fo  obvious 
to  us,  yet  are  wc  ftrangely  in  the  dark 
concerning  them,  becauie  the  texti 
their  veffels  is  fo  fine  and  intricate,  that 
we  can  trace  but  few  of  them,  though 
afiiiled  with  the  bell:  microfcopi  .  But 
although  wc  can  never  hope  to  come  to 
the  bottom  and  firft  piinciy>le  of  thi  igs, 
yet  may  we  every  where  fee  plai  . 
tares  of  the  hand  of  a  Divine  Architect. 

All  vegetables  are  compbfed  of  water 
and  earth,  principles  which  ftrongly  attract 
each  other:  and  a  large  portion  of  air, 
which  ftrongly  attr.  s  when 
ftrongly  repels  when  in  an  elaftic  fta 
the  combination,  action,  and  re-action  of 
thofe  few  principles,  all  the  operatici  s  in 
vegetables  are  effected. 

The  particles  cf  air  diftend  each  duftile 
part,  and  invigorate  their  fap,  an 
with    the  other  mutually  ; 
ciples,  they  are  by  g..  1  ,!    In   it  and 
enabled  to  aflimilate  into  the  nour 
of  the  refpeftive  parts,     'i  hus  s  utrition  is 
gradually  advanced,   by    tl  .     I 

nearer  union  of  the! 

arrive  at  fuch  a  degree  ofc  ,  a:  t  1 

form  the  feveral  parts  of  1  . 

at  length,  by  the  flying  oh"  of  the  . 
vehicle,  they  are  compacted  into  Hard  fub- 
fiances. 

But  when  the  watery  particles  again 
foak  into  and  difunite  them,  then  is  the 
anion  of  the  parts  of  vegetables  dii'folved, 
End  they  are  prepared  by  putrefaction,  to 
appear  in  feme   new  form,  whereby  the 


nutritive  fund   of   nature    can    never   be 
exhaufted. 

All  thefe  principles  are  in  all  the  parts 

of  vegetables.      but  there   is   more  oil  in 

re   exalted   parts  of  them.     Thus 

feeds   abound  with   oil,  and  confequently 

with  fulphur  and  air.     And  indeed  as  they 

the  rudiments  of  future  vegetables, 

il   ..  '         the}'  fitouldbe  ftored  with 

would  both  preferve  them 

on,  and  alio  be  active  in 

-  germination  and  vegetation. 

as  oil  is  en  excellent  prefervative 

[  cold,  fo  it  abounds  in  the  fap  of  the 

more  north*  rn  trees.     And  it  is    this  by 

whicl    lie  i  ;er-greens  are  enabled  to  keep 

their  leaves  all  the  winter. 

i ,     ves  net  only  bring  nourishment  from 

the   lower  parts    within  the  attraction  of 

the   crowing    fruit,     (which    like    young 

is   furnifhed  with   proper  inftru- 

•■  fuck  it  thence)    but  alfo  carry  off 

the    redundant    watery   fluid,   while  they 

the  dew  and   rain,  which  contain 

much  fait  and  fulphur :  for   the  air  is  full 

1  and  iulphureous particles ;  and  the 

ioi  i  of  thefe,  aredoubtlefs 

rviceable  in  promoting  the  work  of 

ition.     Indeed  fo  fine  a  fluid  as  the 

air,  is   a  more  proper  medium,  wherein  to 

prepare   and    combine    the    more  exalted 

principles    of  vegetables,  than   the  grofs 

water}-  fluid  of  the  fap.     And  that  there  is 

plenty  of  thefe  particles  in   the  leaves  is 

evident,  from   the    fulphureoas  exudations 

often  feted  on  their  edges.     To  thefe  re- 

fined    aereal   particles,   not  only  the  moft 

us  tafte  of  Au:t3,  but  lil^e-ivife 

1  !  odours  of  flowers,  yea  aniL 

th  ir  beautiful  colours  are  probably  owing. 

in  order   to  fuppiy  tender  fhoots  with 

■ire  is   careful  to  furnifh, 

at  fin  a.  1      1'         s,  the  young  fhoots  of  all 

'-..-.:;  v leaves  throughout 

.    \  hich    as    fo   many 

..vers,  draw  plenty  cf  Jap 

ike  if;  ture  made,  in 

the    corn,  .  ind :    ..'  e  leafy 

fpirer,  '  ncuri  hment    to  each 

joint,'-  ;d  long  before  the  ftem 

safily  break, 
or  diy  ivr.,  io  as  to  prevent  their  growth, 
iiad  not  tnefe  fcabbards  been  provided, 
which  both  fupport  and  keep  them  in  a 
fiipple  and  ductile  date. 

The  growth  ol  a  young  bud  to  a  fhoot, 
confifts  in  the  gradual  dilatation  and  exten- 
fion  of  every  part,  till  it  is  itretched  cut 

to 


£OOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS, 


to  Its  full  length.  And  the  capillary  tubes 
ftill  retain  their  hollovvnefs,  notwkhftand- 
ing  their  being  extended,  as  we  fee  melted 
glafs  tubes  remain  hollow,  though  drawn 
out  to  the  (melt  thread. 

The  pith  of  trees  is  always  full  of 
mpifture  While  the  (hoot  is  growing,  by 
the  expanfion  of  which,  the  tender,  ductile 
i(hoot  is  diftended  in  every  part.  But 
when  each  year's  (hoot  is  fully  grown, 
then  the  pith  gradually  dries  up.  Mean 
time  nature  carefully  provides  for  the 
growth  of  the  fucceeding  year,  by  preferr- 
ing a  tender,  ductile  part  in  the  bud,  re- 
.  plete  with  fucculent  pith.  Great  care  is 
likewise  taken  to  keep  the  parts  between 
the  bark  and  wood  always  fupple  with 
flimy  moifture,  from  which  duclile  matter 
the  woody  fibres,  veficles,  and  buds  are 
formed. 

The  great  variety  of  different  fubftances 
in  the  fame  vegetable,  proves,  that  there 
are  peculiar  veffels  for  conveying  different 
fforts  of  nutriment.  In  many  vegetables 
fome  of  thofe  veflels  are  plainly  feen  full 
of  milky,  yellow,  or  red  nutriment. 

Where  a  fecretion  is  defigned  to  com- 
pote an  hard  fubflance,  viz.  the  kernel  or 
feed  of  hard-Hone  fruits,  it  does  not  im- 
mediately grow  from  the  done,  which 
would  be  the  fhorteft  way  to  convey 
nouriihment  to  it.  But  the  umbilical  veffel 
fetches  a  compafs  round  the  concave  of  the 
ftone,  and  then  enters  the  kernel  near  its 
cone.  By  this  artifice  the  veffel  being 
much  prolonged,  the  motion  of  the  fap  is 
thereby  retarded,  and  a  vifcid  nutriment 
conveyed  to  the  feed,  which  turns  to  an 
hard  fubflance. 

Let  us  trace  the  vegetation  of  a  tree, 
from  the  feed  to  its  fuil  maturity.  When 
the  feed  is  fovvn,  in  a  few  days  it  imbibes 
fo  much  moifture,  as  to  fvvell  with  very 
great  force,  by  which  it  is  enabled  both  to 
itrike  its  roots  down,  and  to  force  its  Item 
out  of  the  ground.  As  it  grows  up,  the 
firft,  fecond,  third,  and  fourth  order  of 
lateral  branches  fhoot  out,  each  lower  order 
being  longer  than  thofe  immediate1/  above 
them,  not  only  as  (hooting  firft,  but  becaufe 
inferted  nearer  the  root,  and  fo  drawing 
greater  plenty  of  fap.  So  that  a  tree  is  a 
complicated  engine,  which  has  as  many 
different  powers  as  it  has  branches.  And 
the  whole  of  each  yearly  growth  of  the 
tree,  is  proportioned  to  the  whole  of  the 
nouriihment  they  attract. 

But  leaves  alfo  are  fo  neceffary  to  pro- 
mote  its    growth,   that    nature  provides 


323 

fmall,  thin  expansions,  which  may  be  called 
primary  leaves,  to  draw  nouriihment  to  the 
buds  and  young  (hoots,  before  the  leaf  is 
expanded.  Thefe  bring  nutriment  to 
them  in  a  quantity  fufficient  for  their  fmall 
demand :  a  greater  quantity  of  which  is 
afterward  provided,  in  proportion  to  their 
need,  by  the  greater  expanfton  of  the 
leaves.  A  ftill  more  beautiful  apparatus 
we  find  in  the  curious  expanfions  of  bloftbms 
and  flowers,  which  both  protect  and  con- 
vey nouriihment  to  the  embryo,  fruit  and 
feeds.  But  as  foon  as  the  calix  is  formed 
into  a  fmall  fruit,  containing  a  minute, 
feminal  tree,  the  bloffom  falls  off,  leaving 
it  to  imbibe  nouriihment  for  itfelf,  which 
is  brought  within  the  reach  of  its  function, 
by  the  adjoining  leaves. 

Let  us  proceed  to  make  fome  additional 
reflections  upon  the.  vegetable  kingdom. 

All  plants  produce  feeds :  but  they  are 
entirely  unfit  for  propagation,  till  they  are 
impregnated:  This  is  performed  within 
the  flower,  by  the  dull  of  the  anthers  falling 
upon  the  moilt  ftigmata,  where  it  buries 
and  fends  forth  a  very  fubtle  matter,  which 
is  abforbed  by  the  ifyle,  and  conveyed 
down  to  the  feed.  As  foon  as  this  opera- 
tion is  over,  thofe  organs  wither  and  fall. 
But  one  flower  does  not  always  contain  all 
thefe :  often  the  male  organs  are  on  one, 
the  female  on  another.  And  that  nothing 
may  be  wanting,  the  whole  apparatus  of  the 
antherae  and  ftigmata  is  in  all  flowers  con- 
trived with  wonderful  wifdom.  In  molt,  the 
ftigmata  furround  the  piftil,  and  ate  of  the 
fame  height.  But  where  the  piftil  is  longer 
than  the  ftigmata,  the  flowers  recline,  that 
the  duft  may  fail  into  the  ftigmata,  and 
when  impregnated  rife  again,  that  the  feeds 
may  not  fall  out.  In  other  flowers  the 
piftil  is  (hotter,  and  there  the  flowers  pre- 
fer vc  an  erect  (itiiation.  Nay,  when  the 
flowering  feafon  comes  on,  they  become 
erect  though  they  were  drooping  before. 
Laftly,  when  the  male  (lowers  are  placed 
below  the  female,  the  leaves  are  very  fmall 
and  narrow,  that  they  may  not  hinder  the 
dull  from  flying  upwards  like  fmoke  :  and 
when  in  the  fame  ipeci.es  one  plant  is  male, 
and  tire  other  female,  there  the  duft  is 
carried  in  abundance  by  the  wind  from 
male  to  the  female.  We  .cannot  alio  with- 
out admiration  cbferve,  that  molt  flowers 
expand  themfelves  when  the  fun  fhines, 
and  clqfe  when  either  rain,  clouds,  or 
evening  is  coming  on,  left  the.  genital  dull* 
fhould  be  coagulated,  or  otherwife  render- 
ed ufelefs.     Yet  when  the  impregnation  is 

Y  z  '  over, 


324 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS   IN   PROSE. 


over,    they    do    not    clofe,   either    upon 
ihowers,  or  the  approach  of*  evening. 

For  the  {battering  of  feed,  nature  has 
provided  numberlcfs  ways.  Various  berries 
are  given  for  food  to  animals  :  but  while 
they  eat  the  pulp,  they  fow  the  feed'. 
Either  they  difperfe  them  at  the  fame  time : 
or  if  they  fwailow  them,  they  are  returned 
with  intereft.  The  miilletoe  always  grows 
on  the  other  trees ;  becaufe  the  thruih  that 
eats  the  feeds  of  them,  calls  them  forth 
wish  his  dung.  The  junipers  alfo,  which 
£11  our  woods,  are  fovvn  in  the  fame  man- 
ner. The  crofs-bill  that  lives  en  fir- 
cones, and  the  hawfinch  which  feeds  on 
pine-cones,  fow  many  of  thefe-  feeds, 
efpeciaiJy  when  they  carry  the  cone  to  a 
ftone  or  (lump,  to  ihip  off  its  fcales. 
Swine  likewiie  and  moles,  by  throwing  up 
the  earth,  prepare  it  for  the  reception  of 
feeds. 

The  great  Parent  of  all  decreed  that 
the  whole  earth  fhould  be  covered  with 
plants.  In  order  to  this  he  adapted  the 
nature  of  each  to  the  climate  where  it 
grows.  So  that  fome  can  bear  intenfe 
heat,  others  intenfe  cold.  Some  love  a 
moderate  warmth.  Many  delight  in  dry, 
others  in  moift  ground.  The  Alpine 
plants  love  mountains  whofe  tops  are 
covered  with  eternal  fnow.  And  they 
blow  and  ripen  their  feeds  very  carlv,  left 
the  winter  fhould  overtake  and  deilroy 
them.  Plants  which  will  grew  no  where 
elfe,  flourilh  in  Siberia,  and  near  Hudfcn's 
Bay.  Grafs  can  bear  almoii  any  tempe- 
rature of  the  air :  in  which  the  good  pro- 
vidence of  God  appears  :  this  bein;)-  fo 
neceffary  all  over  the  globe,  for  the 
nouriihment  of  cattle. 

Thus  neither  the  fcorching  fun  nor  the 
pinching  cold  hinders  any  country  from 
having  its  vegetables.  Nor  is  there  any 
foib  which  does  not  bring  forth  fome. 
Pond-weed  and  water-liiies  inhabit  the 
waters.  Some  plants  cover  the  botcom  of 
rivers  and  feas :  ethers  fill  the  marfhes. 
Some  clothe  the  plains :  others  grow  in 
the  drieft  woods,  that  fcarce  ever  fee  the 
fun.  Nay,  flones  and  the  trunks  of  trees 
are  not  void,  but  covered  with  liverwort. 

The  wifdom  of  the  Creator  appears  no 
where  more  than  in  the  manner  of  the 
growth  of  trees.  As  the  roots  defcend 
deeper  than  thofe  of  other  plants,  they  do 
not  rob  them  of  nourifhment.  And  as 
their  ftems  fhoot  up  fo  high,  they  are 
eufily  preferved  from  cattle.     The  leaves 


falling  in  autumn  guard  many  plants 
againit  the  rigour  of  winter:  and  in  the 
fummer  afford  both  them  and  us  a  defence 
againfl  the  heat  of  the  fun.  They  like- 
wife  imbibe  the  water  from  the  earth,  part 
of  which  tranfpiiing  through  their  leaves, 
is  infenlibly  difperfed,  and  helps  to  moillen 
the  plants  that  are  round  about.  Laflly, 
the  particular  flru&ure  of  trees  contributes 
very  much  to  the  propagation  of  infects.. 
Multitudes  of  thefe  lay  their  eggs  upon 
their  leaves,  where  they  find  both  food 
and  fafety. 

Many  plants  and  fhrubs  are  armed  with 
thorns,  to  keep  the  animals  from  deflroy- 
ing  their  fruits.  At  the  fame  time  thefe 
cover  many  other  plants,  under  their 
branches,  fo  that  while  the  adjacent 
grounds  are  robbed  of  all  plants,  fome 
may  be  preferved  to  continue  the  fpecies. 
The  moffies  which  adorn  the  moil  barren 
places,  preferve  the  fmaller  plants,  when 
they  begin  to  fhoot,  from  cold  and  drought* 
They  alfo  hinder  the  fermenting  earth 
from  forcing  the  roots  of  plants  upward 
in  the  fpring,  as  we  fee  happen  annually 
to  trunks  of  trees.  Hence  few  mofles 
grow  in  fouthern  climates,  not  being  ne- 
ceffary there  to  thefe  ends. 

Sea-matweed  will  bear  no  foil  but  pure 
fand.  Sand  is  often  blown  by  violent 
winds,  fo  as  to  deluge  as  it  were  meadows 
and  fields.  But  where  this  grows,  it  fixes 
the  fand,  and  gathers  it  into  hillocks. 
Thus  other  lands  are  formed,  the  ground 
increafed,  and  the  fea  repelled,  by  this 
wonderful  difpofition  of  nature. 

How  careful  is  nature  to  preferve  that 
uleful  plant  grafs  !  The  more  its  leaves  are 
eaten,  the  more  they  increafe.  for  the 
Author  of  nature  intended,  that  vegetables 
which  have  flender  ilalks  and  erecl  leaves 
fhould  be  copious  and  thick  fet,  and  thus 
afford  food  for  fo  vail  a  quantity  of  grazing 
animals.  But  what  increafes  our  wonder 
is,  that  although  grafs  is  the  principal 
feed  of  fuch  animals,  yet  they  touch  not 
the  flower  and  feed-beaiir.g  ilems,  that  fo 
the  feeds  may  ripen  and  be  fown. 

The  caterpillar  of  the  moth,  which 
feeds  upon  grafs  to  the  great  deftruclion 
thereof,  fecms  to  be  formed  in  order  to 
keep  a  due  proportion  between  this  and 
other  plants.  For  grafs  when  left  to  grow 
freely,  increafes  to  that  degree  as  to  ex- 
clude all  other  plants,  which  would  con- 
fequently  be  extirpated,  unlets  the  infect 
fometimes  prepared  a  place  for  them.  And 

hence 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


32S 


hence  it  is,  that  more  fpecies  of  plants  ap- 
pear, when  this  caterpillar  has  laid  waile 
the  paiture  the  preceding  year,  than  at  any- 
other  time. 

But  all  plants,  fooner  or  later,  mult  fub- 
mit  to  death.  They  fpring  up,  they  grow, 
they  flourifh,  they  bear  fruit,  and  having 
finilhed  their  courfe,  return  to  the  dull 
again.  Almolt  all  the  black  mould  which 
covers  the  earth,  is  owing  to  dead  vege- 
tables. Indeed,  after  the  leaves  and  Items 
are  gone,  the  roots  of  plants  remain  :  but 
thefe  too  at  laft  rot  and  change  into  mould. 
And  the  earth  thus  prepared,  reltores  to 
plants  what  it  has  received  from  them. 
For  when  feeds  are  committed  to  the  earth, 
they  draw  and  accommodate  to  their  own 
nature  the  more  fubtile  parts  of  this  mould: 
fo  that  the  tailed:  tree  is  in  reality  nothing 
but  mould  wonderfully  compounded  with 
air  and  water.  And  from  thefe  plants  when 
they  die,  juft  the  fame  kind  of  mould  is 
formed  as  gave  them  birth.  By  this  means 
fertility  remains  continually  uninterrupted : 
whereas  the  earth  could  not  make  good  its 
annual  confumption,  were  it  not  conitant- 
Iy  recruited. 

In  many  cafes  the  cruflaceous  liverworts 
are  the  firft  foundation  of  vegetation. 
Therefore  however  defpifed,  they  are  of 
the  utmoit  confequence,  in  the  ceconomy 
of  nature.  When  rocks  firft.  emerge  out 
of  the  fea,  they  are  fo  poliihed  by  the  force 
of  the  waves,  that  hardly  any  herb  is  able 
to  fix  its  habitation  upon  them.  But  the 
minute  cruftaceous  liverworts  foon  begin  to 
cover  thefe  dry  rocks,  though  they  have  no 
nourifhment  but  the  little  mould  and  im- 
perceptible particles,  which  the  rain  and 
air  bring  thither.  Thefe  liverworts  dying 
turn  into  fine  earth,  in  which  a  larger  kind 
of  liverworts  ftrike  their  roots.  Thefe  alfo 
die,  and  turn  to  mould  :  and  then  the  va- 
rious kinds  of  mofles  find  nourifhment. 
Laft'y,  thefe  dying  yield  fuch  plenty  of 
mould,  that  herbs  and  lhrubs  eafily  take 
root  and  live  upon  it. 

That  trees,  when  dry  or  cut  down,  may 
not  remain  ufelefs  to  the  world,  and  lie 
melancholy  fpeftacles,  nature  haflens  on 
their  deftru&ion,  in  a  fingular  manner. 
Firft  the  liverworts  begin  to  ftrike  root  in 
them ;  afterward  the  moifture  is  drawn  out 
of  them,  whence  putrefaftion  follows. 
Then  the  mufhroom-kind  find  a  fit  place 
to  grow  on,  and  corrupt  them  Mill  more. 
A  particular  fort  of  beetle  next  makes  him- 
felf  a  way  between  the  bark  and  the  wood. 


Then  a  fort  of  caterpillar,  and  feveral  other 
forts  of  beetles,  bore  numberlefs  holes 
through  the  trunk.  Laitly,  the  wood- 
peckers come,  and  while  they  are  feeking 
for  infects,  {hatter  the  tree,  already  cor- 
rupted, and  exceedingly  haften  its  return 
to  the  earth  from  whence  it  came.  But 
how  fhall  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  which  is 
emerfed  in  water  ever  return  to  earth  ?  A 
particular  kind  of  worm  performs  this  work, 
as  fea-faring  men  w.ll  know. 

But  why  is  fo  inconfiderable  a  plant  as 
thirties,  fo  armed  and  guarded  by  nature  ? 
Becaufe  it  is  one  of  the  molt  ufeful  plants 
that  grows.  Obferve  an  heap  of  clay,  011 
which  for  many  years  no  plant  has  fprung 
up  :  let  but  the  feeds  of  a  thiltle  fix  there, 
and  other  plants  will  quickly  come  thither, 
ana  foon  cover  the  ground  :  for  the  thirties 
by  their  leaves  attract  moifture  from  the 
air,  and  by  their  roots  fend  it  into  the 
clay,  and  by  that  means  not  only  thrive 
themfelves,  but  provide  a  fhelter  for  other 
plants. 

Indeed,  there  is  fuch  a  variety  of  wif- 
dom,  and  profuiion  of  goodnefs,  difplayed 
in  every  objedt  of  nature,  even  in  thofe 
that  feem  ufelefs  or  infignificant,  and  what 
is  more,  in  many  of  thofe  which  to  an  ig- 
norant and  fuperficial  obferver,  appear 
noxious,  that  it  is  paft  doubt  to  the  true 
philofopher,  nothing  has  been  made  in 
vain.  That  is  a  fine  as  well  as  pious  ob- 
fervation  of  Sir  John  Pringle,  founded  on 
the  experiments  of  Dr.  Prieftley,  that  no 
vegetable  grows  in  vain,  but  that  from 
the  oak  of  the  foreit  to  the  grafs  of  the 
field,  every  individual  plant  is  ferviceable 
to  mankind  ;  if  not  always  diftinguifhed  by 
fome  private  virtue,  yet  making  a  part  of 
the  whole,  which  cleanfes  and  purifies  our 
atmofphere.  In  this  the  fragrant  rofe  and 
deadly  nightfhade  co-operate  ;  nor  is  the 
herbage,  nor  the  woods  that  fiourifh  in  th» 
molt  remote  and  unpeopled  regions,  unpro- 
fitable to  us,  nor  we  to  them  ;  confidering 
how  conltantly  the  winds  convey  to  them 
our  vitiated  air,  for  our  relief,  and  their 
nourifnment.  And  if  ever  thefe  falutary 
gales  rife  to  Itorms  and  hurricanes,  let  us 
ltill  trace  and  revere  the  ways  of  a  benefi- 
cent being  ;  who  not  fortuitously  but  with 
defign,  not  in  wrath  but  in  mercy,  thus 
fhakes  the  waters  and  the  air  together,  to 
bury  in  the  deep  thofe  putrid  and  peftilen- 
tial  effluvia,  which  the  vegetables  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth  had  been  inefficient  to, 
confume. 

Y   2  §   5*  General 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


_§  5.  General  RefleSkns  and  Obfervations 
on  Beafts,  Birds,  Fijbes,  and  other  inj  erior 
parts  of  the  Works  of  God. 

No  part  of  nature  is  deftitute  of  inha- 
bitants. The  woods,  the  waters,  the  depths 
of  the  earth,  have  their  refpective  tenants; 
while  the  yielding  air.  and  thofe  tracts 
■where  man  can  never,  but  with  much  art 
and  danger,  aicend,  are  alfo  palled  through 
by  multitudes  of  the  moil  beautiful  beings 
of  the  creation. 

Every  order  of  animals  is  fitted  for  its 
Situation  in  life  ;  but  none  more  apparently 
than  birds.  Though  they  fall  below  beafts 
in  the  fcalc  of  nature,  yet  they  hold  the 
next  rank,  and  far  furpafs  fifties  and  in- 
fefts,  both  in  the  ftrutture  of  their  bodies, 
and  in  their  fagacity. 

The  body  of  man  prefents  the  greateft 
variety  :  beafts  lefs  perfectly  formed,  difco- 
ver  their  defects  in  the  fimplicity  of  their 
conformation:  the  mechanifm  of  birds  is 
yet  lefs'complex  :  fifties  are  furniflied  with 
fewer  organs  ftill ;  while  infects,  more  im- 
perfect than  all,  fill  up  the  chafm  between 
animal  and  vegetable  nature.  Of  man,  the 
moft  perfect  animal,  there  are  but  three  or 
four  Species;  the  kinds  of  beafts  are  more 
numerous;  birds  are  more  various  ftill  ; 
fifties  yet  more ;  but  infefts  afford  an  im- 
jnenfe  variety. 

As  to  the  number  of  animals,  the  fpecies 
of  beafts,  including  alfo  Serpents,  are  not 
very  numerous.  Such  as  are  certainly 
known  and  clearly  defcribed,  are  not  above 
an  hundred  and  fifty.  And  yet  probably 
not  many  that  are  of  any  considerable  big- 
nefs,  have  cfcaped  the  notice  of  the  cu- 
rious. 

The  fpecies  of  birds,  known  and  de- 
fcribed, are  near  five  hundred,  and  the 
fpecies  of  fifties,  fecluding  Shell-fib,  as 
many:  but  if  the  fhell-fifti  are  taken  in, 
above  fix  times  the  number.  Hew  many 
of  each  o-enus  remain  undifcovered,  we  can- 
not very  nearly  conjecture.  But  we  may 
fuppcfe,  the  whole  fum  of  beafts  and  birds 
to  exceed  by  a  third  part,  and  fifties  by  one 
half,  thofe  that  are  known. 

The  infects,  taking  in  the  exfanguious, 
both  terreftrial  and  aquatic,  may  for  num- 
ber vie  even  witli  plants  themfelves.  The 
exfanguious  ilonc,  by  what  Dr.  Lifter  has 
obferved  and  delineated,  we  may  conjec- 
ture cannot  be  lefs,  if  not  many  more,  than 
thit-c  thoufand  fpecies.  indeed  this  com- 
pulation feems  much  too  low  :  for  if  there 


are  a  thoufand  fpecies  in  this  ifland  and 
the  fea  near  it ;  and  if  the  fame  proportion 
held  between  the  infefts  natives  of  Eng- 
land, and  thofe  of  the  reft  of  the  world  J 
the  fpecies  of  infedfs  on  the  whole  globe* 
will  amount  to  ten  thoufand. 

Now  if  the  number  of  creatures  even  in 
this  lower  world,  he  fo  exceedingly  great; 
how  great,  how  immenfe  muft  be  the  power 
and  wifdom  of  him  that  formed  them  all ! 
For  as  it  argues  far  more  {kill  in  an  artificer, 
to  be  able  to  frame  both  clocks  and  watches, 
and  pumps,  and  many  other  forts  of  ma- 
chines, than  he  could  difplay  in  making 
but  one  of  thofe  forts  of  engines,:  fo  the 
Almighty  declares  more  of  his  wifdom,  in 
forming  fuch  a  multitude  of  different  forts 
cf  creatures,  and  all  with  admirable  and 
unreproveable  art,  than  if  he  had  created 
but  a  few. 

Again  :  The  Superiority  of  knowledge 
would  be  difplayed,  by  contriving  engines 
for  the  fame  purpofes  after  different  fa- 
fhions,  as  the  moving  clocks  or  other  en- 
gines by  Springs  inftead  of  weights  :  and 
the  infinitely  wife  Creator,  has  fhewn  by 
many  inftances,  that  he  is  not  confined  to. 
one  only  inftrument,  for  the  working  one 
effect,  but  can  perform  the  fame  thing  by 
divers  means.  So  though  moft  flying  crea- 
tures have  feathers,  yet  hath  he  enabled 
Several  to  fiy  without  them ;  as  the  bat, 
one  fort  of  lizard,  two  forts  of  fifties,  and 
numberlefs  forts  of  infefts.  In  like  man- 
ner, although  the  air  bladder  in  fifties  feems 
neceSTary  for  fwimming ;  yet  are  many  fo 
formed  as  to  Swim  without  it,  as  firft,  the 
cartilaginous  kind,  which  neverthelefs  af- 
cend  and  defcend  at  pleafure,  although  by 
what  means  we  cannot  cell :  Secondly,  the 
cetaceous  kind  :  the  air  which  they  receive 
into  their  lungs,  in  Some  meaSure  anfwer- 
ing  the  fame  end. 

Yet  again  :  Though  God  has  tempered 
the  blood  and  bodies  of  moft  fifties  to  their 
cold  element,  yet  to  fhevv  he  can  preferve 
a  creature  as  Lot  as  beafts  themfelves  in 
the  coldeft  water,  he  has  placed  a  variety 
of  thefe  cetaceous  fifties  in  the  northermoft 
Seas.  And  the  copious  fat  wherewith  their 
Louies  is  inclofed,  by  reflecting  the  inter- 
nal heat,  and  keeping  off  the  external  cold, 
keeps  them  warm  even  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  pole.  Another  proof  that  God 
can  by  different  means  produce  the  fame 
•  effect,  is  the  various  ways  of  extracting 
the  nutritious  juice  out  of  the  aliment  in 
various  creatures. 

In 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


327 


In  man  and  beads  the  food,  firft  chewed, 
Is  received  into  the  ltomach,  where  it  is 
concocted  and  reduced  into  chyle,  and  fo 
evacuated  into  the  inteftines,  where  being 
mixed  with  the  c holer  and  pancreace  juice, 
it  is  farther  fubtilized,  and  rendered  fo 
fluid,  that  its  finer  parts  eafily  enter  the 
mouth  of  the  lacteal  veins,  in  birds  there 
is  no  chewing  :  but  in  fuch  as  are  not  car- 
nivorous, it  is  immediately  fwallowed  into 
the  crop,  or  anti-ftomach  (which  is  ob- 
fervedin  many,  especially  pifcivorous  birds) 
where  it  is  moiftened  by  ibme  proper  juice, 
and  then  transferred  to  the  gizzard,  by  trie 
working  of  whole  mufcles,  affifted  by  fmall 
pebbles,  which  they  iwaliow  for  that  pur- 
pole,  it  is  ground  iro.aU,  and  fo  tranTmitted 
to  the  inteiiines. 

In  oviparous  reptiles,  and  all  kind  of 
ferpents,  there  is  neither  chewing  nor  ccm- 
minution  in  the  ftomach,  but  as  they  Aval- 
low  animals  whole,  fo  they  void  the  flans 
unbroken,  having  extracted  the  nutritious 
juices.  Here,  by  the  by,  we  may  obferve 
the  wonderful  delatibility  of  the  throats 
and  gullets  of  ferpents.  Two  entire  adult 
mice  have  been  taken  out  of  the  ltomach 
of  an  adder,  whole  neck  was  no  bip-jer 
than  one's  little  finger. 

Fifties,  which  neither  chew,  nor  grind 
their  meat,  do,  by  means  of  a  corroiive 
juice  in  their  ftomach,  reduce  fkin,  bones, 
and  all  into  chyle.  And  yet  this  juice 
fhews  no  acidity  to  the  tafte.  But  how 
miid  foever  it  tair.es,  it  corrodes  ali  animal 
fubitances,  as  aqua  fortis  does  iron. 

Several  eminent  men  have  been  cf  opi- 
nion, that  all  brutes  are  mere  machines. 
This  may  be  agreeable  enough  to  the  pride 
of  man ;  but  it  is  no:  agreeable  to  daily 
obfervation.  Do  we  not  continually  ob- 
ferve in  the  brutes  Which  are  round  about 
us,  a  degree  of  reafon  ?  Many  of  their  ac- 
tions cannot  be  accounted  for  without  it : 
as  that  commonly  noted  of  dogs,  that  run- 
ning before  their  mailers,  they  will  itop  at 
the  parting  or"  the  road,  till  they  fee  which 
way  their  matters  take.  And  when  they 
have  gotten  what  they  fear  will  be  taken 
from  tiiem,  they  run  away  and  hide  it. 
Nay,  what  account  can  be  given,  why  a 
dog  being  to  leap  on  a  table,  which  he  fees 
he  cannot  reach  at  once,  if  a  ftool  or  chair 
ftands  near  it,  firft  mounts  that,  and  thence 
proceeds  to  the  table  ?  If  he  were  mere 
clock-work,  and  his  motion  caufed  by  a 
material  fpring,  that  fpring  being  once 
£g:  to  \vork,  would  carry  the  machine  in 


a  right  line,  towards  the  object  that  put  it 
m  motion. 

Were  it  true,  that  brutes  were  mere 
machines,  they  could  have  no. perception  of 
plealure  or  pain,  but  how  contrary  is  this, 
to  the  doleful  Significations  they  give,  when 
beaten  or  tormented  ?  How  contrary  to 
the  common  fenfe  cf  mankind?  For  do  we 
not  all  naturally  pity  them,  apprehending 
them  to  feel  pain  juft  as  we  do  ?  Whereas 
no  man  is  troubled  to  fee  a  plant  lorn,  or 
cut,  or  mangled  how  you  pleafe.  And  how 
contrary  to  Scripture  •  A  righteous  man  re~ 
gardeth  the  Life  of  his  beef  :  bnt  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  wicked  are  cruel.  Prov.  12.  10. 
'i  he  former  clause  is  ufaally  rendered,  a 
good  man  is  merciful  to  his  beaft.  And 
this  is  tne  true  rendering,  as  appears  by 
the  oppofte  clauie.  that  the  wicked  is 
cruel.  Cruelty  then  may  be  exercifed  to- 
wards beafts.  But  this  could  not  be,  were 
they  mere  machines. 

The  natural  inftindfc  of  all  creatures,  and 
the  fpeciai  provifion  made  for  fome  of  the 
moll  helplefs,  do  in  a  particular  manner' 
demon  Urate  the  great  Creator's  care. 

Firft,  What  an  admirable  principle  is 
the  natural  affection  of  all  creatures  to- 
ward their  young  !  By  means  of  this,  with 
what  care  do  they  nurfe  them  up,  thinking 
no  pains  too  great  to  be  taken  for  them, 
no  danger  too  great  to  be  ventured  upon, 
for  their  guard  and  fecurity  !  How  will 
they  carefs  them  with  their  affectionate 
notes,  put  food  into  their  mouths,  fuckle 
them,  cheriih  and  keep  them  warm,  teach 
them  to  pick  and  eat,  and  gather  food  for 
themielves :  and  in  a  word,  perform  the 
whole  part  of  fo  many  nurfes,  deputed  by 
the  fovereign  Lord  of  the  world,  to  help 
fuch  young  and  fhiftlefs  creatures  till  they 
are  able  to  fhift  for  themielves. 

Other  animals,  infects  in  particular, 
whole  offspring  is  too  numerous  for  the 
parent's  provifion,  are  fo  generated  as  to 
need  none  of  their  care.  For  they  ar- 
rive immediately  at  their  perfect  ftate,  and 
fo  are  able  to  fhift  for  themfelves.  Yet 
thus  far  the  parental  inftinct  (equal  to  the 
moft  rational  fo  relight)  extends,  that  they 
do -not  drop  their  eggs  any  where,  but  in 
commodious '  places,  fuitable  to  their  fpe^ 
cies.  And  fome  include  in  their  nefts  fuf- 
ficient  and  agreeable  food,  to  ferve  their 
young  till  they  come  to  maturity. 

And  for  the  young  themielves  :  as  the 

parent  is  not  able  to  carry  them  about,  to 

clothe    them    and   dandle   them,   as    man 

Y  4  doth: 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


doth:  how  admirably  is  it  contrived,  that 
they  can  loon  walk  about,  and  begin  to 
fhift  for  themfelves  !  How  naturally  do 
they  hunt  for  their  teat,  fuck,  pick  and 
take  in  their  proper  food  ! 

On  the  other  hand,  the  young  of  man, 
(as  their  parent's  reafon  is  fufficient  to 
help,  to  nurfe,  feed  and  clothe  them)  are 
born  utterly  helplefs,  and  are  more  abfo- 
lutely  than  any  creature  call  upon  their 
•parent's  care. 

Secondly,  What  admirable  provifion  is 
made  for  fume  of  the  mod  helplefs  crea- 
tures, at  a  time  when  they  mull  otlvr- 
wife  utterly  periih !  The  winter  is  an 
improper  feafon  to  afford  food  for  infecls 
and  many  other  animals.  When  the  field;:, 
trees,  and  plants  are  naked,  and  the  air  is 
chilled  with  froft ;  what  would  become  of 
fuch  animals,  whofe  tender  bodies  are  im- 
patient of  cold,  and  who  are  nourifhed 
only  by  the  produce  of  the  fpring  or  fum- 
mer  ?  To  prevent  their  total  deilruftion, 
the  wife  Preferver  of  the  world  has  fo 
ordered,  that  in  the  firft  place,  thofe  who 
are  impatient  of  cold,  mould  have  fuch  a 
peculiar  ftructure  of  body,  as  during  that 
feafen,  not  to  fulfer  any  wafte,  nor  con- 
fequently  need  any  recruit.  Hence  many 
forts  of  birds,  and  almolt  all  infedls,  pafs 
the  whole  winter  without  any  food:  and 
moll  of  them  without  any  re  Jobation.  It 
feems  all  motion  of  the  animal  juices  is 
extinct..  For  though  cut  in  pieces  they 
do  not  awake,  nor  does  any  fluid  ooze  out 
at  the  wound.  This  ileep  therefore  is 
little  lefs  than  death,  and  their  waking, 
than  a  refurrection  :  when  the  returning 
fun  revives  them  and  their  food  together. 

The  next  provifion  is  for  fuch  creatures 
as  can  bear  the  cold,  but  would  want  food. 
This  is  provided  againfl:  in  fome,  by  a  long 
patience  of  hunger,  in  others  by  their 
wondcrful  inftincf,  in  laying  up  food 
before  hand,  againll  the  approaching  win- 
ter. By  fome  of  thefe,  their  little  treafu- 
ries  are  at  the  proper  feafon  well  ftocked 
with  provifions.  Yea,  whole  fields  are 
here  and  there  befpread  with  the  fruits  of 
the  neighbouring  trees  laid  carefully  up  in 
the  earth,  and  covered  fafe  by  provident 
little  animals. 

And  what  a  prodigious  acf  is  it  of  the 
Creator's  indulgence  to  the  poor,  fhiftlefs 
irrationals,  that  they  are  already  furnilhed 
with  fuch  cloathing,  as  is  proper  to  their 
place  and  buJinefs !  with  hair,  with  fea- 
thers, with  fliclls,  or  with  firm  armature, 


all  nicely  accommodated,  as  well  to  tks 
clement  wherein  they  live,  as  to  their  fe- 
veral  occasions  there  !  To  beails,  hair  is 
a  commodious  cloathing  ;  which  together 
with  the  apt  texture  cf  their  fkin,  fits  them 
in  all  weathers  to  lie  on  the  ground,  and 
to  do  their  fervice  to  man.  The  thick 
and  warm  fleeces  of  others,  are  a  good 
defence  againfl:  the  cold  and  wet,  and  alfo 
a  foft  bed  :  yea,  and  to  many,  a  comfor- 
table covering  for  their  tender  young. 

All  the  animals  near  Hudfon's  Bay  are 
cloathed  with  a  clofe,  foft,  warm  fur.  But 
what  is  Hill  more  furprifmg,  and  what 
draws  all  attentive  minds  to  admire  the 
wiidom  and  goodnefs  of  Providence  is,  that 
the  very  dogs  and  cats  which  are  brought 
thither  from  England,  on  the  approach  of 


quire 


change  their  appearance,  and  ac- 
much  longer,  fofter,  and  thicker 


coat  of  hair  than  they  originally  had. 

And  as  hair  is  a  commodious  drefs  for 
beafls,  fo  are  feathers  for  birds.  They  are 
not  only  a  good  guard  againfl:  wet  and 
cold,  but  nicely  placed  every  where  on  the 
body,  to  give  them  an  eafy  paflage  through 
the  air,  and  to  waft  them  through  that 
thin  medium.  How  curious  is  their  tex- 
ture for  lightnefs,  and  withal  clofe  and 
firm  for  ftrength  !  and  where  it  is  necef- 
fary  they  mould  be  filled,  what  a  light, 
medullary  fubftance  are  they  filled  with ! 
fo  that  even  the  flrongeft  parts,  far  from 
being  a  load  to  the  body,  rather  help  to 
make  it  light  and  buoyant.  And  how  cu- 
rioufly  are  the  vanes  of  the  feathers 
wrought  with  capillary  filaments,  neatly 
interwoven  together,  whereby  they  are 
fufhciently  clofe  and  thong,  both  to  guard 
the  body  againfl  the  injuries  of  the  wea- 
ther, and  to  impower  the  wings,  like  fo 
many  fails,  to  make  flrong  impulfes  on  the 
air  in  their  flight. 

No  lefs  curious  is  the  cloathing  of  rep- 
tiles. How  well  adapted  are  the  rings  of 
fome,  and  the  contortions  of  the  fkin  of 
others,  not  only  to  fence  the  body  fuf- 
ficiently,  but  to  enable  them  to  creep,  to 
perforate  the  earth,  and  to  perform  all  the 
offices  of  their  flate,  better  than  any  other 
covering  ! 

Obferve,  for  inflance,  the  tegument  of 
the  earth- worms,  made  in  the  compleateft 
manner,  for  making  their  paflage  through 
the  earth,  wherever  their  occafions  lead 
them.  Their  body  is  made  throughout  of 
fmall  rings,  which  have  a  curious  appa- 
ratus of  mufcles,  that  enable  them  with 

great 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


3*9 


£reat  ftrength  to  dilate,  extend,  or  con- 
trait  their  whole  body.  Each  ring  is 
likewife  armed  with  ftiif,  {harp  prickles, 
which  they  can  open  at  pleafure,  or  fhut 
clofe  to  their  body.  Laftly,  under  their 
fkin  there  is  a  flimy  juice,  which  they  emit 
as  occasion  requires,  to  lubricate  the  body, 
and  facilitate  their  palTage  into  the  earth. 
By  all  thefe  means  they  are  enabled,  with 
eafe  and  fpeed,  to  work  themielves  into 
the  earth,  which  they  could  not  do,  were 
they  covered  with  hair,  feathers,  fcales, 
or  fuch  cloathing  as  any  of  the  other 
creatures. 

How  wifely  likewife  are  the  inhabitants 
of  the  waters  cloathed  !  The  fnells  of 
fome  fifhes,  are  a  ftrong  guard  to  their 
tender  bodies,  and  confiftent  enough  with 
their  flow  motion :  while  the  fcales  and 
fins  of  others  afford  them  an  eafy  and 
Iwift  paffage  through  the  waters. 

Admirable  likewife  is  the  fagacity  of 
brute  animals,  in  the  conveniency  and 
method  of  their  habitations.  Their  ar- 
chiteclonic  fkill  herein  exceeds  all  the  fkill 
of  man.  With  what  inimitable  art  do 
fome  of  thefe  poor,  untaught  creatures, 
lay  a  parcel  of  rude  ugly  Hicks  or  ftraws 
together  !  With  what  curiofity  do  they 
line  them  within,  yea,  wind  and  place 
every  hair,  feather,  or  lock  of  wool,  to 
guard  and  keep  warm  the  tender  bodies, 
both  of  themfelves  and  their  young !  And 
with  what  art  do  they  thatch  over  and 
coat  their  nefts  without,  to  deceive  the 
eye  of  the  fpeclators,  as  well  as  to  guard 
and  fence  them  againft  the  injuries  of  the 
weather ! 

Even  infedts,  thofe  little,  weak,  tender 
creatures,  what  artiits  are  they  in  build- 
ing their  habitations  !  How  does  the  bee 
gather  its  comb  from  various  flowers,  the 
wafp  from  folid  timber  !  "With  what  ac-  ' 
curacy  do  other  infects  perforate  the 
earth,  wood,  yea  ftone  itfelf!  Farther 
yet,  with  what  care  and  neatnefs  do  moft 
of  them  line  their  houfes  within,  and  feal 
them  up  and  fence  them  without !  How 
artificially  do  others  fold  up  the  leaves  of 
trees ;  others  glue  light  bodies  together, 
and  make  floating  houfes,  to  tranfport 
themfelves  to  and  fro,  as  their  various  oc- 
cafions  require  ! 

Another  inftance  of  the  wifdom  of  him 
that  made  and  governs  the  world,  we 
have  in  the  balance  of  creatures.  The 
whole  furface  of  the  terraqueous  globe, 
can  afford  room  and  fupport,  to  no  more 


than  a  determinate  number  of  all  forts  of 
creatures.  And  if  they  fhould  increafe  to 
double  or  treble  the  number,  they  muffc 
ftarve  or  devour  one  another.  To  keep 
the  balance  even,  the  great  Author  of  na- 
ture hath  determined  the  life  of  all  crea- 
tures to  fuch  a  length,  and  their  increafe  to 
fuch  a  number,  proportioned  to  their  ufe 
in  the  world.  The  life  indeed  of  fome 
hurtful  creatures  is  long  ;  of  the  lion  in 
particular.  But  then  their  increafe  is  ex- 
ceeding fmall :  and  by  that  means  they  do 
not  overftock  the  world.  On  the  other 
hand,  where  the  increafe  is  great,  the 
lives  of  thofe  creatures  are  generally  fhort. 
And  befide  this,  they  are  of  great  ufe  to 
man,  either  for  food  or  on  other  occaflons. 
This  indeed  fhould  be  particularly  ob- 
ferved,  as  a  fignal  inftance  of  divine  pro- 
vidence, that  ufeful  creatures  are  produced 
in  great  plenty  :  others  in  fmaller  num- 
bers. The  prodigious  increafe  of  infecls, 
both  in  and  out  of  the  waters,  may  exen>- 
plify  the  former  obfervation.  For  innu- 
merable creatures  feed  upon  them,  and 
would  perifh  were  it  not  for  this  fupply. 
And  the  latter  is  confirmed  by  what  many 
have  remarked :  that  creatures  of  little 
ufe,  or  by  their  voraciouihefs,  pernicious, 
either  feldom  bring  forth,  or  have  but  one 
or  two  at  a  birth. 

How  remarkable  is  the  deflruclion  and 
reparation  of  the  whole  animal  creation  ! 
The  furface  of  the  earth  is  the  inexhaufu- 
ble  fource  whence  both  man  and  beaft  de- 
rive their  fubfiftence.  Whatever  lives, 
lives  on  what  vegetates,  and  vegetables, 
in  their  turn,  live  on  whatever  has  lived 
or  vegetated :  it  is  impofiible  for  any 
thing  to  live,  without  deftroying  fome- 
thing  elfe.  It  is  thus  only  that  animals 
can  iubfift  themielves,  and  propagate  their 
fpecies. 

God  in  creating  the  firft  individual  of 
each  fpecies,  animal  or  vegetable,  not  only 
gave  a  form  to  the  dull  of  the  earth,  but 
a  principle  of  life,  incloling  in  each  a 
greater  or  fmaller  quantity  of  organical 
particles,  indeftrudlible  and  common  to  all 
organized  beings.  Thefe  pafs  from  body 
to  body,  fupporting  the  life,  and  minifter- 
ing  to  the  nutrition  and  growth  of  each. 
And  when  any  body  is  reduced  to  alhes, 
thefe  organical  particles,  on  which  death 
hath  no  power,  fu'rvive  and  pafs  into 
other  beings,  bringing  with  them  nourish- 
ment and  life.  Thus  every  production, 
every  renovation,  every  increafe  by  gene- 
ration 


35° 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


ration  or  nutrition,  fuppofe  a  preceding 
deftruclion,  a  conversion  of  fubftance,  an 
accefllon  of  thefe  organical  particles,  which 
ever  fubfifting  in  an  equal  number,  render 
nature  always  equally  full  of  life. 

The  total  quantity  of  life  in  the  uni- 
verfe  is  therefore  perpetually  the  fame. 
And  whatever  death  feems  to  deftroy,  it 
deftroys  no  part  of  that  primitive  life, 
which  is  diffused  through  all  organized 
beings.  Ir.iread  of  injuring  nature,  it 
only  caufes  it  to  mine  with  the  greater 
luftre.  If  death  is  permitted  to  cut  down 
individuals,  it  is  only,  in  order  to  make 
Gf  the  univerfe,  by  the  reprodu&i 
beings,  a  theatre  ever  crouded,  a  fpec- 
tacle  ever  knew.  But  it  i:  never  per- 
mitted to  deftroy  the  moll  inconsiderable 
fpecies. 

That  beings  may  fucceed  each  other,  il- 
ls  necefiary  that    there  be   a  deftruclion 
among  them.     Yet  like  a  provident  mo- 
ther, nature  in  the  midft  of  her  in:. 
tible  abundance,  has  prevented  any 
by  the  few  fpecies  of  carnivorous  animals, 
and  the  few  individuals  of  each  i'pecics  ; 
multiplying  at  the  fame  time  both  th 
cies  and  individuals  of  thofe  that  feed  on 
herbage.     In  vegetables  lhe  feems   to  be 
profufe,  both  with  regard  to  the  number 
and  fertility  of  the  fpecies. 

In  the  fea  indeed  all  the  fpecies  are 
carnivorous.  But  though  they  are  perpe- 
tually preying  upon,  they  never  deftroy 
each  other,  becaufe  their  fruitfulnefs  is 
equal  to  their  depredation. 

Thus  thro'  fncceffive  ages  {lands 

Firm  fixt  thy  prowidenl  .'  ■ 

JPleas'd  with  the  wori-       -  own  hands 

Thou  doft  the  waftes  ot  time  repair. 

Let  us  add  a  few  more  reflections  or.  the 
world  in  general.  The  fame  wife  Being, 
who  was  jdeafed  to  make  man,  prepared 
for  him  alio  an  habitation  io  advantage- 
oufly  placed,  that  the  heavens  and  the  reft 
of  the  univerfe  might  ierve  it  both  as  an 
ornament  and  a  covering.  He  conftrudfed 
likewife  the  air  which  man  was  to  breathe, 
and  the  hre  which  was  to  fuftain  his  life. 
He  prepared  alfo  metals,  falts,  and  all 
terrreftrial  elements  to  renew  and  maintain 
throughout  ail  ages,  whatever  might  be  on 
any  account  neceflary  for  the  inhabitants 
of  the  earth. 

The  fame  Divine  Ruler  io  manifeft  in  all 
the  objects  that  compofe  the  univerfe.  It 
is  he  that  caufed  the  dry  land  to  appear, 
above  the  furface  of  the  ocean,  gauged  the 


capacity  of  that  amazing  refervoir,  and. 
proportioned  it  to  the  fluid  it  contains. 
He  collects  the  rifing  vapours,  and  caufes 
them  to  diftil  in  gentle  fhowers.  At  his 
command  i  darts  his  enlivening  rays, 

and  the  win  ter  the  noxious  effluvia, 

which  if  they  were  colledled  together  might 
deftroy  the  human  race. 

He  formed  thofe  hills  and  lofty  moun- 
tains which  receive  and  retain  the  water 
within  their  bowels;  in  order  to  diftribute 
cecononiy  to  the  inhabitants  of  the 
id  to  give  it  fuch  an  impulfe,  as 
le  it  to  overcome  the  uneven- 
■   id  convey  it  to  the  re- 
moteft  habii ations. 

He  fp  i:ssbeds  of  clay, 

to  flop  the  v 
which,  after  a  great  rain,  make  their  way 
through  innumerable  '  .  ages.  Thefe 

fheets  of  water  fr<  :  itly  remain  in  a  level 
with  t  -  rivers,  and  fill  our 

wells  wit)     ;  mcy,  or  as  thofe 

fubfid      !  n  again. 

ariety  of  plants  in 
each  c;  the  exigencies  of  the' in- 

itants,  ;        adapted  the  variety  of  the 
foils,  to  the  nature  of  thofe  plai    i. 

He  endued  numerous  animals  with  mild 
difpofltions,  to  make  them  the  domeftics 
of  man;  and  taught  the  other  animals  to 
govern  themfelves,    with  ion    to 

lence,  in  order  to  continue  .  icir 
fpecies  without  loading  mart  wi  !  many 
< 

Ii  we   more  nearly  furvey   t  I 

and  v  '  '  .   ■         iud  ail  animals 

a  i       ;nd  detei  min  :d 

form,  which  i  ■    i  . .  ths   fa  ne.     So 

.  it  cannot 
its   ki      ,  .      ;  i        duce  a  new 
fpecie.  Great  indeed 

is  the  variety  of  organized  bodies.  But 
their  number  is  limited.  Nor  is  it  poflible 
to  add  a  new  genus  either  of  plants  or 
animals,    to    thofe    of    which    God    has 

created  the  germina,  and  determined  the 

c 
form. 

The  fame  Almighty  power  has  created 
a  precife  number  of  Ample  elements,  eflen- 
tially  different  from  each  other,  and  inva- 
riably the  fame.  By  thefe  he  varies  the 
fcene  of  the  univerfe,  and  at  the  fame  time 
prevents  its  deftru&ion,  by  the  very  im- 
mutability of  the  nature  and  number  of 
thefe  elements,  fo  that  the  world  is  for  ever 
changed,  and  yet  eternally  the  fame. 

Yet  if  we  would  account  for  the  origin 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


531 


«f  thefe  elements,  we  are  involved  in  end- 
lefs  uncertainty.  We  can  only  fay,  he 
who  has  appointed  their  different  ufes  in 
all  ages,  has  rendered  thofe  ufes  infallible, 
by  the  impoffibiiity  of  either  deftroying  or 
increafmg  them. 

Herein  we  read  the  characters  cf  his 
power,  which  is  invariably  obeyed  ;  of  his 
wifdom,  which  has  abundantly  provided 
for  every  thing  ;  and  of  his  tender  kind- 
nefs  toward  man,  for  whom  he  has  pro- 
vided fervices  equally  various  and  infal- 
lible. It  is  an  additional  proof  of  his  con- 
tinual care  of  his  creatures,  that  though 
every  thing  be  compofed  of  fimple  ele- 
ments, all  placed  within  our  reach,  yet  no 
power  is  able  to  deftroy  the  leaft  particle 
of  them.  Nothing  but  the  fame  caufe 
which  was  able  to  give  them  birth,  can 
annihilate  them,  or  change  their  nature. 
In  truth,  the  defign  and  will  of  the  Crea- 
tor, is  the  only  phyiical  caufe  of  the  ge- 
neral ceconomy  of  the  world  :  the  only 
phyiical  caufe  of  every  organized  body, 
every  germen  that  flourilhes  in  it ;  the 
only  phyiical  caufe  of  every  minute  ele- 
mentary particle,  which  enters  into  the 
compofition  of  all. 

We  muft  not  then  expect  ever  to  have  a 
clear  and  full  conception  of  effects,  na- 
tures, and  caufes.  For  where  is  the  thing 
which  we  can  fully  conceive  ?  We  can  no 
more  comprehend  either  what  body  in 
general  is,  or  any  particular  body,  fup- 
pofe  a  mafs  of  clay,  or  a  ball  of  lead,  fkan 
what  a  fpirit,  or  what«God  is. 

If  we  turn  our  eyes  to  the  minutefl  parts 
of  animal  life,  we  mall  be  loft  in  aftonifh- 
ment  !  And  though  every  thing  is  alike 
eafy  to  the  Almighty,  yet  to  us  it  is  matter 
of  the  higheft  wonder,  that  in  thole  fpecks 
of  life,  we  find  a  greater  number  of  mem- 
be:  s  to  be  put  in  motion,  more  wheels  and 
pullies  to  be  kept  going,  and  a  greater  va- 
riety of  machinery,  more  elegance  and 
workmanfhip  (lb  to  fpeak)  in  the  compo- 
fition, more  beauty  and  ornament  in  the 
Unifhing,  than  are  feen  in  the  enormous 
bulk  of  the  crocodile,  the  elephant,  or  the 
whale.  Yea,  they  feem  to  be  the  effects 
of  an  art,  as  much  more  exquifite,  as  the 
movements  of  a  watch  are,  than  thofe  of  a 
coach  or  a  waggon. 

Hence  we  learn,  that  an  atom  to  God  is 
as  a  world,  and  a  world  but  as  an  atom  ; 
J  aft  as  to  him,  one  day  is  as  a  thou j  and  years, 
and  a  thoufandyears  but  as  one  day.  Every  fpe- 
pies  likewife  of  thefe  aniraalcuke.  may  fe*ve 


to  correct  our  pride,  and  Ihew  how  inade- 
quate our  notions  are,  to  the  real  nature 
of  things.  How  extremely  little  can  we 
poffibly  know,  either  of  the  largeft  or 
frnalleft  part  of  the  creation  ?  We  are  fur- 
nifhed  with  organs  capable  of  difcerning, 
to  a  certain  degree  of  great  or  little  only. 
All  beyond  is  as  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
our  conceptions,  as  if  it  had  never  exifted. 

Proofs  cf  a  wife,  a  good,  and  powerful 
Being  are  indeed  deducible  from  every 
thing  around  us  :  but  the  extremely  great 
and  the  extremely  fmall,  feem  to  furnifh. 
us  with  thofe  that  are  moll  convincing. 
And  perhaps,  if  duly  confidered,  the  fabric 
of  a  world,  and  the  fabric  of  a  mite,  may 
be  found  equally  linking  and  conclufive. 

Glailes  difcover  to  us  numberlefs  kinds 
of  living  creatures,  quite  indifcernible  to 
the  naked  eye.  And  how  many  thoufand 
kinds  may  there  be,  gradually  decreafing 
in  fize,  which  we  cannot  fee  by  any  help 
whatever  ?  Yet  to  ail  thefe  we  muft  believe 
God  has  not  only  appointed  the  moft  wife 
means  for  prefervation  and  propagation, 
but  has  adorned  them  with  beauty  equal, 
at  leaft,  to  any  thing  our  eyes  have  feen. 

In  fhort,  the  world  around  us  is  the 
mighty  volume  wherein  God  has  declared 
himfelf.  Human  languages  and  characters 
are  different  in  different  nations.  And 
thofe  of  one  nation  are  not  underilood  by 
the  reft.  But  the  book  of  nature  is  written 
in  an  univerfal  character,  which  every  man 
may  read  in  his  own  language.  It  con- 
fills  not  of  words,  but  things,  which  pic- 
ture out  the  divine  perfections.  The  fir- 
mament every  where  expanded,  with  all 
its  ftarry  hoft,  declares  the  immeniity  and 
magnificence,  the  power  and  wifdom  of  its 
Creator.  Thunder,  lightning,  florins, 
earthquakes  and  volcanoes,  mew  the  terror 
of  his  wrath.  Seafonabie  rains,  fun-Ihine 
and  harveft,  denote  his  bounty  and  good- 
nefs,  and  demonftrate  how  he  opens  his  hand, 
and  fills  all  living  things  with  plenteoiifnefe. 
The  conilantly  fucceeding  generations  of 
plants  and  animals,  imply  the  eternity  of 
their  firft  caufe.  Life,  fubfifting  in  mil- 
lions of  different  forms,  fhews  the  vaft 
diifufion  of  his  animating  power,  and 
death  the  infinite  difproportion  between, 
him  and  every  living  thing. 

Even  the  actions  of  animals  are  an  elo- 
quent and  a  pathetic  language.  Thofe 
that  want  the  help  of  man  have  a  thoufand 
engaging  ways,  which  like  the  voice  of 
God  fpeaking  to  his  heart,  command  him 

to 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


to  preferve  and  cherifh  them.  In  the 
mean  time  the  motions  or  looks  of  thofe 
which  might  do  him  harm,  ftrike  him  with 
terror,  and  warn  him,  either  to  fly  from  or 
arm  himfelf  againfb  them.  Thus  it  is, 
jdtat  every  part  of  nature  dire&s  us  to 
nature's  God. 

The  reader  will  eafily  excufe  our  con- 
cluding this  chapter  alio,  with  an  extract 
from  Mr.  Hervey. 

In  all  the  animal  world,  we  find  no  tribe, 
no  individual  neglected  by  its  Creator. 
Even  the  ignoble  creatures  are  molt  wifely 
circumitanced  and  moil  liberally  accom- 
modated. 

They  all  generate  in  that  particular 
feafon,  which  fupplies  them  with  a  {lock  of 
provifions,  fufHcient  not  only  for  them- 
felves, but  for  their  increafing  families. 
The  iheep  yean,  when  there  is  herbage  to 
fill  their  udders,  and  create  milk  for  their 
Iambs.  The  birds  hatch  their  young,  when 
new-born  infefts  fwarm  on  every  fide.  So 
that  the  caterer,  whether  it  be  the  male  or 
the  female  parent,  needs  only  to  alight  on 
the  ground,  or  make  a  little  excurfion  into 
the  air,  and  find  a  feafl  ready  dreffed  for 
the  mouths  at  home. 

Their  love  to  their  offspring,  while  they 
are  helplefs,  is  invincibly  flrong  :  whereas 
the  moment  they  are  able  to  fhiftfor  them- 
felves  it  vanifhes  as  though  it  had  never 
been.  The  hen  that  marches  at  the  head 
of  her  little  brood,  would  fly  at  a  maflirF 
in  their  defence.  Yet  within  a  few  weeks, 
fhe  leaves  them  to  the  wide  world,  and 
does  not  even  know  them  any  more. 

If  the  God  of  Ifrael  infpired  Bezaleel 
and  Aholiah  with  wifdom  and  knowledge 
in  all  manner  of  workmanfhip,  the  God 
of  nature  has  not  been  wanting,  in  his  in- 
structions to  the  fowls  of  the  air.  The 
ikill  with  which  they  erect  their  houfes, 
and  adjufl  their  apartments  is  inimitable. 
The  caution  with  which  they  hide  their 
abodes  from  the  fearching  eye,  or  in- 
truding hand,  is  admirable.  No  general, 
though  fruitful  in  expedients,  could  build 
fo  commodious  a  lodgement.  Give  the 
moft  celebrated  artificer  the  fame  materials, 
which  thefe  weak  and  unexperienced 
creatures  ufe.  Let  a  Jones  or  a  Demoivre 
have  only  fome  rude  ilones  or  ugly  flicks, 
a  fzw  bits  of  dirt  orfcraps  of  hair,  a  lock 
of  wool,  or  a  coarfe  fprig  of  mofs :  and 
what  works  could  they  produce  ?  We  extol 
the  commander,  who  knows  how  to  take 
advantage   of  the  ground;  who  by  every 


circumflance  embarrafies  the  forces  of  hts- 
enemy,  and  advances  the  fuccefs  of  his 
own.  Does  not  this  praife  belong  to  the 
feathered  leaders  ?  Who  fix  their  penfile 
camp,  on  the  dangerous  branches  that 
wave  aloft  in  the  air,  or  dance  over  the 
ftream  ?  By  this  means  the  vernal  gales 
rock  their  cradle,  and  the  murmuring 
waters  lull  the  young,  while  both  concur 
to  terrify  their  enemies,  and  keep  them  at 
a  diftance.  Some  hide  their  little  houfhold 
from  view,  amidft  the  fhelter  of  intangled 
furze.  Others  remove  it  from  difcovery, 
in  the  centre  of  a  thorny  thicket.  And 
by  one  ftratagem  or  another  they  are 
generally  as  fecure,  as  if  they  intrenched 
themfelves  in  the  earth. 

If  the  fwan  has  large  fweeping  wings, 
and  a  copious  flock  of  feathers,  to  fpread 
over  his  callow  young,  the  wren  makes 
up  by  contrivance  what  is  wanting  in  her 
bulk.  Small  as  fhe  is,  lhe  will  be  obliged 
to  nurfe  up  a  very  numerous  ifl'ue.  There- 
fore with  furprifing  judgment  fhe  defigns, 
and  with  wonderful  diligence  finifhes 
her  nefl.  It  is  a  neat  oval,  bottomed  and 
vaulted  over  with  a  regular  concave: 
within  made  foft  with  down,  wit!. out 
thatched  with  mofs,  only  a  fmall  aperture 
left  for  her  entrance.  By  this  means  the 
enlivening  heat  of  her  body  is  greatly 
encreafed  during  the  time  of  incubation. 
And  her  young  no  fooner  burft  the  fhell, 
tha-i  they  find  themfelves  fcreened  from 
the  annoyance  of  the  weather,  and  com- 
fortably repofed,  tiilothey  gather  ftrength 
in  the  warmth  of  a  bagnio. 

Perhaps  we  have  been  accuflomed  to 
look  upon  infects,  as  fo  many  rude  fcraps 
of  creation,  but  if  we  examine  them  with 
attention,  they  will  appear  fome  of  the 
moft  poliihed  pieces  of  divine  workman- 
ihip.  Many  of  them  are  decked  with  the 
richer!,  finery.  Their  eyes  are  an  affem- 
blage  of  microicopes  :  the  common  fly, 
for  inftance,  who,  furrounded  with  enemies, 
has  neither  ftrength  to  refill,  nor  a  place 
of  retreat  to  fecure  herfelf.  For  this  rea- 
fon  ftie  has  need  to  be  very  vigilant,  and 
always  upon  her  guard.  But  her  head  is 
fo  fixed  that  it  cannot  tifrn  to  fee  what 
pafles,  either  behind  or  around  her.  Pro- 
vidence therefore  has  given  her,  not  barely 
a  retinue,  but  more  than  a  legion  of  eyes : 
infomuch  that  a  fingle  fly  is  fuppofed  to  be 
miftrefs  of  no  lefs  than  eight  thoufand. 
By  the  help  of  this  truly  amazing  appa- 
ratus, flie    fees  on    every  fide,   with  the 

utmoft 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


tttmoft  eafe  and  fpeed,  though  without  any 
motion  of  the  eye,  or  flexion  of  the  neck. 

The  drefs  of  infects  is  a  vefture  of  re- 
fplendent  colours  fet  with  an  arrangement 
of  the  brighter!:  gems.  Their  wings  are 
the  fineft  expanfion  imaginable,  compared 
to  which  lawn  is  as  coarfe  as  fackcloth. 
The  cafes,  which  enclofe  their  wings, 
glitter  with  the  fined  varniih,  are  fcooped 
into  ornamental  fiutings,  are  ftudded  with 
radiant  fpots,  or  pinked  with  elegant  holes. 
Not  one  but  is  endued  with  weapons  to 
feize  their  prey,  and  dexterity  to  efcape 
their  foe,  to  difpatch  the  buiinefs  of  their 
llation,  and  enjoy  the  pleafure  of  their 
condition. 

What  if  the  elephant  is  dillinguifhed 
by  his  huge  probofcis  ?  The  ufe  of  this  is 
anfwered  in  thefe  his  meaneit  relations,  by 
their  curious  feelers,  remarkable,  if  not 
for  their  enormous  fize,  yet  for  their  ready 
flexion  and  quick  fenfibility.  By  thefe 
they  explore  their  way  in  the  darkeft 
road :  by  thefe  they  difcover  and  avoid, 
whatever  might  defile  their  neat  apparel, 
or  endanger  their  tender  lives. 

Every  one  admires  the  majeffic  horfe. 
With  how  rapid  career  does  he  bound 
along  the  plain  !  Yet  the  grafs-hopper 
fprings  forward  with  a  bound  abundantly 
more  impetuous.  The  ant  too,  in  pro- 
portion to  his  fize,  excels  him  both  in 
fwiftnefs  and  ftrength :  and  will  climb 
precipices,  which  the  molt  courageous 
courfer  dares  not  attempt  to  fcale.  If  the 
fnail  moves  more  flowly,  fhe  has  however 
no  need  to  go  the  fame  way  twice  over  : 
becaufe  whenever  fhe  departs,  wherever 
fhe  removes,  fhe  is  always  at  home. 

The  eagle,  it  is  true,  is  privileged  with 
pinions  that  out-ftrip  the  wind.  Yet  neither 
is  that  poor  outcalr,  the  groveling  mole, 
diregarded  by  Divine  Providence.  Becaufe 
fhe  is  to  dig  her  cell  in  the  earth,  her  paws 
ferve  for  a  pick-axe  and  fpade.  Her  eye 
is  funk  deep  into  its  focket,  that  it  may 
not  be  hurt  by  her  rugged  fituation.  -  And 
as  it  needs  very  little  light,  fhe  has  no 
reafon  to  complain  of  her  dark  abode.  So 
that  her  fubterranean  habitation,-  which 
fome  might  call  a  dungeon,  yields  her  all 
the  fafety  of  a  fortified  caftle,  and  all  the 
delights  of  a  decorated  grot. 

Even  the  fpider,  though  abhorred  by 
man,  is  the  care  of  all-fuftaining  heaven. 
She  is  to  fupport  herfelf  by  trepanning 
the  wandering  fly.  Suitably  to  her  ern- 
ploy,  fhe  has  bags  of  glutinous  moiMure. 


From  this  fhe  fpins  a  clammy  thread,  and 
weaves  it  into  a  tenacious  net.  This  fhe 
fpreads  in  the  mo  ft  opportune  place.  But 
knowing  her  appearance  would  deter  him 
from  approaching,  fhe  then  retires  out  of 
fight.  Yet  fhe  conftantly  keeps  within 
diflance ;  (o  as  to  receive  immediate  in- 
telligence when  any  thing  falls  into  her 
toils,  ready  to  fpring  out  in  the  very  in- 
ftant.  And  it  is  obfervable,  when  winter 
chills  the  air,  and  no  more  infects  rove 
through  it,  knowing  her  labour  would  be 
in  vain,  fhe  leaves  her  Hand,  and  difcon- 
tinues  her  work. 

I  muff,  not  forget  the  inhabitants  of  the 
hive.  The  bees  fubfift  as  a  regular  com- 
munity. And  their  indulgent  Creator  has 
given  them  all  implements  neceffary  either 
for  building  their  combs,  or  compofing; 
their  honey.  They  have  each  a  portable 
veffel,  in  which  they  bring  home  their 
collected  fvveets  :  and  they  have  the  mofi 
commodious  ftore-houfes,  wherein  they  de-' 
pofit  them.  They  readily  dillinguifh  every 
plant,  which  affords  materials  for  their 
bufinefs :  and  are  complete  practitioners 
in  the  arts  of  feparation  and  refinement. 
They  are  aware  that  the  vernal  bloom  and 
fummer  fun  continue  but  for  a  feafon. 
Therefore  they  improve  to  the  utmoft 
every  mining  hour,  and  lay  up  a  ilock 
fufficient  to  fupply  the  whole  Hate,  till  their 
flowery  harveft  returns. 

If  the  mailer  of  this  lower  creation  is 
ennobled  with  the  powers  of  reafon,  the 
meaneft  claffes  of  fenfitive  beings,  are 
endued  with  the  faculty  of  inftinct:  a  fa- 
gacity  which  is  neither  derived  from  ob- 
iervation,  nor  waits  the  finiihing  of  expe- 
rience :  which  without  a  tutor  teaches 
them  all  neceffary  ikill,  and  enables  them, 
without  a  pattern  to  perform  every  need- 
ful operation.  And  what  is  more  re- 
markable, it  never  mifleads  them,  either 
into  erroneous  principles,  or  pernicious 
practices  :  nor  ever  foils  them  in  the  mofi 
nice  and  difficult  of  their  undertakings. 

Let  us  ftep  into  another  element,  and 
juft  vifit  the  watery  world.  There  is  not 
one  among  the  innumerable  myriads,  that 
fwim  the  boundlefs  ocean,  but  is  watched 
over  by  the  fovereign  eye,  and  fupported 
by  his  Almighty  hand.  He  has  condei- 
cended  even  to  beautify  them.  He  has 
given  the  molt  exact:  proportion  to  their 
lhape,  the  gayeft  colours  to  their  fkin,  and 
a  poliihed  furface  to  their  fcales,  The 
eyes  of  fome  are  furrounded  with  a  fcarlet 

circle : 


334 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


circle :  the  back  of  others  diversified  with 
crimfon  flams.  View  them  when  they 
glance  along  the  ftream,  or  when  they  are 
frelh  from  their  native  brine,  the  iilver  is 
not  more  bright,  nor  the  rainbow  more 
glowing  than  their  vivid,  gloffy  hues. 

But  as  they  have  neither  hands  nor  feet, 
how  can  they  help  themfelves,  or  efcape 
their  enemies  ?  By  the  beneficial,  as  well 
as  ornamental  furniture  of  fins.  Thefe 
when  expanded,  like  mails  above,  and 
ballafts  below,  poife  their  floating  bodies., 
and  keep  them  lteadily  upright.  They 
arelikewife  greatly  afliited  by  the  flexibi- 
lity and  vigorous  a&ivity  of  their  tails : 
with  which  they  (hoot  through  the  paths 
of  the  fea, fwifter  than  a  veflel  with  all  its 
fails.  But  we  are  loll  in  wonder  at  the  ex- 
quifite  contrivance  and  delicate  formation 
of  their  gills :  by  which  they  are  accom- 
modated, even  in  that  denfe  medium,  with 
the  benefits  of  reipiration  !  A  piece  of 
mechanifm  this,  indulged  to  the  meant  ft  of 
the  fry  :  yet  infinitely  furpaffing,  in  the 
finenefs  ef  its  ftrudture  and  op',  i 
whatever  is  curious  in  the  works  of  art,  or 
commodious  in  the  palaces  of  princes. 

^   6.     Olfer-vatioas  on  the  difference  between 
things  natural  and  artificial. 

If  we  examine  the  fined:  needle  t 
tnicrofcope,  the  point  of  it  appears  about 
a  quarter  of  an  inch  broad,  and  its  figure 
neither  round  nor  flat,  but  irregula 
unequal.    And  the  furf ice,  however  fi 
and  bright  it  may  feem  to  the  naked  eye, 
is  then  feen  full  of  raggednef?,  holes.,  and 
fcratches,  like  an  iron  bar  from  the  forge. 
But  examine  in  the  fame  manner  the  fling 
of  a  bee,  and  it  appears  to  have  in  every 
part  a  poiiih  molt   amazingly    beai 
without  the    lead  flaw,   or  inequality,  and 
ends  in  a  point  too  fine  to    be  dike  me  1 
by    any  glafis    whatever:  and  yet    this   is 
only  the  outward  iheath  of  far   more  ex- 
quiiite  initruments. 

A  fmall  piece  of  the  fineft  lawn,  from 
the  diflance  and  holes  between  its  threads, 
appears  like  a  lattice  or  hurdle.  And 
the  threads  themfelves  feem  coarfer  than 
the  yarn  wherewith  ropes  are  made  for 
anchors.  Fine  Bruflels  lace  will  look  as 
if  it  were  made  of  a  thick,  rough,  uneven 
hair-line,  intwifted  or  clotted  together  in  a 
very  aukvvard  and  unartful  manner.  But 
a  filkworm's  web  on  the  niceft  examination 
appears  perfectly  fmooth  and  fhining,  and 
as  much  finer  than,  any  fpinfler  in  the  world 


can  make,  as  the  fmallefl.  twine  is  than  th* 
thicker!  cable.  A  pod  of  this  fllk  winds 
into  nine  hundred  and  thirty  yards.  And 
as  it  is  two  threads  twifted  together  all  the 
length,  fo  it  really  contains  one  thoufand 
eight  hundred  and  fixty ;  and  yet  weighs  but 
two  grains  and  an  half.  What  an  exquifite 
finenefs !  and  yet  this  is  nothing  to  the  filk 
that  blued  from  the  worm's  mouth  when 
newly  hatched. 

The  fmallefl:  dot  which  can  be  made 
with  a  pen,  appears  through  a  glafs,  a  vafl 
irregular  fpot,  rough,  jagged,  and  uneven 
about  all  its  edges.  The  fineft  writing 
(iuch  as  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  the  compais 
of  a  filver  penny)  ieems  as  fhapelefs  and 
uncouth  as  if  wrote  in  Runic  characters. 
But  the  fpecks  of  moths,  beetles,  flies,  and 
other  infects,  are  molt  accurately  circular  : 
and  all  the  lines  and  marks  about  them  are 
drawn  to  the  utmoft  poiiibiiity  of  exact  - 
nefs. 

Our  fineft  miniature  paintings  appear 
before  a  microfcope,  as  mere  daubings, 
plaiftered  on  with  a  trowel.  Our  fmootheit 
polifriings  are  fhown  to  be  mere  rcughnefs, 
full  of  gaps  arid  flaws.  Thus  do  the  works 
of  art  fink,  upon  an  accurate  examination. 
On  the  contrary,  the  nearer  we  examine 
the  works  of  nature,  even  in  the  iealf.  and 
meaner!  of  her  productions,  the  more  we 
are  convinced,  nothing  is  to  be  found  there 
but  beauty  and  perfection.  View  the 
rlefs  fpecies  of  infects,  what  exact  - 
md  fymrnetry  (hall  we  find  in  all 
their  organs  1  What  a  profufion  of  colour- 
ing, azure,  green,  vermilion  ;  what  fringe 
end  embroidery  on  every  part !  How  high 
the  finilhing,  how  inimitable  the  poiiih  we\ 
here  behold  !  Yea,  view  the  ani- 
malcuise,  invifible  to  the  naked  eye,  thoie 
breathing  atoms  fo  fmall>  they  are  almoft 
ail  workman fhip:  in  them  too  we  difcover 
the  fame  multiplicity  cf  parts,  diverfity 
of  figures,  and  variety  of  motions,  as  in 
the  largeft  animals.  How  amazingly 
curious  ine.il  the  internal  ftrudture  of  thefe 
creatures  be  !  how  minute  the  bones, 
joints,  mufcles,  and  tendons !  how  ex- 
quifitely  delicate  the  veins,  arteries,  nerves! 
\.  hat  multitudes  of  veflels  and  circula- 
tions mull  be  contained  in  this  narrow 
.  f:  !  and  yet  ail  have  fufHcient  room 
for  tiieir  feveral  offices,  without  interfering 
with  each  other  ! 

The    fame,   regularity    and    beauty  is 

found  in    vegetables.     Every  ftalk,    bud, 

flower,  and  iced,  difplays  a  figure,  a  pro- 

x  portion. 


BOOK  .] 

portion,  an  harmony,  beyond  the  reach  of 
»rt.  There  is  not  a  weed  vvhofe  every  leaf 
does  not  fhew  a  multiplicity  of  pores  and 
veflels  curioufly  difpofed  for  the  convey- 
ance of  juices,  to  fupport  and  nourifh  it, 
and  which  is  not  adorned  with  innumerable 
graces  to  embeliifh  it. 

But  fome  may  afk,  to  what  purpofe  has 
nature  beitowed  fo  much  expence  on  fo 
inflgnifkant  creatures  ?  I  aniwer,  this 
very  thing  proves  they  are  not  fo  inligni- 
£cant,  as  we  fondly  fuppofe.  This  beauty 
is  given  them  either  for  their  own  fake, 
that  they  themfelves  may  be  delighted 
with  it,  or  for  ours,  that  we  may  obferve 
in  them  the  amazing  power  and  goodnefs 
of  the  Creator.  If  the  former,  they  are 
of  confequence  in  the  account  of  their 
Maker,  and  therefore  deferve  our  regard. 
If  the  latter,  then  it  is  certainly  our  duty 
to  take  notice  of,  and  admire  them. 

In  fhort,  the  whole  univerfe  is  a  piclure, 
in  which  are  diiplayed  the  perfections  of 
the  Deity.  It  ihews  not  only  his  exigence, 
but  his  unity,  his  power,  his  wifdom,  his 
independence,  his  goodnefs.  His  unity 
appears  in  the  harmony  we  cannot  but 
:fee  in  all  the  parts  of  nature ;  in  that  one 
fimple  end  to  which  they  are  direcl^d,  and 
the  conformity  of  all  the  mear.3  thereto. 
On  every  fide  we  difcern  either  fimple 
dements  or  compound  bodies,  which  have 
all  different  actions  and  oihoes.  What  the 
fire  inflames,  the  water  quenches  :  what 
one  wind  freezes,  another  thaws.  But 
thefe  and  a  thoufand  other  operations,  fo 
feemingly  repugnant  to  each  other,  do 
nevertheiefs  all  concur,  in  a  wonderful 
manner,  to  produce  one  effect.  And  all 
are  fo  neceffary  to  the  main  deii'gn,  that 
were  the  agency  of  any  one  deitroyed,  an 
interruption  of  the  order  and  harmony  of 
the  creation  mult  immediately  enfue. 

..Suppofe,  for  inltance,  the  wind  to  be 
taken  away,  and  all  fociety  is  in  the- 
utmoit  diforder.  Navigation  is  at  a  fiand, 
and  all  our  commerce  with  foreign  na- 
tions deitroyed.  On  the  other  hand  the 
vapours  raifed  from  the  fea  would  remain 
fuipended,  juft  where  they  roie.  Con- 
fequently  we  fhould  be  deprived  of  that" 
ufeful  covering  the  clouds,  which  now 
fcreens  us  from  the  fcorching  heat:  yea, 
and  of  the  fruitful  rains.  So  our  land 
would  be  parched  up,  the  fruits  of  the 
earth  wither,  animals  die,  through  hunger 
and  thirlt,  and   all  nature    languifh  and 


MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


535 


droop.  All  the  parts  of  nature  therefore 
were-oonftkuted  for  the  afiiltance  of  each 
other,  and  all  undeniably  prove  the  unity 
of  their  Omnifcient  Creator. 

His  power  appears  in  the  whole  frame 
of  creation,  and  his  wifdom  in  every  part 
of  it.  His  independence  is  pointed  out 
in  the  inexhanftibie  variety  of  beafts,  birds, 
fiihes  and  infects :  and  his  goodnefs,  in 
taking  care  of  every  one  of  thefe,  opening 
his  hand,  and  Jilting  all  things  li-ving  ixiitk 
plenteoufxefs. 

Every  thing  is  calculated  by  Divine 
Wifdom,  to  make  us  wifer  and  better. 
And  this  is  the  fubltance  of  true  philofophy. 
We  cannot  know  much.  In  vain  does  our 
Ihallow  reafon  attempt  to  fathom  the  myf- 
teries  of  nature,  aind  to  pry  into  thefecrets 
of  the  Almighty.  His  ways  are  paft 
finding  out.  The  eye  of  a  little  worm  is 
a  fubje'cl:  capable  of  exhaufting  all  our 
boafted  fpeculaticns.  But  we  may  love 
much.  And  herein  we  may  beaffiited  by 
contemplating  the  wonders  of  his  crea- 
tion. Indeed  he  feems  to  have  laid  the 
higheft  claim  to  this  tribute  of  our  love, 
by  the  care  he  has  taken  to  manifeit  his 
goodnefs  in  the  molt  confpicuous  manner, 
while  at  the  fame  time  he  has  concealed 
from  us  the  molt  curious  particulars,  with 
regard  to  the  efTences  and  ftructure  of  his 
works.  And  to  this  our  ignorance  it  is 
owing,  that  we  fancy  fo  many  things  to  be 
ufclefs  in  the  creation.  But  a  deep  fenfe 
of  his  goodnefs  will  fatisfy  all  our  doubts, 
and  refolve  all  our  fcruples. 

§   7.      Conjidcrations  on  the  nature  of  Man. 

Near  6000  years  are  elapfed  fmce  the 
creation.  At  firft  there  were  only  two 
human  beings.  When  the  flood  came 
upon  the  earth,  which  was  1656  years 
from  the  beginning  of  time,  thefe  two  had 
increafed,  according  to  a  moderate  com-* 
putation,  to  the  number  of  10,737,41 8,240* 
perfons.  From  Noah  and  his  family  are- 
fprung  the  prefent  race  of  men,  and  are 
generally  supposed  to  be  only  about 
358,000,000  perfons. 

If  we  proceed  from  the  number  to  the 
nature  of  reafonable  beings,  we  fhall  find 
much  of  the  wifdom  and  goodnefs  of  God 
difplayed  in  the,  ftructure  of  the  human 
body,  as  well  as  in  the  all-directing  mind. 

Let  us  begin  with  the  lefs  adorned,  but. 
more  folid  parts,  thofe  which  fupport,  and 
which  contain  the  reft.     Firft,  you  have  a 

fvftem 


33s 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


j-yfiem  of  bones,  call  in  a  variety  of  moulds, 
in  a  variety  of  fizes :  all  ftrong,  that  they 
may  bear  up  the  machine,  yet  light,  that 
they  may  not  weigh  us  down  :  bored  with 
an  inward  cavity  to  contain  the  moillening 
marrow,  and  perforated  with  fine  du£ls,  to 
admit  the    nourifhing   veflels.     Infenfible 
themfelves,  they  are  covered  with  a  mem- 
brane,   exquiiitely  fenfible,    which  warns 
them  of,  and  fecures  them  from  the  annoy- 
ance of  any  hurtful  friction  ;  and  alfo  pre- 
ferves  the  mufcles  from  being  fretted  in 
their  action,  by  the  hard  and  rough  fub- 
ilance  of  the  bone.     They  are  larger},  at 
the  extremities,  that   they  may  be  joined 
more  firmly,  and  not  fo  eafily  diilocated. 
The  manner  of  their  articulation  is  truly 
admirable,  and  remarkably   various :    yet 
never  varied  without  demonstrating  feme 
wife  defign,  and   anfwering  feme  valuable 
end.    Frequently  when  two  are  united,  the 
one  is   nicely  rounded  and  capped  with  a 
fmooth  fubftance  ;  the  other  is  fcoopedinto 
an  hollow  of  the  fame  dimenfions  to  receive 
it.     And  both  are  lubricated  with  an  unc- 
tuous fluid,  to  facilitate  the  rotation. 

The  feet  compofe  the  firmeft  pedeftal, 
infinitely  beyond  all  that  ftatuary  can  ac- 
complish;  capable  of  altering  its  form,  and 
extending  its  fize,  as  different  circum- 
stances require.  They  likewife  contain  a 
fet  of  the  niceft  fprings,  which  help  to 
place  the  body  in  a  variety  of  attitudes, 
and  qualify  it  for  a  multiplicity  of  motions. 
The  undermoft  part  of  the  heel,  and  the 
extremity  of  the  fole,  are  fhod  with  a  tough 
infenfible  fubftance:  a  kind  of  natural  fan- 
dal,  which  never  wears  out,  never  wants 
repair :  and  which  prevents  an  undue  com- 
preffion  of  the  veffels  by  the  weight  of  the 
body.  The  legs  and  thighs  are  like  ftately 
columns,  fo  articulated  that  they  are  com- 
modious for  walking,  and  yet  do  not  ob- 
ftrutt  the  eafy  pollute  of  fitting.  The 
legs  fwell  out  towards  the  top  with  a  gen- 
teel projection,  and  arc  neatly  wrought  off 
towards  the  bottom :  a  variation  which 
leffens  their  bulk,  while  it  increafes  their 
beauty. 

The  ribs,  turned  into  a  regular  arch, 
are  gently  moveable,  for  the  aft  of  refpi- 
ration.  They  form  a  fafe  lodgement  for 
the  lungs  and  heart,  fome  of  the  moil;  im- 
portant organs  of  life.  The  back  bone  is 
designed,  not  only  to  ftrengthen  the  body, 
and  fuftain  its  moil:  capacious  More-rooms, 
but  alfo  to  bring  down  the  continuation  of 
the  brain,  ufually  termed  the  fpinal  mar- 


row. It  both  conveys  and  guards  this  fi- 
ver cord,  as  Solomon  terms  it,  . 
commodious  outlets  tranfmits  it  to  all  pa.  . 
Had  it  been  only  ftrait  and  hollow,  i: 
might  have  ferved  thefe  purpofes.  Sue 
then  the  loins  mull  have  been  inflexible  : 
to  avoid  which,  it  confifts  of  very  fhort 
bones,  knit  together  by  cartilages.  This 
peculiarity  of  ftructure  gives  it  the  pliancy 
of  an  ofier,  with  the  firmnefs  of  an  oak. 
Bv  this  means  it  is  capable  of  varioi::  in- 
flections, without  bruifing  the  foft  marrow, 
or  diminifhing  that  ftrength  which  is  ne- 
ccftary  to  fupport  all  the  upper  stories. 
Such  a  formation  in  any  other  of  the  folids, 
mull  have  occasioned  great  inconvenience. 
Here  it  is  unfpeakably  ufeful,  a  mafter- 
piece  of  creating  (kill. 

The  arms  are  exactly  proportioned  t» 
each  other,  to  preferve  the  equilibrium  of 
the  structure.      Thefe    being   the    guards 
that  defend,  and  the   miniilers   that  ferve 
the  whole  body,  are  fitted  for  the  moll 
diversified  and  extenfive  operations :    firm 
with  bone,  yet  not  weighty  with  flefh,  and 
capable  of  performing  ail  ufeful  motions. 
They  bend   inwards  and  turn  outwards  : 
they  move  upwards  or  downwards.    They 
wheel    about    in    whatever    direction    we 
pleafe.     To  thefe    are    added  the  hands, 
terminated  by  the  fingers,  not  of  the  fame 
length,  nor  of  equal  bignefs,  but  in  both 
refpects    different,   which  gives  the  more 
beauty,  and  far  greater  ufefulnefs.     Were 
they  all  flefh,  they  would  be  weak:  were 
they  one  entire  bone,  they  would  be  utterly 
inflexible  :    but   confining  of  various  little 
bones  and  mufcles,  what  ihape  can  they 
not  affume  ?  Being  placed  at  the  end  of  the 
arm,  the  fphere  of  their  aclion  is  exceed- 
ingly enlarged.     Their  extremities  are  an 
allemblage  of  fine  tendinous  fibres,  acutely 
fenfible  :  which   notwithflanding  are  def- 
tined  to  almoil  incefiant  employ,  and  fre- 
quently among  rugged  objects.     For  this 
reafon  they  are  overlaid  with  nails,  which 
preferve  them  from  anv  painful  impreflions. 
In  the  hand  we  have  a  cafe  of  the  fineft 
inflruments.    To  thofe  we  owe  thofe  beau- 
tiful ftatues-  this  melodious  trumpet.      By 
the  ftrength  of  the  hand  the  tailed  firs  fall, 
and   the    largell    oaks    defcend    from    the 
mountains.     Fafhioned  by  the  hand  they 
are  a  floating  warehoufe,    and  carry  the 
productions  of  art  and  nature  from  Britain 
to  Japan. 

The  hand  is   the  original  and  uni-' 
fceptre,  which    not  only  reprefents- 

ak  Jftains 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


afcertains  our  dominion  over  all  the  ele- 
ments and  over  every  creature.  Though 
we  have  not  the  ftrength  of  the  horfe,  the 
fwiftnefs  of  the  greyhound,  or  the  quicc 
fcent  of  the  fpaniel,  yet  directed  by  the  un- 
demanding, and  enabled  by  the  hand,  we 
can  as  it  were  make  them  all  our  own. 
Thefe  fhort  hands  have  found  a  way  to 
penetrate  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  to  touch 
the  bottom  of  the  fea.  Thefe  feeble  hands 
can  manage  the  wings  of  the  wind,  arm 
themfelves  with  the  violence  of  hre,  and 
prefs  into  their  fervice  the  forcible  lmpe- 
tuofity  of  water.  How  greatly  then  are 
we  indebted  to  our  wife  Creator,  for  this 
diftinguiihing,  this  invaluable  member  . 

Above  all  is  the  head,  for  the  reiidence 
of  the  brain,  ample  to  receive,  and  firm 
to  defend  it.  It  has  a  communication  with 
all,  eve  i  the  remoteft  parts ;  has  outlets  for 
difpatching  couriers  to  all  quarters,  and 
avenues  for  receiving  ipeedy  intelligence, 
on  all  needful  occafions.  It  has  lodge- 
ments wherein  to  pott  centinels,  for  various 
offices :  to  expedite  whofe  operations  the 
whole  turns  on  a  curious  pivot,  nicely  con- 
trived to  afford  the  largeil  and  frceft  cir- 
cumvolutions. 

This  is  fcreened  from  heat,  defended 
from  cold,  and  at  the  fame  time  beauti- 
fied by  the  hair  :  a  decoration  lo  delicate, 
as  no  art  can  fupply,  fo  perfectly  light,  as 
no  way  to  encumber  the  wearer.    _  _ 

While  other  animals  are  prone  m  their 
afoea,  the  attitude  of  man  is  erect,  which 
is1  by  far  the  molt  graceful,  and  befpeaks 
fuperiority.  It  is  by  far  the  molt  commo- 
dious, for  profecution  of  all  our  extenfive 
defies.  It  is  likewife  fafeft,  lefi  expofed 
to  dangers,  and  better  contrived  to  repel 
©r  avoid  them.  Does  it  not  alfo  remind 
us  of  our  noble  original,  and  our  fubhme 
end  ?  Our  original,  which  was  the  breath 
of  the  Almighty  :  our  end,  which  was  the 
enjovment  of  him  in  glory  i 

Thus  much  for  the  rafters  and  beams  of 
the  houfe.  Let  us  now  furvey  the  lodgings 
within.  Here  are  ligaments,  a  tough  and 
ftrong  arrangement  of  fibres,  to  unite  the 
feveral  parts  and  render  what  would  other- 
wife  be  an  unwieldy  jumble,  a  well-com- 
pacted and  felf-manageable  fyftem  ^mem- 
branes, thin  and  flexile  tunicles,  to  mwrap 
the  flefhy  parts,  to  conned  fome,  and  form 
a  feparation  between  others :  arteries,  the 
rivers  of  our  little  world,  thatftriking  oirtas 
they  go,  into  numberlefs  fmall  canals,  vifit 
every  ftreet,  yea,  every  apartment  in  the 


537 

vital  city.  Thefe  being  wide  at  firft,  and 
growing  narrower  and  narrower,  check  the 
rapidity  of  the  blood.  This  thrown  from 
the  heart,  dilates  the  arteries,  and  their 
own  elattic  force  contracts  them  :  by  which 
means  they  vibrate  againtt  the  finger,  and 
much  affift  both  in  the  difcovery  and  cure 
ofdifeafes.  The  larger  arteries,  when- 
ever the  blood  is  forced  to  bend,  are  fituate 
on  the  bending  fide  ;  left  being  ftretched 
to  an  improper  length,  the  circulation 
fi.ould  be  retarded.  They  are  not,  like 
feveral  of  the  veins,  near  the  furface,  but 
placed  at  a  proper  depth.  And  hereby 
they  are  more  fecure  from  external  inju- 
ries. In  thofe  parts  which  are  moft  liable 
to  prefTure,  an  admirable  expedient  takes 
place.  The  arteries  inofculate  with  each 
other  :  breaking  into  a  new  track,  they 
fetch  a  little  circuit,  and  afterwards  return 
into  the  main  road.  So  that  if  any  thing 
block  up  or  ftraiten  the  direct  paflage,  the 
current  by  diverting  to  this  new  channel, 
eludes  the  impediment,  flows  on,  and  fooa 
regains  its  wonted  courfe. 

The  veins  receive  the  blood  from  the  ar- 
teries, and  re-convey  it  to  the  heart.  The 
prefTure  of  the  blood  is  not  near  fo  forcible 
in  thefe  as  in  the  arteries.  Therefore  their 
texture  is  confiderably  {lighter.  Such  an 
exact  ceconomift  is  nature,  amidft  all  her 
liberality  !  In  many  of  thefe  canals,  the 
current,  though  widening  continually,  is 
obliged  to  puih  its  way  againtt  the  perpen- 
dicular :  hereby  it  is  expofed  to  the  danger 
of  falling  back  and  overloading  the  veflels. 
To  prevent  this,  valves  are  interpofed  at 
proper  diftances,  which  are  no  hindrance 
to  the  regular  paflage,  but  prevent  the  re- 
flux, and  facilitate  the  paflage  of  the  blood 
to  the  grand  receptacle.  But  thefe  valves 
?re  only  where  the  blood  is  conftrained  to 
climb:  where  the  afcent  ceafes,  they  ceafe 

Here  are  glands  to  filtrate  the  pafling 
fluids,  each  of  which  is  an  affemblage  of 
veflels,  complicated  with  feemmg  confu- 
fion,  but  with  perfect  regularity.  Each 
forms  a  fecretion  far  more  curious  than  the 
moft  admired  operations  of  chymiftry. 
Mufcles,  compoi'ed  of  the  fineft  fibres,  yet 
endued  with  incredible  ftrength,  faftuoned 
after  a  variety  of  patterns,  but  all  in  the 
higheft  tafte  for  elegance  and  convemency. 
Thefe  are  the  inftruments  of  motion,  and 
at  the  command  of  the  will,  execute  their 
function*  quick  as  lightning :  nerves  fur- 
prifingly  minute,   which  fet  the  mufcles  at 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


33* 

work,  difTufe  the  power  of  fenfation  through 
the  body,  and  upon  any  impreffion  from 
without,  give  all  needful  intelligence  to 
the  foul  :  Veftcles,  diftendcd  with  an  unctu- 
ous matter,  in  fome  places  compofe  a  foft 
cuihion  ;  as  in  the  calf  of  the  leg,  whofe 
large  mufcles,  mixt  with  fat,  are  of  Angu- 
lar fervice  to  thofe  important  bones.  This 
flanks  and  fortifies  them,  like  a  ftrong  baf- 
tion,  fupports  and  cheriflies  them,  like  a 
foft  pillow.  In  other  places  they  fill  up  the 
vacuities,  and  fmooth  the  inequalities  of 
the  fleih.  Inwardly  they  fupply  the  ma- 
chine for  motion;  outwardly  they  render 
it  fmooth  and  graceful. 

The  fkin,  like  a  curious  furtout,  covers 
the  whole,  formed  of  the  moll  delicate  net- 
work, whofe  melhes  arc  minute,  and  whofe 
threads  are  multiplied,  even  to  a  prodigy  : 
the  mefhes  are  ib  minute,  that  nothing 
paifes  them,  which  is  difcernible  by  the 
eye;  though  they  difcharge  every  moment 
myriads  and  myriads  of  fuperfluous  incum- 
brances. The  threads  are  fo  multiplied, 
that  neither  the  point  of  the  fmalleit  needle, 
nor  the  infinitely  finer  lance  of  a  gnat,  can 
pierce  any  part  without  drawing  blood,  and 
caufmg  an  uneafy  fenfation.  Confequently, 
without  wounding  by  fo  fmall  a  puncture, 
both  a  nerve  and  a  vein  ! 

But  a  courfe  of  inceffant  action  mult  ex- 
hault  the  folids  and  wafte  the  fluid-,  and 
unlefs  both  are  properly  recruited,  in  a 
ihort  time  ucltroy  the  machine.  For  this 
realbn  it  is  furniihed  with  the  organ?,  and 
endued  with  the  powers  oi  nutrition  : 
teeth,  the  foremoit,  thin  and  lharp,  to  bite 
afunder  the  food;  the  hindermolt,  broad 
and  itrong,  indented  with  fmall  cavities, 
the  better  to  grind  in  pieces  what  is  trani- 
mitted  to  them.  But  in  children  the  for- 
mation of  teeth  is  poitpontd  till  they  have 
©ccafion  for  them. 

Were  the  teeth,  like  other  bone;-,  co- 
vered with  the  periofteum,  chewing  would 
give  much  pain.  VVcre  they  quite  naked, 
they  would  foon  decay  and  periih.  To 
guard  againit  both,  they  are  overlaid  with 
a  neat  enamel,  harder  than  the  bone  itfelf, 
which  gives  no  pain  in  chewing,  and  yet 
fecures  them  from  various  injuries. 

The  lips  prevent  the  food  from  flipping 
out  of  the  mouth,  and,  affiled  by  the 
tongue,  return  it  to  the  grinders.  While 
they  do  this  in  concert  with  the  checks, 
they  fqueeze  a  thin  liquor  from  the  adja- 
cent glands.  This  moiltens  the  food  and 
fnr  r!.<rp.'h"nn.     When  the  mouth 


prepays  it  tor  cLgeitiQn, 


is  inactive  thefe  are  nearly  ciofcd  ;  but 
when  we  fp.:ak  or  eat,  their  moilture  being 
then  neceffary,  is  expreft  as  need  requires. 
But  the  food  could  net  defcend  merely 
by  its  own  weight,  through  a  narrow  and 
clammy  paffagc  into  the  Itomach.  There- 
fore to  effect  this,  mufcles  both  itrait  and 
circular  are  provided.  The  former  inlarge 
the  cavity,  and  give  an  eafy  admittance. 
The  latter,  doling  behind  the  defcending 
aliment,  prefs  it  downward.  But  before 
the  food  enters  the  gullet,  it  mult  of  ne- 
cefTity  pals  over  the  orifice  of  the  wind- 
pipe :  whence  it  is  in  danger  of  falling  * 
upon  the  lungs,  which  might  occaiion  in- 
ftant  death.  To  obviate  this,  a  moveable 
lid  is  placed,  which  when- the  fmallelt  par- 
ticle advances,  is  pulled  down  and  fhut 
clofe,  but  as  foon  as  it  is  fwallowed,  is  let 
loofe  and  itands  open.  Thus  the  important 
pals  is  always  made  fure  againil  ar.v  noxi- 
ous approaches  ;  yet  always  left  free  for 
the  air,  and  open  for  refpiration. 

The  food  defcending  into  the  fiemach, 
is  not  yet  ready  for  the  bowels.  There- 
fore that  great  receiver  is  itrong  to  bear, 
and  proper  to  detain  it,  till  it  is  wrought 
into  the  fmootheit  pulp  imaginable.  From 
hence  it  is  difcharged  by  a  gentle  force, 
and  pafles  gradually  into  the  inteitmes. 

Near  the  entrance  waits  the  eall-bkad- 
der,  ready  to  pour  its  -Salutary  juice  upon 
the  aliment,  winch  difiblves  any  thing 
vilcid,  icours  the  inteitines,  and  keeps  all 
the  fine  apertures  clear.  This  bag,  as  the 
ftomach  rills,  is  preit  thereby,  and  then 
only  difcharges  its  contents.  It  is  alfo 
furniihed  with  a  \  alve  of  a  very  peculiar, 
namely,  of  a  fpiral  form:  through  which 
the  deterfive  liquid  cannot  haitily  pour, 
but  mult  gently  ooze.  Admirable  con- 
/Irnciion  !  which,  without  any  care  of  ours, 
gives  the  neecitul  iupply,  and  no  more. 

The  nutriment  then  purfues  its  way 
through  the  mar.es  of  the  inteitines :  which 
by  a  wormlike  motion  protrude  it  and 
force  its  fmall  particles  into  the  lafteal 
vellHs.  Thefe  are  a  feries  of  the  fineft 
(trainers,  ranged  in  countlefs  multitudes  all 
along  the  fides  of  the  winding  pailage.  Had 
this  been  ftrait  or  ihort,  the  food  could  net 
have_  reflgned  a  fufficient  quantity  of  its 
nourifhing  particles.  Therefore  it  is  art- 
fully convolved  and  greatly  extended,  that 
whatever  pad'es  ma}-  be  fitted  thoroughly. 
As  the  aliment  proceeds,  it  is  more  and 
more  drained  of  its  nutricious  juices.  In 
confequence  of  this,  it  would  become  hard 

and 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


359 


and  pain  the  tender  parts,  but  that  glands 
are  polled  in  proper  places,  to  difcharge  a 
lubricated  fluid.  Thcfe  are  fmaller  or 
fewer  near  the  ftomach,  becaufe  there  the 
aliment  is  moid  enough  :  whereas  in  the 
bowels  remote  from  the  domach,  they  are 
either  multiplied  or  enlarged. 

The  chyle  drawn  off  by  the  ladteals  is 
carried  through  millions  of  duels,  too  une 
even  for  the  microfcope  to  dilcover.  To 
this  it  is  owing  that  nothing  enters  the 
blood,  but  what  is  capable  of"  palling 
through  the  fined  veffels.  It  is  then  lodged 
in  feveral  commodious  cells  (the  glands  of 
the  mefentery)  and  there  mixt  with  a  thin 
diluting  lymph,  which  makes  it  more  apt 
to  flow.  Hence  it  is  conveyed  to  the  com- 
mon receptacle,  and  mounts  through  a  per- 
pendicular tube  into  the  lad  fubclavian 
rein.  This  tube  lies  contiguous  to  the 
great  artery,  whofe  ftrong  puliation  drives 
on  the  fluid,  and  enables  it  to  afcend  and 
unload  its  treafure,  at  the  very  door  of  the 
heart. 

But  the  chyle  is  as  yet  in  too  crude  a  ftate, 
to  be  fit  for  the  animal  functions.  There- 
fore it  is  thrown  into  the  lungs.  In  the 
fpungy  cells  of  this  amazing  laboratory,  it 
mixes  with  the  external  air,  and  its  whole 
fubdance  is  made  more  fmooth  and  uniform. 
Thus  improved  it  enters  the  left  ventricle 
of  the  heart,  a  ftrong,  r.dlive,  indefatigable 
mufcle.  The  large  mufcles  of  the  arm  or 
of  tiie  thigh  are  loon  wearied:  a  day's  la- 
bour, or  a  day's  journey,  exhaults  their 
dfength.  But  the  heart  toils  whole  weeks, 
whole  months,    nay  years,  unwearied:  is 


equal 


ftra'noer  to  intermiffion  and 
fatigue.  Imp  died  by  this,  part  cf  the 
blocd  ihoots  upwaid  to  the  head  ;  part  rolls 
through  the  whole  body. 

But  how  flin.ll  a  dream  divided  into  my- 
riads of  channels,  be  brought  back  to  its 
fource  ?  Should  any  portion  of  it  be  un- 
able to  return,  putrefaction,  if  not  death, 
mud  enfue.  Therefore  the  all-wife  Crea- 
tor has  connected  the  extremities  of  the  ar- 
teries, with  the  beginning  of  the  veins:  lo 
that  the  fame  force  which  darts  the^  blocd 
through  the  former,  helps  to  drive  it 
through  the  latter.  Thus  it  is  re-conducted 
to  the  great  ciftern,  and  there  played  off 
afrefh. 

Where  two  oppofite  currents  would  be 
in  danger  of  claming,  where  the  dreams 
from  the  vena  cava  and  vena  afcendens 
coincide,  a  fibrous  excrefcence  interpofes, 
which  like  a  projecting  pier,  breaks  die 


ftroke  of  each,  and  throws  both  into  their 
proper  receptacle.  Where  the  motion  is 
t  >  be  fpeedy,  the  channels  either  forbear 
to  wind  (as  in  the  great  artery,  which  de- 
fcends  to  the  feet)  or  leffen  in  their  dimen- 
flons,  as  in  every  interval  between  all  the 
ramifications.  When  the  progrefs  is  to  hi 
retarded,  the  tubes  are  varioully  convolved 
or  their  diameter  contracted.  Thus  guard- 
ed, the  living  flood  never  difcontinues  its 
courfe,  but  night  and  day,  whether  we 
fleep  or  wake,  dill  perfeveres  to  run  brifkly 
through  the  arteries,  and  return  foftly 
through  the  veins. 

But  farther.  The  great  Creator  has 
made  ui  an  invaluable  prefent  of  the  fenfes, 
to  be  the  inlets  of  innumerable  pleafures, 
and  the  means  of  the  molt  valuable  advan- 
tages. 

The  eve,  in  its  elevated  flation,  com- 
mands the  mod  enlarged  profpefts.  Con- 
filling  only  of  fluids  inclofed  within  coats, 
it  (hews  us  all  the  graces  and  glories  of 
nature.  How  wonderful,  that  an  image 
of  the  hug-eft  mountains,  and  the  wideft 
landscapes  fhould  enter  the  fmall  pupil  ! 
that  the  rays  of  light  lhould  paint  on  the 
optic  nerve,  paint  in  an  inftant  cf  time, 
paint  in  their  trueft  colours  and  exacted 
lineaments,  every  fpecies  of  external  ob- 
jeeds  ! 

The  eye  is  fo  tender,  that  the  flighted 
touch  might  injure  its  delicate  frame.  It 
is  guarded  therefore  with  a  peculiar  care, 
intrenched  deep  and  barricaded  round  with 
bones.  As  the  fmalleft  fly  might  incom- 
mode its  poliihedfuTace,  it  is  farther  pro- 
tected by  two  fubdantial  curtains.  In  fleep, 
when  there  is  no  occafion  for  the  fenfe,  but 
a  neceffity  to  guard  the  organ,  thefe  cur- 
tains dole  of  their  own  r.ccord.  At  any 
time  they  fly  together  as  quick  as  thought. 
They  are  lined  with  an  extremely  fine 
fponge,  moid  with  its  own .  dew.  Its 
briitly  palifades  .keep  out  the  lead  mote, 
and  moderate  the  too  drong  imprellions  of 
the  light. 

As^in  our  waking  hours  we  have  almoft 
inceflant  need  for  thefe  little  orbs,  they 
run  upon  the  fined  cadors,  rolling^  every 
way  with  the  utmoft  eafe':  which  circum- 
dance,  added  to  the  flexibility  of  the  neck, 
renders  our  two  eyes  as  ufeful  as  a  thoul'and. 

The  ear  confifts  of  an  outward  porch 
and  inner  rooms.  The  porch,_  fomewhat 
prominent  from  the  head,  is  of  a  cartila- 
ginous fubdance,  covered  with  tight  mem- 
branes, and  wrought  into  dnuous  cavities. 
Z  2  Thefe, 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


3V>  s 

♦  Thefe,  like  circling  hills,  col  left  the 
wandering  undulations  of  the  air,  and 
tranfmit  them  with  a  vigorous  impulfe,  to 
the  finely  ftretched  membrane  of  the  drum. 
This  is  expanded  upon  a  circle  of  bones, 
over  a  polithed  reverberating  cavity.  It 
is  furnifhed  with  braces  that  ftrain  or  re- 
lax, as  the  found  is  faint  or  ftrong.  The 
hammer  and  the  anvil,  the  winding  laby- 
rinth, and  the  founding  galleries,  thefe  and 
other  pieces  of  mechanifm,  all  inftrumental 
to  hearing,  are  inexpreifibly  curious. 

Amazingly  exaft  mull  be  the  tenfion  of 
the  auditory  nerves,  fince  they  anfvver  the 
fmalleft  tremors  of  the  atmofphere,  and 
diftinguilh  their  moft  fubtle  variations. 
Thefe  living  chords,  tuned  by  an  almighty 
hand,  and  fpread  through  the  echoing 
ifles,  receive  all  the  impreffions  of  found, 
and  propagate  them  to  the  brain.  Thefe 
give  exiftence  to  the  charms  of  mufic,  and 
the  ftill  nobler  charms  of  difcou'fe. 

The  eye  is  ufelefs  amidft  the  gloom  of 
night.  But  the  ear  hears  through  the 
darkell  medium.  The  eye  is  on  duty  only 
in  our  waking  hours :  but  the  ear  is 
always  acceffible. 

As  there  are  concuffions  of  the  air, 
which  are  difcernible  only  by  the  inftru- 
ments  of  hearing,  fo  there  are  odoriferous 
particles  wafted  in  the  air,  which  are  per- 
ceivable only  by  the  fmell.  The  noilrils 
are  wide  at  the  bottom,  that  more  effluvia 
may  enter,  narrow  at  the  top,  that,  when 
entered,  they  may  aft  more  ftrongly.  The 
fleams  that  exhale  from  fragrant  bodies, 
are  fine  beyond  imagination.  Microfcopes 
that  fhew  thoulands  of  animals  in  a  drop 
of  water,  cannot  bring  one  of  thefe  to  our 
fight.  Yet  fo  judicioufly  are  the  olfaftory 
nets  fet,  that  they  catch  the  vanifhing 
fugitives.  They  imbibe  all  the  roaming 
perfumes  of  fpring,  and  make  us  banquet 
even  on  the  inviiible  dainties  of  nature. 

Another  capacity  for  pleafure  our 
bountiful  Creator  has  bellowed,  by  grant- 
ing us  the  powers  of  tafte.  This  is  cir- 
cumftanccd  in  a  manner  fo  benign  and 
wife,  as  to  be  a  Handing  plea  for  tempe- 
rance, which  fets  the  fineft  edge  on  the 
tafte,  and  adds  the  moft  poignant  relifh  to 
its  enjoyments. 

And  thefe  fenfes  are  not  only  fo  many 
fources  of  delight,  but  a  joint  fecurity  to 
eur  health.  They  are  the  infpeftors  that 
examine  our  food,  and  enquire  into  the 
properties  of  it.  For  the  discharge  of  this 
•ffice  they  are  excellently  qualified,  and 


moft  commodioufly  fituated.  So  that  no- 
thing can  gain  admiliion,  till  it  has  pall 
their  fcrutiny. 

To  all  thele,  as  a  moft  nec?flary  fupple- 
ment,  is  added  the  fenfe  of  Feeling.  And 
how  happily  is  it  tempered  between  the 
two  extremes,  neither  too  acute,  nor  too 
obtuie  !  Indeed  all  the  fenfes  are  exaftly 
adapted  to  the  exigencies  of  our  prefent 
ftate.  Were  they  ftraincd  much  higher, 
they  would  be  avenues  of  anguifh,  were 
they  much  relax t,  they  would  be  well- 
nigh  ufelefs. 

The  crowning  gift  which  augments  the 
benefits  accruing  from  all  the  fenfes,  is 
fpeech.  Speech  makes  me  a  gainer  by 
the  eyes  and  ears  of  others  ;  by  their  ideas 
and  obfervations.  And  what  an  admirable 
inurnment  for  articulating  the  voice,  and 
modifying  it  into  fpeech,  is  the  tongue  ? 
This  little  colleftion  of  mufcular  fibres, 
under  the  direction  of  the  Creator,  is  the 
artificer  of  our  words.  By  this  we  com- 
municate the  fecrets  of  our  breafts,  and 
make  our  very  thoughts  audible.  This 
likewife  is  the  efficient  caufe  of  mufic;  it 
is  foft  as  the  lute,  or  fhrill  as  the  trumpet. 
As  the  tongue  requires  an  eafy  play,  it  is 
lodged  in  an  ample  cavify.  It  moves 
under  a  concave  roof,  which  gives  addi- 
tional vigour  to  the  voice,  as  the  fhell  of  a 
violin  to  the  found  of  the  ftrings. 

Wonderfully  wife  is  the  regulation  of 
voluntary  and  involuntary  motions.  The 
will  in  fome  cafes  has  no  power  :  in  others 
fhe  is  an  abfolute  fovereign.  If  fhe  com- 
mand, the  arm  is  ftretched,  the  hand  clofed. 
How  eafily,  how  punftually  are  her  orders 
obeyed  ! — To  turn  the  fcrew,  or  work  the 
lever,  is  laborious  and  wearifome.  But  we 
work  the  vertebras  of  the  neck,  with  all 
their  appendant  chambers :  we  advance  the 
leg  with  the  whole  incumbent  body;  we 
rife,  we  fpring  from  the  ground,  and  though 
fo  great  a  weight  is  raifed,  we  meet  with 
no  difficulty  or  fatigue. 

That  all  this  mould  be  effefted  without 
any  toil,  by  a  bare  aft  of  the  will,  is  very 
furprifing.  But  that  it  fhould  be  done, 
even  while  we  are  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  performed,  is  moft 
aftonilhing  !  Who  can  play  a  fingle  tune 
upon  the  fpinet,  without  learning  the 
differences  of  the  keys?  Yet  the  mind 
touches  every  fpring  of  the  human  machine, 
with  the  moft  mafterly  fkill,  though  fhe 
knows  nothing  at  all  of  the  nature  of  her 
inftrument,  or  the  procefs  of  her  operations. 

The 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


34* 


The  eye  of  a  ruftic,  who  has  no  notion 
of  optics,  or  any  of  its  laws,  (hall  lengthen 
and  fhorten  its  axis,  dilate  and  contract  its 
pupil,  without  the  leait  hefitation,  and  with 
the  utmoft  propriety :  exactly  adapting 
itfelf  to  the  particular  diltance  of  objects, 
and  the  different  degrees  of  light.  By 
this  means  it  performs  ibme  of  the  molt 
curious  experiments  in  the  Newtonian 
philofophy,  without  the  leaft  knowledge  of 
the  fcience,  or  confciouihefs  of  its  own 
dexterity ! 

Which  fhall  we  admire  moll,  the  multi- 
tude of  organs  ;  their  finifhed.  form  and 
faultlefs  order;  or  the  power  which  the 
foul  exercifes  over  them  ?  Ten  thoufand 
reins  are  put  into  her  hands  :  and  fhe 
manages  all,  conducts  all,  without  the  leait 
perplexity  or  irregularity.  Rather  with  a 
promptitude,  a  conliitency  and  fpeed,  that 
nothing  can  equal ! 

So  fearfully  and  wonderfully  are  we 
made!  Made  of  fuch  complicated  parts, 
each  fo  nicely  falhioned,  and  all  fo  exactly 
arranged ;  every  one  executing  fuch  curious 
functions,  and  many  of  them  operating  in 
fo  myfterious  a  manner  !  And  iince  health 
depends  on  fuch  a  numerous  affemblage  of 
moving  organs ;  fince  a  fingle  fecretion 
{topped  may  fpoil  the  temperature  of  the 
fluid,  a  fingle  wheel  clogged  may  put  an 
end  to  the  folids :  with  what  holy  fear  fhould 
we  pafs  the  time  of  our  fojourning  here 
below!  Trulting  for  continual  preferva- 
tion,  not  merely  to  our  own  care,  but  to 
the  Almighty  Hand,  which  formed  the 
admirable  machine,  directs  its  agency,  and 
fupports  its  being  ! 

This  is  an  ingenious  defcription  of  the 
cafket,  it  is  fit  we  fhould  attend  to  the 
jewel  it  contains.  If  the  Houfe  is  fo 
curioufly  and  wonderfully  made  by  the 
all-wife  Architect,  what  may  we  not  expect: 
the  Inhabitants  to  be  r 

Knovv'ft  thou  th'  importance  of  a  foul  im- 
mortal ? 

Behold  the  midnight  glory  :  worlds  on  worlds ! 

Amazing  pomp  !  redouble  this  amaze  ; 

Ten  thoufand  add,  and  twice  ten  thoufand  more  ; 

Then  weigh  the  whole  ;  one  foul  outweighs  them 
all, 

And  calls  th'aftonifhin^  magnificence 

Of  unintelligent  creation  poor.  Young. 

The  reafoning  of  Mr.  Addifon  on  this 
fubjedt  is  very  flattering  to  human  na- 
ture, and  deferves  the  ferious  confedera- 
tion of  every   intelligent  Being.      The 


perpetual  progrefs  of  the  foul,  fays  that 
elegant  writer,  to  its  perfection,  without  a 
poliibility  of  ever  arriving  at  it,  feems  to 
me  to  carry  a  great  weight  with  it  for  the 
immortality  thereof.  How  can  it  enter  into 
the  thoughts  of  man,  that  the  foul,  which 
is  capable  of  fuch  immenfe  perfections,  and 
of  receiving  new  improvements  to  all 
eternity,  fhall  fall  away  into  nothing  almoft 
as  foon  as  it  is  created  ?  Are  fuch  abilities 
made  for  no  purpofe?  A  brute  arrives  at 
a  point  of  perfection  that  he  can  never 
pais :  in  a  few  years  he  has  all  the  endow- 
ments he  is  capable  of;  and  were  he  to 
live  ten  thoufand  more,  would  be  the  fame 
thing  he  is  at  prefent.  Were  a  human 
foul  thus  at  a  ltand  in  her  accomplifh- 
ments,  were  her  faculties  to  be  fullblown, 
and  incapable  of  farther  enlargements,  i, 
could  imagine  it  might  fall  away  infenfibly, 
and  drop  at  once  into  a  ltate  of  annihila- 
tion. But  can  we  believe  a  thinking  being, 
that  is  in  a  perpetual  progrefs  of  improve- 
ment, and  travelling  on  from  perfection  to 
perfection,  after  having  juft  looked  abroad 
into  the  works  of  its  Creator,  and  made  a 
few  difcoveries  of  his  infinite  goodnefs, 
wifdom,  and  power,  rnuft  perifh  at  her  firll 
fetting  out,  and  in  the  very  beginning  of 
her  enquiries  ? 

A  man,  confidered  in  his  prefent  ltate, 
feems  only  fent  into  the  world  to  propagate 
his  kind.  He  provides  himfelf  with  % 
fucceffor,  and  immediately  quits  his  poft 
to  make  room  for  him. 


Hare?, 


Heredem  alterius,  velut  unda  fupervenit  undam. 
Horace.  Ep.  Zm 
—  Heir  crowds  heir,  as  in  a  rolling  flood 
Wave  urges  wave.  Creech. 

He  does  not  feem  born  to  enjoy  life,  but 
to  deliver  it  down  to  others.  This  is  not 
furprifing  to  confider  in  animals,  which  are 
formed  for  our  ufe,  and  can  finifh  their 
bufinefs  in  a  fhort  life.  The  filk-  worm, 
after  having  fpun  her  taflc,  lays  her  eggs 
and  dies.  But  a  man  can  never  have 
taken  in  his  full  meafure  of  knowledge, 
has  not  time  to  fubdue  his  pafflons,  eftablifh 
his  foul  in  virtue,  and  come  up  to  the  per- 
fection of  his  nature,  before  he  is  hurried 
off  the  ltage.  Would  an  infinitely  wife 
Being  make  fuch  glorious  creatures  for  fo 
mean  a  purpofe  ?  Can  he  delight  in  the 
production  of  fuch  abortive  intelligences, 
¥  Z  3  fuck 


342 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


fuch  fhort -lived  reasonable  beings  ?  Would 
he  give  us  talents  that  are  not  to  be  exert- 
ed ?  Capacities  that  ave  never  to  be 
g  atified?  How  can  we  find  that  wiidom, 
which  'hints  through  all  his  works,  in  the 
formation  ox  mai:,  without  looking  on 
this  wurld  as  only  a  nurfery  for  the  next, 
and  believing  that  the  feveral  generations 
of  rational  creatures,  winch  rife  up  and 
disappear  in  fuch  quick  fuccefiions,  are 
only  to  receive  their  firft  rudiments  of 
exigence  here,  and  afterwards  to  be  tranf- 
planied  into  a  ir.ore  friendly  climate, 
wnere  they  may  fprcad  and  flouriih  to  all 
eternity. 

There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  more 
pleafing  and  triumphant  coniideration  in 
reli  ion  than  this  of  the  perpetual  progrcis 
which  the  foul  makes  towards  the  perfec- 
tion of  its  nature,  without  ever  arriving 
at  a  period  in  it.  To  look  upon  the  foul 
as  poinsr  on  from  ftreneth  to  ftrength,  to 
coniider  that  fhe  is  to  fhine  for  ever  with 
new  acceilions  of  glory,  ami  brighten  to 
all  eternity :  that  ihe  will  Hill  be  adding 
virtue  to  virtue,  and  knowledge  to  know- 
ledge ;  carries  in  it  fomething  wonderfully 
agreeable  to  that  ambition  that  is  natural 
to  the  mind  of  man.  Nay,  it  mud  be  a 
profpect  pleafing  to  God  himfelf,  to  fee 
his  creation  for  ever  beautifying  in  his 
eyes,  and  drawing  nearer  to  him,  bv 
greater  degrees  of  refemblance. 

Methinks,  this  fmgle  coniideration,  of 
the  progrefs  of  a  firiite  fpirit  to  perfection, 
will  bs  iufficient  to  extinguish  a  i  envy  in 
inferior  nature,  and  all  contempt  in  fuperior. 
That  cherubim,  which  now  appears  as  a 
gol  to  a  human  foul,  knows  very  well,  that 
a  period  will  ^onv  about  in  eternity,  when 
the  human  foul  Ilia  11  be  as  perfect  as  he 
himfelf  now  is:  nay,  when  fhe  (hall  look 
down  upon  that  degree  of  perfection,  as 
much  as  (he  now  falls  fhort  of  it.  It  is 
true,  t!i :  higher  nature  ftill  advances,  and 
by  that  means  preierves  his  diflance  and 
fupei  iori'y  in  the  fcale  of  being;  but  he 
kr:ovs,  how  high  foever  the  ilation  is  of 
which  he  ftands  pofiefTed  at  prefent,  the  ii.- 
f.  rior  natuie  will  at  length  mount  up  to 
it,  and  fhine  forth  in  the  fame  degree  of 
glory. 

With  what  aftonifhment  and  veneration 
may  we  look  into  our  own  fouls,  where  there 
2re  iuch  hidden  ilores  of  virtue  and  knew- 
ledg  ,  fuch  inexhaulled  fources  of  perfec- 
ts;:.  ;  vV.  know  not  yet  what  we  Hi  all  be, 
nor  iv.  1]  it  ever  enter  into-th<-  heart  of  man 
to  conceit';  the  glory  that  will  be  always. . 
in  refeive  fur  him.     The  foul,  coniiucrcd 


with  its  Creator,  is  like  one  of  thofe  ma- -^ 
thematical  lines  that  may  draw  nearer  to 
another  for  all  eternity  without  a  poffibility 
of  touching  it  :  and  can  there  be  a  thought 
fo  tranfporting,  as  to  confider  ourfelves  in 
thefe  perpetual  approaches  to  him,  who  is 
not  only  tire  iiandard  of  perfection  but  of 
happinefs  ! 

§    S.      Confederations   en  tie  Chain  cf  Being 
jiippofed  to   be  in  Nature. 

The  chain  of  being,  which  fome  worthy 
pcrfons  have  fuppoied  to  exift  in  nature, 
is  a  very  pleafing  idea,  and  has  been  ably 
handled  by  the  late  Soame  Jenyns,  Efq.  in 
his  Difquifition  upon  that  fubject.  The 
farther  we  enquire,  fays  that  able  writer, 
into  the  works  of  our  great  Creator,  the 
more  evident  marks  we  ihall  difcover  cf 
his  inhnite  wifdom  and  power,  and  perhaps 
in  none  more  remarkable,  than  in  that 
wonderful  chain  of  beings,  with  which  this 
terrellrial  globe  is  furnimed  ;  riling  above 
each  other,  from  the  fenftlefs  clod,  to  the 
brighter!  genius  of  human  kind,  in  which 
though  the  chain  itfelf  is  fufficiently  yifible, 
the  links,  which  compofe  it,  are  fo  minute, 
and  io  finely  wrought,  that  they  are  quite 
imperceptible  to  cur  eyes.  The  various 
qualities,  with  which  thefe  various  beings 
are  endued,  we  perceive  without  difiicu'ty, 
but  the  boundaries  cf  thofe  qualities,  which 
form  tins  chain  of  fubordination,  are  fo 
mixed,  that  where  one  endi,  and  the  next 
begins,  we  are  unable  to  discover.  The 
manner  by  which  this  is  performed,  is  a 
fubj.  cl  well  v.orthv  of  our  confideration, 
and  on  an  accurate  examination  appears  to 
be  this. 

in  order  to  diffufe  all  poffible  happinefs, 
God  has  Seen  pleafed  to  fill  this  earth  with 
innumerable  orders  cf  beings,  fuperior  to 
each  other  in  proportion  to  the  qualities 
and  faculties  \v3  ich  he  has  thought  proper 
t    beftow  upon  them  :  to  mere  matter  he  has 

en  extension,  folidity,  and  gravit)  ;  to 
plants,  vegetation;  to  animals,  life  and 
i1  '  ■  ■■  ;  and  to  man,  reafon  ;  each  of 
which  fuperior  qualities  augments  the  ex- 
c  Hence  and  dignity  of  the  pofleffor,  and 
places  him  higher  in  the  fcale  of  unive  lal 
exigence.  In  all  thefe,  it  is  remarkable, 
that  he  has  rot  formed  this  neceflarv,  and 
beautiful  fubordination,  by  placing  beings 
of  quite  different  natures  above  each  other, 
but  by  granting  feme  additional  quality  to 
each  fuperior  order,  in  conjunction  with  all 
thofe  pofTefTed  by  their  inferiors;  fo  that, 
tho'  they  rife  above  each  other  in  excel- 
lence, 


BOOK     I.       MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


343 


lence,  by  means  of  thefe  additional  quali- 
ties, one  mode  of  exiltcnce  is  common  to 
them  all,  without  which  they  never  could 
have  coalefced  in  one  uniform  and  regular 
fyltem. 

Thus,  for  inftance,  in  plants  we  find  all 
the  qualities  of  mere  matter,  the  only  order 
below  them,  folidity,  extension,  and  gravity, 
with  the  addition  of  vegetation  ;  in  ani- 
mals, all  the  properties  of  matter,  together 
with  the  vegetation  of  plants,  to  which  is 
added,  life  and  inltinct ;  and  in  man  we 
find  all  the  properties  of  matter,  the  vege-  ' 
fation  of  plants,  the  life  and  inftinct  of 
animals,  to  all  which  is  fuperadded,  reafon. 

That  man  is  endued,  with  thefe  proper- 
ties of  all  inferior  orders,  will  plainly  ap- 
pear by  a  flight  examination  of  his  com- 
pbiition;  Lis  bodv  is  material,  and  ha;,  all 
the  properties  of  mere  matter,  folidity, 
extenfion,  and  gravity  ;  it  is  alio  veiled 
with  tae  quality  of  plants,  that  is,  a  power 
of  vegetation,  which  it  inceffantly  exercifes 
without  any  knowledge  or  confent  of  his: 
it  is  iown,  grows  up,  expands,  comes  to 
maturity,  withers  and  dies,  like  ail  other 
vegetables :  he  potteries  likewife  the  quali- 
ties of  lower  animals,  and  ih.ares  tiieir 
fate;  like  them,  he  is  called  into  life  with- 
out his  knowledge  or  confent;  like  them, 
he  is  compelled  by  irrefiitible  intincts,  to 
&n(\vev  the  purpofes  for  which  he  was 
deilgned ;  like  them,  he  performs  his 
dellined  courfe,  partakes  of  its  bleffings, 
and  en  iures  its  fufferings  for  a  lhort  time, 
then  dies,  and  is  feen  no  more  :  in  him 
inrHnct  is  not  lefs  powerful,  than  in  them, 
tho'  lefs  vifible,  by  being  confounded  with 
reafon,  which  it  fometimes  concurs  with, 
and  fometimes  counteracts  ;  by  this,  with 
the  concurrence  of  reafon,  he  is  taught 
the  belief  of  a  God,  of  a  future  ftate,  and 
the  difference  between  moral  good  and 
evil ;  to  purfue  happinefs,  to  avoid  danger, 
and  to  take  care  of  himfelf,  and  his  off- 
fpring ;  by  this  too  he  is  frequently  im- 
pelled, in  contradiction  to  reafon,  to  re- 
linquilh  eafe,  and  fafety,  to  traverfe  in- 
hoipitable  deferts  and  tempeiluous  feas,  to 
inflict,  and  fuffer  all  the  miferies  of  war, 
and,  like  the  herring,  and  the  mackareb 
to  haiten  to  his  own  destruction,  for  the 
public  benefit,  which  he  neither  under- 
itands,  or  cares  for,  Thus  is  this  wonder- 
ful chain  extended  from  the  lovveft  to  the 
higheft  order  of  terreilrial  beings,  by  links 
fo  nicely  fitted,  that  the  beginning  and  end 
pf  each  is  invifible  to  the  molt  inquiiitive 
eye,  and  yet  they  all  together  compofe  one 


vaft  and  beautiful  fyflem  of  fubordlnation. 
The  manner  by  which  the  confummate 
wiidom  of  the  divine  artificer  has  formed 
this  gradation,  fo  extenlive  in  the  whole, 
and  io  imperceptible  in  the  parts,  is  this  : ' 
— He  conitantly  unites  the  liighelt  degree 
of  the  qualities  of  each  inferior  order  to 
the  loweit  degree  of  the  fame  qualities, 
belonging  to  the  order  next  above  it ;  by 
which  means,  like  the  colours  of  a  ficilfu! 
painter,  they  are  fo  blended  together,  and 
fhaded  off  into  each  other,  that  no  line  of 
diilinction  is  anywhere  to  be  feen-  Thus? 
for  inftance,  folidity,  extenfion,  and  gravity  P 
the  qualities  of  mere  matter,  being  united 
with  the  loweil  degree  of  vegetation,  com- 
pofe a  Hone ;  from  whence  this  vegetative 
power  afcending  thro'  an  infinite  variety  of 
herbs,  flowers,  plants,  and  trees,  to  its 
greatelt  perfection  in  the  fenfitive  plant, 
joins  there  the  loweil  degree  of  animal  life 
in  th.e  (hell- fifh,  which  adheres  to  the  rock  ; 
and  it  is  difficult  to  diftinguifh  which 
poifefles  the  greateft  fhare,  as  the  one 
ihews  it  only  by  lhrinking  from  the  finger, 
and  the  other  by  opening  to  receive  the 
water,  which  furrounds  it.  In.  the  fame 
manner  this  animal  life  rifes  from  this  low 
beginning  in  the  fhell-nfh,  thro'  innume- 
rable fpecies  of  infects,  fifties,  birds,  and 
beaits,  to  the  confines  of  reafon,  where,  in 
the  dog,  the  monkey,  and  the  chimpanze, 
it  unites  lb  clofely  with  the  loweit  degree 
of  that  quality  in  man,  that  they  cannot 
eafily  be  diliinguifhed  from  each  other? 
From  this  loweit  degree  in  the  brutal 
Hottentot,  reafon,  with  the  afiiftance  of 
learning  and  fcience,  advances,  thro'  the 
various  ftages  of  human  underllanding, 
which  rife  above  each  other,  till  in  a  Bacon^ 
or  a  Newton,  it  attains  the  fubmit. 

Here  we  muit  itop,  being  unable  to 
purfue  the  progrefs  of  this  aitonilhing 
chain  beyond  the  limits  of  this  terreitri'al 
globe  with  the  naked  eye ;  but  thro'  the 
perfpective  of  analogy  and  conjecture',  we 
may  perceive,  that  it  afcends  a  great  deal 
higher,  to  the  inhabitants  of  other  planets, 
to  angels,  and  archangels,  the  loweil  orders 
of  whom  may  be  united  by  a  like  eafy 
tranfition  with  the  higher!  of  our  own,  in 
whom,  to  reafon  may  be  added  intuitive 
knowledge,  infight  into  futurity,  with  in- 
numerable other  faculties,  of  which  we 
are  unable  to  form  the  lealt  idea ;  through 
whom  it  may  afcend,  by  gradations  almoi^ 
infinite,  to  thofe  moil  exalted  of  created 
beings,  who  are  feated  pn  the  footflool  of 
the  celeitial  throne. 

Z  4-  §  221. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


3  44- 

§   221.     Of  the  Scriptures,  as  the  Rule  of 
Life. 

As  you  advance  In  years  and  underftand- 
ing,  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  examine  for 
yourfelfthe  evidences  of  the  Chriflian  re- 
ligion ;  and  that  you  will  be  convinced,  on 
rational  grounds,  of  its  divine  authority. 
At  prefent,  fuch  enquiries  would  demand 
more  Iludy,  and  greater  powers  of  reafon- 
ing,  than  your  age  admits  of.     It  is  ycur 
part,  therefore,  till  you  are  capable  of  un- 
derstanding the  proofs,  to  believe  your  pa- 
rents and  teachers,  that  the  holy  Scriptures 
are  writings  infpired  by  God,  containing  a 
true  hiitory  of  facts,  in  which  we  are  deeply 
concerned — a  true  recital  of  the  laws  given 
by  God  to  Mofes,  and  of  the  precepts  of 
our  blefTed  Lord  and  Saviour,    delivered 
from  his  own  mouth  to  his  difciples,  and 
repeated  and  enlarged  upon  in  the  edifying 
epiflles    of  his    apoflles — who  were  men 
chofen  from  amongft  thofe  who  had  the 
advantage  of  converfing  with  our  Lord.,  to 
bear  witnefs  of  his  miracles  and  refurrec- 
tion — and  who,  after  his    afcenfion,  were 
affifted  and  infpired  by  the  Holy  Ghofl. 
This   facred  volume  mult   be  the  rule  of 
your  life.     In  it  you  will  find  all  truths  ne- 
cefTary  to  be  believed ;  and  plain  and  eafy 
directions  for  the  practice  of  every  duty. 
Your  Bible,  then,  mutl  be  your  chief  iludy 
and  delight :  but,  as  it  contains  many  va- 
rious kinds  of  writing — fome  parts  obfcure 
and  difficult  of  interpretation,  others  plain 
and  intelligible  to  the  mcaneft  capacity — 
I  would  chiefly  recommend  to  your  fre- 
quent   perufal    fuch  parts    of  the    facred 
writings  as  are  moll  adapted  to  your  un- 
derllanding,  and   moil  neceflary  for  your 
inflruction.     Our  Saviour's  precepts  were 
fpoken  to  the  common  people  amongll  the 
Jews  ;  and  were  therefore  given  in  a  man- 
ner eafy  to    be    underilood,    and  equally 
ftriking  and  inftructive  to  the  learned  and 
nnlearned  :    for    the    mnft    ignorant   may 
comprehend   them,  whilfl  the  wifefl  muit 
be  charmed  and  awed  by  the  beautiful  and 
majeflic    fimplicity  with    which    they  are 
exprefied.     Of  the  fame  kind  are  the  Ten 
Commandment-,  delivered  by  God  to  Mo- 
fes ;  which,  as  they  were  defigned  for  uni- 
verfal  laws,  are  worded  in  the  moll  concife 
and  fimple    manner,  yet    with    a  majefly 
which  commands  our  utmoll  reverence. 

I  think  you  will  receive  great  pleafure, 
as  well  as  improvement,  from  the  hiflorical 
books  of  the  Old  Teitament — provided  you 
read  them  as  an  hifloi  y,  in  a  regular  courfe, 


and  keep  the  thread  of  it  in  your  mind  as 
you  go  on.  I  know  of  none,  true  or  ficti- 
tious, that  is  equally  wonderful,  interefling, 
and  affecting ;  or  that  is  told  in  fo  lhort 
and  fimple  a  manner  as  this,  which  is,  of  all 
hiftories,  the  molt  authentic. 

I  fhall  give  you  fome  brief  directions, 
concerning  the  method  and  courfe  I  wilh 
you  to  purfue,  in  reading  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures. May  you  be  enabled  to  make  the 
bell  ufe  of  this  moll  precious  gift  of  God 
— this  facred  treafure  of  knowledge  ! — 
May  you  read  the  Bible,  not  as  a  talk,  nor 
as  the  dull  employment  of  that  day  only,  in 
which  you  are  forbidden  more  lively  enter- 
tainments— but  with  a  fincere  and  arJent 
defire  of  initruction:  with  that  love  and  de- 
light in  God's  word,  which  the  holy  Pfal- 
mifl  fo  pathetically  felt  and  defcribed,  and 
which  is  the  natural  confequence  of  loving 
God  and  virtue  !  Though  I  fpeak  this  of 
the  Bible  in  general,  I  would  not  be  under- 
ftood  to  mean,  that  every  part  of  the  vo- 
lume is  equally  interefling.  I  have  already 
faid  that  it  confiils  of  various  matter,  and 
various  kinds  of  books,  which  mufl  be 
read  with  different  views  and  fentiments. 
The  having  fome  general  notion  of  what 
you  are  to  expect  frcm  each  book,  may 
poffibly  help  you  to  underfland  them,  and 
will  heighten  your  relifh  of  them.  I  lhall 
treat  you  as  if  you  were  perfectly  new  to 
the  whole  ;  for  fo  I  with  you  to  confiuer 
yourfelf;  becaufe  the  time  and  manne.  in 
which  children  ufually  read  the  Bible,  are 
very  ill  calculated  to  make  them  really  ac- 
quainted with  it ;  and  too  many  people, 
who  have  read  it  thus,  without  underiland- 
ing  it,  in  their  youth,  fatisfy  themfelves 
that  they  know  enough  of  it,  and  never  af- 
terwards iludy  it  with  attention,  when  they 
come  to  a  maturer  age. 

If  the  feelings  of  your  heart,  whilfl  you 
read,  correfpond  with  thofe  of  mine,  whilll 
1  write,  1  fhall  not  be  without  the  advan- 
tage of  your  partial  affection,  to  give 
weight  to  my  advice;  for,  believe  me,  my 
heart  and  eyes  overflow  with  tendernefs, 
when  I  tell  you  how  warm  and  earnefl  my 
prayers  are  for  your  happinefs  here  and 
hereafter.  Mrs.  Chapone. 

§   222.     OfGenefis. 

I  now  proceed  to  give  you  fome  fhorc 
fketches  of  the  matter  contained  in  the  dif- 
ferent books  of  the  Bible,  and  of  the  courfe 
in  which  they  ought  to  be  read. 

The  firft  book,  Genefis,  contains  the 
moil  grand,  and,  to  us,  the  mofl  interefling 

events, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELTGIOUS. 


345 


events,  that  ever  happened  in  the  univerfe  : 
— The  creation  of  the  world,  and  of  man  : 
—The  deplorable  fall   of  man,  from  his 
firft  State  of  excellence   and  blifs,    to  the 
diitreffed  condition  in  which  we  fee  all  his 
defcendants  continue  :  —  The  fentence  of 
death  pronounced  on  Adam,  and  on  all  his 
race — with  the  reviving   promife  of  that 
deliverance  which  has  fince  been  wrought 
for  us  by  our  bleffed  Saviour  : —  The  ac- 
count of  the  early  ftate  of  the  world  : — 
Of  the  univerfal  deluge  : — The  divifion  of 
mankind    into  difFerent    nations  and  lan- 
guages:—  The    ftorv    of    Abraham,    the 
founder  of  the  Jewilh  people;  whofe  un- 
fhaken  faith  and  obedience,  under  the  Se- 
verest trial  human  nature  could  Sultain,  ob- 
tained fuch  favour   in  the  fight  of  God, 
that  he  vouchsafed  to  ftvle  him  his  friend, 
and  promifed  to  make  of  his  posterity  a 
great    nation,  and  that  in  his  feed — that 
is,    in  one  of  his    defcendants  —  all    the 
kingdoms   of  the  earth  lhould  be  bleffed. 
This,  you  will  eafily  fee,  refers  to  the  MeS- 
fiah,  who  was  to  be  the  bleffmg  and  deli- 
verance of  all  nations. — It  is  amazing  that 
the  Jews,  poffeffmg  this  prophecv,  among 
many  others,  fhould  have  been  So  blinded 
by  prejudice,  as   to  have  expected,  from 
this  great  perfonage,  only  a  temporal  deli- 
verance of  their  own  nation  from  the  Sub- 
jection to  which  they  were  reduced  under 
the  Romans:   It  is  equally  amazing,  that 
fome  Chriftians  fhould,  even  now,  confine 
the  bleffed  effects  of  his  appearance  upon 
earth,  to  this  or  that  particular  feet  or  pro- 
feffion,    when    he    is   fo    clearly  and  em- 
phatically defcribed  as  the  Saviour  of  the 
whole  world — The  ftory  of   Abraham's 
proceeding  to  facrifice  his  only  fon,  at  the 
command    of   God,  is     affecting    in    the 
higheft  degree  ;  and  fets  forth  a  pattern  of 
unlimited  refignation,  that  every  one  ought 
to  imitate,  in  thofe  trials  of  obedience  under 
temptation,  or  of  acquiefcence  under  afflict  - 
ing  difpenfations,  which  fall  to  their  lot. 
Of  this  we  may  be  affured,  that  our  triais 
will  be  always  proportioned  to  the  powers 
afforded  us;    if  we  have  not  Abraham's 
ftrength  of  mind,  neither  fhall  we  be  called 
upon  to  lift  the  bloody  knife   againft  the 
bofom  of  an  only  child;   but   if  the  al- 
mighty  arm  lhould    be  lifted  up  againft 
him,  we  muft  be  ready  to  refign  him,  and 
all   we  hold  dear,    to    the  divine  will. — 
This  action  of  Abraham  has  been  cenfured 
by  fome,  who  do  not  attend  to  the  diftinc- 
tion  between  obedience  to  a  fpecial  com- 
mand, and  the  deteftably  cruel  Sacrifices 


of  the  Heathens,  who  fometimes  volunta- 
rily, and  without  any  divine  injunctions,  of- 
fered up  their  own  children,  under  the  no- 
tion of  appeafing  the  anger  of  their  gods. 
Anablolute  command  from  God  himSelf— 
as  in  the  cafe  of  Abraham — entirely  alters 
the  moral  nature  of  the  action ;  fince  he, 
and  he  only,  has  a  perfect  right  over  the 
lives  cf  his  creatures,  and  may  appoint 
whom  he  will,  either  angel  or  man,  to  be 
his  instrument  of  destruction.  That  it  was 
really  the  voice  of  God  which  pronounced 
the  command,  and  not  a  delufion,  might 
be  made  certain  to  Abraham's  mind,  by 
means  we  do  not  comprehend,  but  which 
we  know  to  be  within  the  power  of  him 
who  made  our  fouls  as  well  as  bodies,  and 
who  can  controul  and  direel:  every  faculty 
of  the  human  mind :  and  we  may  be  af- 
fured, that  if  he  was  pleafed  to  reveal  him- 
felf So  miraculoufly,  he  would  not  leave  a 
poSSibility  of  doubting  whether  it  was  a  real 
or  an  imaginary  revelation.  Thus  the  fa- 
crifice of  Abraham  appears  to  be  clear  of 
all  fuperftition ;  and  remains  the  nobleft 
inftance  of  religious  faith  and  fubmiifion, 
that  was  ever  given  by  a  mere  man:  we 
cannot  wonder  that  the  bleffings  beStowed 
on  him  for  it  fhould  have  been  extended 
to  his  posterity. — This  book  proceeds  with 
the  hiltory  of  Ifaac,  which  becomes  very 
interelting  to  us,  from  the  touching  fcene 
I  have  mentioned — and  Still  more  fo,  if  we 
confider  him  as  the  type  of  our  Saviour. 
It  recounts  his  marriage  with  Rebecca— 
the  birth  and  hiltory  of  his  two  fons,  Ja- 
cob, the  father  of  the  twelve  tribes,  and 
Efau,  the  father  of  the  Edomites,  or  Idu- 
means — the  exquifitely  affecting  Story  of 
JoSeph  and  his  brethren — and  of  his  trans- 
planting the  Ifraelites  into  Egypt,  who 
there  multiplied  to  a  great  nation. 

Mrs.  Chapone, 

§   223.      Of  Exodus. 

In  Exodus,  you  read  of  a  feries  of  won- 
ders, wrought  by  the  Almighty,  to  refcuc 
the  oppreffed  Ifraelites  from  the  cruel  ty- 
ranny of  the  Egyptians,  who,  having  firft 
received  them  as  guelts,  by  degrees  re- 
duced them  to  a  State  of  flavery.  By  ths 
molt  peculiar  mercies  and  exertions  in  their 
favour,  God  prepared  his  chofen  people  to 
receive,  with  reverent  and  obedient  hearts, 
the  folemn  restitution  of  thofe  primitive 
laws,  which  probably  he  had  revealed  to 
Adam  and  his  immediate  defcendants,  or 
which,  at  leaft,  he  had  made  known  by  the 
dictates  of  confeience ;    but  which   time, 

and 


34s 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


and  the  degeneracy  of  mankind,  had  much 
ohfcured.  Thfe  important  revelation  was 
made  to  them  in  the  Wildernefs  of  Sinah  ; 
there,  aftembled  before  the  burning  moun- 
tain, furrounded  "  with blacknefs,  and  dark- 
nefs,  and  tempeit,"  they  heard  the  awful 
voice  of  God  pronounce  the  eternal  law, 
impreffmg  it  on  their  hearts  with  circum- 
ftances  of  terror,  but  without  thofe  encou- 
ragements, and  thofe  excellent  promifes, 
which  were  afterwards  offered  to  mankind 
by  Jefus  Chrift.  Thus  were  the  great  laws 
of  morality  reftored  to  the  -.Jews,  and 
through  them  transmitted  to  other  nations ; 
and  by  that  means  a  great  reftraint  was 
oppcfed  to  the  torrent  of  vice  and  impiety, 
which  began  to  prevail  over  the  world. 

To  thofe  moral  precepts,  which  are  of 
perpetual  and  univerfal  obligation,  were 
fuperadded,  by  the  miniftration  of  Mofes, 
many  peculiar  inftitutions,  wifely  adapted 
to  different  ends — either,  to  fix  the  me- 
mory of  thofe  ■  pail  deliverances,  which 
were  figurative  of  a  future  and  far  greater 
falvation — to  place  inviolable  barriers  be- 
tween the  Jews  and  the  idolatrous  nations, 
by  whom  they  were  furrounded — or,  to 
be  the  civil  law  by  which  the  community 
was  to  be  governed. 

To  conduct  this  feries  of  events,  and 
to  ellabiiih  thefe  laws  with  his  people,  God 
raifed  up  that  great  prophet  Mofes,  wh'ofe 
faith  and  piety  enabled  him  to  undertake 
and  execute  the  mod  arduous  enterprizes ; 
and  to  purfue,  with  unabated  zeal,  the 
welfare  of  his  countrymen.  Even  in  the 
hour  of  death,  this  generous  ardour  iliil 
prevailed  :  his  laft  moments  were  employ- 
ed in  fervent  prayers  for  their  proiperity, 
and  in  rapturous  gratitude  for  the  glimple 
vouchfafed  him  of  a  S  viour,  far  greater 
than  himfelf,  whom  God  would  one  day 
raife  up  to  his  people. 

Thus  did  Mofes,  by  the  excellency  cf 
his  faith,  obtain  a  glorious  pre-eminence 
among  the  faints  and  prophets  in  heaven  ; 
while,  on  earth,  he  will  be  ever  revered 
as  the  firfl  of  thofe  benefadlors  to  mankind, 
whofe  labours  for  the  public  good  have 
endeared  their  memory  to  all  ages. 

Mrs.  Chapone. 


you  may  pafs  it  over  entirely — and,  for 
the  fame  reafon,  you  may  omit  the  firft 
eight  chapters  of  Numbers.  The  rell  of 
Numbers  is  chiefly  a  continuation  of  the 
hiilory,  with  fome  ritual  laws. 

In  Deuteronomy,  Mofes  makes  a  reca- 
pitulation of  the  foregoing  hiilory,  with 
zealous  exhortations  to  the  people,  faith- 
fully to  worfhip  and  obey  that  God, 
who  had  worked  fuch  amazing  wonders 
for  them:  he  promifes  them  the  nobleft 
temporal  Herrings,  if  they  prove  obe- 
dient ;  and  adds  the  mod:  awful  and  ilrik- 

if  they 
I  have 


224. 


Of  Leviticus,  Numbers,  and. Deu- 
teronomy. 


The  next  book  is  Leviticus,  which  con- 
tains little  befides  the  laws  f<  r  the  pecu- 
liar ritual  obfervance  of  the  jews,  and  there- 
fore affords  no  great  inilruction  to  us  now  : 


ing  denunciations    againft   them, 
rebel,  or  forfake  the  true  God. 


before  obferved,  that  the  fanctions  of  the 
Mofaic  law  wers  temporal  rewards  and 
punilhments :  thofe  of  the  New  Teltament 
are  eternal  ;  thefe  laft,  as  they  are  io  in- 
finitely more  forcible  than  the  firft,  were 
referved  for  the  laft,  bell  gift  to  mankind 
— and  were  revealed  by  the  Meftiah,  in 
the  fulleft  and  clearer!  manner.  Moles, 
in  this  beck,  directs  the  method  in  which 
the  ifraeliies  were  to  deal  with  the  feven 
nations,  whom  they  were  appointed  to  pu- 
niih  for  their  profligacy  and  idolatry,  and 
whofe  land  they  were  to  poffefs,  when  they 
had  driven  out  the  old  inhabitants.  He 
gives  them  excellent  laws,  civil  as  well  as 
religious,  which  were  ever  after  the  {land- 
ing municipal  laws  of  that  people. — This 
book  concludes  with  Mofes's  fong  and 
death.  Ibid. 

§    225.      Ofjojhua. 

The  book  of  Jofhua  contains  the  con- 
quefts  of  the  liiaelites  over  the  feven  na- 
tions, and  their  ellabliihment  in  the  pro- 
mifed  land. — Their  treatment  of  thefe  con- 
quered nations  muit  appear  to  you  very 
cruel  and  unjulf,  if  you  confider  it  as  their 
own  act,  unauthorized  by  a  pofitive  com-* 
mand:  but  they  had  the  moll  abfolute  in- 
junctions, not  to  fpare  thefe  corrupt  peor 
pie — «  to  make  no  covenant  with  them, 
nor  fhew  mercy  to  them,  but  utterly  to 
deftroy  them  :" — and  the  reafon  is  given, 
— ':lell  they  mould  turn  away  the  lfrael- 
ites  from  following  the  Lord,  that  they 
might  ferve  other  gods."  The  children 
of  Ifrael  are  to  be  considered  as  inftru- 
ment.s,  in  the  hand  of  the  Lord.,  to  punilh 
thofe  whofe  idolatry  and  wicked  nefs  had 
defervedly  brought  deilruclion  on  them : 
this  example,  therefore,  cannot  be  pleaded 
in  behalf  of  cruelty,  or  bring  any  imputa- 
tion on  the  character  of  the  Jews.  With  re- 
gard toother  cities,  which  did  not  belong  to 

thefe 


BOOK    I.     MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS 


347 


tliefe  {even  nations,  they  were  dire&ed  to 
deal  with  them  according  to  the  common 
law  of  arms  at  that  time.  If  the  city  fub- 
mitted,  it  became  tributary,  and  the  people 
were  fpared ;  if  it  refilled,  the  men  were 
to  be  ilain,  but  the  women  and  children 
laved.  Yet,  though  the  crime  of  cruelty 
cannot  be  juftly  laid  to  their  charge  on  this 
occafion,  vou  will  obferve,  in  the  courfe 
of  their  hiltory,  many  things  recorded  of 
them,  very  different  from  what  you  would 
expecl  from  the  chofen  people  of  God,  if 
you  fuppofed  them  felefled  on  account  of 
their  own  merit :  their  national  character 
was  by  no  means  amiable ;  and  we  are  re- 
peatedly told,  that  they  were  not  chofen 
ior  their  fuperior  righteoufnefs  — "  for 
they  were  a  ftiff-necked  people;  and  pro- 
voked the  Lord  with  their  rebellions  from 
the  day  they  left  Egypt." — "  You  have 
been  rebellious  againll  the  Lord,"  fays 
Moies,  "  from  the  day  that  I  knew  you." 
—And  he  vehemently  exhorts  them,  not 
to  flatter  themfelves  that  their  fuccefs  was, 
in  any  degree,  owing  to  their  own  merits. 
They  were  appointed  to  be  the  fcourge  of 
other  nations,  whofe  crimes  rendered  them 
fit  objtcls  of  divine  chailifement.  For  the 
fake  of  righteous  Abraham,  their  founder, 
and  perhaps  for  many  other  wife  reafons, 
undilcovered  to  us,  they  were  felecled 
from  a  world  over- run  with  idolatry,  to 
preferve  upon  earth  the  pure  worfhip  of 
the  one  only  God,  and  to  be  honoured  with 
the  birth  of  the  Meffiah  amongft  them. 
For  this  end  they  were  precluded,  by  di- 
vine command,  from  mixing  with  any 
other  people,  and  defended,  by  a  great  num- 
ber of  peculiar  rites  and  obfervances,  from 
falling  into  the  corrupt  worfhip  praftifed 
by  their  neighbours.  Mrs.  Chapone. 

§    226.      Of  "Judges,  Samuel,  and  Kings. 

The  book  of  Judges,  in  which  you  will 
find  the  affecTing  flories  of  Sampfcn  and 
Jephtha,  carries  on  the  hiltory  from  the 
death  of  Jolhua,  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ;  but  the  facls  are  not  told  in 
the  times  in  which  they  happened,  which 
makes  fome  confufion;  and  it  will  be  ne- 
cefTary  to  ccnfult  the  marginal  dates  and 
notes,  as  well  as  the  index,  in  order  to  get 
any  clear  idea  of  the  fuccefuon  of  events 
during  that  period. 

The  hiftory  then  proceeds  regularly 
through  the  two  books  of  Samuel,  and 
thofe  of  Kings :  nothing  can  be  more  in- 
tereiHrig  and  entertaining  than  the  reigns 
of  Saul,  David,  and  Solomon:  but,  aiier 


the  death  of  Solomon,  when  ten  tribes  re- 
volted from  his  fon  Rehoboam,  and  be- 
came a  feparate  kingdom,  you  will  find 
fome  dime  ulty  in  underftanding  diftin&ly 
the  hiitories  of  the  two  kingdoms  oflfrael 
and  Judah,  which  are  blended  together; 
and  by  the  likenefs  of  the  names,  and 
other  particulars,  will  be  apt  to  confound 
your  mind,  without  great  attention  to  the 
different  threads  thus  carried  on  together  : 
the  index  here  will  be  of  great  ufe  to  you. 
The  fecond  book  of  Kings  concludes  with 
the  Badylonifli  captivity,  588  years  be- 
fore Chrift — till  which  time  the  kingdom 
of  JuJah  had  defcended  uninterruptedly 
in  the  line  of  David.  Ibid. 

§    227.     Of  Chronicles,  Ez  ra,  Nehemiah,  and 
Eftber. 

The  firft  book  of  Chronicles  begins 
with  a  genealogy  from  Adam,  through  all 
the  tribes  of  Jfrael  and  Judah  ;  and  the  re- 
mainder is  the  fame  hiltory  which  is  con- 
tained in  the  books  of  Kings,  with  little  or 
no  variation,  till  the  feparation  of  the  ten 
tribes.  From  that  period,  it  proceeds  with. 
the  hiftory  of  the  kingdom  of  Judah  alone, 
and  gives  therefore  a  more  regular  and 
clear  account  of  the  affairs  of  Judah  than 
the  book  of  Kings.  You  may  pafs  over 
the  firft  book  of  Chronicles,  and  the  nine 
flrft  chapters  of  the  fecond  book;  but,  by 
all  means,  read  the  remaining  chapters,  as 
they  will  give  you  more  clear  and  diftindt 
ideas  of  the  hiftory  of  Judah,  than  that 
you  read  in  the  fecor.d  book  of  Kings. 
The  fecond  of  Chronicles  ends,  like  the 
fecond  of  Kings,  with  the  Babylonifh  cap* 
tivity. 

You  mult  purfue  the  hiltory  in  the  book 
of  Ezra,  which  gives  an  account  of  the  re- 
turn of  fome  of  the  Jews  on  the  edift  of 
Cyrus,  and  of  the  rebuilding  the  Lord's 
temple. 

Nehemiah  carries  on  the  hiftory  for 
about  twelve  years,  when  he  himfelf  was 
governor  of  Jerufalem,  with  authority  to 
rebuild  the  walls,  &c. 

The  ftory  of  Either  is  prior  in  time  to 
that  of  Ezra  and  Nehemiah;  as  you  will 
fee  by  the  marginal  dates;  however,  as  it 
happened  during  the  feventy  years  capti- 
vity, and  is  a  kind  of  epifode,  it  may  be 
read  in  its  own  place. 

This  is  the  laft  of  the  canonical  books  that 
is  properly  hiilorical ;  and  I  would  there- 
fore ..dvife,  that  you  pafs  over  what  follows, 
till  you  have  continued  the  hiftory  through 
the  apocryphal  books.  Ibid. 

h    238. 


34s 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§  228.  Of  Job. 

The  ftory  of  Job  is  probably  very  an- 
cient, though  that  is  a  point  upon  which 
learned   men   have  differed:    It  is  dated, 
however,  1520  years  before  Chriff  :   I  be- 
lieve it  is  uncertain  by  whom  it  was  writ- 
ten: many  parts  of  it  are  obfcure  ;  but  it  is 
well  worth  lludying,  for  the  extreme  beauty 
of  the  pcetry,  and  for  the  noble  and   fub- 
lime  devotion  it  contains.     The  lubject  of" 
the  difpute  between  Job  and  his  pretended 
friends  feems  to  be,    whether  the  Provi- 
dence of  God  diltributes  the  rewards  and 
punifhments  of  this  life  in  exaft  proportion 
to  the  merit  or  demerit  of  each  individual 
His  antagonitls  fuppofe  that  it  does ;  and 
therefore  infer,  from  Job's  uncommon  ca- 
lamities, that,  notwithstanding   his  appa- 
rent righteoufnefs,    he    was    in    reality    a 
grievous  finner.     They  aggravate  his  fup- 
pofed  guilt,  by  the  imputation  of  hypocri- 
fy,  and  call  upon  him  to  confefs  it,  and  to 
acknowledge  the  juilice  of  his  punifhment, 
Job  aliens  his  own  innocence  and  virtue  in 
the    moll:    pathetic  manner,  yet  does  not 
prefume  to  accufe  the  Supreme  Being  of 
injuflice.     Elihu  attempts   to  arbitrate  the 
matter,  by  alledging  the  impoffibility  that 
fo  frail  and   ignorant  a  creature  as  man 
mould  comprehend  the  ways  of  the  Al- 
mighty ;  and  therefore  condemns  the  un- 
jufl  and  cruel  inference  the  three  friends 
had  drawn  from  the  fufferings  of  Job.     He 
alfo  blames    Job  for  the    prefumption  of 
acquitting  himfelf  of  all  iniquity,  fince  the 
beft   of  men  are  not  pure  in  the  fight  of 
God — but   all  have  fomething  to  repent 
of:  and  he  advifes  him  to  maks  this  ufe  of 
his    afflictions.     At  laff,  by  a  bold  figure 
of  poetry,  the  Supreme  Being  himfelf  is 
introduced,  fpeaking    from  the  whirlwind, 
and  filencing  them  all  by  the  moll  fublime 
difplay  of  his  own  power,    magnificence, 
and  wifdom,  and  of  the  comparativelittle- 
nefs  and  ignorance  of  man. — This  indeed 
is  the  only  conclufion  of  the    argument, 
which  could  be  drawn  at  a  time  when  life 
and  immortality  were  not  yet  brought  to 
light.     A  future  retribution  is  the  only  fa- 
tisfaclory  folution  of  the  difficulty  arifing 
from  the  fufferings  of  good  people  in  this 
Hfe^  Mrs.  Chapone. 

%    229.      Of  the  Pfalms. 

Next  follow  the  Pfalms,  with  which  you 
cannot  be  too  converfant.  If  you  have 
any  talle,  either  for  poetry  or  devotion, 
they  will  be  your  delight,  and  will  afford 


you  a  continual  feafl.     The  bible  transla- 
tion is  far  better  than  that  ufed  in  the  com- 
mon-prayer book,  and  will  often  give  you 
the  fenfe,  when  the  other  is  obfcure.     In 
this,  as  well  as  in  all  other  parts  of  the 
fc-ipture,  you  mull  be  careful  always  to 
confult  the  margin,  which  gives  you  the 
corrections  made  fince  the  lall  translation, 
and  it  is  generally  preferable  to  the  words 
of  the   text.     I  would  wilh  you  to  feleft 
fome   of  the  Pfalms  that  pleafe  you  bell, 
and  get  them  by  heart:  or,  at  lead,  make 
yourfelf  mailer  of  the  fentiments  contained 
in  them.     Dr.  Delany's  Life  of  David  will 
fhew  you  the  occafions  on  which  feveral  of 
them  were  compofed,  which  add  much  to 
their   beauty  and  propriety;  and  by  com- 
paring them  with  the  events  of  David's 
life,  you  will  greatly  enhance  your  plea- 
fure  in    them.     Never   did    the   fpirit   of 
true  piety  breathe  more  ftrongly  than  in 
thefe   divine  fongs :   which   being   added 
to  a  rich  vein  of  poetry,  makes  them  more 
captivating  to  my  heart  and  imagination, 
than    any  thing   1   ever  read.      You  will 
confider  how  great  difadvantages  any  po- 
em mull  fullain  from  being  rendered  lite- 
rally into  profe,   and  then  imagine   how 
beautiful   thefe   mull    be  in  the    original. 
May  you   be   enabled,    by    reading  them 
frequently,    to    transfufe   into    yonr    own 
breall  that  holy  flame  which  infpired  the 
writer  ! — to  delight  in  the  Lord,  and   in 
his  laws,  like  the  Pfalmiit — to  rejoice  in 
him  always,  and   to  think'  "  one  day  in 
his  courts  better  than  a  thoufand!" — But 
may  you  efcape  the  heart-piercing  forrow 
of  fuch  repentance  as  that  of  David— by 
avoiding  fin,  which  humbled   this  unhap- 
py king  to  the  dull— and  which  coll  him 
iuch  bitter  anguifh,  as  it  is   impoflible  to 
read  of  without  being  moved  !      Not   all 
the  pleafures  of  the  moll  profperous  lin- 
ners  would  counterbalance  the  hundredth 
part  of  thofe  fenfations  defcribed  in  his  pe- 
nitential Pfalms — and  which  mull  be  the 
portion  of  every  man,  who  has  fallen  from 
a  religious    Hate    into  fuch  crimes,  when 
once  he  recovers  a  fenfe  of  religion  and 
virtue,  and  is  brought  to  a  real  hatred  of 
fin.     However  available  fuch  repentance 
may  be  to  the  fafety  and  happinefs  of  the 
foul  after  death,  it  is  a  flate  of  fuch  ex- 
quifite  fuffering  here,  that  one  cannot  be 
enough  furprized   at    the   folly   of  thofe, 
who  indulge  fin,  with  the  hope  of  living  to 
make  their  peace  with  God  by  repentance. 
Happy  are  they  who  preferve  their  inno- 
cence  unfullied   by  any  great  or  wilful 

crimes, 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


34? 


crimes,  and  who  have  only  the  common 
failings  of  humanity  to  repent  of;  thefe 
are  furficiently  mortifying  to  a  heart  deeply 
fmitten  with  the  love  of  virtue,  and  with 
the  defire  of  perfection. — There  are  many 
very  linking  prophecies  of  the  Meffiah  in 
thefe  divine  fongs,  particularly  in  Pialm 
xxii.— fuch  may  be  found  fcattered  up  and 
down  almoft  throughout  the  Old  Tefta- 
ment.  To  bear  tellimony  to  him,  is  the 
great  and  ultimate  end  for  which  the  lpirit 
of  prophecy  was  bellowed  on  the  facred 
writers; — but  this  will  appear  more  plainly 
to  you,  when  you  enter  on  the  itudy  of 
prophecy,  which  you  are  now  much  too 
young  to  undertake.  Mrs.  Cbapone. 

§  230.  Of  the  Pro-verbs,  Ecclefiajies,  Solo- 
mon's Song,  the  Prophecies,  and  Apocry- 
pha. 

The  Proverbs  and  Ecclefiaftes  are  rich 
ftores  of  wifdom,  from  which  I  wifh  you 
to  adopt  fuch  maxims  as  may  be  of  infinite 
ufe  both  to  your  temporal  and  eternal  in- 
tereft.  But  detached  fentences  are  a  kind 
of  reading  not  proper  to  be  continued  long 
at  a  time ;  a  few  of  them,  well  chofen  and 
digefted,  will  do  you  much  more  fervice, 
than  to  read  half  a  dozen  chapters  toge- 
ther. In  this  refpeft,  they  are  directly  op- 
pofite  to  the  hiftorical  books,  which,  if  not 
read  in  continuation,  can  hardly  be  under- 
ftood,  or  retained  to  any  purpofe. 

The  Song  of  Solomon  is  a  fine  poem — 
but  its  myftical  reference  to  religion  lies 
too  deep  for  a  common  underftanding :  if 
you  read  it,  therefore,  it  will  be  rather  as 
matter  of  curiofity  than  of  edification. 

Next  follow  the  Prophecies  ;  which 
though  highly  deferving  the  greateft  at- 
tention and  ftudy,  I  think  you  had  better 
omit  for  fome  years,  and  then  read  them 
with  a  good  expofition,  as  they  are  much 
too  difficult  for  you  to  underftand  without 
affiftance.  Dr.  Newton  on -the  prophecies 
will  help  you  much,  whenever  you  under- 
take this  ftudy — which  you  mould  by  all 
means  do,  when  your  underftanding  is 
ripe  enough;  becaufe  one  of  the  main 
proofs  of  our  religion  refts  on  the  teftimony 
of  the  prophecies ;  and  they  are  very  fre- 
quently quoted,  and  referred  to,  in  the  New 
Teftament ;  befides,  the  fublimity  of  the 
language  and  fentiments,  through  all  the 
difadvantages  of  antiquity  and  tranflation, 
muft,  in  very  many  paflages,  ftrike  every 
perfon  of  tafte ;  and  the  excellent  moral 


and  religious  precepts  found  in  them  mull 
be  ufeful  to  all. 

Though  I  have  fpoken  of  thefe  books  in 
the  order  in  which  they  ftand,  I  repeat, 
that  they  are  not  to  be  read  in  that  order 
— but  that  the  thread  of  the  hiftory  is 
to  be  purfued,  from  Nehemiah  to  the  firft 
book  of  the  Maccabees,  in  the  Apocrypha; 
taking  care  to  obferve  the  chronology  re- 
gularly, by  referring  to  the  index,  which 
fupplies  the  deficiencies  of  this  hiftory  from 
Jofephus's  Antiquities  of  the  Jews.  The 
firft  of  Maccabees  carries  on  the  ftory  till 
within  195  years  of  our  Lord's  circumci- 
fion :  the  fecond  book  is  the  fame  narra- 
tive, written  by  a  difFerent  hand,  and  does 
not  bring  the  hiftory  fo  forward  as  the 
firft ;  fo  that  it  may  be  entirely  omitted, 
unlefs  you  have  the  curiofity  to  read  fome 
particulars  of  the  heroic  conftancy  of  the 
Jews,  under  the  tortures  inni&ed  by  their 
heathen  conquerors,  with  a  few  other 
things  not  mentioned  in  the  firft  book. 

You  muft  then  connect  the  hiftory  by  the 
help  of  the  index,  which  will  give  you 
brief  heads  of  the  changes  that  happened 
in  the  ftate  of  the  Jews,  from  this  time  till 
the  birth  of  the  Meffiah. 

The  other  books  of  the  Apocrypha, 
though  not  admitted  as  of  facred  autho- 
rity, have  many  things  well  worth  your 
attention :  particularly  the  admirable  book 
called  Eccleliafticus,  and  the  book  of 
Wifdom.  But,  in  the  courfe  of  reading 
which  I  advife,  thefe  muft  be  omitted  till 
after  you  have  gone  through  the  Gofpels 
and  Acts,  that  you  may  not  lofe  the  hif- 
torical thread.  Ibid. 

§  231.  Of  the  Ne-xv  Tefament,  ivhicb  is 
confia?itly  to  be  referred  to,  as  the  Rule 
ana  Direclion  of  our  moral  Ccnducl. 

We  come  now  to  that  part  of  fcripture, 
which  is  the  moft  important  of  all,  and 
which  you  muft  make  your  conftant  ftudy, 
not  only  till  you  are  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  it,  but  all  your  life  long;  becaufe, 
how  often  foever  repeated,  it  is  impofiible 
to  read  the  life  and  death  of  our  blefTed 
Saviour,  without  renewing  and  increafing 
in  our  hearts  that  love  and  reverence,  and 
gratitude  towards  him,  which  is  fo  juftly 
due  for  all  he  did  and  fuffered  for  us  ! 
Every  word  that  fell  from  his  lips  is  more 
precious  than  all  the  treafures  of  the  earth; 
for  his  "  are  the  words  of  eternal  life  !" 
They  muft  therefore  be  laid  up  in  your 

heart* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


heart,   and  constantly  referred  to,  on   all 
occafions,  as  the  rule  and  direction  of  all 
your  actions ;  particularly  thofe  very  com- 
prehenfive  moral  precepts   he  has  graci- 
oufly  left  with  us,  which  can  never  fail  to 
direct  us  aright,  if  fairly  and  honeilly  ap- 
plied :    fuch   as,  "  whatfoever   ye  would 
that  men  mould  do  unto  you,  even  fo  do 
unto  them." — There  is  no  occafion,  great 
or  fmall,  on  which  you  may  not  fafely  ap- 
ply this  rule  for  the  direction  of  your  con- 
duct: andj  whillt  your  heart  honeilly  ad- 
heres to  it,  you  can  never  be  guilty  of  any 
fort  of  injuftice  or  unkindnefs.     The  two 
great  commandments,  which  contain   the 
fummary  of  our  duty  to  God  and  man,  are 
no  lefs  eafily  retained,  and  made  a  ftandard 
by  which  to  judge  our  own  hearts—"  To 
love  the  Lord  our  God,  with  all  our  hearts, 
with  all  our  minds,  with  all  cur  ftrength  ; 
and  our  neighbour  (or  fellow-creature)  as 
ourfelves."     "  Love  worketh  no  ill  to  his 
neighbour."     Therefore  if  you  have  true 
benevolence,  you  will  never  do  any  thing 
injurious   to   individuals,    or    to    fociety. 
Now,  all  crimes  whatever  are    (in  their 
remoter  conlequcnces  at  leaft,  if  not  im- 
mediately and  apparently)  injurious  to  the 
fociety  in  which  we  live.     It  is  impoflible 
to  love  God  without  denring  topleafe  him, 
and,  as  far  as  we  are   able,  to   referable 
him;  therefore  the  love  of  God  muft  lead 
to  every  virtue  in  the  higheft.  degree;  and, 
we  may  be  (-are,  we  do  not  truly  love  him, 
if  we  content  ourfelves  with  avoiding  fla- 
grant fins,  and  do  not  drive,  in  good  ear- 
ned, to  reach  the   greateit  degree  of  per- 
fection we  are  capable  of.     Thus  do  thefe 
few  words  direct  us  to  the  higheft  Chriftian 
virtue.     Indeed,  the   whole    tenor  of   the 
Gofpei  is  to  offer  us  every  help,  direction, 
and  motive,  that  c;;n  enable   us  to  attain 
that  degree  of  perfection  on  whichdepends 
pur  eternal  good.  Mrs.  Cbapone. 

§   232.      Of  tie  Example  fit  by  our  Saviour, 
and  his  Character. 

What  an  example  is  fet  before  us  in  our 
blefl'ed  Mailer!  How  is  his  whole  life, 
from  earlieft  youth,  dedicated  to  the  pur- 
fuit  of  true  wifdom,  and  to  the  practice  of 
the  mofl  exalted  virtue  !  When  you  fee 
him,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  in  the  temple 
aniongft  the  dodlors,  hearing  them,  and 
afking  them  queftions  on  the  fubjedt  of  re- 
ligion, and  aftonifhing  them  all  with  his 
underilanding  and  anfwers — you  will  fay, 
perhaps^- — "Well  might   the    Son   of 


"  God,  even  at  thofe  years,   be   far  wifer 
'•'  than  the   aged;  but,  can  a  mortal  child 
"emulate    fuch    heavenly    wifdom?     Can 
"  fuch  a  pattern  be  propofed  to  my  imi- 
"  tation  ?" — Yes,  certainly  ;  —  remember 
that  he  1ms  bequeathed  to   you   his  hea- 
venly wifdom,  as  far  as  concerns  ;»our  own 
good.     lie  has  left  you  fuch  declarations 
of  his  will,    and  of  the  confequences    of 
your  actions,  as  you  are,  even  now,  fully 
able  to  underftand,  if  you  will  but  attend 
to  them.     If,   then,   you  will  imitate   his 
zeal  for  knowledge,  if  you  will  delight  in 
gaining    information    and    improvement; 
you  may   even   now   become  "  wife   unto 
falvation."  — Unmoved  by   the   praife  he 
acquired  amongfl:   thefe  learned  men,  you 
fee  him  meekly  return  to  the  Objection  of 
a  child,  under  thofe  who  appeared  to  be 
his  parents,  though  he  was  in  reality  their 
Lord:    you    fee  him  return  to  live    with 
them,  to  work  for  them,  and  to  be  the  joy 
and   folace   of  their    lives;    till    the   time 
came,  when  he  was  to  enter  on  that  fcene 
of  public  action,  for  which  his   heavenly 
Father  had  fent  him  from  his  own  right 
hand,  to  take  upon  him  the  form  of  a  poor 
carpenter's  ion.     What  a  Ieifon  of  humi- 
lity  is  this  and  of  obedience  to  parents! 
— When,  having  received  the  glorious  tel- 
timony  from  heaven,  of  his  being  the  be- 
loved Son  of  the  Mole  High,  he  enters  on 
his  public  miniftry,  what  an  example  does 
he  give  us,  of  the  moll  exteniive  and  con- 
ftant  benevolence  !— how  are  all  his  hours 
fpent  in  doing  good  to  the  fouls  and  bodies 
of  men  ! — not  the  meaneit  (inner  is  below 
iris  notice  : — to  reclaim  and  fave  them,  he 
cendefcends   to    converfe   familiarly   with 
the  in  oil  corrupt,   as  well   as  the  moil  ab- 
ject.    All  his  miracles  are  wrought  to  be- 
nefit mankind;  not  one  to  punifli  and  afflict 
them,  inilead  of  ufing  the  almighty  power, 
which  accompanied  him,  to  the  purpofe  of 
exalting  himfelf,  and   treading   down  his 
enemies,  he  makes  no  other  ufe  of  it  than 
to  heal  and  to  fave. 

When  you  come  to  read  of  his  fuiler- 
ings  and  death,  the  ignominy  and  reproach, 
the  forrow  of  mind,  and  torment  of  body, 
which  he  fubmitted  to — when  you  confider 
that  it  was  all  for  our  fakes — "  that  by  his 
ftripes  we  are  healed" — and  by  his  death 
v/e  are  railed  from  destruction  to  everlaft- 
ing  life — what  can  I  fay,  that  can  add  any 
thing  to  the  fenfations  you  muft  then  feel  I 
—  No  power  of  language  can  make-  the 
fcene  more  touching  than  it  appears  in  the 
plain  and  fimple  narrations  of  the  evan- 
gel] Is. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL 

geiiits.  The  heart  that  is  unrr oved  by  it, 
can  be  fcarcely  human ; — but  the  emotions 
of  tendernefs  and  compunction,  which  al- 
rnoil  every  one  feeis  in  reading  this  ac- 
count, will  be  of  no  avail,  unlefs  applied  to 
the  true  end- — unlefs  it  infpires  you  with  a 
fincere  and  warm  affection  towards  your 
bleffed  Lord — with  a  firm  refolution  to  obey 
his  commands ; — to  be  Ids  faithful  diici- 
ple — and  ever  to  renounce  and  abhor  thole 
fins,  which  brought  mankind  under  divine 
condemnation,  and  from  which  we  have 
been  redeemed  at  fo  clear  a  rate.  Re- 
member that  the  title  of  Chriilian,  or  fol- 
lower of  Chrift,  impiies  a  more  than  ordi- 
nary degree  of  holinefs  and  goodnefs.  As 
our  motives  to  virtue  are  ftrcnger  than 
thole  which  are  afforded  to  the  reft  of  man- 
kind, our  guilt  will  be  proportionabiy 
greater,  if  we  depart  from  it. 

Our  Saviour  appears  to  have  had  three 
great  purpefes,  in  defcending  from  his 
glorv  and  dwelling  amongit  men.  The 
firft,  to  teach  them  true  virtue,  both  by  Ids 
example  and  precepts.  The  fecond,  to 
give  them  the  moil  forcible  motives  to  the 
practice  of  it,  by  "  bringing  life  and  im- 
mortality to  light;"  by  fhewing  them  the 
certainty  of  a  rcfurrection  and  judgment, 
and  the  abfolute  neceffity  of  obedienee  to 
God's  laws.  The  third,  to  facrifice  him- 
felf  for  us,  to  obtain,  by  his  death,  the  re- 
million  of  our  fins,  upon  our  repentance 
and  reformation,  and  the  power  of  be- 
llowing on  his  fmcere  followers  the  incfti- 
mable  gifc  of  immortal  happinefs. 

Mrs.  Chapcne. 


~YV 


§233.  A  comparative  Vie-a)  of  the  Blef- 
fed and  Curfed  at  the  Laj}  Day,  and  the 
Inference  to  be  dravjn  from  it. 

What  a  tremendous  fcene  of  the  laft  day 
does  the  gofpel  place  before  our  eyes  :  — 
of  that  day,  when  you  and  every  one  of 
us  fhall  awake  from  the  grave,  and  behold 
the  Son  of  God,  on  his  glorious  tribunal, 
attended  by  millions  of  celeilial  beings,  of 
whofe  fuperior  excellence  we  can  now 
form  no  adequate  idea- — when,  in  pre- 
fence  of  all  mankind,  of  thofe  holy  angels, 
and  of  the  great  Judge  himfelf,  you  rnuft 
give  an  account  of  your  paft  life,  and  hear 
your  final  doom,  from  which  there  can  be 
no  appeal,  and  which  mud  determine  your 
fate  to  all  eternity;  then  think — if  for  a 
moment  you  can  bear  the  thought — what 
will  be  the  defolation,  fliame,  and  anguifh, 
of  thofe   wretched   fouls,  who   mall  hear 


AND     RELIGIOUS.  **k 

thefe  dreadful   words; "Depart   from 

me,  ye  curfed,  into  everlafling  fire,  pre- 
pared for  the  devil  and  his  angels."—. 
Oh! — I  cannot  fupport  even  the  idea  of 
your  becoming  one  of  thofe  undone,  loll 
creatures  !  —  !  trull  in  God's  mercy,  that 
you  will  make  a  better  ufe  of  that  know- 
ledge of  his  will,  which  he  has  vouchfafed 
you,  and  of  thofe  amiable  difpofitions  he 
has  given  you.  Let  us  therefore  turn  from 
this  horrid,  this  infupportable  view  — and 
rather  endeavour  to  imagine,  as  far  as  is 
poffible,  what  will  be  the  fenfations  of  your 
foul,  if  you  fhall  hear  our' heavenly  Judge 
addrefs  you  in  thefe  tranfporting  words— 
"  Come,  thou  bleffed  of  my  Father,  in- 
herit die  kingdom  prepared  for  you,  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world."  — -  Think, 
what  it  mult  be,  to  become  an  object  of 
the  elteem  and  applaufe — not  only  of  all 
mankind  afi'embled  together  —  but  of  all 
the  hell  of  heaven,  of  our  blefied  Lord 
himfelf — nay,  of  his  and  our  Almighty 
Father : — to  find  your  frail  flefh  changed, 
in  a  moment,  into  a  glorious  celefKal  body, 
endowed  with  perfect  beauty,  health,  and 
agility  :  —  to  find  your  foul  cleanfed  from 
all  its  faults  and  infirmities ;  exalted  to  the 
purer!  and  nobleft  affections ;  overflowing 
with  divsne  love  and  rapturous  gratitude  ! 
—  to  have  your  underltancling  enlightened 
and  refined  ;  your  heart  enlarged  and  pu- 
rified; and  every  power  and  difpofuion  of 
mind  and  body  adapted  to  the  higheit 
relifh  of  virtue  and  happinefs  ! — Thus  ac- 
complished, to  be  admitted  into  the  fociety 
of  amiable  and  happy  beings,  all  united  in 
the  moil  perfect  peace  and  friendlhip,  all 
breathing  nothing  but  love  to  God,  and  to 
each  other ; — with  them  to  dwell  in  fcenes 
more  delightful  than  the  richeft  imagina- 
tion can  paint — free  from  every  pain  and 
care,  and  from  all  poflibiiity  of  change  or 
fatiety  ;■ — but,  above  all,  to  enjoy  the  more 
immediate  prefence  of  God  himfelf— to  be 
able  to  comprehend  and  admire  his  adora- 
ble perfections  in  a  high  degree,  though. 
frill  far  Ihort  of  their  infinity — to  be  con- 
scious of  his  love  and  favour,  and  to  re- 
joice in  the  light  of  his  countenance  ! — 
But  here  all  imagination  fails: — we  can 
form  no  idea  of  that  blifs,  which  may  be 
communicated  to  us  by  fuch  a  near  ap- 
proach to  the  Source  of  ail  beauty  and  all 
good  : — we  mull  content  ourfelves  with 
believing,  "  that  it  is  what  mortal  eye  hath 
not  feen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  en- 
tered into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive." 
The  crown  of  all  our  joys  will  be,  t^  k  ow 

X  if.nr 


352 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


that  we  are  fecure  of  poffefling  them  for 
ever — what  a  tranfporting  idea  ! 

Can  you  reflect  on  all  thefe  things,  and 
not  feel  the  moil;  earneit  longings  after  im- 
mortaliy  ?— Do  not  all  other  views  and 
defires  feem  mean  and  trifling,  when  com- 
pared with  this  ? — And  does  not  your  in- 
moft  heart  refolve,  that  this  (hall  be  the 
chief  and  conftant  object  of  its  wifhes  and 
purfuit,  through  the  whole  courfe  of  your 
life  ? — If  you  are  not  infenfible  to  that  de- 
fire  of  happinefs  which  feems  woven  into 
our  nature,  you  cannot  furely  be  unmoved 
by  the  profpect  of  fuch  a  tranfeendant  de- 
gree of  it;  and  that  continued  to  all  eter- 
nity— perhaps  continually  increasing.  You 
cannot  but  dread  the  forfeiture  of  fuch  an 
inheritance,  as  the  moll:  inlupportable  evil ! 
—Remember  then — remember  the  con- 
ditions on  which  alone  it  can  be  obtained. 
God  will  not  give  to  vice,  to  careleflhefs, 
or  lloth,  the  prize  he  has  propofed  to  vir- 
tue. You  have  every  help  that  can  ani- 
mate your  endeavours :  —  You  have  writ- 
ten laws  to  direct  you — the  example  of 
Chrift  and  his  difciples  to  encourage  you 
—the  molt  awakening  motives  to  engage 
you — and  you  have  beiides,  the  comfort- 
able promife  of  conftant  afliltance  from  the 
Holy  Spirit,  if  you  diligently  and  fincerely 
pray  for  it. — O  1  let  not  all  this  mercy  be 
loll  upon  you — but  give  your  attention  to 
this  your  only  important  concern,  and  ac- 
cept, with  profound  gratitude,  the  ineiti- 
mable  advantages  that  are  thus  affection- 
ately offered  you. 

Though  the  four  Gofpels  are  each  of 
them  a  narration  of  the  life,  fayings,  and 
death  of  Chrill ;  yet  as  they  are  not  ex- 
actly alike,  but  fome  circumftances  and 
fayings,  omitted  in  one,  are  recorded  in 
another,  you  mud  make  yourfelf  perfectly 
matter  of  them  all. 

The  Acts  of  the  holy  Apoftles,  endowed 
with  the  Holy  Gholt,  and  authorized  by 
their  divine  Mafter,  come  ne»t  in  order  to 
be  read.— Nothing  can  be  more  intcreft- 
ing  and  edifying,  than  the  hiitory  of  their 
actions — of  the  piety,  zeal,  and  courage, 
with  which  they  preached  the  glad  tidings 
offalvation;  and  of  the  various  exertions 
of  the  wonderful  powers  conferred  on  them 
by  the  Holy  Spirit,  for  the  confirmation  of 
their  mifhon.  Mrs.  Chapom. 

§    234.     CharafierofSt.Paul. 

The  Charader  of  St.  Paul,  and  his  mira- 
culous conversion,  demand  your  particular 


attention:  molt  of  the  apoftles  were  r^en 
of  low  birth  and  education;  but  St.  Paul 
was  a  Roman  citizen  ;  that  is,  he  pofleffed 
the  privileges  annexed  to  the  freedom  of 
the  city  of  Rome,  which  was  confidered 
as  a  high  dilti action,  in  thofe  countries 
that  had  been  conquered  by  the  Romans. 
He  was  educated  amongft  the  molt  lea-rued 
feci:  of  the  Jews,  and  by  one  of  their  prin- 
cipal doctors.  He  was  a  man  of  extra- 
ordinary eloquence,  as  appears  not  only 
in  his  writings,  but  in  feveral  fpeeches  in 
his  own  defence,  pronounced  before  go- 
vernors and  courts  of  juflice,  when  he 
was  called  to  account  for  the  doctrines  he 
taught. —  He  feems  to  have  been  of  an 
uncommonly  warm  temper,  and  zealous  in 
whatever  religion  he  profefled  :  this  zeal, 
before  his  converfion,  fhewed  itfelf  in  the 
molt  unjullifiable  actions,  by  furioufly  per- 
fecting the  innocent  Chriftians:  but,  tho' 
his  actions  were  bad,  we  may  be  fure  his 
intentions  were  good  ;  otherwife  we  fhould 
not  have  feen  a  miracle  employed  to  con- 
vince him  of  his  miltake,  and  to  bring  him 
into  the  right  way.  This  example  may 
allure  us  of  the  mercy  of  God  towards 
miftaken  confeiences,  and  ought  to  infpire 
us  with  the  molt  enlarged  charity  and 
good-will  towards  thofe  whofe  erroneous 
principles  miflead  their  conduct :  inftead 
of  refentment  and  hatred  againlt  their  per- 
fons,  wc  ought  only  to  feel  an  adtive  wifh 
of  a  fulling  them  to  find  the  truth  ;  fines 
we  know  not  whether,  if  convinced,  they 
might  not  prove,  like  St.  Paul,  chofen  vef- 
fels  to  promote  the  honour  of  God,  and  of 
true  religion.  It  is  not  now  my  intention 
to  enter  with  you  into  any  of  the  argu- 
ments for  the  truth  of  Chriftianity  ;  other- 
wife  it  would  be  impoflible  wholly  to  pafs 
over  that,  which  arifes  from  this  remark- 
able converfion,  and  which  has  been  fo 
admirably  illulirated  by  a  noble  writer, 
whofe  traft  on  this  fubject  is  in  every 
body's  hands.  Mrs.  Cbapone. 

§   235.     Of  the  Epifiles. 

Next  follow  the  Epiftles,  which  make  a 
very  important  part  of  the  New  Telta- 
ment ;  and  you  cannot  be  too  much  em- 
ployed in  reading  them.  They  contain  the 
molt  excellent  precepts  and  admonitions  ; 
and  are  of  particular  ufe  in  explaining 
more  at  large  feveral  doctriues  of  Chrif- 
tianity, which  we  could  not  fo  fully  .com- 
prehend without  them.  There  are,  in- 
deed, in  the  Epiftles  of  St.  Paul,  many 
4.  paffage*. 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


353 


paflages  hard  to  be  understood :  fuch,  in 
pai  tcular,  are  the  firSt  eleven  chapters  to 
the  Romans ;  the  greater  part  of  his  Epiftles 
to  the  Corinthians  and  Galatians;  and  fe- 
veral  chapters  of  that  to  the  Hebrews. 
Instead  of  perplexing  yourfelf  with  thefe 
more  obfcure  paflages  of  icripture,  I  would 
wiih  you  to  employ  your  attention  chiefly 
on  thofe  that  are  plain;  and  to  judge  of 
the  doctrines  taught  in  the  other  parts,  by 
comparing  them  with  what  you  find  in 
thefe.  It  is  through  the  neglect  of  this 
rule,  that  many  have  been  led  to  draw  the 
rno't  abfurd  doctrines  from  the  holy  fcrip- 
tures. — Let  me  particularly  recommend  to 
your  careful  perufal  the  xii.  xiii.  xiv.  and 
xv.  chapters  of  the  Epiftle  to  the  Romans. 
In  the  xiv.  chapter  St.  Paul  has  in  view  the 
difference  between  the  Jewifh  and  Gentile 
(or  Heathen)  converts,  at  that  time:  the 
former  were  difpofed  to  look  with  horror 
on  the  latter,  for  their  impiety  in  not  pay- 
ing the  fame  regard  to  the  diftinctions  of 
days  and  meats  that  they  did  ;  and  the  lat- 
ter, on  the  contrary,  were  inclined  to  look 
with  contempt  on  the  former,  for  their 
weaknefs  and  fuperitition.  Excellent  is 
the  advice  which  the  Apoftle  gives  to  both 
parties  :  he  exhorts  the  Jewifh  converts 
not  to  judge,  and  the  Gentiles  not  to  de- 
fpile;  remembering,  that  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven  is  not  meat  and  drink,  but  righte- 
ouinefs  and  peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy 
Ghoft.—- Endeavour  to  conform  yourfelf  to 
this  advice;  to  acquire  a  temper  of  uni- 
verfaJ  candour  and  benevolence  ;  and  learn 
neither  to  defpife  nor  condemn  any  per- 
fons  on  account  of  their  particular  modes 
of  faith  and  worfhip ;  remembering  al- 
ways, that  goodnefs  is  confined  to  no  party 
—  that  there  are  wife  and  worthy  men 
among  all  the  feels  of  ChrifKans  —  and 
that,  to  his  own  matter,  every  one  mull: 
Hand  or  fall. 

I  will  enter  no  farther  into  the  feveral 
points  difcuffed  by  St.  Paul  in  his  various 
epiftles— -moil  of  them  too  intricate  for 
your  understanding  at  prefent,  and  many 
of"  them  beyond  my  abilities  to  ftate  clear- 
ly. I  will  only  again  recommend  to  you, 
to  read  thofe  paflages  frequently,  which, 
with  fo  much  fervour  and  energy,  excite 
you  to  the  practice  of  the  mofl  exalted 
piety  and  benevolence.  If  the  effufions 
of  a  heart,  warmed  with  the  tendereft  af- 
fection for  the  whole  human  race — if  pre- 
cept, warning,  encouragement,  example, 


urged  by  an  eloquenoe  which  fuch  affec- 
tion only  could  in Spire,  are  capable  of  in- 
fluencing your  mind — you  cannot  fail  to 
find,  in  fuch  parts  of  his  epiftles  as  are 
adapted  to  your  understanding,  the  Strongest 
periuafives  to  every  virtue  that  can  adorn 
and  improve  your  nature.     Mrs.  Chapone. 

§  2  3  6.     The  Epifile  of  St.  J  allies. 

The  epiftle  of  St.  James  is  entirely 
practical,  and  exceedingly  fine ;  you  can- 
not Study  it  too  much.  It  feems  particu- 
larly designed  to  guard  Christians  againft 
mifunderitanding  fome  things  in  St.  Paul's 
writings,  which  have  been  fatally  pervert- 
ed to  the  encouragement  of  a  dependancc 
on  faith  alone,  without  good  works.  But 
the  more  rational  commentators  will  tell 
you,  that,  by  the  works  of  the  law,  which 
the  apoftle  aflerts  to  be  incapable  of  justi- 
fying us,  he  means,  not  the  works  of  moral 
righteoufnefs,  but  the  ceremonial  works  of 
the  Mofaic  law ;  on  which  the  Jews  laid 
the  greatest  Strefs,  as  neceflary  to  Salva- 
tion. But  St.  James  tells  us,  that,  "  if  any 
"  man  among  us  feem  to  be  religious,  and 
"  bridleth  not  his  tongue,  but  deceiveth 
"  his  own  heart,  that  man's  religion  is 
"  vain  ;" — and  that  «*  pure  religion,  and 
**  undented  before  God  and  the  Father,  is 
"  this,  to  vifit  the  fatherlefs  and  widow  in 
"  their  affliction,  and  to  keep  himielf  un- 
"  Spotted  from  the  world."  Faith  in  Chrift, 
if  it  produce  not  thefe  effects,  he  declareth 
is  dead,  or  of  no  power.  Ibid. 


§  237- 


%  fifths  of  St.  Peter,  and the  firji 
of  St.  John, 


The  Epiftles  of  St.  Peter  are  alfo  full  of 
the  bell  instructions  and  admonitions,  con- 
cerning the  relative  duties  of  life;  amongfl 
which,  are  fet  forth  the  duties  of  women 
in  general,  and  of  wives  in  particular. 
Some  part  of  his  fecond  Epiftle  is  prophe- 
tical; warning  the  church  of  falfe  teach- 
ers, and  falfe  doctrines,  which  Should  un- 
dermine morality,  and  difgrace  the  caufe 
of  Christianity, 

The  firft  of  St.  John  is  written  in  a 
highly  figurative  ftyle,  which  makes  it,  in 
fome  parts,  hard  to  be  understood;  but 
the  fpirit  of  divine  love,  which  it  fo  fer- 
vently exprefles,  renders  it  highly  edify- 
ing and  delightful. — That  love  of  God 
and  of  man,  which  this  beloved  apoftle  fo 
A  a  pathetically 


2>S\ 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


pathetically  recommends,  is  in  truth  the 
elfence  of  religion,  as  our  Saviour  himfelf 
informs  us.  Mrs.  Chapo'ne. 

$   238.      Gf  the  Revelations. 

The  book  of  the  Revelations  contains  a 
prophetical  account  of  molt  of  the  great 
events  relating  to  the  Chrillian  church, 
which  were  to  happen  from  the  tune  of  the 
writer,  St.  John,  to  the  end  of  the  world. 
Many  learned  men  have  taken  a  great 
deal  of  pains  to  explain  it ;  and  they  have 
done  this,  in  many  inftances,  very  fucceis- 
fully  :  but  I  think  it  is  yet  too  foon  for 
you  to  itudy  this  part  of  fcripture ;  fome 
years  hence,  perhaps,  there  may  be  no  ob- 
jection to  your  attempting  it,  and  taking 
into  your  hands  the  bell  expositions,  to 
affiil  you  in  reading  fuch  of  the  moil;  diffi- 
cult paits  of  the  New  Teitament  as  you 
cannot  now  be  fuppofed  to  underitand. — 
May  Heaven  direct  you  in  lludying  this 
facred  volume,  and  render  it  the  means  of 
making  you  wife  unto  falvation  ! — May 
you  love  and  reverence,  as  it  deferves,  this 
bleffed  and  invaluable  book,  which  con- 
tains the  bed  rule  of  life,  the  cl^areft  de- 
claration of  the  will  and  3a,Vg  of  the  Deity, 
the  reviving  a(furrtnCe  0f 'favour  to  true 
penitent?,  an.~  the  unfpeakably  joyful  tid- 
?,'2S  or  eternal  life ' and •  happinefs  to  all 
the  truly  virtuous,  through  Jems  Chriir, 
the  Saviour  and  Deliverer  of  the  world  ! 

Ibid. 

%  239.  ECONOMY  of  HUMAN  LIFE. 

IN       TWO      PARTS. 

Part  I.  Duties  that  relate  to  Man,  conjtdered 
as  an  individual — the  PaJJions—l'Vo?iian 
— Cbnfanguinity,  or  natural  relations  — 
Providence,    or    the   accidental    difference 

in  men — the  Social  Duties — Religion. 

INTRODUCTION, 

Bow  down  your  heads  unto  the  dull,  O 
ye  inli  ibitants  of  earth  !  be  filent  and  re- 
ceive with  reverence,  inibruclion  from  on 

Wherefoever  the  fun  doth  fhine,  where- 
fpever  the  wind  doth  blow,  wh 
there  is  an  ear  to  hear,  and  a  mind  to  con- 
ceive; there  let  the  precepts  of  life  be  made 
known,  let  the  maxims  oi  truth  be  honoured 
and  obeyed; 

Ail    things    proceed    from    God.     His 


power  is  unbounded,  his  wifdom  is  from 
eternity,  and  his  goodnefs  endureth  for 
ever. 

He  fitteth  on  his  throne  in  the  centre, 
and  the  breath  of  his  mouth  giveth  life  to 
the  world. 

He  touchcth  the  Mars  with  his  finger,  and 
they  run  their  courfe  rejoicing. 

On  the  wings  of  the  wind  he  walketh 
abroad,  and  performeth  his  will  through 
all  the  regions  of  unlimited  fpace. 

Order,  and  grace,  and  beauty,  fpring 
from  his  hand. 

The  voice  of  wifdom  fpeaketh  in  all  his 
works ;  but  the  human  underitanding  com- 
prehended it  not. 

The  fhadow  of  knowledge  paffeth  over 
the  mind  of  man  as  a  dream ;  he  feeth  as 
in  the  dark ;  he  realoneth,  and  is  de- 
ceived. 

But  the  wifdom  of  God  is  as  the  light  of 
heaven  ;  he  realoneth  not ;  his  mind  is  the 
fountain  of  truth. 

J  uilice  and  mercy  wait  before  his  throne ; 
benevolence  and  love  enlighten  his  coun- 
tenance for  ever. 

Who  is  like  unto  the  Lord  in  glory  I 
Who  in  power  mall  contend  with  the  Al- 
mighty r  Hath  he  any  equal  in  wifdom  ? 
Cam  any  in  goodnefs  be  compared  unto 
him  ? 

He  it  is,  O  man  !  who  hath  created 
thee  :  thy  ftation-  on  earth  is  fixed  by  his 
appointment  :  the  powers  of  thy  mind  are 
the  gift  of  his  goodnefs:  the  wonders  cf 
thy  frame  are  the  work  of  his  hand. 

Hear  then  his  voice,  for  it  is  gracious; 
and  he  that  obeyeth,  ihall  eitabliih  his  foal 
in  peace. 

DUTIES  that  relate  to  MAN,  confidered 
as  an  Ind.iyi  dual. 

§   240.     Consideration. 

Commune  with  thyfelf,  O  man  1  and 
confider  wherefore  thou  wert  made. 

Contemplate  thy  powers,  contemplate 
thy  wants  and  thy  connections;  i'o  (halt 
thou  difcover  the  duties  of  life,  and  be  di- 
rected in  all  thy  ways. 

Proceed  not  to  freak  or  act,  before  thou 
haft  weighed  thy  words,  and  examined  the 
tendency  of  every  itep  thou  (halt  take;  fo 
ihall  difgrace  fly  far  from  thee,  and -in  thy 
houfe  (hall  ihame  be  aitranger;  repentance 
fhall  not  vifit  thee,  nor  forrow  dwell 'upon 
leek. 

'The    thoughtlefs   man  bridle th  not  Ms 

tongue} 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


35: 


tongue ;  he  fpeaketh  at  random,  and  is 
entangled  in  the  foolifhnefs  of  his  own 
words. 

As  one  that  runneth  in  hafte,  and  leapeth 
-over  a  fence,  may  fall  into  a  pit  on  the 
other  fide,  which  he  doth  not  fee ;  lb  is  the 
man  that  plungeth  fuddenly  into  any  ac- 
tion, before  he  hath  confidered  the  confe- 
quences  thereof. 

Hearken  therefore  unto  the  voice  of 
confideration  ;  her  words  are  the  words  of 
wifdom,  and  her  paths  ihall  lead  thee  to 
fafety  and  truth. 


§   241.     Modesty. 
Who  art  thou,  O  man !   that  prefumeft 
on  thine  own  wifdom  ?  or  why  doit,  thou 
vaunt  thyfelf  on  thine  own  acquirements  ? 

The  tirft  itep  towards  being  wife,  is  to 
know  that  thou  art  ignorant  ;  and  if  thou 
wouldft  not  be  efteemed  foolilh  in  the  judg- 
ment of  others,  call  off  the  folly  of  being 
wife  in  thine  own  conceit. 

As  a  plain  garment  beft  adorneth  a 
beautiful  woman,  fo  a  decent  behaviour  is 
the  greater!  ornament  of  wifdom. 

The  fpeech  of  a  modeft  man  giveth 
luftre  to  truth,  and  the  diffidence  of  his 
words  abfolveth  his  error. 

He  relieth  not  on  his  own  wifdom ;  he 
vveigheth  the  counfels  of  a  friend,  and  re- 
eeiveth  the  benefit  thereof. 

He  turneth  away  his  ear  from  his  own 
praife,  and  believeth  it  not ;  he  is  the  lafl 
in  difcovering  his  own  perfections. 

Yet  as  a  veil  addeth  to  beauty,  fo  are  his 
virtues  fet  off  by  the  fhade  which  his  mo- 
deily  cafteth  upon  them. 

But  behold  the  vain  man,  and  obferve 
the  arrogant;  he  clotheth  himfelf in  rich 
attire;  he  walketh  in  the  public  ftreet ;  he 
cafteth  round  his  eyes,  and  courteth  ob- 
fervation. 

He  toffeth  up  his  head,  and  overlooketh 
the  poor ;  he  treateth  his  inferiors  with 
infolence,  and  his  fuperiors  in  return  look 
down  on  his  pride  and  folly  with  laughter. 

He  defpileth  the  judgment  of  others ; 
he  relieth  on  his  own  opinion,  and  is  con- 
founded. 

He  is  puffed  up  with  the  vanity  cf  his 
imagination  ;  his  delight  is  to  hear  and  to 
fpeak  of  himfelf  all  the  day  long. 

He  iwalloweth  with  greedineis  his  own 
praife,  and  the  flatterer  in  return  eateth 
him  up. 

§   242.     Application. 

Since  the  days  that  are  paft  are  gone  for 
ever,  and  thofe  that  are  to  came  may  not 


come  to  thee  ;  it  behoveth  thee,  O  man  ! 
to  employ  the  prefent  time,  without  re- 
gretting the  lofs  of  that  which  is  paft,  or  too 
much  depending  on  that  which  is  to  come. 

This  inftant  is  thine  :  the  next  is  in  the 
womb  of  futurity,  and  thou  knoweil  not 
what  it  may  bring  forth. 

Whatfoever  thou  refolveft  to  do,  do  it 
quickly.  Defer  not  till  tie  evening  w.iac 
the  morning  may  accompliih. 

Idlenefs  is  the  parent  of  want  and  of 
pain;  but  the  labour  of  virtue  bringeth 
forth  pleafure. 

The  hand  of  diligence  defeateth  want; 
profperity  and  fuccefs  are  the  induitrious 
man's  attendants. 

Who  is  he  that  hath  acquired  weahh, 
that  hath  rifen  to  power,  that  hath  clothed 
himfelf  with  honour,  that  is  fpoken  cf  in 
the  city  with  praife,  and  that  ftandeth  before 
the  king  in  his  council  ?  Even  he  that  hath 
fhutout  Idlenefs  fiom  his  houfe ;  and  hath 
faid  unto  Sloth,  Thou  art  mine  enemy. 

He  rifeth  up  early,  and  lieth  down  late  : 
he  exercifeth  his  mind  with  contemplation, 
and  his  body  with  adlion,  and  preferveth 
the  health  of  both. 

The  flothful  man  is  a  burden  to  himfelf; 
his  hours  hang  heavy  on  his  head ;  he  loi- 
tereth  about,  and  knoweth  not  what  he 
would  do. 

His  days  pafs  away  like  the  fnadov/  of 
a  cloud,  and  he  leaveth  behind  him  no  mark 
for  remembrance. 

His  body  is  difeafed  for  want  of  exer- 
cife;  he  wifheth  for  action,  but  hath  net 
power  to  move  ;  his  mind  is  in  darknefs  ; 
his  thoughts  are  confufed  ;  he  longeth  for 
knowledge,  but  hath  no  application. 

He  would  eat  of  the  almond,  but  hateth 
the  trouble  of  breaking-  its  fhell. 

His  houfe  is  in  diforder,  his  fervants  are. 
wafteful  and  riotous,  and  he  runneth  0:1 
towards  ruin  ;  he  feeth  it  with  his  eyes,  he 
heareth  it  with  his  ears,  he  fhaketh  his 
head,  and  wiiheth,  but  hath  no  refclution  ; 
till  ruin  cometh  upon  him  like  a  whirlwind,, 
and  fhame  and  repentance  defcend  with 
him  to  the  grave. 


§     243.  Emulation. 

If  thy  foul  thirfteth  for  honour,  if  thy 
car  hath  any  pleafure  in  the  voice  of  praife, 
raife  thyfelf  from  the  dull:  whereof  thou 
art  made,  and  exalt  thy  aim  to  fometbing 
that  is  praife-worthy. 

The  oak  that  now  fpreadeth  its  branches 
towards  the  heavens,  was  once  but  an  acorn 
in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

A  a  2  Endeavour 


356 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


Endeavour  to  be  fir  ft  in  thy  calling, 
whatever  it  be ;  neither  let  any  one  go  be- 
fore thee  in  well  doing  :  neverthelcfs,  do 
not  envy  the  merits  of  another ;  but  im- 
prove thine  own  talents. 

Scorn  alfo  to  deprefs  thy  competitor  by 
any  difhoneft  or  unworthy  method:  ftrive 
to  raife  thyfelf  above  him  only  by  excelling 
him  ;  fo  (hall  thy  conteft  for  fuperiority  be 
crowned  with  honour,  if  not  with  fuccefs. 

By  a  virtuous  emulation,  the  fpirit  of  a 
man  is  exalted  within  him  ;  he  panteth  after 
fame,  and  rejoiceth  as  a  racer  to  run  his 
courfe. 

He  rifeth  like  the  palm-tree  in  fpite  of 
oppreffion ;  and  as  an  eagle  in  the  firma- 
ment of  heaven,  he  foareth  aloft,  and  fixeth 
Lis  eye  upon  the  glories  of  the  fun. 

The  examples  of  eminent  men  are  in  his 
vifions  by  night,  and  his  delight  is  to  fol- 
low them  all  the  day  long. 

He  formeth  great  defigns,  he  rejoiceth 
5n  the  execution  thereof,  and  his  name 
goeth  forth  to  the  ends  of  the  world. 

But  the  heart  of  the  envious  man  is  gall 
and  bitternefs ;  his  tongue  ipitteth  venom  ; 
the  fuccefs  of  his  neighbour  breaketh  his 
reft. 

He  fitteth  in  his  cell  repining,  and  the 
good  that  happeneth  to  another,  is  to  him 
an  evil. 

Hatred  and  malice  feed  upon  his  heart, 
and  there  is  no  reft  in  him. 

He  feeleth  in  his  own  bread  no  love  to 
goodnefs,  and  therefore  believeth  his  neigh- 
bour is  like  unto  him/elf. 

He  endeavours  to  depreciate  thofe  that 
excel  him,  and  putteth  an  evil  interpreta- 
tion on  all  their  doings. 

He  lieth  on  the  watch,  and  meditates 
miicnief;  but  the  deteflation  of  man  pur- 
fueth  him,  he  is  cruihed  as  a  fpider  in  his 
own  web. 

§    244.        Pp.  UDIiNCE. 

Hear  the  words  of  Prudence,  give  heed 
unto  her  coumels,  and  ilore  them  in  thine 
heart  ;  her  maxims  are  univerfal,  and  all 
the  virtues  lean  upon  her:  fhe  is  the  guide 
and  miftrefs  of  human  life. 

Put  a  bridle  on  thy  tongue  ;  fet  a  guard 
befo  e  thy  lips,  left  the  words  of  thine  own 
mouth  deftroy  thy  peace. 

Let  him  that  fcoffeth  at  the  lame,,  take 
care  that  he  halt  liot  himfelf:  whomever 
fpeaketh   of  another's  fan.,  plea- 

sure, {hall  hear  of  his  own  wit.;  bitternefs 
cf  heart. 


Of  much  fpeaking  cometh  repentance, 
but  in  filence  is  fafety. 

A  talkative  man  is  a  nuifance  to  fociety ; 
the  ear  is  fick  of  his  babbling,  the  torrent 
of  his  words  overwhelmed"!  converfation. 

Boaft  not  of  thyfelf,  for  it  fhall  bring 
contempt  upon  thee ;  neither  deride  an- 
other, for  it  is  dangerous. 

A  bitter  jeft  is  the  poifon  of  friendfhip ; 
and  he  that  cannot  reftrain  his  tongue,  fhall 
have  trouble. 

Furnifh  thyfelf  with  the  proper  accom- 
modations belonging  to  thy  condition  ;  yet 
fpend  not  to  the  utmoft  of  what  thou  canft 
afford,  that  the  providence  of  thy  youth 
may  be  a  comfort  to  thy  old  age. 

Let  thine  own  bufinefs  engage  thy  at- 
tention ;  leave  the  care  of  the  ftate  to  the 
governors  thereof. 

Let  not  thy  recreations  be  expenfive, 
left  the  pain  of  purchaiing  them  exceed  the 
pleafure  thou  haft  in  their  enjoyment. 

Neither  let  profperity  put  out  the  eyes 
of  circumfpection,  nor  abundance  cut  off 
the  hands  of  frugality  ;  he  that  too  much 
indulgeth  in  the  fuperfluities  of  life,  fhall 
live  to  lament  the  want  of  its  neceffaries. 

From  the  experience  of  others,  do  thou 
learn  wifdom  ;  and  from  their  failings  cor- 
rect thine  own  faults. 

Truft  no  man  before  thou  haft  tried 
him  ;  yet  miftruft  not  without  reafon,  it  is 
uncharitable. 

But  when  thou  haft  proved  a  man  to  be 
honeft,  lock  him  up  in  thine  heart  as  a 
treafure  !  regard  him  as  a  jewel  of  inefli- 
mable  price. 

Refufe  the  favours  of  a  mercenary  man;. 
they  will  be  a  fnare  unto  thee  ;  thou  fhalt 
never  be  quit  of  the  obligation. 

Ufe  not  to-day  what  to-morrow  may 
want ;  neither  leave  that  to  hazard  which 
forefight  may  provide  for,  or  care  prevent. 

Yet  expect  not  even  from  Prudence  in- 
fallible fuccefs  ;  for  the  day  knoweth  not 
what  the  night  may  bring  forth. 

The  fool  is  not  always  unfortunate,  nor 
the  wife  man  always  fuccefsful  :  yet  never 
had  a  fool  a  thorough  enjoyment;  never 
was  a  wife  man  wholly  unhappy. 

§  245.     Fortitude. 

Perils,  and  misfortunes,  and  want,  and 
pain,  and  injury,  are  more  or  lefs  the  cer- 
tain let  of  every  man  that  cometh  into  the 
world. 

It  behoveth  thee,  therefore,  O  child  of 
calamity  !   early  to  fortify  thy  mind  with 

courage 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


357 


courage  and  patience,  that  thou  mayeft 
fupport,  with  a  becoming  refolution,  thy 
allotted  portion  of  human  evil. 

As  the  camel  beareth  labour,  and  heat, 
and  hunger,  and  thirft,  through  defarts  of 
fand,  and  fainteth  not ;  fo  the  fortitude  of 
man  mail  fuftain  him  through  all  perils. 

A  noble  fpirit  difdaineth  the  malice  of 
fortune;  his  greatnefs  of  foul  is  not  to  be 
caft  down. 

He  hath  not  fuifered  his  happinefs  to 
depend  on  her  fmiles,  and  therefore  with 
her  frowns  he  (hall  not  be  difmayed. 

As  a  rock  on  the  fea-fhore  he  itandeth 
firm,  and  the  dafhing  of  the  waves  difturb- 
eth  him  not. 

He  raifeth  his  head  like  a  tower  on  a  hill, 
and  the  arrows  of  fortune  drop  at  his  feet. 

In  the  inftant  of  danger  the  courage  of 
his  heart  fuftaineth  him;  and  the  lleadineis 
of  his  mind  beareth  him  out. 

He  meeteth  the  evils  of  life  as  a  man 
that  goeth  forth  into  battle,  and  returneth 
with  victory  in  his  hand. 

Under  the  preffure  of  misfortunes,  his 
calmnefs  alleviates  their  weight,  and  his 
conftancy  (hall  furmount  them. 

But  the  daftardly  fpirit  of  a  timorous 
man  betrayeth  him  to  fhame. 

By  fhrinking  under  poverty,  he  ftoopeth 
down  to  meannefs ;  and  by  tamely  bearing 
infults,  he  inviteth  injuries. 

As  a  reed  is  fhaken  with  a  breath  of  air, 
fo  the  fhadow  of  evilmaketh  him  tremble. 

In  the  hour  of  danger  he  is  embarrafTed 
and  confounded;  in  the  day  of  misfortune 
he  finketh,  and  defpair  overwhelmed!  his 
foul. 

§  246.     Contentment. 

Forget  not,  O  man  !  that  thy  ftation  on 
earth  is  appointed  by  the  wifdom  of  the 
Eternal,  who  knoweth  thy  heart,  who  feeth 
the  vanity  of  all  thy  willies,  and  who  often, 
in  mercy,  denieth  thy  requefts. 

Yet  for  all  reafonable  defires,  for  all  ho- 
neft  endeavours,  his  benevolence  hath 
eftablifhed,  in  the  nature  of  things,  a  pro- 
bability of  fuccefs. 

The  uneafmefs  thou  feeleft,  the  misfor- 
tunes thou  bewaileft,  behold  the  root  from 
whence  they  fpring!  even  thine  own  folly, 
thine  own  pride,  thine  own  diftempered 
fancy. 

Murmur  not  therefore  at  the  difpenfa- 
tions  of  God,  but  correct  thine  own  heart : 
neither  fay  within  thyfelf,  If  I  had  wealth 
cr power,  or  leifure,  I'lhould  be  happy;  for 


know,  they  all  bring  to  their  feveral  pof- 
feffors  their  peculiar  inconveniencies. 

The  poor  man  feeth  not  the  vexations 
and  anxieties  of  the  rich,  he  feeleth  not 
the  difficulties  and  perplexities  of  power, 
neither  knoweth  he  the  wearifomenefs  of 
leifure ;  and  therefore  it  is  that  he  repineth 
at  his  own  lot. 

But  envy  not  the  appearance  of  happi- 
nefs in  any  man,  for  thou  knoweft  not  his 
fee  ret  griefs. 

To  be  fatisfied  with  a  little  is  the  greateft 
wifdom  ;  and  he  that  increafeth  his  riches, 
increafeth  his  cares :  but  a  contented  mind 
is  a  hidden  treafure,  and  trouble  findeth  it 
not. 

Yet  if  thou  fufFereft  not  the  allurements 
of  fortune  to  rob  thee  of  juftice  or  tem- 
perance, or  charity,  or  modefty,  even  riches 
themfelves  ihall  not  make  thee  unhappy. 

But  hence  fhalt  thou  learn,  that  the  cup 
of  felicity,  pure  and  unmixed,  is  by  no 
means  a  draught  for  mortal  man. 

Virtue  is  the  race  which  God  hath  fet 
him  to  run,  and  happinefs  the  goal,  which 
none  can  arrive  at  till  he  hath  finifhed  his 
courfe,  and  received  his  crown  in  the  man- 
fions  of  eternity. 

§  247.     Temperance. 

The  nearer!  approach  thou  canft  make  to 
happinefs  on  this  fide  the  grave,  is  to  enjoy 
from  heaven  underftandingand  health. 

Thefe  bleflings  if  thou  poiieiTeft,  and 
wouldft  preferve  to  old  age,  avoid  the  al- 
lurements of  voluptuc'ufnefs,  and  fly  from 
her  temptations. 

When  fhe  fpreadeth  her  delicacies  on 
the  board,  when  her  wine  fparkleth  in  the 
cup,  when  fhe  fmileth  upon  thee,  and  per- 
fuadeth  thee  to  be  joyful  and  happy;  then 
is  the  hour  of  danger,  then  let  Reafon  ftand 
firmly  on  her  guard. 

For  if  thou  hearkeneft  unto  the  words 
of  her  adverfary,  thou  art  deceived  and 
betrayed. 

The  joy  which  fhe  promifeth,  changeth 
to  madnefs,  and  her  enjoyments  lead  on  to 
difeafes  and  death. 

Look  round  her  board ;  caft  thine  eyes 
upon  her  guefts,  and  obferve  thofe  who 
have  been  allured  by  her  fmiles,  who  have 
liftened  to  her  temptations. 

Are  they  not  meagre  ?  are  they  not 
fickly  ?  are  they  not  fpiritlefs  ? 

Their  fhort  hours  of  jollity  and  riot  are 
followed  by  tedious  days  of  pain  and  de- 
jection. She  hath  debauched  and  palled 
A  a  3  their 


r,  ■'  8 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


their  appetites,  that  they  have  no  relifh  for 
their  niceft  dainties :  her  votaries  are  be- 
come her  victims  j  the  juft  and  natural 
confequence  which  God  hath  ordained,  in 
the  conftitution  of  things,  for  the  punifh- 
irent  cf  thofe  who  abufe  his  gifts. 

Cut  who  is  flie  that  with  graceful  fleps, 
and  with  alively  air,  trips  overyonder  plain? 
The  rofe  blufheth  on  her  cheeks,  the 
fweetnefs  of  the  morning  breatheth  from 
her  lips;  joy,  tempered  with  innocence  and 
lTiodefty,  fparkleth  in  her  eyes,  and  from 
the  chearfulnefs  of  her  heart  Ihe  fingeth  as 
fhe  walks. 

Her  name  is  Health ;  fhe  is  the  daughter 
of  Exercife  and  Temperance;  their  fans 
inhabit  the  mountains  of  the  northen  re- 
gions. 

They  are  brave,  active,  and  lively,  and 
partake  of  all  the  beauties  and  virtues  of 
their  filler. 

Vigour  (Iringeth  their  nerves,  ftrength 
dwellcth  in  their  bones,  and  labour  is  their 
delight  ail  the  day  long. 

The  employments  of  their  father  excite 
their  appetites,  and  the  repafts  of  their 
mother  refrefh  them. 

To  combat  the  paifions  is  their  delight ; 
to  conquer  evil  habits  their  glory. 

Their  pleafures  are  moderate,  and  there- 
fore they  endure;  their  repofe  is  (hort,  but 
found  arid  undifturbed. 

Their  blood  is  pure,  their  minds  are  fe- 
rene,  and  the  phyfician  findeth  not  the  way 
to  their  habitations. 

But  fafety  dwelleth  not  with  the  fons  of 
-•men,  neither  is  iecurity  found  within  their 

"': 

Behold  them  expofed  to  new  dangers 
tfrora  without,  while  a  traitor  within  lurk- 
agth  to  betray  them. 

Their  health,  their  ftrength,  their  beauty 
and,  activity ,  have  raifed  deiire  in  the  bofom 
of  5  tfctvidus  love. 

ohe  ftandeth  in  her  bower,  file  courteth 
their  regard,  ihe  fpreadeth  her  tempta- 
tion   . 

Her'ii  -ib;;  are  fort  and  delicate  ;  her  at- 
tire is  i ',  \ h  and  inviting.  Wantoiinefs 
.  '  \v.  her  eyes,  and  on  her  bofom  fits 
:  ition.  She  beckoneth  them  with  her 
.,  fhe  wcoeth  them  with  her  looks, 
;  id  by  the  frnoothnefs  of  her  tongue,  fhe 
en  !  avourctli  to  deceive. 

Ah  i  iiy  from  her  allurements,  flop  thy 
r;tfs  to  her'enchanting  words.  If  thou 
mii'eieft  the  languishing  of  her  eves;  if  thou 
heareli  the  fc'finefs  of  her  voice;  if  fhe 
caii  :t'h  her  arms  about  thee,  fhe  bind.th 
thee  in  chain 2  ;er  ever. 


Shame  followeth,  and  difeafe,  and  want* 
and  care,  and  repentance. 

Enfeebled  by  dalliance,  with  luxury 
pampered,  and  foftened  by  floth,  ftrength 
ihali  forfake  thy  limbs,  and  health  thy  con- 
ftitution :  thy  days  fhall  be  few,  and  thofe 
inglorious ;  thy  griefs  fhall  be  many,  yet 
meet  with  no  compaflion. 


The     PASSIONS. 
§   248.     Hope  and  Fear. 

The  promifes  of  hope  are  fweeter  than 
rcfes  in  the  bud,  and  far  more  flattering 
to  expectation ;  but  the  threatenings  of  fear 
arc  a  terror  to  the  heart. 

Neverthelefsj  let  not  hope  allure,  nor 
fear  deter  thee  from  doing  that  which  is 
right ;  ib  lhalt  thou  be  prepared  to  meet  all 
events  with  an  equal  mind. 

The  terrors  even  of  death  are  no  terrors 
to  the  good ;  he  that  committeth  no  evil 
hath  nothing  to  fear. 

In  all  thy  undertakings,  let  a  reafonable 
aflurance  animate  thy  endeavours ;  if  thou 
defpairelt  of  fuccefs,  thou  ihak  not  fuc— 
ceed. 

Terrify  not  thy  foul  with  vain  fears, 
neither  let  thy  heart  fink  within  thee  from 
the  phantoms  of  imagination. 

From  fear  proceedeth  misfortune;  but 
he  that  hopeth,  heipeth  himfelf. 

As  the  oftrich  when  purfued,  hideth  his 
head,  but  forgetteth  his  body ;  fo  the  fears 
of  a  coward  expofe  him  to  danger. 

If  thou  believeft  a  thing  impoffible,  thy 
defpondency  fhall  make  it  fo ;  but  he  that 
perfevereth,  fhall  overcome  all  difficulties. 

A  vain  hope  fiattereth  the  heart  of  a 
fool ;  but  he  that  is  wife  purfueth  it  not. 

In  all  thy  deiires  let  reafon  go  along 
with  thee,  and  fix  not  thy  hopes  beyond 
the  bounds  of  probability  ;  fo  fhall  fuccefs 
attend  thy  undertakings,  thy  heart  fhall 
not  be  vexed  with  difappointment. 

§   249.     Joy  and  Grief. 

Let  not  thy  mirth  be  fo  extravagant  as 
to  intoxicate  thy  mind,  nor  thy  forrow  fo 
heavy  as  to  deprefs  thy  heart.  This  world 
afford eth  no  good  fo  tranfporting,  nor  in- 
flicteth  any' evil  fo  fevere,  as  fhould  raife 
thee  far  above*  or  fink  thee  much  beneath, 
the  balance  of  moderation. 

Lo  !   yonder  ftandeth  the  houfe  of  joy. 

It 


BOOK    I.     .  MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


359 


Jt  is  painted  on  the  outfide,  and  looketh 
gay;  thou  mayeft  know  it  from  the  conti- 
nual noife  of  mirth  and  exultation  that  iflueth 
from  it. 

The  miftrefs  flandeth  at  the  door,  and 
calleth  aloud  to  all  that  pafs  by ;  (he  fing- 
eth  and  fhouteth,  and  laugheth  without 
ceaiing. 

She  inviteth  them  to  go  in  and  tafte  the 
pleafures  of  life,  which  fhe  telleth  them 
are  no  where  to  be  found  but  beneath  her 
roof. 

But  enter  not  thou  into  her  gate  ;  neither 
afibciate  thyfelf "with  thofe  who  frequent  her 
houfe. 

They  call  themfelves  the  fons  of  Joy; 
they  laugh  and  feem  delighted  :  but  mad- 
neis  and  folly  are  in  all  their  doings. 

They  are  linked  with  mifchief  hand  in 
hand,  and  their  fteps  lead  down  to  evil. 
Dangers  befet  them  round  about,  and  the 
pit  of  delbuction  yawneth  beneath  their 
feet. 

Look  now  on  the  other  fide,  and  behold, 
in  that  vale,  overlhadowed  with  trees,  and 
hid  from  the  fight  of  men,  the  habitation 
of  Sorrow. 

Her  bofom  heaveth  with  fighs,  her 
mouth  is  filled  with  lamentation  ;  fhe  de- 
lighteth  to  dwell  on  the  fubjedt  of  human 
mifery. 

She  looketh  on  the  common  accidents  of 
life  and  weepeth ;  the  weaknefs  and  wick- 
edncfs  of  man  is  the  theme  of  her  lips. 

All  nature  to  her  teemeth  with'  evil, 
every  objecl:  fhe  feeth  is  tinged  with  the 
gloom  of  her  own  mind,  and  the  voice  of 
complaint  faddenethher  dwelling  day  and 
night. 

Come  not  near  her  cell ;  her  breath  is 
contagious ;  me  will,  blaft  the  fruits,  and 
wither  the  flowers,  that  adorn  and  fweeten 
the  garden  of  life. 

In  avoiding  the  houfe  of  Joy,  let  not  thy 
feet  betray  thee  to  the  borders  of  this  dif- 
mal  manfion  ;  but  purfue  with  care  the 
middle  path,  which  mall  lead  thee  by  a 
gentle  afcent  to  the  bower  of  Tranquillity. 

With  her  dvvelleth  Peace,  with  her 
dwelleth  Safety  and  Contentment.  .  She  is 
cheerful  but  not  gay;  fhe  is  ferioas,but  not 
grave  ;  fhe  vieweth  the  joys  and  the  far- 
rows of  life  with  an  equal  and  Ready  eye. 

From  hence,  as  from  aa  eminence,  fhalt 
thou  behold  the  folly  and  the  mifery  of 
thofe,  who  led  by  the  gaiety  of  their  hearts, 
fake  up  their  abode  with  the  companions  of 
Jollity  and  riotous  Mirth:  or  infeded  with 


Gloominefs  and  Melancholy,  fpend  all  their 
days  in  complaining  of  the  woes  and  cala- 
mities of  human  life. 

Thou  fhalt  view  them  both  with  pity, 
and  the  error  of  their  ways  fhall  keep  tny 
feet  from  ftraying. 

§  250.     Angkr. 

As  the  whirlwind  in  its  fury  teareth  up 
trees,  and  deformeth  the  face  of  nature, 
or  as  an  earthquake  in  its  convulfions 
overturneth  whole  cities;  fo  the  rage  of 
an  angry  man  throweth  mifchief  around 
him.  Danger  and  defiruclion  wait  on  his 
hand. 

But  confider,  and  forget  not  thine  own 
weaknefs ;  fo  fhalt  thou  pardon  the  failings 
of  others. 

Indulge  not  thyfelf  in  the  paffion  of 
anger ;  it  is  whetting  a  fword  to  wound  thine 
own  bread,  or  murder  thy  friend. 

If  thou  beared:  flight  provocations  with 
patience,  it  fhall  be  imputed  unto  thee  for 
wifdom ;  and  if  thou  wiped:  them  from  thy 
remembrance,  thy  heart  fhall  not  reproach 
thee. 

Seeft  thou  not  that  the  angry  man  lofeth 
his  undemanding  ?  Whilll  thou  art  yet  in 
thy  fenfes,  '  -  the  wrath  of  another  be  a 
leiibn  to  thyfelf. 

Do  nothing  in  a  paffion.  Why  wilt  thou 
put  to  fea  in  the  violence  of  a  Itorm  ? 

If  it  be  difficult  to  rule  thine  anger,  it  is 
wife  to  prevent  it :  avoid  therefore  all  oc- 
casions of  filling  'into  wrath  ;  or  guard 
thyfelf  againll  them  whenever  they  occur. 

A  fool  is  provoked  with  infolent  fpeech- 
.es,  but  a  wife  man  laugheth  them  to  fcorn. 

Harbour  not  revenge  in  thy  bread.,  .it 
will  torment  thy  heart,  and  difcolour  its 
bed  inclinations.'    >•  * 

Be  always  more  ready  to  forgive,  than 
to  return  an  injury  :  he  that  "watches  for 
an  opportunity  of  revenge,  lieth  in  wait 
asrainft  himfelf,  aid  draweth  down  mifchief 
on  his  own  head. 

A  mild  anfwer  to  an  angry  mart,  like  wa- 
ter cad  upon  the  fire,  abateth  his  heat;  and 
from  an  enemy  he  fhall  become  thy  friend. 

ConhVer  how  few -things  are  worthy  of 
anger,  and  thou  wilt  wonder  that  any  but 
fools  mould  be  wrath. 

In  folly  or  weaknefs  it  always  beginneth  ; 
but  remember,  and  be  well  aiTuredy-it  iei- 
dom  concludeth  without  repentance.  ■ 

On  the  heels  of  Folly  treadeth  Shame ;  at 
the  back  of  Anger  flandeth  Remorfe. 

A  14  '•'  §  Z51-   -Pl-Tt* 


$6© 


ELEGANT    ETXRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


$  251.     Pity. 


As  bloflbms  and  flowers  are  ftrewed  up- 
on earth  by  the  hand  of  fpring,  as  the 
kindnefs  of  fummer  produceth  in  perfec- 
tion the  bounties  of  harveft;  fo  the  fmiles 
of  pity  fhed  bleffings  on  the  children  of 
misfortune. 

Pie  who  pitieth  another,  recommencleth 
himfelf ;  but  he  who  is  without  compaffion, 
dcferveth  it  not. 

The  butcher  relenteth  not  at  the  bleat- 
ing of  the  lamb  ;  neither  is  the  heart  of  the 
cruel  moved  with  diftrefs. 

But  the  tears  of  the  companionate  are 
fweeter  than  dew  drops  falling  from  rofes 
on  the  bofom  of  the  fpring. 

Shut  not  thine  ear  therefore  againftthe 
cries  of  the  poor;  neither  harden  thine 
heart  againlt  the  calamities  of  the  inno- 
cent. 

When  the  fatherlefs  call  upon  thee,  when 
the  widow's  heart  is  funk,  and  fhe  implor- 
cth  thy  affiftance  with  tears  of  forrow;  O 
pity  her  affliction,  and  extend  thy  hand  to 
thofe  who  have  none  to  help  them. 

When  thou  feeit  the  naked  wanderer  of 
the  ftreet,  fhivering  with  cold,  and  defti- 
tute  of  habitation  ;  let  bounty  open  thine 
heart,  let  the  wings  of  charity  fhelter  him 
from  death,  that  thine  own  foul  may 
live. 

V/hilft  the  poor  man  groaneth  on  the 
bed  of  ficknefs,  whilll  the  unfortunate  lan- 
guifh  in  the  horrors  of  a  dungeon,  or  the 
hoary  head  of  age  lifts  up  a  feeble  eve  to 
thee  for  pity  ;  O  how  canft  thou  riot  in 
fuperfluous  enjoyments,  regardlefs  of  their 
wants,  unfeeling  of  their  woes  ! 


cq2. 


Desire  and  Love. 


Beware,  young  man,  beware  of  the  al- 
lurements of  wantonnefs,  and  let  not  the 
harlot  tempt  thee  to  excefs  in  her  de- 
lights. 

The  madnefs  of  defire  fhail  defeat  its 
own  purfuits ;  from  the  blindnefs  of  its  rage 
thou  fnak  ruih  upon  deftruftion. 

Therefore  give  not  up  thy  heart  to  her 
fweet  enticements,  neither  fuffer  thy  foul 
to  be  enflaved  by  her  enchanting  delu- 
sions. 

The  fountain  of  health,  which  mult  fup- 
ply  the  ftream  of  pleafure,  fhail  quickly  be 
dried  up,  and  every  fpring  of  joy  fhail  be 
exhaufted. 

In  the  prime  of  thy  life  old  age  fhail 


overtake  thee ;  thy  fun  fhail  decline  in  the 
morning  of  thy  days. 

But  when  virtue  and  modefty  enlighten 
her  charms,  the  luflre  of  a  beautiful  wo- 
man is  brighter  than  the  ftars  of  heaven, 
and  the  influence  of  her  power  it  is  in  vain 
to  refill. 

The  whitenefs  of  her  bofom  tranfcendeth 
the  lily  ;  her  fmile  is  more  delicious  than 
a  garden  of  rofes. 

The  innocence  of  her  eye  is  like  that  of 
the  turtle ;  fimplicity  and  truth  dwell  in 
her  heart. 

The  kiffes  of  her  mouth  are  fweeter  than 
honey;  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  breathe 
from  her  lips. 

Shut  not  thy  bofom  to  the  tendernefs  of 
love ;  the  purity  of  its  flame  fhail  ennoble 
thy  heart,  and  foften  it  to  receive  the  fair- 
eft  imprelhons. 


§  253.     W    O    M    A    N. 

Give  ear,  fair  daughter  of  love,  to  the 
initruclions  of  prudence,  and  let  the  pre- 
cepts of  truth  fink  deep  in  thy  heart,  fo 
fhail  the  charms  of  thy  mind  add  lufire  to 
the  elegance  of  thy  form  ;  and  thy  beauty, 
like  the  role  it  refembleth,  fhail  retain  its 
fweetnefs  when  its  bloom  is  withered. 

In  the  fpring  of  thy  youth,  in  the  morn- 
ing of  thy  days,  when  the  eyes  of  men  gaze 
on  thee  with  delight,  and  nature  whifpereth 
in  thine  ear  the  meaning  cf  their  looks  : 
ah  !  hear  with  caution  their  feducing  words; 
guard  well  thy  heart,  nor  liften  to  their  foft 
perfuafions. 

Remember  that  thou  art  made  man's 
reafonable  companion,  not  the  ilave  of  his 
pafiion  ;  the  end  of  thy  being  is  net  merely 
to  gratify  his  loofe  defire,  but  to  affift  him 
in  the  toils  of  life,  to  foothe  him  with  thy 
tendernefs,  and  recompence  his  care  with 
fort  endearments. 

Who  is  flic  that  winneth  the  heart  of 
man,  that  fubdueth  him  to  love,  and 
reigneth  in  his  brealt  ? 

Lo  !  yonder  fhe  walketh  in  maiden 
fweetnefs,  with  innocence  in  her  mind,  and 
modefty  en  her  cheek. 

Her  hand  feeketh  employment,  her  foot 
delighteth  not  in  gadding  abroad. 

She  is  cloathed  with  neatnefs,  fhe  is  fed 
with  temperance;  humility  and  meeknefs 
are  as  a  crown  of  glory  circling  her  head. 

On  her  tongue  dwelleth  mufic,  the  fweet- 
nefs cf  honey  flowcth  from  her  lips. 

Decency 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


361 


Decency  is  in  all  her  words,  in  her  an- 
fvvers  are  mildnefs  and  truth. 

Submiffion  and  obedience  are  the  lefibns 
of  her  life,  and  peace  and  happinefs  are  her 
reward. 

Before  her  Heps  walketh  prudence,  and 
virtue  attenceth  at  her  right  hand. 

Her  eye  fpeakethfoftnefs  and  love  ;  but 
difcretion  with  a  fcepter  fitteth  on  her  brow. 

The  tongue  of  the  licentious  is  dumb  in 
her  prefence,  the  awe  of  her  virtue  keep- 
cth  him  filent. 

When  fcandal  is  bufy.  and  the  fame  of 
her  neighbour  is  tofled  from  tongue  to 
tongue ;  if  charity  and  good  nature  open 
not  her  mouth,  the  finger  of  filence  relceth 
on  her  lip. 

Herbreaft  is  themanfion  of  goodnefs,  and 
therefore  fhe  iufpe&eth  no  evil  in  others. 

Happy  were  the  man  that  fhould  make 
her  his  wife :  happy  the  child  that  fhali  call 
her  mother. 

Shevprcfideth  in  the  houfe,  and  there  is 
peace;  fhe  commandeth  with  judgment, 
and  is  obeyed. 

She  arifeth  in  the  morning,  fheconfidcrs 
her  affairs,  and  appomteth  to  every  one 
their  proper  bufmeis. 

The  care  of  her  family  is  her  whole  de- 
light, to  that  alone  fhe  applieth  her  ftudy ; 
and  elegance  with  frugality  is  feen  in  her 
manfions. 

The  prudence  of  her  management  is  an 
honour  to  her  hufband,  and  he  heareth  her 
praiie  with  a  fecret  delight. 

She  informeth  the  minds  of  her  children 
with  wifdom :  fhe  fafhtoneth  their  manners 
from  the  example  of  her  own  goodnefs. 

The  word  of  her  mouth  is  the  law  of 
their  youth,  the  motion  of  her  eye  com- 
mandeth their  obedience. 

She  fpeaketh,  and  her  fervants  fly  ;  fhe 
pointeth,  and  the  tiling  is  done  :  for  the 
law  of  love  is  in  their  hearts,  and  her  kind- 
nefs  addeth  wings  to  their  feet. 

In  profperity  fhe  is  not  puffed  up ;  in 
adverfity  ihe  healeth  the  wounds  of  fortune 
with  patience. 

The  troubles  of  her  hufband  are  allevi- 
ated by  her  counfels,  and  iweetened  by  her 
endearments :  he  putteth  his  heart  in  her 
boiom,  and  receiveth  comfort. 

Happy  is  the  man  that  hath  made  her 
his  wife  ;  happy  the  child  that  calleth  her 
mother. 


CONSANGUINITY,  or  Natural 
Relations. 
$  254,.     Husband. 
Take  unto  thyfelf  a  wife,  and  obey  the 


ordinance  of  God ;  take  unto  thyfelf  a 
wife  and  become  a  faithful  member  of 
fociety. 

But  examine  with  care,  and  fix  not  fud- 
denly.  On  thy  prefent  choice  depends  thy 
future  happinefs. 

If  much  of  her  time  is  deftroyed  in  drefs 
and  adornments ;  if  fhe  is  enamoured  with 
her  own  beauty,  and  delighteth  in  her  own 
praife  ;  if  fhe  laugheth  much,  and  talketh 
loud  ;  if  her  foot  abidoth  not  in  her  father's 
houfe,  and  her  eyes  with  boldnefs  rove  on 
the  faces  of  men:  though  her  beauty  were 
as  the  fun  in  the  firmament  of  heaven,  turn 
thy  face  from  her  charms,  turn  thy  feet 
from  her  paths,  and  fuffer  not  thy  foul  to 
be  enfnared  by  the  allurements  of  imagi- 
nation. 

But  when  thou  findefc  fenfibility  of  heart, 
joined  with  foftnefs  of  manners;  an  ac- 
complifhed  mind,  with  a  form  agreeable  to 
thy  fancy ;  take  her  home  to  thy  houfe, 
fhe  is  worthy  to  be  thy  friend,  thy  compa- 
nion in  life,  the  wife  of  thy  bofom. 

O  cherifh  her  as  a  bleffing  fent  thee  from 
heaven.  Let  the  kindnefs  of  thy  beha- 
viour endear  thee  to  her  heart. 

She  is  the  miftrefs  of  thy  houfe  ;  treat 
her  therefore  with  refpedt,  that  thy  fervants 
may  obey  her. 

Oppofe  not  her  inclination  without  caufe; 
fhe  is  the  partner  of  thy  cares,  make  her 
alio  the  companion  of  thy  pleafures. 

Reprove  her  faults  with  gentlenefs ;  exact 
not  her  obedience  with  rigour, 

o 

'I  ruft  thy  fecrets  in  her  breaft;  her  coun- 
fels are  fincere,  thou  (halt  not  be  deceived. 

Be  faithful  to  her  bed;  for  fhe  is  the 
mother  of  thy  children. 

When  pain  and  ficknef?  afiault  her,  let 
thy  tendernefs  footheher  affiiclion  :  a  look 
from  thee  of  pity  and  love  fhall  alleviate 
her  grief,  or  mitigate  her  pain,  and  be  of 
more  avail  than  ten  phyficians. 

Confider  the  tendernefs  of  her  fex,  the 
delicacy  of  her  frame ;  and  be  not  fevere  to 
her  weakneis,  but  remember  thine  own 
imperfections. 

§   255.     Father. 

Confider  thou  who  art  a  parent,  the  im- 
portance of  thy  truit  :  the  being  thou  hafl 
produced,  it  is  thy  duty  to  fupport. 

Upon  thee  alfo  it  dependeth,  whether 
the  child  of  thy  bofom  lhall  be  a  bleffing  or 
a  curfe  to  thyfelf;  an  ufeful  or  a  worthlefs 
member  to  the  community. 

Prepare  him  early  with  inflruclion,  and 
feafon  his  mind  with  the  maxims  of  truth. 

Watch  the  bent  of  his  inclination,  fet 

him 


joz 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


him  right  in  his  youth,  and  let  no  evil  ha- 
bit gain  ftrength  with  his  years. 

So  (hall  he  rife  like  a  cedar  on  the 
mountains ;  his  head  fhall  be  feen  above 
the  trees  of  the  foreit. 

A  wicked  fon  is  a  reproach  to  his  father ; 
but  he  that  doth  right  is  an  honour  to  Lis 
grey  hairs. 

The  foil  is  thine  own,  let  it  not  want  cul- 
tivation ;  the  feed  which  thou  foweil,  that 
alfo  -malt  thou  reap. 

Teach  him  obedience,  and  he  fhall  blefs 
thee;  teach  him  modefty  and  he  mail  not 
be  afhamed. 

Teach  him  gratitude,  and  he  fhall  re- 
ceive benefits ;  teach  him  charity  and  he 
fhall  gain  love. 

Teach  him  temperance  and  he  fliall  have 
•health ;  teach  him  prudence,  and  fortune 
fhall  attend  him. 

Teach  him  juftice,  and  he  fhall  be  ho- 
noured by  the  world;  teach  him  fmcerity, 
and  his  own  heart  fliall  not  reproach  him. 

Teach  him  diligence,  and  his  wealth  fhall 
increafe;  teach  him  benevolence,  and  his 
mind  fhall  be  exalted. 

Teach  him  fciep.ee,  and  his  life  fhall  be 
ufeful ;  teach  him  religion,  and  his  death 
fhall  be  happy. 

§   256.     Son. 

From  the  creatures  of  God  let  man  learn 
wHdom,  and  apply  to  himfelf  the  inllruc- 
tion  they  give. 

Go  to  the  defeft,  my  fon ;  obferve  the 
young  ftork  of  the  wildernefs  ;  let  him 
fpeak  to  thy  heart ;  he  beareth  on  his  wings 
his  aged  fire,  he  lodgeth  him  with  fafety, 
and  fupplieth  him  with  food. 

The  piety  of  a  child  is  fweeter  than  the 
incenfe  of  Perfia  offered  to  the  fun  ;  yea 
-more  delicious  than  odours  wafted  from  a 
field  of  Arabian  ipiccs  by  the  vveftern 
gales. 

Ee  grateful  then  to  thy  father,  for  he 
teave  thee  life;  and  to  thy  mother,  for  fhe 
fuilained  thee. 

Hear  the  words  of  his  mouth,  for  they 
are  fpoken  for  thy  good  ;  give  ear  to  his 
admonition,  for  it  proceedeth  from  love. 

He  hath  watched  for  thy  welfare,  he  hath 
t(  i]  •  I  for  t  y  eafe:  do  honour  therefore  to 
his  age,  and  let  not  his  grey  hairs  be  treat- 
ed with  irreverence. 

Forget  not  thy  helplefs  infancy,  nor  the 
frowardnefs  of  thy  youth,  and  indulge  the 
infirmities  of  thy  aged  parents;  affift  and 
: .       »rt  them  in  the  decline  of  life. 


So  fhall  their  hoary  heads  go  down  to  the 
grave  in  peace  ;  and  thine  own  children,  in 
reverence  of  thy  example,  fhall  repay  thy 
piety  with  filial  love. 

§  257.     Brothers. 

Ye  are  the  children  of  one  father,  pro- 
vided for  by  his  care;  and  the  breaft  of  one 
mother  hath  given  you  fuck. 

Let  the  bonds  of  affection,  therefore, 
unite  thee  with  thy  brothers,  that  peace 
and  happinefs  may  dwell  in  thy  father's 
houfe. 

And  when  ye  feparate  in  the  world,  re- 
member the  relation  tint  bindeth  you  to 
love  and  unity ;  and  prefer  not  a  ffranger 
to  thine  own  blood. 

If  thy  brother  is  in  adverflty,  affift  hirn  j 
if  thy  filler  is  in  trouble,  forfake  her  not. 

So  fhall  the  fortunes  of  thv  father  con- 
tribute to  the  fupport  of  his  whole  race : 
and  his  care  be  continued  to  you  all  in 
your  love  to  each  other. 


PROVIDENCE  ;  or  the  accidental  Dif- 
ferences in  Men. 

§  258.     Wise  and  Ignorant. 

The  gifts  of  the  underflanding  are  the 
treafures  of  God ;  and  he  appointeth  to 
every  one  his  portion,  in  what  meafuie 
feemeth  good  unto  himfelf. 

Hath  he  endued  thee  with  wifdom  ?  hath 
he  enlightened  thy  mind  with  the  know- 
ledge of  truth?  Communicate  it  to  the  ig- 
norant, for  their  inftruction  ;  communicate 
it  to  the  wife,  for  thine  own  improve- 
ment. 

True  wifdom  is  lefs  pre  fuming  than  folly. 
The  wife  man  ooubteth  often,  and  chang- 
eth  his  mind ;  the  fool  is  obftinate,  and 
doubreth  not ;  he  knoweth  all  things  but 
his  own  ignorance. 

The  pride  of  emptinefs  is  an  abomina- 
tion ;  and  to  talk  much  is  the  foolilhnefs  of 
folly.  Nevertherlefs,  it  is  the  part  of  wif- 
dom to  bear  with  patience  their  imperti- 
nence, and  to  pity  their  abfurdity. 

Yet  be  not  puffed  up  with  thine  own 
conceit,  neither  boail  of  fuperior  under- 
flanding ;  the  cleareft  human  knowledge 
is  but  blindnefs  and  folly. 

The  wile  man  feeleth  his  imperfections, 

and  is  humbled  ;   he  laboureth  in  vain  for 

his  own  approbation  :  but  the  fool  peepeth 

7  .  in 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND 


ri  the  mallow  ftream  of  his  own  mind,  and 
Is  pleafed  with  the  pebbles  which  he  fees 
it  the  bottom :  he  bringeth  them  up  and 
iiheweth  them  as  pearls ;  and  with  the  ap- 
plaufe  of  his  brethren  delighteth  he  him- 
jielf. 

|  He  boafteth  attainments  in  things  that 
jare  of  no  worth  ;  but  where  it  is  a  fhame 
p  be  ignorant,  there  he  hath  no  under- 
Handing. 

Even  in  the  paths  of  wifdom  he  toileth 
after  folly  ;  and  fhame  and  difappointment 
[are  the  reward  of  his  labour. 

But  the  wife  man  cultivates  his  mind  with 
iknowledge  :  the  improvement  of  arts  is  his 
delight,  and  their  utility  to  the  public 
crowneth  him  with  honour. 

Neverthelefs  the  attainment  of  virtue  he 
accounteth  as  the  highefl  learning :  and 
the  fcience  of  happinefs  is  the  fludy  of  his 
life. 

§  259.     Rich  a?id  Poor. 

The  man  to  whom  God  hath  given  rich- 
es, and  bleffed  with  a  mind  to  employ  them 
aright,  is  peculiarly  favoured,  and  highly 
diiHnguiihed. 

He  looketh  on  his  wealth  with  pleafure, 
becaufe  it  affordeth  him  the  means  to  do 
good. 

He  feeketh  out  objefts  of  companion  :  he 
enquireth  into  their  wants ;  he  relieveth  with 
judgment,  and  without  orientation. 

He  affilteth  and  rewardeth  merit :  he  en- 
courageth  ingenuity,  and  liberally  pro- 
moteth  every  ufeful  defign. 

He  carrieth  on  great  works  ;  his  country 
is  enriched,  and  the  labourer  is  employed ; 
he  formetli  new  fchemes,  and  the  arts  re- 
ceive improvement. 

He  confidereth  the  fuperfluities  of  his 
table  as  belonging  to  the  poor  of  his  neigh- 
bourhood, and  he  defraudeth  them  not. 

The  benevolence  of  his  mind  is  not 
checked  by  his  fortune  ;  he  rejoiceth  there- 
fore in  riches,  and  his  joy  is  blamelefs. 

But  woe  unto  him  that  heapeth  up  wealth 
in  abundance,  and  rejoiceth  alone  in  the 
pofleffion  thereof: 

That  grindeth  the  face  of  the  poor,  and 
confiderfeth  not  the  fweat  of  their  brows. 

He  thriveth  on  oppreflion  without  feel- 
ing ;  the  ruin  of  his  brother  diiturbeth  him 
not. 

The  terrs  of  the  orphan  he  drinketh  as 
ftiilk;  the  cries  of  the  widow  are  mufic  to 
jjis  ear. 

His  heart  is  hardened  with  the  love  of 


RELIGIOUS.  363 

diftrefs  can  make 


wealth;    no    grief  nor 
impreffion  upon  it. 

But  the  curfe  of  iniquity  purfueth  him : 
he  liveth  in  continual  fear;  the  anxiety  of 
his  mind,  and  the  rapacious  deiires  of  his 


own  foul,  take  vengeance  upon  him  for  the 
calamities  he  has  brought  upon  others. 

O  what  are  -the  miieries  of  poverty,  in. 
comparifon  with  the  gnawings  of  this 
man's  heart. 

Let  the  poor  man  comfort  himfeif,  yea, 
rejoice ;  for  he  hath  many  reafons. 

He  fitteth  down  to  his  morfel  in  peace; 
his  table  is  not  crowded  with  flatterers  and 
devourers. 

He  is  not  embarrafied  with  a  train  of 
dependants,  nor  teafed  with  the  clamours 
of  folicitation. 

Debarred  from  the  dainties  of  the  rich, 
he  efcapeth  alfo  their  difeafes. 

The  bread  that  lie  eateth,  is  it  not  fweet 
to  his  tafle  ?  the  water  he  drinketh,  is  it 
not  pleafant  to  his  thirlr.  ?  yea,  far  more 
delicious  than  the  richeft  draughts  of  the 
luxurious. 

His  labour  preferveth  his  health,  and 
procureth  him  a  repofe,  to  which  the 
downy  bed  of  (loth  is  a  ftranger. 

He  limiteth  his  defires  with  humility,  and 
the  calm  of  contentment  is  fweeter  to  his 
foul  than  all  the  acquirements  of  wealth  and 
grandeur. 

Let  not  the  rich  therefore  prefume  on 
his  riches,  nor  the  poor  in  his  poverty 
yield  to  his  defpondence  ;  for  the  provi- 
dence of  God  difpenfeth  happinefs  to  them 
both. 

§   260.     Masters  mid  Servants. 

Repine  not,  O  man,  at  the  ftate  of 
fervitude  :  it  is  the  appointment  of  God, 
and  hath  many  advantages  ;  it  removeth 
thee  from  the  cares  and  folicitudes  of  life. 

The  honour  of  a  fervant  is  his  fidelity ; 
his  highefl:  virtues  are  fubmiflion  and  obe- 
dience. 

Be  patient  therefore  under  the  reproofs 
of  thy  matter;  and  when  he  rebuketh  thee 
anfwer  not  again.  The  filence  of  thy  refig- 
nation  (hail  not  be  forgotten. 

Be  ihidious  of  his  interefts,  be  diligent  in 
his  affairs,  and  faithful  to  the  truii  which 
he  repofeth  in  thee. 

Thy  time  and  thy  labour  belong  unto 
him.  Defraud  him  not  thereof,  for  he  pay- 
eth  thee  for  them. 

And  thou  who  art  a  matter,  be  jufl  to 
thy   fervant,  if  thou  expecteth  from  him 

fidelity ; 


564 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fidelity  ;  and  reafonable  in  thy  commands, 
if  thou  expecteft  a  ready  obedience. 

The  fpirit  of  a  man  is  in  him  ;  feverity 
and  rigour  may  create  fear,  but  can  never 
command  his  love. 

Mix  kindnefs  with  reproof,  and  reafon 
with  authority:  fo  mail  thy  admonitions 
take  place  in  his  heart,  and.  his  duty  ihall 
become  his  pleafure. 

He  Ihall  ferve  thee  faithfully  from  the 
motive  of  gratitude  ;  he  fhall  obey  thee 
cheerfully  from  the  principle  of  love:  and 
fail  not  thou,  in  return,  to  give  his  dili- 
gence and  fidelity  their  proper  reward. 

§  261.    Magistrates  aW  Subjects. 

O  thou,  favourite  of  heaven,  whom  the 
fons  of  men,  thy  equals,  have  agreed  to 
raife  to  fovereign  power,  and  fet  as  a  ruler 
over  themfelves ;  confider  the  ends  and  im- 
portance of  their  truft,  far  more  than  the 
dignity  and  height  of  thy  ftation. 

Thou  art  cloathed  in  purple,  and  feated 
on  a  throne :  the  crown  of  majefty  invefteth 
thy  temples;  the  fceptre  of  power  is  placed 
in  thy  hand :  but  not  for  thyfelf  were  thefe 
enfigns  given  ;  not  meant  for  thine  own,  but 
the  good  of  thy  kingdom. 

The  glory  of  a  king  is  the  welfare  of  his 
people  ;  his  power  and  dominion  reiteth  on 
the  hearts  of  his  fubjects. 

The  mind  of  a  great  prince  is  exalted 
with  the  grandeur  of  his  fituation  :  he  re- 
volveth  high  things,  and  fearcheth  for  buli- 
nefs  worthy  of  Ids  power. 

He  calleth  together  the  wife  men  of  his 
kingdom,  he  confulteth  amcngft  them  with 
freedom,  and  heareth  the  opinions  of  them 
all. 

He  Iooketh  among  his  people  with  dif- 
cernment ;  he  difcovereth  the  abilities  of 
men,  and  employeth  them  according  to 
their  merits. 

His  magistrates  are  juft,  his  ministers  are 
wife,  and  the  favourite  of  his  bofom  de- 
ceiveth  him  not. 

He  iinileth  on  the  arts,  and  they  flourilh  ; 
the  fciences  improve  beneath  the  culture  of 
his  hand. 

With  the  learned  and  ingenious  he  de- 
lighteth  himfelf;  he  kindleth  in  their  breaits 
emulation,  and  the  glory  of  his  kingdom  is 
exalted  by  their  labours. 

Tne  fpirit  of  the  merchant  who  extend- 
ed! his  commerce ;  the  (kill  of  the  farmer, 
who  enricheth  his  lands;  the  ingenuity  of 
the  artiit,  the  improvement  of  the  fcholar ; 


all  thefe  he  honoureth  with  his  favour,  or 
rewardeth  with  his  bounty. 

He  planteth  new  colonies,  he  buildeth 
ftrong  fhips,  he  openeth  rivers  for  conveni- 
ence, he  formeth  harbours  for  fafety;  his 
people  abound  in  riches,  and  the  ftrength 
of  Ids  kingdom  encreafeth. 

He  frameth  his  statutes  with  equity  and- 
wifdom  ;  his  fubjects  enjoy  the  fruits  of  their 
labour,  in  fecurity ;  and  their  happinefs 
coniills  in  the  obiervance  of  the  lav/. 

He  foundeth  his  judgments  on  the  prini 
ciples  of  mercy;  but  in  the  punishment  of 
offenders  he  is  strict  and  impartial. 

His  ears  are  open  to  the  complaints  of 
his  fubjefts;  he  reflraineth  the  hand  of 
their  oppreilbrs,  and  delivereth  them  from 
their  tyrannv. 

His  people  therefore  look  up  to  him  as 
a  father,  with  reverence  and  love  ;  they 
confider  him  as  the  guardian  of  all  they 
enjoy. 

Their  affection  unto  him  begetteth  in  his 
breaft  a  love  of  the  public  ;  the  fecurity  of 
their  happinefs  is  the  object  of  his  care. 

No  murmers  against  him  arife  in  their 
hearts :  the  machinations  of  his  enemies 
endanger  not  his  flate. 

His  fubjects  are  faithful,  and  firm  in  his 
caufe  ;  they  fland  in  his  defence  as  a  wall 
of  bsafs;  the  army  of  a  tyrant  flieth  before 
them  as  chaff  before  the  wind. 

Security  and  peace  blefs  the  dwellings  of 
his  people ;  glory  and  ftrength  encircle  his 
throne  for  ever. 


The     SOCIAL     DUTIES. 

§   262.     Benevolence. 

When  thou  confidereft  thy  wants,  when 
thou  beholdeft  thy  imperfections,  acknow- 
ledge his  goodnefs,  O  fon  of  humanity  ! 
who  honoured  thee  with  reafon,  endued  thee 
with  fpeech,  and  placed  thee  in  fociety,  to 
receive  and  confer  reciprocal  helps  and 
mutual  obligations. 

Thy  food,  thy  cloathing,  thy  conveni- 
ence of  habitation;  thy  protection  from  the 
injuries,  thy  enjoyments  of  the  comforts 
and  the  pleafures  of  life  :  all  thefe  thou 
ovveft  to  the  ailiftance  of  others,  and  couldft 
not  enjoy  but  in  the  bands  of  fociety. 

It  is  thy  duty  therefore  to  be  a  friend  to 
mankind,  as  it  is  thy  intereft  that  man 
fhould  be  friendly  to  thee. 

As 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


365 


As  the  rofe  breatheth  fweetnefs  from  its 
iwn  nature,  fo  the  heart  of  a  benevolent 
nan  produceth  good  works. 

He  enjoyeth  the  eafe  and  tranquillity  of 
disown  breaft,  and  fejoiceth  in  the  happi- 
lefs  and  profperity  of  his  neighbour. 

He  openeth  not  his  car  unto  flander :  the 
[faults  and  the  failings  of  men  give  a  pain 
to  his  heart. 

His  defire  is  to  do  good,  and  he  fearch- 
eth  out  the  occafions  thereof;  in  removing 
the  oppreffions  of  another  he  relieveth  him- 
fclf. 

From  the  largenefs  of  his  mind,  he 
comprehendeth  in  his  wifhes  the  happinefs 
of  all  men  :  and  from  the  generofity  of  his 
heart,  he  endeavoureth  to  promote  it. 

§  263.     Justice. 

The  peace  of  fociety  dependeth  on 
juftice ;  the  happinefs  of  individuals,  on 
the  fafe  enjoyment  of  all  their  poifef- 
fions. 

Keep  the  defires  of  thy  heart,  therefore, 
within  the  bounds  of  moderation  :  let  the 
hand  of  juftice  lead  them  aright. 

Caft  not  an  evil  eye  on  the  goods  of  thy 
neighbour;  let  whatever  is  his  property 
be  facred  from  thy  touch. 

Let  no  temptation  allure  thee,  nor  any 
provocation  excite  thee,  to  lift  up  thy  hand 
to  the  hazard  of  his  life. 

Defame  him  not  in  his  character ;  bear 
no  falfe  witnefs  againft  him. 

Corrupt  not  his  fervant  to  cheat  or  for- 
fake  him  ;  and  the  wife  of  his  bofom,  O 
tempt  not  to  fin. 

It  will  be  a  grief  to  his  heart,  which  thou 
canft  not  relieve;  an  injury  to  his  life, 
which  no  reparation  can  atone  for. 

In  thy  dealings  with  men  be  impartial 
and  juft  ;  and  do  unto  them  as  thou  wouldft 
they  mould  do  unto  thee. 

Be  faithful  to  thy  truft,  and  deceive  not 
the  man  who  relieth  upon  thee ;  be  affured 
it  is  lefs  evil  in  the  fight  of  God  to  Ileal, 
than  to  betray. 

Opprefs  not  the  poor,  and  defraud  not 
of  his  hire  the  labouring  man. 

When  thou  felleft  for  gain,  hear  the 
whifperings  of  confcience,  and  be  fatisfied 
with  moderation  ;  nor  from  the  ignorance 
of  the  buyer  make  any  advantage. 

Pay  the  debts  which  thou  oweft,  for  he 
who  gave  thee  credit,  relied  upon  thine 
honour:  and  to  with-hold  from  him  his 
due,  is  both  mean  and  unjuft. 


Finally,  O  fon  of  fociety  !  examine  thy 
neart,  call  remembrance  to  thy  aid ;  and  if 
in  any  of  thefe  things  thou  findeft  thou  haft 
tranfgreffed,  take  forrow  and  fhame  to 
thyfelf,  and  make  fpeedy  reparation  to  the 
utmoft  of  thy  power. 

§  264.     Charity. 

Happy  is  the  man  who  hath  fown  in 
his  breaft  the  feeds  of  benevolence;  the 
produce  thereof  fhall  be  charity  and  love. 

From  the  fountain  of  his  heart  fhall  rife 
rivers  of  goodnefs ;  and  the  ftreams  fhall 
overflow  for  the  benefit  of  mankind. 

He  aftifteth  the  poor  in  their  trouble ; 
he  rejoiceth  in  furthering  the  profperity  of 
all  men. 

He  cenfureth  not  his  neighbour,  he  be- 
lieveth  not  the  tales  of  envy  and  malevo- 
lence, neither  repeateth  he  their  flanders. 

He  forgiveth  the  injuries  of  men,  he 
wipeth  them  from  his  remembrance ;  re- 
venge and  malice  have  no  place  in  his 
heart. 

For  evil  he  returneth  not  evil ;  he  hateth 
not  even  his  enemies,  but  requiteth  their 
injuftice  with  friendly  admonition. 

The  griefs  and  anxieties  of  men  excite 
his  companion;  he  endeavoureth  .0  alle- 
viate the  weight  of  their  misfortunes,  and 
the  pleafure  of  fuccefs  rewardeth  his  la- 
bour. 

He  calmeth  the  fury,  he  healeth  the 
quarrels  of  angry  men,  and  preventeth  the 
mifchiefs  of  ftrife  and  animofity. 

He  promoteth  in  his  neighbourhood 
peace  and  good-will,  and  his  name  is  re- 
peated with  praife  and  benedictions. 

§  265.     Gratitude. 

As  the  branches  of  a  tree  return  their 
fap  to  the  root  from  whence  it  arofe  ;  as  a 
river  poureth  his  ftreams  to  the  tea,  where 
his  fpring  was  fupplied;  fo  the  heart  of  a 
grateful  man  delighteth  in  returning  a  be- 
nefit received. 

He  acknowledgeth  his  obligations  with 
cheerful nefs ;  he  looketh  on  his  benefactor 
with  love  and  efteem. 

And  if  to  return  it  be  rot  in  his  power, 
he  ncurifheth  the  memory  of  it  in  his  breaft 
with  kindnefs,  he  forgetteth  it  not  all  the 
days  of  his  life. 

The  hand  of  the  generous  man  is  like 
the  clouds  of  heaven,  which  drop  upon  the 
earth,   fruits,    herbage,    and  flowers:  but 

die 


*5£ 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  heart  of  the  ungrateful  is  like  a  defert 
cf  fand,  which  fwalloweth  with  greedinefs 
the  fhowers  that  fall,  and  burieth  them  in 
its  bofom,  and  produceth  nothing. 

Envy  not  thy  benefactor,  neither  flrive 
to  conceal  the  benefit  he  hath  conferred ; 
for  though  the  aft  of  generofity  com- 
mand t!V' admiration;  yet  the  humility  of 
gratitude  toucheth  the  heart,  and  is  ami- 
able in  the  fight  both  of  God  and  man. 

Bat  receive  not  a  favour  from  the  hands 
of  the  proud  :  to  the  felfifh  and  avaricious 
have  no  obligation  :  the  vanity  of  pride 
{hall  expofe  thee  to  fhame,  the  greedinefs 
of  avarice  (hall  never  be  fatisfied. 

§  266.     Sincerity. 

O  thou  who  art  enamoured  with  the 
beauties  of  Truth,  and  hale  fixed  thy  heart 
On  the  firnpiicity  of  her  charms,  hold  fall 
thy  fidelity  unto  her,  and  forfake  her  not ; 
the  conllancy  of  thy  virtue  (hall  crown 
thee  with  honour. 

The  tongue  of  the  iincere  is  rooted  in  his 
heart :  hypocrify  and  deceit  have  no  place 
in  his  words. 

He  blulheth  at  falfehood,  and  is  con- 
founded :  but  in  fpeaking  the  truth  he  hath 
a  Heady  eye, 

He  lupporteth  as  a  man  the  dignity  of 
his  character  ;  to  the  arts  of  hypocrify 
he  fcorneth  to  Hoop. 

He  is  confident  with  himfelf;  he  is  never 
embarraffed  ;  he  hath  courage  enough  for 
truth,  but  to  lie  he  is  afraid. 

He  is  far  above  the  meannefs  of  diffimu- 
lation  ;  the  words  of  his  mouth  are  the 
thoughts  of  his  heart. 

Yet  with  prudence  and  caution  he  open- 
eth  his  lips ;  he  ftudieth  what  is  right,  and 
fpeaketh  with  discretion. 

He  advifeth  with  friendfhip,  he  reproveth 
with  freedom  :  and  whatfoever  he  promif- 
eth  lhall  furely  be  performed. 

But  the  heart  of  the  hypocrite  is  hid  in 
his  breall ;  he  mafketh  his  words  in  the 
fernblance  of  truth,  while  the  bufinefs  of 
his  life  is  only  to  deceive. 

He  laughcth  in  farrow,  he  weepeth  in 
joy  ;  and  the  words  of  his  mouth  have  no 
interpretation. 

He  worketh  in  the  dark  as  a  mole,  and 
fancieth  he  is  fafe ;  but  he  blundereth  into 
lio-ht,  and  is  betrayed  and  expoied,  with  his 
dirt  on  his  head. 

He  paffeth  his  days  with  perpetual  con- 
ftraint;  his  tongue  and  his  heart  are  for 
ever  at  variance. 


He  laboureth  for  the  character  of  a 
righteous  man ;  and  huggeth  himfelf  in 
the  thoughts  of  his  cunning. 

O  fool,  fool !  the  pains  which  thou  taken; 
to  hide  what  thou  art,  are  more  than  would 
make  thee  what  thou  wouldll  feem ;  and 
the  children  of  wifdom  fhall  mock  at  thy 
cunning,  when,  inthemidll  of  fecurity,  thy 
difguife  is  dripped  off",  and  the  finger  of 
deriilon  fhall  point  thee  to  fcorn. 


§  267.     Religion. 

There  is  but  one  God,  the  author,  the 
creator,  the  governor  of  the  world,  al- 
mighty, eternal,  and  incomprehenfible. 

The  fun  is  not  God,  though  his  nobleii 
image.  He  enliveneth  the  world  with  his 
brightnefs,  his  warmth  giveth  life  to  the 
products  of  the  earth  ;  admire  him  as  the 
creature,  the  inflrument  of  God  ;  but  wor- 
fhip  him  not. 

To  the  One  who  is  fupreme,  mod  wife 
and  beneficent,  and  to  him  alone,  belong 
worfnip,  adoration,  thankfgiving,  and 
praife  ! 

Who  hath  flretched  forth  the  heavens 
with  his  hand,  who  hath  defcribed  with  his 
finger  the  courfes  of  the  liars. 

Who  fettetli  bounds  to  the  ocean,  that  it 
cannot  pafs ;  and  faith  unto  the  flormy 
winds,  Be  ft'ill. 

Who  fhaketh  the  earth,  and  the  nations 
tremble  ;  who  darteth  his  lightnings,  and 
the  wicked  are  diimayed. 

Who  calleth  forth  worlds  by  the  word 
of  his  mouth;  who  fmiteth  with  his  arm, 
and  they  fink  into  nothing. 

"  O  reverence  the  Majelly  of  the  Om- 
"  nipotent ;  and  tempt  not  his  anger,  leil 
"  thou  be  deitroyed  \" 

The  providence  of  God  is  over -.all  his 
works ;  he  ruleth  and  direcleth  with  infinite 
wifdom. 

He  hath  inflituted  laws  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  world ;  he  hath  wonderfully 
varied  them  in  his  beings;  and  each,  by  his 
nature,  conformeth  to  his  will. 

In  the  depths  of  his  mind  he  revolveth 
all  knowledge ;  the  fecrets  of  futurity  lie 
open  before  him. 

The  thoughts  of  thy  heart  are  naked  to 
his  view  ;  he  knoweth  thy  determinations 
before  they  are  made. 

With  refpeci  to  his  prefcience,  there  is 
nothing  contingent ;  with  refpeft  to  h:s 
providence  there  is  nothing  accidental. 

Wonderful  he  is  in  all  his  ways;  hid 

counf.is" 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


367 


coanfels  are  infcrutable;  the  manner  of  his 
knowledge  tranfcendeth  thy  conception. 

"  Pay  therefore  to  his  wifdom  all  honour 
"  and  veneration  ;  and  bow  down  thyfelf 
"  in  humble  and  fubmiffive  obedience  to 
"  his  fupreme  direction." 

The  Lord  is  gracious  and  beneficent;  he 
hath  created  the  world  in  mercy  and  love. 

His  goodnefs  is  confpicuous  in  all  his 
works ;  he  is  the  fountain  of  excellence, 
the  centre  of  perfection. 

The  creatures  of  his  hand  declare  his 
goodnefs,  and  all  their  enjoyments  fpeak 
his  praife ;  he  clotheth  them  with  beauty, 
he  fupporteth  them  with  food,  he  preferv- 
eth  them  with  pleafure  from  generation  to 
generation. 

If  we  lift  up  our  eyes  to  the  heavens, 
his  glory  Ihineth  forth;  if  we  cart  them 
down  upon  the  earth,  it  is  full  of  his  good- 
nefs;  the  hills  and  the  vallies  rejoice  and 
fmg  ;  fields,  rivers,  and  woods  reibund  his 
praife. 

But  thee,  O  man,  he  hath  diftinguifhed 
with  peculiar  favour ;  and  exalted  thy 
ftation  above  all  creatures.  " 

He  hath  endued  thee  with  reafon,  to 
maintain  thy  dominion  :  he  hath  fitted  thee 
with  language,  to  improve  by  fociety ;  and 
exalted  thy  mind  with  the  powers  of  medi- 
tation to  contemplate  and  adore  his  inimi- 
table perfections. 

And  in  the  laws  he  hath  ordained  as  the 
rule  of  thy  life,  fo  kindly  hath  he  fuited  thy 
duty  to  thy  nature,  that  obedience  to  his 
•precepts  is  happinefs  to  thyfelf, 

"  O  praife  his  goodnefs  with  fongs  of 
"  thankfgiving,  and  meditate  in  filence  on 
"  the  wonders  of  his  love ;  let  thy  heart 
"  overflow  with  gratitude  and  acknow- 
">  ledgment ;  let  the  language  of  thy  lips 
**  fpeak  praife  and  adoration ;  let  the  ac- 
"  tions  of  thy  life  (hew  thy  love  to  his 
«  law." 

The  Lord  is  jurt  and  righteous,  and  will 
judge  the  earth  with  equity  and  truth. 

Hath  he  ertablifhed  his  laws  in  goodnefs 
and  mercy,  and  mail  he  not  punifh  the 
tranfgrefTors  thereof?  . 

O  think  not,  bold  man!  becaufe.thy 
puniihment  is  delayed,  that  the  arm  of  the 
Lord  is  weakened ;  neither  flatter  thyfelf 
with  hopes  that  he  winketh  at  thy  doings. 

His  eye  pierceth  the  fecrets  of  every 
heart,  and  he  rememberedi  them  for  ever; 
he  relpecteth  not  the  perlbus  or  the  ftations 
of  men. 

The  high  and  the  low,  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  the  wife  and  the  ignorant,  when  the 


foul  hath  fhaken  off  the  cumbrous  (hackles 
of  this  mortal  life,  fhall  equally  receive 
from  the  fentence  of  God  ajuft  and  ever- 
lafting  retribution,  according  to  their 
works. 

Then  fhall  the  wicked  tremble  and  be 
afraid ;  but  the  heart  of  the  righteous  fhall 
rejoice  in  his  judgments. 

"  O  fear  the  Lord,  therefore,  all  the 
"  days  of  thy  life,  and  walk  in  the  paths 
"  which  he  hath  opened  before  thee.  Let 
"  prudence  admonifh  thee,  let  temperance 
"  reftrain,  let  juftice  guide  thy  hand,  bene- 
"  volence  warm  thy  heart,  and  gratitude 
"  to  heaven  infpire  thee  with  devotion, 
"  Thefe  fhall  give  thee  happinefs  in  thy 
"  prefent  ftate,  and  bring  thee  to  the  man- 
"  fions  of  eternal  felicity,  in  the  paradife 
«  of  God." 

This  is  the  true  Economy  of  Human 
Life. 


ECONOMY  of  HUMAN  LIFE. 

Part  II.  Man  confidered  in  the  general—** 
Conjidered  in  regard  to  his  infirmities  and 
their  ejfecls — The  advantages  he  ?nay  ac-> 
quire  o-ver  his  felloiv-creatures— -Natural 
accidents. 

MAN  confidered  in  the  General. 

§  268.     Of  the    Human    Frame    and 
Structure. 

Weak  and  ignorant  as  thou  art,  O  man  ! 
humble  as  thou  oughteft  to  be,  O  child  of 
the  duft  !  wouldft  thou  raife  thy  thoughts 
to  infinite  wifdom  ?  wouldft  thou  fee  Om- 
nipotence difplayed  before  thee  ?  contem- 
plate thine  own  frame. 

Fearfully  and  wonderfully  art  thou  made: 
praife  therefore  thyGreator  with  awe,  and 
rejoice  before  him  with  reverence. 

Wherefore  of  all  creatures  art  thou  only 
eredi,  but  that  thou  fhouldft  behold  his 
works !  wherefore  art  thou  to  behold,  but 
that  thou  maylt  admire  them  !  wherefore 
to  admire,  but  that  thou  mayft  adore  their 
and  thy  Creator  ! 

Wherefore  is  confcioufnefs  repofed  in 
thee  alone  ?  and  whence  is  it  derived  to 
thee  ? 

It  is  not  in  flefh  to  think;  it  is  not  in 
bones  to  reafon.  The  lion  knoweth  not 
that  worms  fhall  eat  him;  the  ox  perceiv. 
eth  not  that  he  is  fed  for  {laughter. 

Something  is  added  to  thee  unlike  to 

what 


36S 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


what  thou  feeft :  fomething  informs  thy 
clay,  higher  than  all  that  is  the  objeft  of" 
thy  fenfes.     Behold,  what  is  it  ? 

Thy  body  remaineth  perfe£t  after 
it  is  fled,  therefore  it  is  no  part  of  it ; 
it  is  immaterial,  therefore  it  is  eternal :  it 
is  free  to  aft,  therefore  it  is  accountable 
for  its  actions. 

Knoweth  the  afs  the  ufe  of  food,  becaufe 
his  teeth  mow  down  the  herbage  ?  cr 
irandeth  the  crocodile  eredt  although  his 
back-bone  is  as  ftraight  as  thine  ? 

God  formed  thee  as  he  had  formed 
thefe ;  after  them  all  wert  thou  created  : 
fuperiority  and  command  were  given  thee 
over  all,  and  of  his  own  breath  did  he 
communicate  to  thee  thy  principle  of 
knowledge. 

Know  thyfelf  then  the  pride  of  his  crea- 
tion, the  link  uniting  divinity  and  matter  ; 
behold  a  part  of  God  himfelf  within  thee; 
remember  thine  own  dignity,  nor  dare  to 
defcend  to  evil  or  meannefs. 

Who  planted  terror  in  the  tail  of  the 
ferpent  ?  who  clothed  the  neck  of  the  horfe 
with  thunder?  even  he  who  hath  inftrudled 
thee  to  crulh  the  one  under  thy  feet,  and 
to  tame  the  other  to  thy  purpofes. 

§  269.     Of  the  Use  of  the  Senses. 

Vaunt  not  of  thy  body,  becaufe  it  was 
firft  formed ;  nor  of  thy  brain,  becaufe 
therein  thy  foul  reiideth.  Is  not  the  mailer 
of  the  houfe  more  honourable  than  its 
walls? 

The  ground  mull:  be  prepared  before 
corn  be  planted;  the  potter  muff,  build  his 
furnace  before  he  can  make  his  porce'ane. 

As  the  breath  of  Heaven  fayeth  unto  the 
waters  of  the  deep,  rl  his  way  fhall.  thy 
billows  roll,  and  no  ether;  thus  high  and 
no  higher, -fhall  they  raife  their  fury ;  fo 
let  thy  fpirit,  O  man,  actuate  and  direct 
thy  flefn  ;  fo  let  it  reprefs  its  wildnefs. 

Thy  foul  is  the  monarch  of  thy  fame; 
furier  not  its  fubjects  to  rebel  again  11  it. 

Thy  body  is  as  the  globe  of  the  earth, 
thy  bones  the  pillars  that  fuftain  it  on  its 
bafis. 

As  the  ocean  giveth  rife  to  fprings, 
whefe  waters  return  again  into  its  bofom 
through  the  rivers,  fo  runneth  thy  life  from 
thy  heart  outwards,  and  fo  runneth  it  into 
its  place'  again. 

Do  not  both  retain  their  courfe  for  ever  ? 
Behold,  the  fame  God  ordaineth  them. 

Is  not  thy  nofe  the  channel  to  perfumes  ? 
thy  mouth  the  path  to  delicacies  ?  Yet  know 


thou  that  perfumes  long  fmelt  become  of- 
fenfive,  that  delicacies  deftroy  the  appetite 
they  flatter. 

Are  not  thine  eyes  the  centinels  that 
watqh  for  thee  ?  yet  how  often  are  they 
unable  to  diftiriguifh  truth  from  error  ? 

Keep  thy  foul  in  moderation,  teach  thy 
fpirit  to  be  attentive  to  its  good  ;  fo  flia.ll 
thefe  its  minifters  be  always  open  to  the 
conveyances  of  truth.  ■ 

Thine  hand  is  it  not  a  miracle  ?  is  there 
in  the  creation  aught  like  unto  it?  where- 
fore was  it  given  thee,  but  that  thou  might- 
eft  ftretch  it  out  to  the  aiiiitance  of  thy 
brother  ? 

Why  of  all  things  living  art  thou  alone 
made  capable  of  blufhing  ?  the  world  (hall 
read  thy  lhame  upon  thy  face :  therefore 
do  nothing  fhameful. 

Fear  and  difraav,  why  rob  they  the 
countenance  of  its  ruddy  ipleridor?  Avoid 
guilt,  and  thou  (halt  know  that  fear  is  be- 
neath thee  ;  that  difmay  is  unmanly. 

Wherefore  to  thee  alone  fpeak  lhadows 
in  the  vifions  of  thy  pillow  ?  Reverence 
them  ;  for  know,  that  dreams  are  from 
on  high. 

Thou  man  alone  canil  fpeak.  Wonder 
at  thy  glorious  prerogative;  and  pay  to 
him  who  gave  it  thee  a  rational  and  wel- 
come praile,  teaching  thy  children  wifdom, 
inftructing  the  offspring  of  thy  loins  in 
piety. 


§  270.     The  Soul  s/Mak,  its  Origin 
and  A f f e ctio n s . 

The  b1effingSj  O  man  !  of  thy  external 
part,  are  health,  vigour,  and  proportion. 
The  greater!  of  thefe  is  health.  What 
health  is  to  the  body,  even  that  is  honetly 
to  the  foul. 

That  thou  haft  a  foul,  is  of  all  knowledge 
the  mo  ft  certain,  of  all  truths  the  mod 
plain  unto  thee.  Be  meek,  be  grateful  for 
it.  Seek  not  to  know  it  gratefully  :  it  is 
inferu  table. 

Thinking,  underftanding,  reafoning, 
willing,  call  not  thefe  the  foul !  They  are 
its  aclions,  but  they  are  not  its  effer.ee. 

Raife  it  not  too  high,  that  thou  be  not 
defpifed.  Be  not  thou  like  unto  thofe  who 
fall  by  climbing ;  neither  debafe  it  to  the 
fenfe  of  brutes ;  nor  be  thou  like  unto  the 
horfe  and  the  mule,  in  whom  there  is  no 
underftanding. 

Search  it  by  its  faculties  ;  know  it  by 
its   virtues.      They   are  more  in  number 

than 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


369 


than  the  hairs  of  thy  head;  the  Mars  of 
heaven  are  not  to  be  counted  with  them^ 

Think  not  with  Arabia,  that  one  foul  is 
parted  among:  all  men;  neither  believe 
thou  with  the  fons  of  Egypt,  that  every  man 
hath  many  :  know,  that  as  thy  heart,  fo 
alio  thy  foul  is  one. 

Doth  not  the  fun  harden  the  clay  ?  doth 
it  not  alfo  foften  the  wax  ?  As  it  is  one  fun 
that  worketh  both,  even  fo  it  is  one  foul 
that  willeth  contraries. 

As  the  moon  retaineth  her  nature  though 
darknefs  fpread  itfelf  before  her  face  as  a 
curtain,  fo  the  foul  remaineth  perfect,  even 
in  the  bofom  of  a  fool. 

She  is  immortal ;  me  is  unchangeable ; 
{he  is  alike  in  all.  Health  calleth  her  forth 
to  fhevv  her  lovelinefs,  and  application 
anointeth  her  with  the  oil  of  wifdom. 

Although  fhe  fhall  live  after  thee,  think 
not  me  was  born  before  thee.  She  was 
concreated  with  thy  flefh,  and  formed  with 
thy  brain. 

Jultice  could  not  give  her  to  thee  exalted 
by  virtues,  nor  mercy  deliver  her  to  thee 
deformed  by  vices.  Thefe  muft  be  thine, 
and  thou  muft  anfver  for  them. 

Suppofe  not  death  can  fhield  thee  from 
examination;  think  not  corruption  can  hide 
thee  from  inquiry.  He  who  formed  thee 
of  thou  knovveft  not  what,  can  he  not  raife 
thee  to  thou  knoweft  not  what  again  ? 

Perceiveth  not  the  cock  the  hour  of  mid- 
night ?  Exalteth  he  not  his  voice,  to  tell 
thee  it  is  morning  ?  Knoweth  not  the  dog 
the  footfteps  of  his  mailer?  and  flieth  not 
the  wounded  goat  unto  the  herb  that  heal- 
eth  him?  Yet  when  thefe  die,  their  fpirit 
returneth  to  the  dull: :  thine  alone  furviveth. 

Envy  not  to  thefe  their  fenfes,  becaufe 
quicker  than  thine  own.  Learn  that  the 
advantage  lieth  'not  in  poiTe  fling  good 
things,  but  in  the  knowing  to  ufe  them. 

Hadft  thou  the  ear  of  a  ftag,  or  were 
thine  eye  as  ftrong  and  piercing  as  the 
eagle's;  didft  thou  equal  the  hounds  in 
fmell,  or  could  the  ape  refign  to  theehis 
tafte,  or  the  tortoife  her  feeling  ;  yet  with- 
out reafon,  what  would  they  avail  thee  ? 
Perifh  not  all  thefe  like  their  kindred  ? 

Hath  any  one  of  them  the  gift  offpeech? 
Can  any  lay  unto  thee,  Therefore  did  I 
fo? 

The  lips  of  the  wife  are  as  the  doors  of 
a  cabinet;  no  fooner  are  they  opened,  but 
treaiures  are  poured  out  before  thee. 

Like  unto  trees  of  gold  arranged  in  beds 
of  filver,  are  wife  fentences  uttered  in  due 
fcafon, 


Canft  thou  think  too  greatly  of  thy  foul? 
or  can  too  much  be  faid  in  its  praife  ?  It 
is  the  image  of  him  who  gave  it. 

Remember  thou  its  dignity  for  ever; 
forget  not  how  great  a  talent  is  committed 
to  thy  charge. 

Whatfoever  may  do  good  may  alfo  do 
harm.  Beware  that  thou  direcl  her  courfe 
to  virtue. 

Think  not  that  thou  canft  lofe  her  in  tha 
crowd  ;  fuppofe  not  that  thou  canft  bury 
her  in  thy  clofet.  Action  is  her  delight, 
and  fhe  will  not  be  withheld  from  it. 

Her  motion  is  perpetual ;  her  attempts 
are  univerfal ;  her  agility  is  not  to  be  fup- 
preffed.  Is  it  at  the  uttermoft  parts  of 
the  earth  ?  fhe  will  have  it :  Is  it  beyondi 
the  region  of  the  ftars  ?  yet  will  her  eye 
difcover  it. 

Inquiry  is  her  delight.  As  one  who 
traverfeth  the  burning  fands  in  fearch  of 
water,  {o  is  the  foul  that  fearcheth  after 
knowledge. 

Guard  her,  for  fhe  is  rafh ;  reftrain  her, 
for  fhe  is  irregular ;  correft  her,  for  fhe  is 
outrageous;  more  fupple  is  fhe  than  water, 
more  flexible  than  wax,  more  yielding  than* 
air.     Is  there  aught  can  bind  her  ? 

As  a  fword  in  the  hand  of  a  madman, 
even  fo  is  the  foul  to  him  who  wanteth 
difcretion, 

The  end  of  her  fearch  is  truth ;  her 
means  to  difcover  it  are  reafon  and  expe-. 
rience.  But  are  not  thefe  weak,  uncertain, 
and  fallacious  ?  How  then  fhall  fhe  attain 
unto  it  ? 

General  opinion  is  no  proof  of  truth* 
for  the  generality  of  men  are  ignorant. 

Perceived  thou  of  thyfelf,  the  know* 
ledo-e  of  him  who  created  thee,  the  fenfe 
of  the  worfhip  thou  owe  ft  unto  hinf  ?  are 
not  thefe  plain  before  thy  face?  And  be- 
hold !  what  is  there  more  that  man  needeth 
to  know? 

$  271.     Of  the  Period  andVsts  of 
■     Hum-an  Life, 

As  the  eye  of  morning  to  the  lark,  a? 
the  fhade  of  evening  to  the  owl,  as  honey 
to  the  bee,  or  as  the  carcafe  unto  the  vul- 
ture ;  even  fuch  is  life  unto  the,  heart  of 
man.  , 

Though  bright,  it  dazzleth  not;  though, 
pbfcure,  it  difpleafeth  not;  though  fvveet, 
it  cloveth  not ;  though  corrupt,  it  forbid- 
deth  not  ;  yet  who  is  he  that  knoweth  «* 
true  value  ?  , 

Learn  to  efteem  life  as  it  ought;  tpCB 
art  thou  near  the  pinnacle  of  wifdom. 

B  b  Think 


37a       ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

Think  not  with  the  fool,  that  nothing 


is  more  valuable  :  nor  believe  with  the 
pretended  wife,  that  thou  oughteft  to  con- 
temn it.  Love  it  not  for  itfelf,  but  for 
the  grod  it  may  be  of  to  others. 

Gold  cannot  buy  it  for  thee,  neither  can 
mines  of  diamonds  purchafe  back  the  mo- 
ment thou  hail:  now  loll  of  it.  Employ  the 
fucceeding  ones  in  virtue. 

Say  not,  that  it  were  beft  not  to  have 
been  born  ;  or  if  born,  that  it  had  been 
beft  to  die  early  :  neither  dare  thou  to  afk 
of  thy  Creator,  Where  had  been  the  evil 
that  I  had  not  exifted  ?  Good  is  in  thy 
power;  the  want  of  good  is  evil;  and  if 
the  queftion  be  juft,  lo !  it  condernneth 
thee. 

Would  the  fifh  fwallow  the  bait  if  he 
knew  the  hook  was  hidden  therein  ?  would 
the  lion  enter  the  toils  if  he  faw  they  were 
prepared  for  him  ?  fo  neither  were  the  foul 
to  perifh  with  this  clay,  would  man  wifli  to 
live  ?  neither  would  a  merciful  God  have 
created  him :  know  hence  thou  lhalt  live 
afterward. 

As  the  bird  is  inclofed  in  the  cage  before 
he  feeth  it,  yet  teareth  not  his  fiefli  againft 
its  fides ;  fo  neither  labour  thou  vainly  to 
run  from  the  ftate  thou  art  in ;  but  know 
it  is  allotted  thee,  and  be  content  with  it. 

Though  its  ways  are  uneven,  yet  arc 
they  not  all  painful.  Accommodate  thy- 
felf  to  all ;  and  where  there  is  leaft  appear- 
ance of  evil,  fufpect  the  greateft  danger. 

When  thy  bed  is  ftraw,  thou  fleepeft  in 
fecurity ;  but  when  thou  itretcheth  thyfelf 
on  rofes,  beware  of  the  thorns. 

A  good  death  is  better  than  an  evil  life  : 
flrive  therefore  to  live  as  long  as  thou 
oughteft,  not  as  long  as  thou  canft.  While 
thy  life  is  to  others  worth  more  than  thy 
death,  it  is  thy  dutv  to  preferve  it. 

Complain  not  with  the  fcol,  with  the 
fhortnefs  of  thy  time  :  remember  that  with 
thy  days,  thy  cares  are  fhortened. 

Take  from  the  period  of  thy  life  the 
ufelefs  parts  of  it,  and  what  remaineth  ? 
Take  off  the  time  of  thine  infancy,  the 
fecond  infancy  of  age,  thy  deep,  thy 
thoughtlefs  hours,  thy  days  of  ficknefs  : 
and  even  at  the  fulnefs  of  years,  how  few 
feafons  haft  thou  truly  numbered. 

He  who  gave  thee  life  as  a  blefling, 
fhortened  it  to  make  it  more  fo.  To  what 
end  would  longer  life  have  ferved  thee  ? 
Wifheft  thou  to  have  had  an  opportunity 
of  more  vices  ?  As  to  the  good,  will  not 
he  who  limited  thy  {pan,  be  fatisfied  with 
the  fruits  of  it  ? 


To  what  end,  O  child  of  forrow !  wouldft 
thou  live  longer  r  to  breathe,  to  eat,  to  fee 
the  world  ?  All  this  thou  haft  done  often 
already.  Too  frequent  repetition,  is  it 
not  tirefome  ?  or  is  it  not  fuperfluous  ? 

Wouldft  thou  improve  thy  wifdoin  and 
thy  virtue  ?  Alas  !  what  art  thou  to  know  ? 
or  who  is  it  that  fhall  teach  thee  ?  Badly 
thou  employe!!  the  little  that  thou  haft, 
dare  not,  therefore,  to  complain  that  more 
is  not  given  thee. 

Repine  not  at  the  want  of  knowledge ; 
it  mult  perifh  with  thee  in  the  grave.  Be 
honeft  here,  thou  {halt  be  wife  hereafter. 

Say  not  unto  the  crow,  why  numbereft 
thou  feven  times  the  age  of  thy  lord  ?  or 
to  the  fawn,  why  are  thine  eyes  to  fee  my 
offspring  to  an  hundredth  generations  ? 
Are  thefe  to  be  compared  with  thee  in  the  - 
abufe  of  life  ?  are  they  riotous  ?  are  they 
cruel  ?  are  they  ungrateful  ?  Learn  from 
them  rather,  that  innocence  of  life  and  fim- 
plicity  cf  manners  are  the  paths  to  a  good 
old  age. 

Knoweft  thou  to  employ  life  better  than 
thefe  ?  then  lefs  of  it  may  fufhee  thee. 

Man  who  dares  enflave  the  world  when 
he  knows  he  can  enjoy  his  tyranny  but  a 
moment,  what  would  he  not  aim  at  if  he 
were  immortal  ? 

Enough  haft  thou  of  life,  but  thou  re- 
gardeft  it  not :  thou  art  not  in  want  of  it, 
O  man  1  but  thou  art  prodigal :  thou 
throweft  it  lightly  away,  as  if  thou  hadft 
more  than  enough  ;  and  yet  thou  repineft 
that  it  is  not  gathered  again  unto  thee  ? 

Know  that  it  is  not  abundance  which 
maketh  rich,  but  economy. 

The  wife  continueth  to  live  from  his  firfl 
period;  the  fool  is  always  beginning. 

Labour  not  after  riches  firft,  and  think 
thou  afterwards  wilt  enjoy  them.  He  who 
neglecteth  the  prefent  moment,  throweth 
away  all  he  hath.  As  the  arrow  pafleth 
through  the  heart,  while  the  warrior  knew 
not  that  it  was  coming  ;  fo  fhall  his  life  be 
taken  away  before  he  knoweth  that  he 
hath  it. 

What  then  is  life,  that  man  fhonld  de- 
fire  it  ?  what  breathing,  that  he  fhould 
covet  it  ? 

Is  it  not  a  fcene  of  delufion,  a  feries  of 
mifadventures,  a  purfuit  of  evils  linked  on 
all  fides  together  ?  In  the  beginning  it  is 
ignorance,  pain  is  in  its  middle,  and  its 
end  is  forrow. 

As  one  wave  pufheth  on  another  till 
both  are  involved  in  that  behind  them,  even 
fo  fucceedeth  evil(Jo  evil  in  the  life  of  man  ; 

the 


BOOK    I.      MORAL    AND     RELIGIOUS. 


37* 


the  greater  and  the  prefent  fwaliow  up  the 
lefTer  and  the  pail.  Our  terrors  are  real 
evils;  our  expectations  look  forward  into 
improbabilities. 

Fools,  to  dread  as  mortals,  and  ro  defire 
as  if  immortal! 

What  part  of  life  is  it  that  we  would 
wilh  to  remain  with  us  ?  Js  it  youth  ?  can 
we  be  in  love  with  outrage,  licentioufnefs, 
and  temerity  ?  Is  it  age  ?  then  we  are  fond 
of  infirmities. 

It  is  faid,  g  ey  hairs  are  revered,  and  in 
length  of  days  is  honour.  Virtue  can  add 
revere.icj  to  the  bloom  of  youth;  and 
without  it  age  plants  more  wrinkles  in  the 
foul  than  on  the  forehead. 

Is  age  refpe&ed  becaufe  it  hateth  riot  ? 
What  jurtice  is  in  this,  when  it  is  not  age 
"that  iefpifeth  pleafure,  but  pleafure  that 
defpiieth  age. 

Be  virtuous  while  thou  art  young,  fo 
fhali  thine  age  be  honoured. 

Man  confidered  in  regard  to  his  Infirmities, 
and  their  Effeiis. 

§  272.     Vanity. 

Inconftancy  is  powerful  in  the  heart  of 
man;  intemperance  fwayeth  it  whither  it 
will ;  defpair  engrofieth  much  of  it ;  and 
fear  proclaimeth,  Behold,  I  fit  unrivalled 
therein  !  but  vanity  is  beyond  them  all. 

Weep  not  therefore  at  the  calamities  of 
the  human  date  ;  rather  laugh  at  its  follies. 
In  the  hands  of  the  man  addicted  to  vani- 
ty, life  is  but  the  lhadow  of  a  dream. 

The  hero,  the  mod  renowned  of  human 
characters,  what  is  he  but  the  bubble  of 
this  weaknefs  !  the  public  is  unliable  and 
ungrateful; 'why  ihould  the  man  of  wifdom 
endanger  himfelf  for  fools  ? 

The  man  who  neglecleth  his  prefent 
concerns,  to  revolve  how  he  will  behave 
when  greater,  feedeth  himfelf  with  wind, 
while  his  bread  is  eaten  by  another. 

Act  as  becometh  thee  in  thy  prefent  Na- 
tion ;  and  in  more  exalted  ones  thy  face 
fhali  not  be  afnamed 

What  blindeth  the  eye,  or  what  hideth 
the  heart  of  a  man  from  himfelf  like  va- 
nity r  Lo  !  when  thou  feeft  not  thyfelf, 
then  others  d'fcover  thee  mod  plainly. 

As  the  tulip  that  is  gaudy  without  fmell, 
confpicuous  withouf  ufe ;  fo  is  the  man 
who  fetteth  himfe  f  up  on  high,  and  hath 
not  me  lit. 

The  heart  of  the  vain  is  troubled  while 
it  feemeth  content ;  his  cares  are  greater 
than  his  pleaiures. 


His  folicitude  cannot  reft  with  his  bones ; 
the  grave  is  not  deep  enouga  to  hide  it; 
he  extendeth  his  thoughts  beyond  his  be- 
ing :  he  befpeaket  1  praife  to  be  paid  when 
he  is  gone  :  but  whofo  promifeth  it,  de» 
ceiveth  him. 

As  the  man  that  engageth  his  wife  to 
remain  in  widowhood,  that  fhe  difturb  not 
his  foul ;  fo  is  he  who  expecleth  that  praife 
fha!l  reach  his  ea  s  beneatn  tne  earth,  or 
che;iih  his  heart  in  its  ihr  )ud. 

Do  well  while  th  u  livit;  but  regard 
net  what  is  faid  of  it.  Content  thyfelf 
with  deferving  praife,  and  thy  pod  rity 
fhali  rejoice  in  hearing  it. 

As  the  butc  rfly,  who  i'eeth  not  her  own 
colours ;  as  the  jeflamine,  which  feeleth 
not  the  fcent  it  cafteth  around  .  fo  is  the 
man  who  appeareth  g,;y>  and  uiddetn  others 
to  take  notice  of  it. 

To  what  purpofe,  faith  he,  is  my  vefture 
of  gold  ?  to  what  end  are  my  tables  filled 
with  dainties,  if  no  eye  gaze  upon  them  ? 
if  the  world  know  it  not  ?  Give  thy  rai- 
ment to  the  naked,  and  thy  food  unto  the 
hungry  ;  fo  fhalt  thou  be  praifed,  and  feel 
that  thou  deferveft  it 

Why  befloweft  t:iou  on  every  man  the 
flattery  of  unmeaning  words  !  Thou  know- 
eft  when  returned  thee,  thou  regardefl  it 
not.  He  knoweth  he  lieth  unto  thee ;  yet 
he  knoweth  thou  wilt  thank  hirn  for  it. 
Speak  in  fincerity,  and  thou  fhalt  hear 
with  inftruction. 

The  vain  delighteth  to  fpeak  of  himfelf ; 
but  he  feeth  not  that  others  like  not  to  hear 
him. 

If  he  have  done  any  thing  worth  praife, 
ifhepoffefs  that  which  is  worthy  admira- 
tion, his  joy  is  to  proclaim  it,  his  pride  is 
to  hear  it  reported.  The  defire  of  fuch  a 
man  defeateth  itfelf.  Men  fay  not,  Behold, 
he  hath  done  it:  or,  See,  he  pofieiieth  it; 
but,  mark  how  proud  he  is  or  it ! 

The  heart  of  man  cannot  attend  at  once 
to  many  things.  He  who  fixeth  his  foul 
on  fnew,  lofeth  reality.  He  purfueth  bub- 
bles which  break  in  their  flight,  while  he 
treads  to  earth  what   would  do  him  ho- 


§  273.     Inconstancy. 
Nature  urgeth  thee    to  inconftancv.  O 
man  !   therefore  guard  thyfelf  at  all  c.mjs 
again fc  it. 

Thou  art  from  the  womb  of  thy  mother 
various  and  wavering.  From  the  loins  >f 
thy  father  inherited:  thou  initability ;  how 
then  fhalt  thou  be  firm  r 

B  b  2  Thofe 


372 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Thofe  who  gave  thee  a  body,  furniihed 
it  with  weaknefs;  but  he  who  gave  thee 
a  foul,  armed  thee  with  refolution.  Em- 
ploy it,  aid  thou  art  wife ;  be  wife,  and 
thou  art  happy.       , 

Let  him  who  doeth  well,  beware  how  he 
boafteth  of  it;  for  rarely  it  is  of  his  own  will. 
Is  it  not  the  event  of  an  impulfe  from 
without  ,born  of  uncertainty,  enforced  by 
accident,  dependent  on  fomevvhat  elfe  ? 
To  thefe  men,  and  to  accident,  is  due  the 
praife. 

Beware  of  irrefolution  in  the  intent  of 
thy  actions,  beware  of  inftability  in  the 
execution  ;  fo  fhalt  thou  triumph  over  two 
great  failings  of  thy  nature. 

What  reproacheth  reafon  more  than  to 
act  contrarieties  ?  What  can  fupprefs  the 
tendencies  to  thefe,  but  firmnefs  of  mind  ? 

The  inconftant  feeleth  that  he  changeth, 
but  he  knoweth  not  why  ;  he  fecth  that  he 
eicapeth  from  himfelf,  but  he  perceiveth 
not  how.  Be  thou  incapable  of  change  in 
that  which  is  right,  and  men  will  rely 
upon  thee. 

Eilabiiih  unto  thyfelf  principles  of  ac- 
tion, and  fee  that  thou  ever  act  according  to 
them. 

Firft  know  that  thy  principles  are  juft, 
and  then  be  thou  inflexible  in  the  path  of 
them. 

So  lhall  thy  pafiions  have  no  rule  over 
thee  ;  fo  mall  thy  conftancy  enfure  thee 
the  good  thou  pofieiTeft,  and  drive  from  thy 
door  misfortune.  Anxiety  and  difappoint- 
ment  lhall  be  ftrangers  to  thy  gates. 

Sufpect  not  evil  in  any  one,  until  thou 
feeft  it:  when  thou  feeft  it,  forget  it  not. 

Whofo  hath  been  an  enemy,  cannot  be  a 

friend  ;  for  man  mendeth  not  of  his  faults. 

How  fhould  his  actions  be  right  who 

hath  no  rule  of  life  ?    Nothing  can  be  juft 

which  proceedeth  not  from  reafon. 

The  inconftant  hath  no  peace  in  his  foul ; 
neither  can  any  be  at  eafe  whom  he  con- 
cerneth  himfelf  with. 

His  life  is  unequal ;  his  motions  are  ir- 
regular ;  his  foul  changeth  with  the  wea- 
ther. 

To-day  he  loveth  thee,  to-morrow  thou 
art  detefted  by  him:  and  why?  himfelf 
knoweth  not  wherefore  he  loved,  or  where- 
fore he  now  hateth. 

To-day  he  is  the  tyrant;  to-morrow 
thy  fervsnt  is  lefs  humble  :  and  why  ?  he 
who  is  arrogant  without  power,  will  be  fer- 
vile  where  there  is  no  fubjection. 

To-day  he  is  profufc,  to-morrow  he 
grudgeth  unto  hit  mouth    that  which  it 


fhould  eat.  Thus  it  is  with  him  who  know- 
eth not  moderation. 

Who  (hall  fay  of  the  camelion,  he  is 
black,  when  the  moment  after,  the  verdure 
of  the  grafs  overfpreadeth  him  ! 

Wrho  lhall  fay  of  the  inconftant,  he  is 
joyful,  when  his  next  breath  lhall  be  fpent 
in  fighing. 

What  is  the  life  of  fuch  a  man  but  the 
phantom  of  a  dream  ?  In  the  morning  he 
rifeth  happy,  at  noon  he  is  on  the  rack  : 
this  hour  he  is  a  god,  the  next  below  a 
worm  :  one  moment  he  laugheth,  the  next 
he  weepeth  ;  he  now  willeth,  in  an  in- 
ftant  he  willeth  not,  and  in  another  he 
knoweth  not  whether  he  willeth  or  no. 

Yet  neither  eafe  or  pain  have  fixed 
themfelves  on  him ;  neither  is  he  waxed 
greater,  or  become  lefs ;  neither  hath  he 
had  caufe  for  laughter,  nor  reafon  for  his 
forrow  :  therefore  lhall  none  of  them  a- 
bide  with  him. 

The  happinefs  of  the  inconftant  is  as  a 
palace  built  on  the  fuiface  of  the  fand  :  the 
blowing  of  the  wind  canieth  away  its 
foundation :  what  wonder  then  that  it 
falleth  ? 

But  what  exalted  form  is  this,  that  hi- 
therwards  directs  its  even,  its  uninterrupted 
courfe  ?  whofe  foot  is  on  the  earth,  whofe 
head  is  above  the  clouds  ? 

On  his  brow  fitteth  majefty;  fteadinefs 
is  in  his  port ;  and  in  his  heart  reigneth 
tranquillity. 

Though  obftacles  appear  in  the  way,  he 
deigneth  not  to  look  down  upon  them; 
though  heaven  and  earth  oppoie  his  paf- 
fage,  he  proceedeth. 

The  mountains  fink  beneath  his  tread; 
the  waters  of  the  ocean  are  dried  up  un- 
der the  fole  of  his  foot. 

The  tyger  throweth  herfelf  acrofs  his 
way  in  vain  ;  the  fpots  of  the  leopard  glow 
againft  him  unregarded. 

He  marcheth  through  the  embattled  le- 
gions ;  with  his  hand  he  putteth  afide  the 
terrors  of  death. 

Storms  roar  againft  his  moulders,  but 
are  net  able  to  lhake  them ;  the  thunder 
burfteth  over  his  head  in  vain  ;  the  light- 
ning fsrveth  but  to  fhew  the  glories  of  his 
countenance. 

His  name  is  Resolution  !  He  cometh 
from  the  utmoft  parts  of  the  earth ;  he 
feeth  happinefs  afar  oft"  before  him  ;  his 
eye  difcovereth  her  temple  beyond  the  li- 
mits of  the  pole. 

He  walketh  up  to  it,  he  entereth  boldly, 
and  he  xemaineth  there  for  ever. 

Eltatlifh 


BOOK    L      MORAL    AND    RELIGIOUS. 


373 


Eftablifh  thy  heart,  O  man  1  in  that 
which  is  right ;  and  then  know  the  greateil 
of  human  praife  is  to  be  immutable. 

§  274.  Weakness. 
Vain  and  inconftant  as  thou  art,  O  child 
of  imperfection  !  how  canft  thou  but  be 
weak  ?  Is  not  inconltancy  connected  with 
frailty  ?  Can  there  be  vanity  without  in- 
firmity ?  avoid  the  danger  of  the  one,  and 
thou  malt  efcape  themifchiefs  of  the  other. 
Wherein  art  thou  molt  weak  ?  in  that 
wherein  thou  feemeil  moll  itrong ;  in  that 
wherein  moil  thou  glorieit :  even  in  pof- 
fefiing  the  thiags  which  thou  hall: :  in  uiing 
the  good  that  is  about  thee. 

Are  not  thy  delires  alfo  frail  ?  or  knoweit 
thou  even  what  it  is  thou  wouldeft  wiih  i 
When  thou  halt  obtained  what  moil  thou 
Foaghteft  after,  behold  it  contenteth  thee 
not. 

Wherefore  lofeth  the  pleafure  that  is  be- 
fore thee  its  reliih  ?  and  why  appeareth 
that  which  is  yet  to  come  the  Tweeter  ?  Be- 
caufe  thou  art  wearied  w.th  the  good  of 
this,  becaufe  thou  knoweit  not  the  evil  of 
that  which  is  not  with  thee,  Know  that  to 
be  content  is  to  be  happy. 

Couldeit  thou  chuie  for  thyfelf,  would 
thy  Creator  lay  before  thee  all  that  thine 
heart  could  alk  for  .?  would  happinefs  then 
remain  with  thee  r  or  would  joy  dwell  al- 
ways in  thy  gates  ? 

Alas !  thy  weaknefs  forbiddeth  it ;  thy 
infirmity  declareth  againlt  it.  Variety  is 
to  thee  in  the  place  of  pleafure ;  but  that 
which  permanently  delighteth  mull  be  per- 
manent. 

When  it  is  gone,  thou  repenteft  the  lofs 
of  it,  though,  while  it  was  with  thee,  thou 
defpifeil  it. 

That  which  fucceedeth  it,  hath  no  more 
pleafure  for  thee :  and  thou  afterwards 
quarrelleit  with  thyfelf  for  preferring  it ; 
behold  the  only  circumltance  in  which  thou 
erreit  not  1 

Is  there  any  thing  in  which  thy  weak- 
nefs appeareth  more  than  in  deiiring 
things  ?  It  is  in  the  pofleffing  and  in  tlie 
uiing  them. 

Good  things  ceafe  to  be  good  in  our  en- 
joyment of  them.  What  nature  meant 
pure  fvveets,  are  fources  of  bitternefs  to  us ; 
from  our  delights  arife  pain;  from  our  joys, 
forrow. 

Be  moderate  in  the  enjoyment,  and  it 
{hall  remain  in  thy  poiTefiion ;  let  thy  joy 
be  founded  on  reaion  ;  and  to  its  end  mall 
iorrow  be  a  itranger. 


The  delights  of  love  are  ufliered  in  by 
fighs,  and  they  terminate  in  languifhment 
and  dejection.  The  object  thou  burneil 
for,  naufeates  with  fatiety  :  and  no  fooner 
hall  thou  poffeiTed  it,  but  thou  art  weary  of 
its  prefence. 

Join  elteem  to  thy  admiration,  unite 
friendlhip  with  thy  love;  fofhalt  thou  find 
in  the  end,  content  fo  abfolute,  that  it  fur- 
paffeth  raptures,  tranquillity  more  worth 
than  ecitafy. 

God  hath  given  thee  no  good  without 
its  admixture  of  evil ;  but  he  hath  given 
thee  alfo  the  means  of  throwing  off  the  evil 
from  it. 

As  joy  is  not  without  the  alloy  of  pain, 
fo  neither  is  forrow  without  its  portion  of 
pleafure.  Joy  and  grief,  though  unlike, 
are  united.  Our  own  choice  only  can  give 
them  us  entire. 

Melancholy  itfelf  often  giveth  delight, 
and  the  extremity  of  joy  is  mingled  with 
tears. 

The  belt  things  in  the  hands  of  a  fool 
may  be  turned  to  his  deitruttion  ;  and  out 
of  the  worlt  the  wife  will  find  the  means  of 
good. 

So  blended  is  weaknefs  in  thy  nature,  O 
man  ;  that  thou  halt  not  ftrength  either  to 
be  good,  or  to  be  evil  entirely.  Rejoice 
that  thou  canit  not  excel  in  evil,  and  let 
the  good  that  is  witbin  thy  reach  content 
thee. 

The  virtues  are  allotted  to  various  fta- 
tions.  Seek  not  after  impoflibilities,  nor 
grieve  that  thou  canit  not  poifefs  them  at  all. 
Wouldit  thou  at  once  have  the  libera- 
lity of  the  rich,  and  the  contentment  of  the 
poor  ?  or  {hall  the  wife  of  thy  bofom  be 
defpiled,  becaufe  ihs  fheweth  not  the  vir- 
tues of  the  widow  ? 

If  thy  father  fink  before  thee  in  the  di- 
vifions  of  thy  country,  can  at  once  thy  jui- 
tice  deltroy  him,  and  thy  duty  fave  his  life  ! 
If  thou  beholdeft  thy  brother  in  the  ago- 
nies of  allow  death,  is  it  not  mercy  to  put 
a  period  to  his  life,  and  is  it  not  alio  death 
to  be  his  murderer? 

Truth  is  but  one ;  thy  doubts  are  of 
thine  own  railing.  He  who  made  virtues 
what  they  are,  planted  alfo  in  thee  a  know- 
ledge of  their  pre-eminence.  Aft  as  thy 
foul  dictates  to  thee,  and  the  end  {hall  be 
always  right. 

§  275.     Of  the  Insufficiency  of 
Knowledge. 

If  there  is  any  thing  lovely,  if  there  is 

any  thing  defirable,  if  there  is  any  thing 

B  b  3  within 


374 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


within  the  reach  of  man  that  is  worthy  of 
praife,  is  it  not  knowledge  ?  and  yet  who 
is  he  that  attaineth  unto  it  ? 

The  ftateiman  proc'.aimeth  that  he  hath 
it ;  the  ruler  of  the  people  claimeth  the 
praife  of  it;  but  findeth  the  fubjeft  that  he 
poffefl'eth  it  ? 

Evil  is  not  renuifite  to  man;  neither  can 
vice  be  neceflary  to  be  tolerated:  yet  how 
many  evils  are  permitted  by  the  connivance 
of  the  laws  ?  how  many  crimes  committed 
by  the  decrees  of  the  council  ? 

But  be  wife,  Q  ruler  !  and  learn,  O  thou 
that  art  to  command  the  nations  !  One 
crime  authorized  by  thee,  is  worfe  than  the 
efcape  of  ten  from  punifhment. 

When  tny  people  are  numerous,  when 
thy  fons  increafe  about  thy  table;  fendeft 
thou  them  not  out  to  Hay  the  innocent,  and 
to  fall  before  the  fvvord  of  him  whom  they 
have  not  ofFended  ? 

If  the  objecl  ofthydefires  demandeth 
the  lives  of  a  thoufand,  fay  eft  thou  not,  I 
will  have  it?  Surely  thou  forgetteft  that 
he  who  created  thee,  created  alio  thefej 
and  that  their  blood  is  as  rich  as  thine. 

Saveft  thou,  that  juftice  cannot  be  exe- 
cuted without  wrong  !  iurely  thine  own 
words  condemn  thee. 

Thou  who  flatterer!  with  falfe  hopes  the 
criminal,  that  he  may  confefs  his  guilt ; 
art  thou  not  unto  him  a  criminal  ?  or  is 
thy  guilt  the  lefs,  becauie  he  cannot  pu- 
nifh  it  ? 

When  thou  commanded  to  the  torture 
him  who  is  but  fufpecled  of  ill,  dareft  thou 
to  remember,  that  thou  mayeft  rack  the  in- 
nocent ? 

Is  thy  purpofe  anfwered  by  the  event  ? 
is  thy  foul  fatisfied  with  his  confeflion  ? 
Pain  will  enforce  him  to  lay  what  is  not,  as 
eafy  as  what  is ;  and  anguilh  hath  caufed 
innocence  to  accuie  herfelf. 

That  thou  mayeft  not  kill  him  without 
caufe,  thou  deft  worfe  than  kill  him :  that 
thou  mayeft  prove  if  he  be  guilty,  thou  de- 
ftroyeft  him  innocent. 

O  blindnefs  to  all  truth  !  O  ineffici- 
ency of  the  wiidom  of  the  wife  !  know 
when  thy  judge  (hall  bid  thee  account  for 
this,  thou  (halt  wifh  ten  thoufand  guilty  to 
have  gone  free,  rather  than  one  innocent 
then  to  ftand  forth  againft  thee. 

Inefficient  as  thou  art  to  the  mainte- 
nance of  juftice,  how  fhalt  thou  arrive  at 
the  knowledge  of  truth  ?  how  fhalt  thou 
afcend  to  the  footftep  of  her  tiirone  ? 

As  the  owl  is  blinded  by  the  radiance 
of  the  fun,  fo  (hall  the   brightneis  of  her 


countenance  dazzle  thee  in  thy  approaches. 
If  thou  wouldft  mount  up  into  her 
throne,  firft  bow  thyfeif  at  her  footftool : 
If  thou  wouldft  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of 
her,  firft  inform  thyfeif  of  thine  own  ig- 
norance. 

More  worth  is  fhe  than  pearls,  there- 
fore feek  her  carefully :  the  emerald,  and 
the  fapphire,  and  the  ruby,  are  as  dirt  be- 
neath her  feet;  therefore  purfue  her  man- 
fully. 

The  way  to  her  is  labour ;  attention  is 
the  pilot  that  mull  conduct  thee  into  her 
ports.  But  weaiy  not  in  the  way;  for 
when  thou  art  arrived  at  her,  the  toil  fhall 
be  to  thee  for  pleafure. 

Say  not  unto  thyfeif,  Behold,  truth 
brecdeth  hatred,  and  I  will  avoid  it;  dif- 
fimulation  raifeth  friends,  and  I  will  follow 
it.  Are  not  the  enemies  made  by  truth, 
better  than  the  friends  obtained  by  flat- 
tery ? 

Naturally  doth  man  defire  the  truth,  yet 
when  it  is  before  him,  he  will  net  appre- 
hend it ;  and  if  it  force  itfelf  upon  him,  is 
he  not  offended  at  it  ? 

The  fault  is  not  in  truth,  for  that  is  ami- 
able ;  but  the  weaknefs  of  men  beareth  not 
its  fplendour. 

Wouldft  thou  fee  thine  own  infufficiency 
more  plainly  ?  view  thyfeif  at  thy  devo- 
tions !  To  what  end  was  religion  inftitut- 
ed,  but  to  teach  thee  thine  infirmities,  to 
remind  thee  of  thy  weaknefs  to  fhew  thee 
that  from  heaven  alone  t::ou  art  to  hope 
for  good  ? 

Doth  it  not  remind  thee  that  thou  art 
duft  !  doth  it  not  tell  thee  that  thou  art 
allies  ?  And  behold  repentance  is  not  built 
on  frailty  ? 

When  thou  giveft  an  oath,  when  thou 
fweareft  thou  wilt  not  deceive  ;  behold  it 
fpreadeth  (h'ame  upon  thy  face,  and  upon 
the  fact-  of  him  that  receiveth  it.  Learn 
to  be  juft,  and  repentance  may  be  forgot- 
ten ;  learn  to  be  honeft,  and  oaths  are  un- 
necefiary. 

The  fhorter  follies  are,  the  better:  fay 
not  therefore  to  thyfeif,  I  will  not  piay  the 
fool  by  halves. 

He  that  heareth  his  own  faults  with  pa- 
tience, fhall  reprove  another  with  bold- 
nefs. 

He  that  giveth  a  denial  with  reafon,  fhall 
fuffer  a  repulfe  with  moderation. 

If  thou  art  fufpecled,  anlwer  with  free- 
dom :  whom  fhould  fuipicion  affright,  ex- 
cept the  guilty  ? 

The  tender  of  heart  is  turned  from  his 

purpofe- 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


37$ 


purpofe  by  fupplications,  the  proud  is 
rendered  more  obftinate  by  entreaty,  the 
fenfe  of  thine  infufficiency  commanded 
thee  to  hear;  but  to  be  juft,  thou  mult 
hear  without  thy  paffions. 

§  276.     Misery. 

Feeble  and  inefficient  as  thou  art,  O 
man,  in  good ;  frail  and  inconltant  as  thou 
art  in  pleafure;  yet  there  is  a  thing  in 
which  thou  art  itrong  and  unfhaken.  Its 
name  is  Mifery. 

It  is  the  character  of  thy  being,  the  pre- 
rogative of  thy  nature ;  in  thy  breaft  alone 
itrefideth;  without  thee  there  is  nothing 
of  it.  And  behold,  what  is  its  fource,  but 
thine  own  paffions  ? 

He  who  gave  thee  thefe,  gave  thee  alfo 
reafon  to  fubdue  them  ;  exert  it,  and  thou 
fhalt  trample  them  under  thy  feet. 

Thine  entrance  into  the  world,  is  it  not 
fhameful?  thy  deftru&ion  is  it  not  glorious? 
Lo  !  men  adorn  the  inftruments  of  death 
with  gold  and  gems,  and  wear  them  above 
their  garments. 

He  who  begetteth  a  man,  hideth  his 
face;  but  he  who  killeth  a  thoufand  is 
honoured. 

Know  thou,  notwithstanding,  that  in  this 
is  error.  Cuftom  cannot  alter  the  nature  of 
truth ;  neither  can  the  opinion  of  men  de- 
ilroy  jultice  ;  the  glory  and  the  lhame  are 
mifplaced, 

There  is  but  one  way  for  man  to  be  pro- 
duced :  there  are  a  thoufand  by  which  he 
may  be  deftroyed. 

There  is  no  praife,  or  honour,  to  him 
who  giveth  being  to  another ;  but  tri- 
umphs and  empire  are  the  rewards  of  mur- 
der. 

Yet  he  who  hath  many  children,  hath 
as  many  bleffings ;  and  he  who  hath  taken 
away  the  life  of  another,  fhall  not  enjoy 
his  own. 

While  the  favage  curfeth  the  birth  of  his 
fon,  and  blefl'eth  the  death  of  his  father, 
doth  he  not  call  himfelf  a  monfter  ? 

Enough  of  evil  is  allotted  unto  man;  but 
he  maketh  it  more  while  he  lamenteth  it. 

The  greateft  of  all  human  ills  is  forrow  ; 
too  much  of  this  thou  art  born  unto ;  add 
not  unto  it  by  thy  own  perverfenefs. 

Grief  is  natural  to  thee,  and  is  always 
about  thee  ;  pleafure  is  a  ftranger,  and  vi- 
fiteth  thee  but  by  times :  ufe  well  thy  reafon, 
and  forrow  fhall  be  caft  behind  thee ;  be 

fsrudent,  and  the  vifits  of  joy  fhall  remain 
ong  with  thee. 
Every  part  of  thy  frame  is  capable  of 


forrow;  but  few  and  narrow  are  the  paths 
that  lead  to  delight. 

Pleasures  can  be  admitted  only  fimply  ; 
but  pains  rufh  in  a  thoufand  at  a  time. 

As  the  blaze  of  ftraw  fadeth  as  foon  as  it 
is  kindled,  fo  paffeth  away  the  brightnefs 
of  joy,  and  thou  knoweit  not  what  is  be- 
come of  it. 

Sorrow  is  frequent;  pleafure  is  rare: 
pain  cometh  of  itfelf ;  delight  mult  be  pur- 
chafed:  grief  is  unmixed;  but  joy  wanteth 
not  its  alloy  of  bitternefs. 

As  the  foundeft  health  is  lefs  perceived 
than  the  flighteft  malady,  fo  the  highefl 
joy  toucheth  us  lefs  deep  than  the  fmalleft 
forrow. 

We  are  in  love  with  anguifh  ;  we  often 
fly  from  pleafure;  when  we  purchafe  it, 
cofleth  it  not  more  than  it  is  worth  ? 

Reflection  is  the  bufinefs  of  man :  a 
fenfe  of  his  ftate  is  his  firft  duty ;  but 
who  remembereth  himfelf  in  joy.  It  is  not 
in  mercy  then  that  forrow  is  allotted  unto 
us  ? 

Man  forefeeth  the  evil  that  is  to  come  ; 
he  remembereth  it  when  it  is  pall :  he 
confidereth  not  that  the  thought  of  afflic- 
tion woundeth  deeper  than  the  affliction 
itfelf.  Think  not  of  thy  pain,  but  when  it 
is  upon  thee,  and  thou  fhalt  avoid  what  moft 
would  hurt  thee. 

He  who  weepeth  before  he  needeth, 
weepeth  more  than  he  needeth :  and  why, 
but  that  he  loveth  weeping  ? 

The  flag  weepeth  not  till  the  fpear  is 
lifted  up  againft  him  ;  nor  do  the  tears  of 
the  beaver  fall,  till  the  hound  is  ready  to 
feize  him  :  man  anticipateth  death,  by  the 
apprehenfions  of  it ;  and  the  fear  is  greater 
milery  than  the  event  itfelf. 

Be  always  prepared  to  give  an  account  of 
thine  a&ions ;  and  the  belt  death  is  that 
which  is  lealt  premeditated. 

$  277.      Of  Judgment. 

The  greateft  bounties  given  to  man,  are 
judgment  and  will;  happy  is  he  who  mif- 
applieth  them  not, 

As  the  torrent  that  rolleth  down  the 
mountains,  deftroyeth  all  that  is  borne 
away  by  it;  fo  doth  common  opinion  over- 
whelm reafon  in  him  who  fubmitteth  to  it, 
without  faying,  What  is  thy  foundation  ? 

See  that  what  thou  jeceivelt  as  truth  be 
not  the  fhadow  of  it ;  what  thou  acknow- 
ledgelt  as  convincing,  is  often  but  plaufible. 
Be  firm,  be  conftant,  determine  for  thyfelf ; 
fo  fhalt  thou  be  aniwerable  only  for  thine 
own  weaknefs. 


Bbi 


i?ay 


^ 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Say  not  that  the  event  proveth  the  wif- 
dom  of  the  action  :  remember  man  is  not 
above  the  reach  of  accidents. 

Condemn  not  the  judgment  of  another, 
becaufe  it  difFereth  from  thine  own  ;  may 
not  even  both  be  in  an  error? 

When  thou  efteemeft  a  man  for  his  titles, 
and  contemneth  the  ftranger  becaufe  he 
wanteth  them,  judgeft  thou  not  of  the 
camel  by  its  bridle  i 

Think  not  thou  art  revenged  of  thine 
enemy  when  thou  flayeft  him  :  thou  puttell 
him  beyond  thy  reach,  thou  giveft  him 
quiet,  and  thou  takeft  from  thyfelf  all 
means  of  hurting  him. 

Was  thy  mother  incontinent,  and  griev- 
eth  it  thee  to  be  told  of  it  ?  Is  frailty  in  thy 
Wife,  and  art  thou  pained  at  the  reproach 
of  it?  He  who  defpifeth  thee  for  it,  con- 
demneth  himfelf.  Art  thou  anfwerable  for 
the  vices  of  another? 

Difregard  not  a  jewel,  becaufe  thou  pof- 
fefieit  it ;  neither  enhance  thouthe  value  of 
a  thing*  becaufe  it  is  another's :  pofTeffion 
to  the  wife  addeth  to  the  price  of  it. 

Honour  not  thy  wife  the  lefs,  becaufe  flie 
is  in  thy  power  ;  and  defpife  him  that  hath 
faid,  Would  thou  love  her  lefs?  marry 
her  !  What  hath  put  her  into  thy  power, 
but  her  confidence  in  thy  virtue  ?  ihculdft 
thou  love  her  lefs  for  being  more  obliged 
to  her  ! 

If  thou  wert  juft  in  thy  courtfhip  of  her, 
though  thou  neglecteft  her  while  thou  haft 
her,  yet  fhall  her  lofs  be  bitter  to  thy 
foul. 

He  who  thinketh  another  bleft,  only  be- 
caufe he  pcficfleth  her  ;  if  he  be  not  vvifer 
than  thee,  at  leaf!  he  is  more  happy. 

Weigh  not  the  lefs  thy  friend  hath  fuf- 
fered  by  the  tears  he  fheddeth  for  it ;  the 
greateft  griefs  are  above  thefe  expreflions 
of  them. 

Efteem  net  an  action  becaufe  it  is  done 
with  ncife  and  pomp;  the  nobleft  foul  is 
that  which  doth  great  thz'ngs,  and  is  not 
moved  in  the  doing  them. 

Fame  aftonifheth  the  ear  of  him  who 
hearcth  it;  but  tranquillity  rejoiceth  the 
heart  that  is  poiTefled  of  it. 

Attribute  not  the  good  actions  of  another 
to  bad  caufes :  thcu  can  ft  not  know  his 
heart ;  but  the  world  will  know  by  this, 
that  thine  is  full  of  envy. 

There  is  not  in  hypocrify  more  vice 
than  folly;  to  be  honeft  is  as  eafy  as  to 
feem  fo. 

Be;  more  ready  to  acknowledge  a  bene- 
fit than  to  revenge  an  injury;  fo  fruit  thou 


have  more  benefits  than  injuries  done  unto 
thee. 

Be  more  ready  to  love  than  to  hate ;  fo 
fhalt  thou  be  loved  by  more  than  hate  thee. 

Be  willing  to  commend,  and  be  flow  to 
ceniure ;  fo  fhall  praife  be  upon  thy  virtues, 
and  the  eye  of  enmity  fhall  be  blind  to  thy 
imperfections. 

When  thou  doft  good,  do  it  becaufe  it  is 
good  ;  not  becaufe  men  efteem  it :  when 
thou  avoideft  evil,  fly  it  becaufe  it  is  evil; 
not  becaufe  men  fpeak  againft  it:  be  honeft 
for  love  of  honefty,  and  thou  fhalt  be  uni- 
formly fo;  he  that  doth  it  without  princi- 
ple, is  wavering. 

Wifh  rather  to  be  reproved  by  the  wife, 
than  to  be  applauded  by  him  who  hath  no 
underftanding ;  when  they  tell  thee  of  a 
fault,  they  fuppofe  thou  canft  improve  ;  the 
other,  when  he  praife th  thee,  thinkeit  thou 
like  unto  himfelf. 

Accept  not  an  office  for  which  thou  art 
not  qualified,  left  he  who  knoweth  more  of 
it  defpife  thee. 

Inftrutt not  another  in  that  wherein  thy- 
felf art  ignorant;  when  he  feeth  it,  he  will 
upbraid  thee. 

E.xpedl  not  a  friendfhip  with  him  who 
hath  injured  thee  ;  he  who  fuffereth  the 
wrong,  may  forgive  it ;  but  he  who  doth 
it,  never  will  be  well  with  him. 

Lay  not  too  great  obligations  on  him 
thcu  wifheft  thy  friend ;  behold  !  the  fenfe 
of  them  will  drive  him  from  thee  :  a  little 
benefit  gaineth  friendfhip;  a  great  one 
makcth  an  enemy. 

Neverthelefs,  ingratitude  is  not  in  the 
nature  of  man  ;  neither  is  his  anger  irre- 
concilable :  he  hateth  to  be  put  in  mind 
of  a  debt  he  cannot  pay ;  he  is  afhamed  in 
the  prefence  of  him  whom  he  hath  in- 
jured. ^ 

Repine  not  at  the  good  of  a  ftranger, 
neither  rejoice  thou  in  the  evil  that  befal- 
leth  thine  enemy  :  wifheft  thou  that  others 
fhould  do  thus  to  thee  ? 

Wouldftthou  enjoy  the  good-will  of  all 
men,  let  thine  own  benevolence  be  univer- 
fal.  If  thou  obtaineft  it  not  by  this,  no 
other  means  could  give  it  thee  :  and  know, 
though  thou  haft  it  not,  thou  haft  the 
greater  pleaf  ure  of  having  merited  it. 

§  278.     Presumption. 
Pride  and  meannefs  feem  incompatible; 
but  man  reconcileth  contrarieties:  he  is  at 
once  the  moll  miierable  and  the  moft  ar- 
rogant of  all  creatures. 

Prefumption  is  the  bane  of  reafon ;  it  is 

the 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND-    RELTGIOUS. 


$77 


the  nurfe  of  error;  yet  it  is  congenial  with 
reafon  in  us. 

Who  is  there  that  judgeth  not  either  too 
highly  of  himfelf,  or  thinketh  too  meanly 
of  others. 

Our  Creator  himfelf  efcapeth  not  our 
prefumption :  how  then  mall  we  be  fafe  from 
one  another  ? 

What  is  the  origin  of  fuperftition  ?  and 
whence  arifeth  falfe  worfhip  ?  From  our 
prefacing  to  reafon  about  what  is  above 
pur  reach,  to  comprehend  what  is  incom- 
prehenhbie. 

Limited  and  weak  as  our  understandings 
are,  we  employ  not  even  their  little  forces 
as  we  ought.  We  foar  not  high  enough 
in  our  approaches  to  God's  greatness ; 
we  give  not  wing  enough  to  our  ideas, 
when  we  enter  into  the  adoration  of  di- 
vinity. 

Man  who  fears  to  breathe  a  whifper 
againft  his  earthly  fovereign,  trembles  not 
to  arraign  the  difpenfations  of  his  God  :  he 
forgetteth  his  majefty,  and  rejudgeth  his 
judgments. 

He  who  dareth  not  repeat  the  name  of 
his  prince  without  honour,  yet  blufheth  not 
to  call  that  of  his  Creator  to  be  witnefs  to 
a  lie. 

He  who  would  hear  the  fentence  of  the 
magistrate  with  filence,  yet  dareth  to  plead 
with  the  Eternal;  he  attempteth  to  footh 
him  with  intreaties,  to  flatter  him  with  pro- 
mifes,  to  agree  with  him  upon  conditions ; 
nay,  to  brave  and  murmur  at  him  if  his  re- 
queft  is  not  granted. 

Why  art  thou  unpunifhed,  O  man  !  in 
thy  impiety,  but  that  this  is  not  thy  day  of 
retribution. 

Be  not  like  unto  thofe  who  fight  with 
the  thunder ;  neither  dare  thou  to  deny 
thy  Creator  thy  prayers,  becaufe  he  chaf- 
tifeth  thee.  Thy  madnefs  in  this  is  on 
thine  own  head  ;  thy  impiety  hurteth  no 
one  but  thyfelf. 

Why  boafteth  man  that  he  is  the  fa- 
vourite of  his  Maker,  yet  neglecteth  to 
pay  his  thanks  and  his  adorations  for  it  ? 
How  fuiteth  fuch  a  life  with  a  belief  fo 
haughty  ? 

Man,  who  is  truly  but  a  mote  in  the 
wide  expanfe,  believeth  the  whole  earth 
and  heaven  to  be  created  for  him  :  he 
thinketh  the  whole  frame  of  nature  hath  in- 
tereft  in  his  well-being. 

As  the  fool,  while  the  images  tremble 

On  the  bofom  of  the  water,  thinketh  that 

trees,  towns,    and   the  wide  horifon,   are 

dancing  to  do  him  pleafure;  fo  man,  while 

7 


nature  performs  her  deflined  courfe,  be- 
lieves that  all  her  motions  are  but  to  en- 
tertain his  eye. 

While  he  Courts  the  rays  of  the  fun  to 
warm  him,  he  fuppofeth  it  made  only  to 
be  of  ufe  to  him  ;  while  he  traceth  the 
moon  in  her  nightly  path,  he  believeth  that 
Ihe  was  created  to  do  him  pleafure. 

Fool  to  thine  own  pride  !  be  humble  ! 
know  thou  art  not  the  caufe  why  the  world 
holdeth  its  courfe  ;  for  thee  are  not  made 
the  viciflitud:s  of  fummer  and  winter. 

No  change  would  follow  if  thy  whole 
race  exifted  not ;  tiiou  art  but  one  among 
millions  that  are  bleflcd  in  it. 

Exalt  not  thyfelf  to  the  heavens ;  for, 
lo,  the  angels  are  above  thee ;  nor  difdain 
thy  fellow-inhabitants  of  the  earth,  though 
they  are  inferior  to  thee.  Are  they  not 
the  work  of  the  fame  hand  ? 

Thou  who  art  happy  by  the  mercy  of 
thy  Creator,  how  dareft  thou  in  wantonnefs 
put  others  of  his  creatures  to  torture?  Be- 
ware that  cruelty  return  not  upon  thee. 

Serve  they  not  all  the  fame  univerfal 
Mailer  with  thee  ?  Hath  he  not  appointed 
unto  each  its  laws  ?  Hath  he  not  care  of  their 
prefervation  ?  and  dareil  thou  to  infringe 
it? 

Set  not  thy  judgment  above  that  of  all 
the  earth ;  neither  condemn  as  falfehood 
what  agreeth  not  with  thine  own  apprehen- 
fion.  Who  gave  thee  the  power  of  deter- 
mining for  others  ?  or  who  took  from  the 
world  the  right  of  choice  ? 

How  many  things  have  been  rejected, 
which  are  now  received  as  truths  ?  How 
many  now  received  as  truths,  {hall  in  their 
turn  be  defpifed  ?  Of  what  then  can  man 
be  certain? 

_  Do  the  good  that  thou  knoweft,  and  hap- 
pinefs  fhall  be  unto  thee.  Virtue  is  more 
thy  bufinefs  here  than  wifdom. 

Truth  and  falfehood,  have  they  not  the 
fame  appearance  in  what  we  underftand 
not  ?  what  then  but  our  prefumption  can 
determine  between  them? 

We  eafily  believe  what  is  above  our  com- 
prehenfion :  or  we  are  proud  to  pretend  it, 
that  it  may  appear  we  underftand  it.  Is  not 
this  folly  and  arrogance? 

Who  is  it  that  affirms  moft  boldly ;  who  is 
it  that  holds  his  opinion  moft  obiUnatelv  ? 
Even  he  who  hath  moft  ignorance  :  for  he 
alfo  hath  moft  pride. 

Every  man,  when  he  layeth  hold  of  an 
opinion,  defireth  to  remain  in  it;  but  moft 
of  all  he  who  hath  moft  prefumption.  He 
contenteth  not  himfelf  to  betray  his  own 

foul: 


378 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


foul ;  but  he  will  impofe  on  others  to  be- 
lieve in  it  alfo. 

Sav  not  that  truth  is  eftablifhed  by  years, 
or  that  in  a  multitude  of  believers  there  is 
certainty. 

One  human  proportion  hath  as  much 
authority  as  another,  if  reafon  maketh  not 
the  difference. 


Of  the  AFFECTIONS    of  MAN, 
nxjhich  are  hurtful  to  himfelf  and  others. 

k    279.       CoVETOUf  N  ESS. 

Riches  are  not  worthy  a  ftrong  attention  ; 
therefore  an  earneft  care  of  obtaining  them 
is  ur  juftifiable. 

The  defire  of  what  man  calleth  good, 
the  joy  he  taketh  inpoffeffing  it,  is  ground- 
ed only  in  opinion.  Form  noi  thy  opinion 
from  the  vulgar;  examine  the  worth  of 
things  thyjelf,  and  thou  fhalt  not  be  co- 
vetous. 

An  immoderate  defire  of  richefs  is  a  poi- 
fon  lodged  in  the  foul.  It  contaminates 
and  deftroys  every  thing  that  was  good  in 
it.  It  is  no  fooner  rooted  there,  than  all 
virtue,  all  nonelty,  all  natural  affection,  fly 
before  the  face  of  it. 

The  covetous  would  fell  his  children  for 
gold  ;  his  patent  might  die  ere  he  would 
open  his  coffer ;  nay,  he  confidereth  not 
himfelf  in  rcfpefl  of  it.  In  the  fearch  of 
happinefs  he  maketh  himfelf  unhappy. 

As  the  man  who  felleth  his  houfe  to  pur- 
chafe  ornaments  for  the  embellifhment  of 
it,  even  fo  is  he  who  giveth  up  peace  in 
the  fearch  of  riches,  in  hope  that  he  may 
be  happy  in  enjoying  them. 

Where  covetoufnefs  reigneth,  know  that 
the  foul  is  poor.  Whofo  accounteth  riches 
the  principal  good  of  man,  will  throw 
away  all  other  goods  in  the  purfuit  of 
them. 

Whofo  feareth  poverty  as  the  greatefl 
evil  of  his  nature,  will  purchafe  to  himfelf 
all  other  evi's  in  the  avoiding  of  it. 

Thou  fool,  is  not  virtue  more  worth  than 
riches  ?  is  net  guilt  more  bafe  than  pover- 
ty ?  Enough  for. his  neceffities  i  in  the 
power  of  every  man ;  be  content  with  it, 
and  thy  happinefs  fhall  fmile  at  the  forrows 
of  him  who  heapeth  up  more. 

Nature  hath  hid  gold  beneath  the  earth, 
as  if  unworthy  to  be  feen ;  filver  hath  fhe 
placed  where  thou  trampleft  it  under  thy 
feet.  Meaneth  fhe  not  by  this  to  inform 
thee,  that  gold  is  not  worthy  thy  regard, 
that  filver  is  beneath  thy  notice  ? 

Covetoufnefs  burieth  under  the  ground 


millions  of  wretches;  thefe  dig  for  their  hard 
mafters  what  returneth  the  injury;  what 
maketh  them  more  miferable  than  their 
flaves. 

The  earth  is  barren  of  good  things  where 
fhe  hoardeth  up  treafure :  where  gold  is  in 
her  bowels,  there  no  herb  groweth. 

As  the  horfe  findeth  not  there  his  grafs, 
nor  the  mule  his  provender ;  as  the  fields 
of  corn  laugh  not  on  the  fides  of  the  hills ; 
as  the  olive  holdeth  not  forth  there  her 
fruits,  nor  the  vine  her  clufters ;  even  fo 
no  good  dwelleth  in  the  breaft  of  him  whofe 
heart  broodeth  over  his  treafure. 

Riches  are  fervants  to  the  wife ;  but  they 
are  tyrants  over  the  foul  of  the  fool. 

The  covetous  ferveth  his  gold;  it  ferv- 
eth  not  him.  He  pofTeffeth  his  wealth  as 
the  fick  doth  a  fever ;  it  burneth  and  tor- 
tureth  him,  and  will  not  quit  him  until 
death. 

Hath  not  gold  deflroyed  the  virtue  of 
millions  ?  Did  it  ever  add  to  the  goodnefs 
of  any  ? 

Is  it  not  moft  abundant  with  the  worft  of 
men?  wherefore  then  fhouldft  thou  defire 
to  be  diftinguifhed  by  ppffeffing  it? 

Have  net  the  wifeft  been  thole  who  have 
had  leaftof  it?  and  is  not  wifdom  happinefs  ? 

Have  not  the  worft  of  thy  fpecies  pof- 
feffed  the  greateft  portions  of  it?  and  hath 
not  their  end  been  miferable  ? 

Poverty  wanteth  many  things ;  but  co- 
vetoufnefs denieth  itfelf  all. 

The  covetous  can  be  good  to  no  man ; 
but  he  is  to  none  fo  cruel  as  to  himfelf. 

If  thou  art  induftrious  to  procure  gold, 
be  generous  in  the  difpefal  of  it.  Man 
never  is  fo  happy  as  when  he  giveth  hap- 
pinefs to  another. 

§  280.     Profusion. 

If  there  be  a  vice  greater  than  the  hoard- 
ing up  of  riches,  it  is  the  employing  them 
to  ufelefs  purpofes. 

He  that  prodigally  lavifheth  that  which 
he  hath  to  fpare,  robbeth  the  poor  of  what 
nature  giveth  them  a  right  unto. 

He  who  fquandereth  away  his  treafure, 
refufeth  the  means  to  do  good:  he  denieth 
himfelf  the  practice  of  virtues  whofe  re- 
ward is  in  their  hand,  whofe  end  is  no  other 
than  his  own  happinefs. 

It  is  more  difficult  to  be  well  with  riches, 
than  to  be  at  eafe  under  the  want  of  them. 
Man  governeth  himfelf  much  eafier  in  po- 
verty than  in  abundance. 

Poverty  requircth  but  one  virtue,  pa- 
tience, to  fupport  it ;  the  rich,  if  he  have 

not 


BOOK    I.     MORAL     AND    RELIGIOUS. 


not  charity,  temperance,  prudence,  and 
many  more,  is  guilty. 

The  poor  hath  only  the  good  of  his  own 
Hate  committed  unto  him ;  the  rich  is  in- 
trufted  with  the  welfare  of  thoufands. 

He  that  giveth  away  his  treafure  wifely, 
giveth  away  his  plagues:  he  that  retaineth 
their  increafe,  heapeth  up  forrovvs. 

Refufe  not  unto  the  Granger  that  which 
he  wanteth ;  deny  not  unto  thy  brother 
even  that  which  thou  wanteft  thyfelf. 

Know  there  is  more  delight  in  being 
without  what  thou  hall  given,  than  in  pol- 
feffing  millions  which  thou  knoweil  not  the 
ufe  of. 

§  281.     Revenge. 

The  root  of  revenge  is  in  the  weaknefs 
of  the  foul :  the  mo;t  abject  and  timorous 
are  the  mofl  addicted  to  it. 

Who  torture  thole  they  hate,  but  cow- 
ards ?  who  murder  thofe  they  rob  but  wo- 
men ? 

The  feeling  an  injury,  mull  be  previous 
to  the  revenging  it :  but  the  noble  mind 
dildaineth  to  fay,  It  hurts  me. 

If  the  injury  is  not  below  thy  notice,  he 
that  doth  it  unto  thee,  in  that,  maketh 
him/elf  fo  :  wouldft  thou  enter  the  lilts  with 
thine  inferior  ? 

Difdain  the  man  who  attempteth  to 
wrong  thee;  contemn  him  who  would  give 
thee  difquiet. 

In  this  thou  not  only  preferveft  thine 
own  peace,  but  thou  inflicteft  all  the  pu- 
nilhment  of  revenge,  without  Hopping  to 
employ  it  againit  him. 

As  the  temper!  and  the  thunder  ail  eel 
not  the  fun  or  the  liars,  but  fpend  their 
fury  on  Hones  and  trees  below  ;  fo  injuries 
afcend  not  to  the  fouls  of  the  great,  but 
walle  themfelves  on  iuch  as  are  thofe  who 
offer  them. 

Poornefs  of  fpirit  will  actuate  revenge  ; 
greatnefs  of  foul  defpifeth  the  offence :  nay, 
it  doth  good  unto  him  who  intended  to  have 
difturbed  it. 

Why  feekeft  thou  vengeance,  O  man  ! 
with  what  purpofe  is  it  that  thou  purfuell 
it  ?  Thinkell  thou  to  pain  thine  adverfary 
by  it  ?  Know  that  thyfelf  feeleft  its  greater!: 
torments. 

Revenge  gnaweth  the  heart  of  him  who 
is  infected  with  it,  while  he  againil  whom 
it  is  intended  remaineth  eafy. 

It  is  unjuft  in  the  anguiih  it  inflicts ; 
therefore  nature  intended  it  not  for  thee  : 
rieedeth  he  who  is  injured  more  pain  ?  or 


379 

ought   he   to  add   force  to  the  affliction 
which  another  has  call  upon  him  r 

The  man  who  meditateth  revenge  is  not 
content  with  the  mifchief  he  hath  received; 
he  addeth  to  his  anguiih  the  puniihment 
due  unto  another :  while  he  whom  he  feek- 
eth  to  hurt,  goeth  his  way  laughing ;  he 
maketh  himielf  merry  at  this  addition  to 
his  mifery. 

Revenge  is  painful  in  the  intent,  and  it 
is  dangerous  in  the  execution  :  feldom  doth 
the  axe  fall  where  he  who  lifted  it  up  in- 
tended ;  and  lo,  he  remembereth  not  that  it 
mud  recoil  againll  him. 

While  the  revengeful  feeketh  his  ene- 
my's hurt,  he  oftentimes  procureth  his  own 
deflruction  :  while  he  aimeth  at  one  of  the 
eyes  of  his  adverfary,  lo,  he  putteth  out 
both  his  own. 

If  he  attain  not  his  end,  he  lamenteth  it; 
if  he  fucceed,  he  repenteth  of  it :  the  fear 
of  jullice  taketh  away  the  peace  of  his  own 
foul ;  the  care  to  hide  him  from  it,  deilroy- 
eth  that  of  his  friend. 

Can  the  death  of  thine  adverfary  fatiate 
thy  hatr  d  ?  can  the  letting  him  at  rell  re- 
llore  thy  peace  ? 

Wouldll  thou  make  him  forry  for  his 
offence,  conquer  him  and  fpare  him  :  in 
de.:th  he  owneth  not  thy  fuperiority  ;  nor 
feeleth  he  more  the  power  of  thy  wrath. 

In  revenge  there  mould  be  a  triumph  of 
the  avenger;  and  he  who  hath  injured  him, 
lhould  feel  his  difpleafure ;  he  Ihould  fuf- 
fer  pain  from  it,  and  ihould  repent  him  of 
the  caule. 

This  is  the  revenge  infpired  from  anger; 
but  that  which  makes  thee  great  is  con- 
tempt. 

Murder  for  an  injury  arifeth  only 
from  cowardice :  he  who  infheteth  it,  fear, 
eth  that  the  enemy  may  live  and  avenge 
him.felf. 

Death  endeth  the  quarrel ;  but  it  reftor- 
eth  not  the  reputation :  killing  is  an  ad  of 
caution,  not  of  courage;  it  may  be  fafe, 
but  it  is  not  honourable. 

There  is  nothing  fo  eafy  as  to  revenge 
an  offence ;  but  nothing  is  fo  honourable  as 
to  pardon  it. 

The  greateft  victory  man  can  obtain,  is 
over  himfelf;  he  that  difdaineth  to  feel  an 
injury,  retortcth  it  upon  him  who  offereth  it. 
When  thou  meditatell  revenge,  thou 
confeileil  that  thou  feeleft  the  wrong : 
when  thou  complaineft,  thou  acknowledg- 
er!: thyfelf  hurt  by  it ;  meaneft  thou  to  add 
this  triumph  to  the  pride  of  thine  enemy  ? 
That  cannot  be  an  injury  which  is  not. 

felt; 


430 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


felt ;  how  then  can  he  who  defpifeth  it  re- 
venge it  ? 

If  thou  think  it  difhonourable  to  bear  an 
offence,  more  is  in  thy  power;  thoumayeft 
conquer  it. 

Good  offices  will  make  a  man  afhamed 
to  be  thine  enemy  :  greatnefs  of  foul  will 
terrify  him  from  the  thought  of  hurting 
thee. 

The  greater  the  wrong,  the  more  glory 
there  is  in  pardoning  it  ;  and  by  how 
much  more  juflifiable  would  be  revenge, 
by  i"o  much  the  more  honour  is  in  cle- 
mency. 

Halt  thou  a  right  to  be  a  judge  in  thine 
own  caufe  ;  to  be  a  paity  in  the  ad,  and 
vet  to  pronounce  faiter.ee  on  it  ?  Before 
thou  condemnelf.  let  another  fay  it  is  juft. 

The  revengeful  is  feared,  and  therefore 
he  is  hated ;  but  he  that  is  endued  with 
clemency,  is  adored :  the  praife  of  his  ac- 
tions remaineth  for  ever  ;  and  the  love  of 
the  world  attendeth  him. 

§  282.   Cruelty, Hatred,  WEnvy. 

Revenge  is  detcflable  :  what  then  is 
cruelty  ?  Lo,  it  poffeffeth  the  mifchiefs  of 
the  other;  but  it  wanteth  even  the  pretence 
of  its  provocations. 

Men  diibwn  it  as  not  of  their  nature  ; 
they  are  alhamed  of  it  as  a  ftranger  to 
their  hearts  :  do  they  not  call  it  inhuma- 
nity ? 

Whence  then  is  her  origin  ?  unto  what 
that  is  human  oweth  fhe  her  exiftence  ? 
Her  father  is  Fear;  and  behold  Difmay,  is 
it  not  her  mother  ? 

The  hero  lifteth  his  fword  againft  the 
enemy  that  refifteth ;  but  no  fooner  doth 
he  fubmit,  than  he  is  fatisfied. 

It  is  not  in  honour  to  trample  on  the  ob- 
ject that  feareth  ;  it  is  not  in  virtue  to  in- 
tuit what  is  beneath  it :  fubdue  the  info- 
lent,  and  fpare  the  humble ;  and  thou  art 
at  the  height  of  victory. 

He  who  wanteth  virtue  to  arrive  at  this 
end,  he  who  hath  not  courage  to  afcend 
thus  into  it ;  lo,  he  fupplieth  d»e  place  of 
conqueit  by  murder,  of  fovereignty  by 
fiaughter. 

lie  who  feareth  all  ftriketh  at  all  :  why 
are  tyrants  cruel,  but  becaufe  they  live  in 
terror  ? 

Civil  wars  are  the  moft  bloody,  becaufe 
thole  who  fight  in  them  are  cowards :  con- 
fpiiators  are  murderers,  becaufe  in  death 
there  is  filer.ee.  Is  it  not  fear  that  telleth 
them  they  may.be  betrayed  ? 

The  cur  will  tear  the  carcafs,  though  he 


dared  not  look  it  in  the  face  while  living  ; 
the  hound  that  hunteth  it  to  the  death, 
mangleth  it  not  afterwards. 

Tnat  thou  mayeil  not  be  cruel,  fet  thy- 
felf  too  high  for  hatred ;  that  thou  mayeft 
not  be  inhuman,  place  thyfelf  above  the 
reach  of  envy. 

Every  man  may  be  viewed  in  two  lights ; 
in  one  he  will  be  trouhlefome,  in  the  other 
lefs  offenfive :  chafe  to  fee  him  in  that  in 
which  he  leaft  hurteth  thee;  then  malt  thou 
not  do  hurt  unto  him. 

What  is  there  that  a  man  may  not  turn 
unto  his  good?  In  that  which  offendethus 
moft,  there  is  more  ground  for  complaint 
than  hatred.  Man  would  be  reconciled  to 
him  of  whom  he  complaineth:  whom  mur- 
dereth  he,  but  him  whom  he  hateth  ? 

If  thou  art  prevented  of  a  benefit,  fly 
not  into  rage :  the  lofs  of  thy  reafon  is  the 
want  of  a  greater. 

Becaufe  thou  art  robbed  of  thy  cloak, 
wouldft  rhou  ftrip  thyfelf  of  thy  coat  alfo  ? 

When  thou  envieft  the  man  who  pof- 
feffeth honours;  when  his  titles  and  his 
greatnefs  raife  thy  indignation  ;  feek  to 
know  whence  they  came  unto  him  ;  en- 
quire by  what  means  he  was  pofieffed  of 
them,  and  thine  envy  will  be  turned  intQ 
pity. 

It  the  fame  fortune  were  offered  unto 
thee  at  the  fame  price,  be  affured,  if  thou 
wert  wife,  thou  wouldft  refufe  it. 

What  is  the  pay  for  titles,  but  flattery  ? 
how  doth  man  purchafe  power,  but  by 
being  a  flave  to  him  who  giveth  it  ? 

Wouldft  thou  lofe  thine  own  liberty,  to 
be  able  to  take  away  that  of  another  ?  or 
canft  thou  envy  him  who  doth  fo  ? 

Man  purchafeth  nothing  of  his  fuperiorj 
but  for  a  price  ;  and  that  price  is  it  not 
more  than  the  value  ?  Wouldft  thou  per- 
vert the  cuftoms  of  the  world  ?  wouldft 
thou  have  the  purchafe  and  the  price  alfo  3 

As  thou  canft  not  envy  what  thou  wouldft 
not  accept,  difdain  this  caufe  of  hatred  ;  and 
drive  from  thy  foul  this  occafion  of  the 
parent  of  cruelty. 

If  thou  poffeffeft  honour,  canft  thou  envy 
that  which  is  obtained  at  the  expence  of  it  ? 
if  thou  knoweft  the  value  of  virtue,  pitieft 
thou  not  thofe  who  have  bartered  it  fo 
meanly  ? 

When  thou  haft  taught  thyfelf  to  bear 
the  feeming  good  of  men  without  repining, 
thou  wilt  hear  of  their  real  happinefs  witb 
pleafure. 

If  thou  feeft  good  things  fall  to  one  who 
defcrveth  them,  thou  wilt  rejoice  in  it :  for 

virtue 


EOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


33i 


virtue  is  happy  in  the  profperity  of  the  vir- 
tuous. 

Ke  who  rejoiceth  in  the  happinefs  of 
another,  increafeth  by  it  his  own. 

§  283.     Heaviness  of  Heart. 
The  foul  of  the  cheerful  forceth  a  fmile 
upon  the  face  of  affliction ;  but  the  defpon- 
dcnce  of  the  fad  deadeneth  even  the  bright- 
nefs  of  joy. 

What  is  the  fource  of  fadnefs,  but  a 
feeblenefs  of  the  foul  ?  what  giveth  it 
power  but  the  want  of  ipirit  ?  Roufe  thy- 
felf  to  the  combat,  and  fhe  quitteth  the 
field  before  thou  ftrikeft. 

Sadnefs  is  an  enemy  to  thy  race,  there- 
fore drive  her  from  thy  heart ;  fhe  poifon- 
eth  the  fweets  of  thy  life,  therefore  fuller 
her  not  to  enter  thy  dwelling. 

She  raifeth  the  lofs  of  a  ilraw  to  the  de- 
ltruclion  of  thy  fortune.  While  fhe  vex- 
eth  thy  foul  about  trifles,  fhe  rohbeth  thee 
ef  thine  attendance  to  the  things  of  confe- 
quence  :  behold,  fhe  but  prophelieth  what 
Jlie  feemeth  to  relate  unto  thee. 

She  fpreadeth  dro.vfinefs  as  a  veil  over 
thy  virtues :  fhe  hideth  them  from  thofc 
who  would  honour  thee  in  beholding  them  ; 
fhe  entangleth  and  keepeth  them  down, 
while  flie  maketh  it  molt  neceflary  for  thee 
to  exert  thern. 

Lo,  fhe  oppreffeth  thee  with  evil;  and 
fhe  tieth  down  thine  hands,  when  they 
would  throw  the  load  from  off  thee. 

If  thou  wouldll  avoid  what  is  bafe,  if 
thou  wouldll  difdain  what  is  cowardly,  if 
thou  wouldft  drive  from  thy  heart  what  is 
unjuft,fuffer  not  fadneis  to  lay  hold  upon  it. 

Suffer  it  not  to  cover  itfelf  with  the  face 
of  piety ;  let  it  not  deceive  thee  with  a  fhew 
of" wifdom.  Religion  paycth  honour  to  thy 
Maker;  let  it  not  be  clouded  with  melan- 
choly- Wifdom  maketh  thee  happy;  know 
then,  that  forrow  in  her  fieht  is  as  a  ftrasiger. 

For  what  fhould  man  be  fbrrowful ;  but 
for  afflictions/  Why  fhould  his  heart  give 
up  joy,  when  the  caufes  of  it  are  not  re- 
moved from  him  ?  Is  not  this  being  mifer- 
able  for  the  fake  of  mifery  ? 

As  the  mourner  who  looketh  fad  becaufe 
he  is  hired  to  do  fo,  who  weepeth  becaufe 
his  tears  are  paid  for;  fuch  is  the  man  who 
fuffereth  his  heart  £0  be  fad,  not  becaufe  he 
iufferet.h  aught,  but  becaufe  he  is  gloomy. 

It  is  not  the  occafion  that  produceth  the 
forrow ;  for,  behold,  the  fame  thing  fhall 
be  to  another  rejoicing. 

Affc  men  if  their  fadnefs  maketh  things 
hcacr,  and  fihey  will  confefs  to  thee  that  it 


is  folly ;  nay,  they  will  praife  him  who  bear- 
eth  his  ills  with  patience,  who  maketh  head 
againft  misfortune  with  courage.  Ap- 
plaufe  fhould  be  followed  by  imitation. 

Sadnefs  is  againft  nature,  for  it  troubledi 
her  motions :  lo,  it  rendereth  diftorted 
whatsoever  nature  hath  made  amiable. 

As  the  oak  falleth  before  the  temped, 
and  raifeth  not  its  head  again ;  fo  boweth 
the  heart  of  man  to  the  force  of  fadnefs, 
and  returneth  unto  his  ftrength  no  more. 

As  the  fnow  melteth  upon  the  moun- 
tains, from  the  rain  that  trickleth  down 
their  fides,  even  fo  is  beauty  wafhed  from 
off  the  cheek  by  tears ;  and  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other  reftoreth  itfelf  again. 

As  the  pearl  is  diftblved  by  the  vinegar, 
which  feemeth  at  firft  only  to  obfeure  k$ 
furface  ;  fo  is  thy  happinefs,  O  man !  fwai- 
lowed  up  by  heaviness  of  heart,  though  at 
firft  it  feemeth  only  to  cover  it  as  with  its 
lhadow. 

Behold  fadnefs  in  the  public  ftreets;  caff 
thine  eye  upon  h:r  in  the  places  of  re- 
fort  ;  avoideth  not  fhe  every  one  ?  and  doth 
not  every  one  fly  from  her  prefence  ? 

See  how  fhe  droopeth  her  head,  like  die 
flower  whofe  root  is  cut  afunder  S  fee  how 
fhe  fixeth  her  eyes  upon  the  earth  !  fee 
how  they  ferve  her  to  no  purpofe  but  for 
weeping ! 

Is  there  in  her  mouth  difcourfe  ?  is  there 
in  her  heart  the  love  of  fociety  ?  is  there 
in  her  foul,  reafon  ?  Afk  her  the  caufe,  fhe 
knoweth  it  not ;  enquire  the  occafion,  and 
behold  there  is  none. 

Yet  doth  her  ftrength  fail  her :  lo,  at 
length  fhe  finketh  into  the  grave ;  and  na 
one  faith,  What  is  become  of  her  ? 

Haft  thou  understanding,  and  feeft  thou 
not  this  !  haft  thou  piety,  and  perceiveft 
thou  not  thine  error  ? 

God  created  thee  in  mercy  ;  had  he  not 
intended  thee  to  be  happy,  bis  beneficence 
would  not  have  called  thee  into  exiftence; 
how  dare  it  thou  then  to  fly  in  the  face  of 
Majesty?    ' 

Whilft  thou  art  molt  happy  with  inno- 
cence, thou  doft  him  moft  honour ;  and 
what  is  thy  difcontent  but  murmuring 
againft  him  i 

Created  he  not  all  things  liable  to 
changes,  and  dareft  thou  to  weep  at  their 
changing  ? 

If  we  know  the  law  of  nature,  where- 
fore do  we  complain  of  it  ?  if  we  are  igno- 
rant of  it,  what  fhall  we  accufe  but  oat 
blindnefs  to  what  every  moment  giveth  us 
proof  of  2 

Know 


3S2 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


Know  that  it  is  not  thou  that  art  to  give 
laws  to  the  world ;  thy  part  is  to  fubmit  to 
them  as  thou  findeil  them.  If  they  diftrefs 
thee,  thy  lamentation  but  addeth  to  thy 
torment. 

Be  not  deceived  with  fair  pretences,  nor 
fuppofe  that  forrow  healeth  misfortune. 
It  is  a  poifon  under  the  colour  of  a  reme- 
dy :  while  it  pretendeth  to  draw  the  ar- 
row from  thy  breait,  lo,  it  plungeth  it  into 
thine  heart. 

While  fadnefs  feparateth  thee  from  thy 
friends,  doth  it  not  fay,  Thou  art  unfit  for 
converfation  ?  while  ihe  driveth  thee  into 
corners,  doth  Ihe  not  proclaim  that  fhe  is 
afhamed  of  herfelf? 

It  is  not  in  thy  nature  to  meet  the  ar- 
rows of  ill  fortune  unhurt ;  nor  doth  reafon 
require  it  of  thee:  it  is  thy  duty  to  bear 
misfortune  like  a  man ;  but  thou  mull  firfr. 
alfo  feel  it  like  one. 

Tears  may  drpp  from  thine  eyes,  though 
virtue  falleth  not  from  thine  heart :  be 
thou  careful  only  that  there  is  caufe,  and 
that  they  flow  not  too  abundantly. 

The  greatnefs  of  the  affliction  is  not  to 
be  reckoned  from  the  number  of  tears. 
The  greater!  griefs  are  above  thefe  tefti- 
monies,  as  the  greateii  joys  are  beyond 
utterance. 

What  is  there  that  weakeneth  the  foul 
like  grief?  what  deprefleth  it  like  fadnefs  ? 

Is  the  forrowful  prepared  for  noble  en- 
terprises ?  or  armeth  he  himfclf  in  the  caufe 
of  virtue  ? 

Subject  not  thyfelf  to  ills,  where  there 
are  in  return  no  advantages :  neither  fa- 
crifice  thou  the  means  of  good  unto  that 
which  is  in  itfelf  an  evil. 

Of  the  ADVANTAGES  MAN  may 
acquire  over  his  Fellow -Creatures. 

§  284.     Noeility  ««(/  Honour. 

Nobility  refideth  not  but  in  the  foul  ; 
nor  is  there  true  honour  except  in  virtue. 

The  favour  of  princes  may  be  bought 
by  vice ;  rank  and  titles  may  be  purchased 
for  money :  but  thefe  are  not  true  honour. 

Crimes  cannot  exalt  the  man,  who  com- 
mits them,  to  real  glory;  neither  can  gold 
make  men  noble. 

When  titles  are  the  reward  of  virtue, 
when  the  man  is  fet  on  high  who  hath 
ferved  his  country;  he  who  befloweth 
the  honours  hath  glory,  like  as  he  who 
receive th  tnem;  and  the  woild  is  benefited 
by  it. 

Wouidit  thou  wifh  to   be    raifed,   and 


men  know  not  for  what  ?  or  wouldfl  tho« 
that  they  fhould  fay,  Why  is  this  ? 

When  the  virtues  of  the  hero  defcend  to 
his  children,  his  titles  accompany  them 
well ;  but  when  he  who  poffeiielh  them  is 
unlike  him  who  deferved  them,  lo,  do  they 
not  call  him  degenerate  ? 

Hereditary  honour  is  accounted  the  moft 
noble ;  but  reafon  fpeaketh  in  the  caufe  of 
him  who  hath  acquired  it. 

He  who,  meritlefs  himfe!f>  appealeth  to 
the  actions  of  his  anceltors  for  his  great- 
neis,  is  like  the  thief  who  ciaimeth  protec- 
tion by  flying  to  the  pagod. 

What  good  is  it  to  the  blind,  that  his 
parents  could  fee  ?  what  benefit  is  it  to  the 
dumb,  that  his  grandfather  was  eloquent  ? 
even  fo,  what  is  it  to  the  mean,  that  their 
predecefib)  s  were  noble  ? 

A  mind  difpofed  to  virtue,  maketh 
great  the  pofi'efibr :  and  without  titles  it 
will  raife  him  above  the  vulgar. 

He  will  acquire  honour  while  others  re- 
ceive it ;  and  will  he  not  fay  unto  them, 
Such  were  the  men  whom  ye  glory  in  be- 
ing derived  from  ? 

As  the  fhadow  waiteth  on  the  fubfuince, 
even  fo  true  honour  attendeth  upon  vir- 
tue. 

Say  not  that  honour  is  the  child  of  bold- 
nefs,  nor  believe  thou  that  the  hazard  of 
life  alone  can  pay  the  price  of  it :  it  is  not 
to  the  action  that  it  is  due,  but  to  the  man- 
ner of  performing  it. 

All  are  not  called  to  the  guiding  the 
helm  of  ftate;  neither  are  there  armies  to 
be  commanded  by  every  one :  do  well  in 
that  which  is  committed  to  thy  charge,  and 
praiie  fhall  remain  unto  thee. 

Say  not  that  difficulties  are  neceflary  to 
be  conquered,  or  that  labour  and  danger 
mult  be  in  the  way  of  renown.  Tne  wo- 
man who  is  chafte,  is  (lie  r.ot  praifed  ?  the 
man  who  k  honeft,  deferveth  he  not  to  be 
honoured  ? 

The  thirfl  of  fame  is  violent;  the  defire 
of  honour  is  powerful ;  and  he  who  gave 
tnem  to  us,  gave  them  for  great  purpofes. 

When  defperate  actions  are  neceffary  to 
the  public,  when  our  lives  are  to  be  exposed 
for  the  good  of  cur  countrv,  what  can  add 
force  to  virtue,  but  ambition  ? 

It  is  not  the  receiving  honour  that  de- 
lighteth  the  noble  mind ;  its  pride  is  the 
deferving  it. 

Is  it  not  better  men  fhould  fay,  Why 
hath  not  this  man  a  ftatue  ?  than  that  they 
fhould  afk,  Why  he  hath  one  ? 

The  ambitious  will  always  be  firft  in  the 

croud; 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND 


croud  ;  he  preffeth  forward,  he  looketh  not 
behind  him.  More  anguiih  is  it  to  his  foul, 
to  fee  one  before  him,  than  joy  to  leave 
thoufands  at  a  diftance. 

The  root  of  ambition  is  in  every  man  ; 
but  it  rifeth  not  in  all :  fear  keepeth  it 
dnwn  in  fome  ;  in  many  it  is  fuppreffed  by 
modefty. 

It  is  the  inner  garment  of  the  foul ;  the 
firfl  thing  put  on  by  it  with  the  fiefh,  and 
the  laft  it  layeth  down  at  its  feparation 
from  it. 

It  is  an  honour  to  thy  nature  when  wor- 
thily employed ;  when  thou  directed  it  to 
wrong  puvpofes,  it  ftiameth  and  deiboyeth 
thee. 

In  the  breaft  of  the  traitor  ambition  is 
covered ;  hypocrify  hideth  its  face  under 
her  mantle ;  and  cool  diffimulation  fur- 
nifheth  it  with  fmooth  words ;  but  in  the 
end  men  fhall  fee  what  it  is. 

The  ferpent  lofeth  not  his  fting  t]  ough 
benumbed  with  the  froft,  the  tooth  of  the 
viper  is  not  broken  though  the  cold  clofeth 
his  mouth :  take  pity  on  his  ftate,  and  he 
will  fhew  thee  his  fpirit;  warm  him  in  thy 
bofom,  and  he  will  requite  thee  with  death. 

He  that  is  truly  virtuous,  loveth  virtue 
for  herfelf;  he  difdaineth  the  applaufe 
which  ambition  aimeth  after. 

How  pitiable  were  the  ftate  of  virtue,  if 
Ihe  could  not  be  happy  but  from  another's 
praife  ?  fhe  is  too  noble  to  leek  recompenfe, 
and  no  more  will,  than  can  be  rewarded. 

The  higher  the  fun  arifeth,  the  lefs  Iha- 
dow  doth  he  make ;  even  fo  the  greater  is 
the  virtue,  the  lefs  doth  it  covet  praife  ; 
yet  cannot  it  avoid  its  reward  in  honours. 

Glory,  like  a  fhadow,  flieth  him  who 
purfueth  it ;  but  it  followeth  at  the  heels  of 
him  who  would  fly  from  it :  if  thou  courteft 
it  without  merit,  thou  fhalt  never  attain 
unto  it ;  if  thou  deferveft  it,  though  thou 
hide  it.  thyfelf,  it  will  never  forfake  thee. 

Purfue  that  which  is  honourable;  do 
that  which  is  right ;  and  the  applaufe  of 
thine  own  confeience  will  be  more  joy  to 
thee,  than  the  fhouts  of  millions  who  know 
not  that  thou  deferveth  them. 

§  285.    Science  cW  Learxing. 

The  nobleft  employment  of  the  mind  of 
man,  is  the  ftudy  of  the  works  cf  his  Creator. 

To  him  whom  the  fcience  of  nature  de- 
lighteth,  every  object  bringeth  2  proof  of 
his  God;  every  thing  that  proveth  it, 
giveth  caufe  of  adoration. 

His  mind  is  lifted  up  to  heaven  every 


RELIGIOUS.  3S5 

;  his  life  is  one  continued  ad  of 


moment ; 
devotion. 

Cafteth  he  his  eye  towards  the  clouds, 
iindeth  he  not  the  heavens  full  of  his  won- 
ders ?  Looketh  he  down  to  the  earth,  doth 
not  the  worm  proclaim  to  him,  Lefs  than 
Omnipotence  could  not  have  formed  me  ? 

While  the  planets  perform  tneir  courfes; 
while  the  fun  remaineth  in  his  place  ;  while 
the  comet  wandereth  through  the  liquid 
air,  and  returneth  to  its  deftined  road 
again ;  who  but  thy  God,  O  man  !  could 
have  formed  them  ?  what  but  infinite  wif- 
don  could  have  appointed  them  their  laws  ? 

Behold  how  awful  their  fplendor  !  yet 
do  they  not  diminifh :  lo.  how  rapid  their 
motions !  yet  one  runneth  noc  in  the  way 
of  another. 

Look  down  upon  the  earth,  and  fee  her 
produce  ;  examine  her  bowels,  and  behold 
what  they  contain  :  hath  noc  wifdom  and 
power  ordained  the  whole  ? 

Who  biddeth  the  prafs  to  fpring  up  ? 
who  watereth  it  at  its  due  feafons  ?  Behold 
the  ox  croppeth  it ;  the  horfe  and  the  fheep, 
feed  they  not  upon  it  ?  Who  is  he  that  pro- 
videth  it  for  tnem  ?' 

Who  giveth  increafe  to  the  corn  that 
thou  foweft  ?  who  returneth  it  to  thee  a 
thoufand  fold  ? 

Who  ripeneth  for  thee  the  olive  in  its 
time  ?  and  the  grape,  tnough  thou  knoweit 
not  the  caufe  of  it  ? 

Can  the  meaneft  fly  create  itfelf;  or 
wert  thou  aught  lefs  than  God,  couldft 
thou  have  faihioned  it  ? 

The  beafts  feel  that  they  exift,  but  they 
wonder  net  at  it ;  they  rejoice  in  their  life, 
but  they  know  not  that  it  fhall  end :  each 
peiformeth  its  courfe  in  fucceflion  ;  nor  is 
there  a  lofs  of  one  fpecies  in  a  thoufand 
generations. 

Thou  who  fee  ft  the  whole  as  admirable 
as  its  parts,  car, ft  thou  better  employ  thine 
eye  than  in  tracing  out  thy  Creator's  great- 
nefs  in  them  ;  thy  mind,  than  in  examining 
their  wonders  ? 

Power  and  mercy  are  difplayed  in  their 
formation  ;  juftice  and  goodnefs  fhine  forth 
in  .the  provifion  that  is  made  for  them  ;  all 
are  happy  in  their  feveral  ways ;  nor  en- 
vieth  one  the  other. 

What  is  the  ftudy  of  words  compared 
with  this  ?  In  what  icience  is  knowledge, 
but  in  the  ftudy  of  nature  ? 

When  thou  haft  adored  the  fabric,  en- 
quire into  its  ufe  ;  for  know  the  earth  pro- 
duceth  nothing  but  may  be  of  good  to  thee. 
Are  not  food  and  raiment,  and  the  reme- 
dies 


3*4- 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


dies  for  thy  difeafes,  all  derived  from  this 
fource  alone  ? 

Who  is  wife  then,  but  he  that  knovveth 
it  ?  who  hath  nnderftanding,  but  he  that 
contemplateth  it  ?  For  the  reft,  whatever 
fcience  hath  moft  utility,  whatever  know- 
ledge hath  leaft  vanity,  prefer  thefe  unto 
the°others  ;  and  profit  from  them  for  the 
fake  of  thy  neighbour. 

To  live,  and  to  die ;  to  command,  and 
to  obey  ;  to  do,  and  to  fufter ;  are  not  thefe 
all  that  thou  h2ft  farther  to  care  about  ? 
Morality  thall  teach  thee  thefe  ;  the  Eco- 
nomy of  Life  {hall  lay  them  before  thee. 

Behold,  they  are  written  in  thine  heart, 
and  thou  needeft  only  to  be  reminded  of 
them :  they  are  eafy  of  conception  ;  be 
attentive,  and  thou  fhalt  retain  them. 

All  other  fciences  are  vain,  all  other 
knowledge  is  boaft ;  lo,  it  is  not  nccefl'ary 
or  beneficial  to  man  ;  nor  doth  it  make 
him  more  good,  or  more  honeft. 

Piety  to  thy  God,  and  benevolence  to 
thy  fellow  creatures,  are  they  not  thy  great 
duties?  What  fhall  teach  thee  the  one,  like 
the  ftudy  of  his  works  ?  what  fhall  inform 
thee  of  the  other,  like  underftanding  thy 
dependencies  ? 


O/NATURAL  ACCIDENTS. 
§  286.     Prosperity  and  Adversity. 

Let  not  profperity  elate  thine  heart 
above  meafure  ;  neither  deprefs  thy  foul 
unto  the  grave,  becaufe  fortune  beareth 
hard  again  it  thee. 

Her  fmiles  are  not  liable,  therefore  build 
not  thy  confidence  upon  them ;  her  frowns 
endure  not  for  ever,  therefore  let  hope 
teach  thee  patience. 

To  bear  adverfity  well,  is  difficult ;  but 
to  be  temperate  in  profperity,  is  the  height 
of  wifdom. 

Good  and  ill  are  the  tefts  by  which  thou 
art  to  know  thy  conftancy ;  nor  is  there 
aught  elfe  that  can  tell  thee  the  powers 
of  thine  own  foul :  be  therefore  upon  the 
watch  when  they  arc  upon  thee. 

Behold  profperity,  how  fweetly  ihe  flat- 
tereth  thee ;  how  infenfibly  flie  robbeth 
thee  of  thy  ftrength  and  thy  vigour  ? 

Though  thou  hail  been  conitant  in  ill 
fortune,  though  thou  haft  been  invincible 
in  diftrefs ;  yet  by  her  thou  art  conquered : 
not  knowing  that  thy  ftrength  returneth 
not  again  ;  and  yet  that  thou  again  mayft 
need  it. 

Affliction  moveth  our  enemies  to  pity : 


fuccefs  and  happinefs  caufe  even  our  friends 
to  envy. 

Adverfity  is  the  feed  of  well-doing :  it 
is  the  nurfe  of  heroifm  and  boldnefs  ;  who 
that  hath  enough,  will  endanger  himfelf  to 
have  more  ?  who  that  is  at  eafe,  will  fet 
his  life  on  the  hazard  ? 

True  virtue  will  aft  under  all  circum- 
ftances  ;  but  men  fee  moft  of  its  effects 
when  accidents  concur  with  it. 

In  adverfity  man  feeth  himfelf  abandon- 
ed by  others  ;  he  findeth  that  all  his  hopes 
are  centered  within  himfelf;  he  roufeth  his 
foul,  he  encountereth  his  difficulties,  and 
they  yield  before  him. 

In  profperity  he  fancieth  himfelf  fafe; 
he  thinketh  he  is  beloved  of  all  that  fmile 
about  his  table  ;  he  groweth  carelefs  and 
remifs ;  he  feeth  not  the  danger  that  is 
before  him  ;  he  trufteth  to  others,  and  in 
the  end  they  deceive  him. 

Every  man  can  advife  his  own  foul  in 
diftrefs  ;  but  profperity  blindeth  the  truth. 

Better  is  the  forrow  that  leadeth  to  con- 
tentment, than  the  joy  that  rendereth  man 
unable  to  endure  diftrefs,  and  after  plung- 
eth  himfelf  into  it. 

Our  paflions  dictate  to  us  in  all  our  ex- 
tremes :  moderation  is  the  effect  of  wifdom. 

Be  upright  in  thy  whole  life  ;  be  content 
in  all  its  changes :  fo  lhalt  thou  make  thy 
profit  out  of  all  occurrences ;  fo  (hall  every 
thing  that  happeneth  unto  thee  be  the 
fource  of  praiie. 

The  wife  maketh  every  thing  the  means 
of  advantage;  and  with  the  fame  counte- 
nance beholderh  he  all  the  faces  of  fortune  : 
he  govern?th  the  good,  he  conquereth  the 
evil :  he  is  unmoved  in  all. 

Prefume  not  in  profperity,  neither  de- 
fpair  in  adverfity  :  court  not  dangers,  nor 
meanly  fly  from  before  them  ;  dare  to 
defpife  whatever  will  not  remain  with  thee. 

Let  not  adverfity  tear  oft"  the  wings  of 
hope ;  neither  let  profperity  obfcure  the 
light  of  prudence. 

He  who  defpaireth  of  the  end,  fhall 
never  attain  unto  it ;  and  he  who  feeth  not 
the  pit,  fhall  perifh  therein. 

He  who  calleth  profperity  his  good ;  who 
hath  laid  unto  her,  With  thee  will  I  efta- 
blifh  my  happinefs ;  lo  !  he  anchoreth  his 
vefTel  in  a  bed  of  fand,  which  the  return  of 
the  tide  wafheth  away. 

As  the  water  that  pafleth  frcm  the 
mountains,  kifleth,  in  its  way  to  the  ecean, 
every  field  that  bordereth  the  rivers;  as 
it  tarrieth  not  in  any  place ;  even,  fo  for- 
tune vifiteth.  the  fong  of  men  ;  her  motion 

is 


BOOK    I.      MORAL     AND     RELIGIOUS. 


3*; 


is  inceffant,  fhe  will  not  flay;  (lie  is  unliable 
as  the  winds,  how  then  wilt  thou  hold  her  ? 
When  fhe  kifleth  thee,  thou  art  bleffed  ; 
behold,  as  thou  turneth  to  thank  her,  fhe 
is  gone  unto  another* 

§  287.     Pain  and  Sickness. 

The  ficknefs  of  the  body  affecleth  even 
the  foul ;  the  one  cannot  be  in  health  with- 
out the  other. 

Pain  is  of  all  ills  that  which  is  moft  felt ; 
and  it  is  that  which  from  nature  hath  the 
fewer!  remedies. 

When  thy  conftancy  faileth  thee,  call  in 
thy  reafon;  when  thy  patience  quitteth 
thee,  call  in  thy  hope. 

To  fuffer,  is  a  neceffity  entailed  upon 
thy  nature ;  wouldft  thou  that  miracles 
fhould  protect  thee  from  it  ?  or  (halt  thou 
repine,  becaufe  it  .happeneth  unto  thee, 
when  lo,  it  happeneth  unto  all  ? 

It  is  injuftice  to  expect  exemption  from 
that  thou  vvert  born  unto ;  fubmit  with  mo- 
deity  to  the  laws  of  thy  condition. 

Wouldft  thou  fay  to  the  feafons,  Pafs 
not  on,  left  I  grow  old  ?  is  it  not  better  to 
fuffer  well  that  which  thou  canft  not 
avoid  ? 

Pain  that  endureth  long,  is  moderate ; 
bluih  therefore  to  complain  of  it  :  that 
which  is  violent  is  flicrt :  behold  thou  feeft 
the  end  of  it. 

The  body  was  created  to  be  fubfervient 
to  the  foul ;  while  thou  afflicleft  the  foul  for 
its  pains,  behold  thou  fetteft  that  above  it. 

As  the  wife  afflicleth  not  himfelf,  becaufe 
a  thorn  teareth  his  garment ;  fo  the  patient 
grieveth  not  his  foul,  becaufe  that  which 
covereth  it  is  injured. 

§  288.     Death. 

As  the  production  of  the  metal  proveth 
the  work  of  the  alchymift  ;  fo  is  death  the 
tell  of  our  lives,  the  effay  which  fheweth 
the  ftandard  of  all  our  actions. 

Wouldft  thou  judge  of  a  life,  examine 
the  period  of  it ;  the  end  crowncth  the  at- 
tempt :  and  where  diffimulation  is  no  more, 
there  truth  appeareth. 

He  hath  not  fpent  his  life  ill,  who  know- 
eth  to  die  well ;  neither  can  he  have  loft 
all  his  time,  who  employeth  the  laft  portion 
of  it  to  his  honour. 

He  was  not  born  in  vain  who  dieth  as 
he  ought ;  neither  hath  he  lived  unprofi- 
tably  who  dieth  happily. 

He  that  confidereth  he  is  to  die,  is  con- 
tent while  he  liveth :  he  who  ftriveth  to 
forget  it,  hath  no  pleafure  in  any  thing  ,- 


his  joy  appeareth  to  him  a  jewel  which  he 
expe&eth  every  moment  he  fhall  lofe. 

Wouldft  thou  learn  to  die  nobly  ?  let 
thy  vices  die  before  thee.  Happy  is  he 
who  endeth  the  bufinefs  of  his  life  before 
his  death ;  who,  when  the  hour  of  it  cometh, 
hath  nothing  to  do  but  to  die ;  who  wifheth 
not  delay,  becaufe  he  hath  no  longer  ufe 
for  time. 

Avoid  not  death,  for  it  is  a  weaknefs ; 
fear  it  not,  for  thou  underftandeth  not  what 
it  is :  all  that  thou  certainly  knoweft,  is, 
that  it  putteth  an  end  to  thy  forrows. 

Think  not  the  longeft  life  the  happieft ; 
that  Which  is  beit  employed,  doth  man  the 
moft  honour ;  himfelf  fhall  rejoice  after 
death  in  the  advantages  of  it. 

This  is  the  complete  Economy  of 
Human  Life. 


§  289.  A Morning  Prayer for  a  young  Student 

at  School,  or  for  the  common  Ufe  of  a  School. 

* 

Father  of  Ail !  we  return  thee  moft 
humble  and  hearty  thanks  for  thy  protec- 
tion of  us  in  the  night  fcafon,  and  for  the 
refreihment  of  our  fouls  and  bodies,  in 
the  fweet  repofe  of  fleep.  Accept  alfo  our 
unfeigned  gratitude  for  all  thy  merci:s 
during  the  helplefs  age  of  infancy. 

Continue,  we  befeech  thee,  to  guard  us 
under  the  fhadow  of  thy  wing.  Our  age 
is  tender,  and  our  nature  frail ;  and,  with- 
out the  influence  of  thy  grace,  we  fhall 
furely  fall. 

Let  that  influence  defcend  into  our 
hearts,  and  teach  us  to  love  thee  and  truth 
above  all  things.  O  guard  us  from  temp- 
tations to  deceit,  and  grant  that  we  may 
abhor  a  lye,  both  as  a  fin  and  as  a  difgrace. 
Infpire  us  with  an  abhorrence  of  the 
loathiomenefs  of  vice,  and  the  pollutions 
of  fenfual  pleafure.  Grant,  at  the  fame 
time,  that  we  may  early  feel  the  delight  of 
confeious  purity,  and  walh  our  hands  in  in- 
nocency,  from  the  united  motives  of  in- 
clination and  of  duty. 

Give  us,  O  thou  Parent  of  all  know- 
ledge, a  love  of  learning,  and  a  tafte  for 
the  pure  and  iublime  pleafures  of  the  un- 
derftanding.  Improve  our  memory,  quick- 
en our  apprehenfion,  and  grant  that  we  may 
lay  up  fuch  a  ftore  of  learning,  as  may 
fit  us  for  the  ftation  to  which  it  fhall.  pleafe 
thee  to  call  us,  and  enable  us  to  make  great 
advances  in  virtue  and  religion,  and  ihine 
as  lights  in  the  world,  by  the  influence  of 
a  good  example. 

Give  us  grace   to   be    diligent  in  our 
C  c  ftudie;, 


3S6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


ftudies,  and  that  whatever  we  read  we  may 
ftrongly  mark,  and  inwardly  digert  it. 

Blefs  our  parents,  guardians,  and  in- 
ftruttors ;  and  grant  that  we  may  make 
them  the  bell  return  in  our  power,  for  giv- 
ing us  opportunities  of  improvement,  and 
for  all  their  care  and  attention  to  our  wel- 
fare. They  afk  no  return,  but  that  we 
fhould  make  ufe  of  thofe  opportunities,  and 
co-operate  with  their  endeavours — O  grant 
that  we  may  not  difappoint  their  anxipus 
expectations. 

Affift  us  mercifully,  O  Lord,  that  we  may 
immediately  engage  in  the  ftudies  and  du- 
ties of  the  day,  and  go  through  them 
chearfully,  diligently,  and  fuccefsfully. 

Accept  our  endeavours,  and  pardon  our 
defects,  through  the  merits  of  our  blefied 
Saviour,  Jefus  Chrift  our  Lord.     Amen. 

§   290.     An  Evening  Prayer. 

O  Almighty  God  !  again  we  approach, 
thy  mercy-feat,  to  offer  unto  thee  our 
thanks  and  praifes  for  the  bleftings  and 
protection  afforded  us  this  day;  and  hum- 
bly to  implore  thy  pardon  for  our  manifold 
tranfgreffions. 

Grant  that  the  words  of  various  inftruc- 
tion  which  we  have  heard  or  read  this  day, 
may  be  fo  inwardly  grafted  in  our  hearts 
and  memories,  as  to  bring  forth  the  fruits 
of  learning  and  virtue. 

Grant  that  as  we  recline  on  our  pil- 
lows, we  may  call  to  mind  the  tranfactions 
of  the  day,  condemn  thofe  things  of  which 
our  confeience  accufes  us,  and  make  and 
keep  refolutions  of  amendment. 

Grant  that  thy  holy  angels  may  watch 
over  us  this  night,  and  guard  us  from 
temptation,  excluding  all  improper 
thoughts,  and  filling  our  brealls  with  the 
pureft  fentiments  of  piety.  Like  as  the 
hart  panteth  for  the  water-brook,  fo  let  our 
fouls  thirft  for  thee,  O  Lord,  and  for  what- 


ever is  excellent  and  beautiful  in  learning" 
and  behaviour. 

Correct:,  by  the  fweet  influence  of  Chrif- 
tian  charity,  the  irregularities  of  our  tem- 
per ;  and  reftrain  every  tendency  to  ingra- 
titude, and  to  ill-ufage  of  our  parents, 
teachers,  pallors,  and  matters.  Teach 
us  to  know  the  value  of  a  good  education, 
and  to  be  thankful  to  thofe  who  labour  in 
the  improvement  of  our  minds  and  mo- 
rals. Give  us  grace  to  be  reverent  to  our 
luperiors,  gentle  to  our  equals  or  inferiors, 
and  benevolent  to  all  mankind.  Elevate 
and  enlarge  our  fentiments,  and  let  all  our 
conduct  be  regulated  by  right  reafon,  at- 
tended with  Chriilian  charity,  and  that  pe- 
culiar generofity  of  mind,  which  become* 
a  liberal  fcholar,  and  a  fincere  Chriftian. 

O  Lord,  bellow  upon  us  whatever  may 
be  good  for  us,  even  though  we  fhould 
omit  to  pray  for  it ;  and  avert  whatever 
is  hurtful,  though  in  the  blindnefs  of  our 
hearts  we  fhould  defire  it. 

Into  thy  hands  we  refign  ourfelves,  as 
we  retire  to  reft ;  hoping  by  thy  mercy, 
to  rife  again  with  renewed  fpirits,  to  go 
through  the  bufinefs  of  the  morrow,  and 
to  prepare  ourfelves  for  this  life,  and  for  a 
bleffed  immortality ;  which  we  ardently 
hope  to  attain,  through  the  merits  and  in- 
terceflion  of  thy  Son,  our  Saviour,  Jefus 
Chrift  our  Lord.     Amen. 

§    29I.       THE    LORD'S    PRAYER, 

Our  Father,  which  art  in  heaven  ; 
Hallowed  be  thy  name.  Thy  kingdom 
come.  Thy  will  be  done  in  earth,  as  it  is 
in  heaven.  Give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread.  And  forgive  us  our  trefpafles,  as 
we  forgive  them  that  trefpafs  againft  us. 
And  lead  us  not  into  temptation  ;  but  deli- 
ver us  from  evil :  For  thine  is  the  king- 
dom, and  the  power,  and  the  glory,  for 
ever  and  ever.     Amen. 


END      OP     THE      FIRST     B00E, 


ELEGANT 


sssssc 


ELEGANT      EXTRACT 

IN    PROSE. 


BOOK     THE      SECOND. 
CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL. 


§    t.     Beneficial  Eft 3s  of  a  Tap  for  the 
Belles    Lettres. 

BELLES  Lettres  and  criticifm  chiefly 
consider  Man  as  a  being  endowed 
with  thofe  powers  of  tafte  and  imagination, 
which  were  intended  to  embelliih  his  mind, 
and  to  Supply  him  with  rational  and  ufeful 
entertainment.  They  open  a  field  of  in- 
vestigation peculiar  to  themfclves.  All  that 
relates  to  beauty,  harmony,  grandeur,  and 
elegance ;  all  that  can  foothe  the  mind, 
gratify  the  fancy,  or  move  the  affeclions, 
belongs  to  their  province.  They  prefent 
human  nature  under  a  different  afpect 
from  that  which  it  aftumes  when  viewed 
by  other  fciences.  They  bring  to  light 
various  fprings  of  action,  which,  without 
their  aid,  might  have  psffed  unobferved  ; 
and  which,  though  of  a  delicate  natuie, 
frequently  exert  a  powerful  influence  on 
feveral  departments  of  human  life. 

Such  fludies  have  alfo  this  peculiar  ad- 
vantage, that  they  exercife  our  reafon  with- 
out fatiguing  it.  They  lead  to  enquiries 
acute,  but  not  painful ;  profound,  but  not 
dry  nor  abftruie.  They  ftrew  flowers  in 
the  path  of  fcience;  and  while  they  keep 
the  mind  bent,  in  fome  degree,  and  adtive, 
they  relieve  it  at  the  fame  time  from  that 
more  toilfome  labour  to  which  it  muft  Sub- 
mit in  the  acquifition  of  neceffary  erudi- 
tion, or  the  inveftigation  of  abstract  truth. 

Blair. 

§    2.    Beneficial  Epcls  of  the  Cultivation  of 
Taste. 

The  cultivation  of  tafte  is  further  re- 
commended by  the  happy  eifefts  which 
it  naturally  tends  to  produce  on  human 


life.     The  moft  bufy  man,  in  the  moft  ac- 
tive fphere,  cannot  be  always  occupied  by 
bufinefs.     Men  of  ferious  profeflions  can- 
not always  be  on   the   ftretch   of  ferious 
thought.     Neither  can  the  moft  gay  and 
flourishing  fituations  of  fortune  afford  any 
man  the  power  of  filling  all  his  hours  with 
pleafure.     Life  muft  always   languifh    in 
the  hands  of  the  idle.    It  will  frequently 
languifh  even  in  the  hands  of  the  bufy,  if 
they  have  not  fome  employment  fubfidiary 
to   that   which  forms  their   main  purfuit. 
How  then  Shall  thefe  vacant  fpaces,  thofe 
unemployed  intervals,  which,  more  or  lefs, 
occur  in  the  life  of  every  one,  be  filled  up  ? 
How  can  we  contrive  to  difpofe  of  them  in 
any  way  that  Shall  be  more  agreeable  in 
itfelf,  or  more  confonant  to  the  dignify  of 
the  human  mind,  than  in   the  entertain- 
ments of  tafte,  and  the  ftudy  of  polite  lite- 
rature ?  He  who  is  fo  happy  as   to  have 
acquired  a  reliSh  for  thefe,  has  always  at 
hand  an  innocent  and  irreproachable  amufe- 
ment  for  his    leifure  hours,  to  fave  him 
from  the  danger  of  many  a  pernicious  paf- 
fion.     He  is  not  in  hazard  of  being  a  bur- 
den to  himfelf.     He  is  not  obliged  to  fly 
to  low  company,  or  to  court  the  riot  of  loofe 
pleafures,  in  order  to   cure  the  tedioufnefs 
of  existence. 

Providence  feems  plainly  to  have  point- 
ed out  this  ufeful  purpofe,  to  which  the 
pleafures  of  tafte  may  be  applied,  by  mter- 
pofing  them  in  a  middle  Station  between 
the  pleafures  of  fenfe,  and  thofe  of  pure 
intellect.  We  were  not  defigned  to  grovel 
always  among  objects  fo  low  as  the  for- 
mer ;  nor  are  we  capable  of  dwelling  con- 
stantly in  fo  high  a  region  as  the  latter. 
C  c  2  The 


■M 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


The  pleafures  of  tafte  refrelh  the  mind  af- 
ter the  toils  of  the  intellect,  and  the  labours 
of  abftract  ftudy  ;  and  they  gradually  raife 
it  above  the  attachments  of  fenfe,  and  pre- 
pare it  for  the  enjoyments  of  virtue. 

So  confonant  is  this  to  experience,  that 
in  the  education  of  youth,  no  object  has  in 
every  age  appeared  more  important  to 
wife  men  than  to  tincture  them  early  with 
a  relifh  for  the  entertainments  of  tafte. 
The  tranfition  is  commonly  made  with 
eafe  from  thefe  to  the  difcharge  of  the 
higher  and  more  important  duties  of  life. 
Good  hopes  may  be  entertained  of  thofe 
whofe  minds  have  this  liberal  and  elegant 
turn.  It  is  favourable  to  many  virtues. 
Whereas  to  be  entirely  devoid  of  relifh 
for  eloquence,  poetry,  or  any  of  the  fine 
arts,  is  jultly  conftrued  to  be  an  unpromif- 
ing  fvmptom  of  youth  ;  and  raifes  fufpici- 
ons  of  their  being  prone  to  low  gratifica- 
tions, or  deilined  to  drudge  in  the  more 
vulgar  and  illiberal  purfuits  of  life. 

Blair. 

§  3.  Improvement  of  Taste  connected 
with  Improvement  in  Virtue. 
There  are  indeed  few  good  difpofuions 
of  any  kind  with  which  the  improvement 
of  talie  is  not  more  or  lefs  connected.  A 
cultivated  tafte  increafes  fenfibility  to  all 
the  tender  and  humane  paffions,  by  giving 
them  frequent  exercife ;  while  it  tends  to 
weaken  the  more  violent  and  fierce  emo- 
tions. 

Irjreruas  didiciffe  fideliterartes 

Emollit  mores,  nee  finit  effeferos*. 

The  elevated  fentiments  and  high  exam- 
pics  which  poetry,  eloquence,  and  hiftory 
are  often  bringing  under  our  view,  natu- 
rally tend  to  nourifn  in  our  minds  public 
fpirit,  the  love  of  glory,  contempt  of  ex- 
ternal fortune,  and  the  admiration  of  what 
is  truly  illuilrious  and  great. 

I  will  not  go  fo  far  as  to  fay  that  the  im- 
provement of  tafte  and  of  virtue  is  the 
fame;  or  that  they  may  always  be  expect- 
ed to  co-exift  in  an  equal  degree.  More 
powerful  correctives  than  tafte  can  apply, 
are  neceftary  for  reforming  the  corrupt 
propenfities  which  too  frequently  prevail 
among  mankind.  Elegant  fpeculations 
are  fometimes  found  to  float  on  the  furface 
of  the  mind,  while  bad  paflions  poflefs  the 
interior  regions  of  the  heart.  At  the  fame 
time  this  cannot  but  be  admitted,  that  the 

*  Thefe  polilhM  arts  have  humaniz'd  mankind, 
Soften'dthe  rude,  audcalm'J  the  boift'rou:  mind. 


exercife  of  tafte  is,  in  its  native  tendency, 
moral  and  purifying.  From  reading  the 
moil  admired  productions  of  genius,  whe- 
ther in  poetry  or  profe,  almoft  every  one 
rifes  with  fome  good  impreffions  left  on 
his  mind ;  and  though  thefe  may  not  al- 
ways be  durable,  they  are  at  leaft  to  be 
ranked  among  the  means  of  difpofing  the 
heart  to  virtue.  One  thing  is  certain,  and 
I  fhall  hereafter  have  occafion  to  illuftrate 
it  more  fully,  that,  without  poflefiing  the 
virtuous  affections  in  a  ftrong  degree,  no 
man  can  attain  eminence  in  the  fublime 
parts  of  eloquence.  Me  muft  feel  what  a 
good  man  feels,  if  he  expects  greatly  to 
move  or  to  intereft  mankind.  They  are 
the  ardent  fentiments  of  honour,  virtue, 
magnanimity,  and  public  fpirit,  that  only 
can  kindle  that  fire  of  genius,  and  call  up 
into  the  mind  thofe  high  ideas,  which  at- 
tract the  admiration  of  ages;  and  if  this 
fpirit  be  neceftary  to  produce  the  moil  di-f- 
tinguiihed  efforts  of  eloquence,  it  muft  be 
neceftary  alfo  to  our  relifhing  them  with 
proper  tafte  and  feeling.  Ibid. 

§  4.  On  S  T  V  L  E. 
It  is  not  eafy  to  give  a  precife  idea  cf 
what  is  meant  by  Style.  The  beft  defini- 
tion I  can  give  of  it  is,  the  peculiar  man- 
ner in  which  a  man  exprefles  his  concep- 
tions, by  means  of  Language.  It  is  dif- 
ferent from  mere  Language  or  words. 
The  words,  which  an  author  employs,  may 
be  proper  and  faultlefs ;  and  his  Style  may, 
neverthelefs,  have  great  faults ;  it  may  be 
dry,  or  ftiff,  or  feeble,  or  aftecled.  Style 
has  always  fome  reference  to  an  author's 
manner  of  thinking.  It  is  a  picture  of  the 
ideas  which  rife  in  his  mind,  and  of  the 
manner  in  which  they  rife  there;  and 
hence,  when  we  are  examining  an  author's 
compofition,  it  is,  in  many  cafes,  extremely 
difficult  to  feparate  the  Style  from  the  fen- 
tlment.  No  wonder  thefe  two  fhould  be 
fo  intimately  connected,  as  Style  is  nothing 
elfe,  than  that  fort  of  expreflion  which  our 
thoughts  moll  readily  affume.  Hence,  dif- 
ferent countries  have  been  noted  for  pe- 
culiarities of  Style,  fuited  to  their  different 
temper  and  genius.  The  eaftern  nations 
animated  their  ftyle  with  the  moll  ftrong 
and  hyperbolical  figures.  The  Athenians, 
a  poliihea  and  acute  people,  formed  a 
Style,  accurate,  clear,  and  neat.  The  Afia- 
tics,  gay  and  lcofe  in  their  manners,  affect- 
ed a  Style  florid  and  diffufe.  The  like 
fort  of  characteriilical  differences  are  com- 
monly remarked  in  the  Style  of  the  French, 

the 


BOOK    II.      C  L  A  S  S  I  C  A 

the  Englifh,  and  the  Spaniards.  In  giv- 
ing the  general  characters  of"  Style,  is  is 
ufual  to  talk  of  a  nervous,  a  feeble,  or  a 
fpirited  Style;  which  are  plainly  the  cha- 
racters of  a  writer's  manner  of  thinking, 
as  well  as  of  expreffing  himfelf :  fo  diffi- 
cult it  is  to  feparate  theie  two  things  from 
one  another.  Of  the  general  characters 
of  Style,  I  am  afterwards  to  difcourfe  ;  but 
it  will  be  necelfary  to  begin  with  examin- 
ing the  more  fimple  qualities  of  it;  from 
the  affemblage  of  which  its  more  complex 
denominations,  in  a  great  meafure,  refu't. 
All  the  qualities  of  a  good  Style  may  be 
ranged  under  two  heads,  Perfpicuity  and 
Ornament.  For  all  that  can  poffibly  be 
required  of  Language  is,  to  convey  our 
ideas  clearly  to  the  minds  of  others,  and, 
at  the  fame  time,  in  fuch  a  drefs,  as,  by 
pleafing  and  interesting  them,  mail  moll 
effectually  Strengthen  the  impreffions  which 
we  feek  to  make.  When  both  thefe  ends 
a  re  anfwered,  we  certainly  accomplilh  every 
purpofe  for  which  we  ufe  Writing  and  Dif- 
courfe. Blair. 

§  5.     On  Perspicuity. 

Perfpicuity,  it  will  be  readily  admitted, 
is  the  fundamental  quality  of  Style*;  a 
quality  fo  eSTential  in  every  kind  of  writ- 
ing, that  for  the  want  of  it  nothing  can 
atone.  Without  this,  the  richeft  ornaments 
of  Style  only  glimmer  through  the  dark; 
and  puzzle,  inltead  of  pleafing,  the  reader. 
This,  therefore,  muff,  be  our  firit  objeft,  to 
make  our  meaning  clearly  and  fully  under- 
stood, and  understood  without  the  leail  dif- 
ficulty. "  Oratio,"  fays  Quin&ilian,  "  de- 
"  bet  negligenter  quoque  audientibus  efle 
"  aperta;  ut  in  animum  audientis,  iicut 
"  fol  in  oculos,  etiamfi  in  eum  non  inten- 
"  datur,  occurrat.  Quare,  non  folum  ut 
"  intelligere  pofht,  fed  ne  omnino  poflit 
"  non  intelligere,  curandum  f ."  If  we 
are  obliged  to  follow  a  writer  with  much 
care,  to  paufe,  and  to  read  over  his  fen- 
tences  a  Second  time,  in  order  to  compre- 
hend them  fully,  he  will  never  pleafe  us 

*  "  Nobis  prima  fit  virtus,  perfpicuitas,  pro- 
*'  pria  verba,  rectus  ordo,  non  in  longum  dilata 
"  conclufio  ;  nihil  neque  dent,  11  e  que  fuperfl  wat." 
Qu  iNTc  T'l  l.  lib.  viiii 

•f-  "  Difcourfe  ought  always  to  be  obvious,  even 
"  to  the  moft  carelefs  and  negligent  hearer;  <o 
"  that  the  fenfe  (hall  Strike  his  mind,  as  the  light 
"  of  the  fun  does  otar  eyes,  though  they  are  not 
**  directed  upwards  to  it.  We  imift  ftudy,  not 
"  only  that  every  hearer  may  understand  us,  but 
"  that  it  fhali  be  impoffible  for  him  not  to  unUer- 
u  Hand  us." 


L     AND     HISTORICAL.        3S9 

long.  Mankind  are  too  indolent  to  reliih. 
i'o  much  labour.  They  may  pretend  to 
admire  the  author's  depth  after  they  have 
diicovered  his  meaning;  but  they  will  fel- 
dom  be  inclined  to  take  up  his  work  a  fe- 
cond time. 

Authors  fometimes  plead  the  difficulty 
of  their  Subject,  as  an  excufe  for  the  want 
of  Perfpicuity.  But  the  excufe  can  rarely, 
if  ever,  be  admitted.  Forwhatever  a  man 
conceives  clearly,  that  it  is  in  his  power, 
if  he  will  be  at  the  trouble,  to  put  into  diS- 
tindt  propositions,  or  to  exprefs  clearly  to 
others:  and  upon  no  fubjedt  ought  any 
man  to  write,  where  he  cannot  think  clear- 
lv.  His  ideas,  indeed,  may,  very  excufa- 
bly,  be  on  fome  Subjedts  incomplete  or  ina- 
dequate ;  but  flill,  as  far  as  they  go,  they 
ought  to  be  clear  ;  and,  wherever  this  is 
the  cafe,  Perfpicuity  in  expreffing  them  is 
always  attainable.  The  obfeurity  which 
reigns  fb  much  among  many  metaphyseal 
writers,  is,  for  the  moll  part,  owing  to  the 
indiltinclnefs  of  their  own  conceptions. 
They  fee  the  object  but  in  a  confufed  light ; 
and,  of  courfe,  can  never  exhibit  it  in  a 
clear  one  to  others. 

Perfpicuity  in  writing,  is  not  to  be  con- 
sidered as  merely  a  fort  of  negative  virtue, 
or  freedom  from  defecL  It  has  higher 
merit:  it  is  a  degree  of  pofitive  beauty. 
We  are  pleafed  with  an  author,  we  confi- 
der  him  as  deferving  praife,  who  frees  us 
from  all  fatigue  of  Searching  for  his  mean- 
ing ;  who  carries  us  through  his  fubjecl: 
without  any  embarraSTment  or  confufion  ; 
whofe  ftyle  Slows  always  like  a  limpid 
flream,  where  we  See  to  the  very  bottom. 

Ibid. 

§  6.  On  Purity  and  Propriety. 
Purity  and  Propriety  of  Language,  are 
•  often  uied  indilcriminately  for  each  other; 
and,  indeed,  they  are  very  nearly  allied. 
A  diitinction,  however,  obtains  between 
them.  Purity,  is  the  ufe  of  fuch  words, 
and  fuch  constructions,  as  belong  to  the 
idiom  of  the  Language  which  we  fpeak  ; 
in  oppofition  to  words  and  phrafes  that  are 
imported  from  other  Languages,  or  that  are 
obiblete,  or  new-coined,  or  ufed  without 
proper  authority.  Propriety  is  the  fe'.ec- 
tion  of  fuch  words  in  the  Language,  as 
the  bell  and  molt  eitablifhed  ufagft  has  ap- 
propriated to  thofe  ideas  which  we  intend 
to  exprefs  by  them.  It  implies  the  cor- 
rect and  happy  application  of  them,  ac- 
cording to  that  ufage,  in  oppofition  to  vul- 
garifms,  or  low  expreffions ;  and  to  words 
C  c  3  and 


39° 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


and  phrafes,  which  would  be  lefs  fignifi- 
cant  of  the  ideas  that  we  mean  to  convey. 
Style  may  be  pure,  that  is,  it  may  all  be 
ftri&ly  Englifh,  without  Scotticifms  or 
Gallicifms,  or  ungrammatical,  irregular 
expreffions  of  any  kind,  and  may,  never- 
thelefs,  be  deficient  in  propriety.  The 
words  may  be  ill-chofen  ;  not  adapted  to 
the  fubjedt,  nor  fully  expreffive  of  the 
author's  fenfe.  He  has  taken  all  his 
words  and  phrafes  from  the  general  mafs 
of  Englifh  Language;  but  he  has  made 
his  feleftion  among  thefe  words  unhappily. 
Whereas  Style  cannot  be  proper  without 
being  alfo  pure;  and  where  both  Purity 
and  Propriety  meet,  befides  making  Style 
perfpicuous,  they  alfo  render  it  graceful. 
There  is  no  flandard,  either  of  Purity  or 
of  Propriety,  but  the  practice  of  the  belt 
writers  and  fpeakers  in  the  country. 

When  I  mentioned  obfolete  or  new- 
coined  words  as  incongruous  with  Purity 
of  Style,  it  will  be  eafily  underilood,  that 
fome  exceptions  are  to  be  made.  On 
certain  occafions,  they  may  have  grace. 
Poetry  admits  of  greater  latitude  than 
profe,  with  refpedt  to  coining,  or,  at  leafl, 
new-compounding  words ;  yet,  even  here, 
this  liberty  fhould  be  ufed  with  a  fparing 
hand.  In  profe,  fuch  innovations  are 
more  hazardous,  and  have  a  worfe  effecL 
They  are  apt  to  give  Style  an  affected 
and  conceited  air ;  and  fhould  never  be 
ventured  upon  except  by  fuch,  whofe  ef- 
tablilhed  reputation  gives  them  fome  de- 
gree of  dictatorial  power  over  Language. 
The  introduction  of  foreign  and  learned 
words,  unlefs  where  neceffity  requires 
them,  fhould  always  be  avoided.  Bar- 
ren Languages  may  need  fuch  afiiflances; 
but  ours  is  not  one  of  thefe.  Dean  Swift, 
one  of  our  moll  correct  writers,  valued 
himfelf  much  on  ufmg  no  words  but  fuch 
as  were  of  native  growth :  and  his  Lan- 
guage, may,  indeed,  be  confidered  as  a 
itandard  of  the  flricleit  Purity  and  Pro- 
priety in  the  choice  of  words.  At  pre- 
sent, we  feem  to  be  departing  from  this 
ftandard.  A  multitude  of  Latin  words 
have,  of  late,  been  poured  in  upon  us. 
On  fome  occafions,  they  give  an  appear- 
ance of  elevation  and  dignity  to  Style. 
But  often,  alfo,  they  render  it  ftiif  and 
forced:  and,  in  general,  a  plain  native 
Style,  as  it  is  more  intelligible  to  all  read- 
ers, fo,  by  a  proper  management  of  words, 
it  may  be  made  equally  ftrong  and  expref- 
five with  this  Latinized  Englifh.     Blair. 


§  7.     On  Precision. 

The  exact  import  of  Precifion  may  be 
drawn  from  the  etymology  of  the  word. 
It  comes  from  "  precidere,"  to  cut  off: 
it  imports  retrenching  all  fuperfluities,  and 
pruning  the  expreffion  fo,  as  to  exhibit 
neither  more  nor  lefs  than  an  exa<t  copy 
of  his  idea  who  ufes  it.  I  obferved  before, 
that  it  is  often  difficult  to  feparate  the  qua- 
lities ofStylefrom  the  qualities  of  Thought; 
and  it  is  found  fo  in  this  inftance.  For  in 
order  to  write  with  Precifion,  though  this 
be  properly  a  quality  of  Style,  one  mult 
poflefs  a  very  confiderable  degree  of  dif- 
tinctnefs  and  accuracy  in  his  mannner  of 
thinking. 

The  words,  which  a  man  ufes  to  exprefs 
his  ideas,  may  be  faulty  in  three  refpe&s : 
They  may  either  not  exprefs  that  idea 
which  the  author  intends,  but  fome  other 
which  only  refembles,  or  is  a-kin  to  it;  or, 
they  may  exprefs  that  idea,  but  not  quite 
fully  and  completely  ;  or,  they  may  ex- 
prefs it  together  with  fomething  more  than 
he  intends.  Precifion  ftands  oppofed  to 
all  thefe  three  faults ;  but  chiefly  to  the 
laft.  In  an  author's  writing  with  pro- 
priety, his  being  free  from  the  two  for- 
mer faults  feems  implied.  The  words 
which  he  ufes  are  proper;  that  is,  they 
exprefs  that,  idea  which  he  intends,  and 
they  exprefs  it  fully;  but  to  be  Precife, 
fignifies,  that  they  exprefs  that  idea,  and 
no  more.  There  is  nothing  in  his  words 
which  introduces  any  foreign  idea,  any  fu- 
perfluous,  unfeafonable  acceffory,  fo  as 
to  mix  it  confufedly  with  the  principal  ob- 
ject, and  thereby  to  render  our  concep- 
tion of  that  object  loofe  and  indiftincT:. 
This  requires  a  writer  to  have,  himfelf,  a 
very  clear  apprehenfion  of  the  objedl  he 
means  to  prefent  to  us ;  to  have  laid  faft 
hold  of  it  in  his  mind ;  and  never  to  wa- 
ver in  any  one  view  he  takes  of  it ;  a  per- 
fection to  which,  indeed,  few  writers  at- 
tain. Uid. 

§   8.     On  the  U/e  and  Importance  of 
Precision. 

The  ufe  and  importance  of  Precifion, 
may  be  deduced  from  the  nature  of  the 
human  mind.  It  never  can  view,  clearly 
and  diflin&ly,  above  one  object  at  a  time. 
If  it  mult  look  at  two  or  three  together, 
efpecially  objects  among  which  there  is  re- 
femblance  or  connexion,  it  finds  itfelf 
confufed    and    embarraffed.      It    cannot 

clearly 


BOOK    II.    CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


391 


clearly  perceive  in  what  they  agree,  and 
in  what  they  differ.  Thus  were  any  ob- 
ject, fuppofe  fome  animal,  to  be  prefented 
to  me,  of  whofe  ftru&ure  I  wanted  to 
form  a  diftindt  notion,  I  would  defire  all 
its  trappings  to  be  taken  off,  I  would  re- 
quire it  to  be  brought  before  me  by  itfelf, 
and  to  Hand  alone,  that  there  might  be 
nothing  to  diftract  my  attention.  The 
fame  is  the  cafe  with  words.  If,  when 
you  would  inform  me  of  your  meaning, 
you  alfo  tell  me  more  than  what  conveys 
it;  if  you  join  foreign  circumilances  to  the 
principal  object;  if,  by  unneceffarily  va- 
rying the  expreffion,  you  lhift  the  point  of 
view,  and  make  me  fee  fometimes  the  ob- 
ject itfelf,  and  fometimes  another  thing 
that  is  connected  with  it;  you  thereby  ob- 
lige me  to  look  on  feveral  objects  at  once, 
and  I  lofe  fight  of  the  principal.  You 
load  the  animal  you  are  mowing  me  with 
fo  many  trappings  and  collars,  and  bring 
fo  many  of  the  fame  fpecies  before  me, 
fomewhat  refembling,  and  yet  fomewhat 
differing,  that  I  fee  none  of  them  clearly. 
This  forms  what  is  called  a  Loofe  Style: 
and  is  the  proper  oppofite  to  Precifion.  It 
generally  arifes  from  ufing  a  fuperfluity 
of  words.  Feeble  writers  employ  a  mul- 
titude of  words,  to  make  themfelves  un- 
deritood,  as  they  think,  more  diitindtly ; 
and  they  only  confound  the  reader.  They 
are  fenfible  of  not  having  caught  the 
precife  expreffion,  to  convey  what  they 
would  fignify;  they  do  not,  indeed,  con- 
ceive their  own  meaning  very  precifely 
themfelves ;  and,  therefore,  help  it  out, 
as  they  can,  by  this  and  the  other  word, 
which  may,  as  they  fuppofe,  fupply  the 
defect,  and  bring  you  fomewhat  nearer  to 
their  idea :  they  are  always  going  about 
it,  and  about  it,  but  never  jult  hit  the 
thing.  The  image,  as  they  fet  it  before 
you,  is  always  feen  double  ;  and  no  dou- 
ble image  is  diftinct.  When  an  author 
tells  me  of  his  hero's  courage  in  the  day 
of  battle,  the  expreffion  is  precife,  and  I 
underftand  it  fully.  But  if,  from  the  defire  of 
multiplying  words,  he  will  needs  praife  his 
courage  and fortitude ;  at  the  moment  he  joins 
thefe  words  together,  my  idea  begins  to  wa- 
ver. He  means  to  exprefs  one  quality  more 
ftrongly ;  but  he  is,  in  truth,  expreffing  two. 
Courage  refills  danger ;  fortitude  fupports 
pain.  The  occafion  of  exerting  each  of 
thefe  qualities  is  different ;  and  being  led 
to  think  of  both  together,  when  only  one 
of  them  fhould  be  in  my  view,  my  view 
is  rendered  unfteady,  and  my  conception  of 
the  object  indiftinct. 


From  what  I  have  faid,  it  appears  that 
an  author  may,  in  a  qualified  fenfe,  be 
perfpicuous,  while  yet  he  is  far  from  being 
precife.  He  ufes  proper  words,  and  pro- 
per arrangement :  he  gives  you  the  idea 
as  clear  as  he  conceives  it  himfelf ;  and  fo 
far  he  is  perfpicuous ;  but  the  ideas  are 
not  very  clear  in  his  own  mind  :  they  are 
loofe  and  general ;  and,  therefore,  cannot 
be  expreffed  with  Precifion.  All  fubjedts 
do  not  equally  require  Precifion.  It  is 
fufficient  on  many  occafions,  that  we 
have  a  general  view  of  the  meaning.  The 
fubjedt,  perhaps,  is  of  the  known  and  fa- 
miliar kind ;  and  we  are  in  no  hazard  of 
miilaking  the  fenfe  of  the  author,  though 
every  word  which  he  ufes  be  not  precife 
and  exact.  Blair. 

§   9.     The  Cavfes  of  a  Loofe  Style. 

The  great  fource  of  a  Loofe  Style,  in 
oppofition  to  Precifion,  is  the  injudicious 
ufe  of  thofe  words  termed  Synonymous. 
They  are  called  Synonymous,  becauie  they 
agree  in  expreffing  one  principal  idea:  but, 
for  the  molt  part,  if  not  always,  they  ex- 
prefs it  with  lome  diverfity  in  the  circum- 
fiances.  They  are  varied  by  fome  ac- 
ceffory  idea  which  every  word  intro- 
duces, and  which  forms  the  diltinction  be- 
tween them.  Hardly,  in  any  Language,  are 
there  two  words  that  convey  precifely  the 
fame  idea  ;  aperfon  thoroughly  converfant 
in  the  propriety  of  the  Language,  will  al- 
ways be  able  to  obferve  fomething  that 
dillinguilhes  them.  As  they  are  like  dif- 
ferent lhades  of  the  fame  colour,  an  ac- 
curate writer  can  employ  them  to  great 
advantage,  by  ufing  them  fo  as  to  heighten 
and  finilh  the  picture  which  he  gives  us. 
He  fup  plies  by  one,  what  was  wanting  in 
the  other,  to  the  force,  or  to  the  luftre  of 
the  image  which  he  means  to  exhibit. 
But  in  order  to  this  end,  he  mud  be  ex- 
tremely attentive  to  the  choice  which  he 
makes  of  them.  For  the  bulk  of  writers 
are  very  apt  to  confound  them  with  each 
other :  and  to  employ  them  carelefsly, 
merely  for  the  fake  of  filling  up  a  period, 
or  of  rounding  and  diverfifying  the  Lan- 
guage, as  if  the  fignification  were  exactly 
the  fame,  while,  in  truth,  it  is  not.  Hence 
a  certain  milt,  and  indiliinctnefs,  is  unwa- 
rily thrown  over  Style.  Ibid. 
§  io.   On  the  general  Characters  of  Style. 

That  different  fubjects  require  to  be 
treated  of  in  different  forts  of  Style,  is  a 
pofition  fo  obvious,  that  I  lhall  not  ftay  to 
illuitrate  it.  Every  one  fees  that  Treatifes 
of  Philofophy,  for  inltance,  ought  not  to 
C  c  4.  be 


392 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


be  compofed  in  the  fame  Style  with  Ora- 
tions. Every  one  fees  alfo,  that  different 
parts  of  the  fame  compofuion  require  a  va- 
riation in  the  Style  and  manner.  In  a  fer- 
mon,  for  inftance,  or  any  harangue,  the 
application  or  peroration  admits  of  more 
ornament,  and  requires  more  warmth, 
than  the  didactic  part.  But  what  I  mean 
at  prefent  to  remark  is,  that,  amidfr.  this 
variety,  weftill  expect  to  find,  in  the  com- 
positions of  any  one  man,  fome  degree  of 
uniformity  or  confiftency  with  himfelf  in 
manner;  we  expect  to  find  fome  predo- 
minant character  of  Style  impreffed  on  all 
his  writings  which  fhall  be  fuited  to,  and 
fhall  mark,  his  particular  genius,  and  turn 
of  mind.  The  orations  in  Livy  differ  much 
in  Style,  as  they  ought  to  do,  from  the  reft 
of  his  hiftory.  The  fame  is  the  cafe  with 
thofe  in  Tacitus.  Yet  both  in  Livy's  ora- 
tions, and  in  thole  of  Tacitus,  we  are  able 
clearly  to  trace  the  diftinguifhing  manner  of 
each  hillorian  :  the  magnificent  fulnefs  of 
the  one,  and  the  fententious  concifenefs  of 
the  other.  The  "  Lettres  Perfanes," 
and  "  L'Efprit  de  Loi.v,"  are  the  works 
of  the  fame  author.  They  required  very 
different  compofition  furely,  and  accord- 
ingly they  differ  widely  ;  yet  flill  we  fee 
the  fame  hand.  Wherever  there  is  real 
and  native  genius,  it  gives  a  determina- 
tion to  one  kind  of  Style  rather  than  ano- 
ther. Where  nothing  of  this  appears ; 
where  there  is  no  marked  nor  peculiar  cha- 
i  after  in  the  compositions  of  any  author, 
we  are  apt  to  infer,  not  without  rea- 
fon,  that  he  is  a  vulgar  and  trivial  author, 
who  writes  from  imitation,  and  not  from 
the  impulf;  of  original  genius.  As  tire 
moil  celebrated  painters  are  known  by 
their  hand,  fo  the  beft  and  moft:  origi- 
nal writers  are  known  and  diftinguifhed, 
throughout  all  their  works,  by  their  Style 
and  peculiar  manner.  This  will  be  found  to 
hold  almoit  without  exception.         Blair. 

§    ii.   On  the  Aujiere,  the  Florid,  and  the 

Middle  Style. 

The  ancient  Critics  attended  to  thefe 
general  characters  of  Style  which  we  are 
now  to  con  fide  r.     Dionyiius  of  Halicar- 
naffus  divides  them  into  three  kinds ;  and 
calls   them  the    Auftere,  the   Florid,  and 
the  Middle.     Ey  the  Auftere,  he  means  a 
Style  diftinguifhed  for  ftrength  and  firm- 
nefs,  with  a  neglect  of  fmoothnefs  and  or- 
nament;  for  examples  of  which,  he  gives 
Finder  and  yEfchylus    among  the  Poets, 
and  Thucydides  among  the  Profe  writers. 
By  the  Florid,  he  means,  as  the  name  in- 


dicates, a  Style  ornamented,  flowing,  and 
fwcet ;  refting  more  upon  numbers  and 
grace,  than  ftrength  ;  he  inftances  Hefiod, 
Sappho,  Anacreon,  Euripides,  and  princi- 
pally liberates.  The  Middle  kind  is  the 
juft  mean  between  thefe,  and  comprehends 
the  beauties  of  both  ;  in  which  clafs  he 
places  Homer  and  Sophocles  among  the 
Poets :  in  Profe,  Herodotus,  Demolthenes, 
Plato,  and  (what  feems  ltrange)  Ariftotle. 
This  muft  be  a  very  wide  clafs  indeed, 
which  comprehends  Plato  and  Ariftotle 
under  one  article  as  to  Style*.  Cicero 
and  Quinctilian  make  alfo  a  threefold  di- 
vifion  of  Style,  though  with  refpecl  to  dif- 
ferent qualities  of  it;  in  which  they  are 
followed  by  moft:  of  the  modern  writers 
on  Rhetoric  ;  the  Simplex,  Tenue,  or  Sub- 
tile ;  the  Grave,  or  Vehement ;  and  the 
Medium,  or  temper atum  genus  dicendi.  But 
thefe  divisions,  and  the  illuflrations  they 
give  of  them,  are  fo  loofe  and  general, 
that  they  cannot  advance  us  much  in  our 
ideas  of  Style.  I  fhall  endeavour  to  be  a 
little  more  particular  in  what  I  have  to 
fay  on  this  fubject.  Ibid. 

§   12.    0.7  the  Concife  Style. 

One  of  the  firft  and  moft  obvious  dis- 
tinctions of  the  different  kinds  of  Style,  is 
what  arifes  from  an  author's  fpreading  out 
his  thoughts  more  or  lefs.  This  diftinction 
forms  what  are  called  the  Diffufe  and  the 
Concife  Styles.  A  concife  writer  com- 
preft'es  his  thought  into  the  feweft  poftible 
words ;  he  feeks  to  employ  none  but  fuch 
as  are  moft  exprefiive ;  he  lops  off,  as  re- 
dundant, every  expreftion  which  does  not 
add  fomething  material  to  the  fenfe.  Or- 
nament he  does  not  reject;  he  may  be 
lively  and  figured  ;  but  his  ornament  is 
intended  for  the  fake  of  force  rather  than 
grace.  He  never  gives  you  the  fame 
thought  twice.  He  places  it  in  the  light 
which  appears  to  him  the  moft  ftriking  ; 
but  if  you  do  not  apprehend  it  well  in  that 
light,  you  need  not  expect  to  find  it  in  any 
other.  His  fentences  are  arranged  with 
compactnefs  and  ftrength,  rather  than  with 
cadence  and  harmony.  The  utmoft  pre- 
ciiion  is  ftudied  in  them;  and  they  are 
commonly  defigned  to  fuggeftmore  to  the 
reader's  imagination  than  they  directly 
txprefs.  Ibid. 

%    13.      On  the  Diffufe  STYLE. 

A  diffufe  writer    unfolds  his    thought 
fully.     He  places  it  in  a  variety  of  lights, 
*  De  Ccnipofitione  Yerboium,  Cap.  25. 

ar.d 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


393 


and  gives  the  reader  every  poflible  aflift- 
ance  for  underftanding  it  completely.  He 
is  not  very  careful  to  exprefs  it  at  firft  in 
its  full  ftrength,  becaufe  he  is  to  repeat 
the  impreflion ;  and  what  he  wants  in 
ftrength,  he  propofes  to  fupply  by  copi- 
oufnefs.  Writers  of  this  character  gene- 
rally love  magnificence  and  amplification. 
Their  periods  naturally  run  out  into  fome 
length,  and  having  room  for  ornament  of 
everv  kind,  they  admit  it  freely. 

Each  of  thefe  manners  has  its  peculiar 
advantages;  and  each  becomes  faulty 
when  carried  to  the  extreme.  The  ex- 
treme of  concifenefs  becomes  abrupt  and 
cbfcure;  it  is  apt  alfo  to  lead  into  a  Style 
too  pointed,  and  bordering  on  the  epi- 
grammatic. The  extreme  of  difrufenefs 
becomes  weak  and  languid,  and  tires  the 
reader.  However,  to  one  or  other  of  thefe 
two  manners  a  writer  may  lean,  according 
as  his  genius  prompts  him  :  and  under  the 
general  character  of  a  concife,  or  of  a 
more  open  and  diffufe  Style,  may  poiTefs 
much  beauty  in  his  compofition. 

For  illuft rations  of  thefe  general  cha- 
racters, I  can  only  refer  to  the  writers 
who  are  examples  of  them.  It  is  not  fo 
much  from  detached  paflages,  fuch  as  I 
was  wont  formerly  to  quote  for  inftances, 
as  from  the  current  of  an  author's  Style, 
that  we  are  to  collect  the  idea  of  a  formed 
manner  of  writing.  The  two  moft  re- 
markable examples  that  I  know,  of  con- 
cifenefs carried  as  far  as  propriety  will  al- 
low, perhaps  in  fome  cafes  farther,  are 
Tacitus  the  Hiftorian,  and  the  Prefident 
Montefquieu  in  "  L'Efprit  de  Loix." 
Ariitotle  too  holds  an  eminent  rank  among 
didactic  writers  for  his  brevity.  Perhaps 
no  writer  in  the  world  was  eyer  fo  frugal 
of  his  words  as  Ariitotle  ;  but  this  fruga- 
lity of  expreffion  frequently  darkens  his 
meaning.  Of  a  beautiful  and  magnificent 
diftufenefs,  Cicero  is,  beyond  doubt,  the 
moft  illuftrious  inftance  that  can  be  given. 
Addifon,  alio,  and  Sir  William  Temple, 
come  in  fome  degree  under  this  clafs. 

Blair. 

§    14.    On  the  Nervous  and  the  Feeble 
Style. 

The  Nervous  and  the  Feeble,  are  gene- 
rally held  to  be  characters  of  Style,  of  the 
lame  import  with  the  Concife  and  the  Dif- 
fufe. They  do  indeed  very  often  coincide. 
Diffufe  writers  have,  for  the  moft  part, 
fome  degree  of  feeblenefs ;  and  nervous 
writers  will  generally  be  inclined  to  a  con- 


cife expreffion.  This,  however,  does  not 
always  hold  ;  and  there  are  inftances  of 
writers,  who,  in  the  midft  of  a  full  and 
ample  Style,  have  maintained  a  great  de- 
gree of  ftrength.  Livy  is  an  example ; 
and  in  the  Englifh  language,  Dr.  Barrow. 
Barrow's  Style  has  many  faults.  It  is  un- 
equal, incorrect,  and  redundant;  but  with- 
al, for  force  and  expreffivenefs  uncommon- 
ly diftinguiihed.  On  every  fubject,  he 
multiplies  words  with  an  overflowing  co- 
pioufnefs ;  but  it  is  always  a  torrent  of 
ftrong  ideas  and  Significant  expreftions 
which  he  pours  forth.  Indeed,  the  founda- 
tions of  a  nervous  or  a  weak  Style  are  laid 
in  an  author's  manner  of  thinking.  If  he 
conceives  an  obiect  ftrongly,  he  will  ex- 
prefs it  with  energy  :  but,  if  he  has  only 
an  indiftindt  view  cf  his  fubject  ;  if  his 
ideas  be  loofe  and  wavering  ;  if  his  genius 
be  fuch,  or,  at  the  time  of  his  writing,  fo 
carelefsly  exerted,  that  he  has  no  firm  hold 
of  the  conception  which  he  would  commu- 
nicate to  us;  the  marks  of  all  this  will 
clearly  appear  in  his  Style.  Several  un- 
meaning words  and  lcofe  epithets  will  be 
found;  his  expreilions  will  be  vague  and 
general ;  his  arrangement  indiftinct  and 
feeble;  we  fhall  conceive  fomewhat  of  his 
meaning,  but  our  conception  will  be  faint. 
Whereas  a  nervous  writer,  whether  heen> 
ploys  an  extended  or  a  concife  Style,  pives 
us  always  a  ftrong  impreflion  of  his  mean- 
ing; his  mind  is  full  of  his  fubject,  and  his 
words  are  all  expreilive  :  every  phrafe  and 
every  figure  which  he  ufes,  tends  to  render 
the  picture,  which  he  would  let  before  us, 
more  lively  and  complete.  Ibid. 

§    15.   0«  Harpnefs  c/Stvle. 

As  every  good  quality  in  Style  has  au 
extreme,  when  purfued  to  which  it  be- 
comes faulty,  this  holds  of  the  Nervous 
Style  as  well  as  others.  Too  great  a  ftudy 
of  ftrength,  to  the  neglect  of  the  other 
qualities  of  Style,  is  found  to  betray 
writers  into  a  harfn  manner.  Harfhneis 
arifes  from  unufual  words,  from  forced  in- 
versions in  the  conftruclion  of  a  fentence, 
and  too  much  neglect  of  fmoothnefs  and 
eafe.  This  is  reckoned  the  fault  of  fome 
of  our  earlieft  claflics  in  the  Englifh  Lan- 
guage ;  fuch  as  Sir  Water  Raleigh,  Sir 
Francis  Bacon,  Hooker,  Chillingworth, 
Milton  in  his  profe  works,  Harrington, 
Cudworth,  and  other  writers  of  confider- 
able  note  in  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
James  I.  and  Charles  I.  Thefe  writers 
had  nerves  and  ftrength  in  a  high  degree, 

and 


394 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


and  are  to  this  day  eminent  for  that  quality 
in  Style.  But  the  language  in  their  hands 
was  exceedingly  different  from  what  it  is 
row,  and  was  indeed  entirely  formed  upon 
the  idiom  and  conftruction  of  the  Latin,  in 
the  arrangement  of  fentences.  Hooker, 
for  inftance,  begins  the  Preface  to  his  ce- 
lebrated work  of  Ecclefiaftical  Polity  with 
the  following  fentence  :  "  Though  for  no 
««  other  caule,  yet  for  this,  that  pofterity 
'«  may  know  we  have  not  loofely,  through 
*'  filence,  permitted  things  to  pafs  away  as 
«*  in  dream,  there  fhall  be,  for  men's  in- 
*•  formation,  extant  this  much,  concerning 
"  the  prefent  ftate  of  the  church  of  God 
"  eftablifhed  amongft  us,  and  their  careful 
**  endeavours  which  would  have  upheld  the 
*'  fame."  Such  a  fentence  now  founds 
harfh  in  in  our  ears.  Yet  fome  advantages 
certainly  attended  this  fort  of  Style  ;  and 
whether  we  have  gained,  or  loft,  upon  the 
whole,  by  departing  from  it,  may  bear  a 
queftion.  By  the  freedom  of  arrangement, 
which  it  permitted,  it  rendered  the  lan- 
guage fufceptible  of  more  flrength,  of 
more  variety  of  collocation,  and  more  har- 
mony of  period.  But  however  this  be, 
fuch  a  Style  is  now  obiblete  ;  and  no  mo- 
dern writer  could  adopt  it  without  the  cen- 
iure  of  harfhnefs  and  affcdtation.  The 
prefent  form  which  the  Language  has  af- 
iumed,  has,  in  fome  meafure,  facrificed 
the  ftudy  of  flrength  to  that  of  perfpicuity 
and  eafe.  Our  arrangement  of  wordshas 
become  lefs  forcible,  perhaps,  but  more 
plain  and  natural :  and  this  is  now  under- 
ftood  to  be  the  genius  of  our  Language. 

Blair. 

§   1 6.  On  the  Dry  Style. 

The  dry  manner  excludes  all  ornament 
cf  every  kind.  Content  with  being  un- 
derffood,  it  has  not  the  leaft  aim  to  pleafe 
either  the  fancy  or  the  ear.  This  is  to- 
lerable only  in  pure  didactic  writing ;  and 
even  there,  to  make  us  bear  it,  great 
weight  and  folidity  of  matter  is  requifite  ; 
and  entire  perfpicuity  of  language.  Arif- 
totle  is  the  complete  example  of  a  Dry 
Style.  Never,  perhaps,  was  there  any  au- 
thor who  adhered  fo  rigidly  to  theitrict- 
nefs  of  a  didactic  manner,  throughout  all 
his  writings,and  conveyed  {o  much  inilruc- 
tion,  without  the  leaft  approach  to  orna- 
ment. With  the  moft  profound  genius, 
and  extenfive  views,  he  writes  like  a  pure 
intelligence,  who  addrefles  himfelf  folely 
to  the  underllanding,  without  making  any 
ufe  of  the  channel  of  the  imagination.   But 


this  is  a  manner  which  deferves  not  to  be 
imitated.  For,  although  the  goodnefs  of 
the  matter  may  compenfate  the  drynefs  or 
harfhnefs  of  the  Style,  yet  is  that  drynefs 
a  confiderable  defect ;  as  it  fatigues  atten- 
tion, and  conveys  our  fentiments,  with  dis- 
advantage, to  the  reader  or  hearer. 

Ibid, 

§    17.   On  the  Plain  Style. 

A  Plain  Style  rifes  one  degree  above  a 
dry  one.  A  writer  of  this  character  em- 
ploys very  little  ornament  of  any  kind, 
and  refts  almoft  entirely  upon  his  fenfe. 
But,  if  he  is  at  no  pains  to  engage  us  by 
the  employment  of  figures,  mufical  ar- 
rangement, or  any  other  art  of  writing,  he 
ftudies,  however,  to  avoid  difgufling  us, 
like  a  dry  and  a  harfh  writer.  Befides 
Perfpicuity,  he  purfues  Propriety,  Purity, 
and  Precifion,  in  his  language;  which  form 
one  degree,  and  no  inconfiderable  one,  of 
beauty.  Livelinefs  too,  and  force,  may  be 
confident  with  a  very  Plain  Style:  and, 
therefore,  fuch  an  author,  if  his  fentiments 
be  good,  may  be  abundantly  agreeable. 
The  difference  between  a  dry  and  plain 
writer,  is,  that  the  former  is  incapable  of 
ornament,  and  feems  not  to  know  what  it 
is ;  the  latter  feeks  not  after  it.  He  gives 
us  his  meaning,  in  good  language,  diftinct 
and  pure  ;  any  further  ornament  he  gives 
himfelf  no  trouble  about ;  either,  becaufe 
he  thinks  it  unnecefTary  to  his  fubject ;  or, 
becaufe  his  genius  does  not  lead  him  to  de- 
light in  it ;  or,  becaufe  it  leads  him  to  de- 
fpife  it  *. 

This  laft  was  the  cafe  with  Dean  Swift, 
who  may  be  placed  at  the  head  of  thofe 
that  have  employed  the  Plain  Style.  Few 
writers  have  difcovered  more  capacity. 
He  treats  every  fubject  which  he  handles, 
whether  ferious  or  ludicrous,  in  a  mafterly 
manner.  He  knew,  almoft  beyond  any 
man,  the  Purity,  the  Extent,  the  Precifion 
of  the  Englifh  Language;  and,  therefore, 
to  fuch  as  wifh  to  attain  a  pure  and  cor- 
rect Style,  he  is  one  of  the  moft  ufeful 
models.  But  we  muft  not  look  for  much 
ornament   and  grace   in    his    Language. 

*  On  this  head,  of  the  General  Chara&ers  of 
Style,  particularly  the  Plain  and  the  Simple,  and 
the  characters  of  thofe  Englifh  authors  who  are 
claffed  under  them, in  this,  and  the  following  Lec- 
tures [xix]  feveral  ideas  have  been  taken  from  a 
nranufcript  treatife  on  rhetoric,  part  of  which  was 
ftaewn  to  me  many  years  ago,  by  the  learned  and 
ingenious  Author,  Dr.  Adam  Smith,  and  which, 
it  is  hoped,  will  be  given  by  him  to  the  Public. 

His 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


His  haughty  and  morofe  genius  made  him 
defpife  any  embellifhment  of  this  kind,  as 
beneath  his  dignity.  He  delivers  his  fen- 
timents  in  a  plain,  downright,  pofitive 
manner,  like  one  who  is  fure  he  is  in  the 
right ;  and  is  very  indifferent  whether  you 
be  pleafed  or  not.  His  fentences  are  com- 
monly negligently  arranged;  diiiinclly 
enough  as  to  the  fenfe,  but  without  any 
regard  to  fmoothnefs  of  found;  often  with- 
out much  regard  to  compactnefs  or  ele- 
gance. If  a  metaphor,  or  any  other  figure, 
chanced  to  render  his  fatire  morepoignant, 
he  would,  perhaps,  vouchfafe  to  adopt  it, 
when  it  came  in  his  way;  but  if  it  tended 
only  to  embellifh  and  illuftrate,  he  would 
rather  throw  it  afide.  Hence,  in  his  fe- 
rious  pieces,  his  llyle  often  borders  upon 
the  dry  and  unpleafmg;  in  his  humorous 
ones,  the  plainnefs-  of  his  manner  fets  off 
his  wit  to  the  highefl  advantage.  There 
is  no  froth  nor  affectation  in  it;  it  feems 
native  and  unfludied ;  and  while  he  hardly 
appears  to  fmile  himfelf,  he  makes  his 
reader  laugh  heartily.  To  a  writer  of  fuch 
a  genius  as  Dean  Swift,  the  Plain  Style 
was  moll  admirably  fitted.  Among  our 
philofophical  writers,  Mr.  Locke  comes 
under  this  clafs;  perfpicuous  and  pure,  but 
almoft  without  any  ornament  whatever. 
In  works  which  admit,  or  require,  ever  fo 
much  ornament,  there  are  parts  where  the 
plain  manner  ought  to  predominate.  But 
we  muft  remember,  that  when  this  is  the 
character  which  a  writer  affects  throughout 
his  whole  composition,  great  weight  of 
matter,  and  great  force  of  fentiment,  are 
required,  in  order  to  keep  up  the  reader's 
attention,  and  prevent  him  from  becoming 
tired  of  the  author.  Blair. 

§    18.     On  the  Neat  Style. 

What  is  called  a  Neat  Style  comes  next 
in  order;  and  here  we  are  got  into  the 
region  of  ornament;  but  that  ornament 
not  of  the  highefl  or  molt  iparkling  kind. 
A  writer  of  this  character  fhews,  that  he 
does  not  defpife  the  beauty  of  language. 
It  is  an  objecl  of  his  attention.  But  his 
attention  is  fhewn  in  the  choice  of  his 
words,  and  in  a  graceful  collocation  of 
them;  rather  than  in  any  high  efforts  of 
imagination,  or  eloquence.  His  fentences 
are  always  clean,  and  free  from  the  in- 
cumbrance of  fuperfluous  words ;  of  a  mo- 
derate length;  rather  inclining  to  brevity, 
than  a  fuelling  ftrudture;  clofing  with  pro- 
priety; without  any  tails,  or  adjeclions 
dragging  after    the    proper  clofe.    His 


395 

cadence  is  varied ;  but  not  of  the  fludied 
mufical  kind.  His  figures,  if  he  ufes  any, 
are  fhort  and  correct;  rather  than  bold 
and  glowing.  Such  a  Style  as  this  may 
be  attained  by  a  writer  who  has  no  great 
powers  of  fancy  or  genius,  by  induftry 
merely,  and  careful  attention  to  the  rules 
of  writing ;  and  it  is  a  Style  always  agree- 
able. It  imprints  a  character  of  moderate 
elevation  on  our  compoiition,  and  carries  a 
decent  degree  of  ornament,  which  is  not 
unfukable.  to  any  fubject  whatever.  A 
familiar  letter,  or  a  law  paper,  on  the  drieir. 
fubjeft,  may  be  written  with  neatnefs;  and 
a  fermon,  or  a  philofophical  treatife,  in  a 
Neat  Style,  will  be  read  with  pleafure. 

Ibid. 

§   19.     On  an  Elegant  Style. 

An  Elegant  Style  is  a  character,  exprcf- 
fing  a  higher  degree  of  ornament  than  a 
neat  one  ;  and,  indeed,  is  the  term  ufually 
applied  to  Style,  when  poffeffing  all  the 
virtues  of  ornament,  without  any  of  its  ex- 
ceffes  or  defects.  From  what  has  been 
formerly  delivered,  it  will  eafily  be  under- 
flood,  that  complete  Elegance  implies  great 
perfpicuity  and  propriety;  purity  in  the 
choice  of  words,  and  care  and  dexterity  in 
their  harmonious  and  happy  arrangement. 
It  implies  farther,  the  grace  and  beauty  of 
imagination  fpread  over  Style,  as  far  as  the 
fubject  admits  it;  and  all  the  illustration 
which  figurative  language  adds,  when  pro- 
perly employed.  In  a  word,  an  elegant 
writer  is  one  who  pleafcs  the  fancy  and 
the  ear,  while  he  informs  the  underftand- 
ing$  and  who  gives  us  his  ideas  clothed 
with  all  the  beauty  of  jexpreffion,  but  not 
overcharged  with  any  of  its  mifplaced 
finery,  in  this  clafs,  therefore,  we  place 
only  the  firft  rate  writers  in  the  language; 
fuch  as  Addifon,  Dryden,  Pope,  Temple, 
Bolingbioke,  Atterbury,  and  a  few  more  ; 
writers  who  differ  widely  from  one  another 
in  many  of  the  attributes  of  Style,  but 
whom  we  now  clafs  together,  under  the 
denomination  of  Elegant,  as,  in  the  fcale 
of  Ornament,  poffeffing  nearly  the  fame 
place.  Ibid. 

§   20.     On  the  Florid  Style. 

When  the  ornaments,  applied  to  Style, 
are  too  rich  and  gaudy  in  proportion  to 
the  fubjecl: ;  when  they  return  upon  us  too 
fall,  and  ftrike  us  either  with  a  dazzling 
luilre,  or  a  falfe  brilliancy,  this  forms  what 
is  called  a  Florid  Style;  a  term  common- 
ly ufed  to  fignify  the  excefs  of  ornament. 

In 


396 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


In  a  young  compofer  this  is  very  par- 
donable. Perhaps,  it  is  even  a  promising 
fymptom,  in  young  people,  that  their  Style 
fliould  incline  to  the  Florid  and  Luxuriant : 
•*  Volo  fe  efFerat  in  adolefcente  fecundi- 
"  tas,"  fays  Quindtilian,  "  multum  inde 
**  decoquent  anni,  multum  ratio  limabit, 
"  aliquid  velut  ufu  ipfo  deteretur ;  fit  mo- 
*'  do  unde  excidi  poflit  quid  et  exculpi. — 
"  Audeat  base  stas  plura,  et  inveniat  et 
"  inventis  gaudeat ;  fint  licet  ilia  non  fatis 
'*  interim  iicca  et  fevera.  Facile  reine- 
"  dium  eft  ubertatis :  fterilia  nullo  labore 
"  vincuntur*."  But,  although  the  Florid 
Style  may  be  allowed  to  youth,  in  their 
firft  effays,  it  muft  not  receive  the  fame 
indulgence  from  writers  of  maturer  years. 
It  is  to  be  expected,  that  judgment,  as  it 
ripens,  mould  chaften  imagination,  and  re- 
ject, as  juvenile,  all  fuch  ornaments  as  are 
redundant,  unsuitable  to  the  fubjecr.,  or  not 
conducive  to  illuftrate  it.  Nothing  can  be 
more  contemptible  than  that  tinfel  fplen- 
dour  of  language,  which  fome  writers  per- 
petually affect.  It  were  well,  if  this  could 
be  afcribed  to  the  real  overflowing  of  a 
rich  imagination.  We  mould  then  have 
fomething  vo  amufe  us,  at  leaft,  it  we  found 
little  to  inftruft  us.  But  the  worft  is,  that 
with  thofc  frothy  writers,  it  is  a  luxuriancy 
of  words,  net  of  fancy.  We  fee  a  labour- 
ed attempt  to  rife  to  a  fplcndour  of  com- 
pofition,  of  which  they  have  formed  to 
themfelves  fome  loofe  idea ;  but  having  no 
ftrength  of  genius  for  attaining  it,  they 
endeavour  to  fupply  the  defect  by  poetical 
words,  by  cold  exclamations,  by  common- 
place figures,  and  every  thing  that  has  the 
appearance  of  pomp  and  magnificence.  It 
has  efcaped  thefe  writers,  that  fobriety  in 
ornament,  is  one  great  fecret  for  rendering 
it  pleafing:  and  that  without  a  founda- 
tion of  good  fenfe  and  folid  thought,  the 
moil  Florid  Style  is  but  a  childiih  impofi- 
tion  on  the  Public.  The  Public,  however, 
are  but  too  apt  to  be  fo  irnpoied  on  ;  at 
leaft,  the  mob  of  readers ;  who  are  very 
ready  to  be  caught,  at  firft,  with  whatever 
is  dazzling  and  gaudy. 

I  cannot  help  thinking,  that  it  reflects 

*  «  In  youth,  I  wifh  to  fee  luxuriancy  of  fancy 
'«  appear.  Much  of  it  will  be  diminifhed  by 
"  years  ;  much  will  be  corrected  by  ripening 
<«  judgment ;  fome  of  it,  by  the  mere  practice  of 
«<  compofition,  will  be  worn  a\vay.  Let  there  he 
'•only  fufficient  matter,  at  fnft,  that  can  bear 
<•  fome  pruning  and  lopping  off.  At  this  time  of 
«<  life,  let  "/  nius  be  bold  and  inventive,  and  pride 
"  itfelf  in  its  efforts,  though  thefe  fhould  not,  as 
<•  ■,  t,  be  com-:t.  Luxuriancy  can  eafily  be  cured; 
i   i  thers  is  no  remedy." 


more  honour  on  the  religious  turn,  and 
good  difpofitions  of  the  prefent  age,  than 
on  the  public  tafte,  that  Mr.  Hervey's- 
Meditations  have  had  fo  great  a  currency. 
The  pious  and  benevolent  heart,  which  is 
always  difplayed  in  them,  and  the  lively 
fancy  which,  on  fome  occafions,  appears, 
juttly  merited  applaufe  :  but  the  perpetual 
glitter  of  expreffion,  the  fwoln  imagery, 
and  {trained  defcription  which  abound  in 
them,  are  ornaments  of  a  falfe  kind.  I 
would,  therefore,  advife  ftudents  of  oratory 
to  imitate  Mr.  Hervey's  piety,  rather  than 
his  Style  ;  and,  in  all  compofitions  of  afe- 
rious  kind,  to  turn  their  attention,  as  Mr. 
Pope  fays,  «  from  founds  to  things,  from 
"  fancy  to  the  heart."  Admonitions  of 
this  kind  I  have  already  had  occafion  to 
give,  and  may  hereafter  repeat  them  ;  as 
I  conceive  nothing  more  incumbent  on  me, 
in  this  courfe  of  Leclures,  than  to  take 
every  opportunity  of  cautioning  my  read- 
ers againft  the  affected  and  frivolous  ufe  of 
ornament ;  and,  inltead  of  that  flight  and 
fuperficial  tafte  in  writing,  which  I  appre- 
hend to  be  at  prefent  too  fafhionable,  to 
introduce,  as  far  as  my  endeavours  can 
avail,  a  talte  for  more  folid  thought,  and 
more  manly  fimplicityin  Style.         Blair. 

§   2t.     On    the    different  Kinds  ^Sim- 
plicity. 

The  firft  is,  Simplicity  of  Compofition, 
as  oppofed  to  too  great  a  variety  of  parts, 
Horace's  precept  refers  to  this  : 
Denique  fit  quod  vis  fimplex  duntaxat  et  unum*. 

This  is  the  fimplicity  of  plan  in  a  tra- 
gedy, as  diilinguifhed  from  double  plots, 
and  crowded  incidents;  the  Simplicity  of 
the  Iliad,  or  iEneid,  in  oppofition  to  the 
digreflions  of  Lucan,  and  the  fcattered 
tales  of  Ariofto ;  the  Simplicity  of  Grecian 
architecture,  in  oppofition  to  the  irregular 
variety  of  the  Gothic.  In  this  fenfe,  Sim- 
plicity is  the  fame  with  Unity. 

The  fecond  fenfe  is,  Simplicity  of 
Thought,  as  oppofed  to  refinement.  Sim- 
ple thoughts  are  what  arife  naturally; 
what  the  occafion  or  the  fubjeft  fuggefl 
unfought ;  and  what,  when  once  fuggefted, 
are  eafily  apprehended  by  all.  Refine- 
ment in  writing,  expreffes  a  lefs  natu- 
ral and  obvious  train  of  thought,  and 
which  it  required  a  peculiar  turn  of  genius 

*  "  Then  learn  the  wand'ring  humour  to  con- 

troul, 
"  And  keep  ona  equal  tenour  through    the 

whole."  Francis. 

t€J 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


397 


to  purfue ;  within  certain  bounds  very 
beautiful;  but  when  carried  too  far,  ap- 
proaching to  intricacy,  and  hurting  us  by 
the  appearance  of  being  recherche,  or  far 
fought.  Thus,  we  would  naturally  fay, 
that  Mr.  Parnell  is  a  poet  of  far  greater 
fimplicity,  in  his  turn  of  thought,  than 
Mr.  Cowley:  Cicero's  thoughts  on  moral 
fubjects  are  natural;  Seneca's  too  refined 
and  laboured.  In  thefe  two  fenfes  of  Sim- 
plicity, when  it  is  oppofed  either  to  variety 
of  parts,  or  to  refinement  of  thought,  it 
has  no  proper  relation  to  Style. 

There  is  a  third  fenfe  of  Simplicity,  in 
which  it  has  refpedt  to  Style ;  and  ftands 
oppofed  to  too  much  ornament,  or  pomp 
of  language ;  as  when  we  fay,  Mr.  Locke 
is  a  fimple,  Mr.  Hervey  a  florid,  writer; 
and  it  is  in  this  fenfe,  that  the  "  Jimplex" 
the  "  tetiue,"  or  "  fubt'tk  genus  dicexdi," 
is  underftood  by  Cicero  and  Qunctilian. 
The  fimple  ftyle,  in  this  fenfe,  coincides 
with  the  plain  or  the  neat  ftyle,  which  I 
before  mentioned ;  and,  therefore,  requires 
no  farther  iliuftration. 

But  there  is  a  fourth  fenfe  of  Simplicity, 
alfo  reflecting  Style ;  but  not  refpctting 
the  degree  of  ornament  employed,  fo 
much  as  the  eafy  and  natural  manner  in 
which  our  language  exprefles  our  thoughts. 
This  is  quite  different  from  the  former 
fenfe  of  the  word  juft  now  mentioned,  in 
which  Simplicity  was  equivalent  to  Plain- 
nefs :  whereas,  in  this  fenfe,  it  is  compati- 
ble with  the  higheft  ornament.  Homer, 
for  inftance,  poft'efles  this  Simplicity  in  the 
greateft  perfection;  and  yet  no  writer  has 
more  ornament  and  beauty.  This  Sim- 
plicity, which  is  what  we  are  now  to  con- 
fxder,  ftands  oppofed,  not  to  ornament, 
but  to  affectation  of  ornament,  or  appear- 
ance of  labour  about  our  Style;  and  it  is 
a  diftinguifhing  excellency  in  writing. 

Blair. 

§  22.     Simplicity  appears  eajy, 
A  writer  of  Simplicity  exprefles  himfelf 
in  fuch  a  manner,  that  every  one  thinks  he 
could  have  written  in  the  fame  way ;  Ho- 
race defcribes  it, 

■  ut  fibi  quivis 

Speret  idem,  fudet  multum,  frultraque  laboret 
Aufus  idem*. 

*  "  From  well-known  tales  fuch  fiftions  would 

I  raife, 
"  As  all  might  hope  to  imitate  with  eafe  ; 
"  Yet,  while  they  ftrive  the  fame  fuccefs  to  gain  ; 

*  Should   find  their  labeurs  and  their  hopes  in 

Vain."  F  kan  cis. 


There  are  no  marks  of  art  in  his  expref- 
fion;  it  feems  the  very  language  of  nature; 
you  fee,  in  the  Style,  not  the  writer  and 
his  labour,  but  the  man,  in  his  own  natural 
character.  He  may  be  rich  in  his  expref- 
fion;  he  may  be  full  of  figures,  and  of 
fancy;  but  thefe  flow  from  him  without 
effort ;  and  he  appears  to  write  in  this 
manner,  not  becaufe  he  has  ftudied  it,  but 
becaufe  it  is  the  manner  of  expreflion  molt 
natural  to  him.  A  certain  degree  of  neg- 
ligence, alfo,  is  not  inconfiftent  with  this 
character  of  ftyle,  and  even  not  ungraceful 
in  it ;  for  too  minute  an  attention  to  words 
is  foreign  to  it:  "  Habeat  ille,"  fays  Ci- 
cero, (Orat.  No.  77.)  "  molle  quiddam,  et 
"  quod  indicet  non  ingratam  negligentiam 
"  hominis,  de  re  magis  quam  de  verbo 
"  laborantisf ."  This  is  the  great  ad- 
vantage of  Simplicity  of  Style,  that,  like 
fimplicity  of  manners,  it  fhows  us  a  man's 
fentiments  and  turn  of  mind  laid  open  with- 
out difguife.  More  ftudied  and  artificial 
manners  of  writing,  however  beautiful, 
have  always  this  difadvantage,  that  they 
exhibit  an  author  in  form,  like  a  man  at 
court,  where  the  fplendour  of  drefs,  and  the 
ceremonial  of  behaviour,  conceal  thofe  pe- 
culiarities which  diftinguifh  one  man  from 
another.  Eut  reading  an  author  of  Sim- 
plicity, is  like  converfing  with  a  perfon  of 
diftinction  at  home,  and  with  eafe,  where 
we  find  natural  manners,  and  a  marked 
character.  Ibid. 

§   23.     On  Naivete. 

The  higheft  degree  of  this  Simplicity, 
is  exprefled  by  a  French  term  to  which 
we  have  none  that  fully  anfwers  in  our 
language,  Naivete.  It  is  not  eafy  to  give 
a  precife  idea  of  the  import  of  this  word. 
It  always  exprefles  a  difcovery  of  charac- 
ter. I  believe  the  bell  account  of  it  is 
given  by  a  French  critic,  M.  Marmontel, 
who  explains  it  thus :  That  fort  of  amiable 
ingenuity,  or  undifguifed  opennefs,  which 
feems  to  give  us  fome  degree  of  fuperiority 
over  the  perfan  who  fhews  it ;  a  certain 
infantine  Simplicity,  which  we  love  in  our 
hearts,  but  which  difplays  fome  features  of 
the  character  that  we  think  we  could  have 
art  enough  to  hide;  and  which,  therefore, 
always  leads  us  to  fmile  at  the  perfon  who 

■f  "  Let  this  Style  have  a  certain  foftnefs  and 
"  eafe,  which  fhall  characterife  a  negligence,  not 
"  unpleafmg  in  an  author  who  appears  to  be 
"  more  folicitous  about  the  thought  than  the  ex- 
4<  preffion," 

difcovers 


39* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

and    unlaboured.     Let  us   next   confide? 
fomc  Englifh  writers,  who  come  under  this 


difcovers  this  character.  La  Fontaine,  in 
his  Fables,  is  given  as  the  great  example 
of  fuch  Naivete.  This,  however,  is  to  be 
underftood,  as  defcriptive  of  a  particular 
fpecies  only  of  Simplicity.  Blair. 

§  24.     Ancients  eminent  for  Simplicity. 

With  refpedt  to  Simplicity,  in  general, 
we  may  remark,  that  the  ancient  original 
writers  are  always  the  mod:  eminent  for  it. 
This  happens  from  a  plain  reafon,  that  they 
wrote  from  the  dictates  of  natural  genius, 
and  were  not  formed  upon  the  labours  and 
writings  of  others,  which  is  always  in  ha- 
zard of  producing  affectation.  Hence, 
among  the  Greek  writers,  we  have  more 
models  of  a  beautiful  Simplicity  than 
among  the  Roman.  Homer,  Hefiod,  Ana- 
creon,  Theocritus,  Herodotus,  and  Xeno- 
phon,  are  all  diftinguifhed  for  it.  Among 
the  Romans,  aifo,  we  have  fome  writers  of 
this  character;  particularly  Terence,  Lu- 
cretius, Phaidrus,  and  Julius  Czefar.  The 
following  paffage  of  Terence's  Andria,  is 
a  beautiful  inflance  of  Simplicity  of  man- 
ner in  defcription : 

■  Funus  interim 

Procedit;  feqnimur;  ad  fepulchrum  venimus ; 
In  ignem  impofita  eft;  fletur;  interea  hjec  foror 
Quam  dixi,  ad  flammam  acceffit  imprudentius 
S.itis  cum  periculo.    Ibi  turn  exanimatus  fam- 

philus 
Bene  diflimulatum  amorem,  &  celatum  indicat; 
Occurrit  prxceps,  mulierum  ab  igne  retrahit, 
Mea  Glycerium,  inquit,  quid  agis?  Cur  te  is  per- 

ditum  ? 
Turn  ilia,  nt  confuetum  facile  amorem  cerneres^ 
Rejecit  fe  in  eum,  flens  quam  familiariter  *. 

Act.   1.  Sc.  1. 

All  the  words  here  are  remarkably  happy 
and  elegant:  and  convey  a  mod  lively  pic- 
ture of  the  fcene  defcribed;  while,  at  the 
fame  time,  the  Style  appears  wholly  artlcfs 

*  «  Meanwhile  the  funeral  proceeds ;    we  fol- 

«  low  ; 
**  Come  to  the  fepulchre  :  the  body's  plac'J 
*'  Upon  the  pile ;  lamented;  whereupon 
"  This  fifter  I  was  fpeaking  of,  all  wild, 
"  Ran  to  the  flames  with  peril  of  her  life. 
"  There !  there  1  the  frighted  Pamphilus  be- 

*■*  trays 
te  His  well  diffembled  and  long-hidden  love ; 
*<  Runs  up,  and  takes  her  round  the  waift,  and 

'«  cries, 
u  Oh  !  my  Glycerium  !  what  is  it  you  do  ? 
"  Why,  why  endeavour  to  deftroy  yourfelf? 
"  Then  fhe,  in  fuch  a  manner  that  you  thence 
"  Might  eafily  perceive  their  long,  long  love, 
"  Threw  hcrfelf  back  into  his  arms,  and  wept. 
"  Oh!  how  familiarly!"  Co  1: man. 

4 


clafs. 


Ibid. 


§25.      Simplicity  the  Charailerijlic  ofT  l  L  - 
lot  son'/  Style. 

Simplicity  is  the  great  beauty  of  Arch- 
bifliop  Tillotfon's  manner.     Tillotfon  has 
long  been  admired  as  an  eloquent  writer, 
and  a  model  for  preaching.     But  his  elo- 
quence, if  we  can  call  it  fuch,  has  been  of- 
ten mifunderllood.     For  if  we  include  in 
the    idea   of  eloquence,   vehemence    and 
ilrength,  picturefque  defcription,  glowing 
figures,  or  correct  arrangemeut  of  fenten- 
ces,  in  all  thefe  parts  of  oratory  the  Arch- 
biihop  is  exceedingly  deficient.     His  Style 
is  always  pure,  indeed,  and  perfpicuods, 
but  carelefs  and  remifs,  too  often  feeble  and 
languid ;  little   beauty  in  the  conftruction 
of  his  fentences,  which  are  frequently  fuf- 
fered  to  drag  unharmonioufly ;  feldom  any 
attempt  towards  ltrength  or  fublimity.  But, 
notwithstanding  thefe  defects,  fuch  a  con- 
itant  vein  of  good  fenfe  and  piety  runs 
through  his  works,  fuch  an  earneft  and  fe- 
rious  manner,  and  fo  much  ufeful  inftruc- 
tion,  conveyed  in  a  Style  fo  pure,  natural, 
and  unaffected,  as  will  juftly  recommend 
him  to  high  regard,  as  long  as  the  Englifh 
language  remains;  not,  indeed,  as  a  mo- 
del of  the  higheit  eloquence,  but  as  a  fim- 
ple  and  amiable  writer,  whofe  manner  is 
itrongly  expreffive  of  great  goodnefs  and 
worth.     I  obferved  before,  that  Simplicity 
of  manner  may  be  confute  nt  with  fome 
degree  of  negligence  in  Style;  and  it  is 
only  the  beauty  of  that  Simplicity  which 
makes  the  negligence  of  iuch  writers  feem 
graceful.     But,  as  appears  in  the  Archbi- 
fhop,  negligence  may  fometimes  be  car- 
ried fo  far  as  to  impair  the  beauty  of  Sim- 
plicity, and  make  it  border  on  a  flat  and 
languid  manner.  Ibid. 

§26.  Simplicity  of  Sir  William  T  e  m  • 
PLi'j  Style. 
Sir  William  Temple  is  another  remark- 
able writer  in  the  Style  of  Simplicity.  In 
point  of  ornament  and  correctnefs,  he  rifes 
a  degree  above  Tillotfon;  though,  for  cor- 
rectnefs, he  is  not  in  the  higheil  rank.  All 
is  eafy  and  flowing  in  him;  he  is  exceed- 
ingly harmonious;  fmoothnefs,  and  what 
may  be  called  am;enity,  are  the  diitinguifh- 
ing  characters  of  his  manner;  relaxing, 
fometimes,  as  fuch  a  manner  will  naturally 
do,  into  a  prolix  and  remifs  Style.  No 
writer  whatever  has  itamped  upon  his  Style 

a  more 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


a  more  lively  impreflion  of  his  own  cha- 
racter. In  reading  his  works,  we  feem  en- 
gaged in  conversation  with  him  ;  we  be- 
come thoroughly  acquainted  with  him,  not 
merely  as  an  author,  but  as  a  man;  and 
contract  a  friendfhip  for  him.  He  may  be 
clafTed  as  Handing  in  the  middle,  between 
a  negligent  Simplicity,  and  the  higheft  de- 
gree of  Ornament  which  this  character  of 
Style  admits.  Blair. 

§  27.     Simplicity  of  Mr.  A  d  d  i  s  0  n  '  s 

'Style. 

Of  the  latter  of  thefe,  the  higheft,  moft 
correct,  and  ornamented  degree  of  the  fim- 
ple  manner,  Mr.  Addifon  is  beyond  doubt, 
in  the  Englifh  language,  the  moft  perfect 
example:  and  therefore,  though  not  with- 
out fome  faults,  he  is,  on  the  whole,  the 
fafeft  model  for  imitation,  and  the  freeft 
from  confiderable  defects,  which  the  lan- 
guage affords.  Perfpicuous  and  pure  he 
is  in  the  higheft  degree;  his  precifion,  in- 
deed, not  very  great ;  yet  nearly  as  great 
as  the  fubjects  which  he  treats  of  require : 
theconftrudtionofhis  fentenceseafy,  agree- 
able, and  commonly  very  mufical;  carry- 
ing a  character  of  fmoothnefs,  more  than 
of  ftrength.  In  figurative  language  he  is 
rich,  particularly  in  fimilies  and  meta- 
phors; which  are  fo  employed,  as  to  ren- 
der his  Style  fplendid  without  being  gau- 
dy. There  is  not  the  leaft  affectation  in 
his  manner;  we  fee  no  marks  of  labour; 
nothing  forced  or  conftrained;  but  great 
elegance  joined  with  great  eafe  and  fim- 
plicity.  He  is,  in  particular,  diftinguifhed 
by  a  character  of  modefty  and  of  polite  - 
nefs,  which  appears  in  all  his  writings.  No 
author  has  a  more  popular  and  infmuating 
manner;  and  the  great  regard  which  he 
every  where  fhews  for  virtue  and  religion, 
recommends  him  highly.  If  he  fails  in 
any  thing,  it  is  in  want  of  ftrength  and 
precifion,  which  renders  his  manner,  though 
perfectly  fuited  to  fuch  effays  as  he  writes 
in  the  Spectator,  not  altogether  a  proper 
model  for  any  of  the  higher  and  more  ela- 
borate kinds  of  compofition.  Though  the 
public  have  ever  done  much  juftice  to  his 
merit,  yet  the  nature  of  his  merit  has  not 
always  been  feen  in  its  true  light:  for, 
though  his  poetry  be  elegant,  he  certainly 
bears  a  higher  rank  among  the  profe  writ- 
ers, than  he  is  intitledto  among  the  poets ; 
and,  in  profe,  his  humour  is  of  a  much 
higher  and  more  original  ftrain  than  his 
phllofophy.    The  character  of  Sir  Roger 


399 

de  Coverley  difcovers  more  genius  than  the 
critique  on  Milton.  Ibid. 

§  28.  Simplicity  of  Style  never  tvearies. 

Such  authors  as  thofe,  whofe  characters 
I  have  been  giving,  one  never  tires  of  read- 
ing. There  is  nothing  in  their  manner 
that  ftrains  or  fatigues  our  thoughts:  we 
are  pleafed,  without  being  dazzled  by  their 
luftre.  So  powerful  is  the  charm  of  Sim- 
plicity in  an  author  of  real  genius,  that  it 
atones  for  many  defects,  and  reconciles  us 
to  many  a  carelefs  expreflion.  Hence,  in 
all  the  moft  excellent  authors,  both  in. 
profe  and  verfe,  the  fimple  and  natural 
manner  may  be  always  remarked;  al- 
though, other  beauties  being  predominant, 
this  form  not  their  peculiar  and  diftinguifh- 
ing  character.  Thus  Milton  is  fimple  in 
the  midft  of  all  his  grandeur;  and  De- 
mofthenes  in  the  midft  of  all  his  vehe- 
mence. To  grave  and  folemn  writings, 
Simplicity  of  manner  adds  the  more  vene- 
rable air.  Accordingly,  this  has  often 
been  remarked  as  the  prevailing  character 
throughout  all  the  facred  Scriptures:  and 
indeed  no  other  character  of  Style  was  fo 
much  fuited  to  the  dignity  of  infpiration. 

Ibid. 

§  29.  Lord  Shaftsrury  deficient  in 
Simplicity  of  Style. 
Of  authors  who,  notwithftanding  many 
excellencies,  have  rendered  their  Style 
much  lefs  beautiful  by  want  of  Simplicity, 
I  cannot  give  a  more  remarkable  example 
than  Lord  Shaftfbury.  This  is  an  author 
on  whom  I  have  made  obfervations  feveral 
times  before;  and  fhall  now  take  leave  of 
him,  with  giving  his  general  character  un- 
der this  head.  Confiderable  merit,  doubt- 
lefs,  he  has.  His  works  might  be  read 
with  profit  for  the  moral  philofophy  which 
they  contain,  had  he  not  filled  them  with 
fo  many  oblique  and  invidious  infinuations 
againfl:  the  Chriflian  Religion  ;  thrown  out, 
too,  with  fo  much  fpleen  and  fatire,  as  do 
no  honour  to  his  memory,  either  as  an  au- 
thor or  a  man.  His  language  has  many 
beauties.  It  is  firm  and  fupported  in  an 
uncommon  degree :  it  is  rich  and  mufical. 
No  Englifh  author,  as  I  formerly  fhewed, 
has  attended  fo  much  to  the  regular  con- 
ftruction  of  his  fentences,  both  with  refpect 
to  propriety,  and  with  refpect  to  cadence. 
All  this  gives  fo  much  elegance  and  pomp 
to  his  language,  that  there  is  no  wonder  it 
fhould  have  been  fometirr.es  highly  admir- 
ed. It  is  greatly  hurt,  however,  by  per- 
petual 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


400 

petual  iUffhefs  and  affectation.  This  is  its 
capital  fault.  His  lordihip  can  exprefs  no- 
thing with  Simplicity.  He  feems  to  have 
confidered  it  as  vu'gar,  and  beneath  the 
dignity  of  a  man  of  quality,  tofpeak  like 
other  men.  Hence  he  is  ever  in  bufkins  ; 
full  of  circumlocutions  and  artificial  ele- 
gance. In  every  fentence,  we  fee  the 
marks  of  labour  and  art ;  nothing  of  that 
eafe  which  expreffes  a  fentiment  coming 
natural  and  warm  from  the  heart.  Of 
figures  and  ornament  of  every  kind,  he  is 
exceedingly  fond;  fometirnes  happy  in 
them ;  but  his  fondnefs  for  them  is  too  vi- 
iible  ;  and  having  once  laid  hold  of  fome 
metaphor  or  alluiion  that  pleafed  him,  he 
knows  not  how  to  part  with  it.  What  is 
moil  wonderful,  he  was  a  profefled  admirer 
of  Simplicity ;  is  always  extolling  it  in  the 
ancients,  and  cenfuring  the  moderns  for 
the  want  of  it ;  though  he  departs  from  it 
himfelf  as  far  as  any  one  modern  what- 
ever. Lord  Shaftfbury  poffeffed  delicacy 
and  refinement  of  tafte,  to  a  degree  that 
we  may  call  exceffive  and  fickly;  but  he 
had  little  warmth  of  paffion;  few  ftrong  or 
vip-orous  feelings;  and  the  coldnefs  of  his 
character  led  him  to  that  artificial  and 
{lately  manner  which  appears  in  his  writ- 
ings. He  was  fonder  of  nothing  than  of 
wit  and  raillery;  but  he  is  far  from  be- 
ing happy  in  it.  He  attempts  it  often, 
but  always  awkwardly;  he  is  itiff,  even  in 
his  pleafantry;  and  laughs  in  form,  like  an 
author,  and  not  like  a  man*. 

Fiom  the  account  which  Ihave  given 
of  Lord  Shaftfbury's  manner,  it  may  eaiily 
be  imagined,  that  he  would  miflcad  many 
who  blindly  admired  him.  Nothing  is 
more  dangerous  to  the  tribe  of  imitators, 
than  an  author,  who  with  many  impofmg 
beauties,  has  alfo  fome  very  considerable 
blcmifhes.  This  is  fully  exemplified  in 
Mr.  Blackwall  of  Aberdeen,  the  author  of 
the  Life  of  Homer,  the  Letters  on  Mytho- 
logy, and  the  Court  of  Augultus;  a  writer 
or  confiderable  learning,  and  of  ingenuity 
alfo;  but  infected  with  an  extravagant  love 
of  an  artificial  Style,  and  of  that  parade  of 

*  It  may,  perhaps,  be  not  unworthy  of  being 
mentioned,  that  the  m  ft  edition  of  his  Enquiry 
into  Virtue  was  publimed,  furreptitioufly  I  be- 
lieve, in  a  feparate  form,  in  the  year  1699  ;  and 
is  fometirnes  to  be  met  with :  by  comparing 
Winch  With  the  corrected  edition  of  the  fame 
traatife,  as  it  now  ftands  among  his  works,  we 
fee  one  of  the  moft  curious  and  useful  examples, 
that  I  know,  of  what  is  called  Lima  Labor  ■  the  art 
of  polifhing  language,  breaking  long  Sentences, 
and  working  up  an  imperfeft  draught  into  a  high- 
ly-fmifhed  performanc*  • 


language  which  diitinguifhes  the  Shaftfba- 
rean  manner. 

Having  now  faid  fo  much  to  recommend 
Simplicity,  or  the  eafy  and  natural  manner 
of  writing,  and  having  pointed  out  the  de- 
fects of  an  oppofite  manner ;  in  order  to 
prevent  miftakes  on  this  fubject,  it  is  ne- 
ceflkry  for  me  to  obferve,  that  it  is  very 
pofTible  for  an  author  to  write  fimply,  and 
yet  not  beautifully.  One  may  be  free  from 
affectation,  and  not  have  merit.  The  beau- 
tiful Simplicity  fuppofes  an  author  to  pof- 
fefs  real  genius;  to  write  with  folidity,  pu- 
rity, and  livelinefs  of  imagination.  In  this 
cafe,  the  fimplicity  or  unaffectednefs  of  his 
manner,  is  the  crowning  ornament;  it 
heightens  every  other  beauty;  it  is  the 
drefs  of  nature,  without  which  all  beauties 
are  imperfect.  But  if  mere  unaffectednefs 
were  fufficietit  to  conftitute  the  beauty  of 
Style,  weak,  trifling,  and  dull  writers  might 
often  lay  claim  to  this  beauty.  And  ac- 
cordingly we  frequently  meet  with  pre- 
tended critics.,  who  extol  the  dul'eir.  writers 
on  account  of  what  they  call  the  "  Chafte 
Simplicity  of  their  manner;"  which,  in 
truth,  is  no  other  than  the  abfence  of  every 
ornament,  through  the  mere  want  of  ge- 
nius and  imagination.  We  muff  diltin- 
guifli,  therefore,  between  that  Simplicity 
which  accompanies  true  genius,  and  which 
is  perfectly  compatible  with  every  proper 
ornament  of  Style;  and  that  which  is  no 
other  than  a  carelefs  and  flovenly  manner. 
Indeed  the  diilinction  is  eaiily  made  from 
the  effect  produced.  The  one  never  fails 
to  intereit  the  reader;  the  other  is  infipid 
and  tirefome.  £Iai>\ 

§  30.     On  the  Vehement  Style. 

I  proceed  to  mention  one  other  manner 
or  character  of  Style,  different  from  any 
that  I  have  yet  fpoken  of;  which  may  be 
diitinguifhed  by  the  name  of  the  Vehe- 
ment. This  always  implies  itrength ;  and 
is  not,  by  any  means,  inconfiitent  with 
Simplicity:  but,  in  its  predominant  cha- 
racter, is  diltinguiihable  from  either  the 
ftrong  or  the  Ample  manner.  It  has  a  pe- 
culiar ardour;  it  is  a  glowing  Style;  the 
language  of  a  man,  whole  imagination  and 
paffions  are  heated,  and  ftrongly  affected 
by  what  he  writes;  who  is  therefore  neg- 
ligent of  lefler  graces,  but  pours  himfelf 
forth  with  the  rapidity  and  fulnefs  of  a 
torrent.  It  belongs  to  the  higher  kinds  of 
oratory;  and  indeed  is  rather  expected 
from  a  man  who  is  fpeaking,  than  from 
one  who  is  writing  in  his  clofet.  The  ora- 
tions 


BOOKII.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


401 


tions  of  Demosthenes  furnifh  the  full  and 
perfect  example  of  this  fpecies  of  Style. 

Blair. 

§  31.  Lord  Bolingbroke  excelled  in  the 
Vehement  Style. 

Among  Englifh  writers,  the  one  who  has 
moil  of  this  character,  though  mixed,  in- 
deed, with  feveral  defeats,  is  Lord  Boling- 
broke.    Bolingbroke  was  formed  by  na- 
ture to  be  a  fa&ious  leader;  the  dema- 
gogue of  a  popular  affembly.    According- 
ly, the  Style  that  runs  through  all  his  po- 
litical writings,  is  that  of  one  declaiming 
with  heat,  rather  than  writing  with  delibe- 
ration.    He  abounds  in  rhetorical  figures  ; 
and  pours  himfelf  forth  with  great  impe- 
tuofity.     He  is  copious  to  a  fault  ;  places 
the  fame  thought  before  us  in  many  diffe- 
rent views  ;  but  generally  with  life  and 
ardour.     He  is  bold,  rather  than  correct  ; 
a  torrent  that  flows  strong,  but  often  mud- 
dy.    His  fentences  are  varied  as  to  length 
and  fhortnefs ;  inclining,  however,  moll  to 
long  periods,  fometimes  including  paren- 
theses, and  frequently  crowding  and  heap- 
ing a  multitude  of  things  upon  one  ano- 
ther, as  naturally  happens  in  the  warmth  of 
fpeaking.  In  the  choice  of  his  words,  there 
is  great  felicity  and  precision.     In  exact 
construction  of  fentences,  he  is  much  in- 
ferior to  Lord  Shaftfbury ;  but  greatly  fu- 
perior  to  him  in  life  and  eafe.     Upon  the 
whole,  his  merit,  as  a  writer,  would  have 
been  very  considerable,  if  his  matter  had 
equalled  his  Style.      But   whilst  we  find 
many  things  to  commend  in  the  latter,  in 
the  former,  as  I  before  remarked,  we  can 
hardly  find  any  thing  to  commend.     In 
his  reafonings,   for    the  molt  part,  he   is 
Himfy  and  falfe  ;  in  his  political  writings, 
factious  :  in  what  he  calls  his  philofophical 
ones,  irreligious  and  ibphifticai  in  the  high- 
eft  degree.  Ibid. 

§  32.  Directions  for  forming  a  Style. 
It  will  be  more  to  the  purpofe,  that  I 
conclude  thefe  differtations  upon  Style  with 
a  few  directions  concerning  the  proper  me- 
thod of  attaining  a  good  Style  in  general ; 
leaving  the  particular  character  of  that 
Style  to  be  either  formed  by  the  fubject 
on  which  we  write,  or  prompted  by  the 
bent  of  genius. 

The  firft  direction  which  I  give  for  this 
purpofe,  is,  to  ftudy  clear  ideas  on  the  fub- 
jecTt  concerning  which  we  are  to  write  or 
fpeak.  This  is  a  direction  which  may  at 
iirft  appear  to  have  fmall  relation,  ^g  Style. 


Its  relation  to  it,  however,  is  extremely 
clofe.  The  foundation  of  all  good  Style, 
is  good  fenfe,  accompanied  with  a  lively 
imagination.  The  Style  and  thoughts  of 
a  writer  are  fo  intimately  connected,  that, 
as  I  have  feveral  times  hinted,  it  is  fre- 
quently hard  to  dittinguifh  them.  Where- 
ever  the  imprefiicns  of  things  upon  our 
minds  are  faint  and  indiftinct,  or  perplexed 
and  confufed,  our  Style  in  treating  of  fuch 
things  will  infallibly  be  fo  too.  Whereas, 
what  we  conceive  clearly  and  feel  ftrong- 
ly,  we  will  naturally  exprefs  with  clearnefs 
and  with  ftrength.  This,  then,  we  may  be 
affured,  is  a  capital  rule  as  to  Style,  to 
thnnk  clofely  of  the  fubject,  till  we  have 
attained  a  full  and  distinct  view  of  the 
matter  which  we  are  to  clothe  in  words, 
till  we  become  warm  and  interested  in  it; 
then,  and  not  till  then,  (hall  we  find  ex- 
.preffion  begin  to  flow.  Generally  fpeak- 
ing, the  beft  and  mod  proper  expreffions, 
arethofe  which  a  clear  view  of  the  fubjecl: 
fuggefts,  without  much  labour  or  enquiry 
after  them.  This  is  Quindtilian's  obferva- 
tion,  Lib.  viii.  c.  1.  "  Plerumque  optima 
"  verba  rebus  coherent,  et  cernuntur  fuo 
"  lumine.  At  nos  quae  rimus  ilia,  tan- 
"  quam  lateant  feque  fubducant.  Itanun- 
«  quam  putamus  verba  effe  circa  id  de 
"  quo  dicendum  eft ;  fed  ex  aliis  locis  pe- 
"  timus,  et  inventis  vim  afl'erimus*." 

Ibid. 

§   33.  Pradice  neceffary  for  forming  a 
Style. 

In  the  fecond  place,  in  order  to  form 
a  good  Style,  the  frequent  practice  of 
compofing  is  indifpenfably  neceffary.  Ma- 
ny rules  concerning  Style  I  have  delivered; 
but  no  rules  will  anfwer  the  end  without 
exercife  and  habit.  At  the  fame  time,  it 
is  net  every  fort  of  compofing  that  will 
improve  Style.  This  is  fo  far  from  being 
the  cafe,  that  by  frequent,  carelefs  and 
hafty  composition,  we  fhail  acquire  cer- 
tainly a  very  bad  Style ;  we  fhall  have 
more  trouble  afterwards  in  unlearning 
faults,  and  correcting  negligences,  than  if 
we  had  not  been  accustomed  to  compo- 
sition at  all.     In  the  beginning,  therefore, 

*  «  The  moft  proper  words  for  the  moft  part 
«  adhere  to  the  thoughts  which  are  to  be  expref- 
"  fed  by  them,  and  may  be  difcovered  as  by  their 
"  own  light.  But  we  hunt  after  them,  as  if  they 
"  were  hidden,  and  only  to  be  found  in  a  corner, 
"  Hence,  inftead  of  conceiving  the  words  to  lie 
««  near  the  fubjecl,  we  go  in  queft  of  them  to 
"  fome  other  quarter,  and  endeavour  to  give 
"  force  to  the  expreffions  we  have  four.d  out." 
Dd  we 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


402 

we  ought  to  write  {lowly  and  with  much 
care.  Let  the  facility  and  fpeed  of  writing, 
be  the  fruit  of  longer  practice.  "Moramet 
"  folickudinem,"  fays  Quindilian  with  the 
greateft  reafon,  L.  x.  c,  3.  "  initiis  impero. 
"  Nam  primum  hoc  coniiituendum  ac  obti- 
*'  nendum  eft,  ut  quam  optime  fcribamus  ; 
"  celeritatem  dabit  confuetudo.  Paulatim 
"  res  facilius  fe  oitendent,  verba  refponde- 
"  bunt,  compofitio  profequetur.  Cuncta 
*e  denique  et  in  familia  bene  inilituta  in 
"  officio  erunt.  Summa  hasc  eft  rei :  cito 
"  fcribendo  non  fit  ut  bene  icribatur  ;  bene 
*  fcribendo,  fit  ut  cito*.  Blair. 

§  34..  Too  anxious  a  Care  about  Words 
to  be  avoided. 
We  mnft  obferve,  however,  that  there 
may  be  an  extreme  in  too  great  and  anx- 
ious a  care  about  Words.  We  muft  not 
retard  the  courfe  of  thought,  nor  cool  the 
heat  of  imagination,  by  paufing  too  long 
on  every  word  we  employ.  There  is,  on 
certain  occafions,  a  glow  of  compofition 
which  ihould  be  kept  up,  if  we  hope  to 
exprefs  ourfelves  happily,  though  at  the 
expence  of  allowing  fome  inadvertencies 
to  pafs.  A  more  fevere  examination 
cf  thefe  muft  be  left  to  be  the  work  of 
correction.  For  if  the  practice  of  compo- 
fition be  ufeful,  the  laborious  work  of  cor- 
recting is  no  lefs  fo  ;  it  is  indeed  absolutely 
necefiary  to  our  reaping  any  benefit  from 
the  habit  of  compofition.  What  we  have 
written  fhould  be  laid  by  for  fome  little 
time,  till  the  ardour  of  compofition  be  pail, 
till  the  fondnefs  for  the  expreffions  we 
have  ufed  be  worn  off,  and  the  expreffions 
themfelves  be  forgotten  ;  and  then  review- 
ing our  work  with  a  cool  and  critical  eye, 
as  if  it  were  the  performance  of  another, 
we  fhall  difcern  many  imperfections  which 
at  firft  efcaped  us.  Then  is  the  feafon  for 
pruning  rednndancies ;  for  weighing  the 
arrangement  of  fentences ;  for  attending  to 
the  juncture  and  connecting  particles ;  and 
bringing  Style  into  a  regular,  correct,  and 
fupported  form.  This  "  Lima  Labor" 
muft   be  fubmitted  to  by   all  who  would 

*  "  I  enjoin  that  fuch  as  are  beginning  the 
**  practice  of  compofition,  write  flouly,  ami  with 
tc  anxious  deliberation.  Their  great  object  at 
"  firft  fhould  be, to  write  as  well  as  poflible;  prac- 
'*.  tice  will  enable  them  to  write  fpeedily.  By 
*'  degrees  matter  will  offer  itfelf  ftill  more  rea- 
*<  tlily ;  words  will  be  at  hand  ;  compofition  will 
"  flow  ;  every  thing,  as  in  the  arrangement  of 
"  a  well-ordered  family,  will  prefent  itfelf  in 
*'  its  properplace.  The  l'um  of  the  whole  is  this  ; 
"  by  hafiy  compofition,  we  fhall  never  acquire 
"  tli-  art  of  compofing  well ;  by  writing  well, 
"  we  fhall  come  to  write  fpeedily. 


communicate  their  thoughts  with  propef 
advantage  toothers;  and  fome  practice  in 
it  will  foon  ihajpen  their  eye  to  the  moft 
neceffary  objects  of  attention,  and  render 
it  a  much  more  eafy  and  practicable  work 
than  might  at  firft  be  imagined.       Ibid. 

§  35.  An  Acquaintance  -with  the  beft  Au- 
thors necejjary  to  the  Formation  of  a 
Style. 

In  the  third  place,  with  refpect  to  the 
affiflance  that  is  to  be  gained  from  the 
writings  of  others,  it  is  obvious  that  we 
ought  to  render  ourfelves  well  acquainted 
with  the  Style  of  the  beft  authors.  This  is- 
requifite,  both  in  order  to  form  a  juft  tafte 
in  Style,  and  to  fupply  us  with  a  full 
flock  of  words  on  every  fubject.  In  read- 
ing authors  with  a  view  to  Style,  atten- 
tion fhould  be  given  to  the  peculiarities  of 
their  different  manners ;  and  in  this  and 
former  Lectures  I  have  endeavoured  to- 
faggeft  feveral  things  that  may  be  ufeful 
in  this  view.  I  know  no  exercife  that  will 
be  found  more  ufeful  for  acquiring  a  pro- 
per Style,  than  to  tranflate  fome  paffage 
from  an  eminent  Englifh  author,  into  our 
own  words.  What  I  mean  is,  to  take, 
for  inilance,  fome  page  of  one  of  Mr. 
Addifon's  Spectators,  and  read  it  carefully 
over  two  or  three  times,  till  we  have  got 
a  firm  hold  of  the  thoughts  contained  in  it ; 
then  to  lay  afide  the  book ;  to  attempt  to 
write  out  the  paffage  from  memory,  in 
the  beft  way  we  can  ;  and  having  done  fb, 
next  to  open  the  book,  and  compare  what 
we  have  written  with  the  ftyle  of  the  au- 
thor. Such  an  exercife  will,  by  compa- 
rifon,  fhew  us  where  the  defects  of  our 
Style  lie  ;  will  lead  us  to  the  proper  atten- 
tions for  rectifying  them  ;  and,  among 
the  different  ways  in  which  the  fame 
thought  may  be  expreffed,  will  make  us 
perceive  that  which  is  the  moll  beautiful. 

Ibid. 

§  36.  Afervile  Imitation  to  be  avoided. 
In  the  fourth  place,  I  muft  caution,  ^  at 
the  fame  time,  agamft  a  fervile  imitation 
of  any  one  author  whatever.  This  is  al- 
ways dangerous.  It  hampers  genius ;  it 
is  likely  to  produce  a  ftiff  manner;  and 
thofe  who  are  given  to  clofe  imitation,  ge- 
,  nerally  imitate  an  author's  faults  as  well  as 
his  beauties.  No  man  will  ever  become 
a  good  writer,  or  fpeaker,  who  has  not 
fome  degree  of  confidence  to  follow  his 
own  genius.  We  ought  to  beware,  in 
particular,  of  adopting  any  author's  noted 
phrafes,  or  tranferibing  paflages  from  him. 

Such 


OOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


4°3 


Such  a  habit  will  prove  fatal  to  ail  genuine 
compofition.  Infinitely  better  it  is  to  have 
fomething  that  is  our  own,  though  of  mo- 
derate beauty,  than  to  affcft  to  mine  in 
borrowed  ornaments,  which  will,  at  laft, 
betray  the  utter  poverty  of  our  genius. 
On  thefe  heads  of  compofing,  correcting, 
reading  and  imitating,  I  advife  every 
itudent  of  oratory  to  confult  what  Quincli- 
Kan  has  delivered  in  the  Tenth  Book  of 
his  Inftitutions,  where  he  will  find  a  va- 
riety of  excellent  obfervations  and  direc- 
tions, that  well  deferve  attention.  Blair. 

§  37.    Style   mufl  be  adapted  to  the 
Subjeft. 

In  the  fifth  place,  it  is  an  obvious  but 
material  rule,  with  refpedt  to  Style,  tiiat 
we  always  ftudy  to  adapt  it  to  the  fubjecl:, 
and  alio  to  the  capacity  of  our  hearers, 
if  we  are  to  fpeak  in  public.  Nothing  me- 
rits the  name  of  eloquent  or  beautiful, 
which  is  not  fuited  to  the  occafion,  and  to 
the  perfons  to  whom  it  is  addreiled.  It 
is  to  the  laft  degree  awkward  and  abfurd, 
to  attempt  a  poetical  florid  Style,  on  oc- 
casions when  it  mould  be  our  bufinefs 
only  to  argue  and  reafon  -y  or  to  fpeak  with 
elaborate  pomp  of  expreffion,  before  per- 
fons who  comprehend  nothing  of  it,  and 
who  can  only  flare  at  our  unfeafonable 
magnificence.  Thefe  are  defects  not  fo 
much  in  point  of  Style,  as,  what  is  much 
worfe,  in  point  of  common  fenfe.  When 
we  begin  to  write  or  fpeak,  we  ought 
previoufly  to  fix  in  our  minds  a  clear  con- 
ception of  the  end  to  be  aimed  at ;  to  keep 
this  fteadily  in  our  view,  and  to  fuit  our 
Style  to  it.  If  we  do  not  facrifice  to  this 
great  object  every  ill-timed  ornament  that 
may  occur  to  our  fancy,  we  are  unpardon- 
able ;  and  though  children  and  fools  may 
admire,  men  of  fenfe  will  laugh  at  us  and 
our  Style.  Ibid. 

§  38.  Attention  to  Style  mufl  not  detraSi 
from  Attention  to  Thought. 

In  the  laft  place,  I  cannot  conclude  the 
fubjecl:  without  this  admonition,  that,  in 
any  cafe,  and  on  any  occafion,  attention 
to  Style  muft  not  engrofs  us  fo  much,  as 
to  detract  from  a  higher  degree  of  atten- 
tion to  the^  Thoughts.  "  Curam  verbo- 
fl  rum,"  fays  the  great  Roman  Critic, 
"  rerum  volo  eife  iblicitudinem*."  A 
direction  the  more  necefiaiy,  as  the  pre- 

*  To  your  expreffion  be  attentive ;  but  about 
('  your  matter  bs  foUckous."' 


fent  tafle  of  the  age,  in  writing,  feems  to 
lean  more  to  Style  than  to  Thought.  It 
is  much  eafier  to  drefs  up  trivial  and  com- 
mon fentiments  with  fome  beauty  of  ex- 
preffion, than  to  afford  a  fund  of  vigorous, 
ingenious,  and  ufeful  thoughts.  Tnc  lat- 
ter requires  true  genius ;  the  former  may 
be  attained  by  induihy,  with  the  help  of 
very  fuperficial  parts.  Hence,  we  find  fo 
many  writers  frivoloufly  rich  in  Style,  but 
\v;c:chedlypoorinfentiment.  The  public 
ear  is  now  fo  much  accuftomed  to  a  cor- 
rea  and  ornamented  Style,  that  no  writer 
can.  with  fafcty,  neglect  the  ftudy  of  it. 
Bui  he  is  a  contemptible  one,  who  does  not 
louk  to  fomething  beyond  it;  who  does 
not  lay  the  chief  itrefs  upon  his  matter,  and 
employ  fuch  ornaments  of  Style  to  recom- 
.mend  it,  as  are  manly,  not  foppiih, 
"  Majore  animo,"  fays  the  writer  whom 
I  have  fo  often  quoted,  "  aggredienda  eft 
"  eloquentia;  qua?  fi  toto  corpore  valet, 
"  ungues  polire  et  capillum  componere, 
"  non  exiftimabit  ad  curam  fuam  pertinere. 
"  Ornatus  et  virilis  et  fortis  et  fanftus  fit ; 
"  nee  effeminatam  levitatem  et  fuco  emen- 
"  titum  colorem  amet ;  fanguine  et  viri- 
"  bus  niteat.*"  Ibid. 

§   39.  Of  the  Rife  of  Poetry  among  the 
Romans. 

The  Romans,  in  the  infancy  of  their 
ftate,  were  entirely  rude  and  unpolifhed. 
They  came  from  fhepherds;  they  were 
increafed  from  the  refute  of  the  nations 
around  them;  and  their  manners  agreed 
with  their  original.  As  they  lived  wholly 
on  tilling  their  ground  at  home,  or  on  plun^ 
der  from  their  neighbours,  war  was  their  bu- 
finefs, and  agriculture  the  chief  art  they  fol- 
lowed. Long  after  this*  when  they  had 
fpread  their  conquefts  over  a  great  part  of 
Italy,  and  began  to  make  a  coniiderable 
figure  in  the  world, — even  their  great  men 
retained  a  roughnefs,  which  they  raifed  into 
a  virtue,  by  calling  it  Roman  Spirit ;  and 
which  might  often  much  better  have  been 
called  Roman  Barbarity.  It  feems  to  me, 
that  there  Was  more  of  aufterity  than  juf- 
tice,  and  more  of  infolence  than  courage, 

*  "  A  higher  fpirit  ought  to  animate  thofe 
"  who  ftudy  eloquence.  They  ought  to  confult 
"  the  health  and  found nefs  of  the  whole  body, 
"  rather  than  bend  their  attention  to  fuch  trifling 
"  objects  as  paring  the  nails,  and  dreffing  the 
"  hair  Let  ornament  be  manly  and  chafte, 
"  without  effeminate  gaiety,  or  artificial  colour- 
"  ing,  let  it  fhine  with  the  g'ow  of  health  and, 
"  ftrength." 

D  d  2  in 


404 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


in  fome  of  their  moft  celebrated  actions. 
However  that  be,  this  is  certain,  that  they 
were  at  iirfl  a  nation  of  foldiers  and  huf- 
bandmen  :  roughnefs  was  long  an  applaud- 
ed character  among  them  ;  and  a  fort  of 
rufticity  reigned,  even  in  their  fenate- 
houfe. 

In  a  nation  originally  of  fuch  a  temper 
as  this,  taken  up  almoft  always  in  extend- 
ing their  territories,  very  often  in  fettling 
the  balance  of  power  among  themfelves.and 
not  unfrequently  in  both  thefe  at  the  fame 
time,  it  was  long  before  the  politer  arts 
made  any  appearance  ;  and  very  long  be- 
fore they  took  root  or  flourifhed  to  any 
degree.  Poetry  was  the  firft  that  did  fo  ; 
but  fuch  a  poetry,  as  one  might  expect 
among  a  warlike,  buiied,  unpolilhed  peo- 
ple. 

Not  to  enquire  about  the  fongs  of  tri- 
umph, mentioned  even  in  Romulus's  time, 
there  was  certainly  fomething  of  poetry 
among  them  in  the  next  reign  under  Nu- 
ma :  a  prince,  who  pretended  to  converfe 
with  the  Mufes,  as  well  as  with  Egeria ; 
and  who  might  poffibly  himfelf  have  made 
the  verfes  which  the  Salian  priefts  fung  in 
his-  time,  Pythagoras,  either  in  the  fame 
reign,  or  if  you  pleafe  fome  time  after, 
gave  the  Romans  a  tintture  of  poetry  as 
well  as  of  philofophy ;  for  Cicero  allures  us, 
that  the  Pythagoreans  made  great  ufe  of 
poetry  and  mufic  :  and  probably  they, 
like  our  old  Druids,  delivered  moft  of  their 
precepts  in  verfe.  Indeed  the  chief  em- 
ployment of  poetry,  in  that  and  the  fol- 
lowing ages,  among  the  Romans,  was  of 
a  religious  kind.  Their  very  prayers, 
and  perhaps  their  whole  liturgy,  was 
poetical.  They  had  alfo  a  fort  of  pro- 
phetic or  facred  writers,  who  feem  to  have 
wrote  generally  in  verfe;  and  were  fo  nu- 
merous, that  there  were  above  two  thou- 
fand  of  their  volumes  remaining  even  to 
Auguftus's  time.  They  had  a  kind  of 
plays  too,  in  thefe  early  times,  derived 
from  what  they  had  feen  of  the  Tufcan 
aclor3,  when  fent  for  to  Rome  to  expiate 
a  plague  that  raged  in  the  city.  Thefe 
feem  to  have  been  either  like  our  dumb- 
fhews,  or  elfe  a  kind  of  extempore  farces; 
a  thing  to  this  day  a  good  deal  in  ufe  ail 
over  Italy,  and  in  Tufcany.  In  a  more 
particular  manner  add  to  thefe,  that  ex- 
tempore kind  of  jelling  dialogues  begun 
at  their  harveft  and  vintage  feafts;  and 
carried  on  fo  rudely  and  abufively  after- 
wards, as  to  occafion  a  very  fevere  law 
to  rvirrain  their  licciitioufnefs — and  thofe 


lovers  of  poetry  and  good  eating,  who 
feem  to  have  attended  the  tables  of  the 
richer  fort,  much  like  the  old  provincial 
poets,  or  our  own  Britifh  bards,  and  fang 
there,  to  fome  inftrument  of  mufic,  the 
atchievements  of  their  ancellors,  and  the 
noble  deeds  of  thofe  who  had  gone  before 
them,  to  inflame  others  to  follow  their 
great  examples. 

The  names  of  almoft  all  thefe  poet3  fleep 
in  peace  with  all  their  works;  and,  if  we 
may  take  the  word  of  the  other  Roman 
writers  of  a  better  age,  it  is  no  great  lofs 
to  us.  One  of  their  beft  poets  reprefents 
them  as  very  obfeure  and  very  contemp- 
tible ;  one  of  their  beft  hiftorians  avoids 
quoting  them,  as  too  barbarous  for  politer 
ears ;  and  one  of  their  moft  judicious  em- 
perors ordered  the  greateft  part  of  their 
writings  to  be  burnt,  that  the  world  might 
be  troubled  with  them  no  longer. 

All  thefe  poets  therefore  may  very  well  be 
dropt  in  the  account:  there  being  nothing 
remaining  of  their  works :  and  probably  no 
merit  to  be  found  in  them,  if  they  had 
remained.  And  fo  we  may  date  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Roman  poetry  from  Livius 
Andronicus,  the  firft  of  their  poets  of 
whom  any  thing  does  remain  to  us ;  and 
from  whom  the  Romans  themfelves  feem 
to  have  dated  the  beginning  of  their  poetry, 
even  in  the  Auguftan  age. 

The  firft  kind  of  poetry  that  was  follow- 
ed with  any  fuccefs  among  the  Romans, 
was  that  for  the  ftage.  They  were  a  very 
religious  people  ;  and  ftage  plays  in  thofe 
times  made  no  inconfiderable  part  in  their 
public  devotions ;  it  is  hence,  perhaps,  that 
the  greateft  number  of  their  oldeft  poets,  of 
whom  we  have  any  remains,  and  indeed  al- 
moft all  of  them,  are  dramatic  poets.  Spence, 

§  40.  Of  Livius,  Njevius,  cuid  En- 
nius. 
The  foremoft  in  this  lift,  were  Livius, 
Nxvius,  and  Ennius.  Livius's  firft  play 
(and  it  was  the  firft  written  play  that  ever 
appeared  at  Rome,  whence  perhaps  Ho- 
race calls  him  Livius  Scriptor)  was  acted 
in  the  5  14th  year  from  the  building  of  the 
city.  He  feems  to  have  got  whatever  re- 
putation he  had,  rather  as  their  firft,  than 
as  a  good  writer  ;  for  Cicero,  who  ad- 
mired thefe  old  poets  more  than  they 
were  afterwards  admired,  is  forced  to  give 
up  Livius ;  and  favs,  that  his  pieces  did 
not  deferve  a  fecond  reading.  He  was 
for  fome  time  the  fole  writer  for  the  ftage; 
till  Na:vius  rofe  to  rival  him,  and  proba- 
*  My 


COOK    II.     CLASSICAL^AND    HISTORICAL.        405 


bly  far  exceeded  his  matter.  Naevius 
ventured  too  on  an  epic,  or  rather  an  hifto- 
rical  poem,  on  the  firft  Carthagenian  war. 
Ennius  followed  his  Heps  in  this,  as  well 
as  in  the  dramatic  way ;  and  feems  to 
have  excelled  him  as  much  as  he  had  ex- 
celled Livius  ;  fo  much  at  leait,  that  Lu- 
cretius fays  of  him,  "  That  he  was  the 
firft  of  their  poets  who  deferved  a  lafting 
crown  from  the  Mufes."  Thefe  three 
poets  were  actors  as  well  as  poets ;  and 
feem  all  of  them  to  have  wrote  whatever 
was  wanted  for  the  ftage,  rather  than  to 
have  confulted  their  own  turn  or  genius. 
Each  of  them  publilhed,  fometimes  tra- 
gedies, fometimes  comedies,  and^  fome- 
times a  kind  of  dramatic  fatires ;  fuch  fa- 
tires,  I  fuppofe,  as  had  been  occasioned  by 
the  extempore  poetry  that  had  been  in  fa- 
Jhion  the  century  before  them.  All  the 
moft  celebrated  dramatic  writers  of  anti- 
quity excel  only  in  one  kind.  There  is  no 
tragedy  of  Terence,  or  Menander ;  and 
no  comedy  of  Actius,  or  Euripides.  But 
thefe  firft  dramatic  poets,  among  the  Ro- 
mans, attempted  every  thing  indifferently ; 
juft  as  the  prefent  fancy,  or  the  demand 
of  the  people,  led  them. 

The  quiet  the  Romans  enjoyed  after  the 
fecond  Punic  war,  when  they  had  humbled 
fheif  great  rival  Carthage  ;  and  their  car- 
rying on  their  conquefts  afterwards,  with- 
out anv  great  difficulties,  into  Greece,—^ 
gave  them  leifure  and  opportunities  for 
making  very  great  improvements  in  their 
poetry.  Their  dramatic  writers  began  to 
act  with  more  fteadinefs  and  judgment ; 
they  followed  one  point  of  view ;  they  had 
the  benefit  of  the  excellent  patterns  the 
Greek  writers  had  fet  them ;  and  formed 
jhemfelves  on  thofe  models,  Stence. 

§  41.  Of  Plautus. 

Plautus  was  the  firft  that  confulted  his 
own  genius,  and  confined  himfelfto  that 
fpecies  of  dramatic  writing,  for  which  he 
was  the  beft  fitted  by  nature.  Indeed,  his 
comedy  (like  the  old  comedy  at  Athens) 
is  of  a  ruder  kind,  and  far  enough  from 
the  polifh  that  was  afterwards  given  it 
among  the  Romaas.  His  jefts  are  often 
rough,  and  his  wit  coarfe  ;  but  there  is  a 
Strength  and  fpirit  in  him,  that  make  one 
read  him  with  pleafure :  at  leaft,  he  is 
much  to  be  commended  for  being  the  firft 
that  confidered  what  he  was  moft  capable 
of  excelling  in,  and  not  endeavouring  to 
fhine  in  too  many  different  ways  at  once. 
Cscilius  followed  his  example  in  this  par- 


ticular ;  but  improved  their  comedy  fo 
much  beyond  him,  that  he  is  named  by 
Cicero,  as  perhaps  the  beft  of  all  the  comic 
writers  they  ever  had.  This  high  cha- 
racter of  him  was  not  for  his  language, 
which  is  given  up  by  Cicero  himfelf  as 
faulty  and  incorrect ;  but  either  for  the 
dignity  of  his  characters,  or  the  Strength 
and  weight  of  his  fentiments.  Ibid. 

%  42.  Of  Terence. 

Terence  made  his  firft  appearance  when 
Ca?cilius   was  in  high  reputation.      It  is 
faid,  that  when  he  offered  his  firft  play  to 
the  Ediles,  they  fent  him  with  it  to  Csci- 
lius  for  his  judgment  of  the  piece.     Csci- 
lius  was  at  fupper  when  he  came  to  him ; 
and  as  Terence  was  dreffed  very  meanly,  he 
was  placed  on  a  little  ftool,  and  defired  to 
read  away  ;  but  upon  his  having  read  a  very 
few  lines  only,  Cascilius  altered  his  beha- 
viour, and  placed  him  next  himfelf  at  the 
table.    They  all  admired  him  as  a  rifing 
genius ;  and  the  applaufe  he  received  from 
the  public,  anfwered  the  compliments  they 
had  made  him  in  private.     His  Eunuchus, 
in  particular,  was  acted  twice  in  one  day  ; 
and  he  was  paid  more  for  that  piece  than 
ever  had  been  given  before  for  a  comedy  : 
and  yet,  by  the  way,  it  was  not  much  above 
thirty  pounds. '  We  may  fee  by  that,  and 
the  reft  of  his  plays  which  remain  to  us, 
to  what  a  degree  of  exactnefs  and  elegance 
the  Roman  comedy   was   arrived   in  his 
time.      There  is  a    beautiful   Simplicity, 
which  reigns  through  all  his  works.  There 
is  no  fearching  after  wit,  and  no  oftenta- 
tion  of  ornament  in  him.     All  his  fpeakers 
feem  to  fay  juft  what  they  fhould  fay,  and 
no  more.    The  ftory  is  always  going  on  ; 
and  goes  on  juft  as  it  ought.     This  whole 
age,  long  before  Terence,  and  long  after, 
is   rather   remarkable  for    ftrength    than 
beauty  in  writing.  Were  we  to  compare 
it  with  the  following  age,  the  compofitions 
of  this  would  appear  to  thofe  of  the  Au- 
guftan,  as  the  Doric  order  in  building  if 
compared  with  the  Corinthian ;  but  Te- 
rence's work  is  to  thofe  of  the  Auguftan 
age,  as  the  Ionic  is  to  the  Corinthian  or- 
der :  it  is  not  fo  ornamented,  or  fo  rich  ; 
but  nothing  can  be  more  exact  and  pleafing. 
The  Roman  language  itfelf,  in  his  hands, 
feems  to  be  improved  beyond  what  one 
could  ever  expect ;  and  to  be  advanced  al- 
moit  a  hundred  years  forwarder  than  the 
times  he  lived  in.  There  are  fome  who  look 
upon  this  as  one  of  the  ftrangeft  phamomena 
in  the  learned  world  ;  but  it  is  a  phaeno- 
D  d  3  menort 


4o£ 

menon  which  maybe  well  enough  explain- 
ed from  Cicero.  He  fays,  "  that  in  feveral 
families  the  Roman  language  was  fpoken 
in  perfection,  even  in  thofe  times ;"  and 
inftances  particularly  in  the  families  of  the 
Laelii  and  the  Scipio's.  Every  one  knovvs 
that  Terence  was  extremely  intima  e  in 
both  thefe  families :  and  as  the  language 
of  his  pieces  is  that  of  familiar  conveda- 
tion,  he  had  indeed  little  more  to  do,  than 
to  write  as  they  talked  at  their  tables. 
Perhaps,  too,  he  was  obliged  to  Scipio  and 
La?liu5,  for  more  than  their  bare  conver- 
fations.  That  is  not  at  all  impoffible  ;  and 
inieed  the  Romans  thernfelves  feem  gene- 
rally to  have  imagined,  that  he  was  affifttd 
by  them  in  the  writing  part  too.  If  it  was 
really  fo,  that  will  account  Hill  better  for 
the  elegance  of  the  language  in  his  plays  : 
becaufe  Terence  himfelf  was  born  out  of 
Italy  :  and  though  he  was  brought  thither 
\"ery  young,  he  received  the  firit  part  of 
his  education  in  a  family,  where  they 
might  not  fpeak  with  fo  much  convemefs 
as  Lseiius  and  Scipio  had  been  ufed  to 
from  their  very  infancy.  Thus  much  for 
the  language  of  Terence's  plays :  as  for 
the  reft,  it  ieems,  from  what  he  lays  him- 
felf, that  his  n-.ofc  ufual  method  was  to 
take  his  plans  chiefly,  and  his  characters 
wholly,  from  the  Greek  comic  poets. 
Thofe  who  iay  that  he  tranflated  ail  the 
comedies  of  Ivienander,  certainly  carry  the 
matter  too  far.  ']  hey  were  probably  more 
than  Terence  ever  wrote.  Indeed  this 
would  be  r  ore  hkely  to  be  true  of  Afra- 
nius thanTeience;  though,  I  fuppofe,  it 
would  icarce  hold,  were  we  to  take  both 
of  them  together.  Sfaice. 

§  43.   0/~  Afranius. 

We  have  a  very  great  lofs  in  the  works 
of  Afranius  :  for  he  was  regarded,  even 
in  the  Auguftan  Age,  as  the  molt  exact. 
imitator  of  lY'ienander.  He  owns  himfelf, 
that  he  had  no  reitraint  in  copying  him; 
or  any  other  of  the  Greek  comic  writers, 
wherever  they  fet  him  a  good  example. 
Afranius's  (lories  and  perions  were  Ro- 
man, as  Terence's  were  Grecian.  This 
was  looked  upon  as  fo  material  a  point  in 
thofe  days,  that  it  made  two  different  fpe- 
cies  of  comedy.  Thofe  on  a  Greek  llory 
were  called,  Palliatas ;  and  thofe  on  a  Ro- 
man Togatae.  Terence,  excelled  all  the 
Roman  poets  in  the  former,  and  Afranius 
in  the  latter.  Ibid. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§  44.  Of  Pacuvius  and  Actius, 

About  the  fame  time  that  comedy  was 
improved  fo  confiderably,  Pacuvius  and 
Aclius  ^one  a  contemporary  of  Terence, 
and  trie  other  of  Afranius)  carried  tragedy 
as  far  towards  perfection  as  it  ever  arrived 
in  Roman  hands.  The  Itep  from  Ennius 
to  Pacuvius  was  a  very  great  one ;  fo 
great,  that  he  was  reckoned,  in  Cicero's 
time,  the  belt  of  all  their  tragic  poets. 
Pacuvius,  as  well  as  Terence,  enjoyed  the 
acquaintance  and  friendihip  of  Ladius  and 
Scipio  :  but  he  did  not  profit  fo  much  by 
it,  as  to  the  improvement  of  his  language. 
Indeed  his  fty'e  was  not  to  be  the  common 
converfation  ltyle,  as  Terence's  was ;  and 
all  the  ftiflcnings  given  to  it,  might  take 
juft  as  much  from  its  elegance  as  they 
added  to  its  dignity.  What  is  remarkable 
in  him,  is,  that  he  was  almolt  as  eminent 
for  painting  as  he  was  for  poetry.  He 
made  the  decorations  for  his  own  plays ; 
and  Pliny  fpeaks  of  fome  paintings  by 
him,  in  a  temple  of  Herculej,  as  the  moll: 
celebraced  work  of  their  kind,  done  by 
any  Roman  of  condition  after  Fabius  Pic- 
tor.  Adtius  began  to  pujliih  when  Pa- 
cuvius was  leavirg  off":  nis  language  was 
not  fo  fine,  noi  his  verfes  fo  well-turned, 
even  as  thofe  of  his  predeceffor.  There  is 
a  remarkable  ftory  of  him  in  an  old  critic, 
which,  as  it  may  give  f<  me  light  into  their 
different  marine  ii  of  writing,  may  be  worth 
relating,  pacuvius,  in  his  old  age,  retired 
to  Tarentum,  to  enjoy  the  foft  air  and  mild 
winters  of  that  place.  As  Aftius  was  ob- 
liged, on  fome  affairs,  to  make  a  journey 
into  Aiia,  he  took  Tarentum  in  his  way, 
and  fraid  there  iome  days  with  P  cuvius. 
It  was  in  tnis  vifit  that  he  read  his  tragedy 
of  Acreus  tc  him,  ana  d'  fncd  his  opinion 
of  it.  Old  Pacuvius,  after  hearing  it  out, 
told  him  very  honeftly,  that  the  poetry  was 
fonorousand  majeftic,  but  that  it  teemed 
to  him  too  liiff  and  harlh.  Actius  replied, 
that  he  was  himfelf  very  fenfible  of  that 
fault  in  his  writings ;  but  that  he  was  not 
at  all  forry  for  it :  "  for,"  fays  he,  "  I 
have  always  been  of  opinion,  that  it  is  the 
fame  with  writers  as  with  fruits;  among 
which  thofe  that  are  moit  foft  and  palata- 
ble, decay  the  fooneit ;  whereas  thofe  of  a 
rough  taite  laft  the  longer,  and  have  the 
finer  relifh,  when  once  they  come  to  be 
mellowed  by  time." — Whether  this  ltyle 
ever  came  to  be  thus  mellowed,  I  very 
much  doubt;   however   that  was,  it  is  a 

point 


BOOK   II.      CLASSICAL    AND   HISTORICAL. 


407 


point  that  feems  generally  allowed,  that  he 
and  Pacuvius  were  the  two  belt  tragic  poets 
the  Romans  ever  had.  Spcnce. 

§  45 .     Of  the  Rife  of  Satire  :   Of  L  u  c  1  - 
lius,  Lucretius,  and  Catullus. 

All  this  while,  that  is,  for  above  one 
hundred  years,  the  ftage,  as  you  fee,  was 
almoft  folely  in  poffeffion  of  the  Roman 
poets.  It  was  now  time  for  the  other  kinds 
of  poetry  to  have  their  turn ;  however,  the 
firft  that  fprung  up  and  flouriihed  to  any 
degree,  was  Hill  a  cyon  from  the  fame  root. 
What  I  mean,  is  Satire ;  the  produce  of 
the  old  comedy.  This  kind  of  poetry  had 
been  attempted  in  a  different  manner  by 
fome  of  the  former  writers,  and  in  parti- 
cular by  Ennius :  but  it  was  fo  altered  and 
fo  improved  by  Lucilius,  that  he  was  called 
the  inventor  of  it.  This  was  a  kind  of 
poetry  wholly  of  the  Roman  growth  ;  and 
the  only  one  they  had  that  was  fo ;  and 
even  as  to  this,  Lucilius  improved  a  good 
deal  by  the  fide  lights  he  borrowed  from 
the  old  comedy  at  Athens.  Not  long  af- 
ter, Lucretius  brought  their  poetry  ac- 
quainted with  philofophy  :  and  Catullus 
began  to  fhew  the  Romans  fomething  of 
the  excellence  of  the  Greek  lyric  poets. 
Lucretius  difcovers  a  great  deal  of  fpirit 
wherever  his  fubjett  will  give  him  leave; 
and  the  firft  moment  he  fteps  a  little  afide 
from  it,  in  all  his  digrefficns,  he  is  fuller 
of  life  and  fire,  and  appears  to  have  been 
of  a  more  poetical  turn,  than  Virgil  him- 
felf ;  which  is  partly  acknowledged  in  the 
fine  compliment  the  latter  feems  to  pay 
him  in  his  Georgics.  His  fubject  often 
obliges  him  to  go  on  heavily  for  an  hun- 
dred lines  together  :  but  wherever  he 
breaks  out,  he  breaks  out  like  lightning 
from  a  dark  cloud ;  all  at  once,  with  force 
and  brightnefs.  His  character,  in  this, 
agrees  with  what  is  laid  of  him :  that  a 
philtre  he  took  had  given  him  a  frenzy, 
and  that  he  wrote  in  his  lucid  intervals. 
He  and  Catullus  wrote,  when  letters  in 
general  began  to  flourifh  at  Rome  much 
more  than  ever  they  had  done.  Catullus 
was  too  wife  to  rival  him  ;  and  was  the 
moft  admired  of  all  his  cotemporaries,  in 
all  the  different  ways  of  writing  he  at- 
tempted. His  odes  perhaps  are  the  leaft 
valuable  part  of  his  works.  The  ftrokes 
of  fatire  in  his  epigrams  are  very  fevere ; 
and  the  descriptions  in  his  Idylliums,  very 
full  and  pi&urefque.  He  paints  ftrongly ; 
but  all  his  paintings  have  more  of  force 


than  elegance,  and  put  one  more  in  mind 
of  Homer  than  Virgil. 

With  thefe  I  fhall  chufe  to  clofe  the  firft 
age  of  the  Roman  poetry :  an  age  more 
remarkable  for  ftrength  than  for  refine- 
ment in  writing.  I  have  dwelt  longer  on 
it  perhaps  than  I  ought;  but  the  order 
and  fucceffion  of  thefe  poets  wanted  much 
to  be  fettled  :  and  I  was  obliged  to  fay 
fomething  of  each  of  them,  becaufe  I  may 
have  recourfe  to  each  on  fome  occafion  or 
another,  in  mewing  you  my  collection. 
All  that  remains  to  us  of  the  poetical 
works  of  this  age,  are  the  mifcellaneous 
poems  of  Catullus;  the  philofophical  poem 
of  Lucretius;  fix  comedies  by  Terence; 
and  twenty  by  Plautus.  Of  all  the  reft, 
there  is  nothing  left  us,  except  fuch  paf- 
fages  from  their  works  as  happened  to  be 
quoted  by  the  ancient  writers,  and  parti- 
cularly by  Cicero  and  the  old  critics. 

Ibid. 

§  46.  Of  the  Criticifms  of  Cicero,  Ho- 
race, and  Quinctilian  on  the  above 
Writers. 

The  beft  way  to  fettle  the  characters 
and  merits  of  thefe  poets  of  the  firft  age, 
where  fo  little  of  their  own  works  remains, 
is  by  confidering  what  is  faid  of  them  by 
the  other  Roman  writers,  who  were  well 
acquainted  with  their  works.  The  beft  of 
the  Roman  critics  we  can  confult  now,  and 
perhaps  the  beft  they  ever  had,  are  Cicero, 
Horace,  and  Quinctilian.  If  we  compare 
their  fentiments  of  thefe  poets  together, 
we  fhall  find  a  difagreement  in  them  ;  but 
a  difagreement  which  I  think  may  be  ac- 
counted for,  without  any  great  difficulty. 
Cicero,  (as  he  lived  before  the  Roman 
poetry  was  brought  to  perfection,  and 
poffibly  as  no  very  good  judge  of  poetry 
himfelf)  feems  to  think  more  highly  of 
them  than  the  others.  He  gives  up  Li- 
vius  indeed ;  but  then  he  makes  it  up  in 
commending  Naevius.  All  the  other  comic 
poets  he  quotes  often  with  refpecl ;  and  as 
to  the  tragic,  he  carries  it  fo  far  as  to  feem 
ftrongly  inclined  to  oppofe  old  Ennius  to 
^Echilus,  Pacuvius  to  Sophocles,  and  Ac- 
tius  to  Euripides.— This  high  notion  of  the 
old  poets  was  probably  the  general  faftuon 
in  his  time ;  and  it  continued  afterwards 
(efpecially  among  the  more  elderly  fort  of 
people)  in  the  Auguftan  age  ;  and  indeed 
much  longer.  Horace,  in  his  epiitle  to 
Auguftus,  combats  it  as  a  vulgar  error  in 
his  time;  and  pertaps  it  was  an  error 
from  which  that  prince  himfelf  was  not 
Dd  4  vvh01'/ 


40  3 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


wholly  free.  However  that  be,  Horace, 
oa  this  occafion,  enters  into  the  queftion 
very  fully,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  warmth. 
The  character  he  gives  of  the  old  drama- 
tic poets  (which  indeed  includes  all  the 
Poets  I  have  been  fpeaking  of,  except  Lu- 
cilius,  Lucretius,  and  Catullus,)  is  perhaps 
rather  too  fevere.  He  fays,  "  That  their 
language  was  in  a  great  degree  fuperan- 
nuated,  even  in  his  time ;  that  they  are 
often  negligent  and  incorrett;  and  that 
there  is  generally  a  ftiffnefs  in  their  com- 
pofitions  :  that  people  indeed  might  par- 
don thefe  things  in  them,  as  the  fault  of 
the  times  they  lived  in ;  but  that  it  was 
provoking  they  ihould  tnink  of  commend- 
ing them  for  thofe  very  faults."  In  ano- 
ther piece  of  his,  which  turns  prettv  much 
on  the  fame  fubjeft,  he  gives  Lucilius's 
character  much  in  the  fame  manner.  He 
owns,  •'  that  he  had  a  good  deal  of  wit ; 
bat  then  it  is  rather  of  the  farce  kind, 
than  true  genteel  wit.  He  is  a  rapid 
writer,  and  has  a  great  many  good  things 
in  him;  but  is  often  very  fuperfluous  and 
mcorrecljhis  language  is  daflied  affectedly 
with  Greek;  and  his  verfes  are  hard  and 
unharmonious."—  Quuiftilian  fleers  the 
middle  way  between  both.  Cicero  per- 
haps was  a  little  mified  by  his  nearnefs  to 
their  times;  and  Horace  by  his  fubjed, 
which  was  piofeffedly  to  fpeak  againft  the 
old  writers.  Quintfilian,  therefore,  does 
not  commend  them  fo  generally  as  Cicero, 
nor  Ipeak  againft  them  fo  ftrongly  as  Ho- 
rac  •  ;  and  is  perhaps  more  to  be  depended 
upon,  in  this  cafe,  than  either  of  them. 
He  compares  the  works  of  Ennius  to  fome" 
facred  grove,  in  which  the  old  oaks  look 
rather  venerable  than  pleating.  He  com- 
mends Pacuvius  and  A&ius,  for  the  ftrength 
of  their  language  and  the  force  of  their 
fentiments  ;  but  fays,  "  they  wanted  that 
poliih  which  was  fet  on  the  Roman  poetry 
afterwards."  He  fpeaks  of  Plautus  and 
Caecijius,  as  applauded  writers :  of  Te- 
rence as  a  moil  elegant,  and  of  Afranius, 
as  an  excellent  one  ;  but  they  all,  fays  he, 
fall  infinitely  fhortof  the  grace  and  beauty 
Which  is  to  be  found  in  the  Attic  writers 
of  comedy,  and  which  is  perhaps  peculiar 
t^  t  le  dialed!  they  wrote  in.  To  conclude  : 
According  to  him,  Lucilius  is  too  much 
cried  up  by  many,  and  too  much  run  down 
by  Horace;  Lucretius  is  more  to  be  read 
for  his  matter  than  for  his  ftyle;  and  Ca- 
tullus is  remarkable  in  the  fatirical  part  of 
his  works,  but  Jcarce  fo  in  the  reft  of  his 
lyric   poetry.  Spence. 


§  47-   °f  the  flczirijhing    State   of  Poctrj 
among  the  Romans. 

The  firft  age  was  only  as  the  dawning 
of  the  Roman  poetry,  in  comparifon  of  the 
clear  full  light  that  opened  all  at  o»ce 
afterwards,  under  Auguftus  Cajfar.  The 
ftate  which  had  been  fo  long  tending  to- 
wards a  monarchy,  was  quite  fettled  down 
to  that  form  by  this  prince.  When  he 
had  no  longer  any  dangerous  opponents, 
he  grew  mild,  or  at  leaft  concealed  the 
cruelty^  of  his  temper.  He  gave  peace 
and  quiet  to  the  people  that  were  fallen 
into  his  hands ;  and  looked  kindly  on  the 
improvement  of  ail  the  arts  and  elegancies 
of  life  among  them.  He  had  a  minifter, 
too,  under  him,  who  (though  a  very  bad 
writer  himfelf)  knew  how  to  encourage 
the  belt ;  and  who  admitted  the  belt  poets, 
in  particular,  into  a  very  great  fhare  of 
friendship  and  intimacy  with  him.  Virgil 
was  one  of  the  foremoft  in  this  lift  5  who, 
at  his  firft  letting  out,  grew  foon  their  moft 
applauded  writer  for  genteel  paftorals : 
then  gave  them  the  moft  beautiful  and 
molt  correel  poem  that  ever  was  wrote  in 
the  Roman  language,  in  his  rules  of  agri- 
culture (fo  beautiful,  that  fome  of  the  an- 
tients  feem  to  accufe  Virgil  of  having 
ftudied  beauty  too  much  in  that  piece)  ; 
and  laft  of  all,  undertook  a  political  poem, 
in  fupport  of  the  new  eftablifhment.  I 
have  thought  this  to  be  the  intent  of  the 
JEneii,  ever  fince  I  firft  read  Boffu ;  and 
the  more  one  confiders  it,  the  more  I 
think  one  is  confirmed  in  that  opinion. 
Virgil  is  faid  to  have  begun  this  poem  the 
very  year  that  Auguftus  was  freed  from 
his  great  rival  Anthony  :  the  government 
of  the  Roman  empire  was  to  be  wholly  in 
him:  and  though  he  chofe  to  be  called 
their  father,  he  was,  in  every  thing  but 
the  name,  their  king.  This  monarchical 
form  of  government  muft  naturally  be  apt 
to  difpleafe  the  people.  Virgil  feems  to 
have  laid  the  plan  of  his  poem  to  reconcile 
them  to  it.  He  takes  advantage  of  their 
religious  turn;  and  of  fome  old  prophecies, 
that  muft  have  been  very  flattering  to  the 
Roman  people,  as  promising  them  the  em- 
pire of  the  whole  world  :  he  weaves  this  in 
with  the  moft  probable  account  of  their 
origin,  that  of  their  being  defcended  front 
the  Trojans.  To  be  a  little  more  parti- 
cular :  Virgil,  in  his  ^Eneid,  fhews  that 
./Eneas  was  called  into  their  country  by  the 
exprefs  order  of  the  gods ;  that  he  was 
made  king  of  it,  by  the  will  of  heaven, 

and 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


409 


and  by  all  the  human  rights  that  could  be  ; 
that  there  was  an  uninterrupted  fucceffion  of 
kings  from  him  to  Romulus;  that  his  heirs 
were  to  reign  there  for  ever ;  and  that  the 
Romans,  under  them,  were  to  obtain  the 
monarchy  of  the  world.  It  appears  from 
Virgil,  and  the  other  Roman  writers,  that 
Julius  Caefar  was  of  the  royal  race,  and 
that  Auguftus  was  his  fole  heir.  The  na- 
tural refult  of  all  this  is,  that  the  promifes 
made  to  the  Roman  people,  in  and  through 
this  race,  terminating  in  Auguftus,  the 
Romans  if  they  would  obey  the  gods, 
and  be  mafters  of  the  world,  were  to  yield 
obedience  to  the  new  eftablifhment  under 
that  prince.  As  odd  a  fcheme  as  this  may 
feem  now,  it  is  fcarce  fo  odd  as  that  of 
fome  people  among  us,  who  perfuaded 
themfelves,  that  an  abfolute  obedience  was 
owing  to  our  kings,  on  their  fuppofed  de- 
fcent  from  fome  unknown  patriarch  :  and 
yet  that  had  its  effeft  with  many,  about  a 
century  ago  ;  and  feems  not  to  have  quite 
loft  all  its  influence,  even  in  our  remem- 
brance. However  that  be,  I  think  it  ap- 
pears plain  enough,  that  the  two  great 
points  aimed  at  by  Virgil  in  his  iEneid, 
were  to  maintain  their  old  religious  tenets, 
and  to  fupport  the  new  form  of  govern- 
ment in  the  family  of  the  Caefars.  That 
poem  therefore  may  very  well  be  con- 
fidered  as  a  religious  and  political  work, 
or  rather  (as  the  vulgar  religion  with  them 
was  fcarce  any  thing  mare  than  an  engine 
pf  ftate)  it  may  fairly  enough  be  con- 
lidered  as  a  work  merely  political.  If 
this  was  the  cafe,  Virgil  was  not  fo  highly 
encouraged  by  Auguftus  and  Maecenas  for 
nothing.  To  fpeak  a  little  more  plainly  : 
He  wrote  in  the  fervice  of  the  new  ufur- 
pation  on  the  ftate  :  and  all  that  can  be 
offered  in  vindication  of  him,  in  this  light, 
is,  that  the  ufurper  he  wrote  for,  was  grown 
a  tame  one;  and  that  the  temper  and  bent 
of  their  conftitution,  at  that  time,  was 
fuch,  that  the  reins  of  government  muft 
have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  fome  one 
perfon  or  another ;  and  might  probably, 
on  any  new  revolution,  have  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  fome  one  lefs  mild  and  indulg- 
ent than  Auguftus  was,  at  the  time  when 
Virgil  wrote  this  poem  in  his  fervice. 
But  whatever  may  be  laid  of  his  reafons 
for  writing  it,  the  poem  itfelf  has  been 
highly  applauded  in  all  ages,  from  its  firft 
appearance  to  this  day;  and  though  left 
untinifhed  by  its  author,  has  been  always 
reckoned  as  much  fuperior  to  al!  the  other 


epic  poems   among  the  Romans,  as  Ho' 
mer's  is  among  the  Greeks.  Spence. 

§   4.8.  Qbfervations    on    the  ^EnEID,  and 
the    Author's  Genius. 

It  preferves  more  to  us  of  the  religion 
of  the  Romans,  than  all  the  other  Latin 
poets  (excepting  only  Ovid)  put  together: 
and  gives  us  the  forms  and  appearances 
of  their  deities,  as  ftrongly  as  if  we  had 
fo  many  pictures  of  them  preferved  to  us, 
done  by  fome  of  the  beft  hands  in  the  Au- 
guftan  age.  It  is  remarkable,  that  he  is 
commended  by  fome  of  the  ancients  them- 
felves, for  the  ftrength  of  his  imagination 
as  to  this  particular,  though  in  general 
that  is  not  hi*  character,  fo  much  as  exacV 
nefs.  He  was  certainly  the  moft  correal 
poet  even  of  his  time ;  in  which  all  falfe 
thoughts  and  idle  ornaments  in  writing 
were  difcouraged  :  and  it  is  as  certain, 
that  there  is  but  little  of  invention  in  his 
vEneid  ;  much  lefs,  I  believe,  than  is  gene- 
rally imagined.  Almoii  all  the  little  fafls 
in  it  are  built  on  hiftory  ;  and  even  as  to 
the  particular  lines,  no  one  perhaps  ever 
borrowed  more  from  the  poets  that  pre- 
ceded him,  than  he  did.  He  goes  fo  far 
back  as  to  old  Ennius ;  and  often  inferts 
whole  verfes  from  him,  and  fome  other  of 
their  earlieft  writers.  The  obfoletenefs  of 
their  ftyle,  did  not  hinder  him  much  in 
this :  for  he  was  a  particular  lover  of  their 
old  language  ;  and  no  doubt  inferted  many 
more  antiquated  words  in  his  poem,  than 
we  can  difcover  at  prefent.  Judgment  is 
his  diftinguiihing  character ;  and  his  great 
excellence  confifted  in  chufing  and  ranging 
things  aright.  Whatever  he  borrowed  he 
had  the  ikill  of  making  his  own,  by  weav- 
ing it  fo  weli  into  his  work,  that  it  looks 
all  of  a  piece;  even  thofe  parts  of  his 
poems,  where  this  may  be  moft  praftifed, 
refembling  a  fine  piece  of  Mofaic,  in 
which  all  the  parts,  though  of  fuch  dif- 
ferent marbles,  unite  together;  and  the 
various  fhades  and  colours  are  fo  artfully 
difpofed  as  to  melt  off  infenfibly  into  one 
another. 

One  of  the  greateft  beauties  in  Virgil's 
private  character  was,  his  modefty  and 
good-nature.  He  was  apt  to  think  hum- 
bly of  himfeJf,  and  handfomely  of  others : 
and  was  ready  to  fhew  his  love  of  merit, 
even  where  it  might  feem  to  elafh  with  his 
own.  He  was  the  firft  who  recommended 
Horace  to  Maecenas.  Ibid. 

\  49- 


4ics 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


§    49.     O/'HORACE. 

Horace  was  the  fitted  man  in  the  world 
for  a  court  where  wit  was  fo  particularly- 
encouraged.  No  man  Teems  to  have  had 
more,  and  all  of  the  genteeleft  fort ;  or  to 
have  been  better  acquainted  with  mankind. 
His  gaiety  and  even  his  debauchery,  made 
him  Hill  the  more  agreeable  to  Maecenas  : 
fo  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  his  acquaint- 
ance with  that  Minifter  grew  up  to  lb  high 
a  degree  of  friendship,  as  is  very  uncom- 
mon between  a  firft  Minifcer  and  a  poet ; 
and  which  had  poffibly  fuch  an  effect  on 
the  latter,  as  one  mail  fcarce  ever  hear  of  be- 
tween any  two  friends,  the  moll  on  a  level: 
for  there  is  fome  room  to  conjecture,  that 
he  haflened  himfelf  out  of  this  world  to 
accompany  his  great  friend  in  the  next. 
Horace  has  been  moil  generally  celebrated 
for  his  lyric  poems ;  in  which  he  far  ex- 
celled all  the  Roman  poets,  and  perhaps 
was  no  unworthy  rival  of  feveral  of  the 
Greek  :  which  feems  to  have  been  the 
height  of  his  ambition.  His  next  point  of 
merit,  as  it  has  been  ufually  reckoned,  was 
his  refining  fatire;  and  bringing  it  from 
the  coarfenefs  and  harfhnefs  of  Lucilius  to 
that  genteel,  er-iy  manner,  which  he,  and 
perhaps  nobody  but  he  and  one  perfon 
more  in  all  the  ages  fince,  has  ever  pofTef- 
fed.  I  do  not  remember  that  any  one  of 
the  ancients  fays  any  thing  of  his  epiftles : 
and  this  has  made  me  fometimes  imagine, 
that  his  epiftles  and  fatires  might  origi- 
nally have  palled  under  one  and  the  fame 
name;  perhaps  that  of  Sermones.  They 
are  generally  written  in  a  ftyle  approach- 
ing to  that  of  converfation ;  and  are  fo 
much  alike,  that  feveral  of  the  fatires 
might  juft  as  well  be  called  epiftles,  as 
feveral  of  his  epiftles  have  the  fpirit  of  fa- 
tire  in  them.  This  latter  part  of  his  works, 
by  whatever  name  you  pieafe  to  call  them 
(whether  fatires  and  epiftles,  or  difcourfes 
in  verfe  on  moral  and  familiar  fubjecls) 
is  what,  I  muff,  own,  I  love  much  better 
even  than  the  lyric  part  of  his  works.  It 
is  in  thefe  that  he  fhews  that  talent  for 
criticifm,  in  which  he  fo  very  much  ex- 
celled; efpecially  in  his  long  epiftle  to  Au- 
guflus  ;  and  that  other  to  the  Pifo's,  com- 
monly called  his  Art  of  Poetry.  They 
abound  in  itrokes  which  mew  his  great 
knowledge  of  mankind,  and  in  that  pleaf- 
ing  way  he  had  of  teaching  philofophy,  of 
laughing  away  vice,  and  inftnuating  virtue 
into  the  minds  of  his  readers.     They  may 


ferve,  as  much  as  almolt  any  writings  can> 
to  make  men  wifer  and  better :  for  he  has 
the  molt  agreeable  way  of  preaching  that 
ever  was.  He  was,  in  general,  an  honefl, 
good  man  himfelf;  at  leaf!  he  does  not 
ieem  to  have  had  any  one  ill-natured  vice 
about  him.  Other  poets  we  admire ;  but 
there  is  not  any  of  the  ancient  poets  that  I 
could  wilh  to  have  been  acquainted  with, 
fo  much  as  Horace.  One  cannot  be  very 
converfant  with  his  writings,  without  hav- 
ing a  friendfhip  for  the  man;  and  longing 
to  have  jult  fuch  another  as  he  was  for 
one's  friend.  Spence. 

§    50.    Of     TlBULLUS,     PROPERTIUS, 

and   Ovid. 

In  that  happy  age,  and  in  the  fame 
court,  flourifhed  Tibullus.  He  enjoyed 
the  acquaintance  of  Horace,  who  mentions 
him  in  a  kind  and  friendly  manner,  both 
in  his  Odes  and  in  his  Epiftles.  Tibullus 
is  evidently  the  moft  exact  and  moft  beau- 
tiful writer  of  love  verfes  among  the  Ro- 
mans, and  was  efleemed  fo  by  their  belt 
judges  ;  though  there  were  fome,  it  feems, 
even  in  their  better  ages  of  writing  and 
judging,  who  preferred  Propertius  to  him. 
Tibullus's  talent  feems  to  have  been  only 
for  elegiac  verfe :  at  leafl  his  compliment 
on  Meifala-  (which  is  his  only  poem  out  of 
it)  fhews,  I  think,  too  plainly,  that  he 
was  neither  defigned  for  heroic  verfe, 
nor  panegyric.  Elegance  is  as  much  his 
diitinguifhing  character,  among  the  elegiac 
writers  of  this  age,  as  it  is  Terence's, 
among  the  comic  writers  of  the  former  ; 
and  if  his  fubject  will  never  let  him  be  fub- 
lime,  his  judgment  at  leaft  always  keeps 
him  from  being  faulty. — His  rival  and  co- 
temporary,  Propertius,  feems  to  have  fet 
himfelf  too  many  different  models,  to  copy 
either  of  them  fo  well  as  he  might  other- 
wife  have  done.  In  one  place,  he  calls 
himfelf  the  Roman  Callimachus ;  in  ano- 
ther, he  talks  of  rivalling  Philetas:  and  he 
is  faid  to  have  fludied  Mimnermus,  and 
fome  other  of  the  Greek  lyric  writers,  with 
the  fame  view.  Ycu  may  fee  by  this, 
and  the  practice  of  all  their  poets  in  gene- 
ral, that  it  was  the  conflant  method  of  the 
Romans  (whenever  they  endeavoured  to  ex- 
cel) to  fet  fome  great  Greek  pattern  or  other 
before  them.  Propertius,  perhaps,  might 
have  fucceeded  better,  had  he  fixed  on  any 
one  of  thefe;  and  not  endeavoured  to  im- 
prove by  all  of  them  indifferently. — Ovid 
makes    up  the  triumvirate  of  the  elegiac 

writers 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND   HISTORICAL.        4u 


writers  of  this  age  ;  and  is  more  loofe  and 
incorrect  than  either  of  the  other.     As 
Propertius    followed    too   many  matters, 
Ovid  endeavoured  to  mine  in  too  many 
different  kinds  of  writing  at  the  fame  time. 
Befides,  he  had  a  redundant  genius ;  and 
almoft  always  chofe  rather  to  indulge,  than 
to  give  any  reftraint  to  it.     If  one  was  to 
give  any  opinion  of  the  different  merits  of 
his  feveral  works,  one  fhould  not  perhaps 
be  much  befide  the  truth,  in  faying,  that 
he  excels  moft  in  his  Fafti ;  then  perhaps 
in    his    love-verfes ;    next   in   his  heroic 
epiftles ;  and  laftly,  in  his  Metamorphofes, 
As  for  the  verfes  he  wrote  after  his  misfor- 
tunes, he  has  quite  loft  his  fpirit  in  them; 
and  though  you  may  difcover  ibme  differ- 
ence in  his  manner,  after  his  banifhment 
came  to  fit  a  little  lighter  on  him,  his  ge- 
nius never  fhines  out  fairly  after  that  fatal 
ftroke.    His  very  love  of  being  witty  had 
forfaken  him ;  though  before  it  feems  to 
have  grown  upon  him,  when  it  was  leaft 
becoming,  toward  his  old  age:  for  his  Me- 
tamorphofes  (which  was  the  laft  poem  he 
wrote  at  Rome,  and  which  indeed  was  not 
quite  finifhed  when  he  was  fent  into  banifh- 
ment) has  more  inftances  of  "falfe  wit  in 
it,  than  perhaps  all  his  former  writings  put 
together.     One  of  the  things  I  have  heard 
him  moft  cried  up  for,  in  that  piece,  is  his 
tranfitions  from  one  ftory  to  another.    The 
ancients  thought  differently  of  this  point; 
and  Quinctilian,  where  he  is  fpeaking  of 
them,  endeavours  rather  to  excufe  than  to 
commend  him  on  that  head.     We  have 
a  confiderable  lofs  in  the  latter  half  of  his 
Fafti ;  and  in  his  Medea,  which  is  much 
commended.     Dramatic  poetry  feems  not 
to  have  flouriihed,  in  proportion  to  the 
other  forts  of  poetry,  in  the  Auguftan  age. 
We  fcarce  hear  any  thing  of  the  comic 
poets  of  that  time ;  and  if  tragedy  had 
been  much  cultivated  then,    the    Roman 
writers  would  certainly  produce  fome  names 
from  it,  to  oppofe  to  the  Greeks,  without 
going  fo  far  back  as  to  thofe  of  AdTius  and 
Pacuvius  ;  Indeed  their  own  critics,  in 
fpeaking  of  the  dramatic  writings  of  this 
age,  boaft  rather  of  fingle  pieces,  than  of 
authors  :  and  the  two  particular  tragedies, 
which  they  talk  of  in  the  higheft  ftrain, 
are    the    Medea    of  Ovid,    and  Varius's 
Thyeftes.      However,  if  it  was  not   the 
age    for  plays,  it   was  certainly  the  age 
in  which  almoft  all  the  other  kinds  of  poe- 
try were  in  their  greateft  excellence   at 
Rome.  Spence. 


§51.      Of  P  H  m  D  R  u  s. 

Under  this  period  of  the  beft  writing,  I 
ihould  be  inclined  to  infert  Phsdrus.  For 
though  he  publifhed  after  the  good  manner 
of  writing  was  in  general  on  the  decline, 
he  flouriihed  and  formed  his  ftyle  under 
Auguftus  :  and  his  book,  though  it  did  not 
appear  till  the  reign  of  Tiberius,  deferves, 
on  all  accounts,  to  be  reckoned  among 
the  works  of  the  Auguftan  age.  Fabuke 
^Efopeae,  was  probably  the  title  which  he 
gave  his  fables.  He  profeffedly  follows 
JEfop  in  them ;  and  declares,  that  he  keeps 
to  his  manner,  even  where  the  fubject  is  of 
his  own  invention.  By  this  it  appears,  that 
.^Efop's  way  of  telling  ftories  was  very 
fhort  and  plain;  for  the  diftinguifhing beau- 
ty of  Phasdrus's  fables  is,  their  concifenefs 
and  fimplicity.  The  tafte  was  fo  much 
fallen,  at  the  time  when  he  publifhed  them, 
that  both  thefe  were  objected  to  him  a3 
faults.  He  ufed  thofe  critics  as  they  de- 
ferved.  He  tells  a  long,  tedious  ftory  to 
thofe  who  objected  againft  the  concifenefs 
of  his  ftyle ;  and  anfwers  fome  others,  who 
condemned  the  plainnefs  of  it,  with  a  run 
of  bombaft  verfes,  that  have  a  great  many 
noify  elevated  words  in  them,  without  any 
fenfe  at  the  bottom.  Ibid. 

§  52.     Of  Makilius. 

Manilius  can  fcarce  be  allowed  a  place 
in  this  lift  of  the  Auguftan  poets;  his  poetry 
is  inferior  to  a  great  many  of  the  Latin 
poets,  who  have  wrote  in  thefe  lower  ages, 
fo  long  fince  Latin  has  ceafed  to  be  a  liv- 
ing language.  There  is  at  leaft,  I  believe, 
no  inftance,  in  any  one  poet  of  the  flourifh- 
ing  ages,  of  fuch  language,  or  fuch  verfi- 
fication,  as  we  meet  with  in  Manilius ; 
and  there  is  not  any  one  ancient  writer 
that  fpeaks  one  word  of  any  fuch  poet 
about  thofe  times.  I  doubt  not,  there  were 
bad  poets  enough  in  the  Auguftan  age ;  but 
I  queftion  whether  Manilius  may  deferve 
the  honour  of  being  reckoned  even  among 
the  bad  poets  of  that  time.  What  mult 
be  faid,  then,  to  the  many  paffages  in  the 
poem,  which  relate  to  the  times  in  which 
the  author  lived,  and  which  all  have  a  re- 
gard to  the  Auguftan  age  r  If  the  whole 
be  not  a  modern  forgery,  I  do  not  fee  how 
one  can  deny  his  being  of  that  age :  and 
if  it  be  a  modern  forgery,  it  is  very  lucky 
that  it  fhould  agree  fo  exactly,  in  io  many 
little  particulars,  with  the  ancient  globe  of 
the  heavens,  in  the  Farnefe  palace.  Al- 
lowing 


412 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS,    IN    PROSE. 


lowing  Manilius's  poem  to  pafs  for  what 
it  pretends  to  be,  there  is  nothing  remains 
to  us  of  the  poetical  works  of  this  Auguftan 
age,  befides  what  I  have  mentioned  :  ex- 
cept the  garden  poem  of  Columella;  the 
little  hunting  piece  of  Gratius ;  and,  per- 
haps, an  elegy  or  two  of  Gallus.     Spence. 

§  S3'  Of  the  Poets  nvhofe  Works  have  not 
come  down  to  us. 
Thefe  are  but  fmall  remains  for  an  age 
In  which  poetry  was  fo  well  cultivated  and 
followed  by  very  great  numbers,  taking 
the  good  and  the  bad  together.  It  is  pro- 
bable, moil:  of  the  beft  have  come  down 
to  us.  As  for  the  others,  we  only  hear  of 
the  elegies  of  Capella  and  Montanus;  that 
Proculus  imitated  Callimachus;  and  Ru- 
fus,  Pindar:  that  Fontanus  wrote  a  fort  of 
pifcatory  eclogues ;  and  Macer,  a  poem  on 
the  nature  of  birds,  beads,  and  plants. 
That  the  fjime  Macer,  and  Rabirinus,  and 
Marfus,  and  Ponticus,  and  Pedo  Albino- 
vanus,  and  feveral  others,  were  epic  writ- 
ers in  that  time  (which,  by  the  way,  feems 
to  have  fignihed  little  more,  than  that  they 
wrote  in  hexameter  verfe):  that  Funda- 
nius  was  the  bell  comic  poet  then,  and 
Meliffus  no  bad  one:  that  Varius  was  the 
snoft  efteemed  for  epic  poetry,  before  the 
jEneid  appeared;  and  one  of  the  molt 
efteemed  for  tragedy  always:  that  Pollio 
(befides  his  other  excellencies  at  the  bar, 
in  the  camp,  and  in  affairs  of  ftate)  is 
much  commended  for  tragedy;  and  Va- 
rius, either  for  tragedy  or  epic  poetry;  for 
it  does  not  quite  appear  which  of  the  two 
he  wrote.  Thefe  laft  are  great  names; 
but  there  remain  fome  of  ftill  higher  dig- 
nity, who  are,  or  at  lead  defired  to  be 
thought,  poets  in  that  time.  In  the  for- 
mer part  of  Auguftus's  reign,  his  firft  mi- 
nifter  for  home  affairs,  Maecenas;  and  in 
the  latter  part,  his  grandfon  Germanicus, 
were  of  this  number.  Germanicus  in  par- 
ticular tranflated  Aratus;  and  there  are 
fome  (I  do  not  well  know  on  what  grounds) 
who  pretend  to  have  met  with  a  confider- 
able  part  of  his  tranflation.  The  emperor 
himfelf  feems  to  have  been  both  a  good 
critic,  and  a  good  author.  He  wrote 
chiefly  in  profe  ;  but  fome  things  in  verfe 
too;  and  particularly  good  part  of  a  tra- 
gedy, called  Ajax. 

It  is  no  wonder,  under  fuch  encourage- 
ments, and  fo  great  examples,  that  poetry 
fhould  arife  to  a  higher  pitch  than  it  had 
ever  done  among  the  Romans.  They  had 
been  gradually  improving  it  for  above 
cwo  centuries;  and  in  Auguftus  found  a 


prince,  whofe  own  inclinations,  the  temper 
of  whofe  reign,  and  whofe  very  politics, 
led  him  to  nurfe  all  the  arts ;  and  poetry, 
in  a  more  particular  manner.  The  wonder 
is,  when  they  had  got  fo  far  toward  per- 
fection, that  they  fhould  fall  as  it  were  all 
at  once;  and  from  their  greateft  purity 
and  fimplicity,  fhould  degenerate  fo  imme- 
diately into  a  lower  and  more  affected  man- 
ner of  writing,  than  had  been  ever  known 
among  them.  Ibid. 

§  54.  Of  the  Fall  of  Poetry  among  the 
Romans. 
There  are  fome  who  aflert,  that  the 
great  age  of  the  Roman  eloquence  I  have 
been  fpeaking  of,  began  to  decline  a  little 
even  in  the  latter  part  of  Auguftus's  reign. 
It  certainly  fell  very  much  under  Tiberius ; 
and  grew  every  day  weaker  and  weaker, 
till  it  was  wholly  changed  under  Caligula* 
Hence  therefore  we  may  date  the  third  age, 
or  the  fall  of  the  Roman  poetry.  Augu- 
ftus, whatever  his  natural  temper  was,  put 
on  at  leaft  a  mildnefs,  that  gave  a  calm  to 
the  ftate  during  his  time :  the  fucceeding 
emperors  flung  off  the  mafk ;  and  not  only 
were,  but  openly  appeared  to  be,  rather 
monfters  than  men.  We  need  not  go  to 
their  hiftorians  for  proofs  of  their  prodir 
gious  vilenefs :  it  is  enough  to  mention  the 
bare  names  of  Tiberius,  Caligula,  Nero, 
Under  fuch  heads,  every  thing  that  was 
good  run  to  ruin.  All  difcipline  in  war^ 
all  domeftic  virtues,  the  very  love  of  li- 
berty, and  all  the  tafte  for  found  eloquence 
and  good  poetry,  funk  gradually;  and  fad- 
ed away,  as  they  had  flourifhed,  together. 
Inftead  of  the  fenfible,  chafte,  and  manly 
way  of  writing,  that  had  been  in  ufe  in  the 
former  age,  there  now  rofe  up  a  deiire  of 
writing  fmartly,  and  an  affectation  of  ihin- 
ing  in  every  thing  they  faid.  A  certain 
prcttinefs,  and  glitter,  and  luxuriance  of 
ornaments,  was  what  diftinguiPned  their 
moft  applauded  writers  in  profe ;  and  their 
poetry  was  quite  loft  in  high  flights  and 
obfeurity.  Seneca,  the  favourite  profe 
writer  of  thofe  times ;  and  Petronius 
Arbiter,  fo  great  a  favourite  with  many  of 
our  own ;  afford  too  many  proofs  of  this. 
As  to  the  profe  in  Nero's  time ;  and  as  to 
the  poets,  it  is  enough  to  fay,  that  they  had 
then  Lucan  and  Perfius,  inftead  of  Virgil 
and  Horace.  Ibid. 

§.  55.     Of  Lucan. 
Perfius  and  Lucan,  who  were  the  moft 
celebrated  poeti  under  the  reign  of  Nero, 
may  very  well  ferve  for  examples  of  the 

faults 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


4M 


faults  I  juft  mentioned,  one  of  the  fwelling, 
and  the  other  of  the  obfcure  ftyle,  then  in 
fafhion.  Lucan's  manner  in  general  runs 
too  much  into  fuftian  and  bombaft.  His 
mufe  was  a  kind  of  dropfy,  and  looks  like 
the  foldier  defcribed  in  his  own  Pharfalia, 
who  in  paffing  the  defert  fands  of  Africa, 
was  bit  by  a  ferpent,  and  fwelled  to  fuch 
an  immoderate  fize,  "  that  he  was  loft  (as 
he  expreffes  it)  in  the  tumours  of  his  own 
body."  Some  critics  have  been  in  too 
great  hafte  to  make  Quin&ilian  fay  forae 
good  things  of  Lucan,  which  he  never 
meant  to  do.  What  this  poet  has  been  al- 
ways for,  and  what  he  will  ever  deferve  to 
be  admired  for,  are  the  feveral  philofophi- 
cal  paffages  that  abound  in  his  works;  and 
his  generous  fentiments,  particularly  on  the 
love  of  liberty  and  the  contempt  of  death. 
In  his  calm  hours,  he  is  very  wife;  but  he 
is  often  in  his  rants,  and  never  more  fo 
than  when  he  is  got  into  a  battle,  or  a 
florin  at  fea :  but  it  is  remarkable,  that 
even  on  thofe  occafions,  it  is  not  fo  much 
a  violence  of  rage,  as  a  madnefs  of  affecta- 
tion, that  appears  moft  ftrongly  in  him. 
To  give  a  few  inftances  of  it,  out  of  many  : 
In  the  very  beginning  of  Lucan's  ftorm, 
when  Casfar  ventured  to  crofs  the  fea  in  fo 
fmall  a  veffel;  "  the  fixt  ftars  themfelves 
feem  to  be  put  in  motion."  Then  "  the 
waves  rife  over  the  mountains,  and  carry 
away  the  tops  of  them."  Their  next  ftep 
is  to  heaven;  where  they  catch  the  rain 
"  in  the  clouds :"  I  fuppofe,  to  increafe 
their  force.  The  fea  opens  in  feveral 
places,  and  leaves  its  bottom  dry  land. 
All  thf  foundations  of  the  univerfe  are 
fhaken;  and  nature  is  afraid  of  a  fecond 
chacs.  His  little  fkiff,  in  the  mean  time, 
fometimes  cuts  along  the  clouds  with  her 
fails;  and  fometimes  ieems  in  danger  of  be- 
ing ftrarded  on  the  fands  at  the  bottom  of 
the  fea;  and  mull  inevitably  have  been  loft, 
had  not  the  ftorm  (by  good  fortune)  been 
fo  ftrong  from  every  quarter,  that  /he  did 
not  know  on  which  fide  to  bulge  firft. 

When  the  two  armies  are  going  to  join 
battle  in  the  plains  of  Pharfalia,  we  are 
told,  that  all  the  foldiers  were  incapable 
of  any  fear  for  themfelves,  becaufe  they 
were  wholly  taken  up  with  their  concern 
for  the  danger  which  threatened  Pompey 
and  the  commonwealth.  On  this  great 
occafion,  the  hills  about  them,  according 
to  his  account,  feem  to  be  more  afraid  than 
the  men  ;  for  fome  of  the  mountains  looked 
as  if  they  would  thruft  their  heads  into 
the  clouds;  and  others,  as  if  they  wanted 


to  hide  themfelves  under  the  valleys  at 
their  feet.  And  thefe  difturbances  in  na- 
ture were  univerfal:  for  that  day,  every 
fmgle  Roman,  in  whatever  part  of  the 
world  he  was,  felt  a  ftrange  gloom  fpread 
all  over  his  mind,  on  a  fudden;  and  was 
ready  to  cry,  though  he  did  not  know  why 
or  wherefore.  Spence. 

§   56.     His  Defer  iption  of  the  Sea-fight  off 
Marfeilks. 

The  fea-fight  off  Marfeilles,  is  a  thing 
that  might  divert  one,  full  as  well  as 
Erafmus's  Naufragium  Joculare;  and  what 
is  ftill  ftranger,  the  poet  chufes  to  be  moft 
diverting  in  the  wounds  he  gives  the  poor 
foldier.  The  firft  perfon  killed  in  it,  is 
pierced  at  the  fame  inftant  by  two  fpears; 
one  in  his  back,  and  the  other  in  his  breaft  ; 
fo  nicely,  that  both  their  points  meet  to- 
gether in  the  middle  of  his  body.  They 
each,  I  fuppofe,  had  a  right  to  kill  him  ; 
and  his  foul  was  for  fome  time  doubtful 
which  it  fhould  obey.  At  laft,  it  com- 
pounds the  matter:  drives  out  each  of  the 
fpears  before  it,  at  the  fame  inftant;  and 
whips  cut  of  his  body,  half  at  one  wound, 
and  half  at  the  other. — A  little  after  this, 
there  is  an  honeft  Greek,  who  has  his  right 
hand  cut  off,  and  fights  on  with  his  left, 
till  be  can  leap  into  the  fea  to  recover  the 
former;  but  there  (as  misfortunes  feldom 
come  fxngle)  he  has  his  left  arm  chopt  off 
too :  after  which,  like  the  hero  in  one  of 
our  ancient  ballads,  he  fights  on  with  the 
trunk  of  his  body,  and  performs  actions 
greater  than  any  Witherington  that  ever 
was. — When  the  battle  grows  warmer, 
there  are  many  who  have  the  fame  misfor- 
tune with  this  Greek.  In  endeavouring 
to  climb  up  the  enemies  fhips,  feveral  have 
their  arms  ftruck  off;  fall  into  the  fea; 
leave  their  hands  behind  them !  Some  of 
thefe  fwimming  combatants  encounter  their 
enemies  in  the  water;  fome  fupply  their 
friends  fhips  with  arms;  fome,  that  had 
no  arms,  entangle  themfelves  with  their 
enemies;  cling  to  them,  and  fink  together 
to  the  bottom  of  the  fea;  others  flick 
their  bodies  againft  the  beaks  of  their  ene- 
mies Clips :  and  fcarce  a  man  of  them 
flung  away  the  ufe  of  his  carcafe,  even 
when  he  ihould  be  dead. 

But  among  all  the  contrivances  of  thefe 
pofthumous  warriors,  the  thing  moft  to  be 
admired,  is  the  fagacity  of  the  great 
Tyrrhenus.  Tyrrhenus  was  ftanding  at 
the  head  of  one  of  the  veffels,  when  a  ball 
of  lead,  flung  by  an  artful  flinger,  ftruck 

out 


4H 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


out  both  his  eyes.  The  violent  dafh  of 
the  blow,  and  the  deep  darknefs  that  was 
f bread  over  him  all  at  once,  made  him  at 
firft.  conclude  that  he  was  dead:  but  when 
he  had  recovered  his  fenfes  a  little,  and 
found  he  could  advance  one  foot  before 
the  other,  he  defired  his  fellow  foldiers  to 
plant  himjuft  as  they  did  their  Balliftae  : 
he  hopes  he  can  Mill  fight  as  well  as  a  ma- 
chine; and  feems  mightily  pleafed  to  think 
how  he  ihall  cheat  the  enemy,  who  will 
fling  away  darts  at  him,  that  might  have 
killed  people  who  were  alive. 

Such  ilrange  things  as  thefe,  make  me 
always  wonder  the  more,  how  Lucan  can 
be  fo  wife  as  he  is  in  fome  parts  of  his 
poem.  Indeed  his  fentences  are  more  fo- 
lid  than  one  could  otherwife  expect  from 
fo  young  a  writer,  had  he  wanted  fuch  an 
uncle  as  Seneca,  and  fuch  a  matter  as  Cor- 
nutus.  The  fwellings  in  the  other  parts  of 
his  poem  may  be  partly  accounted  for, 
perhaps,  from  his  b-jing  born  in  Spain, 
and  in  that  part  of  it  which  was  the  far- 
theft  removed  from  Greece  and  Rome; 
nay,  of  that  very  city,  which  is  marked 
by  Cicero  as  particularly  over- run  with  a 
bad  tafte.  After  all,  what  I  moll  difiike 
him  for,  is  a  blot  in  his  moral  character. 
He  was  at  firft  pretty  high  in  the  favour 
of  Nero.  On  the  difcovery  of  his  being 
concerned  in  a  plot  againit  him,  this  phiio- 
fopher  (who  had  written  fo  much,  and  fo 
gallantly,  about  the  pleafure  of  dying) 
behaved  himfelf  in  the  moll:  defpicable 
manner.  He  named  his  own  mother  as 
guilty  of  the  confpiracy,  in  hopes  of  fav- 
ing  himfelf.  After  this,  he  added  feveral 
of  his  friends  to  his  former  confefiion  ;  and 
thus  continued  labouring  for  a  pardon,  by 
making  facrifices  to  the  tyrant  of  fuch  lives, 
as  any  one,  muchlefs  of  a  philofopher  than 
he  feems  to  have  been,  ought  to  think 
dearer  than  their  own.  All  this  bafenefs 
was  of  no  ufe  to  him:  for,  in  the  end, 
Nero  ordered  him  to  execution  too.  His 
veins  were  opened;  and  the  laft  words  he 
fpoke,  were  fome  verfes  of  his  own. 

Spence. 

§   57*     Of  Persius. 

Perfius  is  faid  to  have  been  Lucan's 
fchool-fellow  under  Cornutus  ;  and,  like 
him,  was  bred  up  more  a  philofopher  than 
a  poet.  He  has  the  chai after  of  a  good 
man ;  but  fcarce  deferves  that  of  a  good 
writer,  in  any  other  than  the  moral  fenfe 
of  the  word :  for  his  writings  are  very  vir- 
tuous, but  not  very  poetical.     His  great 


fault  is  obfcurity.  Several  have  endea- 
voured to  excufe  or  palliate  this  fault  in 
him,  from  the  danger  of  the  times  he  lived 
in;  and  the  neceffity  a  fatirift  then  lay  un- 
der, of  writing  fo,  for  his  own  fecurity. 
This  may  hold  as  to  fome  paiTages  in  him; 
but  to  fay  the  truth,  he  feems  to  have  a 
tendency  and  love  to  obfcurity  in  himfelf; 
for  it  is  not  only  to  be  found  where  he  may 
fpeak  of  the  emperor,  or  the  ftate ;  but  in 
the  general  courfe  of  his  fatires.  So  that, 
in  my  confcience,  I  mull:  give  him  up  for 
an  obfcure  writer;  as  1  mould  Lucan  for 
a  tumid  and  fwelling  one. 

Such  was  the  Roman  poetry  under  Nero: 
The  three  emperors  after  him  were  made 
in  an  hurry,  and  had  lhort  tumultuous 
reigns.  Then  the  Flavian  family  came  in. 
Vefpafian,  the  firft  emperor  of  that  line, 
endeavoured  to  recover  fomething  of  the 
good  tafte  that  had  formerly  flourilhed  in 
Rome ;  his  fon  Titus,  the  delight  of  man- 
kind, in  his  lhort  reign,  encouraged  poetry 
by  his  example,  as  well  as  by  his  libera- 
lities :  and  even  Domitian  loved  to  be 
thought  a  patron  of  the  muies.  After, 
him,  there  was  a  fucceflion  of  good  em- 
perors, from  Nerva  to  the  Antonines. 
And  this  extraordinary  good  fortune  (for 
indeed,  if  one  confiders  the  general  run  of 
the  Roman  emperors,  it  would  have  been 
fuch,  to  have  had  any  two  good  ones  only 
together)  gave  a  new  fpirit  to  the  arts, 
that  had  long  been  in  fo  languifhing  a  con- 
dition, and  made  poetry  revive,  and  raife 
up  its  head  again,  once  more  among  them. 
Not  that  there  were  very  good  poets  even 
now  ;  but  they  were  better,  at  leaft,  than 
they  had  been  under  the  reign  of  Nero. 

Ibid. 

§    58.     Of  Si livs,  Statius,  and  Va* 

RERIUS     FLACCUS. 

This  period  produced  three  epic  poets, 
whofe  works  remain  to  us ;  Silius,  Statius, 
and  Valerius  Flaccus.  Silius,  as  if  he  had 
been  frightened  at  the  high  flight  of  Lu- 
can,  keeps  almoft  always  on  the  ground, 
and  fcarce  once  attempts  to  foar  through- 
out his  whole  work.  It  is  plain,  however, 
though  it  is  low ;  and  if  he  has  but  little 
of  the  fpirit  of  poetry,  he  is  free  at  leaft 
from  the  affectation,  and  obfcurity,  and 
bombaft,  which  prevailed  fo  much  among 
his  immediate  predeceflbrs.  Silius  was 
honoured  with  the  confulate ;  and  lived  to 
fee  his  fon  in  the  fame  high  office.  He 
was  a  great  lover  and  collector  of  pictures 
and  iutues;  fome  of  which  he  worfhipped; 

efpecially 


BOOK    II.       CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.         41c 


^fpecially  one  he  had  of  Virgil.  He  ufed 
to  offer  Sacrifices  too  at  his  tomb  near  Na- 
ples. It  is  a  pity  that  he  could  not  get 
more  of  his  fpirit  in  his  writings :  for  he 
had  fcarce  enough  to  make  his  offerings 
acceptable  to  the  genius  of  that  great  poet. 
— Statius  had  more  of  fpirit,  with  a  lefs 
fhare  of  prudence :  for  his  Thebaid  is  cer- 
tainly ill-conducled,  and  fcarcely  well  writ- 
ten. By  the  little  we  have  of  his  Achilleid, 
that  would  probably  have  been  a  much  bet- 
ter poem,  at  leafl  as  to  the  writing  part, 
had  he  lived  to  finifh  it.  As  it  is,  his  de- 
fcription  of  Achilles 's  behaviour  at  the  feafr. 
which  Lycomedes  makes  for  the  Grecian 
ambaffadors,  and  fome  other  parts  of  it, 
read  more  pleafmgly  to  me  than  any  part 
of  the  Thebaid.  I  cannot  help  thinking, 
that  the  paffage  quoted  fo  often  from  Juve- 
nal, as  an  encomium  on  Statius,  was  meant 
as  a  fatire  on  him.  Martial  feems  to  ftrike 
at  him  too,  under  the  borrowed  name  of 
Sabellus.  As  he  did  not  finifh  his  Achil- 
leid, he  may  deferve  more  reputation  per- 
haps as  a  mifcellaneous  than  as  an  epic 
writer ;  for  though  the  odes  and  other  co- 
pies of  verfes  in  his  Sylvan  are  not  without 
their  faults,  they  are  not  fo  faulty  as  his 
Thebaid.  The  chief  faults  of  Statius,  in 
his  Sylvae  and  Thebaid,  are  faid  to  have 
proceeded  from  very  different  caufes  :  the 
former,  from  their  having  been  written  in- 
correctly and  in  a  great  deal  of  hafte;  and 
the  other,  from  its  being  over  corrected 
and  hard.  Perhaps  his  greater!  fault  of  all, 
or  rather  the  greater!  fign  of  his  bad  judg- 
ment, is  his  admiring  Lucan  fo  extrava- 
gantly as  he  does.  It  is  remarkable,  that 
poetry  run  more  lineally  in  Statius's  fa- 
mily, than  perhaps  in  any  other.  He  re- 
ceived it  from  his  father;  who  had  been 
an  eminent  poet  in  his  time,  and  lived  to 
fee  his  fon  obtain  the  laurel-crown  at  the 
Alban  games;  as  he  had  formerly  done 
himfelf. — Valerius  Flaccus  wrote  a  little 
before  Statius.  He  died  young,  and  left 
his  poem  unfinifhed.  We  have  but  feven 
books  of  his  Argonautics,  and  part  of  the 
eight,  in  which  the  Argonauts  are  left  on 
the  fea,  in  their  return  homewards.  Se-" 
veralof  the  modern  critics,  who  have  been 
fome  way  or  other  concerned  in  publifhing 
Flaccus's  works,  make  no  fcruple  of  plac- 
ing him  next  to  Virgil,  of  all  the  Roman 
epic  poets ;  and  I  own  I  am  a  good  deal 
inclined  to  be  ferioufly  of  their  opinion; 
for  he  feems  to  me  to  have  more  fire  than 
Silius,  and  to  be  more  correcl;  than  Statius; 


and  as  for  Lucan,  I  cannot  help  looking 
upon  him  as  quite  out  of  the  quefiion.  He 
imitates  Virgil's  language  much  better 
than  Silius,  or  even  Statius;  and  his  plan, 
or  rather  his  ftory,  is  "certainly  lefs  ernbar- 
raffed  and  confuted  than  the  Thebaid. 
Some  of  the  ancients  theriifelves  fpeak  of 
Flaccus  with  a  great  deal  of  refpecl;  and 
particularly  Quinclilian ;  who  fays  nothing 
at  all  of  Silius  or  Statius;  unlefs  the  latter 
is  to  be  included  in  that  general  expreffion 
of  *  feveral  others,'  whom  he  leaves  to  be 
celebrated  by  poiterity. 

As  to  the  dramatic  writers  of  this  time, 
we  have  not  any  one  comedy,  and  only  tea 
tragedies,  all  published  under  the  name  of 
Lucius  Annaeus  Seneca.  They  are  proba- 
bly the  work  of  different  hands ;  and  might 
be  a  collection  of  favourite  plays,  put  to- 
gether by  fome  bad  grammarian;  for  ei- 
ther the  Roman  tragedies  of  this  age  were 
very  indifferent,  or  thefe  are  not  their  belt. 
They  have  been  attributed  to  authors  as 
far  diftant  as  the  reigns  of  Auguftus  and 
Trajan.  It  is  true,  the  perfon  who  is  {o 
pofitive  that  one  of  them  in  particular  muff 
be  of  the  Auguftan  age,  fays  this  of  a  piece 
that  he  feems  refolved  to  cry  up  at  all  rates; 
and  I  believe  one  fhould  do  no  injury  to 
any  one  of  them,  in  fuppofing  them  all  to 
have  been  written  in  this  third  age,  under 
the  decline  of  the  Roman  poetry. 

Of  all  the  other  poets  under  this  period, 
there  are  none  whofe  works  remain  to  us, 
except  Martial  and  Juvenal.  The  former 
flourifhed  under  Domitian;  and  the  latter 
under  Nerva,  Trajan,  and  Adrian.     Spence. 

§  59.     Of  Martial. 

Martial  is  a  dealer  only  in  a  little  kind 
of  writing;  for  Epigram  is  certainly  (what 
it  is  called  by  Dry  den)  the  loweft  ftep  of 
poetry.  He  is  at  the  very  bottom  of  the 
hill ;  but  he  diverts  himfelf  there,  in  ga- 
thering flowers  and  playing .  with  infefts, 
prettily  enough.  If  Martial  made  a  new- 
year's  gift,  he  was  fure  to  fend  a  diftich 
with  it :  if  a  friend  died,  he  made  a  few 
verfes  to  put  on  his  tomb-flone  :  if  a  fra- 
tue  was  fet  up,  they  came  to  him  for 
an  infcription.  Thefe  were  the  common 
offices  of  his  mufe.  If  he  flruck  a  fault 
in  life,  he  marked  it  down  in  a  few  lines; 
and  if  he  had  a  mind  to  pleafe  a  friend,  or 
to  get  the  favour  of  the  great,  his  ftyle 
was  turned  to  panegyric ;  and  thefe  were 
his  higheft  employments.  He  was,  how- 
ever, a  good  writer  in  his  way;  and  there 
f  are 


416 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


are  inftances  even  of  his  writing  with  fome 
dignity  on  higher  occaiions.         Speiice. 

§    60.      Of  JuVKNAL. 

Juvenal  began  to  write  after  all  I  have 
mentioned;  and,  1  do  not  know  by  what 
good  fortune,  writes  with  a  greater  fpirit 
of  poetry  than  any  of  them.  He  has  fcarce 
any  thing  of  the  gentility  of  Horace:  yet 
he  is  not  without  humour,  and  exceeds  all 
the  fatirifts  in  feverity.  To  fay  the  truth, 
he  flames  too  much  like  an  angry  execu- 
tioner; but  the  depravity  of  the  times,  and 
the  vices  then  in  faihion,  may  often  excufe 
fome  degree  cf  rage  in  him.  It  is  faid  he 
did  not  write  till  he  was, elderly;  and  af- 
ter he  had  been  too  much  ufed  to  declaim- 
ing. However,  his  fatires  have  a  great 
deal  of  fpirit  in  them  ;  and  fhew  a  ftrong 
hatred  of  vice,  with  fome  very  fine  and 
high  fentiments  of  virtue.  They  are  in- 
deed fo  animated,  that  I  do  not  know  any 
poem  of  this  age,  which  one  can  read  with 
near  fo  much  pleafure  as  his  fatires. 

Juvenal  may  very  well  be  called  the  laft 
of  the  Roman  poets.  After  his  time, 
poetry  continued  decaying  more  and  more, 
quite  down  to  the  time  of  Conftantine; 
when  all  the  arts  were  fo  far  loll  and  ex- 
tinguifhed  among  the  Romans,  that  from 
that  time  they  themfelves  may  very  well 
be  called  by  the  name  they  ufed  to  give  to 
all  the  world,  except  the  Greeks;  for  the 
Remans  then  had  fcarce  any  thing  to  dif- 
tinguifh  them  from  the  Barbarians. 

There  are,  therefore,  but  three  ages  of 
the  Pvoman  poetry,  that  can  carry  any 
weight  with  them  in  an  enquiry  of  this 
nature.  The  firft  age,  from  the  firft  Punic 
war  to  the  time  of  Augustus,  is  more  re- 
markable for  ftrength,  than  any  great  de- 
gree of  beauty  in  writing.  The  fecond 
age,  or  the  Auguftan,  is  the  time  when 
they  wrote  with  a  due  mixture  of  beauty 
and  ftrength.  Ar.d  the  third,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  Nero's  reign  to  the  end  of 
Adrian's,  when  they  endeavoured  after 
beauty  more  than  ftrength:  when  they 
loft  much  of  their  vigour,  and  run  too 
much  into  affectation.  Their  poetry,  in 
its  youth,  was  ftrong  and  nervous :  in  its 
middle  age,  it  was  manly  and  polite;  in 
its  latter  days,  it  grew  tawdry  and  fee- 
ble ;  and  endeavoured  to  hide  the  decays 
of  its  former  beauty  and  ftrength,  in  falfe 
ornaments  of  drefs,  and  a  borrowed  flufli 
on  the  face;  which  did  not  fo  much  ren- 
drr  it  pleafing,  as  it  fhewed  that  its  natural 
complexion  was  faded  and  loft.        Ibid, 


§  61.     Of  the  Introduction,  Improvement', 
and  Fall  of  the  Arts  at  Rome. 

The  city  of  Rome,  as  well  as  its  inha- 
bitants, was  in  the  beginning  rude  and  un- 
adorned. Thofe  old  rough  foldiers  looked 
on  the  effe&s  of  the  politer  arts  as  things 
fit  only  for  an  effeminate  people ;  as  too 
apt  to  foften  and  unnerve  men ;  and  to 
take  from  that  martial  temper  and  fero- 
city, which  they  encouraged  fo  much  and 
fo  univerfally  in  the  infancy  of  their  ftate. 
Their  houfes  were  (what  the  name  they 
gave  them  fignified)  only  a  covering  for 
them,  and  a  defence  againft  bad  weather. 
Thefe  fheds  of  theirs  were  more  like  the 
caves  of  wild  beafts,  than  the  habitations 
of  men;  and  were  rather  flung  together 
as  chance  led  them,  than  formed  into  re- 
gular ftreets  and  openings :  their  walls 
were  half  mud,  and  their  roofs,  pieces  of 
wood  ftuck  together ;  nay,  even  this  was 
an  after-improvement;  for  in  Romulus's 
time,  their  houfes  were  only  covered  with 
ftraw.  If  they  had  any  thing  that  was 
finer  than  ordinary,  that  was  chiefly  taken 
up  in  fetting  off  the  temples  of  their  gods; 
and  when  thefe  began  to  be  furnifhed  with 
ftatues  (for  they  had  none  till  long  after 
Numa's  time)  they  were  probably  more  fit 
to  give  terror  than  delight;  and  feemed 
rather  formed  fo  as  to  be  horrible  enough 
to  ftrike  an  awe  into  thofe  who  worfhipped 
them,  than  handfome  enough  to  invite  any 
one  to  look  upon  them  for  pleafure.  Their 
defign,  I  fuppofe,  was  anfvverable  to  the 
materials  they  were  made  of;  and  if  their 
gods  were  of  earthen  ware,  they  were  rec- 
koned better  than  ordinary;  for  many  of 
them  were  chopt  out  of  wood.  One  of 
the  chief  ornaments  in  thofe  times,  both  of 
the  temples  and  private  houfes,  confiited 
in  their  ancient  trophies:  which  were 
trunks  cf  trees  cleared  of  their  branches, 
and  fo  formed  into  a  rough  kind  of  pofts. 
Thefe  were  loaded  with  the  arms  they  had 
taken  in  war,  and  you  may  eafily  con- 
ceive what  fort  of  ornaments  thefe  pofts 
muft  make,  when  half  decayed  by  time, 
and  hung  about  with  old  rufty  arms,  be- 
fmeared  with  the  blood  of  their  enemies. 
Rome  was  not  thea  that  beautiful  Rome, 
whofe  very  ruins  at  this  day  are  fought  af- 
ter with  fo  much  pleafure:  it  was  a  town, 
which  carried  an  air  of  terror  in  its  appear- 
ance; and  which  made  people  fhudder, 
whenever  they  firft  entered  within  its 
gates.  Ibid. 

§  6*» 


g60K    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.        417 


I  6z.  The  Condition  of  the  Romans/*  the 
Second  Punic  War. 
Such  was  the  ftate  of  this  imperial  city, 
when  its  citizens  had  made  fo  great  a  pro- 
grefs  in  arms  as  to  have  conquered  the 
better  part  of  Italy,  and  to  be  able  to  en- 
gage in  a  war  with  the  Carthaginians ;  the 
itrongeft  power  then  by  land,  and  the  ab- 
folute  mailers  by  fea.  The  Romans,  in  the 
firft  Punic  war,  added  Sicily  to  their  do- 
minions. In  the  fecond,  they  greatly  in- 
creased their  ftrength,  both  by  fea  and 
land ;  and  acquired  a  talle  of  the  arts  and 
elegancies  of  life,  with  which  till  then  they 
had  been  totally  unacquainted.  Fortho' 
before  this  they  were  mailers  of  Sicily 
(which  in  the  old  Roman  geography  made 
a  part  of  Greece)  and  of  feveral  cities  in 
the  eallern  parts  of  Italy,  which  were  in- 
habited by  colonies  from  Greece,  and  were 
adorned  with  the  piclures,  and  ftatues,  and 
other  works,  in  which  that  nation  delight- 
ed, and  excelled  the  reft  of  the  world  fo 
much;  they  had  hitherto  looked  upon 
them  with  fo  carelefs  an  eye,  that  they  had 
felt  little  or  nothing  of  their  beauty.  This 
infenfibility  they  preferved  fo  long,  either 
from  the  groflhefs  of  their  minds,  or  per- 
haps from  their  fuperftition,  and  a  dread  of 
reverencing  foreign  deities  as  much  as 
their  own ;  or  (which  is  the  moll  likely  of 
ia.ll)  out  of  mere  politics,  and  the  deiire  of 
keeping  up  their  martial  fpirit  and  natural 
roughnefs,  which  they  thought  the  arts  and 
elegancies  of  the  Grecians  would  be  but 
too  apt  to  de.ftroy.  However  that  was, 
they  generally  preferved  themfelves  from 
even  the  leaft  fufpicion  of  tafle  for  the  po- 
lite arts,  pretty  far  into  the  fecond  Punic 
war;  as  appears  by  the  behaviour  of  Fa- 
bius  Maximus  in  that  war,  even  after  the 
fcales  were  turned  on  their  fide.  When 
that  general  took  Tarentum,  he  found  it 
full  of  riches,  and  extremely  adorned  with 
piclures  and  ftatues.  Among  others,  there 
were  fome  very  fine  coloffeTal  figures  of  the 
gods,  reprefented  as  fighting  againft  the 
rebel  giants.  Thefe  were  made  by  fome 
Of  the  moft  eminent  mailers  in  Greece; 
and  the  Jupiter,  not  improbably,  by  Lyfio- 
pus.  When  Fabius  was  difpofing  of  the 
fpoil,  he  ordered  the  money  and  plate  to 
be  fent  to  the  treafury  at  Rome,  but  the 
ftatues  and  pictures  to  be  left  behind.  The 
fecretary  who  attended  him  in  his  furvey, 
was  fomewhat  ftruck  with  the  largenefs  and 
noble  air  of  the  figures  juft  mentioned; 
and  afked,  Whether  they  too  mail  be  lefc 


with  the  reft  ?  "  Yes,"  replied  Fabius* 
«  leave  their  angry  gods  to  the  Taren- 
"  tines  ;  we  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
ic  them."  Spence. 

§  63.     Marcellus  attach  Syracuse, 

and  fends  all  its  Piclures  and  Statues  f 

Rome. 

Marcellus  had  indeed  behaved  himfelf 
very  differently  in  Sicily,  a  year  or  two  be- 
fore this  happened.  As  he  was  to  carry 
on  the  war  in  that  province,  he  bent  the 
whole  force  of  it  againft  Syracufe.  _  Ther* 
was  at  that  time  no  one  city  which  be- 
longed to  the  Greeks,  more  elegant,  or 
better  adorned,  than  the  city  of  Syracufe  ; 
it  abounded  in  the  works  of  the  bed  maf- 
ters.  Marcellus,  when  he  took  the  city, 
cleared  it  entirely,  and  fent  all  their  fta- 
tues and  piaures'  to  Rome.  When  I  fay 
all,  1  ufe  the  language  of  the  people  of 
Syracufe;  who  foon  after  laid  a  complaint 
againft  Marcellus  before  the  Roman  fo- 
liate, in  which  they  charged  him  with 
ftripping  all  their  houfes  and  temples,  and 
leaving  nothing  but  bare  walls  throughout 
the  city.  Marcellus  himfelf  did  not  at  all 
difown  it,  but  fairly  confeffed  what  he  had 
done:  and  ufed  to  declare,  that  he  had 
done  fo,  in  order  to  adorn  Rome,  and  to 
introduce  a  tafle  for  the  fine  arts  among 
his  countrvmen.  _      (    , 

Such  a  difference  of  behaviour  in  then- 
two  greateil  leaders,  foon  occafioned  two 
different  parties  in  Rome.  The  old  peo- 
ple in  general  joined  in  crying  up  Fabius. 

Fabius  was  not  rapacious,  as  fome  others 

were ;  but  temperate  in  his  conquefts.  In 
what  he  had  done,  he  had  acted,  not  only 
with  that  moderation  which  becomes  a 
Roman  general,  but  with  much  prudence 
and  forefight.  "  Thefe  fineries,"  they 
cried,  "  are  a  pretty  diverfion  for  an  idle 
«  effeminate  people:  let  us  leave  them  to 
«  the  Greeks.  The  Romans  deiire  no 
"  other  ornarrients  of  life,  than  a  fimpli- 
"  city  of  manners  at  home,  and  fortitude 
»«  againft  our  enemies  abroad.  It  is  by 
"thefe  arts  that  we  have  railed  our  name 
«  fo  high,  and  fpread  our  dominion  fo  far: 
«  and  "mail  we  fuffer  them  now  to  be  ex- 
»  changed  for  a  fine  tafle,  and  what  they 
«  call  elegance  of  living?  No,  great  Ju- 
»  piter,  who  prefideft  over  the  capitol !  let 
"  the  Greeks  keep  their  arts  to  themfelves, 
«  and  let  the  Romans  learn  only  how  to 
"  conquer  and  to  govern  mankind." — An- 
other fet,  and  particularly  the  younger  peo- 
ple, who  were  extremely  dclig.v.cd  with 
v  E  e  the 


418 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  noble  works  of  the  Grecian  artifts  that 
had  been  fet  up  for  fome  time  in  the  tem- 
ples and  porticos,  and  all  the  moil  public 
placts  of  the  city,  and  who  ufed  frequently 
to  fpend  the  greateft  part  of  the  day  in 
contemplating  the  beauties  of  them,  ex- 
tolled Marcellus  as  much  for  the  pleafure 
he  had  given  them.  "  We  (hall  now," 
faid  they,  "  no  longer  be  reckoned  among 
"  the  Barbarians.  That  ruil,  which  we 
"  have  been  fo  long  contracting,  will  foon 
"  be  worn  off.  Other  generals  have  con- 
"  quered  our  enemies,  but  Marcellus  has 
"  conquered  our  ignorance.  We  begin  to 
"  fee  with  new  eyes,  and  have  a  new  world 
**  of  beauties  opening  before  us.  Let  the 
*!  Romans  be  polite,  as  well  as  victorious; 
"  and  let  us  learn  to  excel  the  nations  in 
«  tafte,  as  well  as  to  conquer  them  with  our 
"  arms." 

Whichever  fide  was  in  the  right,  the 
party  for  Marcellus  was  the  fuccefsful 
one ;  for,  from  this  point  of  time  we  may 
date  the  introduction  of  the  arts  into  Rome. 
The  Romans  by  this  means  began  to  be 
fond  of  them ;  and  the  love  of  the  arts  is  a 
paffion,  which  grows  very  fait  in  any  breafl, 
wherever  it  is  once  entertained. 

We  may  fee  how  fall  and  how  greatly  it 
prevailed  at  Rome,  by  a  fpeech  which  old 
Cato  the  cenfor  made  in  the  fenate,  not 
above  feventeen  years  after  the  taking  of 
Syracufe.  He  complains  in  it,  that  their 
people  began  to  run  into  Greece  and  Afia ; 
and  to  be  infected  with  a  defire  of  playing 
with  their  fine  things:  that  as  to  fuch 
fpoils,  there  was  lefs  honour  in  taking 
them,  than  there  was  danger  of  their  be- 
ing taken  by  them  :  that  the  gods  brought 
from  Syracufe,  had  revenged  the  caufe  of 
its  citizens,  in  fpreading  this  tafte  among 
the  Romans:  that  he  heard  but  too  many- 
daily  crying  up  the  ornaments  of  Corinth 
and  Athens ;  and  ridiculing  the  poor  old 
Roman  gods;  who  had  hitherto  been  pro- 
pitious to  them  ;  and  who,  he  hoped,  would 
ilill  continue  fo,  if  they  would  but  let  their 
flatues  remain  in  peace  upon  their  pedef- 
tals.  Spence. 

§  64.  The  Roman  Generals,  in  their  fede- 
ral Conquejis,  convey  great  Numbers  of 
PiQnres  and  Statues  to  Rome. 

It  was  in  vain  too  that  Cato  fpoke 
againft  it ;  for  the  love  of  the  arts  pre- 
vailed every  day  more  and  more;  and 
from  henceforward  the  Roman  generals, 
in  their  feveral  conquefls,  feem  to  have 
ftrove  who  fhould  bring  away  the  greateft 


number  of  flatues  and  pictures,  to  fet  off 
their  triumphs,  and  to  adorn  the  city  of 
Rome.  It  is  furprifing  what  acceflions  of 
this  kind  were  made  in  the  compafs  of  a 
little  more  than  half  a  century  after  Mar- 
cellus had  fet  the  example.  The  elder 
Scipio  Africanus  brought  in  a  great  num- 
ber of  wrought  vafes  from  Spain  and 
Africa,  toward  the  end  of  the  fecond  Punic 
war;  and  the  very  year  after  that  was 
finilhed,  the  Romans  entered  into  a  war 
with  Greece,  the  great  fchool  of  all  the 
arts,  and  the  chief  repofitory  of  mod  of  the 
finelt  works  that  ever  were  produced  by 
them.  It  would  be  endlefs  to  mention  all 
their  acquifuions  from  hence ;  I  fhall  only 
put  you  in  mind  of  fome  of  the  moll  con- 
liderable.  Flaminius  made  a  great  fhew 
both  of  ftatutrs  and  vafes  in  his  triumph 
over  Philip  king  of  Macedon  ;  but  he  was 
much  exceeded  by  iEmilius,  who  reduced 
that  kingdom  into  a  province,  ^milius's 
ti  iumph  lalled  three  days ;  the  firlt  of  which 
was  wholly  taken  up  in  bringing  in  the 
fine  flatues  he  had  fele&ed  in  his  expedi- 
tion; as  the  chief  ornament  of  the  fecond 
confilted  of  vafes  and  fculptured  veffels  of 
all  forts,  by  the  moll  eminent  hands.  Thefe 
were  all  the  mofl  chofen  things,  culled 
from  the  collection  of  that  fucceffor  of 
Alexander  the  Great ;  for  as  to  the  infe- 
rior fpoils  of  no  lefs  than  feventy  Grecian 
cities,  iEmilius  had  left  them  all  to  his 
foldiery,  as  not  worthy  to  appear  among 
the  ornaments  of  his  triumph.  Not  many 
years  after  this,  the  young  Scipio  Africa- 
nus (the  perion  who  is  melt  celebrated  for 
his  polite  talte  of  all  the  Romans  hitherto, 
and  who  was  fcarce  exceeded  by  any  one 
of  them  in  all  the  fucceeding  ages)  de- 
itroyed  Carthage,  and  transferred  many  of 
the  chief  ornaments  of  that  city,  which 
had  fo  long  bid  fair  for  being  the  feat  of 
empire,  to  Rome,  which  foon  became  un- 
doubtedly fo.  This  mult  have  been  a  vaft 
acceflion:  though  that  great  man,  who 
was  as  juft  in  his  actions  as  he  was  elegant 
in  his  tafte,  did  not  bring  all  the  fineft  of 
his  fpoils  to  Rome,  but  left  a  great  part  of 
them  in  Sicily,  from  whence  they  had  for- 
merly been  taken  by  the  Carthaginians. 
The  very  fame  year  that  Scipio  freed 
Rome  from  its  molt  dangerous  rival,  Car- 
thage, Mummius  (who  was  as  remarkable 
for  his  ruflicity,  as  Scipio  was  for  elegance 
and  talte)  added  Achaia  to  the  Roman 
flate;  and  facked,  among  feveral  others, 
the  famous  city  of  Corinth,  which  had  been 
long  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  principal 

refervoirs 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.        419 

in  all  Sicily,  which  he  did  not  fee;  nor  any 
one  he  liked,  which  he  did  not  take  away 
from  its  owner.  What  he  thus  got,  he  fent 
into  Italy.  Rome  was  the  centre  both  of 
their  fpoils  in  war,  and  of  their  rapines  in 
peace  :  and  if  many  of  their  prators  and 
proccnfuls  acted  but  in  half  fo  abandoned 
a  manner  as  this  Verres  appears  to  have 
done,  it  is  very  probable  that  Rome  was 
more  enriched  in  all  thefe  fort  of  things 
fecretly  by  their  governors,  than  it  had  been 
openly  by  their  generals.  Spence. 


refervoirs  of  the  fineft  works  of  art.  He 
cleared  it  of  all  its  beauties,  without  know- 
ing any  thing  of  them :  even  without  know- 
ing, that  an  old  Grecian  ftatue  was  better 
than  a  new  Roman  one.  He  ufed,  how- 
ever, the  fureft  method  of  not  being  mif- 
taken ;  for  he  took  all  indifferently  as  they 
came  in  his  way;  and  brought  them  off  in 
fuch  quantities,  that  he  alone  is  faid  to 
have  rilled  Rome  with  ilatues  and  pictures. 
Thus,  partly  from  the  tafte,  and  partly  from 
the  vanity  of  their  generals,  in  lefs  than 
feventy  years  time  (reckoning  from  Mar- 
cellus's  taking  of  Syracufe  to  the  year  in 
which  Carthage  was  deitroyed)  Italy  was 
furnithed  with  the  nobleft  productions  of 
the  ancient  artiits,  that  before  lay  fcattered 
all  over  Spain,  Africa,  Sicily,  and  the  reft 
of  Greece.  Sylla,  befide  many  others, 
added  vaftiy  to  them  afterwards ;  particu- 
larly by  his  taking  of  Athens,  and  by  his 
conqueds  in  Afia;  where,  by  his  too  great 
indulgence  to  his  armies,  he  made  taile  and 
rapine  a  general  thing,  even  among  the 
common  ibldiers,  as  it  had  been,  for  a  long 
time,  among  their  leaders. 

In  this  manner,  the  firft  confiderable  ac- 
quifitions  were  made  by  their  conquering 
armies;  and  they  were  carried  on  by  the 
perfons  fent  out  to  govern  their  provinces, 
when  conquered.  As  the  behaviour  of  thefe 
in  their  governments,  in  general,  was  one 
of  the  greateft  blots  on  the  Roman  nation, 
we  mull  not  expect  a  full  account  of  their 
tranfactions  in  the  old  hiitorians,  who  treat 
particularly  of  the  Roman  affairs:  for  fuch 
of  thefe  that  remain  to  11s,  are  either  Ro- 
mans themfclves,  or  elfe  Greeks  who  were 
too  much  attached  to  the  Roman  intereft, 
to  (peak  out  the  whole  truth  in  this  affair. 
But  what  we  cannot  have  fully  from  their 
own  hiitorians,  may  be  pretty  well  fupplied 
from  other  hands.  A  poet  of  their  own, 
who  feems  to  have  been  a  very  honeft  man, 
has  fet  the  rapaciouihefs  of  their  governors 
in  general  in  a  very  ftrong  light;  as  Ci- 
cero has  fet  forth  that  of  Vents  in  parti- 
cular, as  ftrongly.  If  we  may  judge  of 
their  general  behaviour  by  that  of  this  go- 
vernor of  Sicily,  they  were  more  like  mon- 
ilers  and  harpies,  than  men.  For  that 
public  robber  (as  Cicero  calls  him,  more 
than  once)  hunted  ov;.r  every  corner  of  his 
ifland,  with  a  couple  of  finders  (one  a 
Greek  painter,  and  the  other  a  ftatuary  of 
the  fame  nation)  to  get  together  his  collec- 
tion; and  was  fo  curious  and  fo  rapacious 
in  that  fearch,  that  Cicero  fays,  there  was 
not  a  gem,  or  ftatue,  or  relievo,  or  picture, 


§  65.  The  Methods  made  ufe  of  in  drawing 
the  Works  of  the  bejl  ancient  Artijls  into 
Italy. 

There  was  another  method  of  augment-- 
ing  thefe  treasures  at  Rome,  not  fo  infa- 
mous as  this,  and  not  fo  glorious  as  the 
former.  What  I  mean,  was  the  cuftom  of 
the  iEdiles,  when  they  exhibited  their 
public  games,  of  adorning  the  theatres  and 
other  places  where  they  were  performed, 
with  great  numbers  of  ilatues  and  pictures : 
which  they  bought  up  or  borrowed,  for 
that  purpofe,  all  over  Greece,  and  fome- 
times  even  from  Alia.  Scaurus,  in  parti- 
cular, in  his  Eedilefhip,  had  no  lefs  than 
three  thoufand  Ilatues  and  relievos  for  the 
mere  ornamenting  of  the  ftage,  in  a  thea- 
tre built  only  for  four  or  five  days.  This 
was  the  fame  Scaurns  who  (whilft  he  was 
in  the  fame  office  too)  brought  to  Rome 
all  the  pictures  of  Sicyon,  which  had  been 
fo  long  one  of  the  moil  eminent  fchools  in 
Greece  for  painting ;  in  lieu  of  debts  ow- 
ing, or  pretended  to  be  owed,  from  that 
city  to  the  Roman  people. 

From  theie  public  methods  of  drawing 
the  works  of  tne  bed  ancient  artiits  into 
Italy,  it  grew  at  length  to  be  a  part  eff  pri- 
vate luxury,  affected  by  almo(t  every  body 
that  could  afford  it,,  to  adorn  their  houfes, 
their  porticos,  and  their  gardens,  with  the 
beftftatues  and  pictures  they  could  procure 
out  of  Greece  or  Afia.  Nona  went  earlier 
into  this  tafte,  than  the  family  of  the  Lu- 
Qulli,  and  particularly  Lucius  Lucullus, 
who  carried  on  the  war  againft  Mithri- 
dates.  He  was  vemarkable  for  his  love  of 
the  arts  and  poli.;  learning  even  from  a 
child ;  and  in  the  iatter  parr  of  his  life 
gave  himfelf  up  fo  much  to  collections  of 
this  kind,  that  Plutarch  reckons  it  among 
his  follies.  "  As  I  am  fpeaking  of  his 
faults  (fays  that  hiftorian  in  1  is  life)  I 
fhould  not  omit  his  v  it  baths,  and  piazzas 
for  walkjng;  or  his  gardens,  which  were 
much  more  magnificent  than  any  in  his  time 
E  e  2  at 


420 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


at  .Rome,  and  equal  to  any  in  the  luxurious 
awes  that  followed ;  nor  his  exceffive  fond- 
neis  for  llatues  and  pictures,  which  he  got 
from  all  parts,  to  adorn  his  works  and  gar- 
dens, at  an  immenfe  expence;  and  with 
the  vaft  riches  he  had  heaped  together  in 
the  Mithridatic  war."  There  were  feve- 
ral  other  families  which  fell  about  that 
time  into  the  fame  fort  of  excefs ;  and, 
among  the  reft,  the  Julian.  The  fir  ft  em- 
peror, who  was  of  that  family,  was  a  great 
collector;  and,  in  particular,  was  as  fond 
of  old  gems,  as  his fucceffor,  Auguftus,  was 
of  Corinthian  vafes. 

This  may  be  called  the  firft  age  of  the 
flourishing  of  the  politer  arts  at  Rome ;  or 
rather  the  age  in  which  they  were  intro- 
duced there:  for  the  people  in  this  period 
were  chiefly  taken  up  in  getting  fine  things, 
and  bringing  them  together.     There  were 
perhaps  fome  particular  perfons  in  it  of  a 
very  good  tafte :  but  in  general  one  may 
fay,  there  was  rather  a  love,  than  any  great 
knowledge  of  their  beauties,  during  this 
age,    among   the    Romans.     They    were 
brought  to  Rome  in  the  firft  part  of  it,  in 
greater  numbers   than  can  be  eafily  con- 
ceived; and  in  fome  time,  every  body  be- 
gan to  look  upon  them  with  pleafure.     The 
collection  was  continually  augmenting  af- 
terwards, from  the  feveral  methods  1  have 
mentioned  ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  a  good 
tafte  would    have   been    a  general  thing 
among  them  much  earlier  than  it  was,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  frequent  convulfions  in 
their  ftate,  and  the  perpetual  ftruggles  of 
fome  great  man  or  other  to  get  the  reins 
of  government  into  his  hands.     Thefe  con- 
tinued quite  from  Sylla's  time  to  the  efta- 
blifhment    of  the  (late    under    Auguftus. 
The  peaceful  times  that  then   fucceeded, 
and  the  encouragement  which  was  given 
by  that  emperor  to  all  the  arts,  afforded 
the  Romans  full  leifure  to  contemplate  the 
fine  works  that  were  got  together  at  Rome 
in  the  age  before,  and  to  perfect  their  tafte 
in  all  the  elegancies  of  life.     The  ariiils, 
who  were  then  much   invited  to    Rome, 
worked  in  a  ftyle  greatly  fuperior  to  what 
they  had  done  even  in  Julius  Ctefar's  time  : 
fo  that  it  U  under  Auguftus  that  we  may 
begin  the  fecond,  and  moll  perfect  age  of 
lculpture  and  painting,  as  well  as  of  poetry. 
Augullus  changed   the  whole  appearance 
of  Rome  itfelfj  he  found  it  ill  built,  and 
left  it  a  city  of  marble.     He  adorned  it 
.  buildings,  extremely  finer  than  any  it 
could  b.  ail  before  his  time,  and  fetofr'all 
hofe    buildings,    and  even   the   common 


ftreets,  with  an  addition  of  fome  of  the  fineft 
ftatues  in  the  world.  Spence. 

§  66.      On  the   Decline  of  the    Arts,    Elo- 
quence,   and  Poetry,    upon  the    Death   of 

Auguftus. 

On  the  death  of  Auguftus,  though  the 
arts,  and  the  tafte  for  them,  did  not  fuffer 
fo  great  a  change,  as  appeared  immedi- 
ately in  the  tafte  of  eloquence  and  poetry, 
yet  they  muft  have  fuffered  a  good  deal. 
There  is  a  fecret  union,  a  certain  kind  of 
fympathy  between  all  the  polite  arts,  which, 
makes  them  languifh  and  flourilh  together. 
The  fame  circumftances  are  either  kind  or 
unfriendly  to  all  of  them.     The  favour  of 
Auguftus,  and  the  tranquillity  of  his  reign,, 
was  as  a  gentle  dew  from  heaven,  in  a  fa- 
vourable feafon,  that  made  them  bud  forth 
and  flourish;  and  the  four  reign  of  Tibe- ' 
rius,  was  as  a  fudden  froft  that  checked 
their  growth,  and  at   laft  kilied  all  their 
beauties.     The  vanity,  and  tyranny,  and 
dirturbances  of  the  times    that  followed, 
gave  the  finifhing  ftroke  to  fcuipture  as 
well  as  eloquence,  and  to  painting  as  well 
as  poetry.     The   Greek  artiits  at  Rome 
were  not  fo  loon  or  fo  much  infected  by 
the  bad  tafte  of  the  court,  as  the  Roman 
writers   were;  but  it    reached   them    too, 
though  by  flower  and  more  imperceptible 
degrees.     Indeed  what  elfe  could  be  ex- 
pected from  fuch  a  run  of  rnonfters  as  Ti- 
berius,  Caligula,  and  Nero  ?     For    thefe 
were  the  emperors  under  whofe  reigns  the 
arts  began  to  "languifh;  and  they  fuffered 
fo  much  from  their  baleful  influence,  that 
the  Roman  writers  foon  after  them  fpeak 
of  all  the  arts  as  being  brought  to  a  very 
low  ebb.     They  talk  of  their  being  ex- 
tremely fallen  in  general ;  and  as  to  paint- 
ing, in  particular,  they  reprefent  it  as  in  a 
molt  feeble  and  dying  condition.     The  fe- 
ries  of  fo  many  good  emperors,  which  hap- 
pened   after  Domitian,  gave    fome  fpirit 
again  to  the  arts ;  but  foon  after  the  An- 
tonines,  they  all  declined  apace,  and,  by 
the  time  of  the  thirty  tyrants,  were  quite 
fallen,  fo  as  never  to  rife  again  under  any 
future  Roman  emperor. 

You  may  fee  by  thefe  two  accounts  I 
have  given  you  of  the  Roman  poetry,  and 
of  the  other  arts,  that  the  great  periods  of 
their  rife,  their  fiourilhing,  and  their  de- 
cline, agree  verv  well;  and,  as  it  were, 
tally  with  one  another.  Their  ftyle  was 
prepared,  and  a  vaft  collection  of  fine 
works  laid  in,  under  the  firft  period,  or  in 
the  times  of  the  republic ;  J  a,  the  fecond, 

OS 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


421 


or  the  Auguftan  age,  their  writers  and  ar- 
tifts  were  both  in  their  highefl  perfection; 
and  in  the  third,  from  Tiberius  to  the  An- 
tonines,  they  both  began  to  languifh;  and 
then  revived  a  little;  and  at  laft  funk  to- 
tally together. 

In  comparing  the  defcriptions  of  their 
poets  with  the  works  of  art,  I  mould  there- 
fore chufe  to  omit  all  the  Roman  poets  af- 
ter the  Antonines.  Among  them  all,  there 
is  perhaps  no  one  whofe  omiffion  need  be 
regretted,  except  that  of  Claudian;  and 
even  as  to  him  it  may  be  confidered,  that 
he  wrote  when  the  true  knowledge  of  the 
arts  was  no  more;  and  when  the  true  tafte 
of  poetry  was  ftrangely  corrupted  and  loft ; 
even  if  we  were  to  judge  of  it  by  his  own 
writings  only,  which  are  extremely  better 
than  any  of  the  poets  long  before  and  long 
after  him.  It  is  therefore  much  better  to 
confine  one's  felf  to  the  three  great  ages, 
than  to  run  fo  far  out  of  one's  way  for  a 
iingle  poet  or  two;  whofe  authorities,  after 
all,  mull  be  very  difputable,  and  indeed 
fcarce  of  any  weight.  Spence. 

§  67.  On  Demosthenes. 
I  fhall  not  fpend  any  time  upon  the  cir- 
cumftances  of  DenK.ltiienes's  life;  theyare 
well  known.  The  ftrong  ambition  which 
he  difcovered  to  excel  in  the  art  of  fpeak- 
ing ;  the  unfuccefsfulnefs  of  his  firlt  at- 
tempts; his  unwearied  perfeverance  in  fur- 
mounting  all  the  difad vantages  that  arofe 
from  his  perfon  and  addrefs ;  his  (hutting 
himfelf  up  in  a  cave,  that  he  might  ftudy 
with  lets  diffraction;  his  declaiming  by  the 
fea-fhore,  that  he  might  accuftom  himfelf 
to  the  noife  of  a  tumultuous  aflembly,  and 
with  pebbles  in  his  mouth,  that  he  might 
correel  a  defeat  in  his  fpeech ;  his  practif- 
ing  at  home  with  a  naked  fword  hanging 
over  his  mould  ■_.-,  that  he  might  check  an 
ungraceful  motion,  to  which  he  was  fub- 
ject;  all  thofe  circumftances,  which  we 
learn  from  Plutarch,  are  very  encouraging 
to  fuch  as  ftudy  Eloquence,  as  they  Ihew 
how  far  art  and  application  may  avail,  for 
acquiring  an  excellence  which  nature  feem- 
ed  unwilling  to  grant  us.  Blair. 

§  68.     Demosthenes  imitated  the  man- 
ly Eloquence  of  Pericles. 

Defpifmg  the  affected  and  florid  man- 
ner which  the  rhetoricians  of  that  age  fol- 
lowed, Demofthenes  returned  to  the  for- 
cible and  manly  eloquence  of  Pericles;  and 
ftrength  and  vehemence  form  the  princi- 
pal characterises  of  his  Style.    Never  had 


orator  a  finer  field  than  Demofthenes  in  his 
Olynthiacs  and  Philippics,  which  are  his 
capital  orations ;  and,  no  doubt,  to  the  no- 
blenefs  of  the  fubject,  and  to  that  integrity 
and  public  fpirit  which  eminently  breathe 
in  them,  they  are  indebted  for  much  of 
their  merit.  The  fubject  is,  to  rouze  the 
indignation  of  his  countrymen  againft  Phi- 
lip of  Macedon,  the  public  enemy  of  the 
liberties  of  Greece;  and  to  guard  them 
againft  the  infidious  meafures,  by  which 
that  crafty  prince  endeavoured  to  lay  them 
afleep  to  danger.  In  the  profecution  of 
this  end,  we  fee  him  taking  every  proper 
method  to  animate  a  people,  renowned  for 
juftice,  humanity  and  valour,  but  in  many 
inftances  become  corrupt  and  degenerate. 
He  boldly  taxes  them  with  their  venality, 
their  indolence,  and  indifference  to  the 
public  caufe;  while,  at  the  fame  time,  with 
all  the  art  of  an  orator,  he  recals  the 
glory  of  their  anceftors  to  their  thoughts, 
{hews  them  that  they  are  ftill  a  flourilhing 
and  a  powerful  people,  the  natural  protec- 
tors of  the  liberty  of  Greece,  and  who 
wanted  only  the  inclination  to  exert  them- 
felves,  in  order  to  make  Philip  tremble. 
With  his  cotemporary  orators,  who  were 
in  Philip's  intereft,  and  who  perfuaded  the 
people  to  peace,  he  keeps  no  meafures, 
but  plainly  reproaches  them  as  the  betray- 
ers of  their  country.  He  not  only  prompts 
to  vigorous  condudt,  but  he  lays  down  the 
plan  of  that  conduct;  he  enters  into  par- 
ticulars; and  points  out,  with  great  ex- 
actnefs,  the  meafures  of  execution.  This 
is  the  drain  of  thefe  orations.  They  are 
ftrongly  animated;  ani  full  of  the  impe- 
tuofity  and  fire  of  public  fpirit.  Tiiey 
proceed  in  a  continu.d  train  of  inductions, 
confequences,  and  demonftrati.ons,  found- 
ed on  found  reafon.  The  figures  which 
he  ufes,  are  never  fought  after ;  but  al- 
ways rife  from  the  fubject.  He  employs 
them  fparingly  indeed;  for  fplendour  a;id 
ornament  are  net  the  diitinctions  of  this 
orator's  compofition.  It  is  an  energy  of 
thought,  peculiar  to  himfelf,  which  forms 
his  character,  and  fets  him  above  all 
others.  He  appears  to  attend  much  more' 
to  things  than  to  words.  We  forget  the 
orator,  and  think  of  the  bufinefs,  He 
warms  the  mind,  and  impels  to  action. 
He  has  no  parade  and  oftentation;  no  me- 
thods of  infinuation;  no  laboured  intro- 
ductions; but  is  like  a  man  full  of  his  fob? 
je£t,  who,  after  preparing  his  audience,  by 
a  fentence  or  two  for  hearing  plain  tru  h; , 
enters  directly  on  bufinefs.  Ibid. 

E  e  3  §  69. 


422 
§  69. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


th 


Demosthenes    cont rafted 
^Eschines. 

Demofthenes  appears  to  great  advan- 
tage, when  contrafted  with  JEfchines,  in 
the  celebrated  oration  "  pro  Corona." 
iElchines  was  his  rival  in  bufinefs,  and 
perfonal  enemy;  and  one  of  the  moil  dif- 
tinguilhed  orators  of  that  age.  But  when 
we  read  the  two  orations,  iEfchines  is  fee- 
ble in  comparifoi  of  Demofthenes,  and 
makes  much  lefs  impreflion  on  the  mind. 
His  reafonings  concerning  the  law  that 
was  in  queftion,  are  indeed  very  fubtile ; 
but  his  invective  againft  Demofthenes  is 
general,  and  ill-fupportcd.  Whereas  De- 
mofthenes is  a  torrent,  that  nothing  can 
refill:.  He  bears  down  his  antagonift  with 
violence;  he  draws  his  character  in  the 
ftronrjeft  colours ;  and  the  particular  merit 
of  that  oration  is,  that  all  the  :vfcriptions 
in  it  are  highly  picturefque.  There  runs 
through  it  a  ftrain  of  magnanimity  and 
high  honour:  the  orator  fpeaks  with  that 
ftrength  and  conlcious  dignity  which  great 
actions  and  public  fpirit  alone  inipire. 
Both  orators  ufe  great  liberties  with  one 
another;  and,  in  general,  that  unreftrain- 
ed  licence  which  ancient  manners  permit- 
ted, even  to  the  length  of  abufive  names 
and  down  right  fcurrility,  as  appears  both 
here  and  in  Cicero's  Philippics,  hurts  and 
offends  a  modern  car.  What  t-hcfe  ancient 
orators  gained  by  fuch  a  manner  in  point 
of  freedom  and  boldnefs,  is  more  than 
compenfated  by  want  of  dignity;  which 
feems  to  give  an  advantage,  in  this  re- 
fpect,  to  the  greater  decency  of  modern 
{peaking.  Blair. 

§  70.     On  the  Style  ^/"Demosthenes. 

The  Style  of  Demoilhenes  is  ftrong  and 
concife,  though  fometimes,  it  mull  not  be 
diffcmblcd,  harfh  and  abrupt.  His  words 
are  very  exprefiive;  his  arrangement  is 
£rm  and  manly;  and,  tho'  far  from  being 
unmufical,  yet  it  feems  difficult  to  find  in 
him  that  ftudied,  but  concealed  number, 
and  rhythmur,  which  fome  of  the  ancient 
critics  are  fond  of  attributing  to  him. 
Negligent  of  thofe  leffrr  graces,  one  would 
rather  conceive  him  to  have  aimed  at  that 
fubiime  which  lies  in  fentiment.  His  ac- 
tions and  pronunciation  are  recorded  to 
have  been  uncommonly  vehement  and 
ardent;  which,  from  the  manner  of  his 
compd-fition,  we  are  naturally  led  to  be- 
lieve The  character  which  one  forms  of 
him,  from  reading  his  works,  is  of  the 
4 


auftere,  rather  than  the  gentle  kind,  He 
is,  on  every  occafion,  grave,  feriou*.,  paf- 
fionate;  takes  every  thing  on  a  high  tone; 
never  lets  himfelf  down,  nor  attempts  any 
thing  like  pleafantry.  If  any  fault  can  be 
found  in  his  admirable  eloquence,  it  is,  that 
he  fometimes  borders  on  the  hard  and  dry. 
He  may  be  thought  to  want  fmoothnefs  and 
grace;  which  Dionyfius  of  Halicarnafits 
attributes  to  his  imitating  too  clofely  the 
mannei  of  Thucydides,  who  was  his  great 
model  for  Style,  and  whofe  hiftory  he  is 
faid  to  have  written  eight  time?  over  with 
his  own  hand.  But  thefe  defects  are  far 
more  than  compenfated,  by  that  admira- 
ble and  mafterly  force  of  mafculme  elo- 
quence, which,  as  it  overpowered  all  who 
heard  it,  cannot,  at  this  day,  be  read  with- 
out emotion. 

After  tv<:  days  of  Demofthenes,  Greece 
loft  her  liberty,  eloquence  of  courfe  lan- 
guished, and  relapied  again  into  the  feeble 
manner  introduced  by  the  Rhetoricians  and 
Sophifts.  Demetrius  Phaleiius,  who  lived 
in  the  next  age  to  Demoilhenes,  attained 
indeed  fome  character,  but  he  is  reprefent- 
ed  to  us  as  a  ilowery,  rather  than  a  per- 
fuafive  fpeaker,  who  aimed  at  grace  ra- 
ther than  fubilance.  "  Delectabat  Athe- 
"  nienfes,"  fays  Cicero,  "  magis  quam 
"  inflammabat."  "  He  amufed  the  Athe- 
"  nians,  rather  than  warmed  them."  And 
after  this  time,  we  hear  of  no  more  Gre- 
cian orators  of  any  note.  Ibid, 

§  71.     On  Cicero. 

The  object  in  this  period  mod  worthy 
to  draw  cur  attention,  is  Cicero  himfelf; 
whole  name  alone  fuggefts  every  thing 
that  is  fplendid  in  oratory.  With  the  hif- 
tory of  his  life,  and  with  his  character,  as 
a  man  and  a  politician,  we  have  not  at 
prefent  any  direct  concern.  We  confider 
him  only  as  an  eloquent  fpeaker;  and,  in 
this  view,  it  is  our  bufinefs  to  remark  both 
his  virtues,  and  his  defeds,  if  he  has  any. 
His  virtues  ..re,  beyond  controverfy,  emi- 
nently  great.  In  all  his  orations  there  is 
high  art.  He  begins,  generally,  with  a  re- 
gular exordium  ;  and  with  much  prepara- 
tion and  infinuation  rrepofTelTes  the  hearers, 
and  lludies  to  gain  their  affections.  His 
method  is  clear,  and  his  arguments  are  ar- 
ranged with  great  propriety.  His  method 
is  indeed  more  clear  than  that  of  Demof- 
thenes ;  and  this  is  one  advantage  which 
he  has  over  him.  We  find  every  thing  in 
its  proper  place;  he  never  attempts  to 
move  till  he  has  endeavoured  to  convince ; 

and 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL         423 


and  in  moving,  efpecially  the  fofter  paf- 
fions,  he  is  very  fuccefsful.  No  man,  that 
ever  wrote,  knew  the  power  and  force  of 
words  better  than  Cicero.  He  rolls  them 
along  with  the  greateit  beauty  and  pomp ; 
and  in  the  ftrufture  of  his  fentences,  is 
curious  and  exaft  to  the  higheft  degree. 
He  is  always  full  and  flowing,  never  ab- 
rupt. He  is  a  great  amplifier  of  every 
fubjeft;  magnificent,  and  in  his  fenti- 
ments  highly  moral.  His  manner  is  on 
the  whole  diffufe,  yet  it  is  often  happily 
varied,  and  fuited  to  the  fubjeft.  In  his 
four  orations,  for  initance,  againft  Cati- 
line, the  tone  and  ftyie  of  each  of  them, 
particularly  the  firft  and  laft,  is  very  dif- 
ferent, and  accommodated  with  a  great 
deal  of  judgment  to  the  occafion,  and  the 
fituation  in  which  they  were  fpoken.  When 
a  o-reat  public  objecl  roufed  his  mind,  and 
demanded  indignation  and  force,  he  de- 
parts confiderably  from  that  loofe  and  de- 
clamatory manner  to  which  he  inclines  at 
other  times,  and  becomes  exceedingly^  co- 
gent and  vehement.  This  is  the  cale  in 
his  orations  againft  Anthony,  and  in  thofe 
too  ao-ainft  Verres  and  Catiline.         Blair. 

§  72.  DefeSs  of  Cicero. 
Together  with  thofe  high  qualities 
which  Cicero  poffeffes,  he  is  not  exempt 
from  certain  defeds,  of  which  it  is  necef- 
fary  to  take  notice.  For  the  Ciceronian 
Eloquence  is  a  pattern  fo  dazzling  by  its 
beauties,  that,  if  not  examined  with  ac- 
curacy and  judgment,  it  isapt  to  betray 
the  unwary  into  a  faulty  imitation;  and 
I  am  of  opinion,  that  it  has  fometimes 
produced  this  effea.  In  moll  of  his  ora- 
tions, efpecially  thofe  compofed  in  the 
earlier  part  of 'his  life,  there  is  too  much 
art ;  even  carried  the  length  of  orientation. 
There  is  too  vifible  a  parade  of  eloquence. 
He  feems  often  to  aim  at  obtaining  ad- 
miration, rather  than  at  operating  con- 
viftion,  by  what  he  fays.  Hence,  on 
fome  occafions,  he  is  (howy,  rather  than 
folid;  and  diffufe,  where  he  ought  to  have 
been  prefling.  His  fentences  are,  at  all 
times,  round  and  fonorous;  they  cannot 
be  accufed  of  monotony,  for  they  poflefs 
variety  of  cadence;  but,  from  too  great 
a  ftudy  of  magnificence,  he  is  fometimes 
deficient  in  ftrength.  On  all  occafions, 
where  there  is  the  lead  room  for  it,  he  is 
full  of  himfelf.  His  great  aaions,  and  the 
real  fervices  which  he  had  performed  to 
his  country,  apologize  for  this  in  part; 
ancient  manner?,  too,  impofed  fewer  re- 


flraints    from   the  fide  of  decorum;  but, 
even  after  thefe  allowances  made,  Cicero's 
ollentation   of  himfelf  cannot  be   wholly 
palliated;   and  his  orations,  indeed  all  his 
works,  leave  on  our  minds  the  impreffion 
of  a  good  man,  but  withal,  of  a  vain  man. 
The  defe&s  which  we  have  now  taken 
notice  of  in  Cicero's  eloquence,  were  not 
unobferved    by    his    own   cotemporaries. 
This  we  learn  from  Quinailian,  and  from 
the  author  of  the  dialogue,    "  de  Caufis 
"  Corrupts     Eloquential"       Brutus     we 
are   informed   called   him,    «  fraaum  et 
"  elumbemr"     broken      and     enervated. 
"  Suorum     temporum      homines,"      fays 
Quinailian,  "  inceflere  audebant  eum  ut 
«  tumidiorem   &    Afianum,  et  redundan- 
"  tern,  et  in  repetitionibus  nimium,  et  in 
"  falibus  aliquando  frigidum,  &  in  com- 
«  pofitione  fraaum  et  exultantem,  &  pe- 
«  ne  viro  molliorem*."     Thefe  cenlures 
were  undoubtedly  carried  too  far ;  and  fa- 
vour of  malignity  and  perfonal    enmity. 
They  faw  his  defeas,  but  they  aggravated 
them;   and  the  fource  of  thefe  aggrava- 
tions can  be  traced  to  the  difference  which 
prevailed  in  Rome,  in  Cicero's  days,  be- 
tween two  great  parties,  with  refpea  to 
eloquence,  the  "  Attici,"    and   the   «  A- 
"  fiani."     The  former,  who  called  them- 
felves  the  Attics,  were  the  patrons  of  what 
they  conceived  to  be  the  chaile,  fimple, 
and  natural  flyle  of  eloquence ;  from  which 
they  accufed  Cicero  as  having  departed, 
and  as  leaning  to  the  florid  Afiatic  manner. 
In  feveral  of  his  rhetorical  works,  parti- 
cularly in  his  "  Orator  ad  Brutum,"  Ci- 
cero, in   his    turn,  endeavours  to  expofe 
this  feet,  as  fubftituting  a  frigid  and  jejune 
manner,  in  place  of  the  true  Attic  elo- 
quence ;  and  contends,  that  his  own  com- 
pofition  was  formed  upon  tne  real  Attic 
Style.     In  the   tenth  Chapter  of  the  laft 
Book  of  Quinailian's  Inftitutions,  a  full  ac- 
count is    given  of  the  difputes  between 
thefe  two  parties;  and  of  the  Rhodian,  or 
middle  manner  between  the  Attics  and  the 
Afiatics.     Quinailian  himfelf  declares  on 
Cicero's  fide;  and,   whether   it    be   At- 
tic or  Afiatic,  prefers  the  full,  the  copious, 
and  the  amplifying  flyle.     He  concludes 
with  this  very  juft   obfervation:  "  Plures 
"  funt  eloquentias  facies;  fed  ftultiffimura 

*  «  His  cotemporaries  ventured  to  reproach 
«  him  as  {welling,  redundant,  and  Afiatic ;  roo 
«  frequent  in  repetitions  in  his  atterrip  to* 
''wards  wit  fometimes  cold;  and,  in  the  ftrain 
«  of  bis  compofuion,  feeble,  defukory,  and  more 
««  effeminate  than  became  a  man." 

E  e  H  "  «* 


424 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


"  eft  qurerere,  ad  quam  recturus  fe  fit  ora- 
"  tor;  cum  omnis  fpecies,  qua;  modo  recta 
"  eft,  habeat  ufum. — Utetur  enim,  ut  res 
"  exiget,  omnibus ;  nee  pro  caufa  modo, 
**  led  pro  partibus  caufas*." 


§  73> 


Bla 


Comparlfon  c/~CiCERO  and 
Demosthenes. 


On  the  fubject  of  comparing  Cicero 
and  Demofthenes,  much  has  been  faid  by 
critical  writers.  The  different  manners  of 
thefe  two  princes  of  eloquence,  and  the 
diitinguiihing  characters  of  each,  are  fo 
ftrongly  marked  in  their  writings,  that  the 
companion  is,  in  many  refpects,  obvious 
and  eafy.  The  character  of  Demoilhenes 
is  vigour  and  aufterity ;  that  of  Cicero  is 
genilenefs  and  infinuaticn.  Jn  the  one, 
you  find  more  manlinefs;  in  the  other, 
more  ornamert.  The  one  is  more  harm, 
but  more  fpirited  and  cogent ;  the  other 
more  agreeable,  but  withal,  loofer  and 
weaker. 

To  account  for  this  difference,  without 
any  prejudice  to  Cicero,  it  has  been  faid, 
that  we  muft  look  to  the  nature  of  their 
different  auditories;  that  the  refined  Athe- 
nians followed  with  eafe  the  concife  and 
convincing  eloquence  of  Demoithenes;  but 
that  a  manner  more  popular,  more  flowery, 
and  declamatory,  was  requifite  in  fpeaking 
to  the  Remans,  a  people  lefs  acute,  and 
lefs  acquainted  with  the  arts  of  fpeech. 
.But  this  is  not  fatisfactory.  For  we  mull 
obferve,  that  the  Greek  orator  fpoke  much 
oftener  before  a  mixed  multitude,  than  the 
Roman.  Almoft  all  the  public  bufmefs  of 
Athens  was  tranfaoted  in  popular  affemblies. 
The  common  people  were  his  hearers,  and 
his  judges.  Whereas  Cicero  generally  ad- 
drelTed  himfelf  to  the  "  Patres  Confcripti," 
or,  in  criminal  trials,  to  the  Pnetor,  and 
the  Select  Judges;  and  it  cannot  be  ima- 
gined, that  the  perfons  of  higheft  rank  and 
nell  education  in  Rome,  required  a  more 
diifufe  manner  of  pleading  than  the  com- 
mon citizens  of  Athens,  in  order  to  make 
them  understand  the  caufe,  or  rclifli  the 
fpeaker.  Perhaps  we  iha'l  come  nearer 
the  truth,  by  obferving,  that  to  unite  toge- 

*  "  Eloquence  admits  of  many  different  forms  ; 
"  and  nothing  can  he  more  foolilh  than  to  eri- 
"  quire,  by  which  of  them  an  orator  is  to  regu- 
"  late  his  comprifition  ;  fince  every  form,  which 
"  is  in  itfelf  juft,  has  its  own  place  and  ufs. 
*'  The  Orator,  according  as  circumftances  re- 
"  quire,  will  employ  them  all;  fuiting  them  not 
"  only  to  the  caufe  or  fubject  of  which  he  treats, 
"  but  to  the  different  part;  of  that  fubjecV' 


ther  all  the  qualities,  without  the  Ieaft  ex- 
ception,  that  form  a  perfect  orator,  and  to 
excel  equally  in  each  of  thofe  qualities,  is 
not  to  be  expected  from  the  limited  powers 
of  human  genius.  7'he  higheft  degree  of 
ftrength  is,  1  fufpect,  never  found  united 
with  the  higheft  degree  of  fmoothnefs  and 
ornament:  equal  attentions  to  both  are 
incompatible;  and  the  genius  that  carries 
ornament  to  its  utmoft  length,  is  not  of 
fuch  a  kind,  as  can  excel  as  much  in  vi- 
gour. For  there  plainly  lies  the  charac- 
terillical  difference  between  thefe  two  ce- 
lebrated orators. 

It  is  a  disadvantage  to  Demofthenes, 
that,  befides  his  conciienefs,  which  fome- 
times  produces  obfeurity,  the  language, 
in  which  he' writes,  is  lefs  familiar  to  molt 
of  us  than  the  Latin,  and  that  we  are  lefs 
acquainted  with  the  Greek  antiquities  than 
we  are  with  the  Roman.  We  read  Cice- 
ro with  more  eafe,  and  of  courfe  with  more 
pleafure._  Independentof  this  circumftance 
too,  he  is  no  doubt,  in  himfelf,  a  more 
agreeable  writer  than  the  other.  But  not- 
withltandmg'this  advantage,  I  am  of  opi- 
nion, that  were  the  ftate  in  danger,  or  fome 
great  public  intereft  at  ftake,  which  drew 
the  ferious  attention  of  men,  an  oration  in 
the  fpirit  and  ftrain  of  Demoithenes  would 
have  more  weight,  and  produce  greater  ef- 
fects, than  one  in  the  Ciceronian  manner. 
Were  Demofthenes's  Philippics  fpoken  in 
a  Britifh  aflembly,  in  a  fimilar  conjuncture 
of  affairs,  they  would  convince  and  per- 
fuade  at  this  day.  The  rapid  ftyie,  the 
vehement  reafoning,  the  difdain,  anger, 
boldnefs,  freedom,  which  perpetually 
animate  them,  would  render  their  fuc- 
cefs  infallible  over  any  modern  aflembly. 
I  question  whether  the  fame  can  be  faid  of 
Cicero's  orations;  whole  eloquence,  how- 
ever beautiful,  and  however  well  fuited  to 
the  Roman  talte,  yet  borders  oftener  on 
declamation,  and  is  more  remote  from  the 
manner  in  which  we  now  expect  to  hear 
real  bufmefs  and  canfes  of  importance 
treated*. 

In  comparing  Demofthenes  and  Cicero, 
moil  of  the  French  critics  incline  to  give 
the  preference  to  the  latter.  P.  Rapin  the 
jefuit,  in  the  parallels  which  he  has  drawn 
between  feme  of  the  molt  eminent  Greek 

*  In  this  judgment  I  concur  with  Mr.  David 
Hume,  in  ins  ElTay  upon  Eloquence.  He  gives 
it  as  his  opinion,  that,  of  all  human  productions, 
the  Orations  of  Demofthenes  preterit  to  us  the 
models  which  approach  the  nearer!:  to  perfec- 
tion, 


and, 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.       425 


and  Roman  writers,  uniformly  decides  in 
favour  of  the  Roman.  For  the  preference 
which  he  gives  to  Cicero,  he  afiigns,  and 
lays  llrefs  on  one  reafon  of  a  pretty  extra- 
ordinary nature;  viz.  that  Demofthenes 
could  not  poflibly  have  fo  complete  an  in- 
fight  as  Cicero  into  the  manners  and  pal"- 
fions  of  men  ;  Why  r — Becaufe  he  had  not 
-the  advantage  of  perufing  Ariftotle's  trea- 
tife  'of  Rhetoric,  wherein,  lays  our  critic, 
he  has  fully  laid  open  that  myilery :  and, 
to  fupport  this  weighty  argument,  he  en- 
ters into  a  controveriy  with  A.  Gellius,  in 
order  to  prove  that  Ariitotle's  Rhetoric 
ivas  not  publifhed  till  after  Demofthenes 
had  fpofcen,  at  leaft,  his  moll  confiderable 
orations.  Nothing  can  be  more  childiih. 
Such  orators  as  Cicero  and  Demofthenes, 
derived  their  knowledge  of  the  human 
paflions  and  their  po>ver  of  moving  them, 
from  higher  fources  than  any  treatife  of 
rhetoric.  One  French  critic  has  indeed 
departed  from  the  common  track ;  and, 
after  bellowing  on  Cicero  thofejuft  praifes, 
to  which  the  confent  of  fo  many  ages 
fliews  him  to  be  entitled,  concludes,  how- 
ever, with  giving  the  palm  to  Demofthe- 
nes. This  is  Fenelon,  the  famous  arch- 
biihop  of  Cambray,  and  author  of  Tele- 
machus ;  himfelf,  furely,  no  enemy  to  all 
the  graces  and  flowers  of  compoiition.  It 
is  in  his  Reflections  on  Rhetoric  and  Poe- 
try, that  he  gives  this  judgment ;  a  fmall 
trad,  commonly  publiihed  along  with  his 
Dialogues  on  Eloquence  *.  Thefe  dia- 
logues and  reflections  are  particularly 
worthy  of  perufal,  as  containing,  I  think, 

*  As  his  expreffions  are  remarkably  happy 
and  beautiful,  the  palfage  here  referred  to  de- 
ferves  to  be  inferted.  '_'  Je  ne  crains  pas  dire, 
"  que  Demofthene  me  "paro't  fuperieur  a  Cice- 
"  rem.  je  protefte  que  perfonne  n'admire  plus 
"  C.icerun  que  je  f.tis.  II  embellit  tout  ce  qu'il 
"  touche.  II  fait  honneur  a  la  parole.  '  II  fait 
"  des  mots  ce  qu'un  autre  n'en  fauroit  faire.  II 
"  a  je  ne  fai  combien  de  fortes  d'efprits  II  eit 
"  meme  court,  &  vehement,  toutes  les  fois  qu'il 
"  veut  l'eftre  ;  contre  Catiline,  contre  Venes, 
"  contre  Anto'me.  Mais  on  remarque  quelque 
"  parure  dans  fons  difcours.  L'art  y  eft  merveil- 
"  leux;  mais  on  l'eatrevoif.  L'orateur  en  pen- 
*'  fant  au  faint  de  la  republique,  ne  s'oubhe  pas. 
"  ct  ne  fe  l.iifle  pas  oublier.  Demofthene  pa- 
<(  roit  fortir  de  foi,  et  ne  voir  que  la  patrie.  ll 
"  ne  cherche  point  le  beau ;  il  le  fait,  fans  y 
('  penfer.  11  eft  au-delfus  de  l'admiration.  11  fe 
f  fert  de  la  parole,  corarae  im  horn  me  rnodefte 
"  de  fon  h:,bit,  pour  fe  couvrir.  11  tonne  ;  il 
"*'  foudroye.  C'eft  un  torrent  qui  entraine  tout* 
41  On  ne  peut  le  criiiquer,  parceqn'on  eft  faifj. 
"  Oa  penfe  aux  chofes  q^j'll  dii,  ic  uon  a  fcs.  pa- 


the  jufteil  ideas  on  the  fubjeft,  that  are 
to  be  met  with  in  any  modern  critical 
writer.  Blair. 

§   74.  On  the  Means  of  improving  in 
Eloqjjen  ce. 

Next  to  moral  qualifications,  what,  in 
the  fecond  place,  is  moft  neceflary  to  an 
orator,  is  a  fund  of  knowledge.  Much  is 
this  inculcated  by  Cicero  and  Quindtilian  : 
"  Quod  omnibus  difciplinis  et  artibus  de- 
"  bet  efle  iqftruftus  Orator."  By  which 
they  mean,  that  he  ought  to  have  what 
we  call  a  Liberal  Education ;  and  to  be 
formed  by  a  regular  Itudy  of  philofophy, 
and  the  polite  arts.  We  mull  never  for- 
get that, 

Scribendi  recle,  fapere  eft  Sz  princjpium  &  Fons, 

Good  fenfe  and  knowledge  are  the  foun- 
dation of  all  good  (peaking.  There  is  no 
art  that  can  teach  one  to  be  eloquent,  in 
any  fphere,  without  a  furficient  acquaint- 
ance with  what  belongs  to  than  fphere ;  or 
if  there  were  an  art  that  made  fuch  pre- 
tentions, it  would  be  mere  quackery,  like 
the  pretentions  of  the  fophifts  of  old,  to 
teach  their  difciples  to  fpeak  for  and  againft. 
every  fubjedl ;  and  would  be  defervedly 
exploded  by  all  wife  men.  Attention  to 
ftyie,  to  composition,  and  all  the  arts  of 
fpeech,  can  only  aiiift  an  orator  in  letting 
oft",  to  advantage,  the  flock  of  materials 
which  he  poffeiies  ;  but  the  flock,  the  ma- 
terials themielves,  mull  be  brought  from 
other  quarters  than  from  rhetoric.  He  who 
is  to  plead  at  the  bar,  mull  make  himfelf 
thoroughly  mailer  of  the  knowledge  of  the 
law ;  of  all  the  learning  and  experience 
that  can  beufefu!  in  his  profeflion,  for  fup- 
porting  a  caufe,  or  convincing  a  judge. 
He  who  is  to  fpeak  from  the  pulpit,  mull 
apply  himfelf  clofely  to  the  iludy  of  divi- 
nity, of  practical  religion,  of  morals,  or  hu- 
man nature  ;  that  he  may  be  rich  in  ali 
the  topics  both  of  inilruction  and  of  per- 
fuafion.  lie  who  would  fit  himfelf  for  be- 
ing a  member  of  the  fupreme  council  of 
the  nation,  or  of  any  public  aiTembly,  mufl: 
be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  bufinefs 
that  belongs  to  luch  aflembly ;   he   muft 

"  roles.    On  le  perd  de   vue.     On  n'eft  occufe 
"   que   de   Philippe   qui  envahit  tour.     j. 
"  charme  de  ces  deux  orateurs :  maisj'avi  > 
"  je  fuis   moins  touche  de  l'art  inSrii,    & 
'*  magnifique  eloquence  de   Ciceron,  qi 
"  rapids  funplicite  do  Demofthene." 
6 


4*6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


ftudy  the  forms  of  court,  the  courfe  of  pro- 
cedure ;  and  mull  attend  minutely  to  all 
the  fails  that  may  be  the  fubjecl  of  ques- 
tion or  deliberation. 

Eefides  the  knowledge  that  properly  be- 
long? to  that  p  -ofeflion  to  which  he  addidls 
himielf,  a  public  fpeaker,  if  ever  he  ex- 
pecl?  to  be  eminent,  mufl  make  himfel'f 
acquainted,  as  far  as  his  neceflary  occupa- 
tions allow,  with  the  general  circle  of  po- 
lite literature.  The  ftudy  of  poetry  may 
be  ufeful  to  him  on  many  occafions,  for 
embellifhing  his  ftyle,  for  iuggelting  lively 
images,  or  agreeable  allufioiis.  The  ftudy  of 
hiftory  may  be  Mill  more  ufeful  to  him ;  as 
the  knowledge  of  fadls,  of  eminent  charac- 
ters, and  of  the  courfe  of  human  afFairs,  finds 
place  on  many  occafions  *.  There  are  few 
great  occafions  of  public  fpeaking,  in  which 
one  will  not  derive  affiftance  from  culti- 
vated tafte,  and  extenfive  knowledge. 
They  will  often  yield  him  materials  for 
proper  ornament;  fometimes,  for  argu- 
ment and  real  ufc.  A  deficiency  of  know- 
ledge, even  in  fubjedls  that  belong  not  di- 
recliy  to  his  own  profeliion,  will  expofe 
him  to  many  difad vantages,  and  give  bet- 
ter qualified  rivals  a  great  Superiority  over 
him.  Blair. 

§  75.  A  Habit  of  Induftry  recommended  to 
the  intended  Speaker. 
Allow  me  to  recommend,  in  the  third 
place,  not  only  the  attainment  of  ufeful 
knowledge,  but  a  habit  of  application  and 
induftry.  Without  this,  it  is  impoffible  to 
excel  in  any  thing.  We  muft  not  ima- 
gine that  it  is  by  a  fort  of  muihroom 
growth,  that  one  can  rife  to  be  a  diftin- 
guifhed  pleader,  or  preacher,  or  fpeaker 
in  any  aflembly.  It  is  not  by  ftarts  of  ap- 
plication, o;  by  a  few  years  preparation  of 
iludy  afterwards  discontinued,  that  emi- 
nence can  be  attained.  No;  it  can  be  at- 
tained onl)  by  means  of  regular  induftry, 
grown  up  into  a  habit,  and  ready  to  be  ex- 
erted on  every  occafion  that  calls  for  in- 
duftry. This  is  the  fixed  law  of  our  na- 
ture; and  he  muft  have  a  very  high  opi- 
nion of  his  own  genius  indeed,  that  can 
believe  himfelf  an  exception  to  it.  Avery 

*  "  Imprimis  vero,  abundare  debet  Orator  ex - 
"  emplorum  conia,  cum  veterum,  turn  etiam  no- 
"  vorum  ;  adeo  ut  non  modo  quse  conferipta  hint 
"  hiitoiiis,  aut  fermonibus  velut  per  manus  tra- 
"  dita,  quseque  quotidie  aguntur,  debeat  nolle  ; 
'*  velum  ne  e;>.  quidem  quae  a  clarioribus  poetis 
"  fun:  ficla  nsgligere."  Q^inct.  L,  xii.  Cap. 4. 


wife  law  of  our  nature  it  is  ;  for  induftry 
is,  in  truth,  the  great  "  Condimentum," 
the  feafoning  of  every  pleafure ;  without 
which  life  is  doomed  to  languifh.  Nothing 
is  fo  great  an  enemy  both  to  honourable 
attainments,  and  to  the  real,  to  the  brifk, 
and  fpirited  enjoyment  of  life,  as  that  re- 
laxed ftate  of  mind  which  arifes  from  in- 
dolence and  difiipation.  One  that  is  def- 
tined  to  excel  in  any  art,  efpecially  in  the 
arts  of  fpeaking  and  writing,  will  be  known 
by  this  more  than  by  any  other  mark 
whatever,  an  enthufiafm  for  that  art ;  an 
enrhufiafm,  which,  firing  his  mind  with  the 
objeel  he  has  in  view,  will  difpofe  him  to 
reliih  every  labour  which  the  means  re-  • 
quire.  It  was  this  that  charafterifed  the 
great  men  of  antiquity ;  it  is  this,  which 
mull  diftinguilh  the  moderns  who  would 
tread  their  fteps.  This  honourable  en- 
thufiafm, it  is  highly  neceflary  for  fuch  as 
are  ftudying  oratory  to  cultivate.  If  youth 
wants  it,  manhood  will  flag  miferably. 

Ibid, 

§76.  Attention  to  the  beji  Models  recom- 
mended to  the  Student  in  Eloquence* 
Attention  to  the  beft  models  will  contri- 
bute greatly  towards  improvement.  Every 
one  who  fpeaks  or  writes  fhould,  indeed, 
endeavour  to  have  fomewhat  that  is  his 
own,  that  is  peculiar  to  himfelf,  and  that 
characlerifes  his  compofition  and  ftyle. 
Slavilh  imitation  deprefles  genius,  or  ra- 
ther betrays  the  want  of  it.  But  withal, 
there  is  no  genius  fo  original,  but  may  be 
profited  and  aflifted  by  the  aid  of  proper 
examples,  in  ftyle,  compofition,  and  deli- 
very. They  always  open  fome  new  ideas  ; 
they  ferve  to  enlarge  and  correel  our  own. 
They  quicken  the  current  of  thought,  and 
excite  emulation.  Ibid. 

§   77.  Caution  neceftary  in  choojing  Mo- 
dels. 

Much,  indeed,  will  depend  upon  the 
right  choice  of  models  which  we  purpofff* 
to  imitate ;  and  fuppofing  them  rightly 
cholen,  a  farther  care  is  requifite,  of  not 
being  feduced  by  a  blind  univerfal  admi- 
ration. For,  "  decipit  exemplar,  vitiis  imi- 
"  tabile."  Even  in  the  mod  finifhed  mo- 
dels we  can  felecl,  it  muft  not  be  forgotten, 
that  there  are  always  fome  things  impro- 
per for  imitation.  We  fhould  ftudy  to  ac- 
quire a  juil  conception  of  the  peculiar  cha- 
racleriftic  beauties  of  any  writer,  or  public 
fpeaker,  and  imitate    thefe    only.     One 

ought 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.       427 


ought  never  to  attach  himfelf  too  clofely 
to  any  fingle  model :  for  he  who  does  fo, 
is  almoft  Aire  of  being  feduced  into  a  faul- 
ty and  affected  imitation.  His  bufinefs 
ihould  be,  to  draw  from  feveral  the  proper 
ideas  of  perfection.  Blair. 

§   78.   On   the   Style  of  BoLiNGEROKE 
and  Swift. 

Some  authors  there  are,  whofe  manner 
of  writing  approaches  nearer  to  the  ftyle 
of  fpeaking  than  others ;  and  who,  there- 
fore, can  be  imitated  with  more  fafety. 
In  this  clafs,  among  the  Engliih  authors, 
are  Dean  Swift,  and  Lord  Bolingbroke. 
The  Dean,  throughout  all  his  writings,  in 
the  midft  of  much  correftnels,  maintains 
the  eafy  natural  manner  of  an  unaffected 
fpeaker ;  and  this  is  one  of  his  chief  ex- 
cellencies. Lord  Bolingbroke's  ftyle  is 
more  fplendid,  and  more  declamatory  than 
Dean  Swift's ;  but  flill  it  is  the  ftyle  of 
one  who  fpeaks,  or  rather  who  harangues. 
Indeed,  all  his  political  writings  (for  it  is 
to  them  only,  and  not  to  his  philofophical 
ones,  that  this  obfervation  can  be  applied) 
carry  much  more  the  appearance  of  one 
declaiming  with  warmth  in  a  great  affem- 
bly,  than  of'  cne  writing  in  a  clofet,in  or- 
der to  be  read  by  others.  They  have  all  the 
copioufnefs,  the  fervour,  the  inculcating 
method,  that  is  allowable  and  graceful  in 
an  orator ;  perhaps  too  much  of  it  for  a 
writer :  and  it  is  to  be  regretted,  as  I  have 
formerly  obferved,  that  the  matter  contain- 
ed in  them  fhould  have  been  fo  trivial  or 
fo  ialfe  ;  for,  from  the  manner  and  ftyle, 
considerable  advantage  might  be  reaped. 

Ibid. 

§  jg.  Frequent  Exercije  in  compofing  and 
/peaking  necejjary  for  Improvement  in 
Eloquence. 

Befides  attention  to  the  beft  models, 
frequent  exercife,  both  in  compofing  and 
fpeaking,  will  be  admitted  to  be  a  necef- 
fary  mean  of  improvement.  That  fort  of 
compofition  is,  doubtlefs,  moft  ufeful, 
which  relates  to  the  profeflion,  or  kind 
of  public  fpeaking,  to  which  perfons  addict 
themfelves.  This  they  mould  keep  ever 
in  their  eye,  and  be  gradually  inuring 
themfelves  to  it.  But  let  me  alio  advife 
them,  not  to  allow  themfelves  in  negligent 
compofition  of  any  kind.  He  who  has  it 
for  his  aim  to  write,  or  to  fpeak  correctly, 
fhould,  in  the  moft  trivial  kind  of  compo- 
fition, in  writing  a  letter,  nay,  even  in 


common  difcourfe,  ftudy  to  acquit  himfelf 
with  propriety.  I  do  not  at  all  mean,  that 
he  is  never  to  write,  or  to  fpeak  a  word, 
but  in  elaborate  and  artificial  language. 
This  would  form  him  to  a  ftifFnefs  and  af- 
fectation, worfe,  by  ten  thoufand  degrees, 
than  the  greateft  negligence.  But  it  is  to 
be  obferved,  that  there  is,  in  every  thing, 
a  manner  which  is  becoming,  and  has  pro- 
priety ;  and  oppofite  to  it,  there  is  a  clum- 
fy  and  faulty  performance  of  the  fame 
thing.  The  becoming  manner  is  very  of- 
ten the  moft  light,  and  feemingly  carelefs 
manner ;  but  it  requires  tafte  and  attention 
to  feize  the  juft  idea  of  it.  That  idea, 
when  acquired,  we  mould  keep  in  our  eye, 
and  form  upon  it  whatever  we  write  or 
fay.  Ibid. 

§   80.    Of  what  U/e  the  Study  of  critical  and 
rhetorical  IVriters  may  be. 

It  now  enly  remains  to  enquire,  of  what 
ufe  may  the  ftudy  of  critical  and  rhetorical 
writers  be,  for  improving  one  in  the  prac- 
tice of  eloquence  ?  Theta  are  certainly  not 
to  be  neglected  ;  an  A  yet,  I  dare  not  fay 
that  much  is  to  be  expected  from  them. 
For  profeiTed  writers  on  public  fpeaking, 
we  mull  look  chiefly  among  the  ancients. 
In  modern  times,  for  reafons  which  were 
before  given,  popular  eloquence,  as  an  art, 
has  never  been  very  much  the  object  of 
ftudy;  it  has  not  the  fame  powerful  effect 
among  us  that  it  had  in  more  democratical 
ftates ;  and  therefore  has  not  been  culti- 
vated with  the  fame  care.  Among  the 
moderns,  though  there  has  been  a  great 
deal  of  good  criticiiin  on  the  different  kinds 
of  writing,  yet  much  has  not  been  attempt- 
ed on  the  fobject  of  eloquence,  or  public 
difcourfe;  and  what  has  been  given  us  of 
that  kind  has  been  drawn  moilly  from  the 
ancients.  Such  a  writer  as  Joannes  Gerar- 
dus  Vollius,  who  has  gathered  into  one 
heap  of  pondrous  lumber,  all  the  trifling, 
as  well  as  the  ufeful  things,  that  are  to. 
be  found  in  the  Greek  and  Roman  writers, 
is  enough  to  diiguft  one  with  the  ftudy  of 
eloquence.  Among  the  French,  there 
has  been  more  attempted,  on  this  fubject, 
than  among  the  Englifh.  The  Bifhop  of 
Cambray's  writings  on  eloquence,  I  before 
mentioned  with  honour.  Rollin,  Batteux, 
Crevier,  Gibert,  and  fever;:!  other  French 
critics,  have  alfo  written  on  oratory  ;  but 
though  feme  of  them  may  be  ufeful,  none 
of  them  are  fo  confulerable  as  to  deferve 
particular  recommendation.  Ibid. 

§   81. 


42S 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


§   8 1.  Recourfe  muji  chiefly   be   had  to  the 
original  Writers. 

It  is  to  the  original  ancient  writers  that 
we  mull  chiefly  have  recourfe  ;  and  it  is  a 
reproach  to  any  one,  whofe  profeffion  calls 
him  to  fpeak  in  public,  to  be  unacquainted 
with  them.  In  all  the  ancient  rhetorical 
writers,  there  is,  indeed,  this  defect,  that 
they  are  too  fyitematical,  as  I  formerly 
fhewed  ;  they  aim  at  doing  too  much  ;  at 
reducing  rhetoric  to  a  complete  and  per- 
fect art,  which  may  even  fupply  invention 
with  materials  on  every  fubjecl: ;  infomuch 
that  one  would  imagine  they  expe&ed  to 
form  an  orator  by  rule,  in  as  mechanical 
a  manner  as  one  would  form  a  carpenter. 
Whereas,  all  that  can  in  truth  be  done,  is 
to  give  openings  for  affifting  and  enlighten- 
ing tafte,  and  for  pointing  out  to  genius 
the  courfe  it  ought  to  hold. 

Ariftotle  laid  the  foundation  for  all  that 
was  afterwards  written  on  the  fubject. 
That  amazing  and  comprehenfive  ge- 
nius, which  does  honour  to  human  nature, 
and  which  gave  light  into  (o  many  diffe- 
rent fciences,  has  invefligated  the  princi- 
ples of  rhetoric  with  great  penetration. 
Ariftotle  appears  to  have  been  the  firft 
who  took  rhetoric  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
fophifts,and  introduced  reafoning  and  good 
fenfe  into  the  art.  Some  of  the  profoundeft 
things  which  have  been  written  on  the 
paffions  and  manners  of  men,  are  to  be 
found  in  his  Treatife  on  Rhetoric;  though 
in  this,  as  in  all  his  writings,  his  great 
brevity  often  renders  him  obicure.  Suc- 
ceeding Greek  rhetoricians,  mod  of  whom 
are  now  loft,  improved  on  the  foundation 
which  Arillotle  had  laid.  Two  of  them 
ftill  remain,  Demetrius  Phalerius,  and 
Dionyfius  of  HalicarnafTus ;  both  write  on 
the  conftruction  of  fentences,  and  deferve 
to  be  perufed  ;  efpecially  Dionyfius,  who 
is  a  very  accurate  and  judicious  critic. 

I  need  fcarcely  recommend  the  rheto- 
rical writings  of  Cicero.  Whatever,  on 
the  fubjecl:  of  eloquence,  comes  from  fo 
great  an  orator,  mu ft  be  worthy  of  atten- 
tion. Mis  moft  confiderable  work  on  this 
fubjecl  is  that  De  Oratcre,  in  three  books. 
None  of  Cicero's  writings  are  more  high- 
ly finifhed  than  this  treatife.  The  dialogue 
is  polite  ;  the  characters  are  well  fupported, 
and  the  conduct  of  the  whole  is  beautiful 
and  agreeable.  It  is,  indeed,  full  of  di- 
greiTions,  and  his  rules  and  obfervations 
may  be  thought  fometimes  too  vague  and 
general.     Ufeful  things,  however,  may  be 


learned  from  it ;  and  it  is  no  fmall  beneff 
to  be  made  acquainted  with  Cicero's  own 
idea  of  eloquence.  The  "  Orator  ad  M, 
"  Brutum,"  is  alfo  a  confiderable  treatife; 
and,  in  general,  throughout  all  Cicero's 
rhetorical  works  there  run  thofe  high  and 
fublime  ideas  of  eloquence,  which  are  fitted 
both  for  forming  a  juft  tafte,  and  for  cre- 
ating that  enthufiafm  for  the  art,  which  is 
of  the  greateft  coniequence  for  excelling 
in  it. 

But,  of  all  the  antient  writers  on  the 
fubjecl  of  oratory,  the  moft  inftrudlive,  and 
moft  ufeful,  is  Quinctilian.  I  know  few 
books  which  abound  more  with  good  fenfe, 
and  dilcover  a  greater  degree  of  juft  and 
accurate  tafte,  than  Quinctilian's  lnftitu- 
tions.  Almoft  all  the  principles  of  good 
criticifm  are  tc  be  found  in  them.  He 
has  digefted  into  excellent  order  all  the 
ancient  ideas  concerning  rhetoric,  and  is, 
at  the  fame  time,  himfelf  an  eloquent  wri- 
ter. Though  fome  parts  of  his  work  con- 
tain too  much  of  the  technical  and  artifi- 
cial fyftem  then  in  vogue,  and  for  that 
reafon  may  be  thought  dry  and  tedious, 
yet  I  would  not  advife  the  omitting  to  read 
any  part  of  his  Inftitutions.  To  pleaders 
at  the  bar,  even  thefe  technical  parts  may 
prove  of  fome  ufe.  Seldom  has  any  per- 
fon,  of  more  found  and  diftindt  judgment 
than  Quinctilian,  applied  himfelf  to  the 
ftudy  of  the  art  of  oratory.  Blair. 

§   82.   On  the  NeceJJify  of  a   Clafftcal  Edu- 
cation. 

The  faireft  diamonds  are  rough  till  they 
are  polifhtd,  and  the  pureft  gold  muft  be 
run  and  wafhed,  and  fifted  in  the  ore.  We 
are  untaught  by  nature ;  and  the  fineft 
qualities  will  grow  wild  and  degenerate, 
if  the  mind  is  not  formed  by  difcipline,  and 
cultivated  with  an  early  care.  In  fome 
perfons,  who  have  run  up  to  men  without 
a  libera]  education,  we  may  obferve  many 
great  qualities  darkened  andeclipfed  ;  their 
minds  are  crufted  over  like  diamonds  in 
the  rock,  they  flafh  out  fometimes  into  an 
irregular  greatnefs  of  thought,  and  betray 
in  their  actions  an  unguided  force,  and 
unmanaged  virtue  ;  fomething  very  great 
and  very  noble  may  be  difcerned,  but  it 
looks  cumberfome  and  awkward,  and  is 
alone  of  all  things  the  worfe  for  being 
natural.  Nature  is  undoubtedly  the  beft 
miftrefs  and  apteft  fcholar;  but  nature 
herfelf  muft  be  civilized,  or  fhe  will  look 
favage,  as  fhe  appears  in  the  Indian  princes, 
who  arc  vefted  with  a  native  majefty,  a  far- 

prifmg 


BOOK    II.    CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


42* 


prifing  greatnefs  and  generofity  of  foul, 
and  difcover  what  we  always  regret,  fine 
parts,  and  excellent  natural  endowments, 
without  improvement.  In  thofe  countries, 
which  we  call  barbarous,  where  art  and 
politenefs  are  not  underilood,  nature  hath 
the  greater  advantage  in  this,  that  fim- 
plicity  of  manners  often  fecures  the  inno- 
cence of  the  mind  ;  and  as  virtue  is  not, 
fo  neither  is  vice,  civilized  and  refined  ;  but 
in  thefe  politer  parts  of  the  world,  where 
virtue  excels  by  rules  and  difcipline,  vice 
alfo  is  more  inflru&ed,  and  with  us  good 
qualkies  will  not  fpring  up  alone  :  many 
hurtful  weeds  will  rife  with  them,  and 
choak  them  in  their  growth,  unlefs  removed 
by  fome  fkilful  hand ;  nor  will  the  mind 
be  brought  to  a  juft  perfection  without 
cherilhing  every  hopeful  feed,  and  repref- 
iing  every  fuperfluous  humour:  the  mind 
is  like  the  body  in  this  regard,  which  can- 
not fall  into  a  decent  and  eafy  carriage, 
unlefs  it  be  fafhioned  in  time  :  an  untaught 
behaviour  is  like  the  people  that  ufe  it, 
truly  ruflic,  forced  and  uncouth,  and  art 
mult  be  applied  to  make  it  natural. 

Felton. 

§  83.  On  the  Entrance  to  Knowledge. 

Knowledge  will  not  be  won.  without 
pains  and  application  :  fome  parts  of  it 
are  eafier,  fome  more  difficult  of  accefs : 
we  mull  proceed  at  once  by  fap  and  bat- 
tery ;  and  when  the  breach  is  practicable, 
you  have  nothing  to  do,  but  to  prefs  bold- 
ly on,  and  enter:  it  is  troublefome  and 
deep  digging  for  pure  waters,  but  when 
once  you  come  to  the  fpring,  they  rife  and 
meet  you  :  the  entrance  into  knowledge  is 
oftentimes  very  narrow,  dark  and  tirefome, 
but  the  rooms  are  fpacious,  and  glorioufly 
furnifhed  :  the  country  is  admirable,  and 
every  profpecl:  entertaining.  You  need  not 
wonder,  that  fine  countries  have  flrait  ave- 
nues, when  the  regions  of  happinefs,  like 
thofe  of  knowledge,  are  impervious,  and 
fhut  to  lazy  travellers,  and  the  way  to 
heaven  itfelf  is  narrow. 

Common  things  areeafily  attained,  and 
no  body  values  what  lies  in  every  body's 
way:  what  is  excellent  is  placed  out  of 
ordinary  reach,  and  you  will  eafily  be  per- 
fuadedto  put  forth  your  hand  to  the  utmofl 
flretch,  and  reach  whatever  you  afpire  at. 

Ibid. 

§   84.  ClaJJics    recommended. 
Many  are  the  fubje&s  which  will  invite 
and  delerv?  the  ileadiett  application  from 


thofe  who  would  excel,  and  be  diilinguifh- 
ed  in  them.  Human  learning  in  general ; 
natural  philofophy,  mathematics,  and  the 
whole  circle  of  fcience.  But  there  is  no 
neceflity  of  leading  you  through  thefe  fe- 
veral  fields  of  knowledge  :  it  will  be  moil 
commendable  for  you  to  gather  fome  of 
the  faireft  fruit  from  them  all,  and  to  lay 
up  a  ftore  of  good  fenfe,  and  found  reafon, 
of  great  probity,  and  folid  virtue.  This 
is  the  true  ufe  of  knowledge,  to  make  it 
fubfervient  to  the  great  duties  of  our  moil 
holy  religion,  that  as  you  are  daily  ground- 
ed in  the  true  and  faving  knowledge  of  a 
Chrillian,  you  may  ufe  the  helps  of  human 
learning,  and  direct  them  to  their  pro- 
per end.  You  will  meet  with  great  and 
wonderful  examples  of  an  irregular  and 
miltaken  virtue  in  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
with  many  inilances  of  greatnefs  of  mind, 
of  unfhaken  fidelity,  contempt  of  human 
grandeur,  a  moll  paflionate  love  of  their 
country,  prodigality  of  life,  difdain  of  fer- 
vitude,  inviolable  truth,  and  the  mofl  pub- 
lic difintereiled  fouls,  that  ever  threw  off 
all  regards  in  comparifon  with  their  coun- 
try's good  :  you  will  difcern  the  flaws  and 
blemifhes  of  their  fairefl  actions,  fee  the 
wrong  apprehenfions  they  had  of  virtue, 
and  be  able  to  point  them  right,  and  keep 
them  within  their  proper  bounds.  Under 
this  correction  you  may  extract  a  gene- 
rous and  noble  fpirit  from  the  writings  and 
hiiloriesofthe  ancients.  And  I  would  in 
a  particular  manner  recommend  theclaflic 
authors  to  your  favour,  and  they  will  re- 
commend themfelves  to  your  approbation. 

If  you  would  refolve  to  mailer  the  Greek 
as  well  as  the  Latin  tongue,  you  will  find, 
that  the  one  is  the  fource  and  original  of 
all  that  is  mofl  excellent  in  the  other:  I 
do  not  mean  fo  much  for  expreffion,  as 
thought,  though  fome  of  the  mofl  beautiful 
flrokes  of  the  Latin  tongue  are  drawn 
from  the  lines  of  the  Grecian  orators  and 
poets ;  but  for  thought  and  fancy,  for  the 
very  foundation  andembellifhment  of  their 
works,  you  will  fee,  the  Latins  have  ran, 
facked  the  Grecian  flore,  and,  as  Horace 
advifes  all  who  would  fucceed  in  writing 
well,  had  their  authors  night  and  morning 
in  their  hands. 

And  they  have  been  fuch  happy  imi- 
tators, that  the  copies  have  proved  more 
exact  than  the  originals;  and  Rome  has 
triumphed  over  Athens,  as  well  in  wit 
as  arms;  for  though  Greece  may  have 
the  honour  of  invention,  yet  it  is  eafier 
to  Itrike  out   a  new  courfe  of  thought 

tljan 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


45° 

than  to  equal  old  originals  ;  and  therefore 
it  is  more  honour  to  furpafs,  than  to  invent 
anew".  Verrio  is  a  great  man  from  his  own 
defigns ;  but  if  he  had  attempted  upon  the 
Cartons,  and  outdone  Raphael  Urbin  in 
life  and  colours,  he  had  been  acknowledged 
greater  than  that  celebrated  mafter,  but 
now  we  mull  think  him  lefs.  Felton. 

§   85.     A   Comparifon    of    the     Greek  and 

Roman  Writers. 
_  If  I  may  detain  you  with  a  fhort  compa- 
rifon of  the  Greek  and  Roman  authors,  I 
mull  own  the  lalt  have  the  preference  in 
my  thoughts ;  and  I  am  not  lingular  in  my 
opinion.  It  mull  be  confefled,  the  Ro- 
mans have  left  no  tragedies  behind  them, 
that  may  compare  with  the  majeily  of  the 
Grecian  ftage;  the  bell  comedies  of  Rome 
were  written  on  the  Grecian  plan,  but  Me- 
nander  is  too  far  loil  to  be  compared  with 
Terence;  only  if  we  may  judge  by  the 
method  Terence  ufed  in  forming  two 
Greek  plays  into  one,  we  (hall  naturally 
conclude,  fince  his  are  perfect  upon  that 
model,  that  they  are  more  perfect  than 
Menander's  were.  I  mall  make  no  great 
difficulty  in  preferring  Plautus  to  Arifto- 
phanes,  for  wit  and  humour,  variety  of 
characters,  plot  and  contrivance  in  his 
plays,  though  Horace  has  cenfured  him  for 
low  wit. 

Virgil  has  been  fo  often  compared  with 
Homer,  and  the  merits  of  thofe  poets  fo 
©ften  canvafled,  that  I  fhall  only  fay,  that 
if  the  Roman  fhines  not  in  the  Grecian's 
flame  and  fire,  it  is  the  ccolnefs  of  his 
judgment,  rather  than  the  want  of  heat. 
You  will  generally  find  the  force  of  a 
poet's  genius,  and  the  llrength  of  his  fancy, 
difplays  themfelves  in  the  defcriptions  they 
give  of  battles,  ilorms,  prodigies,  &c.  and 
Homer's  fire  breaks  out  on  thefe  occafions 
in  more  dread  and  terror  ;  but  Virgil  mixes 
compaifion  with  his  terror,  and,  by  throw- 
ing water  on  the  flame,  makes  it  burn  the 
brighter;  fo  in  the  ftorm ;  fo  in  his  bat- 
tles on  the  fill  of  Pallas  and  Camilla  ;  and 
thatfcene  of  horror,  which  his  hero  opens 
in  the  fecond  book;  the  burning  of  Troy  ; 
the  ghoil  of  Heflor ;  the  murder  of  the 
king  ;  themaflacre  of  the  people;  the  fud- 
den  furprife,  and  the  dead  of  night,  are  fo 
relieved  by  the  piety  and  pity  that  is  every 
where  intermixed,  that  we  forget  our  fears, 
and  join  in  the  lamentation.  All  the  world 
acknowledges  the  JEneid  to  be  moll  per- 
fect in  its  kind;  and  confidering  the  dif- 
advantage  of  the  language.,  and  the  fe ve- 


rity of  the  Roman  nmfe,  the  poem  is  Hill 
more  wonderful,  fince,  without  the  liberty 
of  the  Grecian  poets,  the  diction  is  fo  great 
and  noble,  fo  clear,  fo  forcible  and  expref- 
five,  fo  challe  and  pure,  that  even  all  the 
llrength  and  compafs  of  the  Greek  tongue, 
joined  to  Homer's  fire,  cannot  give  us 
itronger  and  clearer  ideas,  than  the  great 
Virgil  has  fet  before  our  eyes ;  fome  few 
inflances  excepted,  in  which  Homer,  thro* 
the  force  of  genius,  has  excelled. 

I  have  argued  hitherto  for  Virgil ;  and 
it  will  be  no  wonder  that  his  poem  lhould 
be  more  correct  in  the  rules  of  writing,  if 
that  ftrange  opinion  prevails,  that  Homer 
writ  without  any  view  or  defign  at  all  ; 
that  his  poems  are  loofe  independent  pieces 
tacked  together,  and  were,  originally  only 
fo  many  longs  or  ballads  upon  the  gods  and 
heroes,  and  the  fiege  of  Troy.  If  this  be 
true,  they  are  the  completer! 'firing  of  bal- 
lads, I  ever  met  with,  and  whoever  collect- 
ed them,  and  put  them  in  the  method  we 
now  read  them  in,  whether  it  were  Pifillra- 
tus,  or  any  other,  has  placed  them  in  fuch 
order,  that  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyifei's  feem 
to  have  been  compofed  with  one  view  and 
defign,  one  fcheme  and  intention,  which 
are  carried  on  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  all  along  uniform  and  confillent  with 
themfelves.  Some  have  argued,  the  world 
was  made  by  a  wife  Being,  and  not  jum- 
bled together  by  chance,  from  the  very 
abfurdity  of  fuch  a  fuppofition  ;  and  they 
have  illuilrated  their  argument,  from  the 
impoflibility  that  fuch  a  poem  as  Homer's 
and  Virgil's  lhould  rife  in  fuch  beautiful 
order  out  of  millions  of  letters  eternally 
lhaken  together  :  but  this  argument  is  half 
fpoiled,  if  we  allow,  that  the  poems  of  Ho- 
mer, in  each  of  which  appears  one  conti- 
nued formed  defign  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  were  written  in  loofe  fcraps  on  nr> 
fettled  premeditated  fcheme.  Horace,  we 
are  fore,  was  of  another  opinion,  and  fo 
was  Virgil  too,  who  built  his  iEneid  upon 
the  model  of  the  Iiiad  and  the  Odyfleis, 
After  all,  Tully,  whole  relation  of  this  paf- 
fage  has  given  fome  cc  lour  to  this  fuggef- 
tion,  fays  no  more,  than  that  Pififtratus 
(whom  he  commends  for  his  learning,  and 
condemns  for  his  tyranny)  obferving  the 
books  of  Homer  to  lie  confufed  and  out 
of  order,  placed  them  in  the  method  the 
great  author,  no  doubt,  had  firft  formed 
them  in  :  but  all  this  Tully  gives  us  only 
as  report.  And  it  would  be  very  ftrange, 
that  Ariftotle  lhould  form  his  rules  on  Ho- 
mtr's  poems;  that  Horace  lhould  follow 

his 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


Ms  example,  and  propofe  Homer  for  the 
ftandard  cf  epic  writing,  with  this  bright 
teitimony,  that  he  "  never  undertook  any 
thing  inconfiderately,  nor  ever  made  any 
fooliih  attempts  j"  if  indeed  this  celebrat- 
ed poet  did  not  intend  to  form  his  poems 
in  the  order  and  defign  we  fee  them  in.  If 
we  look  upon  the  fabric  and  conftruclion 
of  thofe  great  works,  we  (hall  find  an  ad- 
mirable proportion  in  all  the  parts,  a  per- 
petual coincidence,  and  dependence  of  one 
upon  another ;  I  will  venture  an  appeal  to 
any  learned  critic  in  this  caufe  ;  and  if  it 
be  a  fuificient  reafon  to  alter  the  common 
readings  in  a  letter,  a  word,  or  a  phrafe, 
from  the  confideration  of  the  context,  or 
propriety  of  the  language,  and  call  it  the 
reftoring  of  the  text,  is  it  not  a  demonftra- 
tion  that  thefe  poems  were  made  in  the 
fame  courfe  of  lines,  and  upon  the  fame 
plan  we  read  them  in  at  prefent,  from  ail 
the  arguments  that  connexion,  dependence, 
and  regularity  can  give  us  ?  If  thofe  cri- 
tics, who  maintain  this  odd  fancy  of  Ho- 
mer's writings,  had  found  them  loofe  and 
undigefted,  and  reitored  them  to  the  order 
they  {land  in  now,  I  believe  they  would 
have  gloried  in  their  art,  and  maintained 
it  with  more  uncontefted  reafons,  than  they 
are  able  to  bring  for  the  difcovery  of  a  word 
or  a  fyll  able  hitherto  falfely  printed  in  the 
text  of  any  author.  But,  if  any  learned 
men  of  Angular  fancies  and  opinions  will 
not  allow  thefe  buildings  to  have  been  ori- 
ginally defigned  after  the  prefent  model, 
let  them  at  leaft  allow  us  one  poetical  fup- 
pofition  on  our  fide,  That  Homer's  harp 
was  as  powerful  to  command  his  fcattered 
incoherent  pieces  into  the  beautiful  ftruc- 
ture  of  a  poem,  as  Amphion's  was  to  fum- 
mon  the  ftones  into  a  wall,  or  Orpheus's  to 
lead  the  trees  a  dance.  For  certainly, 
however  it  happens,  the  parts  are  lb  juitly 
difpofed,  that  you  cannot  change  any  book 
into  the  place  of  another,  without  fpoiling 
the  proportion,  and  confounding  the  order 
of  the  whole. 

The  Georgics  are  above  all  controverfy 
with  Hefiod ;  but  the  Idylliums  of  Theo- 
critus have  fomething  fo  inimitably  fweet 
in  the  verfe  and  thoughts,  fuch  a  native 
iimplicity,  and  are  lb  genuine,  fo  natural 
arefult  of  the  rural  life,  that  I  muft.,  in  my 
poor  judgment,  allow  him  the  honour  of 
the  paftoral. 

In  Lyrics  the  Grecians  may  feem  to  have 
excelled,  as  undoubtedly  they  are  fuperior 
in  t^ie  number  of  their  poets,  and  variety  of 


431 


their  verfe  Orpheus,  Alcasus,  Sappho, 
Simonides,  and  Stefichorus  are  almofl  en- 
tirely loft.  Here  and  there  a  fragment  of 
fome  of  them  is  remaining,  which,  like 
fome  broken  parts  of  ancient  ftatues,  pre- 
ferve  an  imperfect  monument  of  the  deli- 
cacy, ftrength,  and  fkill  of  the  great  maf- 
ter's  hand. 

Pindar  is  fublime,  but  obfcure,  impetu- 
ous in  his  courfe,  and  unfathomable  in  the 
depth  and  loftinefs  of  his  thoughts,  Ana- 
creon  flows  foft  and  eafy,  every  where  dif- 
fufing  the  joy  and  indolence  of  his  mind 
through  his  verfe,  and  tuning  his  harp  to 
the  fmooth  and  pleafant  temper  of  his  foul. 
Horace  alone  may  be  compared  to  both  ; 
in  whom  are  reconciled  the  loftinefs  and 
majefty  of  Pindar,  and  the  gay,  carelefs, 
jovial  temper  of  Anacreon:  and,  I  fup- 
pofe,  however  Pindar  may  be  admired  for 
greatnefs,  and  Anacreon  for  delicatenefs  of 
thought ;  Horace,  who  rivals  one  in  his 
triumphs,  and  the  other  in  his  mirth  and 
love,  furpafles  them  both  in  juftnefs,  ele- 
gance, and  happinefs  of  expreflion.  Ana- 
creon has  another  follower  among  the 
choicer!  wits  of  Rome,  and  that  is  Catul- 
lus, whom,  though  his  lines  be  rough,  and 
his  numbers  inharmonious,  I  could  re- 
commend for  the  foftnefs  and  delicacy, 
but  muft  decline  for  the  loofenefs  of  his 
thoughts,  too  immodeft.  for  chaile  ears  to 
bear. 

I  will  go  no  farther  in  the  poets  ;  only, 
for  the  honour  of  our  country,  let  me  ob- 
ferve  to  you,  that  while  Rome  has  been 
contented  to  produce  fome  fingle  rivals  to 
the  Grecian  poetry,  England  hath  brought 
forth  the  wonderful  Cowley's  wit,  who  was 
beloved  by  every  mufe  he  courted,  and  has 
rivalled  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets  in  every 
kind  but  tragedy. 

I  will  not  trouble  you  with  the  hiflorians 
any  further,  than  to  inform  you,  that  the 
conteft  lies  chiefly  between  Thucydides 
and  Salluft,  Herodotus  and  Livy;  though 
I  think  Thucydides  and  Livy  may  on  ma- 
ny accounts  more  juftly  be  compared  :  the 
critics  have  been  very  free  in  their  cen- 
fures,  but  I  lhall  be  glad  to  fufpend  any 
farther  judgment,  till  you  fhall  be  able  to 
read  them,  and  give  me  your  opinion. 

Oratory  and  pnilofophy  are  the  next 
difputed  prizes  ;  and  whatever  praifes  may 
be  juftly  given  to  Ariftotle,  Plato,  Xenophon 
and  Demofthenes,  I  will  venture  to  fay, 
that  the  divine  Tully  is  ill  the  Grecian 
orators  and  nhilofophers  in  one.      FeltotL 

§  86, 


432 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


§  86.  A  port   Commendation  of  the   Latin 
Language. 

And  now,  having  poffibly,  given  you 
fome  prejudice  in  favour  of  the  Romans, 
I  mull  beg  leave  to  affure  you,  that  if  you 
have  not  leifure  to  mailer  both,  you  will 
find  your  pains  well  rewarded  in  the  Latin 
tongue,  when  once  you  enter  into  the  ele- 
gancies and  beauties  of  it.  It  is  the  pe- 
culiar felicity  of  that  language  to  fpeak 
good  fenfe  in  fuitable  expreffions ;  to  give 
the  finefl  thoughts  in  the  happiell  words, 
and  in  an  eafy  majefty  of  ftyle,  to  write  up 
to  the  fubjea.  «  And  in  this,  lies  the  great 
«  fecret  of  writing  well.  It  is  that  elegant 
«  fimplicity,  that  ornamental  plainnefsof 
«  fpeech,  which  every  common  genius 
*<  thinks  fo  plain,  than  any  body  may  reach 
<*  it,  and  findeth  fo  very  elegant,  that  all 
"  his  fweat,  and  pains,  and  ftudy,  fail  him 
«  in  the  attempt." 

In  reading  the  excellent  authors  of  the 
Roman  tongue,  whether  you  converfe  with 
poets,  orators,  or  hiltorians,  you  will  meet 
with  all  that  is  admirable  in  human  com- 
pofure.  And  though  life  and  fpirit,  pro- 
priety and  force  of  flyle,  be  common  to 
them  all,  you  will  fee  that  neverthelefs  every 
writer  mines  in  his  peculiar  excellencies  ; 
and  that  wit,  like  beauty,  is  diverfified 
into  a  thoufand  graces  of  feature  and 
complexion. 

I  need  not  trouble  you  with  a  particular 
character  of  thefe  celebrated  writers.  What 
I  have  faid  already,  and  what  I  mall  fay 
farther  of  them  as  I  go  along,  renders  it 
lefs  neceffary  at  prefent,  and  I  would  not 
pre-engage  your  opinion  implicitly  to  my 
fide.  It  will  be  a  pleafant  exercife  ofyour 
judgment  to  diil'mguilh  them  yourfelf ;  and 
when  you  and  I  mall  be  able  _  to  depart 
from  the  common  received  opinions  of  the 
critics  and  commentators,  1  may  take  fome 
other  occafion  of  laying  them  before  you, 
and  fubmitting  what  I  mail  then  fay  of 
them  to  your  approbation.  Felton. 

k   87.  DireSlions  in  reading  the  ClaJJics. 

In  the  mean  time,  I  mall  only  give  you 
two  or  three  cautions  and  directions  for 
your  reading  them,  which  to  fome  people 
will  look  a  little  odd,  but  with  me  they  are 
of  great  moment,  and  very  neceffary  to  be 

obferved. 

The  firft  is,  that  you  would  never  be 
perfuaded  into  what  they  can  Common- 
places ;  which  is  a  way  of  taking  an  au- 
thor to'picccs>  and  ranging  him  under  pro. 


per  heads,  that  you  may  readily  find  what 
he  has  faid  upon  any  point,  by  confulting 
an  alphabet.  This  practice  is  of  no  ufe  but 
in  circumftantials  of  time  and  place,  cuf- 
tom  and  antiquity,  and  in  fuch  inflances 
where  fads  are  to  be  remembered,  not 
where  the  brain  is  to  be  exercifed.  In 
thefe  cafes  it  is  of  great  ufe  :  it  helps  the 
memory,  and  ferves  to  keep  thofe  things 
in  a  fort  of  order  and  fucceffion.  But, 
common-placing  the  fenfe  of  an  author  is 
fuch  a  ilupid  undertaking,  that,  if  I  may 
be  indulged  in  faying  it,  they  want  com- 
mon fenfe  that  practife  it.  What  heaps  of 
this  rubbifh  have  I  feen  1  O  the  pains  and 
labour  to  record  what  other  people  have 
faid,  that  is  taken  by  thofe  who  have  no- 
thing to  fay  themfelves !  You  may  depend 
upon  it,  the  writings  of  thefe  men  are  ne- 
ver worth  the  reading ;  the  fancy  is  cramp- 
ed, the  invention  fpoiled,  their  thoughts  on 
every  thing  are  prevented,  if  they  think  at 
all ;  but  it  is  the  peculiar  happinefs  of  thefe 
collectors  of  fenfe,  that  they  can  write  with- 
out thinking. 

I  do  moil  readily  agree,  that  all  the 
bright  fparkling  thoughts  of  the  ancients, 
their  fineft  expreffions,  and  noblell  fenti- 
ments,  are  to  be  met  with  in  thefe  tranferib- 
ers :  but  how  wretchedly  are  they  brought 
in,  how  miferably  put  together  1  Indeed,  I 
can  compare  fuch  productions  to  nothing 
but  rich  pieces  of  patch-work,  fewed  to- 
gether with  packthread. 

When  I  fee  a  beautiful  building  of  exact 
order  and  proportion  taken  down,  and  the 
different  materials  laid  together  by  them- 
felves, it  puts  me  in  mind  of  thefe  common- 
place men.  The  materials  are  certainly 
very  good,  but  they  underfland  not  the 
rules  of  architecture  fo  well,  as  to  form 
them  into  juft  and  maflerly  proportions 
any  more  i  and  yet  how  beautiful  would 
they  Hand  in  another  model  upon  another 
plan  ! 

For,  we  mult  confefs  the  truth:  We  can 
fay  nothing  new,  at  leaft  we  can  fay  no- 
thing better  than  has  been  faid  before  ;  but 
we  may  neverthelefs  make  what  we  fay 
our  own.  And  this  is  done  when  we  do- 
not  trouble  ourfelves  to  remember  in  what 
page  or  what  book  we  have  read  fuch  a 
paffiige ;  but  it  falls  in  naturally  with  the 
courfe  of  our  own  thoughts,  and  takes  its 
place  in  our  writings  with  as  much  eafe, 
and  looks  with  as  good  a  grace,  as  it  ap- 
peared in  two  thouiand  years  ago. 

This  is  the  belt  way  of  remembering 
the  ancient  authors,  when  yourelilh  their 

way 


BOOK   II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.        433 


way  of  writing,  enter  into  their  thoughts, 
And  imbibe  their  fenfe.  There  is  no  need 
of  tying  ourfelves  up  to  an  imitation  ef  any 
of  them;  much  lefs  to  copy  or  tranfcribe 
them.  For  there  is  room  for  vail  variety 
of  thought  and  flyle ;  as  nature  is  various 
in  her  works,  and  is  nature  fii.ll.  Good 
authors,  like  the  celebrated  mailers  in  the 
feveral  fchools  of  painting,  are  originals  in 
their  way,  and  different  in  their  manner. 
And  when  we  can  make  the  fame  ufe  of 
the  Romans  as  they  did  of  the  Grecians, 
and  habituate  ourfelves  to  their  way  of 
thinking  and  writing,  we  may  be  equal  in 
rank,  though  different  from  them  all,  and 
be  eileemed  originals  as  well  as  they. 

And  this  is  what  I  would  have  you  do. 
Mix  and  incorporate  with  thofe  ancient 
flreams ;  and  though  your  own  wit  will  be 
improved  and  heightened  by  fuch  a  ilrong 
infufion,  yet  the  fpirit,  the  thought,  the 
fancy,  the  expreffion,  which  fhall  flow  from 
your  pen,  will  be  entirely  your  own. 

Felton. 

§   88.  The  Method  of  Schools  vindicated. 

It  has  been  a  long  complaint  in  this  po- 
lite and  excellent  age  of  learning,  that  we 
lofe  our  time  in  words ;  that  the  memory 
of  youth  is  charged  and  overloaded  with- 
out improvement ;  and  all  they  learn  is 
mere  cant  and  jargon  for  three  or  fo.  \r 
years  together.  Now,  the  complaint  is  in 
fome  meafure  true,  but  not  eafily  remedi- 
ed ;  and  perhaps,  after  all  the  exclamation 
of  fo  much  time  loil  in  mere  words  and 
terms,  the  hopeful  youths,  whole  lofs  of 
time  is  fo  much  lamented,  were  capable  of 
learning  nothing  but  words  at  thofe  years. 
I  do  not  mind  what  fome  quacks  in  the  art 
of  teaching  fay ;  they  pretend  to  work 
wonders,  and  to  make  young  gentlemen 
maflers  of  the  languages,  before  they  can 
be  mailers  of  common  fenfe ;  but  this  to 
me  is  a  demonflration,  that  we  are  capable 
of  little  elfe  than  words,  till  twelve  or  thir- 
teen, if  you  will  obierve,  that  a  boy  fhall 
be  able  to  repeat  his  grammar  over,  two  or 
three  years  before  his  understanding  opens 
enough  to  let  him  into  the  reafon  and  clear 
apprehenfion  of  the  rules ;  and  when  this 
is  done,  fooner  or  later,  it  ceaiethto  be  cant 
and  jargon:  fo  that  all  this  clamour  J5 
wrong  founded,  and  the  caufe  of  complaint 
lies  rather  again  it  the  backwardnefs  of  oar 
judgment,  than  the  method  of  our  fchools. 
And  therefore  I  am  for  the  old  way  in 
fchools  Hill,  and  children  will  be  furraihed 


there  with  a  ilock  of  words  at  lead,  when 
they  come  to  know  how  to  ufe  them. 

Ibid. 

§   89,  Commendation  of  Schools. 

I  am  very  far  from  having  any  mean 
thoughts  of  thofe  great  men  who  prefide 
in  our  chiefefl  and  moil  celebrated  fchools ; 
it  is  my  happinefs  to  be  known  to  the  moil 
eminent  of  them  in  a  particular  manner, 
and  they  will  acquit  me  of  any  difrefpedl, 
where  they  know  I  have  the  greatefl  ve- 
neration ;  for  with  them  the  genius  of 
claihc  learning  dwells,  and  from  them  it  is 
derived.  And  I  think  myfelf  honoured  in 
the  acquaintance  of  fome  mailers  in  the 
country,  who  are  not  lefs  polite  than  they 
are  learned,  and  to  the  exact  knowledge  of 
the  Greek  and  Roman  tongues,  have  join- 
ed a  true  taile,  and  delicate  relifh  of  the 
claihc  authors.  Butfhould  you  ever  lio-ht 
into  fome  formal  hands,  though  your  fenfe 
is  too  fine  to  relifh  thofe  pedantries  I  hav$ 
been  remonllrating  againft,  when  you  come 
to  underiland  them,  yet  for  the  prefent  they 
may  impofe  upon  you  with  a  grave  appear- 
ance ;  and,  as  learning  is  commonly  ma- 
naged by  fuch  perfons,  you  may  think 
them  very  learned,  becaufe  they  are  very 
dull :  and  if  youihould  receive  the  tin&urt 
while  you  are  young,  it  may  fink  too  deep 
for  all  the  waters  of  Helicon  to  take  out. 
You  may  be  fenfible  of  it,  as  we  are  of 
id  habits,  which  we  regret,  but  cannot 
break,  and  fo  it  may  mix  with  your  flu- 
dies  for  ever,  and  give  bad  colours  to 
every  thing  you  defign,  whether  in  fpeech 
or  writing. 

For  thefe  meaner  critics  drefs  up  their 
entertainments  fo  very  ill,  that  they  will 
fpoil  your  palate,  and  bring  you  to  a  vici- 
ous tafte.  With  them,  as  with  difteruperect 
ilomachs,  the  hnell  food  and  noblefl  juices 
turn  to  nothing  but  crudities  and  indigef- 
tion.  Yau  will  have  no  notion  of  delica- 
cies, if  you  table  with  them;  they  are  all 
for  rank  and  foul  feeding;  and  fpoil  the 
belt  provisions  in  the  cooking;  you  muft 
be  content  to  be  taught  parfimony  in  fenfe, 
and  for  your  moil  inofrenfive  f  od  to  live 
upon  dry  meat  andinfipid  fluff,  without  any 
poignancy  or  relifh. 

So  then  thefe  gentlemen  will  never  be 
able  to  form  your  taile  or  your  ftyle  ;  and 
thofe  who  cannot  give  you  a  t;us  rdiih  of 
the  bell  writers  in  the  world,  can  never 
inftrucl  you  to  write  like  them. 

Ibid. 
Ft'  §  90. 


43+ 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§   90.  On  forming  a   Style. 

Give  me  leave  to  touch  this  fubjeft,  and 
draw  out,  for  your  ufe,  fome  of  the  chief 
ftrokes,  fome  of  the  principal  lineaments, 
and  faireit  features  of  a  juft  and  beautiful 
ftyle.  There  is  no  neceffity  of  being  me- 
thodical, and  I  will  not  entertain  you  with 
a  dry  fyftem  upon  the  matter,  but  with 
what  you  will  read  with  more  pleafure, 
and,  I  hope,  with  equal  profit,  fome  deful- 
tory  thoughts  in  their  native  order,  as  they 
rife  in  my  mind,  without  being  reduced  to 
rules,  and  marfhalled  according  to  art. 

To  alii  ft  you,  therefore,  as  far  as  art  may 
be  an  help  to  nature,  I  fhall  proceed  to  fay 
fomething  of  what  is  required  in  a  finifhed 
piece,  to  make  it  complete  in  ail  its  parts, 
and  mafterly  in  the  whole. 

I  would  not  lay  down  any  impracticable 
fchemes,  nor  trouble  you  with  a  dry  formal 
method:  the  rule  of  writing,  like  that  of 
our  duty,  is  perfedt  in  its  kind ;  but  we 
muft  make  allowances  for  the  infirmities 
of  nature;  and  fince  none  is  without  his 
faults,  the  molt  that  can  be  faid  is,  That 
he  is  the  bell  writer,  againft  whom  the 
feweft  can  be  alledged. 

"  A  compofition  is  then  perfecl,  when 
"  the  matter  rifes  out  of  the  fubject ; 
"  when  the  thoughts  are  agreeable  to  the 
"  matter,  and  the  expreffions  fuitable  to  the 
"  thoughts ;  where  there  is  noinconfiilency 
"  from  the  beginning  to  the  end ;  when 
"  the  whole  is  perfpicuous  in  the  beautiful 
"  order  of  its  parts,  and  formed  in  due 
(f  fymmetry  and  proportion." 

Felt  on, 

§   91.  Exprejton  fuited to  the  Thought. 

In  every  fp rightly  genius,  the  expreihon 
will  be  ever  lively  as  the  thoughts.  All 
the  danger  is,  that  a  wit  too  fruitful  mould 
run  out  into  unnecefiary  branches  ;  but 
when  it  is  matured  by  age,  and  corrected 
by  judgment,  the  writer  will  prune  the 
luxuriant  boughs,  and  cut  off  the  fuperflu- 
ous  (hoots  of  fancy,  thereby  giving  both 
flrength  and  beauty  to  his  work. 

Perhaps  this  piece  of  difcipline  is  to 
young  writers  the  greateft  felf-denial  in 
the  world  :  to  confine  the  fancy,  to  ilifle 
the  birth,  much  more  to  throw  away  the 
beautiful  ofFspHing  of  the  brain,  is  a  trial, 
that  none  but  the  moft  delicate  and  lively 
wits  can  be  put  to.  Jt  is  their  praife,  that 
they  2  re  obliged  to  retrench  more  wit  than 
others  have  to  lavilh  :  the  chippings  and 
filings  of  thefe  jewels    could  they  bepre- 


ferved,  are  of  more  value  than  the  whole 
mafs  of  ordinary  authors :  and  it  is  a  maxim 
with  me,  that  he  has  not  wit  enough,  who 
has  not  a  great  deal  to  fpare. 

It  is  by  no  means  neceflary  for  me  to 
run  out  into  the  feveral  forts  of  writing : 
we  have  general  rules  to  judge  of  all,  with- 
out being  particular  upon  any,  though  the 
ftyle  of  an  orator  be  different  from  that  of 
an  hiflorian,  and  a  poet's  from  both. 

Ibid. 
§   92.    On  Embellijbments  of  Style. 

The  defign  of  expreffion  is  to  convey 
our  thoughts  truly  and  clearly  to  the  world, 
infuch  a  manner  as  is  moft  probable  to  at- 
tain the  endue  propofe,  in  communicating 
what  we  have  conceived  to  the  public ;  and 
therefore  men  have  not  thought  it  enough 
to  write  plainly,  unlefs  the/wrote  agree- 
ably, fo  as  to  engage  the  attention?  and 
work  upon  the  affeftions,  as  well  as  inform 
the  underftanding  of  their  readers:  for 
which  reafon,  all  arts  have  been  invented 
to  make  their  writings  pleafing,  as  well  as 
profitable ;  and  thole  arts  are  very  com- 
mendable and  honeft;  they  are  no  trick, 
no  delufion,  or  impofition  on  the  fenfes  and 
underftanding  of  mankind ;  for  they  are 
founded  in  nature,  and  formed  upon  ob- 
ferving  her  operations  in  all  the  various 
paflions  and  workings  of  our  minds. 

To  this  we  owe  all  the  beauties  and  em- 
bellilhments  of  ftyle;  all  figures  and 
fchemes  of  fpeech,  and  thofe  feveral  deco- 
rations that  are  ufed  in  writings  to  enliven 
and  adorn  the  work.  The  flourifhes  of 
fancy  referable  the  flourifnes  of  the  pen  in 
mechanic  writers;  and  the  illuminators  of 
manufcripts,  and  of  the  prefs,  borrowed 
their  title  perhaps  from  the  illumination 
wiiich  a  bright  genius  every  where  gives 
to  his  work,  and  diiperfes  through  his 
ccmpofitioR. 

The  commendation  of  this  art  of  en- 
lightening and  adorning  a  fubjedt,  lies  in 
a  right  diftribution  of  the  fhadesand  light. 
It  is  in  writing,  as  in  piclure,  in  which  the 
art  is  to  obferve  where  the  lights  will  fall, 
to  produce  the  moft  beautiful  parts  to  the 
day,  and  caft  in  fhades  what  we  cannot 
hope  will  fhine  to  advantage. 

It  were  endlefs  to  purine  this  fubjeft 
through  all  the  ornaments  and  illuftrati- 
ons  of  fpeech ;  and  yet  I  would  not  dif- 
mifs  it,  without  pointing  at  the  o-eneral 
rules  and  neceflary  qualifications  required 
in  thofe  who  would  attempt  to  fhine  in  the 
productions  of  their  pen.     And  therefore 

you 


BOOKIL      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


435 


you  mufl  pardon  me  if  I  feem  to  go  back, 
for  we  cannot  raife  any  regular  and  durable 
pile  of  building  without  laying  a  firm 
foundation.  Fell  on. 

§  93.  On  thefirjl  Requijite,  a  Majiery   of 
Language. 

The  firft  thing  requifite  to  a  juft  ftyle,  is 
a  perfect  mailery  in  the  language  we  write 
;  in;  this  is  not  fo  eafily  attained  as  is  com- 
monly imagined,  and  depends  upon  a  com- 
petent knowledge  of  the  force  and  propriety 
of  words,  a  good  natural  tafte  of  ftrength 
and  delicacy,  and  all  the  beauties  of  ex- 
preffion.  It  is  my  own  opinion,  that  all 
the  rules  and  critical  obfervations  in  the 
world  will  never  bring  a  man  to  a  juft 
ftyle,  who  has  not  of  himfelf  a  natural 
eafy  way  of  writing  ;  but  they  will  improve 
a  good  genius,  where  nature  leads  the  way, 
provided  he  is  not  too  fcrupulous,  and  does 
not  make  himfelf  a  flave  to  his  rules  ;  for 
that  will  introduce  a  ftifFnefs  and  affecta- 
tion, which  are  utterly  abhorrent  from  all 
good  writing. 

By  a  perfect  mattery  in  any  language,  I 
underiknd  not  only  a  ready  command  of 
words,  upon  every  occafion,  not  only  the 
force  and  propriety  of  words  as  to  their 
fenfe  and  fignification,  but  more  efpe- 
cially  the  purity  and  idiom  of  the  lan- 
guage; for  in  this  a  perfect  maftery  does 
coniift.  It  is  to  know  what  is  Englilh, 
and  what  is  Latin,  what  is  French, 
Spanifh,  or  Italian,  to  be  able  to  mark 
the  bounds  of  each  language  we  write 
in,  to  point  out  the  diftinguifhing  cha- 
racters, and  the  peculiar  phrafes  of  each 
tongue  ;  what  expreilions  or  manner  of  ex- 
prefnng  is  common  to  any  language  befides 
our  own,  and  what  is  properly  and  pecu- 
liarly our  phrafe,  and  way  of  fpeaking. 
For  this  is  to  fpeak  or  write  Englifh  in 
purity  and  perfection,  to  let  the  ftreams 
run  clear  and  unmixed,  without  taking  in 
other  languages  in  the  courfe :  in  Englifh, 
therefore,  I  would  have  all  Gallicifms  (for 
mftance)  avoided,  that  our  tongue  may  be 
uncere,  that  we  may  keep  to  our  own  lan- 
guage, and  not  follow  the  French  mode 
in  our  fpeech,  as  we  do  in  our  cloaths.  It 
is  convenient  and  profitable  fometimes  to 
import  a  foreign  word,  and  naturalize  the 
phrafe  of  another  nation,  but  this  is  very 
fpanngly  to  be  allowed  ;  and  every  fyila- 
t>le  of  foreign  growth  ought  immediately 
to  be  difcarded,  if  its  ufe  and  ornament  to 
*ar  language  be  not  very  evident. 

Ibid. 


§   94.   On    the    Purity  and    Idiom    of 
Language. 

While  the  Romans  ftudied  and  ufed  the 
Greek  tongue,  only  to  improve  and  adorn, 
their  own,  the  Latin  flourifhed,  and  grew 
every  year  more  copious,  more  elegant, 
and  expreffive ;  but  in  a  few  years  after 
the  ladies  and  beaux  of  Rome  affected  to 
fpeak  Greek,  and  regarding  nothing  but 
the  foftnefs  and  effeminacy  of  that  noble 
language,  they  weakened  and  corrupted 
their  native  tongue  :  and  the  monftrous  af- 
fectation of  our  travelled  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen to  fpeak  in  the  French  air,  French 
tone,  French  terms,  to  drefs,  to  cook,  to 
write,  to  court  in  French,  corrupted  at 
once  our  language  and  our  manners,  and 
introduced  an  abominable  gallimaufry  of 
French  and  Englifh  mixed  together,  that 
made  the  innovators  ridiculous  to  all  men 
of  fenfe.  The  French  tongue  hath  un- 
doubtedly its  graces  and  beauties,  and  I 
am  not  againft  any  real  improvement  of  our 
own  language  from  that  or  any  other  :  but 
we  are  always  fo  fooliih,or  unfortunate,  as 
never  to  make  any  advantage  of  our  neigh- 
bours. We  affect  nothing  of  theirs,  bat 
what  is  filly  and  ridiculous ;  and  by  neg- 
lecting the  fubftantial  ufe  of  their  language, 
we  only  enervate  and  fpoil  our  own. 

Languages,  like  our  bodies,  are  in  a  per- 
petual flux,  and  Hand  in  need  of  recruits  to 
fupply  the  place  of  thofe  words  that  are 
continually  falling  off  through  difufe  :  and 
fince  it  is  fo,  I  think  'tis  better  to  raife 
them  at  home  than  abroad.  We  had  bet- 
ter rely  on  our  own  troops  than  foreign 
forces,'  and  I  believe  we  have  fufficient 
ftrength  and  numbers  within  ourfelves  : 
there  is  a  vail:  treafure,  an  inexhauftible 
fund  in  the  old  Englilh,  from  whence  au- 
thors may  draw  conftant  fupplies,  as  our 
ofhcers  make  their  fureft  recruits  from  the 
coal-works  and  the  mines.  The  weight, 
the  ftrength,  and  fignilicancy  of  many  an- 
tiquated words,  fhould  recommend  them 
to  ufe  again.  'Tis  only  wiping  off  the 
ruft  they  have  contracted,  and  feparating 
them  from  the  drofs  they  lie  mingled  with, 
and  both  in  value  and  beauty  they  will 
rife  above  the  ftandard,  rather  than  fall 
below  it. 

Perhaps  our  tongue  is  not  fomufical  to 
the  ear,  nor  fo  abundant  in  multiplicity  of 
words;  but  its  ftrength  is  real,  and  its 
words  are  therefore  the  more  expreflive ; 
the  peculiar  character  of  our  language  is, 
that  it  is  clofe,  compact,  and  full :  and 
Ffa  eur 


436 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


our  writings  (if  you  will  excufe  two  Latin 
words)  come  neareft  to  what  Tully  means 
by  his  Prejja  Oratio.  They  are  all  weight 
and  lubltance,  good  meafure  preffed  toge- 
ther, and  running  over  in  a  redundancy  of 
fenfe,  and  not  of  words.  And  therefore 
the  purity  of  our  language  confilts  in  pre- 
ferring this  character,  in  writing  with  the 
Engliih  llrength  and  (pirit :  let  us  not  envy 
others,  that  they  are  more  foft,  and  diffufe, 
and  rarified;  be  it  our  commendation  to 
write  as  we  pay,  in  true  Sterling;  if  we 
want  fupplies,  we  had  better  revive  old 
words,  than  create  new  ones.  I  look  upon 
our  language  as  good  bullion,  if  we  do  not 
debafe  it  with  too  much  alloy  ;  and  let  me 
leave  this  cenfure  with  you,  That  he  who 
corrupteth  the  purity  of  the  Engliih  tongue 
with  the  moll  ipecious  foreign  words  and 
phrafes,  is  juit  as  wife  as  thofe  modifh  la- 
dies that  change  their  plate  for  china  ;  for 
which  I  think  the  laudable  traffic  of  old 
doaths  is  much  the  faireft  barter. 

Felton, 

§    95.   On  Plainncfs  and  Perfpicuity. 

After  this  regard  to  the  purity  of  our 
language,  the  next  quality  of  a  jull  flyle, 
is  its  plainnefs  and  perfpicuity.  This  is 
the  threaten1  commendation  we  can  oive  an 
author,  and  the  belt  argument  that  he  is 
mailer  of  the  language  he  writes  in,  and 
the  Subject  he  writes  upon,  when  we  under- 
itand  him,  and  lee  into  the  fcope  and  ten- 
dency of  his  thoughts,  as  we  read  him. 
AH  obfcurity  of  expreflion,  and  darknefsof 
fer.fe,  do  arife  from  the  confulion  of  the 
writer's  thoughts,  and  his  want  of  proper 
words.  If  a  man  hath  not  a  clear  percep- 
tion of  the  matter  he  undertakes  to  treat 
of.  be  his  ityle  never  fo  plain  as  to  the 
words  he  ufes,  it  never  can  be  clear ;  and 
if  his  thoughts  upon  this  fubjeft  be  never 
fo  juit  and  diilinct,  unlefs  he  has  a  ready 
command  of  words,  and  a  faculty  of  cafy 
writing  in  plain  obvious  expreffions,  the 
words  will  perplex  the  fenfe,  and  cloud  the 
eJeamefs  of  his  thoughts. 

Ii  is  the  u'nhappinefs  of  fome,  that  they 
are  not  able  to  exprefs  thcmfelves  clearly  : 
their  heads  arc  crowded  with  a  multiplicity 
of  undigested  knowledge,  which  lies  con- 
fufed  in  the  brain,  without  any  order 
or  dillimftion.  It  ii  the  vice  of  others,  to  af- 
fect obfcurity  in  their  thoughts  and  lan- 
guage, to  write  in  a  difficult  crabbed  flyle, 
and  p<  rplex  the  reader  with  an  intricate 
m    11  '  1"   in   more  intricate  words. 

'1    e  common  way  of  offending  acainfc 


plainncfs  and  perfpicuity  of  ftyle,  is  an  af- 
fectation of  hard  unulual  words,  and  of 
clofe  contracted  periods:  the  faults  of  pe- 
dants and  fententious  writers ;  that  are 
vainly  oftentatious  of  their  learning,  or 
their  wifdom.  Hard  words  and  quaint  ex- 
preffions  are  abominable :  wherever  you 
meet  fuch  a  writer,  throw  him  afide  for  a 
coxcomb.  Some  authors  of  reputation  have 
ufed  a  lhort  and  concife  way  of  expreffion, 
I  mull  own  ;  and  if  they  are  not  fo  clear, 
as  others,  the  fruit  is  to  be  laid  on  the  bre- 
vity they  labour  after  :  for  while  we  ftudy 
to  be  concife,  we  can  hardly  avoid  being 
obfeure.  We  crowd  our  thoughts  into  too 
fmall  a  compafs,  and  are  fo  fparing  of  our 
words,  that  we  will  not  afford  enow  to  ex- 
prefs our  meaning. 

There  is  another  extreme  in  obfeure 
writers,  not  much  taken  notice  ef,  which 
fome  empty  conceited  heads  are  apt  to  run 
into  out  of  a  prodigality  of  words,  and 
a  want  of  fenfe.  This  is  the  extravagance 
of  your  copious  writers,  who  lofe  their 
meaning  in  the  multitude  of  words,  and 
bury  their  fenfe  under  heaps  of  phrafes. 
Their  underftanding  is  rather  rarified  than 
condenfed  :  their  meaning,  we  cannot  fay, 
is  dark  and  thick ;  it  is  too  light  and  fubt'le 
to  be  difcerned  :  it  is  fpread  fo  thin,  and 
diffufed  fo  wide,  that  it  is  hard  to  be  col- 
lected. Two  lines  would  exprefs  all  they 
fay  in  two  pages:  'tis  nothing  but  whip't 
fyllabub  and  froth,  a  little  varniih  and 
gilding,  without  any  folidity  or  fubitance. 

Ibid. 

\  96.  On  the  Decorations  and  Ornaments 
of  Style. 

The  deepelt  rivers  have  the  plainelt  fur- 
face,  and  the  purelt  waters  are  alwaya 
clearcft.  Cryflal  is  not  the  lefs  folid  for 
being  tranfparent ;  the  value  of  a  flyle 
rifes  like  the  value  of  precious  ilones.  ]{ 
it  be  dark  and  cloudy,  it  is  in  vain  to  po- 
Hfli  it :  it  bears  its  worth  in  its  native  looks, 
and  the  lame  art  which  enhances  its  price 
when  it  is  clear,  only  debafesitif  it  be  dull. 

You  lee  I  have  borrowed  fome  meta- 
phors to  explain  my  thoughts  ;  and  it  is,  I 
believe,  impoflible  to  defcribe  the  plain- 
nefs and  clearnefs  of  flyle,  without  fome 
expreffions  clearer  than  the  terms  I  am 
othcrwife  bound  up  to  ufe. 

"i  ou  mult  give  me  leave  to  go  on  with 
you  to  the  decorations  and  ornaments  of 
ftyle  :  there  is  no  inconfiltency  between 
the  plainncfs  and  perfpicuity,  and  the  or- 
nament  ot   writing.      A   ilyle  refembleth 

beauty, 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.        43! 


Tbeauty,  where  the  face  is  clear  and  plain 
as  to  Symmetry  and  proportion,  but  is  ca- 
pable of  wonderful  improvements,  as  to 
features  and  complexion.  If  1  may  tranf- 
grefs  in  too  frequent  allufions,  becaule  1 
would  make  every  thing  plain  to  you,  1 
would  pafs  on  from  painters  to  ltatuanes, 
whofe  excellence  it  is  at  firft  to  form  true 
and  jult  proportions,  and  afterwards  to  give 
them  that  foftnefs,  that  exprefhon,  that 
itrength  and  delicacy,  which  make  them 
almofl  breathe  and  live. 

The  decorations  of  ftyle  are  formed  out 
of  thofe  feveral  fchemes  and  figures,  which 
are  contrived  to   exprefs  the  paffions  and 
motions  of  our  minds  in  cur  fpeech ;  to 
give  life  and  ornament,  grace  and  beauty, 
to  our  expreffioHS.     I  Ihall  not  undertake 
the  rhetorician's  province,   in  giving  you 
an  account  of  all  the  figures  they  have  in- 
vented, and  thofe    feveral    ornaments  ol 
writing,  whofe  grace  and   commendation 
lie  in  being  ufed  with  judgment  and  pro- 
priety.    It  were  endlefs  to  puriue  this  iub- 
jecl  through  all  the  fchemes  and  llluftra- 
tions    oi'  fpeeeh  :  but  there  are  fome  com- 
mor        ins,  which  every  writer  upon  every 
fubjeel  may  uSe,  to  enliven  and  adorn  his 

work  .     , 

Thefe  are  metaphor  and  hmilitucte; 
and  thofe  images  and  reprefentations,  that 
are  drawn  in  ?eft  and  moil  lively 

colours,  to  inn  int  hat  the  writer  would 
have  his  readers  conceive,  more  deeply  on 
their  mind,.  In  the  choice,  and  in  the 
ufe  of  thefe,  your  ordinary  writers  are  molt 
apt  to  offend.  Images  are  very  Sparingly 
to  be  introduced  :  their  proper  place  is  m 
poems  and  orations ;  and  their  ule  is  to 
move  pity  or  terror,  admiration,  compaf- 
fion,  anger  and  refentment,  by  repreient- 
mo-  Something  very  affectionate  or  very 
dreadful,  very  aitoniihing,  very  miferable, 
er  very  provoking,  to  our  thoughts.  1  hey 
give  a  wonderful  force  and  beauty  to  the 
iubiea,  where  they  are  painted  by  a  mafter- 
ly  hand ;  but  if  they  are  either  weakly 
drawn,  or  unfkilfully  placed,  they  raife  no 
paffion  but  indignation  in  the  reader. 
r  Felton. 

$    97.    On  Metaphors  and  Similitudes. 

The  moll:  common  ornaments  are  Me- 
taphor and  Similitude.  One  is  an  allu- 
sion to  words,  the  other  to  things ;  and 
both  have  their  beauties,  if  properly  ap- 
plied. , 

Similitudes  ought  to  be  drawn  from  the 
molt  familiar  and  belt  known  particulars 


in  the  world  :  if  any  thing  is  dark  and  ob- 
fcure  in  them,  the  purpofe  of  ufing  them 
is  defeated ;  and  that  which  is  not  clear 
itfelf,  can  never  give  light  to  any  thing 
that  wants  it.  It  is  the  idle  fancy  of  fome 
poor  brains,  to  run  out  perpetually  into  a 
conrfe  of  fimilitudes,  confounding  their 
fubjeel:  by  the  multitude  of  hkenefies  ;  and 
making  it  like  fo  many  things,  that  it  is 
like  nothing  at  all.  This  trifling  humour 
is  good  for  nothing,  but  to  convince  us, 
that  the  author  is  in  the  dark  himfelf ;  and 
while  he  is  likening  his  Subject  to  every 
thing,  he  knoweth  not  what  it  is  like. 

There  is  another  tedious  fault  in  fome 
fimile  men  ;  which  is,  drawing  their  com- 
parifons  into  a  great  length  and  minute 
particulars,  where  it  is  of  no  importance 
whether  the  refemblance  holds  or  not. 
But  the  true  art  of  illuftrating  any  fubjeft 
by  fimilitude,  is,  firft  to  pitch  on  Such  a 
refemblance  as  all  the  world  will  agree  in: 
and  then,  without  being  careful  to  have  it 
run  on  all  four,  to  touch  it  only  in  the 
ftrongeft  lines  and  the  nearelt  hkenels. 
And  this  will  fecure  us  from  all  ftiffnefc 
and  formality  in  fimilitude,  and  deliver  us 
from  the  naufeous  repetition  of  as  and [fo, 
which  fome  fo  fo  writers,  if  I  may  beg 
leave  to  call  them  fo,  are  continually  found- 
ing in  our  ears.  \n 

I  have  nothing  to  fay  to  thofe  gentle- 
men who  bring  fimilitudes  and  forget  the 
refemblance.  All  the  pleafure  we  can  take 
when  we  meet  thefe  promiiing  Sparks,  is 
in  the  difappointment,  where  we  find  their 
fancy  is  fo  like  their  mbjecl,  that  it  is  not 
like  at  all.  IU< 


§  98.  On  Metaphors. 
Metaphors  require  great  judgment  and 
confideration  in  the  ufe  of  them.  They 
are  a  fhorter  fimilitude,  where  the  hkenels 
is  rather  implied  than  exprefied.  1  n e 
Signification  of  one  word,  in  metaphors,  is 
transferred  to  another,  and  we  talk  of  one 
thina  in  the  terms  and  propriety  of  ano- 
ther? But  there  mutt  be  a  common  re- 
femblance, fome  original  likenefs  in  nature, 
fome  correspondence  and  eafy  transition,  or 
metaphors  are  (hocking  and  confuted. 

The  beauty  of  them  difplays  itfelf  in 
their  eafinefs  and  propriety,  where  they 
are  naturally  introduced;  but  where  they 
are  forced  and  crowded,  too  frequent  and 
various,  and  do  not  rile  out  of  the  courie 
of  thought,  but  are  confirmed  and  orefled 
fatt  thf  ferric*  inftead  of  making  the  dif- 
p  f  3  courie 


43§ 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


courfe  more  lively  and  chearfuh  they  make 
it  fullen,  dull  and  gloomy. 

You  mull  form  your  judgment  upon  the 
belt  models  and  the  moll  celebrated  pens, 
where  you  will  find  the  metaphor  in  all 
its  grace  and  ftrength,  fhedding  a  luflre 
and  beauty  on  the  work.  For  it  ought 
never  to  be  ufed  but  when  it  gives  greater 
force  to  the  fentence,  an  illuftration  to  the 
thought,  and  infinuates  a  filent  argument 
in  the  allufion.  The  ufe  of  metaphors  is 
not  only  to  convey  the  thought  in  a  more 
pleafing  manner,  but  to  give  it  a  flronger 
imprefiion,  and  enforce  it  on  the  mind. 
Where  this  is  not  regarded,  they  are  vain 
and  trifling  trafh ;  and  in  a  due  obfer- 
vance  of  this,  in  a  pure,  chafle,  natural 
expreffion,  confiil  the  juitnefs,  beauty,  and 
delicacy  of  ltyle.  Felton, 

§  99.  On  Epithets. 

I  have  ^  faid  nothing  of  Epithets.  Their 
fcufinefs  is  to  exprefs  the  nature  of  the 
things  they  are  applied  to ;  and  the  choice 
of  them  depends  upon  a  good  judgment, 
to  diflinguiih  what  are  the  moll  proper 
titles  to  be  given  on  all  occafions,  and  a 
complete  knowledge  in  the  accidents,  qua- 
lities and  affections  of  every  thing  in  the 
world.  They  are  of  mod  ornament  when 
they  are  of  ufe :  they  are  to  determine  the 
character  of  every  perfon,  and  decide  the 
merits  of  every  caufe;  confcience  and  juf- 
tice  are  to  be  regarded,  and  great  fkill 
and  exattnefs  are  required  in  the  ufe  .of 
them.  For  it  is  of  great  importance  to 
can  things  by  their  right  names:  the 
points  of  fatire,  and  llrains  of  compliment 
depend  upon  it ;  Qthenvife  we  may  make 
an  afs  of  a  lion,  commend  a  man  in  fatire, 
and  lampoon  him  in  panegyric.  Here  alfo 
there  is  room  for  genius :  common  juftice 
and  judgment  ihould  dired  us  to  fay  what 
is  proper  at  leait ;  but  it  is  parts  and  fire 
that  will  prompt  us  to  the  moil  lively  and 
moll  forcible  epithets  that  can  be  applied ; 
and  'tis  in  their  energy  and  propriety  their 
beauty  lies.  lbid% 

§  loo.  On  Allegories. 
Allegories  I  need  not  mention,  becaufe 
they  are  not  i'o  much  any  ornament  of 
ltyle,  as  an  artful  way  of  recommending 
truth  to  the  world  in  a  borrowed  ihape,  and 
a  drefs  more  agreeably  to  the  fancy,  than 
naked  truth  herlelf  can  be.  Truth 'is  ever 
moll  beautiful  and  evident  in  her  native 
drefs  :  and  the  arts  that  are  ufed  to  con- 
vey her  to  our  minds,  are  no  argument 


that  fhe  is  deficient,  but  fo  many  teilimo- 
nies  of  the  corruption  of  our  nature,  when 
truth,  of  all  things  the  plainefl  and  fm- 
cerefl,  is  forced  to  gain  admittance  to  us 
in  difguife,  and  court  us  in  mafquerade. 

Ibid. 

§    101.   On  the  Sublime. 

There  is  one  ingredient  more  required 
to  the  perfection  of  ltyle,  which  I  have 
partly  mentioned  already,  in  fpeaking  of 
the  fuitablenefs  of  the  thoughts  to  the  fub- 
jedl,  and  of  the  words  to  the  thoughts ;  but 
you  will  give  me  leave  to  confider  it  in 
another  light,  with  regard  to  the  majefly 
and  dignity  of  the  fubjedl. 

It  is  fit,  as  we  have  faid  already,  that 
the  thoughts  and  expreflions  Ihould  be 
fuited  to  the  matter  on  all  occafions ;  but 
in  nobler  and  greater  fubjecls,  efpecially 
where  the  theme  is  facred  and  divine,  it 
mull  be  our  care  to  think  and  write  up  to 
the  dignity  and  majelly  of  the  things  we 
prefume  to  treat  of:  nothing  little,  mean, 
or  low,  no  childilh  thoughts,  or  bcyiili 
expreflions,  will  be  endured :  all  mull  be 
awful  and  grave,  and  great  and  folemn. 
The  noblefl  fentiments  mull  be  conveyed 
in  the  weightieil  words  :  all  ornaments 
and  illuflrations  mufl  be  borrowed  from 
the  richefl  parts  of  univerfal  nature  ;  and 
in  divine  fubjecls,  efpecially  when  we  at- 
tempt to  fpeak  of  God,  of  his  wifdom,- 
goodnefs,  and  power,  of  his  mercy  and 
juflice,  of  his  difpenfations  and  providence 
(by  all  which  he  is  pleafed  to  manifeft 
himfelf  to  the  fons  of  men)  we  mull  raife 
our  thoughts,  and  enlarge  our  minds,  and 
fearch  all  the  treafures  of  knowledge  for 
every  thing  that  is  great,  wonderful"^  and 
magnificent :  we  can  only  exprefs  our 
thoughts  of  the  Creator  in  the  works  of 
his  creation ;  and  the  brighteil  of  thefe 
can  only  give  us  fome  faint  fhadows  of 
his  greatnefs  and  his  glory.  The  ftrongeft 
figures  are  too  weak,  the  moll  exalted 
language  too  low,  to  exprefs  his  ineffable 
excellence.  Nohyperbole  can  be  brought 
to  heighten  our  thoughts ;  for  in  fo  fublime 
a  theme,  nothing  can  be  hyperbolical." 
The  riches  of  imagination  are  poor,  and 
all  the  rivers  of  eloquence  are  dry,  in 
fupplying  thought  on  an  infinite  fubjecl:. 
How  poor  and  mean,  how  bafe  and  grovel- 
ling, are  the  Heathen  conceptions  of  the 
Deity  !  fomething  fublime  and  noble  mull 
needs  be  faid  on  fo  great  an  occafion  ; 
but  in  this  great  article,  the  moll  cele- 
brated of  the  Heathen  pens  feem  to  flag 
6  and 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL.        439 


and  fink  ;  they  bear  up  in  no  proportion 
to  the  diwnicy  of  the  theme,  as  if  they  were 
deprefied  by  the  weight,  and  dazzled  with 
the  fplendour  of  the  fubjedl. 

We  have  no  inftances  to  produce  of  any 
writers  that  rife  at  all  to  the  majeity  and 
dignity  of  the  Divine  Attributes  except 
the  facred  penmen.  No  lefs  than  Divine 
Infpiration  could  enable  men  to  write  wor- 
thily of  God,  and  none  but  the  Spirit  of 
God  knew  how  to  exprefs  his  greatnefs, 
and  difplay  his  glory  :  in  comparifon  of 
thefe  divine  writers,  the  greateft  geniufes, 
the  nobleft  wits  of  the  Heathen  world,  are 
low  and  dull.  The  fublime  majeity  and 
royal  magnificence  of  the  fcripture  poems 
are  above  the  reach,  and  beyond  the  power 
of  all  moral  wit.  Take  the  belt  andlive- 
lieft  poems  of  antiquity,  and  read  tftem  as 
we  do  the  fcriptures,  in  a  prole  tranilation, 
and  they  are  fiat  and  poor,  Horace,  and 
Virgil,  and  Homer,  lofe  their  fpirits  and 
their  ftrength  in  the  transfufion,  to  that 
degree,  that  we  have  hardly  patience  to 
read  them.  But  theiacred  writings,  even 
in  our  tranilation,  preserve  their  majefty 
and  their  glory,  and  very  far  furpafs  the 
brighteft  and  nobleft  compolitions  ofGreeee 
and  Rome.  And  this  is  not  owing  to  the 
richnefs.  and  fciemnity  of  the  eaftern  elo- 
quence (for  it  holds  in  no  other  inftance) 
but  to  the  divine  direction  and  affiftance 
of  the  holy  writers.  For,  let  me  oniy 
make  this  remark,  that  the  mod  literal 
tranilation  of  the  fcriptures,  in  the  moll 
natural  fignification  of  the  words,  is  gene- 
rally the  bell ;  and  the  fame  pundtualnefs, 
which  debafes  other  writings,  preferves 
the  fpiq't  and  majeity  of  the  facred  text : 
it  can  fuffer  no  improvement  from  human 
wit ;  and  we  may  obferve  that  thofe  who 
have  prefumed  to  heighten  the  exprefiions 
by  a  poetical  tranilation  or  paraphrafe, 
have  funk  in  the  attempt ;  and  all  the  de- 
corations of  their  verfe,  whether  Greek  or 
Latin,  have  not  been  able  to  reach  the 
dignity,  the  majefty,  and  folemnity  of  our 
profe :  fo  that  the  profe  of  fcripture  can- 
not be  improved  by  verfe,  and  even  the 
divine  poetry  is  moll  like  itfelf  in  profe. 
One  obfervation  more  I  would  leave  with 
you,  :  Milton  himfelf,  as  great  a  genius 
as  he  was,  owes  his  fuperiority  over  Ho- 
mer and  Virgil,  in  majefty  of  thought  and 
fplendour  of  expreflion,  to  the  fcriptures : 
they  are  the  fountain  from  which  he  de- 
rived his  light ;  the  facred  treafure  that 
enriched  his  fancy,  and  furniihed  him  with 
all  the  truth  and  wonders  of  God  and  his 


creation,  of  angels  and  men,  which  no 
mortal  brain  was  able  either  to  difcover 
or  conceive  :  and  in  him,  of  all  human 
writers,  you  will  meet  all  his  fentiments 
and  words  raifed  and  fuited  to  the  great- 
nefs and  dignity  of  the  fubjeft. 

I  have  detained  you  the  longer  on  this 
majefty  of  ftyle,  being  perhaps  myfelf  car- 
ried away  with  the  greatnefs  and  pleafure 
of  the  contemplation.  What  I  have  dwelt 
fo  much  on  with  refpeft  to  divine  fubjefts, 
is  more  eafily  to  be  obferved  with  refer- 
ence to  human  :  for  in  all  things  below 
divinity,  we  are  rather  able  to  exceed  than 
fall  Ihort;  and  in  adorning  all  other  fub- 
je&s,  our  words  and  fentiments  may  rife 
in  a  juil  proportion  to  them :  nothing  is 
above  the  reach  of  man,  but  heaven;  and 
the  fame  wit  can  raife  a  human  fubjeft, 
that  only  debafes  a  divine.  Felt  on, 

§    102.  Rules  of  Order  and  Proportion. 

After  all  thefe  excellencies  of  ftyle,  in 
purity,  in  plainnefs  and  perfpicuity,  in 
ornament  and  majefty,  are  confidered,  a 
finifhed  piece  of  what  kind  foever  muft 
fhine  in  the  order  and  proportion  of  the 
whole;  for  light  rifes  out  of  order,  and 
beauty  from  proportion.  In  architecture 
and  painting,  thefe  fill  and  relieve  the  eye. 
A  juft  difpofition  gives  us  a  clear  view  of 
the  whole  at  once  ;  and  the  due  fymmetry 
and  proportion  of  every  part  in  itfelf,  and 
of  all  together,  leave  110  vacancy  in  our 
thoughts  or  eyes ;  nothing  is  wanting, 
every  thing  is  complete,  and  we  are  fatis- 
lied  in  beholding. 

But  when  I  fpeak  of  order  and  propor- 
tion, I  do  not  intend  any  ftiff  and  formal 
method,  but  only  a  proper  diftribution  of 
the  parts  in  general,  where  they  follow  in 
a  natural  courfe,  and  are  not  confounded 
with  one  another.  Laying  down  a  fcheme, 
and  marking  out  the  divifions  and  fub- 
divifions  of  adifcourfe,  are  only  neceflkry 
in  fyftems,  and  fome  pieces  of  controversy 
and  argumentation :  you  fee,  however, 
that  I  have  ventured  to  write  without  any 
declared  order;  and  this  is  allowable, 
where  the  method  opens  as  you  read,  and 
the  order  difcovers  itfelf  in  theprogrefs  of 
the  fubjeft ;  but  certainly,  of  all  pieces 
that  were  ever  written  in  a  profefied  and 
ftated  method,  and  diftinguifhed  by  the 
number  and  fucceilion  of  their  parts,  our 
Engliih  fermons  are  the  complete!!  in  or- 
der and  proportion ;  the  method  is  fo  eafy 
and  natiyal,  the  parts  bear  fo  juft  a  pro- 
portion to  one  another,  that  among  many 
F  f  4  others, 


44« 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


others,  this  may  pafs  for  a  peculiar  com- 
mendation of  them  ;  for  thofe  diviiions 
and  particulars  which  obfcure  and  perplex 
other  writings,  give  a  clearer  lightto  ours. 
All  that  I  would  infinuate,  therefore,  is 
only  this,  that  it  is  not  necefiary  to  lay  the 
method  we  ufe  before  the  reader,  only  to 
write  and  then  he  will  read,  in  order. 

But  it  requires  a  full  command  of  the 
fubjecl.  a  diitindl  view,  to  keep  it  always 
in  fight,  or  elfe,  without  fome  method  rirft 
defigned,  we  fhould  be  in  danger  of  lofmo- 
it,  and  wandering  after  it,  till  we  have  loft 
ourielves,  and  bewildered  the  reader. 

A  prefcribed  method  is  necefiary  for 
weaker  heads,  but  the  beauty  of  order  is 
its  freedom  and  unconftraint :  it  muft  be 
difperfed  and  fhine  in  all  the  parts  through 
the  whole  performance  ;  but  there  is  no  ne- 
ceffity  of  writing  in  trammels,  when  we  can 
move  more  at  eaie  without  them  :  neither 
is  the  proportion  of  writing  to  be  mea- 
sured cut  like  the  proportions  of  a  horfe, 
where  every  part  mull  be  drawn  in  the 
Jninuteft  refpett  to  the  fize  and  bignefs  of 
the  reft  ;  but  it  is  to  be  taken  by  the  mind, 
and  formed  upon  a  general  view  and  con- 
fideration  of  the  whole.  The  ftatuary  that 
carves  Hercules  in  ftone,  or  calls  him  in 
brafs,  may  be  obliged  to  take  his  dimen- 
sions from  his  foot ;  but  the  poet  that  de- 
scribes him  is  not  bound  up  to  the  geo- 
meter's rule :  nor  is  an  author  under  any 
•obligation  to  write  by  the  fcale. 

Thefe  hints  will  ferve  to  give  you  fome 
potion  of  order  and  proportion  :  and  1  muft 
not  dwell  too  long  upon  them,  left  I  tranf- 
grefs  the  rules  I  am  laying  down. 

Felion. 

§    103.  A  Recapitulation. 

I  mail  make  no  formal  recapitulation  of 
what  I  have  delivered.  Out  of  all  thefe 
roles  together,  rifes  a  juft  ftyle,  and  a  per- 
fect compofition.  All  the  latitude  that  can 
be  admiued^is  in  the  ornament  of  writing  ; 
we  do  net  require  every  author  to  mine  in 
gold  and  jewels :  there  is  a  moderation  to 
be  ufed  in  the  pomp,  and  trappings  of  a 
difcourfe:  it  is  not  necefiary  that  every 
part  fhould  be  embejliihed  and  adorned  ; 
but  the  decoration  fhould  be  fkilfully  dis- 
tributed through  the  whole:  too  full  and 
glaring  a  light  is  offenfive,  and  confounds 
the  eves :  in  heaven  itfelf  there  are  vacan- 
cies and  (paces  between  the  ftais  ;  and  the 
day  is  not  lets  beautiful  for  being  intcr- 
fperfed  with  cloudy  they  only  moderate 
the  brlghtnefs  of  the  Urn,  and,  without  ui- 


minifhing  from  his  fplendour,  gild  and 
adorn  themfelves  with  his  rays.  But  to 
defcend  from  the  ikies :  It  is  in  writing  as 
in  drefs ;  the  richeft  habits  are  not  always 
the  completer!,  and  a  gentleman  may  make 
a  better  figure  in  a  plain  fuit,  than  in  an 
embroidered  coat:  the  drefs  depends  upon 
the  imagination,  but  muft  be  adjufted  by 
the  judgment,  contrary  to  the  opinion  of 
the  ladies,  who  value  nothing  but  a  good 
fancy  in  the  choice  of  their  cloaths.  The 
firft  excellence  is  to  write  in  purity,  plainly, 
and  clearly  ;  there  is  no  difpenfation  from 
thefe  :  but  afterwards  you  have  your 
choice  of  colours,  and  may  enliven,  adcrn, 
and  paint  your  fnbject  as  you  pleafe. 

In  writing,  the  rules  have  a  relation  and 
dependance  on  one  another.  They  are 
held  in  one  focial  bond,  and  joined,  like 
the  moral  virtues,  and  liberal  arts,  in  a  fort 
of  harmony  and  concord.  He  that  cannot 
write  pure,  plain  Engliih,muft  never  pre- 
tend to  write  at  all ;  it  is  in  vain  for  him 
to  drefs  and  adorn  his  difcourfe  ;  the  finer 
he  endeavours  to  make  it,  he  makes  it 
only  the  more  ridiculous.  And  on  the 
other  fide,  let  a  man  write  in  the  exa&eft 
purity  and  propriety  of  language,  if  he 
has  not  life  and  fire,  to  give  his  work  fome 
force  and  fpirit,  it  is  nothing  but  a  mere 
corpfe,  and  a  lumpifh,  unwieldy  mafs  of 
matter.  But  every  true  genius,  who  is 
perfeft  mafter  of  the  language  he  writes 
in,  will  let  no  fitting  ornaments  and  deco- 
rations be  wanting.  His  fancy  flows  in 
the  richeft  vein,  and  gives  his  pieces  fuch 
lively  colours,  and  fo  beautiful  a  com- 
plexion, that  you  would  almoft  fay  his  own 
blood  and  fpirits  were  transfufed  into  the 
work.  jyid% 

§    1 04.  Ho-tv  to  form  a  right  Tafle. 

A  perfect  maftery  and  elegance  of  ftyle 
is  to  be  learned  from  the  common  rules, 
but  muft  be  improved  by  reading  the  ora- 
tors, and  poets,  and  the  celebrated  mailers 
in  every  kind  ;  this  will  give  you  a  right 
tafte,  and  a  true  reliih ;  and  when  you  can 
diftinguifh  the  beauties  of  every  finifhed 
piece,  you  will  write  yourfelf  with  equal 
commendation. 

I  do  not  aflert  that  every  good  writer 
muft  hare  a  genius  for  poetry ;  I  know 
Tully  is  an  undeniable  exception:  but  I 
will  venture  to  affirm,  that  a  foul  that  is 
not  moved  u  ith  poetry,  and  has  no  tafte 
that  way,  is  too  dull  and  lumpilh  ever  to 
write  witl^any  profpeft  of  being  read.  It 
is  a  fatal  mill^ke,  and  fimple  iuperftition, 

to 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


441 


to  difcourage  youth  from  poetry,  and  en- 
deavour to  prejudice  them  againft  it;  if 
they  are  of  a  poetical  genius,  there  is  no 
re  ft  raining  them :  Ovid,  you  know,  was 
deaf  to  his  father's  frequent  admonitions. 
But  if  they  are  not  quite  fmitten  and  be- 
witched with  love  of  verfe,  they  fhould  be 
trained  to  it,  to  make  them  mailers  of 
every  kind  of  poetry,  that  by  learning  to 
imitate  the  originals,  they  may  arrive  at  a 
right  conception,  and  a  true  tafte  of  their 
authors:  and  being  able  to  write  in  verfe 
upon  occafion,  I  can  allure  you,  is  no  dif- 
advantage  to  profe ;  for  without  relifhing 
the  one,  a  man  mull  never  pretend  to  any 
talle  of  the  other. 

Talle  is  a  metaphor,  borrowed  from  the 
pnlate,  by  which  we  approve  or  dillike 
what  we  eat  and  drink,  from  the  agree- 
ablenefs  or  difagreeablenefs  of  the  relilh  in 
our  mouth.  Nature  directs  us  in  the  com- 
mon ufe,  and  every  body  can  tell  fweet 
from  bitter,  what  is  fharp  or  four,  or  vapid, 
or  naufeous;  but  it  requires  fenfes  more 
refined  and  exercifed,  to  difcover  every 
talle  that  is  moll  perfect  in  its  kind  ;  every 
palate  is  not  a  judge  of  that,  and  yet 
drinking  is  more  ufed  than  reading.  All 
that  I  pretend  to  know  of  the  matter,  is, 
that  wine  mould  be,  like  a  flyle,  clear, 
deep,  bright,  and  llrong,  fincere  and  pure, 
found  and  dry  (as  our  advertifements  do 
well  exprefs  it)  which  lad  is  a  commend- 
able term,  that  contains  the  juice  of  the 
richeil  fpirits,  and  only  keeps  out  all  cold 
and  dampnefs. 

It  is  common  to  commend  a  man  for  an 
ear  to  mufic,  and  a  talle  of  painting; 
which  are  nothing  but  a  jull  difcernment 
of  what  is  excellent  and  moll  perfect  in 
them.  The  firil  depends  entirely  on  the 
ear;  a  man  can  never  expect  to  be  a  maf- 
ter,  that  has  not  an  ear  tuned  and  fet  to 
mufic ;  and  you  can  no  more  fing  an  ode 
without  an  ear,  than  without  a  genius  you 
can  write  one.  Painting,  we  fhould  think, 
requires  fome  underflanding  in  the  art,  and 
exact  knowledge  of  the  bell  mailers'  man- 
ner, to  be  a  judge  of  it;  but  this  faculty, 
like  the  rell,  is  founded  in  nature:  know- 
ledge in  the  art,  and  frequent  converfation 
with  the  bell  originals,  will  certainly  per- 
fect a  man's  judgment;  but  if  there  is  not 
a  natural  fagacity  and  aptnefs,  experience 
will  be  of  no  great  fervice.  A  good  talle 
is  an  argument  of  a  great  foul,  as  well  as 
a  lively  wit.  It  is  the  infirmity  of  poor 
fpirits  to  be  taken  with  every  appearance, 
and  dazzled  by  every  thing  that  fparkles: 


but  to  pafs  by  what  the  generality  of  the 
world  admires,  and  to  be  detained  with 
nothing  but  what  is  moft  perfect  and  ex- 
cellent in  its  kind,  fpeaks  a  fuperior  genius, 
and  a  true  difcernment :  a  new  picture  by 
fome  meaner  hand,  where  the  colours  are 
frefh  and  lively,  will  engage  the  eye,  but 
the  pleafure  goes  off  with  looking,  and 
what  we  ran  to  at  firll  with  eagernefs,  we 
prefently  leave  with  indifference :  but  the; 
old  pieces  of  Raphael,  Michael  Angelo, 
Tintoret,  and  Titian,  though  not  fo  inviting- 
at  firft,  open  to  the  eye  by  degrees ;  and 
the  longer  and  oftener  we  look,  we  ftil! 
difcover  new  beauties,  and  find  new  plea- 
fure. I  am  not  a  man  of  fo  much  feverity 
in  my  temper,  as  to  allow  you  to  be  pleaf- 
ed  with  nothing  but  what  is  in  the  lafl  per- 
feftion;  for  then,  poflibly,  fo  many  are 
the  infirmities  of  writing,  beyond  other 
arts,  you  could  never  be  pleafed.  There 
is  a  wide  difference  in  being  nice  to  judge 
of  every  degree  of  perfection,  and  rigid 
in  refilling  whatever  is  deficient  in  any 
point.  This  would  only  be  weaknefs  of 
llomach,  not  any  commendation  of  a  good 
palate;  a  true  talle  judges  of  defects  as 
well  as  perfections,  and  the  bell  judges  are 
always  the  perfons  of  the  greatefl  candour. 
They  will  find  none  but  real  faults,  and 
whatever  they  commend,  the  praife  is 
jullly  due. 

I  have  intimated  already,  that  a  good 
tafle  is  to  be  formed  by  reading  the"  bell 
authors ;  and  when  you  fhall  be  able  to 
point  out  their  beauties,  to  difcern  the 
brightefl  paflages,  the  flrength  and  ele- 
gance of  their  language,  you  will  alwav* 
write  yourfelf,  and  read  others  by  that 
llandard,   and  mull    therefore  neceffarily 

Felt  on. 


excel. 


§  IP5-  Tajle  to  be  improved  by  hmtaiion. 
In  Rome  there  were  fome  popular  ora- 
tors, who,  with  a  falfe  eloquence  and  vio- 
lent action,  carried  away  the  applaufe  of 
the  people:  and  with  us  we  have  fome 
popular  men,  who  are  followed  and  ad- 
mired for  the  Joudnefs  of  their  voice,  and 
a  falfe  pathos  both  in  utterance  and  writ- 
ing. I  have  been  fometimes  in  fome  con- 
fuiion  to  hear  fuch  perfons  commended  by 
thofe  of  fuperior  fenfe,  who  could  diftin- 
guifh,  one  would  think,  between  empty, 
pompous,  fpecious  harangues,  and  thofe 
pieces  in  which  all  the  beauties  of  writing 
are  combined.  A  natural  tafle  mufl  there- 
fore be  improved,  like  fine  parts,  and  a 
great  genius ;  it  mull  be  ailiiled  by  art,  or 

it 


442  ELEGANT    EXTRACTS 

it  will  be  eafily  vitiated  and  corrupted. 
Falfe  eloquence  paffes  only  where  true  is 
not  underftood;  and  nobody  will  com- 
mend bad  writers,  that  is  acquainted  with 
gocd. 

Thefe  are  only  fome  curfory  thoughts 
on  a  fubjecl:  that  will  not  be  reduced  to 
rules.  To  treat  of  a  true  tafle  in  a  formal 
method,  would  be  very  infipid;  it  is  bell 
collected  from  the  beauties  and  laws  of 
writing,  and  mult  rife  from  every  man's 
own  apprehenfion  and  notion  of  what  he 
hears  and  reads. 

it  may  be  therefore  of  farther  ufe,  and 
molt  advantage  to  you,  as  well  as  a  relief 
and  entertainment  to  refrefh  your  fpirits 
in  the  end  of  a  tedious  difcourfe,  if  belides 
mentioning  the  claffic  authors  as  they  fall 
in  my  way,  I  lay  before  you  fome  of  the 
correcle:t  writers  of  this  age  and  the  lalt, 
in  leveral  faculties,  upon  different  fubjecls : 
Not  that  you  fhould  be  drawn  into  a  fer- 
vile  imitation  of  any  of  them :  but  that 
you  may  fee  into  the  fpirit,  force,  and 
beauty  of  them  all,  and  form  your  pen 
from  thofe  general  notions  of  life  and  de- 
licacy, of  fine  thoughts  and  happy  words, 
"which  rife  to  your  mind  upon  reading  the 
great  mailers  of  ftyle  in  their  feveral  ways, 
and  manner  of  excelling. 

I  mull  beg  leave,  therefore,  to  defer  a 
little  the  entertainment  I  promifed,  while 
I  endeavour  to  lead  you  into  the  true 
way  of  imitation,  if  ever  you  {hall  propofe 
any  original  for  your  copy;  or,  which  is 
infinitely  preferable,  into  a  perfect  mafcery 
of  the  fpirit  and  perfections  of  every  cele- 
brated writer,  whether  ancient  or  modern. 

Fehon. 


IN     PROSE. 

the  art  and  perfection  of  an  hiltorical  ftyle. 
And  you  will  obferve,  that  thofe  who  have 
excelled  in  hiltory,  have  excelled  in  this 
efpecially  ;  and  what  has  made  them  the 
itandards  of  that  ftyle,  is  the  clearnefs,  the" 
life  and  vigour  of  their  expreflion,  every 
where  properly  varied,  according  to  the 
variety  of  the  fubjects  they  wrote  on:  for 
hiltory  and  narration  are  nothing  but  jult 
and  lively  defcriptions  of  remarkable  events 
and  accidents.  Ibid. 


§    1 06.      On  the  Hijlorical  Style. 

Hiftory  will  not  admit  thofe  decorations 
other  fubiecls  are  capable  of;  the  paflions 
and  affections  are  not  to  be  moved  with 
any  thing,  but  the  truth  of  the  narration. 
All  the  force  and  beauty  mull  lie  in  the 
order  and  exprellion.  To  relate  every 
event  with  clearnefs  and  perfpicuity,  in 
fuch  words  as  bell  exprefs  the  nature  of 
the  fubjecl:,  is  the  chief  commendation  of 
an  hiitorian's  llyle.  Hiilory  gives  us  a 
draught  of  facts  and  tranfaclions  in  the 
world.  The  colours  thefe  are  painted  in ; 
the  ftrcngth  and  fignificancy  of  the  feveral 
faces;  the  regular  confufion  of  a  battle; 
the  diftraclions  of  tumult  fenfibly  depict- 
ed ;  every  object  and  every  occurrence  fo 
prefented  to  your  view,  that  while  you 
read,  you  feem  indeed  to  fee  them:  this  is 


§   107.     Of  Herodotus   and  Thucy- 

DIDfcS. 

For  this  reafon  we  praife  Herodotus  and 
Thucydides  among  the  Greeks,  for  I  will 
mention  no  more  of  them;  and  upon  this 
account  we  commend  Sailuft  and  Livy 
among  the  Romans.  For  though  they  all 
differ  in  their  ftyle,  yet  they  all  agree  in 
thefe  common  excellencies.  Herodotus 
difplays  a  natural  oratory  in  the  beauty 
and  clearnefs  of  a  numerous  and  folemn 
diction ;  he  flows  with  a  fedate  and  majeftic 
pace,  with  an  eafy  current,  and  a  pleafant 
itream.  Thucydides  does  fometimes  write 
in  a  llyle  fo  clofe,  that  almoft  every  word 
is  a  fentence,  and  every  fentence  almoft 
acquaints  us  with  fomething  new;  fo  that 
from  the  multitude  of  caufes,  and  variety 
of  matter  crowded  together;  we  fhould 
fufpect  him  to  be  obfeure:  but  yet  fo 
happy,  fo  admirable  a  mailer  is  he'in  the 
art  of  exprellion,  fo  proper  and  fo  full, 
that  we  cannot  fay  whether  his  diction  does 
more  ill u Urate  the  things  he  fpeaks  of,  or 
whether  his  words  themfelves  are  not  illuf- 
trated  by  his  matter,  fo  mutual  a  light  do 
his  expreffions  and  fubjecl;  reflect  on  each 
other.  His  di&ion,  though  it  be  prefled 
and  clofe,  is  neverthelefs  great  and  mag- 
nificent, equal  to  the  dignity  and  impor- 
tance of  his  fubjed.  He  firft,  after  He- 
rodotus, ventured  to  adorn  the  hiitorian's 
ftyle,  to  make  the  narration  more  pleafing, 
by  leaving  the  flatnefs  and  nakednefs  of 
former  ages.  This  is  moll  obfervable  in 
his  battles,  where  he  does  not  only  relate 
the  mere  fight,  but  writes  with  a  martial 
fpirit,  as  if  he  flood  in  the  hotteft  of  the 
engagement;  and  what  is  moll  excellent, 
as  well  as  remarkable  in  fo  clofe  a  ftyle,  is, 
that  it  is  numerous  and  harmonious,  that  his 
words  are  not  laboured  nor  forced,  but  fall 
into  their  places  in  a  natural  order,  as  into 
their  moll  proper  fituation.  Ibid. 

§    10S.      0/"Sallust   and  Livy. 
Sailuft  and  Livy,  you  will  read,  I  hope, 

with 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


443 


with  fo  much  pleafure,  as  to  make  a 
thorough  and  intimate  acquaintance  with 
them.  Thucydides  and  Sa'luft  are  gene- 
rally compared,  as  Livy  is  with  Herodotus ; 
and,  fince  I  am  fallen  upon  their  charac- 
ters, I  cannot  help  touching  the  compa- 
rifons.  Sailuft  is  reprefented  as  a  concife, 
a  ftrong,  and  nervous  writer ;  and  fo  far 
he  agrees  with  Thucydides's  manner :  but 
he  is  alfo  charged  with  being  obfeure,  as 
concife  writers  very  often  are,  without  any 
reafon.  For,  if  I  may  judge  by  my  own 
apprehensions,  as  I  read  him,  no  writer 
can  be  more  clear,  more  obvious  and  in- 
telligible. He  has  not,  indeed,  as  far  as 
I  can  obferve,  one  redundant  exprefiion ; 
but  his  words  are  all  weighed  and  chofen, 
fo  expreffive  and  fignifkant,  that  I  will 
challenge  any  critic  to  take  a  fentence  of 
his,  and  exprefs  it  clearer  or  better;  his 
contraction  feems  wrought  and  laboured. 
To  me  he  appears  as  a  man  that  confider- 
ed  and  ftudied  perfpicuity  and  brevity  to 
that  degree,  that  he  would  not  retrench  a 
word  which  might  help  him  to  exprefs  his 
meaning,  nor  Suffer  one  to  Hand,  if  his 
fenfe  was  clear  without  it.  Being  more 
diffufc,  would  have  weakened  his  lan- 
guage, and  have  made  it  obfeurer  rather 
than  clearer:  for  a  multitude  of  words 
only  ferine  to  cloud  or  diffipate  the  fenfe ; 
and  though  a  copious  llyle  in  a  mailer's 
hand  is  clear  and  beautiful,  yet  where  con- 
cifenefs  and  perfpicuity  are  once  recon- 
ciled, any  attempt  to  enlarge  the  expref- 
fions,  if  it  does  not  darken,  does  certainly 
make  the  light  much  feebler.  Sailuft  is 
all  life  and  fpirit,  yet  grave  and  majeftic 
in  his  diction:  his  ufe  of  old  words  is  per- 
fectly right:  there  is  no  affectation,  but 
more  weight  and  fignificancy  in  them:  the 
boldnefs  of  his  metaphors  are  among  his 
greateil  beauties;  they  are  chofen  with 
great  judgment,  and  ihew  the  force  of  his 
genius;  the  colouring  is  ftrong,  and  the 
lirokes  are  bold:  and  in  my  opinion  he 
chofe  them  for  the  fake  of  the  brevity  he 
loved,  to  exprefs  more  clearly  and  more 
forcibly,  what  otherwifehe  mull  have  writ- 
ten in  loofer  characters  with  lefs  ftrength 
and  beauty.  And  no  fault  can  be  objected 
to  the  juftefl  and  exact  eft  of  the  Roman 
writers. 

Livy  is  the  moll  confiderable  of  the 
Roman  hillorians,  if  to  the  perfection  of 
his  flyle  we  join  the  compafs  of  his  fub- 
ject;  in  which  he  has  the  advantage  over 
all  that  wrote  before  him,  in  any  nation 
but  the  J  ewifh,  efpecially  over  Thucydides ; 


whofe  hillory,  however  drawn  out  into 
length,  is  confined  to  the  fhortcft  period  of 
any,  except  what  remains  of  Sailuft.  No 
hillorian  could  be  happier  in  the  greatnefs 
and  dignity  of  his  fubject,  and  none  was 
better  qualified  to  adorn  it;  for  his  genius 
was  equal  to  the  majefty  of  the  Reman 
empire,  and  every  way  capable  of  the 
mighty  undertaking.  He  is  not  fo  copious 
in  words,  as  abundant  in  matter,  rich  ia 
his  exprefiion,  grave,  majeftic,  and  lively; 
and  if  I  may  have  liberty  to  enlarge  oo, 
the  old  commendation,  I  would  fey  his 
ftyle  flows  with  milk  and  honey,  in  fuch. 
abundance,  fuch  pleafure  and  fweetnefs, 
that  when  once  you  are  proficient  enough 
to  read  him  readily,  you  will  go  on  with 
unwearied  delight,  and  never  lay  him  out 
or  your  hands  without  impatience  to  re- 
fume  him.  We  may  refemble  him  to  He- 
rodotus, in  the  manner  of  his  diction;  but 
he  is  more  like  Thucydides  in  the  gran- 
deur and  majefty  of  expreffion ;  and  if  we 
obferve  the  multitude  of  claufes  in  the 
length  of  the  periods,  perhaps  Thucydides 
himfelf  is  not  more  crowded;  only  the 
length  of  his  periods  is  apt  to  deceive  us; 
and  great  men  among  the  ancients,  as  well 
as  moderns,  have  been  induced  to  think 
this  writer  was  copious,  becaufe  his  Sen- 
tences were  long.  Copious  he  is  indeed, 
and  forcible  in  his  defcriptions,  not  lavifh 
in  the  number,  but  exuberant  in  the  rich- 
nefs  and  fignificancy  of  his  words.  You 
will  obferve,  for  I  fpeak  upon  my  own  ob- 
servation, that  Livy  is  not  fo  eaiy  and  ob- 
vious to  be  imdcrftood  as  Sailuft;  the  ex- 
periment is  made  every  where  in  reading 
five  or  fix  pages  of  each  author  together. 
The  fhortnefs  of  Salluft's  fentences,  as  long 
as  they  are  clear,  fhews  his  fenfe  and 
meaning  all  the  way  in  an  inftant:  the 
progrefs.  is  quick  and  plain,  and  every 
three  lines  gives  us  a  new  and  complete 
idea;  we  are  carried  from  one  thing  to 
another  with  fo  fwift  a  pace,  that  we  run 
as  we  read,  and  yet  cannot,  if  we  read 
diftinctly,  run  fafter  than  we  underftand 
him.  This  is  the  brightell  teftimony  that 
can  be  given  of  a  clear  and  obvious  ftyle. 
In  Livy  we  cannot  pafs  on  fo  readily;  we 
are  forced  to  wait  for  his  meaning  till  we 
come  to  the  end  of  the  fentence,  and  have 
fo  many  claufes  to  fort  and  refer  to  their 
proper  places  in  the  way,  that  I  mull  own 
I  cannot  read  him  fo  readily  at  f.gnc  as  I 
can  Sailuft;  though  with  attention  and 
consideration  i  underftand  him  as  well. 
He  is  not  fo  eafy,  nor  fo  well  adapted  to 


444- 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


young  proficients,  as  the  other:  and  is 
ever  plained,  when  Ms  fentences  are  fhorteft; 
which  I  think  is  a  demonftration.  Some, 
perhaps,  will  be  apt  to  conclude,  that  in 
this  I  differ  from  Quinttilian;  but  I  do  not 
conceive  lb  nvyfelf;  for  Quinelilian  re- 
commends Livy  before  Salluft,  rather  for 
his  candour,  and  the  larger  compafs  of  bis 
hiftory;  for  he  owns  a  good  proficiency  is 
required  to  underftand  him;  and  I  can 
only  refer  to  the  experience  of  young  pro- 
ficients, which  of  them  is  more  open  to 
their apprehenfion.  Diitinftion  of fentences, 
in  few  words,  provided  the  words  be  plain 
and  expreffive,  ever  gives  light  to  the  au- 
thor, and  carries  his  meaning  uppermoft; 
but  long  periods,  and  a  multiplicity  of 
claufes,  however  they  abound  with  the 
moft  obvious  and  fignificant  words,  do  ne- 
ceffarily  make  the  meaning  more  retired, 
lefs  forward  and  obvious  to  the  view :  and 
in  this  Livy  may  feem  as  crowded  as  Thu- 
cvdides,  if  not  in  the  number  of  periods, 
certainly  in  the  multitude  of  claufes,  which, 
fo  difpofed,  do  rather  obfeure  than  illumi- 
nate his  writings.  But  in  fo  rich,  fo  ma- 
jeftic,  fo  flowing  a  writer,  we  may  wait 
with  patience  to  the  end  of  the  fentence, 
for  the  pleafure  dill  increafes  as  we  read. 
The  elegance  and  purity,  the  greatnefs, 
the  noblenefs  of  his  diction,  his  happinefs 
in  narration,  and  his  wonderful  eloquence, 
are  above  all  commendation;  and  his 
ftyle,  if  we  were  to  decide,  is  certainly  the 
ftandard  of  Roman  hiftory.  For  Salluft, 
I  muft  own,  is  too  impetuous  in  hiscourfe; 
he  hurries  his  reader  on  too  fall,  and  hard- 
ly ever  allows  him  the  pleafure  of  expecta- 
tion, which  in  reading  hillory,  where  it  is 
juftly  raifed  on  important  events,  i.-,  the 
greateft  of  all  others.  Fclton. 

§  109.  Their  Ufe  in  Style. 
Reading  thefe  celebrated  authors  will 
give  you  a  true  taile  of  good  writing,  and 
form  you  to  a  juft  and  correct:  ftyle  upon 
every  occafion  that  fhall  demand  your  pen. 
I  would  not  recommend  any  of  them  to  a 
ft  rid:  imitation;  that  is  fervile  and  mean; 
and  you  cannot  propofe  an  exact  copy  of 
a  pattern,  without  falling  fhort  of  the  origi- 
nal: but  if  you  once  read  them  with  a  true 
rcliai  and  difcernment  of  their  beauties, 
you  may  lay  them  afide,  and  be  fecure  of 
writin?  with  all  the  eraces  of  them  all, 
without  owing  your  perfection  to  any. 
Your  ftyle  and  manner  will  be  your  own, 
and  even  your  letters  upon  the  moft  or- 
dinary fubjects,  will  have  a  native  beauty 


and  elegance  in  the  compofkion,  which 
will  equal  them  with  the  belt  originals,  and 
fet  them  far  above  the  common  ftandard. 

Upon  this  occafion,  I  cannot  pafs  by 
vour  favourite  author,  the  grave  and  fa- 
cetious Tatler,  who  has  drawn  mankind 
in  every  drefs  and  every  dilguife  of  nature, 
in  a  ftyle  ever  varying  with  the  humours, 
fancies,  and  follies  he  defcribes.  He  has 
ihewed  himfelf  a  mafter  in  every  turn  of 
his  pen,  whether  his>fubject  be  light  or  fe- 
rious,  and  has  laid  down  the  rules  of  com- 
mon life  with  fo  much  judgment,  in  fuch 
agreeable,  fuch  lively  and  elegant  lan- 
guage, that  from  him  you  at  once  may 
form  your  manners  and  your  ftyle.      Ibid. 

§   1 10.     0>/ Spenser  ««</  Shake- 
spear. 

I  may  add  fome  poets  of  more  ancient 
dr.te:  and  though  their  ftyle  is  out  of  th« 
ftandard  now,  there  are  in  them  ftill  fome 
lines  fo  extremely  beautiful,  that  our  mo- 
dern language  cannot  reach  them.  Chau- 
cer is  too  old,  I  fear;  but  Spenfer,  though 
he  be  antiquated  too,  hath  ftill  charms 
remaining  to  make  you  enamoured  of  him. 
His  antique  verfe  has  mufic  in  it  to  ravifh 
any  ears,  that  can  be  fenfible  of  the  fofteft, 
fweeteft  numbers,  that  ever  flowed  from  a 
poet's  pen. 

Shakefpear  is  a  wonderful  genius,  a  An- 
gle inftance  of  the  force  of  nature  and  the 
ftrength  of  wit.  Nothing  can  be  greater 
and  more  lively  than  his  thoughts;  nothing 
nobler  and  more  forcible  than  his  exprei- 
flon.  The  fire  of  his  fancy  breaks  out 
into  his  words,  and  fets  his  reader  on  a 
flame:  he  makes  the  blood  run  cold  or 
warm;  and  is  fo  admirable  a  mafter  of 
the  pafftons,  that  he  raifes  your  courage, 
your  pity,  and  your  fear,  at  his  plealure; 
but  he  delights  moft  in  terror.         Ibid. 

%   in.     On  Milton  and  Philips. 

Milton  is  the  affcrtor  of  poetic  liberty, 
and  would  have  freed  us  from  the  bondage 
of  rhyme,  but,  like  fmners,  and  like  lo- 
vers, we  hug  cur  chain,  and  are  pleafed 
in  being  Haves.  Some  indeed  have  made 
fome  faint  attempts  to  break  it,  but  their 
verfe  had  all  the  foftnefs  and  effeminacy  of 
rhyme  without  the  mulic;  and  Dryden 
himfelf,  who  fometimes  ftruggled  to  get 
loofe,  always  relapfed,  and  was  falter 
bound  than  ever  :  but  rhyme  was  his  pro- 
vince, and  he  could  make  the  tinkling  of 
his  chains  harmonious.  Mr.  Philips  has 
trod  the  neareft  in  his  great  mailer's  fteps, 

and 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL.        445 


and  has  equalled  him  in  his  verfe  more 
than  he  falls  below  him  in  the  compafs  and 
dignity  of  his  fubject.  The  Shilling  is 
truly  fplendid  in  his  lines,  and  his  poems 
u  ill  live  longer  than  the  unfinifhed  caftle, 
as  long  as  Blenheim  is  remembered,  or 
Cyder  drank  in  England.  But  I  have  di- 
greffed  from  Milton;  and  that  I  may  reT 
turn,  and  fay  all  in  a  word ;  his  ftyle,  his 
thoughts,  his  verfe,  are  as  fuperior  to  the 
generality  of  other  poets,  as  his  fubject. 

Felton. 

§  112.  Great  Men  have  ufually  appeared 
at  the  fame  time. 
It  is  a  remarkable  phenomenon,  and 
one  which  has  often  employed  the  fpecu- 
lations  of  curious  men,  that  writers  and 
artifts,  molt  diiHnguiihed  for  their  parts 
and  genius,  have  generally  appeared  in 
confiderable  numbers  at  a  time.  Some 
ages  have  been  remarkably  barren  in  them ; 
while,  at  other  periods,  Nature  feems  to 
have  exerted  herfelf  with  a  more  than  or- 
dinary effort,  and  to  have  poured  them 
forth  with  a  profufe  fertility.  Various  rea- 
fons  have  been  affigned  for  this.  Some  of 
the  moral  caufes  lie  obvious  ;  fuch  as  fa- 
vourable circumftances  of  government  and 
of  manners ;  encouragement  from  great 
men;  emulation  excited  among  the  men 
of  genius.  But  as  thefe  have  been  thought 
inadequate  to  the  whole  effect,  phyiical 
caufes  have  been  alio  aiTigned  ;  and  the 
Abbe  du  Bos,  in  his  reflections  on  Poetry 
and  Painting,  has  collected  a  great  many 
obfervations  on  the  influence  which  the  air, 
the  climate,  and  other  fuch  natural  caufes, 
may  be  fuppofed  to  have  upon  genius. 
But  whatever  the  caufes  be,  the  fact  is  cer- 
tain, that  there  have  been  certain  periods 
or  ages  of  the  world  much  more  diftin- 
guifhed  than  others,  for  the  extraordinary 
productions  of  genius.  Blair. 

§    113.  Four  of  thefe  Ages  marked  out  by  the 
Learned. 

Learned  men  have  marked  out  four  of 
thefe  happy  ages.  The  firlt  is  the  Gre- 
cian age.  which  commenced  near  the  time 

lit 
of  the  Pelopponnefian  war,  and  extended 

till  the  time  of  Alexander  the  Great; 
within  which  period,  we  have  Herodotus, 
Thucydides,  Xenophon,  Socrates,  Plato, 
Ariftotle,  Demoithenes,  /Efchynes,  Lyfias, 
liberates,  Pindar,  yEfchylus,  Euripides, 
Sophocles,  Ariitophanes,  Menander,  Ana- 
creon,  Theocritus,  Lyfippus,  Apelles,  Phi- 
dias, Praxitelc?.     The  lscond  is    the  Ro- 


man age,  included  nearly  within  the  days 
of  Julias  Cscfar  and  Auguitus ;  affording 
us,  Catullus,  Lucretius,  Terence,  Virgil. 
Horace,  Tibullus,  Propertius,  Ovid,  Phs- 
drus,  Cadar,  Cicero,  Livy,  Salluft,  V  arro, 
and  Vitruvius.  The  third  age  is,  that  of 
the  reftoration  of  learning,  underthe  Popes 
Julius  II.  and  Leo  X. ;  when  flouriihed 
Arioito,  Taffo,  Sannazarius,  Vida,  Machi- 
avel,  Guicciardini,  Davila,  Erafmus,  Paul 
Jovius,  Michael  Angelo,  Raphael, Titian. 
The  fourth,  comprehends  the  age  ofLoui$ 
XIV.  and  Queen  Anne;  when  flourifhed, 
in  France,  Corneille,  Racine,  De  Retz, 
Moliere,  Boileau,  Fontaine,  Baptiite, 
Rouffeau,  Boffuet,  Fenelon,  Bourda- 
loue,  Pafcall,  Malebranche,  Maffillon, 
Bruyere,  Bayle,  Fontenelle,  Vertot ;  and 
in  England,  Dryden,  Pope,  Addifon,  Pri- 
or, Swift,  Parnell,  Congreve,  Otway, 
Young,  Rowe,  Atterbury,  Shaftfbury, 
Bolingbroke,  Tillotfon,  Temple,  Boyle, 
Locke,  Newton,  Clarke.  Ibid. 

§    114.  'The  Reputation  of  the  Ancients  efla* 
blijbed  too  firmly  to  be  Jhaken, 

If  any  one,  at  this  day,  in  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  takes  upon  him  to  decry 
the  ancient  daffies ;  if  he  pretends  to  have 
difcovered  that  Homer  and  Virgil  are  po- 
ets of  inconfiderable  merit,  and  that  De- 
moithenes and  Cicero  are  not  great  Ora- 
tors, we  may  boldly  venture  to  tell  fuch  % 
man,  that  he  is  come  too  late  with  his 
difcovery.  The  reputation  of  fuch  writers 
is  eftablifhed  upon  a  foundation  too  iolid 
to  be  now  lhaken  by  any  arguments  what- 
ever ;  for  it  is  eftablifhed  upon  the  almofr. 
univerfal  tafte  of  mankind,  proved  and  tried 
throughout  the  fucceflkm  of  io  many  ages. 
Imperfections  in  their  works  he  may  in- 
deed point  out  ;  paffages  that  are  faulty 
he  may  fhew ;  for  where  is  the  human 
work  that  is  perfect  ?  But  if  he  attempt* 
to  diicredit  their  works  in  general,  or  to 
prove  that  the  reputation  which  they  have 
gained  is  on  the  whole  unjuif,  there  is  an 
argument  againft  him,  wrhich  is  equal  to 
full  demonitration.  He  mult  be  in  the 
wrong;  for  human  nature  is  againft  him. 
In  matters  of  taile,  fuch  as  poetry  and  ora- 
tory, to  whom  does  the  appeal  lie  ?  where 
is  the  ftandard  ?  and  where  the  authority 
of  the  laft  decuion  ?  whereisit  to  be  look- 
ed for,  but  as  I  formerly  fhewed,  in  tho'.j* 
feelings  anl  fentiments  that  are  found,  on 
the  molt  extenfive  examination,  to  be  the 
common  fentiments  and  feelings  of  men? 
Thefe  have  been  fully  coniuiced   en  thig 

head- 


44^ 

head.  The  Public,  the  unprejudiced  Pub- 
lic, has  been  tried  and  appealed  to  for 
many  centuries,  and  throughout  almoll  all 
civilized  nations.  It  has  pronounced  its 
verdict ;  it  has  given  its  fanftion  to  thefe 
writers  ;  and  from  this  tribunal  there  lies 
no  farther  appeal. 

In  matters  of  merereafoning,  the  world 
may  be  long  in  an  error ;  and  may  be  con- 
vinced of  the  error  by  ftronger  reafonings, 
when  produced.  Pofitions  that  depend  upon 
fcience,  upon  knowledge,  and  matters  of 
facl:,  may  be  overturned  according  as  fci- 
ence and  knowledge  are  enlarged,  and  new 
matters  of  facl  are  brought  to  light.  For 
this  reafon,  a  fyltem  of  philofophy  receives 
no  fufficicnt  fanction  from  its  antiquity, 
or  long  currency.  The  world,  as  it  grows 
older,  may  be  juftly  expected  to  become, 
if  not  wifer,  at  leaft  more  knowing  ;  and 
fuppofing  it  doubtful  whether  Ariftotle,  or 
Newton,  were  the  greater  genius,  yet 
Newton's  philofophy  may  prevail  over 
Ariitctle's,  by  means  cf  later  difcoveries, 
to  which  Ariflotle  was  a  ftranger.  But 
nothing  of  this  kind  holds  as  to  matters  of 
Tafte ;  which  depend  not  on  the  progrefs 
of  knowledge  and  fcience,  but  upon  fenti- 
mentand  feeling.  It  is  in  vain  to  think  of 
undeceiving  mankind,  with  rcfpecl  to  er- 
rors committed  here,  as  in  Philofophy. 
For  the  univerfal  feeling  of  mankind  is  the 
natural  feeling ;  and  becaufe  it  is  the  na- 
tural, it  is,  for  that  reafon,  the  right  feel- 
ing. The  reputation  of  the  Iliad  and  the 
^Eneid  muft  therefore  Hand  upon  fure 
ground, becaufe  it  has  flood  fo  long- ;  though 
that  of  the  Ariitotelian  or  Platonic  philo- 
ibphy,  every  one  is  at  liberty  to  call  in 
<iueltion.  Blair. 

%    1 1 5.  The  Reputation  of  the  Antients  not 
oiving  to  Pedantry. 

It  is  in  vain  alfo  to  alledge,  that  the  re- 
putation of  the  ancient  poets  and  orators, 
is  owing  to  authority,  to  pedantry,  and  to 
the  prejudices  of  education,  tranfmitted 
from  age  to  age.  Thefe,  it  is  true,  are 
the  authors  put  into  our  hands  at  fchools 
and  colleges,  and  by  that  means  we  have 
now  an  early  prepofleffion  in  their  favour  ; 
but  how  came  they  to  gain  the  pofTeffion  of 
colleges  and  fchools  ?  Plainly,  by  the  high 
fame  which  thefe  authors  had  among  their 
own  cotemporaries.  For  the  Greek  and 
Latin  were  not  always  dead  languages. 
There  was  a  time,  when  Homer,  and  V  irgil, 
and  Horace,  were  viewed  in  the  fame  light 
as  we  now  view  Drydem  Pope,  and  Ad- 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

difon.  It  is  not  to  commentators  and  un;~ 
verfities,  that  the  dailies  are  indebted  for 
their  fame.  They  became  daffies  and 
fchool-books  in  confequence  of  the  hio-h 
admiration  which  was  paid  them  by  the  bell 
judges  in  their  own  country  and  nation. 
As  early  as  the  days  of  Juvenal,  who 
wrote  under  the  reign  of  Domitian,  we  find 
Virgil  and  Horace  become  the  ftandard 
books  in  the  education  of  youth. 

Quod  ftabant  pueri,  cum  totus  decolor  effet 
Flaccus,  k.  haereret  nigro  fuligo  Maroni. 

Sat.  7.* 

From  this  general  principle,  then,  of 
the  reputation  of  great  ancient  Claffics  be- 
ing fo  early,  fo  kiting,  fo  extenfive,  among 
all  the  moll  polifhed  nations,  we  may  juftly 
and  boldly  infer,  that  their  reputation  can- 
not be  wholly  unjuft,  but  mult  have  a  folid 
foundation  in  the  merit  of  their  writings. 

Ibid. 

§    116.  In  tvhaf  Refpeils  the  Moderns  excel 
the  A.xients. 

Let  us  guard,  however,  againfl  a  blind 
and  implicit  veneration  for  the  Ancients  in 
every  thing.  I  have  opened  the  general 
principle,  which  muft  go  far  in  inflituting 
a  fair  comparifon  between  them  and  the 
Moderns.  Whatever  fuperiority  the  An- 
cients may  have  had  in  point  of  genius, 
yet  in  all  arts,  where  the  natural  progrefs 
of  knowledge  has  had  room  to  produce 
any  confiderable  effects,  the  Moderns  can- 
not but  have  fome  advantage.  The  world 
may,  in  certain  refpecls,  be  confidered  as 
a  perfon,  who  muft  needs  gain  fomewhat 
by  advancing  in  years.  Its  improvements 
have  not,  I  confefs,  been  always  in  propor- 
tion to  the  centuries  that  have  patted  over 
it;  for,  during  the  courfe  of  fome  ages,  it 
has  funk  as  into  a  total  lethargy.  Yet, 
when  roufed  from  that  lethargy,  it  has  ge- 
nerally been  able  to  avail  itfelf,  more  or 
leis,  of  former  difcoveries.  At  intervals, 
there  arofe  fome  happy  genius,  who  could 
both  improve  on  what  had  gone  before, 
and  invent  fomethlng  new.  With  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  proper  itock  of  materials,  an 
inferior  genius  can  make  greater  progrefs 


art  bound   to  fmell,   on  cither 
l<3mps    as  fchool-boys 


*  "  Then  thou 

"  hand, 
"  As   many    ftinking 

"  ftand, 
"  When  Horace  could  not  read  in  his  own 

"  fully  'd  book, 
«  And  Virgil's  facred  paSs  was  all  befmear'd 

£  wilji  fmokc."  Drvoen. 

than 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


447 


than  a  much  fupcrior  one,  to  whom  thefe 
materials  are  wanting. 

Hence,  in  Natural  Philofophy,  Aftrono- 
my,  Chemistry,  and  other  fciences  that 
depend  on  an  extenfive  knowledge  and  ob- 
fervation  of  facts,  modern  philofophers 
have  an  unquestionable  fuperiority  over  the 
ancient.  I  am  inclined  alfo  to  think,  that 
in  matters  of  pure  reafoning,  there  is  more 
precifion  among  the  moderns,  than  in  fome 
instances  there  was  among  the  ancients; 
owing  perhaps  to  a  more  extenfive  literary 
intercourfe,  which  has  improved  and  fharp- 
ened  the  faculties  of  men.  In  fome  itudies 
too,  that  relate  to  tafte  and  fine  writing, 
which  is  our  object,  the  progrefs  of  fociety 
mult,  in  equity,  be  admitted  to  have  given 
us  fome  advantages.  For  instance,  in  hif- 
tory;  there  is  certainly  more  political 
knowledge  in  feveral  European  nations  at 
prefent,  than  there  was  in  ancient  Greece 
and  Rome.  We  are  better  acquainted 
with  the  nature  of  government,  becaufe  we 
have  feen  it  under  a  greater  variety  of 
forms  and  revolutions.  The  world  is  more 
laid  open  than  it  was  in  former  times; 
commerce  is  greatly  enlarged;  more  coun- 
tries are  civilized;  polls  are  every  where 
eftablifhed;  intercourfe  is  become  more 
eafy;  and  the  knowledge  of  facts,  by  con- 
fequence,  more  attainable.  All  thefe  are 
great  advantages  to  historians;  of  which, 
in  fome  meafure,  as  I  fhall  afterwards  mew, 
they  have  availed  themfelves.  In  the  more 
complex  kinds  of  poetry,  likewife,  we  may 
have  gained  fomewhat,  perhaps,  in  point 
of  regularity  and  accuracy.  In  dramatic 
performances,  having  the  advantage  of  the 
ancient  models,  we  may  be  allowed  to  have 
made  fome  improvements  in  the  variety  of 
the  characters,  the  conduct  of  the  plot,  at- 
tentions to  probability,  and  to  decorums. 

Blair. 

§  117.  We  muft  look  to  the  Ancients  fur  ele- 
gant Compoftion,  and  to  the  Moderns  for 
accurate  Pbilojopby. 

From  whatever  caufe  it  happens,  fo  it  is, 
that  among  fome  of  the  ancient  writers, 
we  mult  look  for  the  higheft  models  in 
moil  of  the  kinds  of  elegant  compofition. 
For  accurate  thinking  and  enlarged  ideas, 
in  feveral  parts  of  philofophy,  to  the  mo- 
derns we  ought  chiefly  to  have  recourfe. 
Of  correct  and  nnifned  writing  in  fome 
works  of  tafte,  they  may  afford  ufeful  pat- 
terns; but  for  all  that  belongs  to  original 
genius,  to  fpirited,  masterly,  and  high  exe- 
cution, our  belt  and  molt  happy  ideas  are, 


generally  fpeaking,  drawn  from  the  an- 
cients. In  epic  poetry,  for  inftance,  Homer 
and  Virgil,  to  this  day,  ltand  not  within 
many  degrees  of  any  rival.  Orators,  fuch. 
as  Cicero  and  Demolthenes,  we  have  none. 
In  hiftory,  notwithstanding  fome  defects, 
which  I  am  afterwards  to  mention  in  the 
ancient  hiltorical  plans,  it  may  be  fafely 
afferted,  that  we  have  no  fuch  hiltorical 
narration,  fo  elegant,  fo  picturefque,  fo  ani- 
mated, and  interelting  as  that  of  Herodo- 
tus, Thucydides,  Xenophon,  Livy,  Tacitus, 
and  Sallufl.  Although  the  conduct  of  the 
drama  may  be  admitted  to  have  received 
fome  improvements,  yet  for  poetry  and 
fentiment  we  have  nothing  to  equal  So- 
phocles and  Euripides;  nor  any  dialogue 
in  comedy,  that  comes  up  to  the  correct, 
graceful,  and  elegant  simplicity  of  Terence. 
We  have  no  fuch  love-elegies  as  thofe  of 
Tibullus;  no  fuch  paltorals  as  fome  of 
Theocritus's:  and  for  Lyric  poetry,  Ho- 
race Itands  quite  unrivalled.  The  name  of 
Horace  cannot  be  mentioned  without  a 
particular  encomium.  That  "  curiofa  fe- 
licitas,"  which  Fetronius  has  remarked  in 
his  expreffion;  the  fweetnefs,  elegance, 
and  fpirit  of  many  of  his  odes,  the  tho- 
rough knowledge  of  the  world,  the  excel- 
lent fentiments,  and  natural  eafy  manner 
which  distinguifh  his  Satires  and  Epiltles, 
all  contribute  to  render  him  one  of  thofe 
very  few  authors  whom  one  never  tires  of 
reading;  and  from  whom  alone,  were  every 
other  monument  destroyed,  we  fhould  be 
led  to  form  a  very  high  idea  of  the  tafte  and 
genius  of  the  Augultan  age.  Ibid. 

§  U  8.     The  ajfduous  Study  of  the  Greek  and 
Roman  Clafp.cs  recommended. 

To  all  fuch  then,  as  wilh  to  form  their 
tafte,  and  nourifh  their  genius,  let  me 
warmly  recommend  the  assiduous  ftudy 
of  the  ancient  clames,  both  Greek  and 
Roman. 

No&urna  verfate  manu,  verfate  dlurna*. 

Without  a  confiderable  acquaintance  with 
them,  no  man  can  be  reckoned  a  polite 
fcholar;  and  he  will  want  many  affiftances 
for  writing  and  fpeaking  well,  which  the 
knowledge  of  fuch  authors  would  afford 
him.  Any  one  has  great  reafon  to  fuipect 
his  own  tafte,  who  receives  little  or  no 
pleasure  from  the  perufal  of  writings,  which 
fo  many  ages  and  nations  have  confented 

*  "Read  thsm  by  day,  and  Xtudy  them  by  night." 

Francis. 


44* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


in  holding  up  as  fubjetts  of  admiration. 
And  I  am  perfuaded,  it  will  be  found,  that 
in  proportion  as  the  ancients  are  generally 
fludied  and  admired,  or  are  unknown  and 
difregarded  in  any  country,  good  tafte  and 
good  compofition  will  flouriih,  or  decline. 
They  are  commonly  none  but  the  ignorant 
or  fuperiicial,  who  undervalue  them. 

Blair. 

%   119.     The  ancient  Hiftorians  excel  in  £ic- 
turefque  Narration. 

In  all  the  virtues  of  narration,  particu- 
larly in  that  of  picturefque  defcriptive  nar- 
ration, feveral  of  the  ancient  hiftorians 
eminently  excel.  Hence,  the  pleafure  that 
is  found  in  reading  Herodotus,  Thucydi- 
des, Xenophon,  Livy,  Salluft,  and  Tacitus. 
They  are  all  confpicuous  for  the  art  of 
narration.  Herodotus  is,  at  all  times,  an 
agreeable  writer,  and  relates  every  thing 
with  that  naivete  and  fimplicity  of  man- 
ner, which  never  fails  to  intereft  the  read- 
er. Though  the  manner  of  Thucydides 
be  more  dry  and  harfli,  yet,  on  great  occa- 
fions,  as  when  he  is  giving  an  account  of  the 
plague  of  Athens,  the  fiege  of  Platan,  the 
{edition  in  Corcyra,  the  defeat  of  the  Athe- 
nians in  Sicily,  he  difplays  a  very  ftrong 
and  mafterly  power  of  defcription.  Xe- 
nophon's  Cyropadia,  and  his  Anabafis,  or 
retreat  of  the  ten  thoufand,  are  extremely 
beautiful.  The  circumrtances  are  finely 
felected,  and  the  narration  is  eafy  and  en- 
gaging; but  his  Hellenics,  or  continuation 
of  the  hiitory  of  Thucydides,  is  a  much  in- 
ferior work.  Salluft's  art  of  hiftorical 
painting  in  his  Catilinarian,  but,  more  es- 
pecially, in  his  Jugurthine  war,  is  well 
known;  though  his  ftyle  is  liable  to  cen- 
lure,  as  too  ftudkd  and  affected. 

iiid. 

§  120.  Livy  remarkable  for  Hiftorical 
Fainting. 
Livy  is  more  unexceptionable  in  his 
manner;  and  is  excelled  by  no  hiftorian 
whatever  in  the  art  of  narration :  feveral 
remarkable  examples  might  be  given  from 
him.  His  account,  for  initance,  of  the  fa- 
mous defeat  of  the  Roman  army  by  the 
Samnites,  at  the  Furca:  Caudinae,  in  the 
becrinning  of  thy  ninth  book,  affords  one 
of  the  moil  beautiful  exemplifications  of 
hiftorical  painting,  that  is  any  where  to  be 
met  with.  We  have  firft,  an  exaft  de- 
fcriptiefi  of  the  narrow  pais  between  two 
mountains,  into  which  the  enemy  had  de- 
coyed the  Romans.    When  they  find  them- 


felves  caught,  and  no  hope  of  efcape  left, 
we  are  made  to  fee,  firft,  their  aftonifh- 
ment,  next,  their  indignation,  and  then, 
their  dejection,  painted  in  the  moil:  lively 
manner,  by  fuch  circumftances  and  actions 
as  were  natural  to  perfons  in  their  Situa- 
tion. The  reftlefs  and  unquiet  manner  iit 
which  they  pafs  the  night;  the  confulta- 
tions  of  the  Samnites;  the  various  mea- 
fures  propofed  to  be  taken;  the  mefTages 
between  the  two  armies,  all  heighten  the 
fcene.  At  length,  in  the  morning,  the 
confuls  return  to  the  camp,  and  inform 
them  that  they  could  receive  no  other 
terms  but  that  of  furrendering  their  arms, 
and  palling  under  the  yoke,  which  was 
confidered  as  the  lafl  mark  of  ignominy 
for  a  conquered  army.  Ibid. 

§   121.     Tacitus   remarkable  fir  Hifto- 
rical Painting. 

Tacitus  is  another  author  eminent  for 
hiftorical  painting,  though  in  a  manner  al- 
together different  from  that  of  Livy. 
Livy's  defcriptions  are  more  full,  more 
plain,  and  natural;  thofe  of  Tacitus  con- 
fiit  in  a  few  bold  ftrokes.  He  feledls  one 
or  two  remarkable  circumftances,  and  fets 
them  before  us  in  a  ftrong,  and,  general- 
ly, in  a  new  and  uncommon  light.  Such 
is  the  following  picture  of  the  Situation  of 
Rome,  and  of  the  Emperor  Galba,  when 
Otho  was  advancing  againft  him :  "  Age- 
"  batur  hue  illuc  Galba,  vario  turba:  ftuftu-. 
"  antis  impulfu,  completis  undique  bafilicis 
"  et  templis,  lugubri  profpectu.  Neque 
"  populi  aut  plebis  ulla  vox ;  fed  attonitt 
"  vultus,  et  converge  ad  omnia  aures. 
"  Non  tumultus,  non  quies;  fed  quale 
"  magni  metus,  et  magna?  irse,  iilentium 
"  eft*."  No  image,  in  any  poet,  is  more 
ftrong  and  expreflive  than  this  laft  ftroke 
of  the  defcription:  "  Non  tumultus,  non 
"  quies,  fed  quale,"  &c.  This  is^  a  con- 
ception of  the  fublime  kind,  and  difcovers 
high  genius.  Indeed,  throughout  all  his 
work,  Tacitus  (hews  the  hand  of  a  mailer. 
As  he  is  profound  in  reflection,  fo  he  is 
ftriking  in  defcription,  and  pathetic  in  Sen- 
timent?   The  philofopher,  the  poet,  and 

*  "  Galba  was  driven  to  and  fro  by  the  tide  of 
"  the  multitude,  moving  him  from  place  to  place. 
"  The  templet,  and  public  buildings  were  filled 
"with  crowds,  of  a  difmal  appearance.  No  cla- 
*'  mours  were  heard,  either  from  the  citizens,  or 
"  from  the  rabble.  Their  countenances  were 
"  filled  with  conilernation  ;  their  ears  were  em- 
"  ployed  in  liftening  with  anxiety.  It  was  not 
«'  a  tumult ;  it  was  not  quietnels ;  it  was  the 
«  filencc  of  terror;  and  of  wrath.." 

the, 


BOOK   II.      CLASSICAL    AND   HISTORICAL. 


44^ 


the  hiflorian,  all  meet  in  him.  Though 
the  period  of  which  he  writes  may  be 
reckoned  unfortunate  for  an  hiflorian,  he 
has  made  it  afford  us  many  interefting  ex- 
hibitions of  human  nature.  The  rela- 
tions which  he  gives  of  the  deaths  of  feve- 

ral  eminent  oerfonages,  are  as  affecting  as 

•  •  • 

the  deepeft  tragedies.     Fie  paints  with  a 

glowing  pencil;  and  poffeffcs,  beyond  all 
writers,  the  talent  of  painting,  not  to  the 
imagination  merely,  but  to  the  heart. 
With  many  of  the  moil  diftinguilhed  beau- 
ties, he  is,  at  the  fame  time,  not  a  perfect 
model  for  hiftory;  and  fuch  as  have  form- 
ed themfelves  upon  him,  have  feldom  been 
fuccefsful.  He  is  to  be  admired,  rather 
than  imitated.  In  his  reflections  he  is  too 
refined;  in  his  ftyle  too  concife,  fometim.es 
quaint  and  affected,  often  abrupt  and  ob- 
fcure.  Hiilory  feems  to  require  a  more 
natural,  flowing,  and  popular  manner. 

Blair. 

§    122.      On  the  Beauty  of  Epijl  alary 
Writing. 

Its  firft  and  fundamental  requilite  is,  to 
be  natural  and  fimple;  for  a  Miff  and  la- 
boured manner  is  as  bad  in  a  letter,  as  it 
is  in  converfation.  This  does  not  banifh 
fprightlinefs  and  wit.  Thefe  are  graceful 
in  letters,  juft  as  they  are  in  converfation; 
when  they  flow  eaiily,  and  without  being 
ftudied;  when  employed  fo  as  to  feafon, 
not  to  cloy.  One  who,  either  in  converfa- 
tion or  in  letters,  affects  to  fhine  and  to 
fparkle  always,  will  notpleafe  long.  The 
ftyle  of  letters  ihould  not  be  too  highly 
poliflied.  It  ought  to  be  neat  and  correct, 
but  no  more.  All  nicety  about  words,  be- 
trays ftudy;  and  hence  mufical  periods, 
.  and  appearances  of  number  and  harmony 
in  arrangement,  ihould  be  carefully  avoided 
in  letters.  The  belt,  letters  are  commonly 
fuch  as  the  authors  have  written  with  moil 
facility.  What  the  heart  or  the  imagina- 
tion dictates,  always  flows  readily;  but 
where  there  is  no  fubject  to  warm  or  in- 
tereft  thefe,  conftraint  appears;  and  hence, 
thofe  letters  of  mere  compliment,  con- 
gratulation, or  affected  condolance,  which 
have  coll  the  authors  moll  labour  in  com- 
pofing,  and  which,  for  that  reafon,  they 
perhaps  confider  as  their  mailer-pieces, 
never  fail  of  being  the  moil:  difagreeable 
and  inlipid  to  the  readers. 

Ibid. 
$    123.     Eafe  in  writing  Letters  tnufl  not 
degenerate  to  carelejjhefs. 
Jt  ought,  at  the  fame  time,  to  be  remem- 


bered, that  the  eafe  and  fimplicity  which 
I  have  recommended  in  epiftolary  corre- 
fpondence,  are  not  to-be  underftood  as  im- 
porting entire  careleifnefs.  In  writing  to 
the  moil  intimate  friend,  a  certain  degree 
of  attention,  both  to  the  fubject  and  the 
ftyle,  is  requilite  and  becoming.  It  is  no 
more  than  what  we  owe  both  to  ourfelves, 
and  to  the  friend  with  whom  we  correfpond. 
A  ilovenly  and  negligent  manner  of  writ- 
ing, is  a  difobiiging  mark  of  want  of  re- 
flect. The  liberty,  befides,  of  writing  let- 
ters with  too  carelefs  a  hand,  is  apt  to  be- 
tray perfons  into  imprudence  in  what  they 
write.  The  firft  requiiite,  both  in  conver- 
fation and  correfpondence,  is  to  attend  to 
all  the  proper  decorums  which  our  own 
character,  and  that  of  others,  demand. 
An  imprudent  expreflion  in  converfation 
may  be  forgotten  and  pafs  away;  but 
when  we  take  the  pen  into  our  hand,  we 
muft  remember,  that  "  Litera  fcripta: 
ma  net."  Ibid. 

§  124.  On  Pliny'.;  Letters. 
Pliny's  letters  are  one  of  the  moil  cele- 
brated collections  which  the  ancients  have 
given  us,  in  the  epiftolary  way.  They 
are  elegant  and  polite;  and  exhibit  a  very 
pleafmg  and  amiable  view  of  the  author. 
But,  according  to  the  vulgar  phrafe,  they 
fmell  too  much  of  the  lamp.  They  are 
too  elegant  and  fine;  and  it  is  not  eafy  to 
avoid  thinking,  that  the  author  is  calling 
an  eye  towards  the  Public,  when  he  is  ap- 
pearing to  write  only  for  his  friends.  No- 
thing indeed  is  more  difficult,  than  for  an 
author,  who  publifhes  his  own  letters,  to 
diveil  himfelf  altogether  of  attention  to  the 
opinion  of  the  world  in  what  he  fays ;  by 
which  means,  he  becomes  muchlefs  agree- 
able than  a  man  of  parts  would  be,  if,  with- 
out any  conftraint  of  this  fort,  he  were  writ- 
ing to  his  intimate  friend.  Ibid, 

%   125.     On  Cicero'.?  Letters. 

Cicero's  Epiilles,  though  not  fo  fhowy 
as  thofe  of  Pliny,  are,  on  feveral  accounts, 
a  far  more  valuable  collection ;  indeed,  the 
moil  valuable  collection  of  letters  extant 
in  any  language.  They  are  letters  of  real 
bufmefs,  written  to  the  greateft  men  of  the 
age,  compofed  with  purity  and  elegance, 
but  without  the  leaft  affectation;  and,  what 
adds  greatly  to  their  merit,  written  without 
any  intention  of  being  publiihed  to  the 
Avorld.  For  it  appears  that  Cicero  never 
kept  copies  of  his  own  letters  ;  and  we  are 
wholly  indebted  to  the  care  of  his  freed - 
man  Tyro,  for  the  large  collection  that  was 

G  g  made, 


45° 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


made,  after  his  death,  of  thofe  which  are 
.cant,  amounting  to  near  a  thouiand*. 
They  contain  the  moil  authentic  materials 
of  the  hiilory  of  that  age;  and  arc  tb 
monument:,  which  remain  or"  Rome  in  its 
free  ftate;  the  greateft  part  of  them  being- 
written  durii  g  tha  ii  iportant  crifis,-  wh  n 
the  republic  v.  as  on  the  point  of  ruin  ;  the 
Hioft  interefting  fituation,  perhaps,  v. 
to  be  found  in  the  affairs  of  mankind.  To 
his  intimate  friend:;,  efpecially  to  Atticus, 
Cicero  lays  open  himfelf  and  his  heart, 
with  entire  freedom.  In  the  courfe  of  his 
correfpondence  with  others,  we  are  intro- 
duced into  acquaintance  with  feveral  of  the 
principal  perfonages  of  Rome;  and  it  is 
remarkable  that  moll  of  Cicero's  corre- 
fpondents,  as  well  as  himfelf,  are  elegant 
and  polite  writers;  which  ferves  to  height- 
en our  idea  of  the  tafte  and  manners  of 
that  age.  Blair. 

§  126.  O.v  Pope'/  and  SwiftV  Lei  , 
The  moll  dillinguilhed  collection  of  let- 
ters in  the  Englifh  language,  is  that  of  Mr. 
Pope,  Dean  Swift,  and  their  friends ;  partly 
publiihed  in  Mr.  Pope's  works,  and  partly 
in  thofe  of  Dean  Swift.  This  collection 
is,  on  the  whole,  an  entertaining  and  agree- 
able one;  and  contains  much  wit  and  in- 
genuity. It  is  not,  however,  altogether 
free  of  the  fault  which  1  imputed  to  Pliny's 
Epiilles,  of  too  much  fludy  and  refinement. 
In  the  variety  of  letters  from  different  per- 
fons,  c  1  leclion,  we  find 

manv  that  are  written  with  eafe,  and  a 
beautiful    fh  of  Dr.    Ar- 

buthnot,  in  iys  deferve  that 

praife.     E  •■  are  unafF 

and  a;  a  pvoo^  1  I  ing  fo,  they  ex- 

hibit his  ch  lly,  with  all  its  defetts; 

though  it  w  1  the  honour 

of  his  memory,  that  his  epiflolary  corre- 
fponde  -    been   drained'  to   the 

dregs,  by  fo    n  1  -   fucceffive  publications, 
as  have  been  given  to  the  world.     S 
of  Lord  Boli  Bifhop  At- 

terbury's  Letters,  are  mafterly.  The  cen- 
fureof  writing  letters  in  too  artificial  a  man- 
ner, falls  h  t  on  Mr.  Pope  himfelf. 
There  is  vifibly  more  fludy,  and  lefs  of  na- 
ture and  the  heart  in  his  letters,  than  in 
thofe  of  fome  of  his  correfpondents.  He 
had  formed  himfelf  on  the  manner  of  Voi- 

*  See  his  Letter  to  Atticus,  which  was  written 

a  year  -  lis  death,  in  which  he  tells 

:  enquiries  concerning  his 

epift!  he  had  no  collection  of  them,  and 

that   .  t  feveuty  of  them. 

Ad  Ai  t.  16.  5. 


ture,  and  is  too  fond  of  writing  like  a  wit. 
His  letters  to  ladies  are  full  of  affectation. 
Even  in  writing  to  his  friends,  how  forced 
an  introduction  is  the  following,  of  a  letter 
to  Mr.  Addifon :  "  I  am  more  joyed  at 
"  your  return,  than  I  jfhould  be  at  that  of 
"  the  Sun,  as  much  as  I  wifh  for  him  in 
"  thi  melancholy  wet  feafon;  but  it  is  his 
"  !   "  ,  like  3  ours,  to  be  difpleafing  to 

':  owls  and  obfeene  animals,  who  cannot 
"  bear  his  luilre."  How  iliif  a  compli- 
ment is  it,  which  he  pays  to  Bifnop  At- 
terbury  :  "  Though  the  noife  and  daily 
le  for  the  Public  be  now  over,  I  dare 
"  fay,  you  are  llill  tendering  its  welfare; 
"  as  the  Sun  in  winter,  when  feeming  to 
"  retire  from  the  world,  is  preparing 
"  warmth  and  benedictions  for  a  better 
"  feafon."  This  fentence  might  be  tole- 
rated in  an  harangue;  but  is  very  undat- 
able to  the  flyle  of  one  friend  correfpond- 
ing  with  another.  Ibid. 

§   127.     On  the  Letters  of  Balzac,  Voi- 
ture,    Sevigne\    and    Lady    Mary 

W  OR'l'LEY     M  O  N  T  A  G  U  E . 

The  gaietv  and  vivacity  of  the  French 
genius  appear  to  much  advantage  in  their 
letters,  and  have  given  birth  to  feveral 
agreeable  publications.  In  the  lafl  age, 
Balzac  and  Voiture  were  the  two  rnofl  ce- 
lebrated epiflolary  writers.  Balzac's  re- 
putation indeed  foon  declined,  on  account 
of  his  fwelling  periods  and  pompous  flyle. 
But  Voiture  continued  long  a  favourite  au- 
thor. His  compohti  is  '  fpark- 
ling;  he  fhows  a  great-  wit,  and  can 
trifle  in  the  moll  enter)  .inner.  His 
only  fault  is,  that  he  is  too  open  and  pro- 
ieffed  a  wit,  to  be  thoroughly  agreeable  as 
a  letter-writer.  The  letters  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne  are  now  efleemed  the  mofl  ac- 
complished model  of  a  familiar  correfpon- 
dence. They  turn  indeed  very  much  upon 
trifles,  the  incidents  of  the  day,  and  the 
news  of  the  town;  and  they  are  overloaded 
with  ex..  avagant  compliments,  and  expref- 
fions  of  fondnefs,  to  her  favourite  daugh- 
ter; but  withal,  they  fhew  fuch  perpetual 
fprightlinefs,  they  contain  fuch  eafy  and 
varied  narration,  and  fo  many  llrokes  of 
the  moll  lively  and  beautiful  painting,  per- 
fectly free  from  any  affectation,  that  they 
are  jullly  entitled' to  high  praife.  The 
Letters  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague 
are  not  unworthy  of  being  named  after 
thofe  of  Mad.  de  Sevigne.  They  have 
much  of  the  French  eafe  and  vivacity,  and 
retain    more   the   character  of  agreeable 

epiitclary 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


451 


fcpiftolary  ltyle,  than  perhaps  any  letters 
which  have  appeared  in  the  Englilfo  lan- 
guage. Blair \ 

§  128.     Lyric  Poetry.     On  Pindar., 

Pindar,  the  great  father  oflyric  poetry, 
has  been  the  occafion  of  leading  his  irnita- 
tors  into  fome  defects.  His  genius  was 
fublime;  his  expreflions  are  beautiful  and 
happy  ;  his  defcriptions  picturefque.  But 
finding  it  a  very  barren  fubjedt  to  fmg  the 
praiics  of  thole  who  had  gained  the  prize 
in  the  public  games,  he  is  perpetually  di- 
greilive,  and  fills  up  his  poems  with  fables 
of  the  gods  and  heroes,  that  have  little 
connection  either  with  his  fubjedt,  or  with 
one  another.  The  ancients  admired  him 
greatly;  but  as  many  of  the  hiftories  of 
particular  families  and  cities,  to  which  he 
alludes,  are  now  unknown  to  us,  he  is  fo 
obfcure,  partly  from  his  fubjects,  and  partly 
from  his  rapid,  abrupt  manner  of  treating 
them,  that,  notwith Handing  the  beauty  of 
his  expreffion,  our  pleafure  in  reading  him 
is  much  diminifhed.  One  would  ima- 
gine, that  many  of  his  modern  imitators 
thought  the  belt  way  to  catch  his  fpirit, 
was  to  imitate  his  diforder  and  obfcurity. 
Infeveral  of  the  chorufes  of  Euripides  and 
Sophocles,  we  have  the  fame  kind  oflyric 
poetry  as  in  Pindar,  carried  on  with  more 
clearnefs  and  connection,  and  at  the  fame 
time  with  much  fubiimity.  Ibid. 

§    129.      On  Flo  race,  as  a  Lyric  Poet. 

Of  all  the  writers  of  odes,  ancient  or 
modern,  there  is  none  that,  in  point  of 
eprrectnefs,  harmony,  and  happy  expref- 
fion,  can  vie  with  Horace.  He  has  de- 
fcended  from  the  Pindaric  rapture  to  a 
more  moderate  degree  of  elevation ;  and 
joins  connected  thought,  and  good  fenfe, 
with  the  higheft  beauties  of  poetry.  He 
does  not  often  afpire  beyond  that  middle 
region,  which  I  mentioned  as.  belonging 
to  the  ode;  and  thofe  odes,  in  which  he 
attempts  the  fublime,  are  perhaps  not  al- 
ways his  bell*.  The  peculiar  character, 
in  which  he  excels,  is  grace  and  elegance  ; 

*  There  is  no  ode  whatever  of  Horace's,  with- 
out great  beauties.  But  though  I  may  be  lingular 
in  my  opinion,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  in 
fome  of  thofe  odes  which  have  been  much  ad- 
mired for  fublimty  (fuch  as  Ode  iv.  Lib.  iv. 
V  Qua! em  miniftrum  fulminis  alitem,  &c") 
there  appears  fome  what  of  a  {trained  and  forced 
effort  to  be  lofty.  The  genius  of  this  amiable 
poet  mews  itfelf,  according  to  my  judgment,  to 
greater  advantage,  in  themes  of  a  more  temperate 
'kind. 


and  in  this  ftyle  of  compofition,  no  poet  has 
ever  attained  to  a  greater  perfection  than 
Horace.  No  poet  fupports  a  moral  fenti- 
mentvvith  more  dignity,  touches  a  gay  one 
more  happily,  or  pofTeffes  the  art  of  trifling 
more  agreeably,  when  he  chufes  to  trifle. 
His  language  is  fo  fortunate,  that  with  a 
fingle  word  or  epithet,  he  often  conveys  a 
whole  defcription  to  the  fancy.  Hence  he 
ever  has  been,  and  ever  will  continue  to 
be,  a  favourite  author  with  all  perfons  of 
tafte.  Ibid. 

§  150.     0;i   Casimir,  and  other  modtrtt 

Lyric  Poets.  . 

Among  the  Latin  poets  of  later  ages, 
there  have  been  many  imitators  of  Horace. 
One  of  the  molt  diitinguilhed  is  Cafimir, 
a  Poliih  poet  of  the  laft  century,  wfta 
wrote  four  books  of  odes.  In  graceful 
eafe  of  exprefiion,  lie  is  far  inferior  to  the 
Roman.  He  oftener  affects  the  fublime; 
and  in  the  attempt,  like  other  lyric  writers, 
frequently  becomes  harlh  and  unnatural. 
But,  on  feveral  occahons,  he  difcovers  a 
confiderable  degree  of  original  genius,  and 
poetical  fire.  Buchanan,  in  fome  of  his 
lyric  compofitions,  is  very  elegant  and  claf- 
fical. 

Among  the  French,  the  odes  of  Jean 
Baptilte  Roufieau  have  been  much  and 
jullly  celebrated.  They  poffefs  great 
beauty,  both  of  fentiment  and  exprellion. 
They  are  animated,  without  being  rhapfo- 
dical;  and  are  not  inferior  to  any  poetical 
productions  in  the  French  language. 

Jn  our  own  language,  we  have  feveral 
lyric  compofitions  of  confiderable  merit. 
Cry  den's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia,  is  well 
known.  Mr.  Grey  is  diitinguilhed  in 
fome  of  his  odes,  both  for  tendernefs  and 
fubiimity;  and  in  Dodfiey's  Mifcellanies, 
feveral  very  beautiful  lyric  poems  are  to 
be  found.  As  to  profeffed  Pindaric  odes, 
they  are,  with  a  few  exceptions,  fo  inco- 
herent, as  feldom  to  be  intelligible.  Cow- 
ley, at  all  times  harih,  is  doubly  fo  in  his 
Pindaric  compofitions.  In  his  Anacreon- 
tic odes,  he  is  much  happier.  They  are 
fmocth  and  elegant;  and,  indeed,  the  moll 
agreeable  and  the  molt  perfect,  in  their 
kind,  of  all  Mr.  Cowley's  poems.        Ibid. 

§  1 3 1.  On  the  different  Kinds  of  Poetical 
Compofition  in  the  Sacred  Books ;  and  of 
the  diftinguijbing  Characters  of  the  chief 
Writers,      if.   Of  the  Didasiic. 

The  feveral  kinds  of  poetical  compofition 

which  we  find  in  fcripture,  are  chiefly  the 

G  g  2  didactic, 


4*2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


didactic,  elegiac,  paStoral,  and  lyric.  Of 
the  didactic  Species  of  poetry,  the  Book  of 
Proverbs  is  the  principal  instance.  The 
nine  firft  chapters  of  that  book  are  highly 
poetical,  adorned  with  many  distinguished 
graces,  and  figures  of  exprefiion.  At  the 
10th  chapter,  the  ftyle  is  fenSibly  altered, 
and  deicends  into  a  lower  ftrain,  which  is 
continued  to  the  end;  retaining  however 
that  fententious,  pointed  manner,  and  that 
artful  construction  of  period,  which  diftin- 
guilhes  all  the  Hebrew  poetry.  The  Book 
of  Ecclefialtes  comes  likewife  under  this 
head;  and  fome  of  the  Pfalms,  as  the 
1 19th  in  particular.  Blair. 

§  132.  Of  the  Elegiac  and  Pajloral  Poetry 
of  Scripture. 

Of  elegiac  poetry,  many  very  beautiful 
fpecimens  occur  in  Scripture;  fuch  as  the 
lamentation  of  David  over  his  friend  Jo- 
nathan ;  feveral  paflages  in  the  prophetical 
books;  and  feveral  of  David's  Pfalms, 
compofed  on  occafions  of  diftrefs  and 
mourning.  The  43d  Pfalm,  in  particular, 
is,  in  tiie  higheft  degree,  tender  and  plain- 
tive. But  the  molt  regular  and  perfect 
elegiac  compofition  in  the  Scripture,  per- 
haps in  the  whole  world,  is  the  book,  en- 
titled the  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah,  As 
the  prophet  mourns  in  that  book  over  the 
destruction  of  the  Temple,  and  the  Holy 
City,  and  the  overthrow  of  the  whole  State, 
he  aflembles  all  the  affefting  images  which 
a  Subject  fo  melancholy  could  fuggeft.  The 
compofition  is  uncommonly  artificial.  By 
turns  the  prophet,  and  the  city  of  Jerufalem, 
are  introduced,  as  pouring  forth  their  for- 
rows;  and  in  the  end,  a  chorus  of  the  peo- 
ple fend  up  the  moil  earneft  and  plain- 
tive fupplications  to  God.  The  lines  of 
the  original  too,  as  may,  in  part,  appear 
from  our  transition,  are  longer  than  is 
ufual  in  the  other  kinds  of  Hebrew  poetry ; 
and  the  melody  is  rendered  thereby  more 
flowing,  and  better  adapted  to  the  queri- 
monious  ftrain  of  elegy. 

The  Song  of  Solomon  affords  us  a  hio-h 
exemplification  of  paftoral  poetry.  Con- 
fidered  with  refpeft  to  its  fpiritual  meaning 
it  is  undoubtedly  a  myftical  allegory ;  in 
its  form,  it  is  a  dramatic  paltoral,  or  a  per- 
petual dialogue  between  penonages  in  the 
chara&er  of  fhepherds :  and,  fuitably  to 
that  form,  it  is  full  of  rural  and  paftoral 
images,  from  beginning  to  end.       Ibid, 

§  133.     On  the  Lyric  Poetry  of  Scripture. 
Of  lyric  poetry,  or  that  which  is  inten- 


ded to  be  accompanied  with  mufic,  the 
Old  Teilament  is  full.  B elides  a  great 
number  of  hymns  and  fongs,  which  we 
find  Scattered  in  the  hiilorical  and  prophe- 
tical books,  fuch  as  the  fong  of  Mofes,  the 
fong  of  Deborah,  and  many  others  of  like 
nature,  the  whole  book  of  Pfalms  is  to  be 
considered  as  a  collection  of  facred  odes. 
In  thefe,  we  find  the  ode  exhibited  in  all 
the  varieties  of  its  form,  and  fupported 
with  the  higheft  fpirit  of  lyric  poetry; 
fometimes  Sprightly,  chearful,  and  trium- 
phant ;  fometimes  folemn  and  magnifi- 
cent ;  fometimes  tender  and  foft.  From 
theie  inftances,  it  clearly  appears,  that 
there  are  contained  in  the  holy  fcriptures 
full  exemplifications  of  feveral  of  the  chief 
kinds  of  poetical  writing.  Ibid. 

§  1 34.  A  Di'verfty  of  Style  and  Manner  in 
the  different  Compofers  of  the  Sacred  Books t 
On  Job,  David,  and  Isaiah. 

Among  the  different  compofers  of  the 
facred  books,  there  is  an  evident  diverfity 
of  ftyle  and  manner;  and  to  trace  their 
different  characters  in  this  view,  will  con- 
tribute not  a  little  towards  our  reading 
their  writings  with  greater  advantage.  The 
moft  eminent  of  the  facred  poets  are,  the 
author  of  the  Book  of  Job,  David,  and 
Jfaiah.  As  the  compofitions  of  David  are 
of  the  lyric  kind,  there  is  a  greater  variety 
of  ftyle  and  manner  in  his  works,  than  in 
thofe  of  the  other  two.  The  manner  in 
which,  confidered  merely  as  a  poet,  David 
chiefly  excels,  is  the  pleafing,  the  foft, 
and  the  tender.  In  his  Pfalms,  there  are 
many  lofty  and  fublime  paflages ;  but,  in 
Strength  of  defcription,  he  yields  to  Job; 
in  fublimity,  he  yields  to  Ifaiah.  It  is  a 
fort  of  temperate  grandeur,  for  which 
David  is  chiefly  diftinguifhed ;  and  to  this 
he  always  foon  returns,  when,  upon  fome 
occafions,  he  rifes  above  it.  The  pfalms 
in  which  he  touches  us  moft,  are  thofe  in 
which  he  defcribes  the  happinefs  of  the 
righteous,  or  the  goodnefs  of  God;  ex- 
preffes  the  tender  breathings  of  a  devout 
mind,  or  fends  up  moving  and  affectionate 
fupplications  to  heaven.  Ifaiah  is,  without 
exception,  the  moft  fublime  of  all  poets. 
This  is  abundantly  vifible  in  our  transla- 
tion; and,  what  is  a  material  circumftance, 
none  of  the  books  of  fcripture  appear  to 
have  been  more  happily  tranflated  than 
the  writings  of  this  prophet.  Majefty  is 
his  reigning  character;  a  majefty  more 
commanding,  and  more  uniformly  fupport- 
ed, than  is  to  be  found  among  the  reft  of 

the 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL   AND   HISTORICAL. 


45$ 


the  Old  Teftament  poets.  He  poffeffes, 
indeed,  a  dignity  and  grandeur,  both  in 
his  conceptions  and  expreffions,  which  are 
altogether  unparalleled,  and  peculiar  to 
himfelf.  There  is  more  clearnefs  and  order 
too,  and  a  more  viftble  diftribution  of  parts, 
in  his  book,  than  in  any  other  of  the  pro- 
phetical writings.  Blair. 

§   135.     On  Jeremiah. 

When  we  compare  him  with  the  reft  of 
the  poetical  prophets,  we  immediately  fee 
in  Jeremiah  a  very  different  genius.  Ifaiah 
employs  himfelf  generally  on  magnificent 
fubjects.  Jeremiah  feldom  difcovers  any 
difpofition  to  be  fublime,  and  inclines  al- 
ways to  the  tender  and  elegiac.  Ezechiel, 
in  poetical  grace  and  elegance,  is  much 
inferior  to  them  both;  but  he  is  diftin- 
guiihed  by  a  character  of  uncommon  force 
and  ardour.  To  ufe  the  elegant  expref- 
fions of  Bilhop  Lowth,  with  regard  to  this 
Prophet:  "  Eft  atrox,  vehemens,  tragi- 
"  cus ;  in  fenfibus,  fervidus,  acerbus,  in- 
"  dignabundus  ;  in  imaginibus,  fecundus, 
"  truculentus,  et  nonnunquam  pene  defor- 
"mis;  in  di&ione,  grandiloquus,  gravis, 
"  aufterus,  et  interdurn  incultus ;  frequens 
"  in  repetitionibus,  non  decoris  aut  gratiae 
"  caufa,  fed  ex  indignatinne  et  violentia. 
"  Quicquid  fufceperit  tra&andum,  id  fe- 
"  dulo  perfequitur;  in  eo  unice  haeret  de- 
"  fixus;  a  propofito  rard  derlecfens.  In 
"  ceteris,  a  plerifque  vatibus  fortaffe  fu- 
**  peratus;  fed  in  eo  genere.  ad  quod  vi- 
"  detur  a  natura  unice  comparatus,  nimi- 
"  rum,  vi,  pondere,  impetu,  granditate, 
*f  nemo  unquam  eum  iuperavit."  The 
fame  learned  writer  compares  Ifaiah  to 
Homer,  Jeremiah  to  Simonides,  and  Eze- 
chiel to  iEfchylus.  Moft  of  the  book  of 
Ifaiah  is  ftrictly  poetical;  of  Jeremiah  and 
Ezechiel,  not  above  one  half  can  be  held" 
to  belong  to  poetry.  Among  the  minor 
prophets,  Hofea,  Joel,  Micah,  Habakkuk, 
and  efpecially  Nahum,  are  diftinguifhed 
for  poetical  fpirit.  In  the  prophecies  of 
Daniel  and  Jonah,  there  is  no  poetry. 

ibid. 

§  136.  On  the  Book  of  Job. 
It  only  now  remains  to  fpeak  of  the 
book  of  Job.  It  is  known  to  be  extremely 
ancient;  generally  reputed  the  moft  an- 
cient of  all  the  poetical  books;  the  au- 
thor uncertain.  It  is  remarkable,  that  this 
book  has  no  connection  with  the  affairs  or 
manners  of  the  Jews,  or  Hebrews.  The 
fcene  is  laid  in  the  land  of  Uz,  or  Idumsea, 


which  is  a  part  of  Arabia ;  and  the  image- 
ry employed  is  generally  of  a  different  kind, 
from  what  I  before  fhowed  to  be  peculiar 
to  the  Hebrew  poets.  We  meet  with  no 
allufions  to  the  great  events  of  facred  hif- 
torv,  to  the  religious  rites  of  the  Jews, 
to  Lebanon  or  to  Carmel,  or  any  of  the 
peculiarities  of  the  climate  of  Judaea.  We 
find  few  comparifons  founded  on  rivers  or 
torrents;  thefe  were  not  familiar  objecls  in 
Arabia.  But  the  longeft  comparifon  that 
occurs  in  the  book,  is  to  an  object  frequent 
and  well  know*  in  that  region,  a  brook 
that  fails  in  the  feafon  of  heat,  and  difap- 
points  the  expectation  of  the  traveller. 

The  poetry,  however,  of  the   book  of 
Job,  is  not  only  equal  to  that  of  any  other 
of  the  facred  writings,  but  is  fuperior  to 
them  all,  except  thofe  of  Ifaiah  alone.     As 
Ifaiah  is  the  moft  fublime,  David  the  moft 
pleafing  and  tender,  fo  Job  is  the  moft  de- 
fcriptive,  of  all  the  infpired  poets.     A  pe- 
culiar glow  of  fancy,  and  ftrength  of  de- 
fcription,  characterise  the  author.     No  wri- 
ter  whatever  abounds  fo  much  in  meta- 
phors.    He  may  be  faid,  not  to  defcribe, 
but  to  render  vifible,  whatever  he  treats 
of.     A  variety  of  inftances  might  be  given. 
Let  us  remark  only  thofe  ftrong  and  lively- 
colours,  with  which,  in  the  following  paf- 
fages,  taken  from  the  1 8th  and  20th  chap- 
ters of  his  book,  he  paints  the  condition 
of  the  wicked;  obferve  how  rapidly  his 
figures  rife  before  us ;  and  what  a  deep 
impreffion,  at  the  fame  time,  they  leave  on 
the  imagination.     "  Knowert  thou  not  this 
"  of  old,  fince  man  was  placed  upon  the 
"  earth,  that  the  triumphing  of  the  wicked 
"  is   fhort,  and  the  joy  of  the  hypocrite, 
"  but  for  a  moment?  Though  his  excel- 
"  lency  mount  up  to  the  heavens,  and  his 
"  head  reach  the  clouds,  yet  he  fhall  perifn 
"  for  ever.     He  fhall  fly  away  as  a  dream, 
"  and  fhall  not  be  found;  yea,  he  ihall  be 
"  chafed  away,  as  a  vifion  of  the  night. 
"  The  eye  alio  which  faw  him,  fhall  fee 
"  him  no  more ;  they    which    have   feen 
"him,  ihall  fay,  where  is  he? — He  fhall 
"  fuck   the   poifon    of  afps,   the    viper's 
"  tongue  fhall  flay  him.     In  the  fullnefs  of 
"  his  fufficiency,  he   fhall    be    in   flraits; 
"  every  hand  mail  come  upon  him.     He 
"  ihall  flee  from  the  iron  weapon,  and  the 
"  bow  of  fteel  fhall   ftrike  him  through. 
"  All  darknefs  fhall  be  hid  in  hio  fecret 
"  places.     A  fire  not  blown  fhall  ccnfume 
"  him.     The  heaven  fhall  reveal  his  ini- 
"  quity,  and  the  earth  fhall  rile  up  againft 
«  him.     The  increafe  of  his  hour    fhall 
G  g  3  **  depart. 


4*4 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


*«  depart.  His  goods  flaall  flow  away  in 
"  the  day  of  wrath.  The  light  of  the 
"  wicked  fhall  he  put  out;  the  light  fhall 
"  be  dark  iii  his  tabernacle.  The  flops 
"  of  his  Strength  fhall  be  Straitened,  and 
"  his  own  counfel  lhall  call  him  down. 
"  For  he  is  call  into  a  net,  by  his  own 
"  feet.  He  walketh  upon  a  fnare.  Ter- 
"  rors  (hall  make  him  afraid  on  every 
"  and  the  robber  fhall  prevail  againSt  him, 
««  BrimStone  fhall  be  fcattered  upon  his 
"  habitation.  Kis  remembrance  '.hail  pe- 
€t  rifh  from  the  earth,  and  he  fhall  have 
"  no  name  in  the  ftreet.  He  fhall  be  iri- 
"  ven  from  light  into  darknefs.  They 
««  that  come  after  him  fhall  be  aftonifhed 
(t  at  his  day.  He  fhall  drink  of  the  wrath 
lc  of  the  Almighty."  Blair, 

§  137.  On  ike  Iliad  of  Ho  M  E R. 
The  Subject  of  the  Iliad  muf!  unques- 
tionably be  admitted  to  be,  in  the  main, 
happily  chofen.  In  the  days  cf  Homer, 
no  object  could  be  more  Splendid  and  dig- 
nified than  the  Trojan  war.  So  great  a 
confederacy  of  the  Grecian  Slates,  under 
one  leader,  and  the  ten  years  flege  which 
they  carried  on  Troy,  mull  have 

.d  the  renown  of 
.  and  interested  all  Greece 
in  the  traditions    concerning    the    heroes 
who  had  mod  eminei  dized  thera- 

U    in    thefe    traditions,     [ 
grounded  his  poem;  and  though  he  lived, 
as  ii  generally  believed,  only  two  or  three 
ie  Trojan  war,  yet,  through 
the  want  of  written  records,  trad  don 
>•  ti      ,  have  fallen    into  the  d 

of  obfcuiity  moSi  for  poetry;  and 

have  left  him  at  full  liberty  to  mix  a    m  : 

he  pleafed,   with  1       1 ,     • 

true  hiflory.     He  h  ls  not  chofi  . 
•    ,       .        ■  ■     ole  Trojan  war;  but,  with 

it,  tb  ixi    *  chiile    an 

memnon,  and  the   events    to    wh 
quarn  I  j     .       ife;  which,  tho    rh  th  y  tal  e 
up  fort}  .  nly}   y-et         j  ,  je   ^g 

jnoft  i  ,  ,  ■  ,,   moil   critic;  !  period 

of  the  war.     By  this  management,  he  has 
iter  unity  to  v. 

an  unconnected  hifto      of 
battles.     He  has  gained  one  hero,  or  prin- 
cipal   character,     Acini;.-,      1  .,,, 
ghout  the  work;  and  he 

fcord  amom 
.     .     At   the  fame  time,  I 
mer  is  ieis  fori         ;  in  his 
iu-liC(;i    t":  '  I,     The   plan  of  the 


iEneid  includes  a  greater  compafs  and  3 
more  agreeable  diversity  of  events ;  where- 
as the  Iliad  is  almoft  entirely  filled  with 
battles. 

The  praife  of  high  iuvention  has  in  every 
age  been  given  to  Homer,  with  the  greater! 
1.  The  prodigious  number  of  inci- 
dents, oi"  fpeeches,  of  characters  divine  and 
hum;:;),  with  which  he  abounds;  the  Sur- 
prising variety  with  which  he  has  diversi- 
fied his  battles,  in  the  wounds  and  deaths, 
and  little  hiilory-pieces  of  almoil  all  the 
perfons  flain,  difcoveran  invention  next  to 
boundlefs.  But  the  praife  of  judgment  is, 
in  my  opinion,  nolefs  due  to  Homer,  than 
that  of  invention.  His  flory  is  all  along 
conducted  with  great  art.  He  riles  upon 
us  gradually;  his  heroes  are  brought  out, 
one  after  another,  to  be  objects  of  cur  at- 
tention. The diftrefs thickens, as  thepoem 
advances;  and  every  thing  is  fo  contrived 
as  to  aggrandize  Achilles,  and  to  render 
him,  as  the  poet  intended  he  mould  be,  the 
caj  ital  figure. 

Bet  that  wherein  Horner  excels  all 
writers,  is  the  characterittical  part.  Here, 
he  is  without  a  rival.  His  lively  and  Spi- 
rited exhibition  of  characters,  is,  in  a  great 
meafure,  owing  to  his  being  ib  dramatic  a 
ing  e  .  where  v.  ith  dia- 
;:  on.     There  is  much 

mc    :  di      gue  in  Hoi 
G">  in<        .  I  ,n .  other  poet. 

Hid. 

§    I38-     On  the  Odyffey  of  Homer. 

My  ions,    hitherto,   have   been 

it  d  'pen  the  Iliad  only.  It  is  neceffary 
■  [*e  notice  of  the  Odyffey  alio. 
Longinus's  criticifm  upon  it  is  not  wit]  out 
foundation,  that  Homer  may,  in  this  poem, 
be  compared  to  the  letting  fun,  whole 
!  :ur  Still  remains,  without  the  heat  of 
his  merid  an  beams.  It  wants  the  vigour 
ity  of  the  Iliad;  yet,  at  the  fame 
■ffes  fo  many  beauties,  as  lo  be 
jultiy  entitled  to  high  praife.  It  is  a  very 
amuiing  poem,  and  has  much  greater  va- 
riety than  the  Iliad ;  it  contains  many  inte- 
resting hones ;  and  beautiful  defcriptions. 
We  fee  every  where  the  fame  defcriptive 
and  dramatic  genius,  and  the  fame  fertility 
or  invention,  that  appears  in  the  other  work. 
It  defcends  indeed  from  the  dignity  of 
gods,  and  heroes,  and  warlike  achieve- 
ments; but  in  rccomper.ee,  we  have  more 
pleafing  pidures  of  ancient  manners.  In- 
stead of  that  ferocity  which  reigns  in  the 
Iliad,  the   Odyffey  prefents  us  with   the 

jnoit 


BOOK     II,       CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


moft  amiable  images  of  hofpitality  and  hu- 
manity ;  entertains  us  with  many  a  won- 
derful adventure,  and  many  a  landscape  of 
nature  ;  and  inltructs  us  by  a  conftant  vein 
of  morality  and  vinue,  winch  runs  through 
the  poem.  Blair. 

\   139.   On  the  Beauties  of  Virgil. 

A'irgil  poffeffes  beauties  which  have 
juftly  drawn  the  admiration  of  ages,  and 
which,  to  this  day,  hold  the  balance  in 
equilibrium  between  his  fame  and  that  of 
Homer.  The  principal  and  diiiinguiihing 
excellency  of  Virgil,  and  which,  in  my 
opinion,  he  pofTeffes  beyond  all  poets,  is 
tendernefs.  Nature  had  endowed  him 
with  exquiute  fenfibility ;  he  felt  every 
affecting  circumftance  in  the  fcenes  he  de- 
fcribes  ;  and,  by  a  iingle  Itroke,  he  knows 
how  to  reach  the  heart.  Tins,  in  an  epic 
poem,  is  the  merit  next  to  fublimity  ;  and 
puts  it  in  an  author's  power  to  render  his 
compoiition  extremely  intererting;  to  all 
readers. 

The  chief  beauty  of  this  kind,  in  the 
Iliad,  is  the  interview  of  Hector  with  An- 
dromache. But,  in  the  iEneid,  there  are 
many  fuch.  The  fecond  book  is  one  of 
the  greatett  mailer-pieces  that  ever  was 
executed  by  any  hand  ;  and  Virgil  feems 
to  have  put  forth  there  the  whole  ltrength 
of  his  genius,  as  the  fubject  afforded  a  va- 
riety of  fcenes,  both  of  the  awful  and  ten- 
der kind.  The  images  of  horror,  prefen- 
ted  by  a  city  burned  and  lacked  in  the 
night,  are  finely  mixed  with  pathetic  and 
arf  ecting  incidents.  Nothing,  in  any  poet, 
is  more  beautifully  defcribed  than  the 
death  of  old  Priam;  and  the  family-pieces 
of  iEneas,  Anchifes,  and  Creufa,  are  as 
tender  as  can  be  conceived.  In  mitnypaf- 
fages  of  the  iEneid,  the  fame  pathetic  fpi- 
rit  ihines;  and  they  have  bees  always  the 
favourite  pahages  in  that  work.  The 
fourth  book,  for  initance,  relating  the  un- 
happy pailion  and  death  of  Dido,  has  been 
always  moft  juitiy  admired,  and  abounds 
with  beauties  of  the  higheit  kind.  The 
interview  of^Eneas  with  Andromache  and 
Helen  us,  in  the  third  book ;  the  epifodes 
of  Pallas  and  Evander,of  Nifus  and  Eury- 
alus,  ofLaufus  and  Mezentius,  in  the  Ita- 
lian wars,  are  all  linking  initances  of  the 
poet's  power  of  railing  the  tender  emo- 
tions. For  we  mutt  obferve,  that  though 
the  ^Eneid  be  an  unequal  poem,  and,  in 
fome  places,  languid,  yet  there  are  beau- 
ties fcattered  through  it  all;  and  not  a 
few,  even  in  the  lafi  fix  books.     The  belt 


455 

and  mod  finiflied  books,  upon  the  whole, 
are  the  iirJl,  the  fecond,  the  fourth,  the 
fixth,  the  feventh,  the  eighth,  and  the 
twelfth.  Ibid. 


§    140.   On  the   camper  alive  7,Icrit  y  Ho- 
mer    and  VlR  GIL. 

Upon  the  whole,  as  to  the  comparative 
merit  of  thofe  two  great  princes  of  epic 
poetry,  Homer  and  Virgil ;  the  former  mult 
undoubtedly  be  admitted  to  be  the  greater 
genius ;  the  latter,  to  be  the  more  correct 
writer.  Homer  was  an  original  in  his  art, 
and  difcovers  both  the  beauties  and  the 
defects,  which  are  to  be  expected  in  an  ori- 
ginal author,  compared  with  thofe  who 
lucceed  him  ;  more  boldnefs,  more  nature 
and  eaie,  more  fublimity  and  force  ;  but 
greater  irregularities  and  negligences  ia 
composition.  Virgil  has,  all  along,  kept 
his  eye  upon  Homer;  in  many  places  he 
has  net  io  much  imitated,  as  he  has  lite- 
rally tramlated  him.  The  defcription  of 
the  florin,  for  initance,  in  the  firft  ^Eneid, 
and  iEneas's  fpeech  upon  that  occalion, 
are  translations  from  the  fifth  book  of  the 
Odyffey  ;  not  to  mention  almoit  all  the 
fimiles  of  Virgil,  which  are  no  other  than 
copies  of  thoie  of  Homer.  The  pre-emi- 
nence in  invention,  therefore,  mult,  beyond 
doubt,  be  afcribed  to  Homer.  As  to  the 
pre-eminence  in  judgment,  though  many 
critics  are  difpofea  to  give  it  to  Virgil,  yet, 
in  my  opinion,  it  hangs  doubtful.  In  Ho- 
mer, we  difcern  all  the  Greek  vivacity  ;  in 
Virgil,  all  the  Roman  ftatelinefs.  Homer's 
imagination  is  by  much  the  molt  rich  and 
copious ;  Virgil's  the  molt  chaiie  and  cor- 
rect. The  lirength  of  the  former  lies,  in 
his  power  of  wanning  the  fancy  ;  that  of 
the  latter,  in  his  power  of  touching  the 
heart.  Horner's  ltyle  is  more  fimple  and 
animated;  Virgil's  more  elegant  and  uni- 
form. The  firit  has,  on  many  cccaficns, 
a  fublimity  to  which  the  latter  never  at- 
tains; but  the  latter,  in  return,  never  finks 
be-low  a  certain  degree  of  epic  dignity, 
which  cannot  fo  clearly  be  pronounced  of 
the  former.  Not,  however,  to  detract  from 
the  admiration  due  to  both  thefe  great 
poets,  molt  of  Homer's  defects  may  realon- 
ably  be  imputed,  not  to  his  genius,  but  to 
the  manners  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived; 
and  for  the  feeble  paffages  of  the  ^Eneid, 
this  excufe  ought  to  be  admitted,  that  the 
/Eneid  was  left  an  unfinished,  work. 

Ibid. 

To  the  admirers  of  polite  learning,  the  LeSures 
of  Dr.  Blair,  at  large,  are  ftjrongly  recom- 

C  g  4.  mended. 


456 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


mended.  The  Extra&s  in  this  book  r.re 
defigned  only  as  fpecimeus  of  that  elegant 
and  ufeful  work,  and  for  the  ufe  of  School- 
boys. It  would  be  unjuft,  and  indeed  im- 
practicable, to  give  any  more  Extracts, 
confidently  with  the  neceffary  limits  pre- 
fcribed  to  this  book. 

$    1 4 I.   On   the   Ancient  Writers;    and  on 
the  Labour  <with  which  the  Ancients  ccm- 

fofed. 

The  Ancients  (of  whom  we  fpeak)  had 
good  natural  parts,  and  applied  them  right ; 
they  underftood  their  own  ftrength,  and 
were  mailers  of  the  fubjecr.  they  under- 
took ;  they  had  a  rich  genius  'carefully 
cultivated;  in  their  writings  you  have  na- 
ture without  wildnefs,  and  art  without  of- 
tentation.  For  it  is  vain  to  talk  of  nature 
and  genius,  without  care  and  diligent  ap- 
plication to  refine  and  improve  them.  The 
fineft  paradife  will  run  wild,  and  lofe  both 
its  pleafure  and  ufefulnefs,  without  a  fkil- 
ful  hand  conftantly  to  tend  and  prune  it. 
Though  thefe  generous  fpirits  were  infpir- 
ed  with  the  love  of  true  praiie,  and  had  a 
modeft  affu  ranee  of  their  own  abilities ;  vet 
they  were  not  fo  felf-fuffkient,  as  to  ima- 
gine their  firft  thoughts  were  above  their 
own  review  and  correction,  or  their  la  ft 
above  the  judgment  of  their  friends.  They 
fubmitted  their  compofitions  to  the  cen- 
fure  of  private  perfons  and  public   affem- 

rlv,CS'  They  revievved>  altered,  and  po- 
lilhed,  till  they  had  good  hopes  they  could 
prefent  the  world  with  a  fmilhed  piece.  And 
fo  great  and  happy  was  their  judgment, 
that  they  underftood  when  they  had  done 
well,  and  knew  the  critical  feafon  of  iayin'o- 
afide  the  file.  6 

For,  as  thofe  excellent  matters,  Pliny 
and  Qumfiilian,  obferve,  there  may  be  an 
intemperance  in  correction;  when  an  in- 
genious man  has  fuch  an  excels  of  modeity 
and  faulty  diltruft  of  himfelf,  that  he  wears 
©ff  fome  of  the  neceffary  and  ornamental 
parts  of  his  difcourfe,  inftead  of  polifhing 
the  rough,  and  taking  off  the  fuperfluous. 

I  hefe  immortal  wits  did  not  prepofte- 
roufly  refolve  firft  to  be  authors,  and  then 
immediately  fall  to  writing  without  ftudy 
and  experience  ;  but  took  care  to  furnim 

themfelveswithknowledge  by  dofe  thought, 
felecl  converfation,  and  reading ;  and*  to' 
gain  all  the  information  and  light  that  was 
neceffary  to  qualify  them  to  do  jufHce  to 
their  fubjeft.  Then,  after  they  had  be- 
gun to  write,  they  did  not  hurry  on  their 
pen  with  fpeed  and  impatience  to  appear 


in  the  view  of  the  world;  but  they  took 
time  and  pains  to  give  every  part  of  their 
difcourfe  allpofiible  ftrength  and  ornament, 
and  to  make  the  whole  compofition  uni- 
form and  beautiful.  They  wifely  consi- 
dered, that  productions  which  come  before 
their  due  time  into  the  world,  are  feldom 
perfect  or  long-lived  ;  and  that  an  author 
who  defigns  to  write  for  pofterity,  as  well 
as  the  prefent  generation,  cannot  ftudy  a 
work  with  too  deep  care  and  refolute  in- 
duftry. 

Varus  tells  us  cf  his  incomparable  friend 
Virgil,  that  he  compofed  but  very  few 
veri'es  in  a  day.  Tint  consummate  philo- 
fopher,  critic,  and  poet,  regarded  the  va- 
lue, not  number  of  his  lines ;  and  never 
thought  too  much  pains  could  be  beftowed 
on  a  poem,  that  he  might  reafonably  ex- 
pect would  be  the  wonder  of  all  ages,  and 
laft  out  the  whole  duration  of  time.  Quinc- 
tilian  allures  us,  that  Salluft  wrote  with 
abundance  of  deliberation  and  prudent 
caution;  and  indeed  that  fully  appears 
from  his  complete  and  exquifite  writings. 
Demofthenes  laboured  night  and  day,  out- 
watched  the  poor  mechanic  in  Athens  (that 
was  forced  to  perpetual  drudgery  to  fup- 
port  himfelf  and  his  family)  till  he  had  ac- 
quired fuch  a  maftery  in  his  noble  profef- 
fion,  fuch  a  rational  and  over-ruling  vehe- 
mence, fuch  a  perfect  habit  of  nervous  and 
convincing  eloquence,  as  enabled  him  to 
defy  the  ftrongeft  oppofition,  and  to  tri- 
umph over  envy  and  time. 

Plato,  when  he  was  eighty  years  old, 
was  bufily  employed  in  "the  review  and 
amendment  of  his  divine  dialogues :  and 
fome  people  are  fevere  upon  Cicero,  that 
in  imitation  of  Plato,  he  was  fo  fcruoulous 
whether  he  ought  to  write  ad  Piraa  ox  in 
Pir<za,  Piraum  or  in  Piraum,  that  now  in 
the  fixtieth  year  cf  his  age,  in  the  fury  of 
the  civil  wars,  when  he  knew  not  how  to 
difpofe  of  his  family,  and  fcarce  expefted 
fafety,  he  earneftly  intreated  his  noble  and 
learned  friend  Attic  us  to  refolve  that  diffi- 
culty, and  cafe  him  of  the  perplexity  which 
it  created  him.  Whatever  raillery  or  re- 
flection fome  humourfome  wits  may  make 
upon  that  great  man's  exa&nefs  and  nicety 
in  that  refpeft,  and  at  fuch  a  time;  'tis  a 
plain  proof  of  his  wonderful  care  and  dili- 
gence m  his  compofition,  and  the  ftricl  re- 
gard he  had  to  the  purity  and  propriety 
of  his  language.  The  ancients  fo  accu- 
rately underllood,  and  fo  indefatigably 
iiudied  their  fubjecc,  that  they  fcarce  ever 

fail 


EOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.        457 


fail  to  fmifh  and  adorn  every  part   with 
itrong  fenfe,  and  lively  expreffion. 

Blacknuall, 

§   142.  On  Homer. 

'Tis  no  romantic  commendation  of  Ho- 
mer, to  fay,  that  no  man  understood  per- 
fons  and  things  better  than  he  ;  or  had  a 
deeper  infight  into  the  humours  and  paf- 
fions  of  human  nature.  He  reprefents 
great  things  with  fuch  fublimity,  and  little 
ones  witn  fuch  propriety,  that  he  always 
makes  the  one  admirable,  and  the  other 
pleafant. 

He  is  a  perfect  mafter  of  all  the  lofty 
graces  of  the  figurative  ftyle,  and  all  the 
purity  and  eafineis  of  the  plain.  Strabo, 
the  excellent  geographer  and  hiftorian, 
allures  us,  that  Homer  has  defcribed  the 
places  and  countries  of  which  he  gives 
account,  with  that  accuracy,  that  no  man 
can  imagine  who  has  not  feen  them ;  and 
no  man  but  mull  admire  and  be  aftoniihed 
who  has.  His  poems  may  juftly  be  com- 
pared with  that  fhield  of  divine  work- 
manlhip  fo  inimitably  reprefented  in  the 
eighteenth  book  of  the  Iliad.  You  have 
there  exact  images  of  all  the  actions  of 
war,  and  employments  of  peace;  and  are 
entertained  with  the  delightful  view  of  the 
univerfe.  Homer  has  ail  the  beauties  of 
every  dialed  and  ftyle  fcattered  through 
his  writings ;  he  is  fcarce  inferior  to  any 
other  poet,  in  the  poet's  own  way  and  ex- 
cellency ;  but  excels  all  others  in  force  and 
comprehenfion  of  genius,  elevation  of  fan- 
cy, and  immenfe  copioufnefs  of  invention. 
Such  a  fovereignty  of  genius  reigns  all 
over  his  works,  that  the  ancients  efteemed 
and  admired  him  as  the  great  High  Prieft 
of  nature,  who  was  admitted  into  her  inmoft 
choir,  and  acquainted  with  her  moft  folemn 
myfteries. 

The  great  men  of  former  ages,  with  one 
voice,  celebrate  the  praifes  of  Homer ;  and 
old  Zoilus  has  only  a  few  followers  in  thefe 
later  times,  who  detract  from  him  either  for 
want  of  Greek,  or  from  a  fpirit  of  conceit 
and  contradiction. 

Thefe  gentlemen  tell  us,  that  the  divine 
Plato  himfelf  banilhed  him  out  of  his  com- 
monwealth; which,  fay  they,  muft  be 
granted  to  be  a  blemiih  upon  the  poet's 
reputation.  The  reafon  why  Plato  would 
not  let  Homer's  poems  be  in  the  hands  of 
the  fubjedb  of  that  government,  was  be- 
caufe  he  did  not  efteem  ordinary  men  ca- 
pable readers  of  them.  They  would  be 
apt  to  pervert  his  meaning,  and  have  wrong 


notions  of  God  and  religion,  by  taking  his 
bold  and  beautiful  allegories  in  too  literal 
a  fenfe.  Plato  frequently  declares  that  he 
loves  and  admires  him  as  the  beft,  the  moil 
pleafant,  and  the  divineft  of  all  the  poets ; 
and  ftudioufly  imitates  his  figurative  and 
myftical  way  of  writing.  Though  he  for- 
bad his  works  to  be  read  in  public,  yet  he 
would  never  be  without  them  in  his  own 
clofet.  Though  the  philofopher  pretends, 
that  for  reafons  of  ftate  he  muft  remove 
him  out  of  his  city ;  yet  he  declares  he 
would  treat  him  with  all  poffible  refpeft 
while  he  ftaid  ;  and  difmifs  him  laden  with 
preients,  and  adorned  with  garlands  (as  the 
priefts  and  fupplicants  of  their  gods  ufed  to 
be)  ;  by  which  marks  of  honour,  all  peo- 
ple wherever  he  came  might  be  warned 
and  induced  to  efteem  his  perfon  facred, 
and  receive  him  with  due  veneration. 

Ibid. 

§  143.  On  Theocritus. 

If  we  mention  Theocritus,  he  will  be 
another  bright  inftance  of  the  happy  abi- 
lities and  various  accompliihments  of  the 
ancients.  He  has  writ  in  feveral  forts  of 
poetry,  and  fucceeded  in  all.  It  feems  un- 
neceflary  to  praife  the  native  fimplicity  and 
eafy  freedom  of  his  paftorals  ;  when  Virgil 
himfelf  fometimes  invokes  the  mufe  of  Sy- 
racufe ;  when  he  imitates  him  through  all 
his  own  poems  of  that  kind,  and  in  feveral 
paiTages  tranflates  him.  Quindlilian  fays 
of  our  Sicilian  bard,  that  he  is  admirable  in 
his  kind;  but  when  he  adds,  that  his  mufe 
is  not  only  fhy  of  appearing  at  the  bar,  but 
in  the  city  too,  'tis  evident  this  remark  muit 
be  confined  to  his  paftorals.  In  feveral  of 
his  other  poems,  he  fhews  fuch  ftrength  of 
reafon  and  politenefs,  as  would  qualify  him 
to  plead  among  the  orators,  and  make  him 
acceptable  in  the  courts  of  princes.  In 
his  fmaller  poems  of  Cupid  ftung,  Adonis 
killed  by  the  Boar,  Zee.  you  have  the  vi- 
gour and  delicacy  of  Anacreon;  in  his 
Hylas,  and  Combat  of  Pollux  and  Amycus, 
he  is  much  more  pathetical,  clear  and  plea- 
fant, than  ApoIIonius  on  the  fame,  or  any 
other  fubjecl.  In  his  converfation  of  Ale  - 
mena  and  Tirefias,  of  Hercules  and  the  old 
fervant  of  Augeas,  in  Cynicea  and  Thyo- 
nichus,  and  the  women  going  to  the  cere- 
monies of  Adonis,  there  is  all  the  eafinefs 
and  engaging  familiarity  of  humour  and 
dialogue,  which  reign  in  the  Odyffeis ;  and 
in  Hercules  deltroying  the  lion  of  Nemasa, 
the  fpirit  and  majefty  of  the  Iliad.  The 
panegyric  upon  king  Ptolemy  is  juftly  ef- 

teeraed 


,3 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


43 

teemed  an  original  and  model  of  perfection 
in  that  way  of  writing.  Both  in  that  ex- 
cellent poem,  and  the  noble  hymn  upon 
Caftorand  Pollux,  he  has  praifed  his  gods 
and  his  hero  with  that  delicacy  and  dexte- 
rity of  addrefs,  with  thofe  iublime  and 
graceful  expreffions  of  devotion  and  re- 
ipeft,  that  in  politenefs,  fmoothnefs  of  turn, 
and  a  refined  art  cf  praiftng  without  of- 
fence, or  appearance  of  flattery,  he  has 
equalled  Callimachus  :  and  in  loftinefs  and 
flight  of  thought,  fcarce  yields  to  Pindar  or 
Homer.  Blackball. 

§   144..  On  Herodotus. 

Herodotus  had  gained  experience  by 
travelling  over  all  his  own  country,  Th  rac  e, 
and  Scythia  ;  he  travelled  likewife  to  Ara- 
bia, Paleltine,  and  Egypt ;  where  he  care- 
fully viewed  the  chief  curiofities  and  moil 
remarkable  places,  and  converfed  with  the 
Egyptian  priefls,  who  informed  him  of  their 
ancient  hiftory,  and  acquainted  him  with 
their  cuftoms,  facred  and  civil.  J  ndeeel  he 
ipeaks  of  their  religious  rites  with  fuch 
plainnefs  and  clearnefs  in  fome  cafes,  and 
fuch  referve  and  reverence  in  others,  that 
1  am  apt  to  believe  he  was  initiated  into 
their  ceremonies,  and  confecrated  a  prieft 
cf  fome  of  their  orders*. 

Thus,  being  acquainted  with  the  molt, 
famous  countries,  and  valuable  tilings,  and 
knowing  tire  moil  confiderable  perfons  of 
the  age,  he  applied  himfelf  to  write  the 
hiftory  of  the  Greeks  and  Barbarians  :  and 
performed  the  noble  work  with  that  judg- 
ment, faithfulnefs,  and  eloquence,"  tl 
gained  him  the  approbation  and  applaufe 
of  the  moil  auguft  aflembly  in  the  v!  orld  at 
trfat  time,  the  flower  of  all  Greece,  met  to- 
r  at  the  Ol)  mpic  games. 
hiftory  1    ens  tc   the    read 

tquities  cf  Greece,  and  gives  iigh    to  all 

'  •  •'  hors.  j     :% 

§    145.   On  Livy. 

do  nol  find  t  lat  Id. 
,  or  boon  empk    cd   in  . 
;    yet  what  he  might  wan 
.  ■..   was  happily  fupplied  by     \ 
parts  and  eloquence,  by  fevere 
u  nwearied  endeavours  after  knowled 
-   fi  •  m  Ltioi  ;  fo  that  he  deff 
•    tintri     ,  towns,  leas,  and  ports,   1 

i  legions  and  navies  came,  •... 
he  fame  accuracy  and  pcrfi 

on,  lib.  ii.  feci.  3.  p. 

p.  1 14. ii.it.  171.  p.  1  56. 


poffible)  which  he  could  any  place  In  Italy  ; 
lays  a  fiege,  draws  up  an  army,  with  (kill 
and  conduct  fcarce  inferior  to  Csfar  him- 
-'■ ':  •     Was  I  much  charm  in  the  con  - 

1    inary  man,  as  there 
ritings,  the  gentleman  of  Ca'es 
•    ;  ids  long  journey,  who 

ce  only  to  fee  Livy,  upon 
f  his  incomparable  eloquence, 
■:  i  ilities ;  and  we  have 

received  fatisfa&ion, 
feen  Livy,  and  con- 
■  he  had  no  curiofity  to  fee 
Rome,  to  which  he  was  fonear;  and  which 
at  that  time  was,  for  its  magnificence  and 
■>  one  of  the  greateft  wonders  of  the 
[e  earth. 
_  Thefe  two  princes  of  Greek  and  Roman 
hiftory  tell  a  ftory,  and  make  up  adefcrip- 
tion,  with  inexpreflible  grace  ;  and   fo  de- 
licately mix  the  great  and  little  circum- 
ftances,  that  there  is  both  the  utmoit  dig- 


nity and  pleafure  in  it. 


Ibid. 


3    1 46.   Much  of  their   Beauty  arifes  from 
I  ariety. 

The  reader  is  always  entertained  with 
an  agreeable  variety,  'both  of  matter  and 
flyle,  in  Herodotus  and  Livy.  And  indeed 
every  author  that  expects  to  pleafe,  mult 
gratify  the  reader  with  variety  :  that  is  the 
univerfal  charm,  which  takes  with  people 
°t  «U  taftesand  complexions.  'Tis  an  ap- 
;  planted  in  us  by  the  Author  cf  our 

being  ;    and  is  natural  to  an  human  foul, 
whoie  immenfe  defires  nothing  but  an  in- 
■  ood,  and  unexhauiled  pleafure,  can 
gratify.     Ti  palatable difh  be- 

comes if  it  be  always  fet  before 

luflcal  and  harmonious 
m Ces^  t0  :   0  :en  ably  ftruck, 

i'::  -:c   ■  -dug  of  the  moil 

fui  difecrd. 

of  their  fpi- 
"■-,  vvere  fenfible  cf  this; 
)u  find  a  continual  change, 
iicious  variation,  in  their  ftyle  and 
iers. 
pafTage  appears  to  be  learned,  and 
red;  an  unfxudied  eafmefs, 
ing    negligence,   runs  through 
ext.     One  fentence  turns  quick  and 
,  immediately  following, 
runs  into  longer  meafures,  and  fpreads  it- 
•'  v;:i  of  elegant  and  beautiful 

ncy.  'i  hey  feldom  ufe  many  periods 
ing  of  the  fame  number  of 
n  embers;  nor  are  the  members  of  their  pe- 
riods 


BOOK    II.     CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


459 


nods  of  equal  length,  and  exaft  meafure, 
one  with  another. 

The  reflections  that  are  made  by  thefc 
noble  writers,  upon  the  conduct  and  hu- 
mours of  mankind,  the  interefts  of  courts, 
and  the  intrigues  of  parlies,  are  fo  curious 
and  inilruclive,  fo  true  in  their  fubftance, 
and  fo  taking  and  lively  in  the  manner  of 
their  expreffion,  that  they  fatisfy  the  found- 
eft  judgment,  and  pleaie  the  moil  fprightly 
imagination.  Fromthefe  glorious  authors 
we  have  inftru&ion  without  the  common 
formality  and  drynefs  of  precept ;  and  re- 
ceive the  moil  edifying  advice  in  the 
pleafing  way  of  insinuation  and  furprize. 

Blackball. 

§    147.  Perjpicuity  a  principal  Beauty  of  the 
ClaJJic  r. 

Another  excellency  of  the  true  dailies  is, 
perfpicuity,  and  clear  ilyle  ;  which  vviil  ex- 
,cufe  and  cover  feveral  faults  in  an  author  ; 
but  the  want  of  it  is  never  to  be  atoned  by 
any  pretence  of  loftinefs,  caution,  or  any 
ccnfideration  whatever. 

And  this  is  the  effect  of  a  clear  head, 
and  vigorous  underitanding  ;  of  clofe  and 
regular  thinking,  and  the  diligence  of  feleft 
reading.  A  man  fnouid  write  with  the 
fame  defign  as  he  fpeaks,  to  be  underilcod 
with  eaie,  and  to  communicate  his  mind 
with  pleafure  and  inftruftion.  Ifwefelect 
Xenophon  out  of  the  other  Greek  dailies, 
whether  he  writes  of  the  management  of 
family  affairs,  or  the  more  arduous  matters 
of  irate  and  policy  ;  whether  he  gives  an 
account  of  the  wars  of  the  Grecians,  or 
the  morals  of  Socrates  ;  the  ilyle,  though 
fo  far  varied  as  to  be  fuitable  to  every  fub- 
y.'-ii,  yet  is  always  clear  and  fignificant, 
fweet  without  luiciouihefs,  and  elegantly 
eafy. 

In  this  genteel  author  we  have  all  the 
politenefs  of  a  ftudied  composition;  and 
yet  all  the  freedom  and  winning  familiarity 
of  elegant  converfation. 

Here  I  cannot  but  particularly  mention 
Xenophon's  Sympofium,  wherein  he  has 
given  us  an  eafy  and  beautiful  defcription 
of  a  very  lively  and  beautiful  converfation. 
The  pleafant  and  ferious  are  there  fo  hap- 
pily mixed  and  tempered,  that  the  difcourfe 
is  neither  too  light  for  the  grave,  nor  too 
foiemn  for  the  gay.  There  is  mirth  with 
dignity  and  decorum;  and  philofophy  at- 
tended and  enlivened  by  all  the  graces. 

Ibi4. 


%  148.  On  Cicero. 
If  among  the  Latin  daffies  we  name 
Tully,  upon  every  fubject  he  equally 
(hews  the  ftrength  of  his  reafon,  and  the 
brightnefs  of  his  ilyle.  Whether  he  ad- 
dreiies  his  friend  in  the  moil  graceful  neg- 
ligence of  a  familiar  letter,  or  moves  his 
auditors  with  laboured  periods,  and  paf- 
fionate  ftrains  of  manly  oratory  ;  whether 
he  proves  the  majefty  of  God,  and  im- 
mortality of  human  fouls,  in  a  more  fub- 
iime  and  pompous  eloquence ;  or  lays 
down  the  rules  of  prudence  and  virtue,  in 
a  more  calm  and  even  way  of  writing; 
he  always  exprefTes  good  fenfe  in  pure  and 
proper  language  :  he  is  learned  and  eafy, 
richly  plain,  and  neat  without  affectation. 
He  is  always  copious,  but  never  runs  into 
a  faulty  luxuriance,  nor  tires  his  reader  : 
and  though  he  fays  almoft  every  thing  that 
can  be  faid  upon  his  fubject.,  yet  you  will 
fcarce  ever  think  he  fays  too  much.     Ibid. 

§    1 49.   On  the  Obfcurities  in  the  ClaJJics. 

Thofe  few  obfcurities  which  are  in  the 
beft  authors,  do  not  proceed  from  haile  and 
confufion  of  thought,  or  ambiguous  ex- 
preffions,  from  a  long  crowd  of  parenthe- 
fes,  or  perplexed  periods ;  but  either  the 
places  continue  the  fame  as  they  were  in 
the  original,  and  are  net  intelligible  to  us 
only  by  reafon  of  our  ignorance  of  fome 
cuftoms  of  thofe  times  and  countries;  or 
the  paflages  are  altered  and  fpoiled  by  the 
prefumpaon  and  bufy  impertinence  of 
fooliih  tranferibers  and  conceited  critics. 
Which  plainly  appears  from  this,  that  iir.ee 
we  have  had  more  accurate  accounts  of  the 
Greek  and  Roman  antiquities,  and  old  ma- 
nuscripts have  been  fearched  and  com- 
pared by  able  and  diligent  hands,  innu- 
merable errors  have  been  rectified,  and 
corruptions  which  have  crept  into  the  text, 
purged  out :  a  various  reading  happily  dis- 
covered, the  removal  of  a  verfe,  or  a. 'point 
of  diitinction  out  of  the  wrong  into  the 
right  place,  or  the  adding  a  imali  mark 
where  it  was  left  out,  has  given  clear 
light  to  many  paflages,  which  for  ages  had 
lain  overfpread  with  an  error,  that  had 
obfeured  tire  fenfe  of  the  author,  and  quite 
confounded  all  the  commentators.  The 
latter  part  of  the  thirty-fecond  verfe  of 
the  hymn  of  Caliimachus  on  Apollo  was 
in  the  firil  editions  thus,  Ti?  uv  h^a.  <ba7Qoi> 
a'c'iooi ;  "  who  can  fmg  of  Phoebus  in  the 
mountains  ?"  which  was  neither  fenfe  of 
itfelf,  nor  had  any  connection  with  what 
went  before.     But  Stephens's  amendment 

of 


4-5° 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSK. 


of  it  fet  right  both  the  fenfe  and  the  con- 
nexion, without  altering  a  letter  ;  Tig  av  a 
fix  $*7Sov  citloor,  "  Phoebus  is  an  unexhaust- 
ed fubject  of  praife  ;" — among  all  his  glori- 
ous qualifications  and  exploits,what  poet  can 
be  fo  dull,  what  wit  lb  barren,  as  to  want 
materials  for  an  hymn  to  his  honour  ? — In 
the  fourth  verfe  of  the  eleventh  epigram 
of  Theocritus,  there  wanted  a  little  point 
in  the  word  ^.»o9s't»jc,  which  took  cfFall  the 
fprightlinefs    and    turn  of    the    thought ; 
which  Daniel  Heinfius  luckily  reitored,  by 
changing  the  nom.  ling.  IpvoMr/ig,  into  the 
dat.  plur.   ^'.vo&iT'jf.       "    The   friends  of 
Eulthenes  the  poet,  gave  him,  though  a 
itranger,  an  honourable  burial  in  a  foreign 
country ;  and  the  poet  was  extremely  be- 
loved   by  '"em."     How    flat    and  infipid  ! 
According  to  the  amendment  it  runs  thus: 
"    The  acquaintance  of  Eulthenes  buried 
him    honourably,    though    in     a    foreign 
country,  and  he  was  extremely  beloved  by 
his  brother  poets  themfelves."   For  a  man 
to  be  mightily  honoured  by  ftrangers,  and 
extremely  beloved  by  people  of  the  fame 
profeffion,  v/ho  are  apt  to  malign  and  en- 
vy one  another,  is  a  very  high  commenda- 
tion of  his  candour,  and  excellent  temper. 
That  very  valuable  amendment  in  the  fixth 
line  of  Horace's  preface  to  his  odes,  has 
cleared  a   difficulty,  which    none  of  the 
critics  could  handlbmely  acquit  themfelves 
of  before  the  admirable  Dr.  Bentley  ;  and 
has  refcued  the  poet,  eminent  for  the  clear- 
nefs  of  his  ityle,  from  the  imputation  of 
harfhnefs  and  obfeurity  in  the  very  begin- 
ning, and  firft  addrefs  to  his  reader ;  where 
peculiar  care  and  accuracy  are  expefted. 
It  would  be  endlefs  to  mention  the  nume- 
rous places  in  the  ancients  happily  reitored 
and  illuibrated  by  that  great  man;  who  is 
not  only  a  found  and  difcerning  critic,  but 
a  clean  and  vigorous   writer,  excellently 
/killed  in  all  divine  and  human  literature ; 
to  whom  all  fcholars  are  obliged  for    his 
learned  performances  upon  the  daffies ;  and 
all  mankind  for  his  noble  and  glorious  de- 
fence of  religion.     The  learned   Meurfius 
was  itrangely   puzzled  with  a  paffage  in 
Minutius    Felix*  ;    and    altered    the  text 
with  fuch   intolerable  boldnefs,  as,  if  al- 
lowed, would  foon  pervert  and  deitroy  all 
good  authors ;  which  the  ingenious  editor 
of  that  father  has  cleared,  by  putting  the 
points  of  diftin&ion  in  their  proper  places. 
Reges  tantum  regnifui,per  officio,  minijirorum, 
um-verfa  novire.     Meurfius   had  difguifed 


and  deformed  the  paffage  thus :  Reges Jla~ 
turn  regni  fui  per  officio,  minijirorum  diverfa 
no-vere.  Dr.  Eentley  has  made  a  certain 
emendation  in  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  only 
by  altering  the  places  of  two  lines,  making 
that  which  was  the  forty-fixth  in  the  com- 
mon books,  the  forty-fifth  in  his  own 
beautiful  editions.  Blackball. 


*  Mir..   Felix., 
1C3.  not   7 


Ciimb.   edit,  by  Davis*    §  33. 


§    150.  Oft  fever al  Ad-vantages  which  the 
ClaJJics  enjoyed. 

It  was  among  the  advantages  which  the 
chief  clafiics  enjoyed,  that  moll  of  them 
were  placed  in  profperous  and  plentiful 
circumftances  of  life,  raifed  above  anxi- 
ous cares,  want,  and  abjecl  dependance. 
They  were  perfons  of  quality  and  fortune, 
courtiers  and  ftatefmen,  great  travellers, 
and  generals  of  armies,  poffeffed  of  the 
higher!  dignities  and  ports  of  peace  and  war. 
Their  riches  and  plenty  furnilhed  them 
with  leifure  and  means  of  ftudy ;  and  their 
employments  improved  them  in  knowledge 
and  experience.  How  lively  mult  they 
defcribe  thofe  countries,  and  remarkable 
places,  which  they  had  attentively  viewed 
with  their  own  eyes !  What  faithful  and 
emphatical  relations  were  they  enabled  to 
make  of  thofe  councils,  in  which  they  pre- 
fided  ;  of  thofe  aclions  in  which  they  were 
prefent  and  commanded  ! 

Herodotus,  the  father  of  hiftory,  befides 
the  advantages  of  his  travels  and  general 
knowledge,  was  fo  confiderable  in  power 
and  interelt,  that  he  bore  a  chief  part  in 
expelling  the  tyrant  Lygdamis,  who  had 
ufurped  upon  the  liberties  of  his  native 
country. 

Thucydides  and  Xenophon  were  of  dif- 
tinguifhed  eminence  and  abilities,  both  in 
civil  and  military  affairs ;  were  rich  and 
noble;  had  ftrong  parts,  and  a  careful 
education  in  their  youth,  completed  by  fe- 
vere  ltudy  in  their  advanced  years :  in 
fhort,  they  had  all  the  advantages  and  ac- 
complilhments  both  of  the  retired  and  ac- 
tive life. 

Sophocles  bore  great  offices  in  Athens ; 
led  their  armies ;  and  in  ftrength  of  parts, 
and  noblenefs  of  thought  and  expreffion, 
was  not  unequal  to  his  colleague  Pericles  ; 
who,  by  his  commanding  wifdom  and  elo- 
quence, influenced  all  Greece,  and  was  faid 
to  thunder  and  lighten  in  his  harangues. 

Euripides,  famous  for  the  purity  of  the 
Attic  ltyle,  and  his  power  in  moving  the 
palfions,  efpecially  the  fofter  ones  of  grief 
and  pity,  was  invited  to,  and  generoufly 
entertained    in,  the  court  of   Archelaus 

king 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


4&S 


3ung  of  Macedon.  The  fmoothnefs  of  his 
compofition,  his  excellency  in  dramatic 
poetry,  the  foundnefs  of  his  morals,  con- 
veyed in  the  fweeteft  numbers,  were  fo 
univerfally  admired,  and  his  glory  fo  far 
fpread,  that  the  Athenians,  who  were  taken 
prifoners  in  the  fatal  overthrow  under  Ni- 
cias,  were  preferved  from  perpetual  exile 
and  ruin,  by  the  aftonifhing  refpect  that 
the  Sicilians,  enemies  and  ftrangers,  paid 
to  the  wit  and  fame  of  their  illuitrious 
countryman.  As  many  as  could  repeat 
any  of  Euripides's  verfes,  were  rewarded 
with  their  liberty,  and  generoufly  fenthome 
with  marks  of  honour. 

Plato,  by  his  father's  fide,  fprung  from 
Codrus,  the  celebrated  king  of  Athens ; 
and  by  his  mother's  from  Solon,  their  no 
lefs  celebrated  law-giver.  To  gain  expe- 
rience, and  enlarge  his  knowledge,  he 
travelled  into  Italy,  Sicily,  and  Egypt.  He 
was  courted  and  honoured  by  the  greatefl 
men  of  the  age  wherein  he  lived ;  and  will 
be  ftudied  and  admired  by  men  of  talte  and 
judgment  in  all  fucceeding  ages.  In  his 
works,  are  ineftimable  treasures  of  the  beft 
learning.  In  fliort,  as  a  learned  gentle- 
man fays,  he  writ  with  all  the  ftrength  of 
human  reafon,  and  all  the  charm  of  human 
eloquence. 

Anacreon  lived  familiarly  with  Poly- 
crates  king  of  Samos :  and  his  fprightly 
mufe,  naturally  flowing  with  innumerable 
pleafures  and  graces,  muft  improve  inde- 
licacy and  fweetnefs  by  the  gaiety  and  re- 
fined converfation  of  that  flourifhing  court. 

The  bold  and  exalted  genius  of  Pindar 
was  encouraged  and  heightened  by  the  ho- 
nours he  received  from  the  champions  and 
princes  of  his  age;  and  his  converfation 
with  the  heroes  qualified  him  to  fing  their 
praifes  with  more  advantage.  The  con- 
querors at  the  Olympic  games  fcarce  va- 
lued their  garlands  of  honour,  and  wreaths 
of  victory,  if  they  were  not  crowned  with 
his  never-fading  laurels,  and  immortalized 
by  his  celeftial  fong.  The  noole  Hiero 
of  Syracufe  was  his  generous  friend  and 
patron ;  and  the  rr.oft  powerful  and  polite 
Hate  of  all  Greece  eiteemed  a  line  of  his  in 
praife  of  their  glorious  city,  worth  public 
acknowledgments,  and  a  feat ue.  Moftof 
the  genuine  and  valuable  Latin  daffies 
had  the  fame  advantages  of  fortune,  and 
improving  converfation,  the  fame  encou- 
ragements with  thefe  and  the  other  cele- 
brated Grecians. 

Terence  gained  fuch  a  wonderful  infight 
into  the  characters  and  manners  of  man- 
kind, fuch  an  elegant  choice  of  words,  and 


fluency  of  ftyle,  fuch  judgment  in  the  con- 
duct of  his  plot,  and  luch  delicate  and 
charming  turns,  chiefly  by  the  converfa- 
tion of  Scipio  and  Laelius,  the  greatefl 
men,  and  molt  refined  wits,  of  their  age. 
So  much  did  this  judicious  writer,  and 
clean  fcholar,  improve  by  his  diligent  ap- 
plication to  ftudy,  and  their  genteel  and 
learned  converfation  ;  that  it  was  charged 
upon  him  by  thofe  who  envied  his  fuperior 
excellencies,  that  he  publifhed  their  com- 
pofkions  under  his  own  name.  His  ene- 
mies had  a  mind  that  the  world  mould  be- 
lieve thofe  noblemen  wrote  his  plays,  but 
fcarce  believed  it  themfelves  ;  and  the 
poet  very  prudently  and  genteely  flighted 
their  malice,  and  made  his  great  patrons 
the  fineit  compliment  in  the  world,  by  ef- 
teeming  the  accufation  as  an  honour,  ra- 
ther than  making  any  formal  defence 
againft  it*. 

Sallult,  fo  famous  for  his  neat  expref- 
flve  brevity  and  quick  turns,  for  truth  of 
fact:  and  clearnefs  of  ityle,  for  the  accuracy 
of  his  characters,  and  his  piercing  view  in- 
to the  my  fteries  of  policy  and  motives  of 
action,  cultivated  his  rich  abilities,  and 
made  his  acquired  learning  fo  ufeful  to  the 
world,  and  fo  honourable  to  himfelf,  by 
bearing  the  chief  offices  in  the  Roman  go- 
vernment, and  fnaring  in  the  important 
councils  and  debates  of  the  fenate. 

Caifar  had  a  prodigious  wit,  and  univer- 
fal  learning ;  was  noble  by  birth,  a  con- 
fummate  ftatefman,  a  brave  and  wife  gene- 
ral, and  a  molt  heroic  prince.  His  prudence 
and  modefty  in  fpeaking  of  himfelf,-  the 
truth  and  clearnefs  of  his  defcriptions,  the 
inimitable  purity  and  perfpicuity  of  his 
ftyle,  diflinguifh  him  with  advantage  from 
all  other  writers.  None  bears  a  nearer  re- 
femblance  to  him  in  more  inftances  than  the 
admirable  Xenophon.  What  ufeful  and 
entertaining  accounts  might  reafonably  be 
expected  from  fuch  a  writer,  who  gives 
you  the  geography  and  hiftory  of  thofe 
countries  and  nations,  which  he  himfelf 
conquered,  and  the  defcription  of  thofe 
military  engines,  bridges,  and  encamp- 
ments, which  he  himfelf  contrived  and 
marked  out ! 

The  beft  authors  in  the  reign  of  Au- 
guftus,  as  Horace,  Virgil,  Tibullus,  Pro- 
pertius,  &c.  enjoyed  happy  times,  and 
plentiful  circumftances.  That  was  the 
golden  age  of  learning.  They  flourifhed 
under  the  favours  and  bounty  of  the  rich- 
eft  and  moft  generous  court  in  the  world  ; 


*  See  Prologue  to  Adelphi,  v.  15—22; 


and 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


46z 

and  the  beams  of  majefty  fhone  bright  and 
propitious  on  them. 

What  could  be  too  great  to  expect  from 
fuch  poets  as  Horace  and  Virgil,  beloved 
and  munificently  encouraged  by  fuch  pa- 
trons as  Maecenas  and  Auguilus? 

A  chief  reafon  why  Tacitus  write 
fuch  ik ill  and  ,  that  he  makes  fuch 

deep  fearches  into  the  nature  of  things, 
and  defigns  of  men,  that  he   fo  exquifil 
undej  lands   the   fecrets    and   i     .       ss   of 
courts,  was,  that  h  i    f  was  admittc  I 

into  the  higheir.  places  of  truft,  and  em- 
ployed in  the  molt  public  and  important 
affairs.  The  fhtefman  brightens  thefcho- 
lar,  and  the  conful  improves  and  elev  I  - 
the  hiftorian.  .  Blackmail. 

§    151.    On    the   Care    of  the    Ancients    in 
fclccli  ■'  rs. 

The  Ancients  ;  to    be  ad- 

mired for  their  care  and  ha 
in  felecling  out  the  nohlefl  and  moll  v.  I  li- 
able numhers,  upon  which  the  force  and 
pleafantnefs  of  ifyle  principally  depend. 
A  difcourfe,  confuting  moll  of  the  ftrong- 
eit  numbers,  and  belt  fort  of  feet,  fuch  as 
1  -  Spondee,    Anapeil,   Mol   I  , 

ic,    &c.    regularly  compacted,   Hands 
.  and  Iteady,  and  fou  w:s  ma  rnificent  and 
eeable   to  a  judicious  ear.        But  a  dif- 
courfe  --.:■■  ie  up  oi    tj  e  we  d.    1    nan, be;. , 
and   the    word   fort  of  1       ,    fuch     as   the 
pyrrhichee,  Choree,  Tro  I      ,  t\      i  ■  !■■    . 
1  '         ble    with   fuch 

advantage  to  expn      1  it  c  :n- 

iiot  be  ;  i  1    •  d  with  eai  ieard 

with  paw  nee.     Th  ■  daffies 

are  generally  con;  .   . , 

of  the  noblei  , 

are  forced  to  ufe  weakei  .     ,     rid- 

ing feet  and  n  ,   1      y  fo 

temper  and  ilreng 

nervous  Syllables  on  bot  ,         :  the 

imperfection  is  covered,  a  i  >  of 

the  fentence  preferved  an  I  I 

Ibid. 

§    1^2.   On   their  making  the  I 

to   the   Sen    . 

■   encj  .nearly 
•rious    write  t] 

ing  t!ie  contexture  of  their  difcourfe, 
and  the  found  of  their  fyllables,  to  th 

ter  of  their  fubjecls.  That 

is,  tl    y  fo  contrive  and  work    their  com- 

n,  that  the  found  (hall  Le  a  refem- 

blaj      .  or,  as  Longinus  fay;;,  an  echo  of 

ively  pictures  of  things. 

:L  of  beauty,  and 


the  charms  of  joy  and  gaiety,  they  avoid 
difagreeable  eliiions ;  do  not  make  the  dif- 
courfe hard  1  by  joining  mutes  and  coupling 
letters,  that,  being  united,  make  a  dii- 
taifeful  and  grating  found.  Put  by  the 
choice  of  the  beft  vowels,  and  the  fweet- 
<-d  half- vowels,  the  whole  compofition 
is  made  fmooth  and  delicate ;  and  glides 
with  c  fmefs  and  pleafure  through  the 
ear. 

In  defcribing  of  a  thing  orperfonfull  oi 
tern  or,  ruggednefs,  or  deformity,  they  ufe 
the  word-founding  vowels;  and  encumber 
the  fyllables  with  mutes  of  the  roughed: 
and  molt  difficult  pronunciation.  The 
ruffling  of  land-floods,  the  roaring  of  huge 
waters,  and  the  dafhing  of  waves  againfr. 
the  fhores,  is  imitated  by  words  that  make 
a  vaft  and  boifterous  found,  and  rudely 
clafh  together. 

The  great  Plato,  who  had   a  genius  for 
all  manner  of  learning,   was  difcouraged 
from  poetry  by  reading  that  verfe  in  1 
mer,   which  fo  wonderfully  expreffes  the, 
roaring  of  the  billows : 

Hioinq  poocaiTtp  IcBVyof/Awq  iw.l;  efw  *. 

Made  and  fwiftnefs  are  figured  by  fliort 
fyllables,  by    quick  and  rapid   numbers; 

nefs,  gravity,   &c.  by   long  fyllab 
and   numbers  ftrong  and  folemn.     I  (hall 
pro  iuce  fome  inftances,  and  fpeak  to  tl 
juft  as  they  come  into  m)        ugh   :,  without 
any  nicety  of  method.     Vigil,  in  his  ac- 
:t  of  the  luff-rings   of  wicked  fouls  in 
the  regions  of  punifhment,  fills  the  re; 
with  dread  and  amazement :  every  fyllable 
f(  unds  terror  ;     we  and   aftoniihment  ac- 
comp  an;  his   maj  ;J  [1      -     iers.     In  t 

— — -  Trim  fasva  fon:  re 
^>  erher  \,  turn  ftridor  ferri,  tradb  jue  catena?, 

the)  peated  with  broad  foun  l- 

'  dag       the 

-  fs  of  the  canine  letter  fo 

;  ufed,  a  id   thofe  ftrong  fyllables   in 
■  fecond,  third,  and   fourth  places,  em- 
itically   exprefs  thofe  dreadful  founds. 
\  man  of  any  ear  will,  upon  die  n  petition 
fancy  he  hears  the  crack 
oi  thi  /hips,   and  the   rattling   and 

clank  of  infernal  chains.     Thofe  harlh  ell- 
wand heavy  robuft  fyllables,  in  that 
:ription  of  the  hideous  Cyclops,  Mon- 
jlritm  horrendum,  informe,   ingens,  naturally 
exprefs    the  enormous   bulk    and  brutifti 
"'■    Iliad  i".  v.  z6'. 
•f  wiineid  6.  v.  558,  5c c. 

fiercenefsj 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL.         463 


fiercenefs,  of  that  mif-fhapen  and  horrid 
monfter. 

Our  Spenfcr,  one  of  the  beft  poets  this 
nation  has  bred,  and  whofe  faults  are  not 
to  be  imputed  either  to  want  of  genius  or 
care,  but  to  the  age  he  lived  in,  was  very 
happy  and  judicious  in  the  choice  of  his 
numbers ;  of  which  take  this  example,  not 
altogether  foreign  or  unparallel  to  that  of 
Virgil  juft  mentioned. 


•  He  heard  a  dreadful  found, 


Which  through  the  wood  loud-bellowing  did  re- 
bound. 


And  then, 


His  monftrous  enemy 


With  fturdy  fteps  came  iblking  in  his  fight, 
An  hideous  giant,  horrible  and  high*. 

Thofe  verfes  in  the  firft  Georgic, 
Ter  hint  conari  imponerePelio  Offara 
Scilicet,  atqne  Offa  frondofum  involvere 
Olympum  -f 

are  contrived  with  erreat  art  to  reprefent 
the  prodigious  pains  the  giants  took  in 
heaping  mountains  upon  mountains  tofcale 
heaven,  and  the  llownefs  of  their  progrefs 
in  that  unwieldy  work. 

For  a  vowel  open  before  a  vowel,  makes 
a  chafm,    and  requires  a  ftrong   and  full 
breath,  therefore  a  paufe  muff  follow, 
naturally   expreffes  difficulty  and  opposi- 
tion. 

But  when  fwiftnefs  and  fpeed  are  to  be 
defcribed,  fee  how  the  feme  wonderful 
man  varies  his  numbers,  arid  ilill  fuits  his 
verfe  to  his  fubject! 

Quadrapedante     putrem  fonitti  qu.uit  ungula 
catnpum. 

Here  the  rapid  numbers,  and  fhort  fyl- 
Iables,  fuftained  with  ftrong  vowels,  admi- 
rably reprefent  both  the  vigour  and  fpeed 
of  a  horfe  at  full  ftretch  fcouring  over  the 
plain. 

When  Llorace  lings  of  mirth,  beauty, 
and  other  fubjecls  that  require  delicacy 
and  fweetnefs  of  competition,  he  fmooths 
his  lines  with  foft  fyllables,  and  flows  in 
gay  and  melting  numbers.  Scarce  any 
reader  is  fo  much  a  ftoic,  but  good-hu- 
mour Heals  upon  him ;  and  he  reads  with 
fomething  of  the  temper  which  the  author 
was  in  when  he  wrote.  How  inexpreffibly 
fvveet  are  thofe  neat  lines  ! 

Urit  me  Glyceraj  nitor, 
Splendentis  Pario  marmore  purius  : 

Urit  grata  protervita?, 
£t  vultus  nimium  lubric.us  afpici. 

*  Fairy  Qneen. 
"f  Georg.  1.  v.  aSi, 


Innumerable  beauties  of  this  nature  are 
fcattered  through  his  lyric  poetry.  But 
when  he  undertakes  lofty  and  noble  fub- 
jefts,  he  raifes  his  ftyle,  and  ftrengthens 
his  expreflion.  For  example,  when  he 
propofes  to  do  honour  to  Pindar,  and  fmg 
the  glories  of  Auguftus,  he  reaches  the 
Grecian's  ncbleft  flights,  has  all  his  mag- 
nificence of  thought,  his  ftrength  of  fancy, 
and  daring  liberty  of  figures. 

The  Roman  fwan  foars  as  high  as  the 
Theban  :  he  equals  that  commanding  fpirit, 
thofe  awful  and  vigorous  beauties,  which 
he  generoufly  pronounces  inimitable  ; 
and  p raifes  both  his  immortal  predecel- 
for  in  lyric  poetry,  and  his  royal  bene- 
factor, with  as  much  grandeur,  and  ex- 
alted eloquence,  as  ever  Pindar  praifed  any 
of  his  heroes. 

It  is  a  juft  observation  of  Longinus,  that 
though  Horner  and  Virgil  are  chiefly  con- 
fined to  the  Dactyl  and  Spondee,  and  rare- 
ly ufc  any  equivalent  feet,  yet  they  tem- 
per them  together  with  fuch  aftonifhing 
fkill  and  diligence,  fo  carefully  vary  their 
fyllables,  and  adapt  their  founds  to  the 
nature  of  the  thing  defcribed,  that  in  their 
poems  there  is  all  the  harmonious  change 
and  variety  of  numbers,  which  can  be 
compofed  by  all  the  poffible  turns,  and 
different  portions  of  all  the  feet  in  the  lan- 
guages. Blachujalu 

§   153.  T'rc.njlations  cannot  be  fujficient  Suh- 

Jiitutes  for  fuch    Originals. 

A  reader  of  fuch  authors  can  fcarce  ever 
be  weary  ;  he  has  the  advantage  of  a  tra- 
veller for  many  miles  round  Damafcus ;  he 
never  removes  out  of  Paradife,  but  is  re- 
galed with  a  conftant  fucceffion  of  pleafures, 
and  enjoys  in  a  fmall  compafs  the  bounty 
and  gaiety  of  univerfal  nature.  From 
hence  may  be  feen  the  injuftice  and  foliy 
of  thofe  people,  who  would  have  tranila- 
tions  of  the  claffics :  and  then,  to  fave  the 
trouble  of  learning  Greek  and  Latin, 
throw  away  the  great  originals  to  dull  and 
oblivion.  I  would  indeed  have  all  the 
claffics  turned  into  our  language  by  the  moil 
mafterly  hands, (as  we  already  have  fome) 
among  other  reafons,  for  this,  that  inge- 
nious and  inquifitive  people,  who  have  the 
misfortune  not  to  be  well  acquainted  with 
the  learned  tongues,  may  have  fome  tafte 
of  their  excellencies.  Ignorant  perfons,  who 
know  nothing  of  their  language,  would 
foon  be  perfuaded  to  believe  ;  and  mallow 
pretenders,  who  know  nothing  of  their 
beauties,  would    boldly    pronounce,  that 


464 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fome  translations  we  have  go  beyond  the 
originals;  while  fcholars  of  clear  and  found 
judgment  are  well  fatisned,  that  it  is  im- 
pofiible  any  verfion  mould  come  up  to 
them.  A  tranflation  of  the  noble  claflics 
out  of  their  native  tongue,  fo  much  in 
many  refpecls  inferior  to  them,  always 
more  or  lefs  flattens  their  fenfe,  and  tar- 
niihes  their  beauties.  It  is  fomething  like 
tranfplanting  a  precious  tree  out  of  the 
warm  and  fruitful  climes  in  which  it  was 
produced,  into  a  cold  and  barren  country  : 
with  much  care  and  tendernefs  it  may  live, 
bloilbm  and  bear  ;  but  it  can  never  fo 
chearfully  flouriih,  as  in  its  native  foil; 
it  will  degenerate  and  lofe  much  of  its  de- 
licious flavour,  and  original  richnefs.  And 
befides  the  weakening  of  the  fenfe  (though 
that  be  by  far  the  moll  important  consider- 
ation) Greek  and  Latin  have  fuch  a  no- 
ble harmony  of  found,  fuch  force  and  dig- 
nity of  numbers,  and  fuch  delicacy  of  turn 
in  the  periods,  that  cannot  entirely  be  pre- 
ierved  in  any  language  of  the  world. 
Thefe  two  languages  are  fo  peculiarly  fuf- 
ceptive  of  all  the  graces  of  wit  and  elocu- 
tion, that  they  are  read  with  more  plea' 
fure  and  lively  gulf,  and  confequently  with 
more  advantage,  than  the  moll:  perfect 
tranflation  that  the  ableft  genius  can  com- 
pofe,  or  the  ftrongeft  modern  language 
can  bear.  The  pleafure  a  man  takes  in 
reading,  engages  a  clofe  attention  ;  raifes 
and  cheers  the  fpirits ;  and  imprefles  the 
author's  fentiments  and  expreflions  deeper 
on  the  memory.  A  gentleman  travels 
through  the  fineft  countries  in  the  world, 
is  in  all  refpe&s  qualified  to  make  obfer- 
vations,  and  then  writes  a  faithful  and  cu- 
rious hiftory  of  his  travels.  I  can  read 
his  relations  with  pleafure  and  improvement, 
and  will  pay  him  thepraife  due  to  his  me- 
rits ;  but  mull:  believe,  that  if  J  myfelf  tra- 
velled through  thofe  countries,  and  atten- 
tively viewed  and  confldered  all  thofe  cu- 
riofities  of  art  and  nature  which  he  de- 
fcribes,  I  fnould  have  a  more  fatisfaftory 
idea,  and  higher  pleafure,  than  it  is  pof- 
fible  to  receive  from  the  exacted  accounts. 
Authors  of  fuch  diftinguilhed  parts  and 
perfections,  cannot  be  itudied  by  a.  rational 
and  difecrning  reader  without  very  valua- 
ble advantages.  Their  itrong  fenfe  and 
manly  thought,  cloathedin  the  mofi  signifi- 
cant and  beautiful  language,  will  improve 
his  reafon  and  judgment:  and  enable  him 
to  acquire  the  art  of  genteel  and  fenfi- 
ble  writing.  For  it  is  a  moil  abfurd  ob- 
jection, that  the  Claflics  do  not  improve 


your  reafon,  nor  enlarge  your  knowledge 
of  ufeful  things,  but  only  amufe  and  di- 
vert you  with  artificial  turns  of  words,  and 
flourilhes  of  rhetoric,  Let  but  a  man  of 
capacity  read  a  few  lines  in  Plato,  De- 
moilhenes,  Tully,  Saliufl,  Juvenal,  &c. 
and  he  will  immediately  difcover  all  fuch 
objections  either  to  proceed  from  igno- 
rance, a  depraved  tafle,  or  intolerable 
conceit.  The  claflics  are  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  thofe  things  they  undertake 
to  treat  of;  and  explain  and  adorn  their 
fuhjedl  with  found  reafoning,  exaft  dif- 
pofition,  aud  beautiful  propriety  of  lan- 
guage. No  man  in  his  right  mind  would 
have  people  to  lludy  them  with  negledl 
and  exclufion  of  other  parts  of  ufeful 
knowledge,  and  good  learning.  No;  let 
a  man  furnifh  himfelf  with  all  the  arts  and 
fciences,  that  he  has  either  capacity  or 
opportunity  to  learn  ;  and  he  will  ilill  find, 
that  readinefs  and  fkill  in  thefe  correcl:  and 
rational  authors  is  not  the  leall  ornament- 
al or  ferviceable  part  of  his  attainments. 
The  neatnefs  and  delicacy  of  their  com- 
pofitions  will  be  refreihment  and  mufic, 
after  the  toils  of  feverer  and  harfher  flu- 
dies.  The  brightnefs  of  their  fenfe,  and 
the  purity  and  elegance  of  their  diction, 
will  qualify  mod  people,  who  duly  admire 
and  lludy  their  excellencies,  to  communi- 
cate their  thoughts  with  energy  and  clear- 
nefs.  Some  gentlemen,  deeply  read  in 
old  fyftems  of  philofophy,  and  the  abltrufer 
part  of  learning,  for  want  of  a  fufficient 
acquaintance  with  thefe  great  mailers  of 
ftyle  and  politenefs,  have  not  been  able 
fo  to  exprefs  their  notions,  as  to  make 
their  labours  fully  intelligible  and  ufeful 
to  mankind.  Irregular  broken  periods, 
long  and  frequent  parenthefes,  and  harfli 
tropes,  have  perplexed  their  notions ;  and 
much  of  their  fenfe  has  lain  buried  under 
the  confuuon  and  rubbilh  of  an  obfeure 
and  horrid  ftyle.  The  brightell  and  molt 
rational  thoughts  are  obfeured,  and  in  a 
great  meafurefpoiled,  if  they  be  encumbered 
with  obfolete  and  coarfe  words  unfkilfully 
placed,  and  ungracefully  turned.  The 
matchlefs  graces  of  fome  fine  odes  in  Ana- 
creon  or  Horace,  do  chiefly  arife  from 
the  judicious  choice  of  the  beautiful  words, 
and  the  delicacy  and  harmonioufnefs  of 
the  ftrufture.  Blackball. 

§  155.  The  peculiar  Excellence  of  the  Speeches 
of  1  hi  Greeks  and  Romans. 

Befldes  the  other  advantages  of  study- 
ing the  claflical  historians,  there  is  one, 
4.  which 


BOOK   JI.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.        465 

in  hiftory  fpoke  as  well  as  they  are  repre- 
fented  by  thofe  able  and  eloquent  writers. 
But  then  the  hiftorians  putting  the  fpeeches 
into  their  own  ftyle,  and  giving  us  thofe 
harangues  in  form,  which  we  cannot  tell 
how  they  could  come  at,  trefpafs  againft. 
probability,  and  the  ftria  rules  of  writing 
hiiiory.  It  has  always  been  allowed  to 
great  wits  fomedmes  to  ftep  out  of  the 
beaten  road,  and  to  foar  out  of  the  view  of 
a  heavy  fcholiafc.  To  grant  all  that  is  in 
the  objection:  the  greateft  Claffics  were 
liable  to  human  infirmities  and  errors; 
and  whenever  their  forward  cenfurers  mall 
fall  into  fuch  irregularities,  and  commit 
fuch  faults  joined  to  fuch  excellencies,  the 
learned  world  will  not  only  pardon,  but 
admire  them.  We  may  fay  of  that  cele- 
brated fpeech  of  Marius  in  Sallult,  and 
others  that  are  molt  attacked  upon  this 
foot,  as  the  friends  of  Virgil  do  in  excufe 
of  his  offending  againft  chronology  in  the 
ftory  of  ^Eneas  and  Dido;  that  had  there 
been  no  room  for  fuch  little  objections,  the 
world  had  wanted  fomeof  the  more  charm- 
ing and  confummate  productions  of  hu- 
man wit.  Whoever  made  thofe  noble 
fpeeches  and  debates,  they  fo  naturally 
arife  from  the  pofture  of  affairs,  and  cir- 
cumilances  of  the  times  which  the  authors 
then  defcribe,  and  are  fo  rational,  fo  pathe- 
tic, and  becoming,  that  the  pleafure  and 
inftrucfticn  of  the  reader  is  the  fame.  A 
complete  differtation  upon  the  ufes  and 
beauties  of  the  chief  fpeeches  in  the  claf- 
fical  hiftorians,  would  be  a  work  of  curi- 
ofitv,  that  would  require  an  able  genius 
and  fine  pen.  L  Jhall  juft  make  fome  fhort 
ftridlures  upon  two  ;  one  out  of  Thucydi- 
des  and  the  other  out  of  Tacitus. 

B  lath-wall. 


which  gentlemen  of  birth  and  fortune,  qua- 
lified to  manage  public  bufmefs,  and  fit  as 
members  in   the    molt    auguft  affemblies, 
have   a  more  confiderable   ihare  in,  than 
people  of  meaner  condition.     The  fpeeches 
of  the  great  men  among  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  deferve  their  peculiar  ftudy  and 
imitation,  as  being  matter-pieces  of  clear 
reafoninp-  and  genuine  eloquence  :  the  ora- 
tors in  the  Claffics  fairly  ftate  their  cafe, 
and  ftrongly  argue  it :   their  remarks  are 
furprifing  and  pertinent,    their    repartees 
quick,and  their  raillery  clear  and  diverting. 
They  are  bold  without  rafhnefs  or  info- 
lence  ;  and  fevere  with  good  manners  and 
decency.     They  do  juftice  to  their  fubjecft, 
and  fpeak  agreeably  to  the  nature  of  things, 
and  characters  of  perfons.     Their  fenten- 
ces  are  fprightly,  and  their  morals  found. 
In  fhort,    no  part  of  the   compofitions  of 
the  ancients  is  more  iinifhed,  more  inftruc- 
tive  and  pleafing,    than    their     orations. 
Here  they  feem  to  exert  their  choiceit  abi- 
lities, and  collett  the  utmoft  force  of  their 
genius.      Their   whole  hillories  may    be 
compared  to  a  noble  and  delicious  country, 
that  lies  under  the  favourable  eye  and  per- 
petual fmiles  of  the  heavens,  and  is  every 
where  crowned  with  pleafure  and  plenty: 
but  their  choice  defcriptions  and  fpeeches 
feem  like  fome  peculiarly  fertile  and  hap- 
py fpots  of  ground  in   that  country,  on 
which  nature  has   poured  out  her  riches 
with  a  more  liberal  hand,  and  art  has  made 
the  utmoft  improvements  of  her  bounty. 
They  have  taken   fo  much  pains,  and  ufed 
fuch  accuracy   in  the  fpeeches,    that  the 
greater  pleafure  they  have  given  the  read- 
er, the  more    they  have    expofed   them- 
felves  to  the  cenfure  of  the   critic.     The 
orations  are  too  fublinie  and  elaborate;  and 
thofe  perfons  to  whom  they  are  afcribed, 
could  not  at  thofe  times  compofe  or  fpeak 
them.     'Tis  allowed,  that  they  might  not 
deliver  themfelves    in  that  exadft  number 
and  collection  of  words,  which  the  hifto- 
rians have  fo  curioufly  laid  together;  but 
it"  can  fcarce   be    denied,    but  the    great 
men  in  hiftory  had  frequent   occafions   of 
fpeaking  in  public  :  and  'tis  probable,  that 
many  times  they  did  acftualiy  fpeak  to  the 
fame     purpofe.       Fabius    Maxim  us     and 
Scipio,  Caffar  and   Cato,  were  capable  of 
making  as  good  fpeeches  as  Livy  or  Sal- 
luft ;  and  Pericles  was  an  orator  no   ways 
inferior  to  Thucydides,    When  the  reafon 
of  the  thing  will  allow  that  there  wartime 
and  room  for  premeditation,  there  is  no 
queftion  but  many  of  thofe  admirable  men 


§    155.    On   the  Funeral   Or  at  fan    of  Pe- 
ricles. 

The  funeral  oration  made  by  Pericles 
upon  his  brave  countrymen  who  died  in 
battle,  is  full  of  prudence  and  manly  elo- 
quence ;  of  hearty  zeal  for  the  honour  of 
his  country,  and  wife  remarks.  He  does 
not  lavifh  away  his  commendations,  but 
renders  the  honour  cf  the  ftate  truly  defi- 
rable,  by  fhewing  they  are  always  confer- 
red with  judgment  and  warinefs.  He 
praifes  the  dead,  in  order  to  encourage 
the  living  to  follow  their  example  ;  to  which 
he  propofes  the  ltrongeft  inducements  in. 
the  moft  moving  and  lively  manner;  from 
the  confideradon  of  the  immortal  honours 
paid  to  the  memory  of  the  deceafed;  and, 
H  h  $© 


406 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


the  generous  provisions  made  by  the  go- 
vernment for  die  dear  perfons  left  behind 
by  thoie  who  fell  in  their  country's  caufe. 
He  imputes  the  greater!  fhare  of  the  me- 
rits of  thofe  gallant  men,  to  the  excellency 
of  the  Athenian  conititution ;  which  train- 
ed them  up  in  fuch  regular  difcipline,  and 
fecured  to  them  and  their  defcendants 
fuch  invaluable  privileges,  that  no  man  of 
fenfe  and  gratitude,  of  public  fpirit,  and  a 
lover  of  his  childien,  would  fcruple  to  ven- 
ture his  life  to  preferve  them  inviolable, 
and  tranfmit  them  to  late  pofterity.  The 
noble  orator  in  his  fpeech  gives  an  admi- 
rable character  of  his  countrymen  the  Athe- 
nians. He  reprefents  them  as  brave,  with 
confideration  andcoolnefs;  and  polite  and 
genteel,  without  effeminacy.  They  are, 
fays  he,  eafy  to  their  fellow-citizens,  and 
kind  and  communicative  to  ftrangers :  they 
cultivate  and  improve  all  the  arts,  and  en- 
joy all  the  plea fures  of  peace  ;  and  yet  are 
never  furprifed  at  the  alarms,  nor  impa- 
tient of  the  toils  and  fatigues  of  war.  They 
are  generous  to  their  friends,  and  terrible 
to  their  enemies.  They  ufe  all  the  liberty 
that  can  be  deftred  without  infolence  or 
licentioufnefs ;  and  fear  nothing  but  tranf- 
grefiing  the  laws*.  Black-wall. 

\    156.     On    Mucian'j    Speech  in    Ta- 
citus. 

Mucian's  fpeech  in  Tacitus  f  contains 
many  important  matters  in  a  linall  com- 
pafs  ;  and  in  a  few  clean  and  emphatical 
words  goes  through  the  principal  topics  of 
perfuafioru  He  preffes  and  conjures  Vef- 
pafian  to  difpute  the  empire  with  Vitellius, 
by  the  duty  he  owes  his  bleeding  country; 
by  the  love  he  has  for  his  hopeful  fons  ; 
by  the  faireft  profpecl  of  fuccefs  that  could 
be  hoped  for,  if  he  once  vigoroufly  fet 
upon  that  glorious  bufmefs;  hut,  if  he  ne- 
glected the  prefent  opportunity,  by  the  dif- 
mal  appearance  of  the  worit  evils  that  could 
be  feared  :  he  encourages  him  by  the  num- 
ber and  goodnefs  of  his  forces ;  by  the  in- 
tereft  and  fteadinefs  of  his  friends;  by  the 
vices  of  his  rival,  and  his  own  virtues. 
Yet  all  the  while  this  great  man  compli- 
ments Vefpafian,  and  pays  hiin  honour,  he 
is  cautious  not  in  the  leaf!  to  diminilh  his 
own  glory :  if  he  readily  allows  him  the 
firft  rank  of  merit,  he  brifkly  claims  the 
fecond   to   himfelf.     Never  were   liberty 

*  See  Thucyd.  Oxon.  EJ.  lib.  2.  p.  103. 

■\  l'acit.  Elzevir.  EU.  1634.     Hift.  z.  p.  581, 


and  complaifance  of  fpeech  more  happily 
mixed ;  he  conveys  found  exhortation  in 
praife ;  and  at  the  fame  time  fays  very- 
bold  and  very  obliging  things.  In  fhort, 
he  fpeaks  with  the  bravery  of  a  foldier, 
and  the  freedom  of  a  friend:  in  his  ad- 
drefs,  there  is  the  air  and  the  gracefulnefs 
of  an  accomplished  courtier  ;  in  his  advice, 
the  fagacity  and  caution  of  a  confummate 
ftatefman.  Ibid. 

§  157.  5'be  ClaJJlcs  exhibit  a  beautiful 
Syftem  of  Morals. 
Another  great  advantage  cf  fludying- 
the  Claffics  is,  that  from  a  few  of  the  belt 
of  them  may  be  drawn  a  good  fyitem  and 
beautiful  collection  of  found  morals.  There 
the  precepts  of  a  virtuous  and  happy  life 
are  fet  off  in  the  light  and  gracefulnefs  of 
clear  and  moving  expreiTion;  and  elo- 
quence is  meritorioufly  employed  in  vin- 
dicating and  adorning  religion.  This 
makes  deep  impreffions  on  the  minds  of 
young  gentlemen,  and  charms  them  with 
the  love  of  goodnefs  fo  engagingly  drefled, 
andfo  beautifully  commended.  The  Offi- 
ces, Cato  Major,  Tufculan  Queftions,  &c. 
of  fully,  want  not  much  of  Epictetus  and 
Antonine  in  morality,  and  are  much  fupe- 
rior  in  language.  Pindar  writes  in  an  ex- 
cellent ftrain  of  piety  as  well  as  poetry  ;  he 
carefully  wipes  off  the  afperfions  that  old 
fables  had  thrown  upon  the  deities ;  and 
never  fpeaks  of  things  or  perfons  facred, 
but  with  the  tenderer!  caution  and  reve- 
rence. He  praifes  virtue  and  religion  with 
a  generous  warmth  ;  and  fpeaks  of  its  eter- 
nal rewards  with  a  pious  aflurance.  A 
notable  critic  has  obferved,  to  the  perpe- 
tual fcandal  of  this  poet,  that  his  chief,  if 
not  only  excellency,  lies  in  his  moral  fen- 
tences.  Indeed  Pindar  is  a  great  mailer  of 
this  excellency,  for  which  all  men  of  fenfe 
will  admire  him  ;  and  at  the  fame  time  be 
altonilhed  at  that  man's  honelly  who  flights 
fuch  an  excellency;  and  that  man's  under- 
Handing,  who  cannot  difcover  many  more 
excellencies  in  him.  I  remember,  in  one 
of  his  Olympic  Odes,  in  a  noble  confi- 
dence of  his  own  genius,  and  a  juit  con- 
tempt of  his  vile  and  malicious  adverfaries, 
he  compares  himfelf  to  an  eagle,  and  them 
to  crows :  and  indeed  he  foars  far  above 
the  reach  and  out  of  the  view  of  noify 
fluttering  cavillers.  The  famous  Greek 
profeflbr,  Duport,  has  made  an  entertain- 
ing and  ufeful  collection  of  Homer's  divine 
and  moral  fayings,  and  has  with  great  dex- 
terity compared  them  with  parallel  para- 
ges 


BOOK  II.       CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.       46, 


ges  out  of  the  infpired  writers  *  :  By  which 
it  appears,  that  there  is  no  book  in  the 
world  folike  the  ftyle  of  the  Holy  Bible, 
as  Homer.  The  noble  hiftorians  abound 
with  moral  reflections  upon  the  conduit 
of  human  life  ;  and  powerfully  inftruct 
both  by  precepts  and  examples.  ^  They 
paint  vice  and  villainy  in  horrid  co- 
lours; and  employ  all  their  reafen  and 
eloquence  to  pay  due  honours  to  virtue, 
and  render  undiffembled  goodnefs  amiable 
in  the  eye  of  mankind.  They  cxpreis  a 
true  reverence  for  the  eitablifhed  religion, 
and  a  hearty  concern  for  the  proiperous 
'  liate  of  their  native  country.     Black-wall. 

§     158.     On     Xenophon'j    Memoirs    of 
Socrates. 

Xenophon's  memorable  things  of  So- 
crates, is  a  very  inftructive  and  refined 
fyftem  of  morality :  it  goes  through  all 
points  cf  duty  to  God  and  man,  with  great 
clearnefs  of  fenfe  and  found  notion,  and 
with  inexpreffible  fimplicity  and  purity  of 
laneuao-e.  The  great  Socrates  there  dif- 
courfes  in  fuch  a  manner,  as  is  molt  proper 
to  engage  and  perfuade  all  forts  of  readers : 
he  argues  with  the  reafon  of  a  philofopher, 
directs  with  the  authority  of  a  lawgiver, 
and  addreffes  with  the  familiarities  and 
endearments  of  a  friend. 

He  made  as  many  improvements  in 
true  morality,  as  could  be  made  by  the 
unaffilted  itrength  of  human  reafon;  nay, 
he  delivers  himfelf  in  fome  places,  as  if  he 
was  enlightened  by  a  ray  from  heaven. 
In  one  of  Plato's  divine  dialogues  f ,  So- 
crates utters  a  furprifing  prophecy  of  a  di- 
vine perfon,  a  true  friend  and  lever  of 
human  nature,  who  was  to  come  into  the 
world  to  inftruct  them  in  the  moft  accept- 
able way  of  addreifing  their  prayers  to  the 
majelty  of  God.  Ibid. 

%   \ 5 9 .  On  the  Morality  of.Jv v enal. 

I  do  not  wonder  when  I  hear  that  feme 
prelates  of  the  church  have  recommended 
the  ferious  ftudy  of  Juvenal's  moral  parts 
to  their  clergy.  That  manly  and  vigorous 
author,  ib  perfect  a  mafter  in  the  ferious 
and  fublime  way  of  fatire,  is  not  unac- 
quainted with  any  of  the  excellencies  of 
good  writing;  but  is  efpecially  to  be  ad- 
mired and  valued  for  his  exalted  morals. 
He  diiluades  from  wickednefs,  and  exhorts 

*  Gnomologia  Homerica,  Cantab.  1660. 

f  Dialog.  Seleft,   Cantab.  1683.  ad  Akibizd, 


to  goodnefs,  with  vehemence  of  zeal  that 
can  fcarce  be  diflembled,  and  ftrength  of 
reafon  that  cannot  eafdy  be  refilled.  He 
does  not  praife  virtue,  and  condemn  vice, 
as  one  has  a  favourable,  and  the  other  a 
mailgnant  aipecl:  upon  a  man's  fortune  in 
this  world  only.;  but  he  eftablifhes  the  un- 
alterable diffractions  of  good  and  evil;  and 
builds  his  doctrine  upon  the  immoveable 
foundations  cf  God  and  infinite.  Provi- 
dence. 

His  morals  are  fnited  to  the  nature  and 
dignity  of  an  immortal  foul :  and,  like  it, 
derive  their  original  from  heaven. 

How  found  and  ferviceable  is  that  won- 
derful notion  in  the  thirteenth  fatire*, 
That  an  inward  inclination  to  do  an  ill 
thing  is  criminal :  that  a  wicked  thought 
flains  the  mind  with  guilt,  and  expefes  the 
offender  to  the  puniihment  of  heaven, 
though  it  never  ripen  into  action !  A  fuit- 
able  practice  would  effectually  crulh  the 
ferpent's  head,  and  banifh  a  long  and 
black  train  of  mifchiefs  and  miferies  out 
of  the  world.  What  a  fcene  of  horror 
does  he  difclofe,  when  in  the  fame  fatire  f 
he  opens  to  our  view  the  wounds  and 
gafhes  of  a  wicked  confeience  !  The  guilty 
reader  is  not  only  terrified  a?  dreadful 
cracks  and  fialhes  cf  the  heavens,  but  looks 
pale  and  trembles  at  the  thunder  and  light- 
ning of  the  poet's  awful  verfe.  The  no- 
tion  of  true  fortitude  cannot  be  better  Ha- 
ted than  it  is  in  the  eighth  fatire  J,  whefe 
he  preffingly  exhorts  his  reader  always  to 
prefer  his  confeience  and  principles  before 
his  life  ;  and  not  be,  reflrained  from  doing 
his  duty,  or  be  awed  into  a  compliance 
with  a  villainous  propofal,  even  by  the 
prefence  and  command  of  a  barbarous  ty- 
rant, or  the  neareft  profpect  of  death  in  all 
the  circumftances  of  cruelty  and  terror. 
Muil  not  a  profeffor  of  Chriftianity  be 
alhamed  of  himfelf  for  harbouring  uncha- 
ritable and  bloody  refentments  in  his  breaft, 
when  he  reads  and  confidersthat  invaluable 
pailage  againft  revenge  in  the  above-men- 
tioned thirteenth  fatire  §  ?  where  he  argues 
againft  that  fierce  and  fatal  paihon,  from  the 
ignorance  and  littlenefsof  that  mind  which 
is  poffeffed  with  it ;  from  the  honour  and 
generality  of  palling  by  and  forgiving  in- 
juries ;  from  the  example  of  thole  wife  and 
mild  men,  of  Chryfippus  and  Thales,  and 

*  v.  208,  &c. 
*j-  V.  192,  &c.  210,  &c. 
1  v.  79-85. 
§  V.  i Si,  Sfc. 
H  h  S  efpecially 


46! 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


efpecially  that  of  Socrates,  that  undaunted 
champion  and  martyr  of  natural  religion; 
who  was  io  great  a  proficient  in  the  beii 
philofophy,  that  he  was  allured  his  malici- 
ous profecutors  and  murderers  could  do 
him  no  hurt;  and  had  not  himfelf  the  lead 
inclination  or  riling  with  to  do  them  any  ; 
who  difcourfed  with  that  chearful  gravity, 
and  graceful  comoofure,  a  few  moments 
before  he  was  going  to  die,  as  it  he  had 
been  going  to  take  poffeflion  of  a  king- 
dom;  and  drank  off  the  poifonous  bowl, 
as  a  potion  of  Immortality.       Blackmail. 

§    1 60.  The  beji  Clajics  lay  donvn  excellent 
Rules  for  Conuerfation. 

The  befi  Claffics  lay  down  very  valu- 
able rules  for  the  management  of  convcr- 
fation,  for  graceful  and  proper  addrefs  to 
thofe  perfons  with  whom  we  converfe. 
They  inftrudt  their  readers  in  the  methods 
of  engaging  and  preferving  friends  ;  and 
reveal  to  them  the  true  fecret  of  pleafing 
mankind.  This  is  a  large  and  agreeable 
field ;  but  I  mall  confine  myfelf  to  a  fmall 
compafs. 

While  Tully,  under  the  perfon  of  Craf- 
fus,  gives  an  account  of  the  word  ineptus, 
or  impertinent,  he  iniinuates  excellent  cau- 
tion to  prevent  a  man  from  rendering 
himfelf  ridiculous  and  diftafteful  to  com- 
pany. Thefe  are  his  words:  "lie  that 
"  either  does  not  obferve  the  proper  time 
'•'  of  a  thing,  cr  fpeaks  too  much,  or  vain- 
"  glorioully  fets  himfelf  off,  or  has  not  a 
"  regard  to  the  dignity  or  intereft  of  thole 
"  ha  converfes  with,  or,  in  a  word,  is  in 
"  any  kind  indecent  or  exceffive,  is  called 
"  impertinent."  That  is  admirable  ad- 
vice in  the  third  book  of  his  Olfices,  for 
the  prudent  and  graceful  regulation  of  a 
man's  difcourfe  (which  has  fo  powerful  an 
influence  upon  the  misfortune  or  happi- 
nefsoflife)  that  we  ihould  always  {peak 
with  that  prudence,  candour,  and  undif- 
fembled  cornplaifance,  that  the  perfons  we 
addrefs  may  be  perfuaded  that  we  both 
love  2nd  reverence  them. 

For  this  perfuaflon  fettled  in  their  minds, 
will  iecure  their  friendihip,  and  create  us 
the  plcaiure  of  their  mutual  love  and  re- 
fpeci:.  Every  judicious  reader  of  Horace 
will  allow  the  juitnefs  of  Sir  William  Tem- 
oie's  character,  of  him,  That  he  was  the 
greateft  mafbr  of  life,  and  of  true  fenfe 
in  the  conduct  of  it.  Is  it  pofiible  to  com- 
prise better  advice  in  fewer  lines,  than 
thofe  of  his  to  his  friend  Lollius,  which  I 
fiiall  gi\  e  you  in  the  original  r 


Arcanum  neque  tn  fcrut.iberis  ullius  unqn.im  r 
Commilfumque  teges,  5c  vino  tortos  &  irS  : 
Hec  tin  laudabis  ltudia,  aut  aliens  repreudes  : 

Nee,  cum  vcnr.ri  volet  il'e,  poemata  pnnges*. 

Horace  had  an  intimate  friendihip  and 
intereit  with  men  of  the  chief  quality  and 
diftinclion  in  the  empire  ;  who  then  was 
fitter  to  lay  down  rules  how  to  approach 
t!;e  great,  and  gain  their  countenance  and 
patronage? 

This  great  man  has  a  peculiar  talent  of 
handfomely  exprefhng  his  gratitude  to  his 
noble  benefactors :  he  jufts  puts  adue  value 
upon  every  favour ;  and,  in  fhort,  manages 
that  nice  fubjedt  of  praife  with  a  manly 
grace,  and  irreproachable  decency.  How 
clean  is  that  addrefs  to  Auguftus  abfeat 
from  Rome,  in  the  fifth  ode  of  the  fourth- 
book  ! 

Lncem  redde  tux,  dux  bone,  patriae  5 
I1.it.1r  veris  enim,  vnltusubi  tuus 
Attaint  popalo,  gratiorit  dies, 
Et  foles  melius  nitent. 

Here  are  no  forced  figures  or  unnatural 
rants;  'tis  all  feafonable  and  beautiful, 
poetical  and  literally  true.  Ibid. 

§    161.     Directions  for  reading  the  C  taffies-. 

Thofe  excellencies  of  the  Ancient?, 
which  I  have  accounted  for,  feem  to  be 
fufficient  to  recommend  them  to  the  eiteem 
and  Iludy  of  all  lovers  of  good  and  polite 
learning  :  and  that  the  young  fcholarmay 
ftudy  them  with  fuitable  fuccefs  and  im- 
provement, a  few  directions  may  be  proper 
to  be  obferved;  which  I  (hall  lay  down  in 
this  chapter.  'Tis  in  my  opinion  a  right 
method  to  begin  with  the  beft  and  moll 
approved  Claflics ;  and  to  read  thofe  au- 
thors firlt,  which  rnufr.  often  be  read  over. 
Befides  that  the  belt  authors  are  ealieft  to 
be  underftood,  their  noble  fenfe  and  ani- 
mated exprefiion  will  makeflrong  impref- 
fions  upon  the  young  fcholar's  mind,  and 
train  him  up  to  the  early  love  and  imita- 
tion of  their  excellencies. 

Plautus,  Catullus,  Terence,  Virgil,  Ho- 
race,  Ovid,  Juvenal,  Tibullus,  Propertius, 
cannot  be  liudied  too  much,  or  gone  over 
too  often.  One  reading  may  fuffice  for 
Lucan,  Statius,  Valerius  Flaccus,  Silius 
Itahcus,  Claudian  ;  though  there  will  be 
frequent  occafions  to  confult  forne  of  their 
particular  paffages.  The  fame  may  be 
faid  with  refped  to  the  Greek  poets  :'  Ho- 
mer, Pindar,  Anacreon,  Ariitophanes,  Eu- 
ripides, Sophocles,  Theocritus,  Callima- 
chus,  mull  never  be  entirely  laid  aiide  ; 
•Hor.Ep.  is.l.  1.  v.  37.  ' 

arid 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.     .    469 

with  high  commendations ;  Conftantine  the 
Great  was  his  diligent  reader  ;  and  Brutus 
abridged  him  tor  his  own  conftant  ufe. 
Lucianis  an  univerfal  fcholar,  and  a  pro- 
digious wit :  he  is  Attic  and  neat  in  his 
ftyle,  clear  in  his  narration,  and  wonder- 
fully facetious  in  his  repartees :  he  fur- 
nifties  you  with  almoft  all  the  poetical. hif- 
tory'  in  fuch  a  diverting  manner,  that  you 
will  not  eafily  forget  it ;  and  fupplies 
the  moft  dry  and  barren  wit  with  a  rich 
plenty  of  materials.  Plutarch  is  an  author 
of  deep  fenfe,  and  vaft  learning  ;  though 
he  does  not  reach  his  illuftrious'predecef- 
fors  in  the  graces  of  his  language,  his  mo- 
rals are  found  and  noble,  illuftrated  with  a 
perpetual  variety  or"  beautiful  metaphors 
and  companions,  and  enforced  with  very 
remarkable  ftories,  and  pertinent  examples : 
in  his  Lives  there  is  a  complete  account  of 
all  the  Roman  and  Grecian  antiquities,  or 
their  cuitoms,  and  affairs  of  peace  and  war: 
thofe  writings  will  furnifh  a  capable  and  in- 
quifitive  reader  with  a  curious  variety  of 
characters,  with  a  very  valuable  ilore  of 
wife  remarks  and  found  politics.  The  fur- 
face  is  a.  little  rough,  but  under  lie  vaft 
quantities  of  precious  ore.        Blackmail. 


a-nd  will  recompence  as  many  repetitions 
as  a  man's  time  and  affairs  will  allow. 
Hefiod,  Orpheus,  Theogonis,  ^fchylus, 
Lycophron,  Apollonius  Rhodius,  Nicander, 
Aratus,  Oppian,  Quintiis  Calaber,  Diony- 
fius,  Periegetes,  and  Nonnus,  will  amply 
reward  the  labour  of  one  careful  perufal. 
Salluft,  Livy,  Cicero,  Csefar,  and  Tacitus, 
deferve  to  be  read  feveral  times ;  and  read 
them  as  oft  as  you  pleafe,  they  _  will  al- 
ways afford  freih  pleafure  and  improve- 
ment. I  cannot  but  place  the  two  Plinys 
after  thefe  illullrious  writers,  who  fiourifn- 
ed,  indeed,  when  the  Roman  language  was 
a  little  upon  the  decleniion  :  but  by  the 
vigour  of  a  great  genius,  and  wondrous  in- 
duftry,  railed  themfelves  in  a  great  meafure 
above  the  difcouragements  and  difadvan- 
tnges  of  the  age  they  lived  in.  In  quality 
and  learning,  in  experience  of  the  world, 
and  employments  of  importance  in  the  go- 
vernment, they  were  equal  to  the  greateft 
of  the  Latin  writers,  though  excelled  by 
fome  of  them  in  language. 

The  eider  Pliny's  natural  hiitory  is_  a 
work  learned  and  copious,  that  entertains 
you  with  all  the  variety  of  nature  itfelf, 
and  is  one  of  the  greateft  monuments  of 
univerfal  knowledge,  and  unwearied  appli- 
cation, now  extant  in  the  world.  His  geo- 
graphy, and  defcrlption  of  herbs,  trees  and 
animals,  are  of  great  ufe  to  the  undemand- 
ing of  all  the  authors  of  Roma  and  Greece. 

Pliny  the  younger  is  one  oi  the  fined 
wits  that  Italy  has  ^produced  ;  he  is  correct 
and  elegant,  'has  a  florid  and  gay  fancy, 
tempered  with  maturity  and  foundnefs  of 
judgment.  Every  thing  in 'him  is  exqui- 
fitely  iiudied  ;  and  yet,  in  general  fpeaking, 
every  thing  is  natural  and  eafy.  In  his  in- 
comparable oration  in  honour  of  Trajan, 
he  has  frequent  and  furprifmg  turns  of  true 
wit,  without  playing  and  tinkling^  upon 
founds.  He  has  exhaufted  the  fubject  of 
panegyric,  ufmg  every  topic,  and  every  de- 
licacy of  praife.  Herodotus,  Thucydides, 
Xenophon,  Plato,  Demofthenes,  are  of  the 
fame  merit  among  the  Greeks  :  to  which, 
I  think,  I  may  add  Polybius,  Luciamand 
Plutarch.       Polybius    was  nobly  born,  a 


§    162.  The  fubordinate    ClaJJlcs  not  to  be 
neglecJed. 

Every  repetition  of  thefe  authors  will 
bring  the  reader  freih  profit  and  fatisfac- 
tion.  The  reft  of  the  Claflics  muft  by  no 
means  be  neglected ;  but  ought  once  to  be 
carefullv  read  over,  and  may  ever  after  be 
occaftonallyconfulted  with  much  advantage. 
The  Grecian  Claflics  next  in  value  to  thofe 
we  have  named,  are,  Diodorus  Siculus, 
Dionyfius  Halicarnaflenfis,  Strabo,  JtXi^n', 
Arrian's  Expedition  of  Alexander  thj 
Great,  Polyrenus,  Herodian  ;  the  Latin 
are,  Hirtius,  Juftin,  Quintus  Curtius,  Flo- 
rus,  Nepos,  and  Suetonius.  We  may, 
with  a  little  allowance,  admit  that  obferva- 
tion  to  be  jult,  that  he  who  would  com- 
pletely underftand  one  Claflic,  muft  dili- 
gently read  all.  When  a  young  gentle- 
man is  entered  upon  a  courfe  of  thefe 
ftudies,  I  would  not  have  him  to  be  dif- 


man  of  deep  thought,  and  perfect  mafter  of    couraged  at  the  checks_  and  difficulties  he 
his  fubject :  he  discovers  all  the  myfteries     will  fometimes  meet  with:    if  upon  clo.e 


of  policy,  and  prefents  to  your  view  the  in- 
moft  fprings  of  thofe  attions  which  he  de- 
fcribes :  his  remarks  and  maxims  have  been 
regarded,  by  the  greateft  men  both  in  civil 
and  military  affairs,  as  oracles  of  prudence  : 
Scipio  was  his  friend  and  admirer ;  Cicero, 
Strabo,  and  Plutarch,  have  honoured  him 


and  due  conftderation  he  cannot  entirely 
mafter  any  paffage,  let  him  proceed  by 
conftant  and  regular  reading,  he  will  either 
find  in  that  author  he  is  upon,  or  fome 
other  on  the  fame  fubject,  a  parallel  place, 
that  will  clear  the  doubt. 

The  Greek  authors  wonderfully  explain 
H  h  3  and 


47» 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


and  illuftrate  the  Roman.  Learning  came 
late  to  Rome,  and  all  the  Latin  writers 
follow  the  plans  that  were  laid  out  before 
them  by  the  great  matters  of  Greece. 

They  every  where  imitate  the  Greeks, 
and  in  many  places  tianilate  'em.  Com- 
pare'em  together,  and  they  will  be  a  com- 
ment to  one  another ;  you  will  by  this 
means  be  enabled  to  pafs  a  more  certain 
judgment  upon  the  humour  and  idiom  of 
both  languages ;  and  both  the  pleaiure  and 
advantage  ol  your  reading  will  be  double. 

Blackball. 

§    163.  The  Greek  and  Latin   Writers  to  be 
compared. 

By  a  careful  comparifon  of  the  Greek 
and  Latin  writers,  you  will  fee  how  judici- 
oufly  the  latter  imitated  the  former ;  and 
will  yourfeif  be  qualified,  with  greater  plea- 
sure and  fuccefs,  to  read  and  imitate  both. 
By  obferving  what  advantages  Virgil  has 
made  of  Homer  in  his  JExieid,  and  of  Theo- 
critus in  his  Paftorals ;  how  cleanly  Horace 
has  applied  feverai  places,  out  of  Anacreon 
and  other  lyrics,  to  his  ownpurpofe;  you 
will  learn  to  collect  precious  ftores  out  of 
the  Ancients ;  to  transfufe  their  fpirits  into 
your  language  with  as  little  lofs  as  pofiible ; 
and  to  borrow  with  fo  much  modetty   and 
difcretion,  as  to   make  their  riches    your 
own,  without  the  fcandal  of  unfair  dealing. 
It  will  be  convenient  and  pleaiant  to  com- 
pare authors  together,  that  were  country- 
men   and    fellow-citizens;  as    Euripides, 
Thucydides,   and   Xenophon :    that    were 
contemporaries ;  as  Theocritus  and  Calli- 
machus :  that  writ  in  the  fame  dialect ;  as 
Anacreon  and  Herodotus,  in  the   Ionic; 
Theocritus,  Pindar,  and  Callimachus,  up- 
on Ceres  and  the   Bath  of   Pallas,  in  the 
Doric  :  that  writ  upon  the  fame  fubjedt  ;  as 
Apollonius  Valerius  Flaccus,  and  Theo- 
critus, on  the  combat  of  Pollux  and  Amy- 
cus,  and  the  death  of  Hylas.     Salluft's  po- 
lite and  curious  hiftory  of  Cataline's  con- 
spiracy, and  Tully's  four  glorious  orations 
upon  the  fame  Subject,  are  the  brighter!  com- 
mentaries upon  each  ether.     The  hiftorian 
and  the  orator  Scarce  diSagree  in  one  parti- 
cular ;  and   Salluft  has  left  behind  him  an 
everlafting  monument  of  his  candour  and 
impartiality,  by  owning  and  commending 
the  conful's  vigilance,  and  meritorious  Ser- 
vices ;  though  theft-  two  great  men  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  violent  enemies.     Pie  that 
praifes  and  honours  an  adverfary,  fhews  his 
own  generofity  and  juftice,  by  proclaiming 
his  ad  ■  r'ary's  emiti  Ti    merits.' 

By  comparing  authors  after  this  method,. 


what  feems  difficult  in  one  will  be  eafy  in 
another  ;   what  one  expreffes   fhort,   ano- 
ther will   enlarge    upon;  and  if  fome   of 
them  do  not  furnifh  us  with  all  the  variety 
of  the  dialed!:  and  idioms  of  the  language, 
the  reft  will  fupply  thofe  defects.     It  will 
likewife  be  neceflary  for  the  young  fcholar 
diligently  to  remark  and  commit  to   me- 
mory the  religious  and  civil  cuitoms  of  the 
Ancients:  an  accurate  knowledge  of  them 
will  make  him  capable  to  difcern  and  re- 
lifh  the  propriety  of  an  author's  words,  and 
the  elegance  and  graces  of  his    allufions, 
When  St.  Paul  fpeaks  of  his   fpeedy  ap- 
proaching martyrdom,  he  ufes  this  expreS- 
lion,  'Eyu  yct.f>  jj^jj  cnrtv^o(jLci.i*;   which   is  an 
allufion  to  that  univerfal    cuftom  of  the 
world,  of  pouring  wire  or  oil  on  the  head 
of  the   viclim  immediately  before  it  was 
ilain.     The  apofile's  emphatical  word  fig- 
nifies — < — wine  is  juft  now  pouring  on  my 
head,  I   am  jut!  going  to  be   Sacrificed  to 
Pagan  rage  and  iupedlition.    That  paiTage 
of  St.  Paul,  "  For  I  think  that  God  hath 
"  fet  forth  us  the  apoftles   hit,  as  it  were 
"  appointed  to  death :  for  we  are  made  a 
"  Spectacle  unto  the  world,  and  to  angels, 
"  and  to  men  f;"  is  all  expreijed  in  Ago-; 
niftical  terms,  and  cannot  be  underftood, 
without  talcing  the   allufion  that  it  mani- 
Seftly  bears  to  the  Roman  gladiators, which 
came  laft  upon  the  ftage  at  noon,  and  were 
marked  out  for  certain  llaughter  and  de- 
ftruction;  being  naked,  with  a   fword  ia 
one  hand,  and  tearing  one  another  in  pieces 
with  the  other;  whereas,  thofe  who  fought 
the  wild  beatts  in  the  morning  were  allow- 
ed weapons  offenfive  and  defenSive,   and 
had  a  chance  to  come  off  with  life.     The 
molt  ancient  way  of  giving  lenience  among 
the  Greeks,  and  particularly  the  Athenians, 
was  by  black    and  white    pebbles,  called 
■4/wfsL     Thofe  judges  who  put  the  black 
ones  into  an  urn,  palled  Sentence  of  con- 
demnation upon  the perfou  tried;  and  thofe 
who  put  in  the  white,  acquitted  and  Saved, 
Hence  we  may  learn  the   Significancy  and 
beauty  of  our  Saviour's  words  in  St  John, 
"  to  him  that  overcometh   I  will  give  a 
"  white  ttone  J."     I,  who  am    the  only 
judge  of  the  whole  world,  will    pafs  the 
Sentence  of  abfolution    upon  my  faithful 
fervants,  and  the  champions  of  my  crofs ; 
and  crown  them  with  the  ineftimable  re- 
wards  of  immortality   and  glory.    There 
are  innumerable  places,  both  "in  the  Sacred 
Clallics  and  the  others,  which  are  not  to 

*  2  Tim.  iv.  16, 
■f   1  Cor.  iv.  9. 
1  Rev.  ii. 


BOOK    IL      CLASSICAL 

he  undcrflood  without  a  competent  know- 
ledge of"  antiquities.  I  call  the  wri- 
ters of  the  New  Teftament  the  Sacred 
Claflics;  and  fhall,  in  a  proper  place,  en- 
deavour fully  to  prove,  that  they  deferve 
the  higheil  character  for  the  purity  of  their 
language,  as  well  as  the  vigour  of  their 
ienle,  againft  the  ignorance  of  fome,  r.nd 
the  infolence  of  others,  who  have  fallen 
very  rudely  upon  them  with  refpect  to  their 
ftyle.  Every  fcholar,  and  every  Christian, 
is  obliged  to  the  utmoil  of  his  abilities,  to 
defend  thofe  venerable  authors  againft  all 
exceptions,  that  may  in  any  refpect  tend  to 
diminifh  their  value.  I  cannot  but  be  of 
the  opinion  of  thofe  gentlemen,  who  think 
there  is  propriety  in  the  expreflion,  as  well 
as  {ublimity  in  the  fentiments  of  the  New 
Teftament ;  and  efteem  that  man  as  bad  a 
critic,  who  undervalues  its  language,  as  he 
is  a  Chriftian,  who  denies  its  doctrines. 

Blackball. 

§    164.   On  the  Study    of  the  New   Tejla- 
ment. 

The  claftic  fcholar  mud  by  no  means  be 
fo  much  wanting  to  his  own  duty,  plea- 
fure  and  improvement,  as  to  neglect  the 
ftudy  of  the  New  Teilament,  but  mull  be 
perpetually  converfant  in  thofe  ineftimable 
writings,  which  have  all  the  treafures  of 
divine  wifdom,  and  the  words  of  eternal 
life  in  them.  The  be  ft  way  will  be  to 
make  them  the  firft  and  laft  of  all  your 
ftudies,  to  open  and  clofe  the  day  with  that 
facred  book,  wherein  you  have  a  faithful 
and  moil  entertaining  hiitory  of  that  blef- 
fed  and  miraculous  work  cf  the  redemp- 
tion of  the  world  ;  and  fure  directions  how 
to  qualify  and  in  title  yourfelf  for  the  great 
falvation  purchafed  by  jefus. 

This  exercife  will  compofe  your  thoughts 
into  the  fweeteft  ferenity  and  chearfulneis ; 
and  happily  confecrate  all  your  time  and 
ftudies  to  God.  After  you  have  read  the 
Greek  Teftament  once  over  with  care  and 
deliberation,  I  humbly  recommend  to  your 
frequent  and  attentive  perufal,  thefe  fol- 
lowing chapters: 

St.  Matthew  5.  6.  7.  25.  26.  27.  28. — 

St.  Mark  1. 13. St.  Luke  2.  9.  15.  16. 

2  3 .  24. St.  John  1 .  1 1 .  1 4.  1 5 .  1 6.  1 7. 

19.  20. Acts  26.  27 Romans  2.  8. 

12,- 1. Cor.  3.  9.  13.  rj, 2Cor.4. 

6.  11. Ephef.4.  5.6-  —Philipp.  1.2. 

3. Colofl'.  I.  3. 1  Theft.  2.5. 

I  Tim.  1.  6. 2  Tim.  2.  3.- Phile- 
mon.  Heb.    1.4.  5.    11.  j2. 1  St. 

i;'ctera!l.— —2  St.  Peter  alj. St.  Jude. 


AND    HISTORICAL.        471 

1  St.  John  1.3. Revel.  1.  18.  19* 

20. 

In  this  collection  you  will  find  the  Book 
of  God,  written  by  the  evangelills,  and 
apoftles,  comprifed  in  a  moll  admirable 
and  compreheniive  epitome.  A  true  critic 
will  difepver  numerous  inftances  of  every 
ftyle  in  perfection  ;  every  grace  and  orna- 
ment of  fpeech  more  chafte  and  beautiful 
than  the  moil  admired  and  fhining  paffages 
of  the  fecular  writers. 

In  particular,  the  defcription  of  God, 
and  the  future  ftate  of  heavenly  glory,  in 
St.  Paul  and  St.  Peter,  St.  James  and  St. 
John,  as  far  tranfeend  the  defcriptions  of 
Jupiter  and  Olympus,  which  Homer,  and 
Pindar,  and  Virgil,  give  us,  as  the  thunder 
and  liehtninp- of  the  heavens  do  the  rattling; 
andflafhes  of  a  Salmoneus:  or  the  eternal 
Jehovah  is  Superior  to  the  Pagan  deities. 
In  all  the  New  Teftament,  efpecially  thefe 
felect  paflages,  God  delivers  to  mankind 
laws  of"  mercy,  myfteries  of  wifdom,  and 
rules  of  happinefs,  which  fools  and  mad- 
men ftupidly  neglect,  or  impioufly  fcorn; 
while  all  the  bell  and  brighteil  beings  in 
fhe  univerfe  regard  them  with  facred  at- 
tention, and  contemplate  them  with  won- 
der and  tranfporting  delight.  Thefe  ftu- 
dies, with  a  Suitable  Chriftian  practice 
(which  they  fo  loudly  call  for,  and  fo  pa- 
thetically prefs)  will  raife  you  above  all 
vexatious  fears,  and  deluding  hopes ;  and 
keep  you  from  putting  an  undue  value 
upon  either  the  eloquence  or  enjoyments 
of  this  world.  Ibid, 

§    165.  The  old  Critics  to  be  Jludied. 

That  we  may  ilill  qualify  ourfelves  the 
better  to  read  and  rcliih  the  Claflics,  v/e 
mull  ferioufly  ftudy  the  old  Greek  and 
Latin  critics.  Of  the  firft  are  Ariftotle, 
Lionyfius  Longinus,  and  Dionyfius  of  Ha- 
licarnafJus  ■  of  the  latter  are  Tully,  Horace, 
and  Quinctilian.  Thefe  are  excellent  au* 
thors,  which  lead  their  readers  to  the 
fountain-head  of  true  fenfe  and  Sublimity  ; 
teach  them  the  firft  and  infallible  princi- 
ples of  convincing  and  moving  eloquence; 
and  reveal  all  the  myftery  and  delicacy  of 
good  writing.  While  theyjudicioufly  dis- 
cover the  excellencies  of  other  authors, 
they  fuccefsfully  fhew  their  own  ;  and  are 
glorious  examples  of  that  fublime  they 
praife.  They  take  off  the  general  diftaile- 
fulnefs  of  precepts ;  and  rules,  by  their 
dextrous  management,  have  beauty  as  well 
as  ufefulnefs.  They  were,  what  every  true 
critic  muft  be,  perfons  of  great  reading 
H  h  4.  and 


47* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


and  happy  memory,  of  a  piercing  faga- 
city  and  elegant  tafie.  They  praife  with- 
out flattery  or  partial  favour ;  and  cenfure 
without  pride  or  envy.  We  lhall  ftill  have 
a  completer  notion  of  the  perfections  and 
beauties  of  the  ancients,  if  we  read  the 
choiceit  authors  in  cur  own  tongue,  and 
fome  of  the  belt  writers  of  our  neighbour 
nations,  who  always  have  the  Ancients  in 
view,  and  write  with  their  fpirit  and  judg- 
ment. We  have  a  glorious  let  of  poets,  of 
whom  I  fhall  only  mention  a  few,  which 
are  the  chief;  Spenfer,  Shakefpcare,  Mil- 
ton, Waller,  Denham,  Cowley,  Dryden, 
Prior,  Ad  iifon,  Pope ;  who  are  irifpired 
with  the  true  fpirit  of  their  predeceffors 
of  Greece  and  Rome ;  and  by  whofe  im- 
mortal works  the  reputation  of  the  Englifh 
poetry  is  raif.d  much  above  that  of  any 
language  in  Europe.  Then  we  have  profe 
writers  of  all  profeilions  and  degrees,  and 
upon  a  great  variety  of  fubjedts,  true  ad- 
mirers and  great  mailers  of  the  old  Clafiics 
and  Critics;  who  obferve  their  rules,  and 
write  after  their  models.  We  have  Ra- 
leigh, Clarendon,  Temple,  Taylor,  Tillot- 
fon,  Sharp,  Sprat,  South — with  a  great 
many  others,  both  dead  and  living,  that  I 
have  not  time  to  name,  though  1  eiteem 
them  not  inferior  to  the  illuitrious  few  1 
have  mentioned;  who  are  in  high  elleem 
with  all  readers  of  taite  and  dhtinction, 
and  will  be  long  quoted  as  bright  exam- 
pies  of  good  {eM'c  and  fine  writing.  Ho- 
race and  Ariilotle  will  be  read  with  greater 
delight  and  improvement,  if  we  join  with 
them,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham's  Effay 
on  Poetry,  Rofcommon's  Tranflation  of 
Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  and  Efi'ay  on 
Tranflated  Verte,  Mr.  Pope's  May  on 
Criticifm,  and  Difcourfes  before  Homer, 
Dryden's  Critical  Prefaces  anu  Difcourfes, 
all  the  Spectators  that  treat  upon  Clafiical 
Lea  ning,  particularly  the  juiHy  admired 
and  celebrated  critique  upon  Milton's  Pa- 
radife  Loft,  Dacier  upon  Arittotie's  Poe- 
tics, Boffu  on  Epic  Poetry,  Boi'cau's  Art 
of  Poetry,  and  Reflections  on  Longinus, 
Dr.  Felton's  Diflertation  on  the  Claliics, 
and  Mr.  Tripp's  Poetical  Prelections. 
Thefe  gentlemen  make  a  true  judgment 
and  ufe  of  the  Ancients :  they  efteem  it  a 
reputation  to  own  they  admire  them,  and 
borrow  from  them;  and  make  a  grateful 
return,  by  doing  honour  to  their  memories, 
?nd  defending  them  againlt  th.  at  acks  of 
fome  over- forward  wits,  who  furioufly 'en- 
vy their  fame,  andinfinitely  fall  fhortcf  their 
merit.  Ulackwall. 


§    1 66.    The  heft  Authors  to  he  read  federal 

Times  over. 

I  cannot  but  here  repeat  what  I  faid 
before,  of  the  advantage  of  reading  the 
belt  authors  feveral  times  over.  There 
mult  ne~ds  be  pJeafure  and  improvement 
in  a  repetition  of  fuch  writers  as  have  frefh 
beauties  in  every  feftion,  and  new  wonders 
arifing  in  every  new  page. 

One  fuperncial  reading  exhaufts  the 
fmall  (lores  cf  a  fuperficial  writer,  but  the 
genuine  Ancients,  and  thofe  who  write 
with  their  fpirit  and  after  their  pattern, 
are  deep  and  full.  An  ill  written  loofe 
book  is  like  a  formal  common-place  fop, 
who  has  a  fet  of  phrafes  and  ftorics,  which 
in  a  converfation  or  two  are  all  run  over  ; 
the  man  quickly  impoverishes  himfelf,  and 
in  a  few  hours  becomes  perfectly  dry  and 
iniipid.  Eut  the  old  Claffics,  and  their 
genuine  fcilowers  among  the  moderns,  are 
like  a  rich  natural  genius,  who  has  an  un- 
failing fupply  of  good  fenie  on  all  occa- 
sions; and  gratifies  his  company  with  a 
perpetual  and  charming  variety. 

Ibid. 

§    167.   The  Rife  and  Progrfs    of  Philofo- 
pbical  Criticijm. 

Ancient  Greece,  in  its  happy  days,  was 
the  feat  of  Liberty,  of  Sciences,  and  of 
Arts.  In  this  fair  region,  fertile  of  wit, 
the  Epic  writers  came  firft  ;  then  the  Ly- 
ric ;  then  the  Tragic  ;  and,  laitly,  the  His- 
torians, the  Comic  Writers,  and  the  Ora- 
tors, each  in  their  turns  delighting  whole 
multitudes,  and  commanding  the  attention 
and  admiration  of  all.  Now,  when  wife 
and  thinking  men,  the  fubtil  invdtigators 
of  principles  and  caufes,  obferved  the 
wonderful  effecl:  of  thefe  works  upon  the 
human  mind,  they  were  prompted  to  en- 
quire whence  this  mould  proceed;  for  that 
it  mould  happen  merely  from  Chance, 
they  could  not  well  believe. 

Here  therefore  we  have  the  rife  and  ori- 
gin of  Criticifm,  which  in  its  beginning 
was  "  a  deep  and  philoiophical  fearch  into 
"  the  primary  laws  and  elements  of  good 
"  writing,  as  far  as  they  could  be  collect - 
"  ed  from  the  molt  approved  perform- 
"  ances." 

In  this  contemplation  of  authors,  the 
firft  critics  not  only  attended  to  the  powers 
and  different  fpecies  of  words ;  the  force 
of  numerous  compofition,  whether  in  profe 
or  verCe;  the  aptitude  of  its  various  kinds 
to  different  fubjecls  j  but  they  farther  con- 

fidered 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.         473 


idered  that,  which  is  the  bafts  of  all,  that  is 
to  fay,  in  other  words,  the  meaning  of  the 
fenfe.  This  led  them  at  once  into  the 
moll  curious  of  Subjects;  the  nature  of 
man  in  general;  the  different  characters 
of  men,  as  they  differ  in  rank  or  age; 
their  reafon  and  their  paffions;  how  the 
one  wis  to  he  perfuaded,  the  t  lers  to  be 
raifea  or  calmed;  the  place,  or  repofitories 
t©  which  we  may  recur,  hen  we  want 
proper  matter  for  an;  thefe  purpoSes. 
Befides  all  this,  the  '  died  fentiments 
and  manners  ;  what  coniUtutes  a  work; 
what,  a  whole  i  i  parts  ;  what,  the 
eSSence  of  proh a  >le,  and  even  of  natural 
fiction,  as  co  cig  to  conflitute  a  Juit 

dramatic  fal  Harris. 

§  168.  P  o,  Aristotle,  Theo- 
phrastus,  and  other  Greek  Authors 
of  Philofophical  Criticifm. 

Much  of  this  kind  may  be  found  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  Plato.  But  Ariitotle,  his 
difciple,  who  may  be  called  the  fyflema- 
tizer  of  his  matter's  doctrines,  hat,  in  his 
two  treatifes  of  poetry  and  rhetoric  with 
fuch  wonderful  penetration  developed  every 
part  of  the  Subject,  that  he  may  be  juftly 
called  the  Father  of  Criticifm,  both  from 
the  age  when  he  lived,  and  from  his  truly 
transcendent  genius.  The  criticifm  which 
this  capital  writer  taught,  has  fo  intimate 
a  correspondence  and  alliance  with  philo- 
fophy,  that  we  can  call  it  by  no  other 
name,  than  that  of  Philofophical  Criti- 
cifm. 

To  Ariitotle  Succeeded  his  difciple  Theo- 
phraftus,  who  followed  his  mailer's  exam- 
ple in  the  iludy  of  criticifm,  as  may  be 
Seen  in  the  catalogue  of  his  writings,  pre- 
ferred by  Diogenes  Laertius.  But  all  the 
critical  works  of  Theophiullus,  as  well  as 
of  many  others,  are  now  loft.  The  prin- 
cipal authors  of  the  kind  now  remaining  in 
Greek  are  Demetrius  of  Phalera,  Diony- 
fius  of  HalicarnafTus,  Dionyfius  Longinus, 
together  with  Hermogenes,  Aphthonius, 
$nd  a  few  others. 

Of  thefe  the  moil  maflerly  feems  to  be 
Demetrius,  who  was  the  earlieft,  and  who 
appears  to  follow  the  precepts,  and  even 
the  text  of  Ariitotle,  with  far  greater  at- 
tention than  any  of  the  reft.  His  exam- 
ples, it  mull  be  confeffed,  are  Sometimes 
obfeure,  but  this  we  rather  impute  to  the 
destructive  hand  of  time,  which  has  pre- 
vented us  from  feeing  many  of  the  origi- 
nal authors. 


Dionyfius  of  HalicarnafTus,  the  tiext  in 
order,  may  be  faid  to  have  written  with 
judgment  upon  the  force  of  numerous 
composition,  not  to  mention  other  tracts  on 
the  Subject  of  oratory,  and  thofe  alSo  criti- 
cal as  well  as  hiitoiical.  Longinus,  who 
was  in  time  far  later  than  thefe,  Seems 
principally  to  have  had  in  view  the  paffions 
and  the  imagination,  in  the  treating  of 
which  he  has  acquired  a  juil  applauSe,  and 
expreSfed  himSelf  with  a  dignity  Suitable  to 
the  Subject.  The  reft  of  the  Greek  critics, 
though  they  have  faid  many  ufeful  things, 
have  yet  So  minutely  multiplied  the  rules 
of  art,  and  fo  much  confined  themSelves  to 
the  oratory  of  the  tribunal,  that  they  ap- 
pear of  no  great  fervice,  as  to  good  writing 
in  general.  Ibid, 

§   169.     Philofophical  Critics  among  tht 
Romans. 

Amcng  the  Romans,  the  foil  critic  of 
note  was  Cicero  ;  who,  though  far'  below 
Ariitotle  in  depth  of  philoibphy,  may  be 
faid,  like  him,  to  have  exceeded  all  his 
countrymen.  As  his  celebrated  treatife 
concerning  the  Orator  is  written  in  dia- 
logue, where  the  Speakers  introduced  are 
the^  greatest  men  of  his  nation,  we  have 
incidentally  an  elegant  Sample  of  thofe 
manners,  and  that  poIiteneSs,  which  were 
peculiar  to  the  leading  characters  during 
the  Roman  commonwealth.  There  we 
may  lee  the  behaviour  of  free  and  accom- 
plished men,  before  a  baSer  addreSs  had  Set 
that  Standard,  which  has  been  too  often 
taken  for  good  breeding  ever  Since. 

Next  to  Cicero  came  Horace;  who 
often,  in  other  parts  of  his  writings,  acts 
the  critic  and  fcholar,  but  whoSe  Art  of 
Poetry  is  a  ftandard  of  its  kind,  and  too 
well  known  to  need  any  encomium.  After 
Horace  arofe  Quin&ilian,  Cicero's  admirer 
and  follower,  who  appears,  by  his  works, 
not  only  learned  and  ingenious,  but,  what 
is  it  ill  more,  an  honeit  and  a  worthy  man. 
He  likewife  dwells  too  much  upon  the 
oratory  of  the  tribunal,  a  fact  no  way  fur- 
prizing,  when  we  confider  the  age  in 
which  he  lived :  an  age  when  tyrannic  go- 
vernment being  the  fafhion  of  the  times, 
that  nobler  fpecies  of  eloquence,  I  mean 
the  popular  and  deliberative,  was,  with  all 
things  truly  liberal,  degenerated  and  funk. 
The  later  Latin  rhetoricians  there  is  no 
need  to  mention,  as  they  little  help  to  il- 
lustrate the  Subject  in  hand.  I  would  only 
repeat,  that  the  fpecies  of  criticifm  here 

mentioned, 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


474 

mentioned,  as  far  at  Iqaft  as  handled  by 
the  more  able  matters,  is  that  which  we 
have  denominated  Criticifm  Philofophical. 

Harris. 

§  1 70.  Concerning  the  Progrefs  of  Criti- 
cifm in  its  fecond  Species,  the  Hiftorical — 
Greek  and  Roman  Critics,  by  wbfm 
this  Species  of  Criticijhi  ^tvas  cultivated. 
As  to  the  Criticifm  already  treated,  we 
find  it  not  confined  to  any  one  particular 
author,  but  containing  general  rules  of  art, 
either  for  judging  or  writing,  confirmed 
by  the  example  not  of  one  author,  but  of 
many.  But  we  know  from  experience, 
that,  in  procefs  of  time,  languages,  cuf- 
toms,  manners,  laws,  governments,  and 
religions,  infenfibly  change.  The  Mace- 
donian tyranny,  after  the  fatal  battle  of 
Chffironea,  wrought  much  of  this  kind 
in  Greece:  and  the  Roman  tyranny,  after 
the  fatal_  battles  of  Pharfalia  and  Philippi, 
carried  it  throughout  the  known  world. 
Kence,  therefore,  of  things  obfolete  the 
names  became  obfolete  alio;  and  authors, 
who  in  their  own  age  were  intelligible  and 
eafy,  in  after  days  grew  difficult  and  ob- 
fcure.  Here  then  we  behold  the  rife  of  a 
fecond  race  of  critics,  the  tribe  of  icholiafts, 
commentators,  and  explainers. 

Thefe  naturally  attached  themfelves  to 
particular  authors.  Ariilarchus,  Didymus, 
Euftathius,  and  many  others,  bellowed 
their  labours  upon  Homer;  Proclus  and 
Tzetzes  upon  Heftod;  the  fame  Proclus 
and  Clympiodorus  upon  Plato;  Simpli- 
cius,  Ammonius,  and  Philoponus,  upon 
Ariftotle  ;  Ulpian  upon  Demollhencs;  Ma- 
crobius  and  Afconius  upon  Cicero;  Calli- 
ergus  upon  Theocritus  Donatus  upon 
Terence;  Servius  upon  Virgil;  Aero  and 
Furphyrio  upon  Horace;  and  fo  with  rc- 
fpecl  to  others,  as  well  philofophers  as 
poets  and  orators.  To  thefe  fcholiaib  may 
be  added  the  feveral  compofers  of  Lexi- 
cons;  fuch  as  Hefychius,  Philoxenus,  Sui- 
das,  &c.  alfo  the  writers  upon  Grammar, 
fuch  ^  as  Apollonius,  Prifcian,  Sofipater, 
Chariftus,  &c.  Now  all  thefe  pains-takinp- 
men,  conftdered  together,  may  be  faid  to 
have  completed  another  fpecies  of  criticifm, 
a  fpecies  which,  in  diftinction  to  the  former, 
we  call  Criticifm  Hiftorical. 

And  thus  things  continued,  though  in  a 
declining  way,  till,  after  many  a  fevere 
and  unfuccefsful  plunge,  the  Roman  em- 
pire funk  through  the  weft  of  Europe. 
Latin  then  foon  loft  its  purity  ;  Greek  they 
hardly   knew;   Claflics,  and  their   Scho- 


liafts,  were  v.o  longer  ftudied;  and  an  a^<* 
fuccecded  of  legends  and  crufades. 

Ibid. 

§  171.  Moderns  eminent  in  the  t-vjo  Species 
of  Criticifm  before  -mentioned,  the  Philofo- 
f'r  Hifiorical—tM  laft  Sort  of 

L';'  -  "  '  '"  numerous — thofe,  mentioned  in 
this  Section,  confined  to  the  Greek  and 
L  a  t  i  x  Languages. 

At  length,  after  a  long  and  barbarous 
period,  when  the  fliades  of  monkery  began 
10  retire,  and  the  light  of  humanity  once 
again  to  dawn,  the  arts  alfo  of  criticifm 
infenfibly  revived.  'Tis  true,  indeed,  the 
authors  of  the  philofophical  fort  (I  mean 
that  which  refpeds  the  caufes  and  prin- 
ciples of  good  writing  in  general)  were 
not  many  in  number.  However,  of  this 
rank,  among  the  Italians,  were  Vida,  and 
the  elder  ^  Scaiiger;  among  the  French 
were  Rapin,  Bouhours,  Boiieau,  together 
with  Boifu,  the  moft  methodic  and  accu- 
rate of  them  all.  In  our  own  country, 
our  nobility  may  be  faid  to  have  diftin- 
guifhed  themfelves ;  Lord  Rofcommon,  in 
his  Eftay  upon  tranftated  Verfe;  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  in  his  Eftay  on  Poetry; 
and  Lord  Shaftlbury,  in  his  treatife  called 
Advice  to  an  Author:  to  whom  may  be 
added,  our  late  admired  genius,  Pope,  in 
his  truly  elegant  poem,  the  Eftay  upon  Cri- 
ticifm. 

The  Difcourfes  of  Sir  Joftiua  Reynolds 
upon  painting  have,  after  a  philofophical 
manner,  inveftigated  the  principles  of  an 
art,  which  no  one  in  pracdee  has  better 
verified  than  himfelf. 

We  have  mentioned  thefe  difcourfes, 
not  only  from  their  merit,  but  as  they  in- 
cidentally teach  us,  that  to  write  well  upon 
a  libera!  art,  we  mull:  write  philofophically 
— that  all  the  liberal  arts  in  their  princi- 
ples are  congenial — and  that  thefe  prin- 
ciples, when  traced  to  their  common  fource, 
are  found  all  to  terminate  in  the  firft  plv- 
lofophy.  "   *  ' 

But  to  purfue  our  fubjecl — However 
fm-.ill  among  moderns  may  be  the  number 
°f  thek  Philofophical  Critics,  the  writers 
of  hiftorical  or  explanatory  criticifm  have 
been  i  n  a  manner  innumerable.  To  name, 
out  of  many,  only  a  few— of  Italy  were 
Beroaldus,  Ficinus,  Vidorius,  and  Rober- 
telius;  of  the  Higher  and  Lower  Germany 
wereErafmus,  Sylburgius,  Le  Clerc,  and 
Fabncius;  of  France  were  Lambin,  Du- 
Vall,  Harduin,  Capperonerius;  of  Eng- 
land were  Stanley   (editor  of  ^Efchylus) 

Gauker, 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL 

Gataker,  Davies,  Clark  (editor  of  Homer) 
together  with  multitudes  more  from  every 
region  and  quarter, 

Thick   as   autumnal   leaves  that  ftrow  the 

bropks 
In  VallombrtSfa.  ■ 

But  I  fear  I  have  given  a  ftrange  cata- 
logue, where  we  leek  in  vain  for  loch  il- 
lustrious perfonages,  as   Sefoftris,    Cyrus, 
Alexander,    Ciefar,    Attiia,    Tortjla,  Ta- 
merlane,  &c     The  heroes  of  tins  work 
(if  I  may  be  pardoned  for  calling  them 
fo)  have  only  aimed  in  retirement  to  pre- 
fent  us  with  knowledge.     Knowledge  only 
was  their  objett,  not  havock,  nor  devalua- 
tion. Harris. 
§  172.     Compilers  of  Lexicons  and  Diction- 
aries, and  Authors  upon  Grammars. 
After  Commentators   and  Editors,   we 
mult  net  forget  the  compilers  of  Lexicons 
and    Dictionaries,    fuch   as    Charles   and 
Henry   Stevens,    Favorinus,    Conitantine, 
Budseus,     Cooper,    Faber,    Voihus,    and 
others.     To  theft  alio  wemay  add   the 
authors  upon    Grammar;    in    which  fub- 
jeft  the  learned  Greeks,  when  they  quitted 
the  Eaft,led  the  way,  Mofchopulus,  Chry- 
foloras,  Latcaris,    Theodore    Gaza;    then 
in  Italy,  Laurentius  Valla ;  in  England, 
Grocin  and  Linacer;  in  Spain,  Sancliusj 
in  the  Low  Countries,  Voiims;  in  France, 
Csefar  Scaliger  by   his  refidence,  though 
by    birth  an  Italian,  together  with  thole 
able  writers  MelT.  de  Port   Roial.  _  Nor 
ought  we  to  omit  the  writers  of  Philolo- 
gical Epiftles,  fuch  as  Emanuel  Martin; 
nor  the  writers  of  Literary  Catalogues  (in 
French  called  Catalogues  Raifonnees)  fuch 
as  the  account  of  the  manuscripts  m  the 
imperial  library  at  Vienna,  by  Lambecius; 
or  of  the  Arabic  manufcripts  in  the  Eicu- 
rial  library,  by  Michael  Cafiri. 

ibid. 

§  173.  Modern  Critics  of  the  Explana- 
tory Kind,  commenting  Modem  Writers — 
Lexicographers  —  Grammarians  —  Tranf- 
lators. 

Though  much  hiftorical  explanation  has 
been  bellowed  on  the  ancient  dailies,  yet 
have  the  authors  of  our  own  country  by 
no  means  been  forgotten,  having  exer- 
cifed  many  critics  of  learning  and  inge- 
nuity. 

Mr.  Thomas  Warton  (belides  his  fine 
edition  of  Theocritus)  has  given  a  curious 
hiftory  of  Engliih  Poetry  during  the  mid- 
dle centuries  j  Mr.  Tyrwhit,  much  acCu- 


AND    HISTORICAL.  475 

rate  and  diversified  erudition  upon  Chau- 
cer;  Mr.  Upton,  a  learned  Comment  on 
the  Fairy  Queen  of  Spenfer;  Mr.  AddiSon, 
many  polite  and  elegant  Spectators  on  the 
Conduct  and  Beauties  of  the  Paradife  Loft; 
Dr.  Warton,  an  ESTay  on  the  Genius  and 
Writings  of  Pope,  a  work  filled  with  fpe- 
culations,  in  a  taite  perfectly  pure.  The 
lovers  of  literature  would  not  forgive  me, 
were  I  to  omit  that  ornament  of  her  fex 
and  country,  the  critic  andpatronefs  of  our 
illuflrious  Shakefpearc,  Mrs.  Montague. 
For  the  honour  of  criticifm,  not  only  the 
divines  already  mentioned,  but  others  alfo, 
of  rank  Hill  Superior,  have  bellowed  their 
labours  upon  our  capital  poets  (Shake- 
fpeare,  Milton,  Cowley,  Pope)  fufpend- 
ing  for  a  while  their  feverer  iludies,  to  re- 
lax in  thefe  regions  of  genius  and  imagi- 
nation. 

The  Dictionaries  of  Minfhew,  Skinner, 
Spelman,  Sumner,  Junius,  and  Johnfon, 
are  all  well  known,  and  juftly  elteemed. 
Such  is  the  merit  of  the  lail,  that  our  lan- 
guage does  not  poSSefs  a  more  copious, 
learned,  and  valuable  work.  For  gram- 
matical knowledge  we  ought  to  mention 
with  distinction  the  learned  prelate,  Dr. 
Lowth,  bifhop  of  London;  whofe  admira- 
ble tra£t  on  the  Grammar  of  the  Engliih 
language,  every  lover  of  that  language 
ought  to  Study  and  understand,  if  he  would 
write,  or  even  Speak  it,  with  purity  and 
precifion. 

Let  my  countrymen  too  reflect,  that  in 
Studying  a  work  upon  this  Subject,  they  are 
not  only  Studying  a  language  in  which  it 
becomes  them  to  be  knowing,  but  a  lan- 
guage which  can  boait  of  as  many  good 
books  as  any  among  the  living  or  modern 
languages  of  Europe.  The  writers,  born 
and  educated  in  a  free  country,  have  been 
left  for  years  to  their  native  freedom. 
Then-  pages  have  been  never  defiled  with 
an  index  expurgatorius,  nor  their  ge- 
nius ever  Shackled  with  the  terrors  of  an 
inquifition. 

May  this  invaluable  privilege  never  be 
impaired  either  by  the  hand  of  power,  or 
by  licentious  abuie  !  Ibid. 

§  174.  On  Tranfators. 
Perhaps  with  the  critics  juSt  defcribed  I 
ought  to  arrange  Translators,  if  it  be  true 
that  translation  is  a  Species  of  explanation, 
which  differs  no  otherwiSe  from  explana- 
tory comments,  than  that  thefe  attend  to 
parts,  while  translation  goes  to  the  whole. 
Now  as  translators  are  infinite,  and  ma- 
ny of  them  (to  borrow  a  phrafe  from  fportf- 

men) 


476 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    JN    PROSE. 


men)  unqualified  perfons,  I  fhall  enumerate 
only  a  few,  and  thofe  fuch  as  for  their  me- 
rits have  been  defervedly  eileemed. 

Of  this  number  I  may  very  truly  reckon 
Meric  Cafaubon,  the  tranflator  of  Marcus 
Antoninus ;  Mrs.  Carter,  the  tranflator  of 
Epidtetus;  and  Mr.  Sydenham,  the  tranf- 
lator of  many  of  Plato's  Dialogues.  All 
thefe  feem  to  have  accurately  Ltnderilcod 
the  original  language  from  which  i  ey 
translated.  But  that  is  not  all.  Tne  au- 
thors tran dated  being  philosophers,  the 
tranflators  appear  to  have  ftudied  the  ftyle 
of  their  phiiofophy,  well  knowing  that  in 
ancient  Greece  every  feci:  of  phiiofophy, 
like  every  fcience  and  arc,  had  a  language 
of  its  own*. 

To  thefe  may  be  added  the  refpeciable 
names  of  Melmoth  and  of  Hampton,  of 
Franklin  and  of  Potter;  nor  fhould  I  omit 
a  few  others,  whole  labours  have  been  fi- 
milar,  did  I  not  recoiled!  the  trite,  though 
elegant  admonition: 

fugit  irreparabile  tempns, 

Sinffuladumcapticircumvedlamuramore.ViRc. 

Harris. 

*  175.  Rife  of  the  third  Species  of  Criti- 
cifm, the  Corrective — praftifed  by  the  An- 
cients, but  much  mere  hy  the  Modems;  and 
nvhy. 

But  we  are  now  to  enquire  after  ano- 
ther fpecies  of  Cridcifm.  All  ancient 
books,  having  been  preferred _by  tran- 
fcription,  were  liable,  through  ignorance, 
negligence,  or  fraud,  to  be  corrupted  in 
three  different  ways,  that  is  to  fay,  by 
retrenchings,  by  additions,  and  by  altera- 

tioi  s. 

To  remedy  thefe  evil-.,  a  third  fort  of 
cridcifm  arofe,  and  that  was  Criticifm 
Corrective.  The  bufinefs  of  this  at  firft 
was  painfully  to  collate  all  the  various  co- 
pies of  authority,  and  then,  from  amidit 
the  variety  of  leadings  thus  collected,  to 
eltablifh,  by  good  reaions,  either  the  true, 
er  the  moil  probable.  In  this  fenfe  we 
may  call  fuch  criticifm  not  only  corrective 
kut  authoritative. 

As  the  number  of  thefe  corruptions  mull 
needs  have  increafed  by  length  of  time, 
hence  it  has  happened  that  corrective  cri- 
ticifm has  become  much  more  neceifary  in 
thefe  later  ages,  than  it  was  in  others  more 
ancient.  Not  but  that  even  in  ancient  days 
various  readings  have  been  noted.  Of  this 
kind  there  arc  a  multitude  in  the  text  of 

*  See  Hermes,  p.  269,  270. 


Homer  ;  a  fact  not  Angular,  when  we  con- 
iider  his  great  antiquity.  In  the  Com- 
ments of  Ammonius  and  Philoponus  upon 
Arifletle,  there  is  mention  made  of  feve- 
ral  in  the  text  of  that  phiiofopher,  which 
thefe  his  commentators  compare  and  exa- 
mii    . 

We  find  the  fame  in  Aulus  Gellius,  as 
to  the  Roman  authors ;  where  it  is  withal 
remarkable,  that,  even  in  that  early  pe- 
riod, much  ftrefs  is  laid  upon  the  authority 
of  ancient  manulcrip'ts,  a  reading  in  Ci- 
cero being  juitified  from  a  copy  made  by 
his  learned  freed-man,  Tiro:  and  a  read- 
ing in  Virgil's  Georgics,  from  a  book 
which  had  once  belonged  to  Virgil's  fa- 
mily. 

But  fince  the  revival  of  literature,  to 
correct  has  been  a  bufinefs  of  much  more 
latitude,  having  continually  employed,  for 
two  centuries  and  a  half,  both  the  pains  of 
the  moll  laborious,  and  the  wits  of  the  molt 
acute.  Many  of  the  learned  men  before 
enumerated  were  not  only  famous  as  hif- 
torical  critics,  but  as  corrective  alfo.  Such 
were  the  two  Scaligers  (of  whom  one  lias 
been  already  mentioned,  ^  171.)  the  two 
Cafaubons,  Salmofius,  the  Heiniii,  Grs- 
vius,  the  Gronovii,  Burman,  kufter,  Waffe, 
Bentley,  Pearce,  and  Markland.  In  the 
fame  clafs,  and  in  a  rank  highly  eminent,  I 
place  Mr.  Toupe  of  Cornwall,  who,  in  his 
Emendations  upon  Suidas,  a::d  his  edition 
of  Longinus,  has  fhewn  a  critical  acumen, 
and  a  compais  of  learning,  that  may  juilly 
arrange  him  with  the  moil  diitinguiihed 
fcholars.  Nor  mufl  I  forget  Dr.  Taylor, 
refidentiary  of  St.  Paul's,  nor  Mr.  Upton, 
prebendary  of  Rocheller.  The  former,  by 
his  edition  of  Demoilhenes,  (as  far  as  he 
lived  to  carry  it)  by  his  Lyiias,  by  his 
Comment  on  the  Marmor  Sanuvicenfe,  and 
other  critical  pieces;  the  hatter,  by  his 
corredl  and  elegant  edition,  in  Greek  and 
Latin,  of  Arrian's  Epictetus  (the  firfl  of 
the  kind  that  had  any  pretentions  to  be 
called  complete)  have  rendered  themfelves, 
as  Scholars,  laiting  ornaments  of  their 
country.  Thefe  two  valuable  men  were 
the  friends  of  my  youth ;  the  companions 
of  my  focial,  as  well  as  my  literary  hours. 
I  admired  them  for  their  erudition;  I 
loved  them  for  their  virtues ;  they  are  now 
no  more— - 


His  faltem  accumulem  donis,  et  fungar  inani 
Munere— —  Virg. 


Ibid. 


BOOK    II.     CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL. 


477 


§176.  Criticifm  may  have  been  abufed — -yet 
defended,  as  of  the  laji  Importance  to  the 
Caufe  of  Literature. 

But  here  was  the  misfortune  of  this  lad 
fpecies  of  criticifm.     The  heft  of  things 
may  pafs  into  abufe.     There  were  nume- 
rous corruptions  in  many  of  the  fined  au- 
thors, which  neither  ancient  editions,  nor 
manulcripts,  could  heal.     What  then  was 
to  be  done  ? — Were  forms  fo  fair  to  remain 
disfigured,  and  be  feen  for  ever  under  fuch 
apparent  blemifhes? — "  No  (fays  a  critic,) 
"  Conjecture    can    cure    al! — Conjecture, 
«*  whole  performances  are  for  the  mod  part 
"  more  certain  than  any  tiling  thai  we  can 
"  exhibit    from   the    authority    of   manu- 
"  fcripts." — We  will    not    alk,  upon  this 
wonderful  alfertion,  how,  if  fo  certain,  can 
it  be  called  conjecture? — 'Tis  enough  to 
oblerve  (be  it  called  as  it  may)  that  this 
fpirit  of  conjecture  has  too  often  palled  into 
an  intemperate  excefs:  and  then,  whatever 
it  may  have  boaded,  has  done  more  mil- 
chief  by  far  than  good.     Authors  have  been 
taken  in  hand,    like   anatomical  fubjects, 
only  to  difplay  the  Ikill  and  abilities  of  the 
artid;  fo  that  the  end  of  many  an  edition 
feems  often  to  have  been  no  more  than  to 
exhibit  the  great  fagacity  and  erudition  of 
an  editor.     The  joy. of  the  talk  was  the 
honour  of  mending,  while  corruptions  were 
fought  with  a  more  than  common  atten- 
tion, as  each  of  them  afforded  a  tefldmony 
to  the  editor  and  his  art. 

And  here  1  beg  leave,  by  way  of  di- 
grefilon,  to  relate  a  lhort  dory  concerning 
a  noted  empiric.  "  Being  once  in  a  ba.ll- 
"  room  crowded  wtth  company,  he  was 
"  aflced  by  a  gentleman,  what  he  thought 
"  of  fuch  a  lady  ?  was  it  not  pity  that  fhe 
"  fquinted  r" — "  Squint !  Sir  I"  repiied  the 
doctor,  "  I  wilh  every  lady  in  the  room 
"  fquinted;  there  is  not  a  man  in  Europe 
"  can  cure  fquinting  but  myfelf." — 

But  to  return  to  our  fubject — well  in- 
deed would  it  be  for  the  caufe  of  letters, 
were  this  bold  conjectural  fpirit  confined  to 
works  of  fecond  rate,  where,  let  it  change, 
expunge,  or  add,  as  happens,  it  may  be 
tolerably  fure  to  leave  matters,  as  they 
were;  or  if  not  much  better,  at  lead  not 
much  worfe  :  but  when  the  divine  geniufes 
of  higher  rank,  whom  we  not  only  ap- 
plaud, but  in  a  manner  revere,  when  thefe 
come  to  be  attempted  by  petulant  correc- 
tors, and  to  be  made  the  fubject  of  their 
wanton  caprice,  how  can  we  but  exclaim, 
with  a  kind  of  religious  abhorrence— 
«——  procul !  O  !  procul  efte  pvofani  I 


Thefe  fentiments  may  be  applied  even 
to  the  celebrated  Bentiey.     it  would  have 
become  that  able  writer,  though  in  litera- 
ture and   natural  abilities  among  the  fird 
of  his   age,  had  he  been  more  temperate 
in  his   criticifm  upon  the  Paradife   Loll; 
had  he  not  fo  repeatedly  and  injurioufly 
offered  \<  iolence  to  its  author,  from  an  af- 
fected fuperiority,  to  which  he  had  no  pre- 
tence.    But  the  rage  of  conjecture  feems 
to  have  feized  him,  as  that  of  jealoufy  did 
Medea:  a  rage  which    die  confed  herfelf 
unable  to  refill,   although  Ihe  knew  the 
mifchiefs  it    would  prompt   her    to   per- 
petrate. 

And  now  to  obviate  an  unmerited  cen- 
fure,  (as  if  I  were  an  enemy  to  the  thing, 
from  being  an  enemy  to  its  abufe)  I  would 
have  it  remembered,  it  is  not  either  with 
criticifm  or  critics  that  I  prefume  to  find 
fault.  The  arts,  and  its  profedbrs,  while 
they  practife  it  with  temper,  I  truly  ho- 
nour; and  think,  that  were  it  not  for  their1 
acute  and  learned  labours,  we  fhould  be 
in  danger  of  degenerating  into  an  age  of 
dunces. 

Indeed  critics  (if  I  may  be  allowed  the 
metaphor)  are  ?.  fort  of  maders  of  the  ce- 
remony in  the  court  of  letters,  through 
whole  affidance  we  are  introduced  into 
fome  of  the  fird  and  bed  company.  Should 
we  ever,  therefore,byidleprcjudicesagainlt 
pedantry,  verbal  accuracies,  and  we  know 
not  what,  come  to  flight  their  art,  and  re- 
ject them  from  our  favour,  it  is  well  if  we 
do  not  flight  alfo  thoie  Claliics  with  whom 
criticifm  converfes,  becoming  content  to 
read  them  in  tranfiations,  or  (what  is  dill 
worfe)  in  tranfiations  of  translations,  or 
(what  is  worfe  even  than  that)  not  to  read 
them  at  all.  And  I  will  be  bold  to  aflert, 
if  that  fhouldever  happen,  we  fhall  fpeedily 
return  into  thofe  days  of  darknefs,  out  of 
which  we  happily  emerged  upon  die  revival 
of  ancient  literature.  Harris. 

§    177.     The  Epic  Writers  came  firft. 

It  appears,  that  not  only  in  Greece,  but 
in  other  countries  more  barbarous,  the  fird 
writings  were  in  metre,  and  of  an  epic  cad, 
recording  wars,  battles,  heroes,  ghofls ;  the 
marvellous  always,  and  often  the  incredi- 
ble. Men  feemed  to  have  thought,  that 
the  higher  they  (bared  the  more  important 
they  fhould  appear;  and  that  the  common 
life,  which  they  then  lived,  was  a  thing  too 
contemptible  to  merit  imitation. 

Hence  it  followed,  that  it  was  not  till 
this  common  life  was  rendered  refpedtabje 
by  more  refined  and  polifhed  manners.,  that 
'  men 


47S 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS   IN   PROSE. 


men  thought  it  might  be  copied,  fo  as  to 
gain  them  applaufe. 

Even  in  Greece  itfelf,  tragedy  had  at- 
tained its  maturity  many  years  before  co- 
medy, as  may  be  feen  by  comparing  the 
age  of  Sophocles  and  Euripides  with  that 
of  Philemon  and  Menander. 

For  ourfelves,  we  ihall  find  molt  of  our 
firft  poets  prone  to  a  turgid  bcmbait,  and 
molt  of  our  firit  profaic  writers  to  a  pe- 
dantic ftiffnefs ;  which  rude  ftyles  gradu- 
ally improved,  but  reached  not  a  clafiical 
purity  fooner  than  Tillotfon,  Dryden,  Ad- 
difonj  Shaftfbury,  Prior,  Pope,  Atterbury, 
&C.    &C.  Harris. 

§    178.,     Nothing  excellent  in  literary  Per- 
formances happens  from  Chance. 

As  to  what  is  afferted  foon  after  upon 
the  efficacy  of  caufes  in  works  of  ingenuity 
and  art,  we  think  in  general,  that  the  effect 
mult  always  be  proportioned  to  its  caufe. 
It  is  hard  for  him,  who  reafons  attentively, 
to  refer  to  chance  any  iuperlative  produc- 
tion. 

Effects  indeed  ftrike  us,  when  we  are  not 
thinking  about  the  caufe;  yet  may  we  be 
allured,  if  we  reflect,  that  a  caufe  there  is, 
and  that  too  a  caufe  intelligent  and  ra- 
tional. Nothing  would  perhaps  more  con- 
ti  ibute  to  give  us  a  tafte  truly  critical,  than 
on  every  occafon  to  inveltigate  this  caufe, 
and  to  ail:  ourfelves,  upon  feeling  any  un- 
common effect,  why  we  are  thus  delighted ; 
why  thus  affected;  why  melted  into  pity; 
why  made  to  fhudder  with  horror  ? 

Till  this  tvhy  is  well  aufwered,  all  is 
darknefs ;  and  our  admiration,  like  that  of 
the  vulgar,  founded  upon  ignorance. 

Ibid. 

§    I  Jg.     The  Caufes  or  Reafons  of  fuch  Ex- 
cellence. 

To  explain,  by  a  few  examples,  that  are 
known  to  all,  and  for  that  reafon  here 
alledgcd,  becaufe  they  are  known. 

I  am  Itruck  with  the  night  icene  in  Vir- 
gil's fourth  JEneid — "  The  univerfal  filencc 
"  throughout  the  globe — the  fweet  reft  of 
"  its  various  inhabitants,  foothing  their 
"  cares  and  forgetting  their  labours — the 
"  unhappy  Dido  alone  refuels ;  reilleis, 
"  agitated  with  impetuous  palnons." — 
JEn.  iv.  522. 

I   am  affected  with  the  ftory  of  Regu- 
lus,  as  painted  by  Weft — "  The  crowd  of  . 
**  anxious  friends,  perfuading  him  not  to 
"  return — his  wife  fainting  through  fenfi- 
"  bility  and  fear — perions  the  kail  con- 


**■  nected  appearing  to  feel  for  him,  yet 
"  himfelf  unmoved,  inexorable,  and  item.1* 
Horat.  Carm.  L.  iii.  Od.  5. 

Without  referring  to  thefe  deeply  tragic 
fcenes,  what  charms  has  mufic,  when  a 
mafterly  band  pafs  unexpectedly  from  loud 
to  foft,  or  from  foft  to  loud  !— When  the 
fyflcm  changes  from  the  greater  third  to" 
the  lefs ;  or  reciprocally,  when  it  changes 
from  this  lait  to  the  former. 

All  thefe  effects  have  a  fimilar  and  well 
known  caufe,  the  amazing  force  which  con- 
traries acquire,  either  by  juxta-pofition,  or 
by  quick  fucceffion.  Ibid. 

§  1 80.    Why  Contraries  have  this  Effecl. 

But  we  afk  ftill  farther,  Why  have  con- 
traries this  force  ? — We  anfwer,  Becaufe, 
of  all  things  which  differ,  none  differ  fo 
widely.  Sound  differs  from  darknefs,  but 
not  fo  much  as  from  filence ;  darknefs  dif- 
fers from  found,  but  not  fo  much  as  from 
light.  In  the  fame  intenfe  manner  differ 
repofe  and  reitleffnels;  felicity  and  mi- 
fery;  dubious  folicitude  and  firm  refolu- 
tion  :  the  epic  and  the  comic  ;  the  fublime 
and  the  ludicrous. 

And  why  differ  contraries  thus  widely  ? 
—Becaufe  while  attributes,  fimply  different, 
may  co«-exift  in  the  fame  fubject,  contra- 
ries cannot  co-exiit,  but  always  deflroy 
one  another.  Thus  the  fame  marble  may 
be  both  white  and  hard:  but  the  fame 
marble  cannot  be  both  white  and  black. 
And  hence  it  follows,  that  as  their  diffe- 
rence is  more  intenfe,  fo  is  our  recognition 
of  them  more  vivid,  and  our  mipreflions 
more  permanent. 

This  effect  of  contraries  is  evident  even 
in  objects  cf  fenfe,  where  imagination  and 
intellect  are  not  in  the  leail  concerned. 
When  we  oafs  (for  example)  from  a  hot- 
houfe,  we  feel  the  common  air  more  in- 
tenfely  cool ;  when  we  pafs  from  a  dark 
cavern,  we  feel  the  common  light  of  the 
day  more  intenfely  glaring. 

But  to  proceed  to  inftances  of  another 
and  a  very  different  kind. 

Few  fcenes  are  more  affecting  than  the 
taking  of  Troy,  as  defcribed  in  the  fecond 
Eneid — "  The  apparition  of  Heclor  to 
"  Eneas,  when  afleep,  announcing  to  him 
"  the  commencement  of  that  direful  event 
"  — the  diftant  lamentations,  heard  by 
"  Eneas  as  he  awakes — his  afcending  the 
"  houfe-top,  and  viewing  the  city  in  flames 
"  — his  friend  Pentheus,  efcaped  from  de- 
"  ftruction,  and  relating  to  him  their  wretch- 
"  ed    and    deplorable    condition — Eneas 

*'  with 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.      .479 


*f  with  a  few  friends,  rufhing  in  to  the  thick- 
fC  eit  danger — their  various  fuccefs  till 
«  they  all  perifh,  but  himfelf  and  two  more 
f*  -r-the  affecting  fcenes  of  horror  and  pity 
"  and  Priam's  palace — a  fon  (Tain  at  his  fa- 
"  ther's  feet ;  and  the  immediate  maflacre 
*'  of  the  old  monarch  himfelf — Eneas,  on 
"  feeing  this,  infpired  with  the  memory  of 
"  his  own  father — his  refolving  to  return 
'*'  home,  having  now  loft  all  his  compa- 
"  nions — his  feeing  Helen  in  the  way,  and 
"  his  defign  tc  difpatch  fo  wicked  a  woman 
"  — Venus  interpefmg,  and  fhewing  him 
"  (by  removing  the  lilm  from  his  eyes) 
"  the  moil  fublime,  though  moil  direful,  of 
'•'  all  fights  ;  the  Gods  themfelves  bufied 
fi  in  Troy's  deftruction ;  Neptune  at  one 
«  employ,  Juno  at  another,  Pallas  at  a 
"  third — It  is  not- Helen  (fays  Venus) 
"  but  the  gods,  that  are  the  authors  of 
*'  your  country's  ruin — it  is  their  incle- 
"  mency,"  &c. 

Not  iefs  folemn  and  awful,  though  lefs 
leading  to  pity,  is  the  commencement  of 
the  fixth  Eneid — "  The  Sibyl's  cavern — 
her  frantic  geftures,  and  prophecy — the 
requeft  of  Eneas  to  defcend  to  the  (hades 
— her  anfwer,  and  information  about  the 
lofs  of  one  of  his  friends — the  fate  of 
poor  Mifenus — his  funeral — the  golden 
bough  difcovered,  a  preparatory  cir- 
cumilance  for  the  defcent— the  facrifice 
— the  ground  bellowing  under  their  feet 
■ — the  woods  in  motion — the  dogs  ofHe- 
cate  howling — the  actual  defcent,  in  all 
its  particulars  of  the  marvellous,  and  the 
terrible." 

If  we  pafs  from  an  ancient  author  to  a 
modern,  whaticene  more  linking  '.nan  the 
firft  fcene  in  Hamlet  ? — '«  The  iblemnity 
"  of  the  time,  a  fevere  and  pinching  night 
"  — the  folemnhy  of  the  place,  a  platform 
"  for  a  guard — the  guards  themfelves  ; 
*'  and  their  appohte  diicourie- — yonder  ftar 
*'  in  fuch  apoiition;  the  bell  then  beating 
"  one — when  defcription  is  exhauiled, 
"  the  thing  itfelf  appears,  the  Ghoft  enters." 
From  Shakefpeare  the  tranfition  to  Mil- 
ton is  natural.  What  pieces  have  ever 
met  a  more  juft,  as  well  as  univerfal  ap- 
plaufe,  than  his  L'Ailegro  and  II  Penfe- 
rcfo  ? — The  firft,  a  combination  of  every 
incident  that  is  lively  and  chearful ;  the 
fecond,  of  every  incident  that  is  melancholy 
and  ferious :  the  materials  of  each  collected, 
according  to  their  character,  from  rural  life, 
from  city  life,  from  mufic,  from  poetry  ;  in 
a  word,  from  every  part  of  nature,  and 
every  part  of  art. 


To  pafs  from  poetry  to  painting — the 
Crucifixion  of  Polycrates  by  Salvator  Ro- 
fa,  is  "  a  moil  affecting  reprefentation  of 
"  various  human  figures,  feen  under  diffe- 
"  rent  modes  of  horror  and  pity,  as  they 
"  contemplate  a  dreadful  fpectacle,  the 
"  crucifixion  above-mentioned."  The 
Aurora  of  Guido,  on  the  other  fide,  is 
"  one  of  thofe  joyous  exhibitions,  where 
'•  nothing  is  feen  but  youth  and  beauty,  in 
"  every  attitude  of  elegance  and  grace." 
The  former  picture  in  poetry  would  have 
been  a  deep  Penferofo;  the  latter,  a  moil: 
pleafmg  and  animated  Allegro. 

And  to  what  caufe  are  we  to  refer  thefc 
laft  enumerations  of  ftriking  effects  ? 

To  a  very  different  one  from  the  for- 
mer— not  to  an  oppofition  of  contrary 
incidents,  but  to  a  concatenation  or  ac- 
cumulation of  many  that  are  fimilar  and 
congenial. 

And  why  have  concatenation  and  accu- 
mulation fuch  a  force  ? — From  thefe  moil 
fimpleand  obvious  truths,  that  many  things 
fimilar,  when  added  together  will  be  more 
in  quantity  than  any  of  them  taken  fingiy  ; 
— confequently,  that  the  more  things  are 
thus  added,  the  greater  will  be  their  effect. 
We  have  mentioned,  at  the  fame  time, 
both  accumulation  and  concatenation ;  be- 
caufe  in  painting,  the  obje£b,  by  exiiling 
at  once,  are  accumulated;  in  poetry,  as 
they  exill  by  fucceffion,  they  are  not  accu- 
mulated but  concatenated.  Yet,  through 
memory  and  imagination,  even  thefe  alfo 
derive  an  accumulative  force,  being  pre- 
iewed  from  paffing  away  by  thofe  admir- 
able faculties,  till,  like  many  pieces  of  me- 
tal melted  together,  they  collectively  form 
one  common  magnitude. 

It  mud  be  farther  remembered,  there  is 
an  accumulation  of  things  analogous,  even 
when  thofe  things  are  the  objects  of  diffe- 
rent faculties.  For  example — As  are  paf- 
fionate  geftures  to  the  eye,  fo  are  paffion- 
ate  tones  to  the  ear ;  (o  are  paffionate 
ideas  to  the  imagination.  To  feel  the 
amazing  force  of  an  accumulation  like 
this,  we  mull  fee  fome  capital  actor,  acting 
the  drama  of  fome  capital  poet,  where  all 
the  powers  of  both  are  affembled  at  the 
fame  inftant. 

And  thus  have  we  endeavoured,  by  a  fevr 
obvious  and  eafy  examples,  to  explain  what 
we  mean  by  the  words,  "  feeking  the  caufe 
"  or  reafon,  as  often  as  we  feel  works  of 
"  art  and  ingenuity  to  affect  us," — See 
§    167.  178,  Harris. 

§   181. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§    1 8 1 .     Advice  to  a  Beginner  in  the  Art  of 
Criticifm. 

If  I  might  advife  a  beginner  in  this  ele- 
gant purfuit,  it  ihould  be,  as  far  as  poffible, 
to  recur  for  principles  to  the  mod  plain 
and  funple  truths,  and  to  extend  every 
theorem,  as  he  advances,  to  its  utmoft  lati- 
tude, fo  as  to  make  it  fait,  and  include,  the 
greateft  number  of  poffible  cafes. 

I  would  advife  him  farther,  to  avoid'fub- 
tle  and  far-fetched  refinement,  which,  as  it 
is  for  the  moft  part  adverfe  to  perfpicuity 
and  truth,  may  ferve  to  make  an  able  So- 
phift,  but  never  an  able  Critic, 

A  word  more — I  would  advife  a  young 
Critic,  in  his  contemplations,  to  turn  his 
eye  rather  to  the  praife-Worthy  than  the 
blameable ;  that  is,  to  inveftigate  the  caufes 
of  praile,  rather  than  the  caufes  of  blame. 
For  though  an  uninformed  beginner  may, 
in  a  fingie  inftance,  happen  to  blame  pro- 
perly, it  is  more  than  probable,  that  in  the 
next  he  may  fail,  and  incur  the  cenfure 
pafl'ed  upon  the  criticizing  cooler,  Ne  futor 
ultra  crepidam.  Harris. 

§    182.   On  numerous  Compofticn. 
As  Numerous   Compofition  arifes  from 
a  juft  arrangement  of  words,  fo  is  that  ar- 
rangement juft,  when  formed   upon  their 
verbal  quantity, 

Now  if  we  feek  for  this  verbal  quantity 
in  Greek  and  Latin,  we  (hall  find  that, 
while  thole  two  languages  were  in  purity, 
their  verbal  quantity  was  in  purity  alfo. 
Every  fyllable  had  a  meafureof  time,  either 
long  or  lhcrt,  defined  with  precifion  either 
by  its  conftituent  vowel,  or  by  the  relation 
of  that  vowel  to  other  letters  adjoining. 
Syllables  thus  characterized,  when  com- 
bined, made  a  foot, ;  and  feet  thus  charac- 
terized, when  combined,  made  a  verfe  :  fo 
that  while  a  particular  harmony  exifted  in 
every  part,  a  general  harmony  was  dif- 
fufed  through  the  whole. 

Pronunciation  at  this  period  being,  like 
other  things,  perfect,  accent  and  quantity 
were  accurately  diflinguiihed  ;  of  which 
diftindion,  familiar  then,  though  now  ob> 
fcure,  we  venture  to  fuggeft  the  following 
explanation.  We  compare  quantity  to  mu- 
fical  tones  differing  in  long  and  fliort,  as 
upon  whatever  line  they  ftand,  a  femibrief 
differs  from  a  minim.  We  compare  ac- 
cent to  mufical  tones  differing  in  high  and 
low,  as  D  upon  the  third  line  diifers  from 
G  upon  the  firft,  be  its  length  the  fame, 
or  be  it  loncrcr  or  fhorter. 


And  thus  things  continued  for  a  fucce£» 
fion  of  centuries,  from  Homer  and  Heiiod 
to  Virgil  and  Horace,  during  which  inter- 
val, if  we  add  a  trifle  to  its  end,  all  the 
truly  clafiical  poets,  both  Greek  and  Latin, 
fiouriflied. 

Nor  was  profe  at  the  fame  time  neg- 
lected. Penetrating  wits  difcovered  this 
alfo  to  be  capable  of  numerous  composi- 
tion, and  founded  their  ideas  upon  the  fol- 
lowing reafonings  : 

Though  they  allowed  that  profe  fhou'd 
not  be  iiriiftly  metrical  (for  then  it  would 
be  no  longer  profe,  but  poetry)  ;  yet  at  the 
fame  time  they  alferted,  if  it  had  no 
Rhythm  at  all,  fuch  a  vague  effufion 
would  of  courfe  fatigue,  and  the  reader 
would  feek  in  vain  for  thofe  returning 
paufes,  fo  helpful  to  his  reading,  and  fo 
grateful  to  his  ear.  Ibid. 

§    183.   On   other  Decorations  of  Profe  be- 
Jides  Profiic  Feet ;  as  Alliteration. 

Befides  the  decoration  of  Profai'c  Feet, 
there  are  other  decorations,  admiffible  into 
Englifh  compofition,  fuch  as  Alliteration, 
and  Sentences,  especially  the  Period. 

Firft  therefore  for  the  firft ;  I  mean 
Alliteration. 

Among  the  daffies  of  old,  there  is  no 
finer  illuftration  of  this"  figure,  than  Lu.- 
cretius's  defcription  of  thofe  bleft  abodes, 
where  his  gods,  detached  from  providential 
cares,  ever  lived  in  the  fruition  of  divine 
ferenity : 

Apparet  divum  immen,  fedefqr.e  quie:rr, 

Q^uis  neque  concutiunt  venti,  neque  nubila  nim- 

bis 
Afpertrunt,  neque  nix  acri  concreta  pruina 
Cana  cadens  violat,  femper.jue  innubilus  xiher 
Intefit,  et  large  diffufo  lumine  ridet. 

Lucret.  III.  iS. 

The  fublime  and  accurate  Virgil  did  not 
contemn  this  decoration,  though  he  ufed  it 
with  fuch  pure,  unaffected  Simplicity,  that 
we  often  feel  its  force  without  contem- 
plating the  caufe.  Take  one  inilance  out 
of  infinite,  with  which  his  works  abound: 

Aurora  interea  miferis  mortalihus  almam 
Extulerat  lncem,  referens  opera  atque  labores. 
iEn.  XI.  v.  183. 

To  Virgil  we  may  add  the  fuperior  au- 
thority of  Homer : 

Htoi  0  y.a.nxitiVwi  to  AX&OV  oiot;   AX«tc, 
"0»  ?ju[j.Iv  xaT{Ja>v  -vjutov  'aS^xtsxv  'AXeeivwv. 
IX.  £.  201. 

Hermogcnes,  the   rhetorician,  when  he 
quotes  thefe  lines,  quotes  them  as  an  ex- 
amp  ls; 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.       48? 

Milton  followed  them. 


^Ciple  of  the  figure  here  mentioned,    but 
calls  it  by  a  Greek  name,  ITAPHXHSIS. 

Cicero  has  translated  the  above  verfes 
elegantly,  and  given  us  too  Alliteration, 
though  not  under  the  fame  letters  : 

Qui  mifer  in  campis  errabat  folus  Alxis, 
Iple  fuurn  cor  edens,  hominum  yeftigia  vitans. 

Crc. 

Ariftotle  knew  this  figure,  and  called  it 
IIAPOMomsIS,  a  name  perhaps  not  fq 
precife  as  the  other,  becaufe  it  rather  ex- 
prefles  refemblance  in  general,  than  that 
which  arifes  from  found  in  particular.  His 
example  is — ATPON  ya%  thuSi*,  APFONT 
iiot,^    avr5. 

The  Latin  rhetoricians  filled  it  Anno- 
minatio,  and  give  us  examples  of  fimilar 
character. 

But  the  molt  lingular  fadl  is,  that  fo 
early  in  our  own  hiftory,  as  the  reign  of 
Henry  the  fecond,  this  decoration  was 
eiteemed  and  cultivated  both  by  the  Eng- 
lifh  and  the  Welch.  So  we  are  informed 
by  Giraldus  Cambrenfis,  a  contemporary 
writer,  who,  having  firlt  given  the  Welch 
inftance,  fubjoins  the  Englifh  in  the  fol- 
lowing verfe 

God  is  togetl\er  Gamrrren  and  Wifedome. 

rr- that  is,  God  is  at  once  both  joy  and 
.vvifdom. 

He  calls  the  figure  by  the  Latin  name 
Annominatio,  and  adds,  "  that  the  two 
/'  nations  were  fo  attached  to  this  verbal 
*'  ornament  in  every  high-finifhed  com- 
"  pofition,  that  nothing  was  by  them 
"  eiteemed  elegantly  delivered,  no  diction 
"  confidered  but  as  rude  and  ruftic,  if  ic 
"  were  not  firft  amply  refined  with  the 
te  polifhing  art  of  this  figure." 

'Tis  perhaps  from  this  national  tafte  of 
ours,  that  we  derive  many  proverbial  fimi- 
Jes,  which,  if  we  except  the  found,  feem  to 
have  no  other  merit — Fine  as  five-pence 
f— Round  as  a  Robin — &c. 

Even  Spenfer  and  Shakefpeare  adopted 
the  practice,  but  then  it  was  in  a  manner 
fuitable  to  fuch  geniufes. 

Spenfer  fays— 

For  not  to  have  been  dipt  in  Lethe  Jake 
Could  fave  the  fon  of  Thetis  from  to  die  ; 
But  that  blind  bard  did  him  immortal  make 
With  verfes  dipt  in  dew  of  Caftilie. 

Shakefpeare  fays — . 

Had  mv  fweet  Harry  had  but  hnlf  their  numbers, 
This  day  might  I,  hanging  on  Hotfpuv's  neck, 
Have  talked,  &e'.-*— Hen.  IVtb,  Pars  zd,  A&  2d. 


For  eloquence,  the  foul ;   fon?  charms  the  fenfe*,' 

P.  L.  II.  556. 
and  again, 

Behemoth,  biggsft  born  cf  earth,  upheav'd 
His  vaftnefs—  P.  L.  VII.  471; 

From  Dryden  we  feleifr.  one  example 
out  of  many,  for  no  one  appears  to  have 
employed  this  figure  more  frequently,  or, 
like  Virgil,  with  greater  fimplicity  and 
ftrength. 

Better  to  hunt  in  fields  for  health  unbought, 
Than  fee  the  doctor  for  a  naufeous  draught. 
The  wife  for  cure  on  exercife  depend  ; 
God  never  made  his  work  for  man  to  mend. 
Dryd.  Fables. 

Pope  fings  in  his  Dunciad— =— 

'Twas  chatt'ring,  grinning,  mouthing,  jibb'ring 

all ; 
And  noife,  and  Norton  ;  brandling,  and  Brevall  j 
Dennis,  and  diffonance 

Which  lines,  though  truly  poetical  and 
humourous,  may  be  fufpefted  by  fome  to 
fhew  their  art  too  confpicuoufly,  and  tOQ 
nearly  to  refemble  lhat  verfe  of  old  En? 
runs — 

O  !  tite,  tute,  tati,  tibi  tanta,  tyranne,  tulifti. 
Script,  ad  Herenn.  l.iv.  f.  iSo 

Gray  begins  a  fublime  Ode, 

Ruin  fsize  thee,  ruthlefs  king,  &c. 

We  might  quote  alfo  Alliterations  from 
profe  writers,  but  thpfe  \ys  have  aljedged 
we  think  fufficient.  Ham's. 

§   1 84.    On  the  Period^ 

Nor  is  elegance  only  to  be  found  in 
fingle  words,  or  in  fingle  feet ;  it  may  be 
found,  when  we  put  them  together,  in  our 
peculiar  mode  of  putting  them.  <Tis  out 
of  words  and  feet  thus  compounded,  that 
we  form  fentences,  and  among  fentences 
none  fo  ftrikjng,  none  fo  pleaiing  as  the 
Period.  The  reafon  is,  that,  while  other 
fentences  are  indefinite,  and  (like  a  geome- 
trical right  line)  maybeproducedindefinite- 
ly,  the  Period  (like  a  circular  line)  is  al- 
ways circumfcribed,  returns,  and  terminates 
at  a  given  point.  In  other  words,  while  other 
fentences,  by  the  help  of  common  copu- 
latives, have  a  fort  of  boundlefs  eifufion  j 
the  conftituent  parts  of  a  Period  have  a 
fort  of  reflex  union,  in  which  union  the 
fentence  is  fo  far  complete,  as  neither  to 
require,  nor  even  to  adjgjfe  a,  farther  ex- 
teniion.  Reader:-  find  a  plsafure  in  this 
I  i  grateful 


4Sz  ELEGANT     EXTR 

grateful  circuit,  which  leads  them  fo  agree- 
ably to  an  acquisition  of  knowledge. 

The  author,  if  he  may  be  permitted, 
would  refer  by  way  of  illustration,  to  the 
beginnings  of  his  Hermes,  and  his  phi- 
losophical arrangements,  where  feme  at- 
tempts have  been  made  in  this  periodical 
ftyle.  He  would  refer  alio,  for  much  more 
illuitrious  examples,  to  the  opening  of  Ci- 
cero's Offices;  to  that  of  the  capital  Ora- 
tion of  Demollhenes  concerning  the  Crown ; 
and  to  that  of  the  celebrated  Panegyric, 
made  (if  he  may  be  fo  called)  by  the  father 
of  Periods,  Ifocrates. 

Agair — every  compound  fentence  is 
compounded  of  other  fentences  more  fun- 
pie,  which  compared  to  one  another,  have 
a  certain  proportion  of  length.  Now  it  is 
in  general  a  good  rule,  that  among  thele 
conftituent  fentences,  the  laft  (if  pofiible) 
Should  be  equal  to  the  firft;  or  if  not 
equal,  then  rather  longer  than  Shorter. 
The  reafon  is,  that  without  a  fpecial  caufe, 
abrupt  conclusions  are  offensive,  and  the 
reader,  like  a  traveller  quietly  purfuing 
his  journey,  finds  an  unexpected  precipice, 
where  he  is  disagreeably  Stopt. 

Harris. 

§185.     On  Monojyllables. 

It  has  been  called  a  fault  in  our  lan- 
guage, that  it  abounds  in  Monolyllables. 
As  thefe,  in  too  lengthened  a  fuite,  dif- 
grace  a  compofition,  Lord  ShaStefbury, 
(who  iludied  purity  of  llyle  with  great  at- 
tention) limited  their  number  to  nine  ;  and 
was  careful  in  his  characteristics,  to  con- 
form to  his  own  law.  Even  in  Latin  too 
many  of  them  were  condemned  by  Quinc- 
ti.ian. 

Above  all,  care  mould  be  had,  that  a 
fentence  end  not  with  a  crowd  of  them, 
thofe  efpecially  of  the  vulgar,  untunable 
fort,  fuch  as,  "  to  fet  it  up,"  to  "  get  by 
and  by  at  it,"  &C.  for  thefe  difgrace  a 
fentence  that  may  be  otherwise  laudable, 
and  are  like  the  rabble  at  the  clofe  of  fome 
pompous  cavalcade.  Ibid. 

§    186.  Authorities  alledged. 

'Twas  by  thefe,  and  other  arts  of  Similar 
fort,  that  authors  in  distant  ages  have  cul- 
tivated their  ftyle.  Looking  upon  know- 
ledge (if  I  may  be  allowed  the  alluSion)  to 
pals  into  the  manSions  of  the  mind  through 
language,  they  were  careful  (if  I  may 
purfue  the  metaphor)  not  to  offend  in  the 
ve'ftibule.  They  did  not  efteeni  it  par- 
donable to    defpife   the  public   ear,  when 


ACTS     IN    PROSE. 

they  faw  the  love  of  numbers  fo  univerfally 
diffufed. 

Nor  were  they  diicouraged,  as  if  they 
thought  their  labour  would  be  loll.  In 
thefe  more  refined  but  yet  popular  arts, 
they  knew  the  amazing  difference  betw«en 
the  power  to  execute,  and  the  power  to 
judge  : — that  to  execute  was  the  jointeffort 
of  genius  and  of  habit ;  a  painful  acqui- 
sition, only  attainable  by  the  few  ; — to 
judge,  the  Simple  effort  of  that  plain  but 
common  ienSe,  imparted  by  Providence  in 
fome  degree  to  every  one  Ibid. 

§    1 87.   Objectors  answered. 

But  here  methinks  an  objector  demands 
— "  And  are  authors  then  to  compofe,  and 
"  form  their  treatifes  by  rule? — Are  they 
u  to  balance  periods  ? — To  fcan  paeans 
"  and  cretics  ? — To  affect  alliterations?— 
"  To  enumerate  monofyllables  ?"  &c. 

If,  in  anSwer  to  this  objector,  it  Should 
be  f  iid,  They  ought ;  the  permission  Should 
at  leaSt  be  tempered  with  much  caution. 
Thefe  arts  are  to  be  fo  blended  with  a 
pure  but  common  ftyle,  that  the  reader,  as 
he  proceeds,  may  only  feel  their  latent 
force.  If  ever  they  become  glaring,  they 
degenerate  into  affectation  ;  an  extreme 
more  difpullincr,  becaufe  lefs  natural,  than 
even  the  vulgar  language  of  an  unpoliihtd 
clown.  '1  is  in  writing,  as  in  acting— 
The  bell  writers  are  like  our  late  admired 
Garrick — And  how  did  that  able  genius 
employ  his  art? — Not  by  a  vain  ostenta- 
tion of  any  one  of  his  powers,  but  by  a  la- 
tent ufe  of  them  ail  in  fuch  an  exhibition 
of  nature,  that  while  we  were  preient  in  a 
theatre,  and  only  beholding  an  actor,  we 
could  not  help  thinking  ourfelves  in  Den- 
mark with  Hamlet,  or  in  Bofworth  field 
with  Richard.  Ibid. 

§    I SS.  When  the  Habit  is  once  gaintd,  no~ 
thing  fo   eafy    as   Brattice. 

There  is  another  objection  Still. — Thefe 
fpeculations  may  be  called  minutiae;  things 
partaking  at  belt  more  of  the  elegant  than 
of  the  folid  ;  and  attended  with  difficulties 
beyond  the  value  of  the  labour. 

To  anfwer  this,  it  may  be  obferved,  that 
when  habit  is  once  gained,  nothing  So  eafy 
as  practice.  When  the  ear  is  once  habi- 
tuated to  thele  verbal  rhythms,  it  forms 
them  Spontaneously,  without  attention  or 
labour.  If  we  call  for  inftances,  what 
more  eafy  to  every  Smith,  to  every  car- 
penter, to  every   common  mechanic,  than 

the 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL 

the  feveral  energies  of  their  proper  arts  ? 
How  little  do  even  the  rigid  laws  of  verfe 
©bftruct  a  genius  truly  poetic  ?  How  little 
did  they  cramp  a  Milton,  a  Dryden,  or  a 
Pope?  Cicero  writes,  that  Antipater  the 
Sidonian  could  pour  forth  Hexameters  ex- 
tempore, and  that,  whenever  he  chofe  to 
verlify,  words  followed  him  of  courfe. 
We  may  add  to  Antipater  the  ancient 
Rhapfodifts  of  the  Greeks,  and  the  mo- 
dern Improvifatori  of  the  Italians.  If 
this  then  be  practicable  in  verfe,  how  much 
more  fo  in  profe  ?  In  profe,  the  laws  of 
which  fo  far  differ  from  thofe  of  poetry, 
that  we  can  at  any  time  relax  them  as  we 
jfind  expedient?  Nay  more,  where  to  re- 
lax them  is  not  only  expedient,  but  even 
necefTary,  becaufe,  though  numerous  com- 
pofition  may  be  a  requifite,  yet  regularly 
returning  rhythm  is  a  thing  we  mould  avoid. 

Harris. 

§  189.  In  every  Whole,  the  conflituent  Parts, 

and  the  Facility  of  their  Coincidence,  ?ne- 
rit  our  Regard. 

In  every  whole,  whether  natural  or  ar- 
tificial, the  conitituent  parts  well  merit  our 
regard,  and  in  nothing  more  than  in  the 
facility  of  their  coincidence.  If  we  view 
a  landfkip,  how  pleafmg  the  harmony  be- 
tween hills  and  woods,  between  rivers,  and 
lawns  !  If  we  felect  from  this  landfkip  a 
tree,  how  well  does  the  trunk  correfpond 
with  its  branches,  and  the  whole  o£  its 
form,  with  its  beautiful  verdure  !  If  we 
take  an  animal,  for  example  a  line  horfe, 
what  a  union  in  his  colour,  his  figure  and 
his  motions!  If  one  of  human  race,  what 
more  pleafingly  congenial,  than  when  vir- 
tue and  genius  appear  to  animate  a  grace- 
ful figure  ? 

pulchro  veniens  e  corpore  virtus  ? 

The  charm  increafes,  if  to  a  graceful  fi- 
gure we  add  a  graceful  elocution.  Elo- 
cution too  is  heightened  Hill,  if  it  convey 
elegant  fentiments ;  and  thefe  again  are 
heightened,  if  cloaihed  with  graceful  dic- 
tion, that  is,  with  words  which  are  pure, 
precife,  and  well  arranged.  Ibid. 

§  190.  Verbal  Decorations  not  to  be  called 
Mimititc. 
We  mult  not  call  thefe  verbal  decora- 
tions, minntise.  They  are  effential  to  the 
beauty,  nay  to  the  completion,  of  the  whole. 
Without  them  the  compofition,  though  its 
£entim?nts  may  bejuft,is  like  apictunTwifh 
good  drawing,  but  with  bad  and  defective 
colouring". 


AND    HISTORICAL.         483 

Thefe  we  are  allured  were  the  fentiments 
of  Cicero,  whom  we  mult,  allow  to  have 
been  a  matter  in  his  art,  and  who  has  am- 
ply and  accurately  treated  verbal  decora- 
tion and  numerous  compofition,  in  no  lefs 
than  two  capital  treatifes,  (his  Orator,  and 
his  De  Oratore)  Mr  engthening  withal  his 
own  authority  with  that  of  Ariftotle  and 
Theophraftus;  to  whom,  if  more  were 
wanting,  we  might  add  the  names  of  De- 
metrius Phale  eus,  Dionyfius  of  Halicar- 
nafius,  Dionyfius  Longinus,  and  Quintti- 
lian.  Ibid. 

§    191.    Ad-vice   to  Readers. 

Whoever  reads  a  perfect  or  fmifhed 
compofition,  whatever  be  the  language, 
whatever  the  fubject,  mould  read  it,  even 
if  alone,  both  audibly  and  diflinctly. 

In  a  compofition  of  this  character,  not 
only  prr-cife  words  are  admitted,  but  words 
metaphorical  and  ornamental.  And  far- 
ther— as  every  fentence  contains  a  latent 
harmony,  fo  is  that  harmony  derived  from 
the  rhythm  of  its  conflituent  parts. 

A  compofition  then  like  this,  fhould  (as 
I  faid  before)  be  read  both  dilHnflly 
and  audibly  ;  with  due  regard  to  flops  and 
paufes ;  with  occafional  elevations  and  de- 
preiTions  of  the  voice,  and  whatever  elfe 
conititutes  jull  an!  accurate  pronunciation. 
He  who,  defpifmgor  neglecting,  or  know- 
ing nothing  of  all  this,  reads  a  work  of 
fuch  character  as  he  would  read  a  feflions- 
paper,  will  not  only  mifs  many  beauties  of 
the  ftyle,  but  will  probab'y  mifs  (which is 
worfe)  a  large  proportion  of  the  fenfe. 

Ibid. 

&  192.  E-vcry  Whole  fhould  have  a  Begin- 
ning, a  Middle,  and  an  End.  The  The. 
ery  exemplified  in  the  Georgics  of  Virgil. 

Let  us  take  for  an  example  the  mcfr. 
highly  finifhed  performance  among  the 
Romans,  and  that  in  their  moil  pc^iihed 
period,  I  mean  the  Georgics  of  Virgil : 

Quid  faciat  lsctas  fegetes,  quo  fidere  terram 
Vertere,  Ma?cenas,  (n)  ulmifque  adjungere  vites 
Convenbt  ;    (til)   qua   cura   bourn,   qui   coitus 

habendo 
Sit  pecori ;  [rv]  apibus  quanta  experientia  parcis, 
Hinc  canere  incipiam,  Sec. —  v  ire;  Georg.  I. 

In  thefe  lines,  and  fo  on  (if  we  confult  the 
original)  for  forty  two  lines  incluhve,  we 
have  the  beginning;  which  beginning  in- 
cludes two  things,  the  plan,  and  the  invo- 
cation. 

In  the  four  firft  verfes  we  have  th"p:an, 
which  plan  giadually  opens  and  becomes 
Liz'  the 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


484 

■/hole  work,  as  an  acorn,  when  deve- 
comes  a  perfect  oak.     After  this 
the    invocation,  which    extends  to 
1  the  forty-two  veries  above  men- 
tion d,      The  two  together  give  us  the 
:iiar  after   of  a  beginning,  which,  as 
d  fcribed,  nothing  can  precede,  and 
Ich  it  is  neceffary  that  fomething  ihould 
folk  /. 

The  remaining  part  of  the  firft  book,  to- 
gether  with  the  three  books  following,  to 
."':.  >  the  458th  of  book  the  fourth,  make 
the  middle,  which  alio  has  its  true  charac- 
ter, that  of  fucceeding  the  beginning, 
where  we  expect  fcmething  farther  ;  and 
thatxff  preceding  the  end,  where  we  ex- 
pect nothing  more. 

The  eight  laft  verfes  of  the  poem  make 
the  end,  which,  like  the  beginning,  is 
fnert,  and  which  preferves  its  real  charac- 
ter by  fatisfying the  reader  that  all  is  com- 
plete;, and  that  nothing  is  to  follow.  The 
performance  is  even  dated.  It  finifhes like 
an  epiftle,  giving  us  the  place  and  time  of 
writing ;  but  then  giving  them  in  fuch  a 
manner,  as  they  ought  to  come  from  Vir- 

gil. 

But  to  open  our  thoughts  into  a  farther 
detail. 

As  the  poem,  from  its  very  name,  re- 
fpecls  various  matters  relative  to  land, 
(Georgica)  and  which  are  either  immedi- 
ately or  mediately  connected  with  it ; 
among  the  variety  of  thefe  matters  the 
pcem  begins  from  the  loweft,  and  thence 
advances  gradually  from  higher  to  higher, 
tili,  having  reached  the  higheft,  Jt  there 
properly  hops. 

The  firft  book  begins  from  the  fimple 
culture  of  the  earth.,  and  from  its  humbieft 
progeny,  corn,  legumes,  flowers,  See. 

It  is  a  nobler  fpecies  of  vegetables  which 
employs  the  fecond  book,  where  we  are 
taught  the  culture  of  trees,  and,  among 
others,  of  that  important  pair,  the  olive 
and  the  vine.  Yet  it  mult  be  remembered, 
that  all  this  is  nothing  more  than  the  cul- 
ture of  mere  vegetable  and  inanimate  na- 
ture. 

It  is  in  the  third  book  that  the  poet  rifes 
to  nature  fenfitive  and  animated,  when  he 
gives  as  precepts  about  cattle,  horice, 
ih  «p,  Sec. 

At  length,  in  the  fourth  book,  when 
Blatters  draw  to  a  conclufion,  then  it  is  he 
treats  bib  fubjeft  in  a  moral  and  political 
way.  He  no  longer  purines  the  culture  of 
the  mere  brute  m  ture  ;  he  then  dclcrioes, 
&5  he  tells  us 
— rAl^rth,  et  ftudifi,  et  pqpulosjet  rrjdia,  &c. 


for  fuch  is  the  character  of  his  bees,  thofe 
truly  fecial  and  political  animals.  It  is 
here  he  firft  mentions  arts,  and  memory, 
and  laws,  and  families.  It  is  here  (their 
great  fagacity  confidered)  he  fuppofes  a 
portion  imparted  of  a  fublimer  principle. 
It  is  here  that  every  thing  vegetable  or 
merely  brutal  feems  forgotten,  while  all 
appears  at  leaft  human,  and  fometimes, 
even  divine  : 

His  quidam  fignis,  atqne  haec  exempla  fecuti, 
EiTc  apibus  partem  divinae  mentis,  et  hauftus 
./Etberiosdixerc  ;  deum  namque  ireperomnes 
Terrafque  tractufque  maris,  &c. 

Georg.  IV.  219. 

When  the  fubjeft  will  not  permit  him  to 
proceed  farther,  he  fuddenly  conveys  his 
reader,  by  the  fable  of  Ariftseus,  among 
nymphs,  heroes,  demi-gods,  and  gods,  and 
thus  leaves  him  in  company  fuppofed  more 
than  mortal. 

This  is  not  only  a  fublime  conclufion  to 
the  fourth  book,  but  naturally  leads  to 
the  conclufion  of  the  whole  work;  for  he 
does  no  more  after  this  than  fhortly  re- 
capitulate, and  elegantly  blend  his  recapi- 
tulating with  a  compliment  to  Auguftus. 

But  even  this  is  not  all. 

The  dry,  didactic  character  of  the 
Georgics,made  it  neceffary  they  Ihould  be 
enlivened  by  epilbdes  and  digrefiions.  It 
has  been  the  art  of  the  poet,  that  thefe 
epifodes  and  digrefiions  Ihould  be  homo- 
geneous: that  is,  ihould  fo  connect  with 
the  fubjedt.  as  to  become,  as  it  were,  parti 
of  it.  On  thefe  principles  every  book  has 
for  its  end,  what  I  call  an  epilogue;  for 
its  beginning,  an  invocation;  and  for  its 
middle,  the  feveral  precepts  relative  to  its 
fubjedt,  1  mean  hufbandry.  Having  a  be- 
ginning, a  middle,  and  an  end,  every  part 
itfclf  becomes  a  fmaller  whole,  though  with 
refpeft  to  the  general  plan,  it  is  nothing 
more  than  a  part.  Thus  the  human  arm, 
with  a  view  to  its  elbow,  its  hands,  its 
fingers  &c.  is  as  clearly  a  whole,  as  it  is 
fimply  but  a  part  with  a  view  to  theentirs 
body. 

The  fmaller  wholes  of  this  divine  poem 
may  merit  fome  attention  ;  by  thele  I  mean 
each  particular  book. 

Each  book  has  an  invocation.  The  firft 
invokes  the  fun,  the  moon,  the  various 
rural  deities,  and  laftly  Auguftus :  the  fe- 
cond invokes  Bacchus;  the  third,  Pales 
and  Apollo;  the  fourth  his  patron  Maece- 
nas. 1  do  not  dwell  en  thefe  invocation*, 
much  lefs  on  the  parts  which  follow,  for 
this  in  fact  would  be  writing  a  comment 
upon  the  poem,  JJutthe  Epilogues,,  befides 


BOOK  If.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.        48$ 


their  own  iiitrinfic  beauty,  are  too  much 
to  our  purpoie  to  be  palled  in  filence. 

In  the  arrangement  of  them  the  poet 
feems  to  have  purfued  fuch  an  order,  as 
that  alternate  affections  mould  be  alter- 
nately excited ;  and  this  he  has  done,  well 
knowing  the  importance  of  that  generally 
acknowledged  truth,  "  the  force  derived 
to  contraries  by  their  juxta-pofuion  or 
fucceihon  *."  The  firft  book  ends  with 
thofe  portents  and  prodigies,  both  upon 
earth  and  in  the  heavens,  which  preceded 
the  death  of  the  dictator  Caefar.  To  thefe 
direful  fcenes  the  epilogue  of  the  lecond 
book  oppofes  the  tranquillity  and  felicity  of 
the  rural  life,  which  (as  he  informs  us) 
faction  and  civil  dilcord  do  not  ufually 
impair— «■ 

Non  res  Romans,  perituraque  regnn— 

In  the  ending  of  the  third  book  we  read 
of  a  peltilence,  and  of  nature  in  devalta- 
tion;  in  the  fourth,  of  nature  reftored,  and, 
by  help  of  the  gods,  replenilhed. 

As  this  concluding  epilogue  (I  mean 
the  fable  of  Ariiteus)  occupies  the  molt 
important  place  ;  fo  is  it  decorated  ac- 
cordingly with  language,  events,  places, 
and  perfonages. 

No  language  was  ever  more  polifhed  and 
harmonious.  The  defcent  of  Ariifoeus  to 
his  mother,  and  of  Orpheus  to  the  (hades, 
are  events;  the  watery  palace  of  the  Ne- 
reides, the  cavern  of  Proteus,  and  the 
fcene  of  the  infernal  regions,  are  places ; 
Ariiheus,  old  Proteus,  Orpheus,  Eurydice, 
Cyllene,  and  her  nymphs,  are  perfonages ; 
all  great,  all  linking,  all  fublime. 

Let  us  view  thefe  epilogues  in  the  poet's 
order. 

I.  Civil  Horrors. 
II.  Plural  Tranquillity, 

III.  Nature  laid  wafte, 

IV.  Nature  reftored. 

Here,  as  we  have  faid  already,  different 
paiTions  are,  by  the  fubjects  being  alter- 
nate, alternately  excited  ;  and  yet  withal 
excited  fo  judicioufly,  that  when  the  poem 
concludes,  and  all  is  at  an  end,  the  reader 
leaves  off  with  tranquillity  and  joy. 

Harris. 

§    193.  Exemplified  again  i?i  the  Meacxeuus 
of  Plato. 

From  the  Georgics  of  Virgil  we  pro- 
ceed to  the  Menexenus  of  Plato;  the  firit 
■being  the  moll  hniihed  form  of  a  didactic 

*  See  before,  §  179. 


poem,  the  latter  the  moll  confummate  mo- 
del of  a  panegyric  oration. 

The  Menexenus  is  a  funeral  oration 
in  praife  of  thofe  brave  Athenians,  who 
had  fallen  in  battle  by  generoufly  afi'ert- 
ing  the  caufe  of  their  country.  Like  the 
Georgics,  and  every  other  juft  compoli- 
tion,  this  oration  has  a  beginning,  a  mid- 
dle, and  an  end. 

The  beginning  is  a  folemn  account  of 
the  deceafed  having  received  all  the  le- 
gitimate rights  of  burial,  and  of  the  pro- 
priety of  doing  them  honour  not  only  by 
deeds  but  by  words ;  that  is,  not  only  by 
funeral  ceremonies,  but  by  a  fpeech,  to 
perpetuate  the  memory  oftheir  magnani- 
mity, and  to  recommend  it  to  their  pofte- 
rity,  as  an  object  of  imitation. 

As  the  deceafed  were  brave  and  gal- 
lant men,  we  are  fhewn  by  what  means 
they  came  to  poffefs  their  character,  and 
what  noble  exploits  they  perform  in  con- 
fluence. 

Hence  the  middle  of  the  oration  con- 
tains firft  their  origin ;  next  their  educa- 
tion and  form  of  government ;  and  lait  of 
all,  the  confequence  of  fuch  an  origin 
and  education;  their  heroic  atchievements 
from  the  earlieft  days  to  the  time  then 
prefent. 

The  middle  part  being  thus  complete, 
we  come  to  the  concluhon,  which  is  per- 
haps the  moll  fublime  piece  of  oratory, 
both  for  the  plan  and  execution,  which 
is  extant,  of  any  age,  or  in  any  lan- 
guage. 

By  an  awful  profope-peia,  the  deceafed 
are  called  up  to  addrefs  the  living ;  and 
fathers  flam  in  battle,  to  exhort  their 
living  children ;  the  children  (lain  in  battle, 
to  confolc  their  living  fathers ;  and  this 
with  every  idea  of  manly  conioiation, 
with  every  generous  incentive  to  a  con- 
tempt of  death,  and  a  love  of  their  coun- 
try, that  the  powers  of  nature  or  of  art 
could  fugged. 

'Tis  here  this  oration  concludes,  be- 
ing (as  we  have  fhewn)  a  perfect  whole, 
executed  with  all  the  ftrength  of  a  fub- 
lime language,  under  the  management  of 
a  great  and  a  fublime  genius. 

If  thefe  fpeculations  appear  too  dry, 
they  may  be  rendered  more  pleafing,  if 
the  reader  would  perufe  the  two  piece* 
criticized.  His  labour,  he  might  be  af- 
fured,  would  not  be  loft,  as  he  would  pe- 
rufe two  of  the  fineft  pieces  which  the  two 
iineit  ages  of  antiquity  produced.  Ibid, 
li  3  *   *9+- 


,S6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§  194..  The  Theory  of  Whole  and  Parts 
concerns  fmall  Works  as  ivell  as  great. 
We  cannot  however  quit  this  theory  con- 
cerning whole  and  parts,  without  obferving 
that  it  regards  alike  both  finall  works  and 
great  ;  and  that  it  defcends  even  to  an 
efTav,  to  a  fonnet,  to  an  ode.  Thefe  mi- 
nuter :  fforts  of  genius,  unlets  they  poflefs 
(if  1  may  be  pardoned  the  expreifion) 
a  certain  character  of  Totality,  lofe  a 
capital  pleafure  derived  from  their  union; 
from  a  union  which,  collected  in  a  few 
pertinent  ideas,  combines  them  all  hap- 
pily under  one  amicable  form.  Without 
this  union,  the  production  is  no  better  than 
a  fort  of  vague  effufion,  where  fentences 
follow  fentences,  and  ftanzas  follow  flan- 
zas,  with  no  apparent  reafon  why  they 
fhould  be  two  rat ner than  twenty,  or  twen- 
ty rather  than  two. 

If  we  want  another  argument  for  this 
minuter  Totality,  we  may  refer  to  nature, 
which  art  is  faid  to  imitate.  Not  only 
this  univerfe  is  one  ftupendous  whole,  but 
fuch  alfo  is  a  tree,  a  fhrub,  a  flower;  fuch 
thole  beings  which,  without  the  aid  of 
glafies,  even  efcape  our  perception.  And 
fo  much  for  Totality  (1  venture  to  fami- 
liarize the  term)  that  common  and  eflen- 
tiul  character  to  every  legitimate  compo- 
fition.  Harris. 

§  195.  On  Accuracy. 
There  is  another  character  left,  which, 
though  foieign  to  the  prefent  purpofe,  I 
venture  to  mention  ;  and  that  is  the  cha- 
racter of  Accuracy.  Every  work  ouodit 
to  be  as  accurate  as  poilible.  And  yet, 
though  this  apply  to  works  of  every  kind, 
there  is  a  difference  whether  the  work  be 
great  or  finall.  In  greater  works  (fuch  as 
hitlories,  epic  poems,  and  the  like)  their 
very  magnitude  excufes  incidental  defects; 
and  their  authors,  according  to  Horace, 
may  be  allowed  to  {lumber.  It  is  other- 
wife  in  fmaller  works,  for  the  very  reafon 
that  they  arc  fmaller.  Such,  through 
every  part,  both  in  fentiment  and  diction, 
fhould  be  perfpicuous,  pure,  fimple,  and 
precife.  Ibid. 

§    196.      On  Difiiai. 

As  every  fentiment  mull  be  exprefl  by- 
words;  the  theory  of  fentiment  naturally 
leads  to  that  of  Diction.  Indeed,  the  con- 
nection between  them  is  fo  intimate,  that 
the  fame  fentiment,  where  the  diction  dif- 
fers, is  •  as  different  in  appearance,  as  the 


fame  perfon,  dreft  like  a  peafant,  or  drefl 
like  a  gentleman.  And  hence  we  fee  how 
much  diction  merits  a  ferious  attention. 

But  this  perhaps  will  be  better  under- 
flood  by  an  example.  Take  then  the  fol- 
lowing— "  Don't  let  a  lucky  hit  flip  ;  if 
you  do,  be-like  you  mayn't  any  more  get 
at  it."  The  fentiment  (we  mull  confefs) 
is  expreft  clearly,  but  the  diction  furely  is 
rather  vulgar  and  low.  Take  it  another 
way — "  Opportune  moments  are  few  and 
fleeting  ;  feize  them  with  avidity,  or  your 
progrefiion  will  be  impeded."  Here  the 
diction,  though  not  low,  is  rather  obfeflre. 
The  words  are  unufual, pedantic, and  affect- 
ed.  But  what  fays  Shakeipcare  ? — 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  nfivirs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune  ; 
Omitted,  nil  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  111  allows 

Here  the  diction  is  elegant,  without  being 
vulgar  or  affected;  the  words,  though  com- 
mon, being  taken  under  a  metaphor,  are 
fo  far  eflranged  by  this  metaphorical  ufe, 
that  they  acquire,  through  the  change,  a 
competent  dignity,  and  yet,  without  be- 
coming vulgar,  remain  intelligible  and; 
clear.  Ibid. 

§    197.      On   the   Metaphor. 

Knowing  the  ftrefs  laid  by  the  ancient 
critics  on  the  Metaphor,  and  viewing  its 
admirable  effects  in  the  decorating  of 
Diction,  we  think  it  may  merit  a  farther 
regard. 

There  is  not  perhaps  any  figure  of  fpeech 
fo  pleafingas  the  Metaphor.  It  is  at  times 
the  language  ofevery  individual,  but  above 
all,  is  peculiar  to  the  man  of  genius.  His 
fagacity  difcerns  not  only  common  analo- 
gies, but  thofe  ethers  more  remote,  which 
efcape  the  vulgar,  and  which,  though  they 
feldom  invent,  they  feldom  fail  to  recog- 
nize, when  they  hear  them  from  perfons 
more  ingenious  than  themfelves. 

It  has  been  ingenioufly  obierved,  that 
the  Metaphor  took  its  rife  from  the  povei  ty 
of  language.  Men,  not  finding  upon  every 
occaficn  words  ready  made  for  their  ideas, 
were  compelled  to  have  recourfe  to  words 
analogous,  and  transfer  them  from  their 
original  meaning  to  the  meaning  then  re- 
quired. But  though  the  Metaphor  began 
in  poverty,  it  did  not  end  there.  When 
the  analogy  was  juft  (and  this  often  hap- 
pened) there  was  ibmething  peculiarly 
pleafmg  in  what  was  both  new,  and  yet 
familiar  ;  io  that  the  Metaphor  was  then 
cultivated,  not  out  of  neceflity,  but  for  or- 
nament. 


BOOK    IT.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


4*7 


nament.  It  is  thus  that  cloaths  were  firft 
affumed  to  defend  us  again  ft  the  cold,  but 
came  afterwards  to  be  worn  for  diftinction 
and  decoration. 

It  mult  be  obferved,  there  is  a  force  in 
the  united  words,  ne-iv  and  familiar.  What 
is  new,  but  not  familiar,  is  often  unintelli- 
gible; what  is  familiar,  but  not  new,  is  no 
better  than  common- place.  It  is  in  the 
union  of  the  two,  that  the  obfeure  and  the 
vulgar  are  happily  removed;  and  it  is  in 
this  union,  that  we  view  the  character  of  a 
juft  Metaphor. 

But  after  we  have  fo  praifed  the  Meta- 
phor, it  is  fit  at  length  we  fhould  explain  what 
it  is ;  and  this  we  fhall  attempt,  as  well  by 
a  defcription,  as  by  examples. 

"  A  Metaphor  is  the  transferring  of  a 
"  word  from  its  ufual  meaning  to  an  ana- 
"  logous  meaning,  and  then  the  employ- 
"  ing  it  agreeably  to  fuch  transfer."  For 
example,  the  ufual  meaning  of  evening  is 
the  conclufion  of  the  day.  But  age  too  is 
a  conclufion;  the  conclufion  of  human  life. 
Now  there  being:  an  analogy  in  all  conclu- 
ions,  we  arrange  in  order  the  two  we  have 
alledged,  and  fay,  that,  as  evening  is  to 
the  day,  fo  is  age  to  human  life.  Hence, 
by  an  eafy  permutation,  (which  furnifhes 
at  once  two  metaphors)  we  fay  alternately, 
that  evening  is  the  age  of  the  day  ;  and 
that  atre  is  the  evening;  of  life. 

There  are  other  metaphors  equally 
pleafmg,  but  which  we  Only  mention,  as 
their  analogy  cannot  be  miftaken.  It  is 
thus  that  old  men  have  been  called  Hub- 
ble; and  the  ftage,  or  theatre,  the  mirror 
of  human  life. 

In  language  of  this  fort  there  is  a  double 
fatisfaction :  it  is  (takingly  clear  ;  and  yet 
raifed,  though  clear,  above  the  low  and 
vulgar  idiom.  It  is  a  praife  too  of  fuch 
metaphors,  to  be  quickly  comprehended. 
The  iimilitude  and  the  thing  illurtrated  are 
commonly  difpatched  in  a  fingle  word,  and 
comprehended  by  an  immediate  and  in- 
ftantancous  intuition. 

Thus  a  perfon  of  wit,  being  dangcroufly 
ill,  was  told  by  his  friends,  two  more  phy- 
ficians  were  called  in.     So   many !    fays 

be — io  they  fire  then  in  platoons? 

Harris. 

§    198.     What  Metaphors  the  beji. 

Thefe  inflances  may  affift  us  to  difcover 
what  metaphors  may  be  called  the  befi. 

They  ought  not,  in  an  elegant  and  polite 
fiyle  (the  ftyle  of  which  we  are  fpeaking) 
to  be  denved  from  meanings  too  fublimej 


for  then  the  diction  would  be  turgid  and 
bombaft.  Such  was  the  language  of  that 
poet  who,  defcribing  the  footman's  flam- 
beaux at  the  end  of  an  opera,  fungorfaid, 

Now  blaz'd  a  thonfand  flaming  funs,  and  bade 

Grim  night  retire 

Nor  ought  a  metaphor  to  be  far-fetched, 
for  then  it  becomes  an  enigma.  It  was- 
thus  a  gentleman  once  puzzled  his  country 
friend,  in  telling  him,  by  way  of  compli- 
ment, that  he  was  become  a  perfect  cen- 
taur. His  honeit  friend  knew  nothing  of 
centaurs,  but  being  fond  of  riding,  was 
hardly  ever  off  his  horfe. 

Another  extreme  remains,  the  reverfe  of 
the  too  fublime,  and  that  is,  the  transfer- 
ring from  fubjects  too  contemptible.  Such 
was  the  cafe  of  that  poet  quoted  by  Ho- 
race, who  to  defcribe  winter,  wrote 

Jupiter  hybernas  cana  nive  conlpuit  Alpes. 

(Hor.  L.  II.     Sat.  5.) 
O'er  the  cold  Alps  Jove  fpits  his  hoary  fnow. 

Nor  was  that  modern  poet  more  for- 
tunate, whom  Dryden  quotes,  and  who, 
trying  his  genius  upon  the  fame  fubjeel, 
fuppoied  winter ■ 

To  periwig  with  fnow  the  baldpate  woods. 

With  the  fame  clafs  of  wits  we  may  ar- 
range that  pleafant  fellow,  who,  fpeaking 
of  an  old  lady  whom  he  had  affronted, 
gave  us  in  one  fhort  fentence  no  lefs  than 
three  choice  metaphors.  I  perceive  (faid 
he)  her  back  is  up; — I  rnuit.  curry  fa- 
vour— or  the  fat  will  be  in  the  fire. 

Nor  can  we  omit  that  the  fame  word, 
when  transferred  to  the  fame  fubjects,  pro- 
duces metaphors  very  different,  as  to  pro- 
priety or  impropriety. 

.  It  is  with  propriety  that  we  transfer  the 
words  to  embrace,  from  human  beings  to 
things  purely  ideal.  The  metaphor  ap- 
pears ju!t,  when  we  fay,  to  embrace  a  pro- 
portion ;  to  embrace  an  offer ;  to  embrace 
an  opportunity.  Its  application  perhaps 
was  not  quite  fo  elegant,  when  the  old 
fteward  wrote  to  his  lord,  upon  the  fubject 
of  his  farm,  that,  "if  he  met  any  oxen,  he 
"  would  not  fail  to  embrace  them." 

If  then  we  "are  to  avoid  the  turgid,  the 
enigmatic,  and  the  bafe  or  ridiculous,  no 
other  metaphors  are  left,  but  fuch  as  may 
be  defcribed  by  negatives;  fuch  as  are 
neither  turgid,"  nor  enigmatic,  nor  bafe 
and  ridiculous. 

Such  is  the  character  of  many  meta- 
phors already  alledged^  among  othres 
that  of  Shakefpeare's,  where  tides  are  tranf- 
ferred  to  fpeedy  and  determined  conduct. 

I  i  4  Nor 


45S 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

"  firre,  it  would  kindle  a  flame,  that  Would 
rt  obfcure  the  luftre,"  &c.  &c     Harris. 


Nor  does  his  Wolfey  with  lefs  propriety 
moralize  upon  his  fall,  in  the  following 
beautiful  metaphor,  taken  from  vegetable 
nature : 

1  his  is  the  ftate  of  man  ;  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope  ;  to-morrow  bloftbms, 
.And  bears  his  bluihing  honour-  thick  upon  him  ; 
The  third  Jay  comes  a  frc.it,  a  killing  froit, 
And nips  his  root— — — — 

In  fuch  metaphors  (betides  their  intrinfic 
felegance)  we  may  fay  the  reader  is  flat- 
tered; I  mean  flattered  by  being  left  to 
difcover  fomething  for  himfelf. 

There  is  one  observation,  which  will  at 
the  fame  time  fnew  both  the  extent  of  this 
fipure,  and  how  natural  it  is  to  all  inen. 

There  are  metaphors  fo  obvious,  and  of 
courfe  fo  naturalized,  that,  ceaflng  to  be 
metaphors,  they  become  (as  it  were)  the 
proper  words.  It  is  after  this  manner  we 
fay,  a  fharp  fellow;  a  great  orator;  the 
foot  of  a  mountain ;  the  eye  of  a  needle ; 
the  bed  of  a  river;  to  ruminate,  to  ponder, 
to  edify,  &c.  &c. 

Theie  we  by  no  means  reject,  and  yet 
the  metaphors  we  require  we  wifh  to  be 
fomething  more,  that  is,  to  be  formed  un- 
der the  refpeclable  conditions  here  efta- 
blifhed. 

We  obferve  too,  that  a  Angular  ufe  may 
be  made  of  metaphors  either  to  exalt  or 
to  depreciate,  according  to  the  fources  from 
which  we  derive  them.  In  ancient  ftory, 
Oreiles  was  by  feme  called  the  murtherer 
of  his  mother ;  by  others,  the  avenger  of  his 
father.  The  reafons  will  appear,  by  refer- 
ring to  the  facl:.  The  poet  Simonides  was 
offered  money  to  celebrate  certain  mules, 
that  had  won  a  race.  The  fum  being  piti- 
ful, he  faid,  with  difdain,  he  Ihould  not 
write  upon  demi-affes — A  more  compe- 
tent fum  was  offered,  he  then  began, 

Hail  !  Daughters  of  the  generous  horfe^, 
That  fkims,  like  wind,  along  the  couiie, 

There  are  times,  when;  in  order  to  exalt, 
we  may  call  beggars,  petitioners ;  and 
pick-pockets,  collectors :  other  times, 
when,  in  order  to  depreciate,  we  may  call 
petitioners,  beggars;  and  coileclors,  pick- 
pockets.— But  enough  of  this. 

We  fay  no  more  of  metaphors,  but  that 
it  is  a  general  caution  With  regard  to  every 
fpecies,  not  to  mix  them,  and  that  more 
particularly,  if  taken  from  fubjects  which 
are  contrary. 

Such  was  the  cafe  of  that  orator,  who 
Orxe  afferted  in  his  orations  that— "  If  cold 
"  water  \s  ere  thrown  upcr:  a  certain  inea- 


§    1 99.      On  Enigmas  and  Puns. 

A  word  remains  upon  Enigmas  and  Pups, 
It  fhall  indeed  be  fhort,  becaufe,  though 
they  refemble  the  metaphor,  it  is  as  brafs 
and  copper  refrmble  gold. 

A  pun  feldom  regards  meaning,  being 
chiefly  confined  to  lound. 

Horace  gives  a  fad  fample  of  this  fpu- 
rious  wit,  where  (as  Dryden  humoroufly 
tranflates  it)  he  makes  Perfius  the  buffoon 
exnort  the  patriot  Brutus  to  kill  Mr.  King, 
that  is,  Rupilius  Rex,  becaufe  Brutus, 
when  he  flew  Crefar,  had  been  accuikuned 
to  king-killing  : 

Hunc   Regem   occide ;  operum   hoc  milii  crede 
tuorum  eft.         Horat.  Sat.  Lib.  I.  VII. 

We  have  a  worfe  attempt  in  Horner^ 
where  Ulyffes  makes  Polypheme  believe 
his  name  was  OTT1S,  and  where  the  dull 
Cyclops,  after  he  had  loft  his  eye,  upon 
being  alked  by  his  brethren,  who  had  done 
him  fo  much  mifchief,  replies  it  was  done 
by  OYTlX,  that  is,  by  nobody. 

Enigmas  are  of  a  more  complicated  na- 
ture, being  involved  either  in  pun,  or  me- 
taphor, or  fometimes  in  both: 

I  favv  a  man,  who,  unprovok'd  with  ire, 
Struck  brafs  upon  another's  back  by  fire. 

This  enigma  is  ingenious,  and  means 
the  operation  of  cupping,  performed  iri 
ancient  days  by  a  machine  of  brafs, 

In  fuch  fancies, -contrary  to  the  princi- 
pies  of  good  metaphor  and  good  writing, 
a  perplexity  is  cauled,  not  by  accident  but 
by  delign,  and  the  pieafure  lies  in  the  be- 
ing able  to  refblve  it.  Ibid. 

§   200.     Rules  defended. 

Having  mentioned  Rules,  and  indeed 
this  whole  theory  having  been  little  more 
than  rules  developed,  we  cannot  but  re- 
mark upon  a  common  opinion,  which 
feems  to  have  ariien  either  from  preju- 
dice or  millake. 

"  Do  not  rules,"  fay  they,  "  Cramp 
"  genius?  Do  they  not  abridge  it  of  cer- 
"  tain  privileges?" 

'Tis  anfwered,  If  the  obeying  of  rules 
were  to  induce  a  tyranny  like  this;  to  de- 
fend them  would  be  abfhrd,  and  againir. 
the  liberty  of  genius.  But  the  truth  is, 
rules;  fiippofing  them  good,  like  good 
government,    take    away    no    privileges. 

Thev 


BOOK    II.       CLASSICAL 

They  do  no  more,  than  fave  genius  from 
error,  by  (hewing  it,  that  a  right  to  err  is 
rio  privilege  at  all. 

'Tis  furely  no  privilege  to  violate  in 
grammar  the  rules  of  fyntax  ;  in  poetry, 
thofe  of  metre ;  in  mufic,  thole  of  harmo- 
ny; in  logic,  thofe  of  fyllogifm;  in  paint- 
ing, thofe  of  perfpective;  in  dramatic 
poetry,  thofe  of  probable  imitation. 

Harris. 

§  20 1.     The  flattering  Doclrine  that  Genius 
%villfufjice,  fallacious. 

It  mull  be  conferled,  'tis  a  flattering 
doctrine,  to  tell  a  young  beginner,  that 
he  has  nothing  more  to  do  than  to  trull 
hi*  own  genius,  and  to  contemn  all  rules, 
as  the  tyranny  of  pedants.  The  painful 
toils  of  accuracy  by  this  expedient  are  elud- 
ed, for  geniufes,  like  Milton's  Harps, 
(Par.  Loft,  Book  III.  v.  365,  366.)  are 
fuppofed  to  be  ever  tuned. 

•But  the  misfortune  is,  that  genius  is 
fomcthing  rare;  nor  can  he  who  poffeiles 
it,  even  then,  by  neglecting  rules,  produce 
what  is  accurate.  Thofe,  on  the  contra- 
ry, who,  though  they  want  genius,  think 
rules  worthy  their  attention,  if  they  can- 
not become  good  authors,  may  (till  make 
tolerable  critics ;  may  be  able  to  mew  the 
difference  between  the  creeping  and  the 
fimple;  the  pert  and  the  pleaiing ;  the 
turgid  and  the  fublime ;  in  fhort,  to  fharp- 
ien,  like  the  whetftone,  that  genius  in 
others,  which  nature  in  her  frugality  has 
not  given  to  themfelves.  Ibid. 


AND    HISTORICAL. 


4«0 


§   202.     No    Genius    ever    acl'ed  without 
Rules. 

Indeed  I  have  never  known,  during  a 
life  of  many  years,  and  fqme  fmall  atten- 
tion paid  to  letters,  and  literary  men,  that 
genius  in  any  art  had  been  ever  crampt 
by  rules.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  feen 
great  geniufes,  miferably  err  by  tranfgref- 
fing  them,  and>  like  vigorous  travellers, 
who  lofe  their  way,  only  wander  the  wider 
tin  account  of  their  own  ftrength. 

And  yet  'tis  fbmewhat  lingular  in  lite- 
rary-' cotftpoiitions,  and  perhaps  more  fo 
in  poetry  than  eifevvhere,  that  manv  things 
have  been  done  in  the  belt  and  pure  It  talte, 
long  before  rules  were  eftabliihed  and  fy- 
ftematiztd  in  form .  This  we  are  certain 
was  true  with  refpect  to  Homer,  Sopho- 
cles, Euripides,  and  other  Greeks.  In 
modern  times  it  appears  as  true  of  our  ad- 
mired Shakefpeare;  for  who  can  believe 


that  Shakefpeare  fludied  rules,  or  was  ever 
verfed  in  critical  fyitems  ?  Ibid. 

§    203.     There   never   was    a   time   when 
Rules  did  not  exifl. 

A  fpecious  objection  then  occurs.  "  If 
"  thefe  great  writers  were  fo  excellent 
"  before  rules  were  eftabliihed,  or  at  lea/1 
«  were  known  to  them,  what  had  they  to 
«  direct  their  genius,  when  rules  (to  them 
"  at  leaft)  did  not  exift?" 

To  this  queltion  'tis  hoped  the  anfwer 
will  not  be  deemed  too  hardy,  fliould  we 
affert,  that  there  never  was  a  time  when 
rules  did  not  exift ;  that  they  always  made 
a  part  of  that  immutable  truth,  the  natural 
object  of  every  penetrating  genius;  and 
that  if,  at  that  early  Greek  period,  fyitems 
of  rules  were  not  eltablifhed,  thofe  great 
and  fublime  authors  were  a  ride  to  them- 
felves.  They  may  be  faid  indeed  to  have 
excelled,  not  by  art,  but  by  nature ;  yet  bv 
a  nature  which  gave  birth  to  the  perfec- 
tion of  art. 

The  cafe  is  nearly  the  fame  with  refpeft 
toour  Shakefpeare.  There  is  hardly  any 
thing  we  applaud,  among  his  innumerable 
beauties,  which  will  not  be  found  flrictly 
conformable  to  the  rules  of  found  and  an- 
cient criticifm. 

That  this  is  true  with  refpeft  to  his 
characters  and  his  fentiment,  is  evident 
hence,  that  in  explaining  thefe  rules,  we 
have  fo  often  recurred  to  him  for  illuitra- 
tions. 

Befides  quotations  already  alledged,  we 
fubjoin  the  following  as  to  character. 

When  Falltaff  and  his  fuite  are  fo  iqtio- 
mmiouily  routed,  and  the  fcufde  is  byFaS- 
flaff  fo  humoroufly  exaggerated  ;  what  can 
be  more  natural  than  fuch  a  narrative  to 
fuch  a  character,  ditinguifbed  for  his  hu- 
mour, and  withal  for  his  want  of  veracity 
and  courage  ? 

The  fagacity  of  common  poets  mio-ht 
not  perhaps  have  fuggclted  fo  good  a  nar- 
rative, but  it  certainly  would  have  fu£- 
gelted  fomething  of  the  kind,  and  'tis  m 
tins  we  view  the  effence  of  dramatic  cha- 
racter, which  is,  when  we  conjecture  what 
any  one  will  do  or  fay,  from  what  he  has 
done  or  faid  already. 

If  we  pafs  from  characters  (that  is  to 
fay  manners)  to  fentiment,  we  have  already 
given  inftances,  and  yet  we  mall  ftill  give 
another. 

When  Rofmcroffeand  Guildernftern  wa.'t 
upon  Hamlet,  he  offers  them  a  recorder  or 

pipe, 


49° 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


pipe,  and  defires  them  to  play — they  re- 
ply, they  cannot — He  repeats  his  requell 
— they  anfwer,  they  have  never  learnt — 
He  affures  them  nothing  was  fo  eafy — they 
ftill  decline. — 'Tis  then  he  tells  them, 
with  difdain,  "  There  is  muchmulic  in  this 
"  little  organ;  and  yet  you  cannot  make 
"  it  fpeak — Do  you  think  I  am  eafier  to 
"  be  played  on  than  a  pipe?"  Hamlet, 
Aft  III. 

This  I  call  an  elegant  fample  of  fen- 
timent,  taken  under  its  compreheniive 
fenfe,  But  we  flop  not  here — We  conuder 
it  as  a  complete  inftance  of  Socratic  reafon- 
ing, though  'tis  probable  the  author  knew 
nothing  how  Socrates  ufed  to  argue. 

To  explain — Xenophon  makes  Socrates 
reafon  as  follows  with  an  ambitious  youth, 
by  name  Euthydemus. 

"  'Tis  ftrange  (fays  he)  that  thofe  who 
"  defire  to  play  upon  the  harp,  or  upon 
"  the  flute,  or  to  ride  the  managed  horfe, 
"  Ihould  not  think  them felves  worth  notice, 
*'  without  having  praftifed  under  -the  belt 
"  matters — while  there  are  thofe  who  af- 
"  pire  to  the  governing  of  a  llate,  and  can 
"  think  themfelves  completely  qualified, 
"  though  it  be  without  preparation  or 
"  labour."  Xenoph.  Mem.  IV.  c.  2. 
f.  6. 

Ariftotle's  Illuflration  is  fimilar,  in  his 
reafoning  again!!  men  chofen  bv  lot  for 
magiftrates.  "'Tis  (fays  he)  as  if  wreft- 
lers  were  to  be  appointed  by  lot,  and  not 
thofe  that  are  able  to  wreitle;  or,  as  if 
from  among  failors  v/e  were  to  chufe  a  pi- 
lot by  lot,  and  that  the  man  fo  elefted  was 
to  navigate,  and  not  the  man  who  knew 
the  bufinefs."  Rhetor.  L.  II.  c 
Edit.  Sylb. 

Nothing  can  be  more  ingenious  than 
this  mode  of  reafoning.  The  premifes 
are  obvious  and  undeniable;  the  conclu- 
sion cogent  and  yet  unexpected.  It  is  a 
fpecies  of  that  argumentation,  called  in 
dialectic  'Evxyxyri,  or  induction. 

Ari.lotle  in  his  PJietoric  (as  above 
quoted)  calls  fuch  reafonings  ra  S^a-nx^, 
the  Socratics ;  in  the  beginning  of  his 
Poetics,  he  calls  them  the  "Lax^ariy.ol  ?,oy0i, 
the  Socratic  difcourfes ;  and  Horace,  in 
his  Art  of  Poetry,  calls  them  the  Socra- 
tica?  charta;.  Harris. 

§  204.     The   Connexion  between  Rule*  mid 
Genius. 

If  truth  be  always  the  fame,  no  wonder 
geniufes  fhould  coincide,  and  that  too  in 
philofophy,  as  well  as  in  criticifm. 


p.  94. 


We  venture  to  add,  returning  to  rules, 
that  if  there  be  any  things  in  Shakefpeare 
objectionable  (and  who  is  hardy  enough  to 
deny  it?)  the  very  objeftions,  as  well  as 
the  beauties,  are  to  be  tried  by  the  fame 
rules;  as  the  lame  plummet  alike  fhews 
both  what  is  out  of  the  perpendicular,  and 
in  it;  the  fame  rules  alike  prove  both 
what  is  crooked  and  what  is  ftraio-ht. 

We  cannot  admit  that  geniufes,  though 
prior  to  fyftems,  were  prior  alfo  to  rules, 
becaufe  rules  from  the  beginning  exifted 
in  their  own  minds,  and  were  a  part  of 
that  immutable  truth,  which  is  eternal 
and  every  where.  Ariftotle,  we  know,  did 
not  form  Homer,  Sophocles,  and  Euripi- 
des; 'twas  Homer,  Sophocles,  and  Euri- 
pides, that  formed  Ariftotle. 

And  this  furely  fhould  teach  us  to  pay 
attention  to  rules,  in  as  much  as  they  and 
genius  are  fo  reciprocally  connefted,  that 
'tis  genius  which  difcovers  rules;  and  then 
rules  which  govern  genius. 

'Tis  by  this  amicable  concurrence,  and 
by  this  alone,  that  every  work  of  art  juftly 
merits  admiration,  and  is  rendered  as 
highly  pcrfeft  as,  by  human  power,  it  can  be 
made.  Ibid. 

§  205,  We  ought  ?tot  to  be  content  with 
knowing  what  we  like,  but  what  is 
really  worth  liking. 

•"Tis  not  however  improbable,  that  fome 
intrepid  fpirit  may  demand  again,  What 
avail  thefe  fubtleties  ? — Without  fo  much 
trouble,  I  can  be  full  enough  pleafed — I 
know  what  I  like. — We  anfwer,  And  fo 
does  the  carrion-crow,  that  feeds  upon  a 
carcafe.  The  difficulty  lies  not  in  know- 
ing what  we  like,  but  in  knowing  how  to 
like,  and  what  is  worth  liking.  Till  thefe 
ends  are  obtained,  we  may  admire  Durfey 
before  Milton;  a  fmoking  boor  of  Hem- 
fkirk,  before  an  apolrle  of  Raphael. 

Now  as  to  the  knowing  how  to  like,  and 
then  what    is    worth    liking  j    the   firft    of 
thefe,  being  the  objeft  of  critical  difqui- 
fiticn,  has   been    attempted    to    be   fhewn 
through  the  courfe  of  thefe  inquiries. 

As  to  the  fecond,  what  is  worth  our  lik- 
ing, this  is  bell  known  by  ftuclying  the 
bell  authors,  beginning  from  the  Greeks  ; 
then  palling  to  the  Latins ;  nor  on  any 
account  excluding  thofe  who  have  excels 
led  among  the  moderns. 

And  here,  if,  while  we  purfue  fome  au- 
thor of  high  rank,  we  perceive  we  don't 
inllantly  relifh  him,  let  us  not  be  difheart- 
ened — let  us   even  feign  a  relifh,  till  we 

find 


BOOK   ir.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.        491 

times  the  feat  of  enormous  monarchy*  :  on 


find  a  relifh  come.  A  morfel  perhaps 
pleafes  us— let  us  cherifh  it — Another 
morfel  ft;  ikes  us — let  us  cherifh  this  alfo. 
—Let  us  thus  proceed,  and  fteadily  perfe- 
vere,  till  we  find  we  can  relilh,  not  mcr- 
fels,  but  wholes;  and  feel,  that  what  be- 
gan in  fiction  terminates  in  reality-  The 
film  befog  in  this  manner  removed,  we 
ihall  difcover  beauties  which  we  never 
imagined;  and  contemn  for  puerilities, 
what  we  once  foolifhly  admired. 

One  thing  however  in  this  procefs  is  in- 
difpenfably  required:  we  are  on  no  ac- 
count to  expect  that  line  things  mould  de- 
fcend  to  us;  our  tafle,  if  pofiible,  mull  be 
made  to  afcend  to  them. 

This  is  the  labour,  this  the  work;  there 
is  pleafure  in  the  fuccefs,  and  praife  even 
in  the  attempt. 

This  {peculation  applies  not  to  literature 
only  :  it  applies  to  mufic,  to  painting,  and, 
as  they  are  all  congenial,  to  all  the  liberal 
arts.  We  mould  in  each  cf  them  endea- 
vour to  invefligate  what  is  bell,  and  there 
(if  1  may  fo  exprefs  myfelf)  fix  our  abode. 

By  only  feeking  and  perilling  what  is 
truly  excellent,  and  by  contemplating  al- 
ways this  and  this  alone,  the  mind  inienfi- 
bly  becomes  accuilom.d  to  it,  and  finds 
that  in  this  alone  it  can  acquiefce  with 
content.  It  hapoens  indeed  here,  as  in  a 
fubject  fir  more  important,  I  mean  in  a 
moral  and  a  virtuous  conduct :  if  we  chafe 
the  bell  life,  uie  will  make  it  pieafint. 

Harris, 

§  2c6.  CharaBcr  of  the  English,  the 
Oriental,  the  Latin,  and  the 
Greek    Languages. 

Wc  Britons  in  our  time  have  been  re- 
markable borrowers,  as  our  multiform  lan- 
guage may  fufficiently  fhew.  Oar  terms 
in  polite  literature  prove,  that  this  came 
from  Greece;  our  terms  in  muiic  and 
painting,  that  thele  came  from  Italy;  our 
ph rales  in  cookery  and  war,  that  we  learnt 
thele  from  the  French;  and  our  phrafes  in 
navigation,  that  we  were  taught  by  the 
Flemings  and  Low  Dutch.  Thefe  many 
and  very  different  fouvces  of  our  language 
may  be  the  caufe  why  it  is  fo  deficient  in 
regularity  and  analogy.  Yet  we  have  this 
advantage  to  compenfate  the  defecl,  that 
what  we  want  in  elegance,  we  gain  in  co- 
pioufnefs,  in  which  lail  reipect  few  langua- 
ges will  be  found  fuperior  to  our  own. 

Let  us  pafs  from  ourfelves  to  the  na- 
tions of  the  Eafr,  The  Eaftern.  world, 
from  the  eariieil  days,  has  been  at  all 
z 


its  natives  fair  liberty  never  fined  its  ge- 
nial influence.  If  at  any  time  civil  dif- 
cords  aroie  among  them,  (and  arife  there 
did  innumerable)  the  contell  was  never 
about  the  form  of  their  government  (for 
this  was  an  object  of  which  the  combatants 
had  no  conception  ;)  it  was  all  from  the 
poor  motive  of,  who  ihould  be  their  mailer  ; 
whether  a  Cyrus  or  an  Artaxerxes,  a  Ma- 
homet or  a  Muftapha. 

Such  vvas  their  condition;  and  what 
was  the  eonfequence  ? — Their  ideas  be- 
came confonant  to  their  fervile  flare,  and 
their  words  became  confonant  to  their  fer- 
vile ideas.  The  great  diftinctton  for  ever 
in  their  light,  was  that  of  tyrant  and  flave; 
the  moil  unnatural  one  conceivable,  and 
the  moll  fuiceptielc  of  pomp  and  empty 
exaggeration.  Hence  they  talked  of  kings 
as  gods;  and  of  themfclvcs  as  the  meaneit 
and  moll  abject  reptiles.  Nothing  was  ei- 
ther great  or  little  in  moderation,  but  every 
fentiment  was  heightened  by  incredible 
hyberbole.  Thus,  though  they  fometimes 
aicended  into  the  great  and  magnificentf , 
they  as  frequently  degenerated  into  the 
tumid  and  bombaii.  The  Greeks  too  of 
Afia  became  infected  by  their  neighbours, 
who  were  often,  at  times,  not  only  their 
neighbours,  but  their  mailers ;  and  hence 
that  luxuriance  of  the  Afiatic  llyle,  un- 
known to  the  chaile  eloquence  and  puritv 
of  Athens.  But  of  the  Greeks  we  for- 
bear to  fpeak  now,  as  we  mail  fpeak  of 
them  more  fully,  when  we  have  firft 
confidered  the  nature  or  genius  of  the  Ro- 
mans. 

And  what  fort  of  people  may  we  pro- 
nounce the  Romans?— A  nation  engaged 
in  wars  and  commotions,  feme  foreign, 
fome  clomeilic,  which  for  (even  hundred 
years  wholly  engroffed  their  thoughts. 
Hence  therefore  their  language  became, 
like  their  ideas,  copious  in  ail  terms  expref- 
five  of  things  political,  and  well  adapted 
to  the  purpofes  both  of  hiMory  and  poou- 

lar  eloquence. But  what  was  their  phi- 

lofophy? — As  a  nation  it  was  none,  if  we 
may  credit  their  ableil  writers.    And  hence 

*  For  the  Barbarians,  by  being  more    fkvifh- 
in  their  manners  than  the  Greeks,  and  fchofe  of  • 
Aha  than  thofe  of  Europe,  fubmit  to  defpotic  go- 
vernment   without    murmuring    or    difcontent. 
Arift.   Polit.  IH.  4. 

f  The  trut-ft  fublime  of  the  Eaft  may  be  found 
in  the  fcriptures,  of  which  perhaps  the  principal 
caufe  is  the  intrinfic  greatnefs  of  the  fubject  there 
treated;  the  creation  of  the  univerfe,  the  difpen- 
lations  of  divine  Providence,  kc. 

the 


m 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  unfitnefs  of  their  language  to  this  fub- 
jedl;  a  defect  which  even  Cicero  is  com- 
pelled to  confefs,  and  more  fully  makes  ap- 
pear, when  he  writes  philofophy  himfeif, 
from  the  number  of  terms  which  he  is 
obHo-ed  to  invent*.  Vir<?il  feems  to  have 
judged  the  moil  truly  of  his  countrymen* 
when,  admitting  their    inferiority    in   the 

*  See  Cic.  de  Fin.  I.  C.  t,  2,  3.  III.  C.  i,  z, 
4,  &c.  but  in  particular  Tufc.  Difp.  I.  3,  where 
E'e  fays,  "  Philofophia  jacuit  vil- ;vie  ad  banc  jeta- 
tem,  nee  ullum  habuit  lumen  literal *un  Latina-= 
runi:  qusi  ilhtftranda  &  excitand^  nobis  eft;  ut 
fi,*'  &c.  See  alfoTufc.  Difp.  IV.  3.  and  Acad.  I. 
1.  where  it  appears,  that  until  Cicero  applied 
himfeif  to  the  writing  of  philofophy^  the  Romans 
Siad  nothing  of  the  kind  in  their  language,  except 
foroe  mean  performances  of  Amafanius  the  Epi- 
curean, and  others  of  the  fame  feci:.  How  far 
the  Romans  were  indebted  to  Cicero  for  philofo- 
phy, and  with  what  induftry,  as  well  as  elo- 
quence, he  cultivated  the  fu'r.ject,  may  be  feen 
not  only  from  the  titles  of  thofe  works  that  are 
now  loft,  but  much  more  from  the  many  noble 
tines  ftill  fortunately  preferved. 

The  Epicurean  poet  Lucretius,  who  flourished 
nearly  at  the  fame  time,  feems  by  his  f:!ence  to 
have  overlooked  the  Latin  writers  of  his  own 
feet  ;  deriving  all  his  philofophy,  as  well  as  Ci- 
cero, from  Grecian  fources  ;  and,  like  him,  ac- 
knowledging the  difficulty  of  writing  philofophy 
in  Latin,  both  from  the  poverty  of  the  tongue, 
and  from  the  novelty  of  the  fubjecl. 

Nee  me  animi  fallit,  Graiorum  obfeura  reperta 
Difficile  inlullrare  Latinis  tferfibus  effe, 
(Mulra  novis  rebus  prsefertim  quum  fit  agen- 
dum,) 
Propter  egettatem  linguae  et  rerum  novitatem  : 
Bed  tua  me  virtus  tamen,  et  fperata  voluptas 
Suav-is  amicitix  quemvis  perferre  laborem 

*  kiadet Lucr.  1.23,7. 

In  the  fame  nge,  Varro,  among  his  nnmero\is 
works,  wrote  fome  in  the  way  of  philofophy;  a.s 
'i'd  the  patriot  Brutus  a  treatife  concerning  virtnei 
rauch  applauded  by  Cicero;  but  thele  works  are 
sow  1  ift. 

Soon  after  the  writers  above  mentioned  came 
'  tee,  fome  of  whofe  fatires  and  epiStles  may 
he  juftly  ranked  among  the  muff  valuable  pieces 
itf  Latin  philofophy,  whether  we  confsder  the 
purity  of  their  Style,  or  the  great  addrefs  with 
which  they  treat  the  fubjecl. 

After  Horace,  though  with  as  long  an  interval 
as  from  the  days  of  Auguftus  to  thofe  of  Nero, 
'came  the  fatirift  Perfius-,  the  friend  and  diSei- 
ple  of  the  ftoic  Cornutus  ;  to  whofe  precepts,  as 
he  did  honour  by  his  virtuous  life,  fo  his  works, 
though  fmall,  fhew  an  early  proficiency  iti  the 
faience  of  morals.  Of  him  it  may  be  laid,  that  he 
is  almoft  the  fingle  difficult  writer  among  the 
L-.tin  daffies,  whofe  meaning  has  fufficient  merit 
ro  make  it  worth  while  to  labour  through  his  ob- 
[:  urities. 

In  the  fame  degenerate  and  tyrannic  period 
Jived  alfo  Seneca;  whofe  character,  both  as  a 
man  and  a  writer,  is  difcuffed  with,  great  accu- 
racy by  the  noble  author  of  the  Chaiactenltics, 
7.0  whom  we  refer. 


more  elegant  arts,  he  concludes  at  iaiV 
with  his  ulual  majelfy; 

l'u  regere  imperio  populo?,  Romane,  memento, 
(Has  tibi  brunt  artes)  pacifque  imponere  morem, 
Pareere  fubjectis,  et  debeliare  fuperbos. 

From  confidering  the  Romans,  let  us 
pafs  to  the  Greeks.  The  Grecian  com- 
monwealths, while  they  maintained  their 

Under  a  milder  dominion,  that  of  Hadrian  and 
the  Antonines,  lived  Aulus  Gellius,  or  (as  fume 
call  him)  Agellius,  an  entertaining  writer  in  the 
mifcellaneous  way,  well  (killed  in  critieifm  and 
antiquity  3  whpj  though  he-  can  hardly  be  entitled 
to  the  name  of  a  philofopher,  yet  deferves  not 
to  pafs  unmentioned  here,  from  the  curious  frag- 
ments of  philofophy  interfperfed  in  his  works. 

With  Aulus  Gellius  we  range  Macrobius,  not 
becaule  a  contemporary  (for  lie  is  fuppoftd  to 
have  lived  under  Honorius  and  Theodofius)  but 
from  his  near  refemblance,  in  the  character  of  a 
writer.  His  works,  like  the  other's,  are  mifcel- 
laneous ;  filled  with  mythology  and  ancient  lite- 
rature, fome  philofophy  being  intermixed.  His 
Commentary  upon  the  Somnium  Scipionis  of 
Cicero  may  be  confidered  as  wholly  of  tlae  philo- 
fophical  kind. 

In  the  fame  age  with  Aulus  Gellius,  flourished 
Apuleius  of  Madura  in  Africa,  a  Platonic  writer, 
whofe  matter  in  general  far  exceeds  his  perplexed 
and  affected  ftvle,  too  conformable  to  the  falfa 
rhetoric  of  the  age  when  he  liyedt 

Of  the  fame  country,  but  of  a  later  age,  and  a 
harfher  ftyle,  was  Martianus  Capella,  if  indeed  ha 
defi  rve  not  1  he  name  rather  of  a  philologist,  than 
of  a  philofopher. 

After  Capella  we  may  rank  Chalcidius  the 
Platonic,  though  both  his  age,  and  country,  and 
religion,  are  doubtful.  His  manner  of  writing  is 
rather  more  agreeable  than  that  of  the  two  pre- 
ceding, nor  does  lie  appear  to  be  their  inferior 
in  the  knowledge  of  philofophy,  his  work  being 
a  laud. .hie  commentary  upon  the  Timaeus  of  Plato. 

The  hit  Latin  philofopher  was  Boethius,  who 
was  defcended  from  fome  of  the  nobleft  of  the 
Roman  families,  and  was  confu!  in  the  begins, 
ning  of  thefrxth  century.  He  wrote  many  phi* 
lofophical  works,  the  greater  part  in  the  logical 
way.  But  his  ethic  piece,  "On  the  Confolation 
of  Philofophy,"  and  when  is  partly  profe  and 
partly  verie,  deferves  gre..t  encomiums  both  for 
the  matter  and  for  the  ilyle  ;  in  which  hit  he 
approaches  the  purity  of  a  far  better  age  than  his 
own,  and  is  in  all  refpects  preferable  to  thofe 
crabbed  Africans  already  mentioned.  By  com- 
mand of  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Goths,  it  was  the 
hard  fate  of  this  worthy  man  to  fuSfer  'death ; 
with  whom  the  Latin  tongue,  and  the  Iaft  re* 
mains  of  Roman  dignity,  may  be  faid  to  have 
funk  in  the  weftern  world. 

There  were  other  Romans,  who  left  philoso- 
phical writings;  f.  ch  as  Mufonius  Rufus,  and 
the  two  emperors,  Marcus  Antoninus  and  Julian  ; 
but  as  thefe  preferred  the  ufe  of  the  Gfeektongue 
to  their  own,  they  can  hardly  be  confidered  . 
among  the  number  of  Latin  writers. 

And  fo  much  (by  way  of  Sketch)  for  the  Latin, 
authors  of  philofophy;  a  fmall  number  fur  fo 
vaft  an  empire,  if  we  confsder  them  as  all  the 
product  of  near  fix  fucccnive  centuries. 

liberty, 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


493 


liberty,  were  the  moll  heroic  confederacy 
that  ever  exifted.  They  were  the  politer!, 
the  braveft,  and  the  wifeft,  of  men.  In 
the  fhort  fpace  of  little  more  than  a  cen- 
tury they  became  fuch  ftatefmen,  war- 
riors, orators,  hiftorians,  phyficians,  poets, 
critics,  painters,  fculptors,  architects,  and 
(laft  of  all)  philofophers,  that  one  can 
hardly  help  confidering  that  golden  pe- 
riod, as  a  providential  event  in  honour  of 
human  nature,  to  (hew  to  what  perfection 
the  fpeeies  might  afcend*. 

Now  the  language  of  thefe  Greeks  was 
truly  like  themielves;  it  was  conformable 
to  their  tranfcendant  and  univerfal  genius. 
Where  matter  fo  abounded,  words  followed 
of  courfe,  and  thofe  exquifite  in  every 
kind,  as  the  ideas  for  which  they  itood. 
And  hence  it  followed,  there  was  not  a 
fubjedt  to  be  found  which  could  not  with 
propriety  be  expreffed  in  Greek. 

Here  were  words  and  numbers  for  the 

*  If  we  except  Homer,  Hefiod,  and  the  Ly- 
rie  poets,  we  hear  of  few  Grecian  writers  be- 
fore the  expedition  of  Xerxes.  After  that  mo- 
narch had  been  defeated,  and  the  dread  of  the 
Perfian  power  was  at  an  end,  the  effulgence  of 
Grecian  genius  (if  I  may  ufe  the  expreffion) 
broke  forth,  and  fhone  till  the  time  of  Alexan- 
der the  Macedonian,  after  whom  it  difappeared, 
and  never  rofe  again.  This  is  that  golden  pe- 
riod fpoken  of  above.  I  do  not  mean  that  Greece 
had  not  many  writers  of  great  merit  fubfequent 
to  that  period,  and  efpecially  of  the  philofophic 
kind;  but  the  great,  the  ftriking,  the  fublime 
(call  it  as  you  pleafe)  attained  at  that  time  to  a 
height,  to  which  it  never  could  afcend  in  any 
•after  age. 

The  fame  kind  of  fortune  hefel  the  people  of 
Rome.  When  the  Punic  wars  were  ended,  and 
Carthage,  their  dreaded  rival,  was  no  more,  then, 
as  Horace  informs  us,  they  began  to  cultivate 
the  politer  arts.  It  was  foon  after  this  their  great 
■orators,  and  hiftorians,  and  poets  arofe,  and 
Rome,  like  Greece,  had  her  golden  period,  which 
lafted  to  the  death  of  Octavius  Cxfar. 

I  call  thefe  two  periods,  from  the  two  greateft 
geniufes  that  ftourifhed  in  each,  one  the  Socratic 
period,  the  other  the  Ciceronian. 

i  here  are  itill  farther  analogies  fuhfi-fting  be- 
tween them.  Neither  period  commenced,  as 
long  as  folicitude  for  the  common  welfare  en- 
gaged men's  attentions,  and  fuch  wars  impended 
as  threatened  their  deftrudlion  by  foreigners  and 
barbarians.  But  when  once  thefe  fears  were 
over,  a  general  fecurity  foon  enfued,  and  inftead 
of  attending  to  the  arts  of  defence  and  felf-pre- 
fervilion,  they  began  to  cultivate  thofe  of  ele- 
gance and  pleafnre.  Now,  as  thefe  naturally 
produced  a  kind  of  .9  anion  infolence,  not  unlike 
She  vicious  temper  of  high-fqd  animals  5  la  by  this 
fhe  Hands  of  union  were  infeniibly  diffolved. 
Hence  then,  among  the  Greeks,  that  fatal  Pelo- 
jponnefian  war,  which,  together  with  other  wars, 
:,ia  .immeduce  cunfcqueace,  Woks  the   confidc- 


humour  of  an  Ariftophanes ;  for  the  na- 
tive elegance  of  a  Philemon  or  Menander ; 
for  the  amorous  {trains  of  a  Mimnermus  or 
Sappho;  for  the  rural  lays  of  a  Theocritus 
or  Bion  ;  and  for  the  fublime  conceptions 
of  a  Sophocles  or  Homer.  The  fame  in 
profe.  Here  liberates  was  enabled  to  dif- 
play  his  art,  in  all  the  accuracy  of  periodsj 
and  the  nice  cpunterpoife  of  diction.  Here 
Demolthenes  found  materials  for  that  ner- 
vous compoiklon,  that  manly  force  of  un- 
affected eloquence,  which  rufhed  like  a 
torrent,  too  impetuous  to  be  withftood. 

Who  were  more  different  in  exhibiting 
their  philofophy,  than  Xenophon,  Plato, 
and  his  difciple  Ariftotle  ?  Different,  I 
fay,  in  their  character  of  compofition ;  for, 
as  to  their  philofophy  itfelf,  it  was  in  re- 
ality the  fame.  Ariftotle,  ft  rift,  methodic, 
and  orderly  ;  fubtle  in  thought ;  {paring  in 
ornament;  with  little  addrefs  to  the  paf. 
fions  or  imagination;  but  exhibiting  the 

racy  of  their  commonwealths ;  wafted  their 
ftreng'th  ;  made  them  jealous  of  each  other:  and 
thus  paved  a  way  for  the  contemptible  kingdom 
of  Macedon  to  enflave  them  all,  and  afcend  in  a 
few  years  to  univeifal  monarchy. 

A  like  luxuriance  of  profperity  fowed  dif- 
cord  among  the  Romans ;  raifed  thofe  unhappy 
contefts  between  the  fenate  and  the  Gracchi  ; 
between  Sylla  and  Marius  ;  between  Pompey 
and  Cxfar ;  ti-1  at  length,  after  the  laft  ftruggle 
for  liberty  by  thofe  brave  patriots,  Brutus  and 
Cafjfius  at  Philippi,  and  the  fubfequent  defeat  of 
Antony  at  Aclium,  the  Romans  became  fubjedt 
to  the  dominion  of  a  fellow  citizen. 

It  muft  indeed  be  confeffed,  that  after  Alex- 
ander and  Oiiavius  had  eftabhfhed  their  monar- 
chies, there  were  many  bright  geniufes,  who 
were  eminent  under  their  government.  Arifto- 
tle maintained  a  friendfhip  and  epiftolary  cor- 
refpondence  with  Alexander.  In  the  time  of 
the  fame  monarch  lived  Theophraftus,  and  the 
cynic  Diogenes.  Then  alio  Demofthenes  and 
/iiichines  fpoke  their  two  celebrated  orations. 
So  likewife,  in  the  time  of  Oftavius,  Virgil 
wrote  his  JEneid,  and  with  Horace,  Varius,  and 
many  ether  fine  writers,  partook  of  his  protec- 
tion and  royal  munificence.  But  then  it  muft  be 
remembered,  that  thefe  men  were  bred  and  edu- 
cated in  the  principles  of  a  free  government.  It  was 
hence  they  derived  that  high'  and  manly  fpirit 
which  made  them  the  admiration  of  after-ages. 
The  fucceffors  and  forms  of  government  left  by 
Alexander  and  Octavius,  foon  ftopt  the  growth 
of  any  thing  farther  in  the  kind.  So  true  is  that 
noble  faying  of  Longinus — ©^I4«i  te. ya» luavh  v$ 
ipjov',L/.ttT3.  tSv  ^syctXo^gova;*  h  EAEY0EPIA,  13  £<JTg\- 
J7ri?ai$  k,  a/utm.  hvtosl'v  to  Trfflvy.??  TJJ;  ct^oj  " aAV;i>.aCs 
%li$!t;,  r*  t!J>  w?j;  to.  <D7£..r''ia  ACkoTjfA.taf.  "  It  is  libejty 
tha<  is  formed  to  mine  the  fentiments  of  great  'ge- 
niufes ;  to  infpire  them 'with  hope;  to  pulh 
forward  the  propenfity  of  conteft  one  with  ano- 
ther, and  the  generous  emulation  of  being  the 
fn\x  i»  rank."    be  Sub';.  §e6t  44. 

whole 


494- 


E  LEG  ANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


whole  with  fuch  a  pregnant  brevity,  that  and   Englifh   prefs;    upon    that    fungous 

in  every  fentence  we  feem  to  read  a  page,  growth  of  novels  and  of  pamphlets,  where 

How  exquifitely  is  this  all  performed  in  it  is  to  be  feared,  they  rarely  find  any  ra- 

Greek  !     Let  thofe,  who  imagine  it  may  tionaJ   plealure.   and  more  rarely  ftill  any 

be  done  as  well  in  another  language,  fatis-  foiid  improvement. 
fy    themfelves,    either    by    attempting   to         To    be   competently    fkilkd  in  ancient 


tranflate  him,  or  by  peruimg  ins  traniia 
tions  already  made  by  men  of  learning 
On  the  contrary,  when  we  read  eith  r  ie 
nophon  or   Plato,  nothing  of  this  method 


learning  is  by  no  means  a  work  of  fuch 
infupei  able  pains.  The  very  progrefs  itl 
felf  is  attended  with  delight,  and  refembles 

a  journey  through  fome  pleafant  country! 


and  ftrict  order  appears.  The  formal  and  where,  every  mile  we  advance,  new  charms 
didactic  is  wholly  dropt.  Whatever  they  arife.  It  is  certainly  as  ealy  to  be  a  fcho- 
may  teach,  it  is  without   profeffing  to  be     lar,  as  a  gamefter,  or  many  other  characters 


teachers;  a  train  of  dialogue  and  truly 
polite  addrefs,  in  which,  as  in  a  mirror, 
we  behold  human  life  adorned  in  all  its 
colours  of  fentiment  and  manners. 

And   yet,  though   thefe    differ  in    this 
manner  from  the    Stagyrite,   how   differ- 
ent are  they  like  wife  in   character  from 
each    other! — Plato,    copious,   figurative, 
ana  majeftic;    intermixing   at    times    the 
facetious  and  fatiric;  enriching  his  works 
with  tales  and  fables,  and  the  my  flic  the- 
ology  of  ancient   times.     Xenophon,  the     lities,    without  the    common    helps,  have 
pattern  of  perfect  Simplicity;  everywhere     been  fufheient  of  themfelves  to  great  and 
fmooth,  harmonious,  and  pure;  declining     important  ends.     But  alas! 
the  figurative,    the    marvellous,    and    the 


equally  illiberal  and  lew.  The  fame  ap- 
plication, the  fame  quantity  of  habit,  will 
lit  us  for  one  as  completely  as  for  the 
other.  And  as  to  thole  who  tell  us,  with 
an  air  of  feeming  wifdom,  that  it  is  men, 
and  not  books,  we  muft  fhidy  to  become 
knowing ;  this  I  have  always  remarked, 
from  repeated  experience,  to  be  the  com-- 
mon  confolation  and  language  of  dunces. 
They  (belter  their  ignorance  under  a  few 
bright  examples,  whofe  tranfeendent  abi- 


myftic;  afcending  but  rarely  into  the  fub- 
lime  ;  nor  then  io  much  trufting  to  the  co- 
lours of  ftyie,  as  to  the  intrinfic  dignity  of 
the  fentiment  itfelf. 

The  language,  in  the  mean  time  in 
which  he  and  Plato  wrote,  appears  to  fuit 
lb  accurately  with  the  fbyle  of  both,  that 
when  we  read  either  of  the  two,  we  cannot 
help  thinking,  that  it  is  he  alone  who  has 
hit  its  character,  and  that  it  could  not 
have  appeared  fo  elegant  in  any  other 
manner. 

And  thus  is  the  Greek  tongue,  from  its 


Decipit  exemplar  vitiis  imitabile— 

In  truth,  each  man's  understanding, 
when  ripened  and  mature,  is  a  compofite 
of  natural  capacity,  and  of  fuperinduced 
habit.  Hence  the  greater!  men  will 
be  neceflarily  thofe  who  poflefs  the  befc 
capacities,  cultivated  with  the  bell  ha- 
bits. Hence  alfo  moderate  capacities, 
when  adorned  with  valuable  fcience,  will 
far  tranfeend  others  che'moft  acute  by  na- 
ture, when  either  neglected,  or  applied  to 
low   and  bafe  purposes.       And    thus,  for 


propriety   and    univerfality,    made  for  all  the  honour  of  culture  and  good  learning, 

that  is   great  and  all  that  is  beautiful,  in  they  are  able  to  render  a  man,  if  he  will 

every  Subject   and   under  every    form   of  ia&e  the  pains,  intrinfically  more  excellent 

writing ;  than  his  natural  fuperiors.  Harris. 


Grniis  internum,  Graiis  dedit  ere  rotundo 
Mula  loqui. 

It  were  to  be  wifticd,  that  thofe  among!! 
us,  who  either  write  or  read  witii  a  view  to 
employ  their  liberal  leifure*(for  as  to  fuch 
as  do  either  from  views  more  fordid,  we 
leave  them,  like  flavcs,  to  their  deflined 
drudo-ery)  it  were  to  be  wifhed,  I  fay,  that 
the  liberal  (if  they  have  a  relifh  for  letters) 
woul^infpect  the  fmlmed  models  of  Gre- 
cian litera  ure  ;  that  they  would  not  walle 
thp'e  hours,  which  they  cannot  recal, 
uro:;  the  meaner  productions  of  tke  French 


§  207.  Hijicry  cf  the  Limits  and  Extent  of 
the  Middle  Age. 
When  the  maenitude  of  the  Roman 
empire  grew  enormous,  and  there  were 
two  imperial  cities,  Rome  and  Conftanti- 
nople,  then  that  happened  which  was  na- 
tural; out  of  one  empire  it  became  two, 
diilinguifhed  by  the  different  names  of  the 
Weilern,  and  the  Eaffern. 

The  Weftern  empire  foon  funk.  So 
early  as  in  the  fii  h  century,  Rome,  once 
the  miilrcfs  of  nations,   beheld   herlelf  at 

The 

:nturies 

longer 


me   inmrcis   or    nations,    ueneru    iic 
the    feet   of    a   Gothic    fovereign. 
Eaftern    empi.e     laitcd    many    cei 


BOOK   IL        CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


49* 


longer,  and,  though  often  impaired  by 
external  enemies,  and  weakened  as  often 
by  internal  factions,  yet  ftill  it  retained 
traces  of  its  ancient  fplendor,  refembling, 
in  the  language  of  Virgil,  fome  fair  but 
faded  flower : 

Cui  neque  fulgor  adlmc,  necdum    fua  forma 
receffit.        ■  Viro. 

At  length,  after  various  plunges  and 
various  efcapes,  it  was  totally  annihilated 
in  the  fifteenth  century  by  the  victorious 
arms  of  Mahomet  the  Great. 

The  interval  between  the  fall  of  thefe 
two  empires  (the  Wellern  or  Latin  in  the 
fifth  century,  the  Eaftern  or  Grecian  in 
the  fifteenth)  making  a  fpace  of  near  a 
thoufand  years,  conftitutes  what  we  call  the 
Middle  Age. 

Dominion  palled  during  this  interval 
into  the  hands  of  rude,  illiterate  men  :  men 
who  conquered  more  by  multitude  than  by 
military  (kill;  and,  who,  having  little  or 
no  tafte  either  for  fciences  or  arts,  natu- 
rally defpifed  thole  things  from  which  they 
had  reaped  no  advantage. 

This  was  the  age  of  Monkery  and  Le- 
gends; of  Leonine  verfes,  (that  is,  of  bad 
"Latin  put  into  rhime;)  of  projects,  to  de- 
cide truth  by  plpughfhares  an.]  battoons ; 
of  crufades,  to  conquer  infidels,  and  extir- 
pate heretics ;  of  princes  depofed,  not  as 
Crcefus  was  by  Cyrus,  but  one  who  had 
no  armies,  and  who  did  not  even  wear  a 
fword. 

Different  portions  of  this  age  have  been 
diftingui flied  by  different  defcriptions:  fuch 
as  Saeculum  Monotheleticum,  Sascu'um  Ei- 
conoclafiicum,  Sa:c,ulum  Obfcurum,  Sascu- 
lum  Ferreuin,  Sxculum  Hildibrandinum, 
&c. ;  llrange  names  it  mult  be  confelt, 
fome  more  obvious,  others  lefs  fo,  yet  none 
tending  to  furnilh  us  with  any  high  or 
promiling  ideas. 

And  yet  we  muft  acknowledge,  for  the 
honour  of  humanity  and  of  its  great  and 
divine  Autkor,  who  never  forfakes  it,  that 
fome  fparks  of  intellect  were  at  all  times 
viable,  through  the  whole  of  this  dark  and 
dreary  period.  It  is  here  we  mult  look 
for  the  tafte  and  literature  of  the  times. 

The  few  who  were  enlightened,  when 
arts  and  fciences  were  thus  obfeured,  may 
be  faid  to  have  happily  maintained  the  con- 
tinuity of  knowledge;  to  have  been  (if  I 
may  ufe  the  expreffion)  like  the  twilight 
of  a  fummer's  night;  that,  auspicious  gleam 
between  the  fetting  and  the  riling'  fun, 
Whfch,  though  it  cannot  retain  the  luftre 


of  the  day,  helps  at  leall  to  fave  us  from 
the  totality  of  darknefs.  Harris. 

§   208.  An  Account  of  the  Dejlruclion  of  the 
Alexandrian  Library. 

"  When  Alexandria  was  taken  by  the 

"  Mahometans,  Amrus,  their  commander, 

"  found  there  Philoponus,  whole  conver- 

"  fation  highly  pleafed  him,  as  Amrus  was 

"  a    lover    of  letters,   and    Philoponus    a 

"  learned  man.     On  a  certain  day  Philo- 

"  ponus  faid  to  him :    «  You  have  vifited 

"  all  the  repofitories  or  public  warehoufes 

"  in  Alexandria,  and  you  have  fealed  uo 

"  things  of  every  fort  that  are  found  there. 

"  As  to  thofe  things  that  may  be  ufeful  to 

'«  you,  I  prefume  to  fay  nothing ;  but  as 

"  to  things  of  no  fervice  to  you,  fome  of 

"  them  perhaps  may  be  more  fuitable  to 

"  me.'     Amrus  faid  to  him  :    <  And  what 

"  is    it  you  want?'     'The   philofophical 

"  bocks  (replied  he)  preferved  in  the  royal 

"  libraries.'     «  This  (laid  Amrus)  is  a  re- 

"  queft  upon  which  I  cannot  decide.    You 

"'  defire  a  thing  where  I  can  ifl'ue  no  or- 

"  ders  till  I  have   leave  from  Omar,  the 

*'  commander  of  the    faithful.' — Letters 

"  were  accordingly  written  to  Omar,  in- 

"  forming  him  of  what   Philoponus  had 

"  faid  ;  and   an   anfwer  was  returned  by 

"  Omar,  to  the  following  purport:    «  As 

"  to  the  books  of  which  you  have  made 

"  mention,  if  there  be  contained  in  them 

"  what   accords   with   the  book  of  Goi 

"   (meaning  the  Alcoran)  there  is  without 

"  them,  in  the  book  of  God,  all  that  is 

"  fufficient.     But  if  there  be  any  thing  in 

e*  them  repugnant  to  that  book,  we  in  no 

"  refpect  want  them.     Order  them  there- 

"  fore  to  be  all  deftroyed.'     Amrus,  upon 

"  this  ordered  them  to  be  difperfed  throuo  h 

"  the  baths  of  Alexandria,  and  to  be  there 

*'  burnt  in  making  the  baths  warm.  After 

"  this  manner,  in  the  fpace  of  fix  months, 

"  they  were  all  confumed." 

The  hiftorian,  having  related  the  ftory, 
adds  from  his  own  feelings,  "  Kear  what 
"  was  done,  and  wonderl" 

Thus  ended  this  noble  library;  and  thus 
began,  if  it  did  not  begin  iboner,  the  age 
of  barbarity  and  ignorance.  Ibid. 

%  209.  A  port  hifloric'2  Account  of 
Athens,  from  the  Time  of  her  Per- 
sian 1  riumphs  to  that  of  her  becoming 
Jubjecl  to  the  T  V  R  K  s.— Sketch,  during 
this  long  Interval,  of  her  Political  and 
Literary  St.ate;  of  her  Pbilofcphers ;  of 
her  Gymnajiai  of  her  good  and  bad  Fori 


A96  .  ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 

tune,   &c.  &c.-?-Manners  of  the  prefent 
Inhabitants. — Olives  and  Honey. 


ioney. 

When  the  Athenians  had  delivered 
themfelves  from  the  tyranny  of  Piffitra- 
tus,  and  after  this  had  defeated  the  vail 
efforts  of  the  Perfians,  and  that  againft 
two  fucceffive  invaders,  Darius  and  Xerxes, 
they  may  be  conlidered  as  at  the  i'ummit 
of  their  national  glory.  For  more  than 
half  a  century  afterwards  they  main- 
tained, without  controul,  the  fovereignty 
of  Greece*. 

As  their  tafte  was  naturally  good,  arts 
of  every  kind  ibon  role  among  them,  and 
flourished.  Valour  had  given  them  repu- 
tation ;  reputation  gave  them  an  afcend- 
ant;  and  .that  afcendant  produced  a  fecu- 
ritv,  which  left  their  minds  at  eafe,  and 
gave  them  leifure  to  cultivate  every  thing 
liberal  cr  elegant. 

It  was  then  that  Pericles  adorned  the 
city  with  temples,  theatres,  and  other  beau- 
tiful public  buildings.  Phidias,  the  great 
fculptor,  was  employed  as  his  architect ; 
vho,  when  he  had  erected  edifices,  adorned 
them  himfelf,  an!  added  ilatues  and  bafib- 
relievos,  the  admiration  of  every  beholder. 
It  was  then  that  Polygnctus  and  Myro 
painted;  that  Sophocles  and  Euripides 
wrote ;  and,  not  along  after,  that  they  law 
die  divine  Socrates, 

Human  affairs  are  by  nature  prone  to 
change  ;  and  ftates,  as  well  as  individuals, 
are  born  to  decay.  Jealoufy  and  ambition 
infenfibly  fomented  wars  :  and  fuccefs  in 
thefe  wars,  as  in  others,  was  often  various. 
The  military  ftrength  of  the  Athenians 
was  firil  impaired  by  the  Lacedemonians ; 
after  that,  it  was  again  humiliated,  under 
Epaminondas,  by  the  Thebans ;  and,  lafl 
of  all,  it  was  wholly  crulhed  by  the  Ma- 
cedonian Philip. 

But  though  their  political  fovereignty 
was  loft,  yet,  happily  for  mankind,  their 
love  of  literature  and  arts  did  not  fink 
along  with  it. 

Jul!  at  the  clore  of  their  golden  days  of 
empire,  flotiriflied  Xenophon  and  Plato,  the 
dilciples  of  Socrates;  and  from  Plato  de- 
fended that  race  of  nhilofophers  called  the 
"  Old 'Academy. 

Aritiotle,  who  was  Plato's  difciple,  may 
be  faid  not  to  have  invented  a  new  philo- 
{ -phy,  but  rather  to  have  tempered  she 
fublime  and  rapturous  myfteries  of  his  maf- 

*  For  thefe  hiftorkal  fact?  confult  the  ancient 
!..i  modern  authors  of  Gicsian  hiifory. 


ter  with  method,  order,  and  a  ft]  icier  mod« 
of  reafoning. 

Zeno,  who  was  himfelf  alfo  educated  in 
the  principles  of  Platonifm,  only  differed 
from  Plato  in  the  comparative  eftimate  of 
things,  allowing  nothing  to  be  intrinfically 
good  but  virtue,  nothing  intrinfically  bad 
but  vice,  and  considering  ail  other  things 
to  be  in  themfelves  indifferent. 

He  too,  and  Ariilotle,  accurately  culti- 
vated logic,  but  in  different  ways:  for  Ari- 
llotle chiefly  dwelt  upon  the  Ample  fyllo- 
giiin;  Zeno  upon  that  which  is  derived 
out  of  it,  the  compound  or  hypothetic. 
Both  too,  as  well  as  other  philofophers, 
cultivated  rhetoric  along  with  logic  ;  hold- 
ing a  knowledge  in  both  to  be  requifite 
for  thofe  who  think  of  addreiling  mankind 
with  all  the  efficacy  of  perfuafion.  Zeno 
elegantly  illuftrated  the  force  of  thefe  two 
powers  by  a  fimile,  taken  from  the  hand: 
the  clofe  power  of  logic  he  compared  to  the 
fill,  or  hand  compreil;  the  diftufe  power  of 
logic,  to  the  palm,  or  hand  open. 

1  fhall  mention  but  two  feels  more,  the 
New  Academy,  and  the  Epicurean. 

The  New  Academy,  fo  called  from  the 
Old  Academy  (the  name  given  to  the 
fchool  of  Plato)  was  founded  by  Arcefilas, 
and  ably  maintained  by  Carneades.  From 
a  miftaken  imitation  of  the  great  parent  of 
philoiophy,  Socrates,  (particularly  as  he  ap- 
pears in  the  dialogues  of  Plato)  becaufe 
Socrates  doubted  lome  things,  therefore 
Arcefilas  and  Carneades  doubted  all. 

Epicurus  drew  from  another  fource; 
Democritus  had  taught  him  atoms  and  a 
void.  By  the  fortuitous  concourfe  of  atoms 
he  fancied  he  could  form  a  world,  while 
by  a  feigned  veneration  he  complimented 
away  his  gods,  and  totally  denied  their 
providential  care,  left  the  trouble  of  it 
ihould  impair  their  uninterrupted  ftate  of 
blils.  Virtue  he  recommended,  though 
not  for  the  fake  of  virtue,  but  pleafure  j 
pieafure,  according  to  him,  being  our  chief 
and  fovereign  good.  It  mull  be  confeft, 
however,  that  though  his  principles  were 
erroneous,  and  even  bad,  never  was  a  man 
n  ore  temperate  and  humane  ;  never  was 
a  man  more  beloved  by  his  friends,  or 
more  cordially  attached  to  them  in  affec- 
tionate elteem. 

We  have  already  mentioned  the  alliance 
between  philofophy  and  rhetorick.  This 
cannot  be  thought  wonderful,  if  rhetoric 
be  the  art  by  which  men  are  perfuaded, 
and  if  men  cannot  be  perfuaded  without  a 
knowledge   of  humaa  nature:   fof  what.. 

but 


BOOK  IT.      CLASSICA 

but  philofophy,  can  procure  us  this  know- 
ledge ? 

It  was  for  this  reafon  the  ableft  Greek 
philofophers  not  only  taught  (as  we  hinted 
before)  but  wrote  alfo  treatiies  upon  rhe- 
toric. They  had  a  farther  inducement, 
and  that  was  the  intrinfic  beauty  of  their 
language,  as  it  was  then  fpoken  among  the 
learned  and  polite.  They  would  have 
been  afhamed  to  have  delivered  philofo- 
phy, as  it  has  been  too  often  delivered 
fince,  in  compofitions  as  clumfy  as  the 
common  dialecl:  of  the  mere  vulgar. 

The  fame  love  of  elegance,  which  made 
them  attend  to  their  ftyle,  made  them  at- 
tend even  to  the  places  where  their  philo- 
fophy was  taught. 

Plato  delivered  his  lectures  in  a  place 
fhaded  with  groves,  on  the  banks  of  the 
river  Iliffus ;  and  which,  as  it  once  be- 
longed to  a  perfon  called  Academus,  was 
called  after  his  name,  the  Academy. 
Ariftotle  chofe  another  fpot  of  a  fimilar 
character,  where  there  were  trees  and 
fhade  ;  a  fpot  called  the  Lycaeum.  Zeno 
taught  in  a  portico  or  colonnade,  diilin- 
guilhed  from  other  buildings  of  that  fort 
(of  which  the  Athenians  had  many)  by 
the  name  of  the  Variegated  Portico,  the 
walls  being  decorated  with  various  paint- 
ings of  Polygnotus  and  Myro,  two  capital 
mailers  of  that  tranfcendent  period.  Epi- 
curus addreffed  his  hearers  in  thofe  well- 
known  gardens  called,  after  his  own  name, 
the  gardens  of  Epicurus. 

Some  of  thefe  places  gave  names  to  ths 
doctrines  which  were  taught  there.  Plato's 
philofophy  took  its  name  of  Academic, 
from  the  Academy  ;  that  of  Zeno  was  cal- 
led the  Stoic,  from  a  Greek  word  fignify- 
ing  a  portico. 

The  fyftem  indeed  of  Ariftotle  was  not 
denominated  from  the  place,  but  was  cal- 
led Peripatetic,  from  the  manner  in  which 
he  taught;  from  his  walking  about  at  the 
time  when  he  diflerted.  The  term  Epi- 
curean philofophy  needs  no  explanation. 

Open  air,  (hade,  water,  and  pleafant 
walks,  feem  above  all  things  to  favour  that 
exercife  the  beft  fuited  to  contemplation,  I 
mean  gentle  walking,  without  inducing  fa- 
tigue. The  many  agreeable  walks  in  and 
about  Oxford  may  teach  my  own  country- 
men the  truth  of  this  affertion,  and  beft 
explain  how  Horace  lived,  while  the  ftu- 
dent  at  Athens,  employed  (as  he  tells  us) 

inter  filvas  Academi  quxrere  vcrum. 

Thefe  places  of  public   inftitution  were 


L    AND    HISTORICAL.         497 

called  among  the  Greeks  by  the  name  of 
Gymnafia,  in  which,  whatever  that  word 
might  have  originally  meant,  were  taught 
all  thofe  exercifes,  and  all  thofe  arts,  which 
tended  to  cultivate  not  only  the  body  but 
the  mind.  As  man  was  a  being  confifting 
of  both,  the  Greeks  could  not  confider 
that  education  as  complete  in  which  both 
were  not  regarded,  and  both  properly 
formed.  Hence  their  Gymnafia,  with  re- 
ference to  this  double  end,  were  adorned 
with  two  ftatues,  thofe  of  Mercury  and  of 
Hercules;  the  corporeal  accompliihments 
being  patronized  (as  they  fuppofed)  by 
the  God  of  ftrength,  the  mental  accom- 
pliihments, by  the  God  of  ingenuity. 

It  is  to  be  feared,  that  many  places, 
now  called  Academies,  fcarce  deferve  the 
name  upon  this  extenfive  plan,  if  the  pro- 
feffors  teach  no  more  than  how  to  dance, 
fence,  and  ride  upon  horfes. 

It  was  for  the  cultivation  of  every  libe- 
ral accompliihrnent  that  Athens  was  cele- 
brated  (as  we  have  faid)  during  many 
centuries,  long  after  her  political  influence 
was  loft,  and  at  an  end. 

When  Alexander  the  Great  died,  many 
tyrants,  like  many  hydras,  immediately 
fprung  up.  Athens  then,  though  fhe  ftill 
maintained  the  form  of  her  ancient  go- 
vernment, was  perpetually  checked  and 
humiliated  by  their  infolence.  Antipater 
deftroyed  her  orators,  and  fhe  was  facked 
by  Demetrius.  At  length  fhe  became  fub- 
jec~l  to  the  all-powerful  Romans,  and  found 
the  cruel  Sylla  her  fevereft  enemy. 

His  face  (which  perhaps  indicated  his 
manners)  was  of  a  purple  red,  intermixed 
with  white.  This  circumftance  could  not 
efcape  the  witty  Athenians:  they  delcribed 
him  in  a  verfe,  and  ridiculoufly  faid; 

Sylla's  face  is  a  mulberry, fpriokled  with  meal. 

The  devaftations  and  carnage  which  he 
caufed  foon  after,  gave  them  too  much  rea- 
fon to  repent  their  larcaim. 

The  civil  war  between  Csfar  and  Pom- 
pey  foon  followed,  and  their  natural  love  of 
liberty  made  them  fide  with  Pompey. 
Here  again  they  were  unfortunate,  for 
Csefar  conquered.  But  Csfar  did  not 
treat  them  like  Sylla.  With  that  cle- 
mency, which  made  fo  amiable  a  part  of 
his  character,  he  difmiffed  them,  by  a  fine ' 
aiiufion  to  their  illuftrious  anceftors,  faying, 
«  that  he  fpared  the  living  for  the  fake  of 
« the  dead.' 

Another  ftorm  followed  foon  af:er  this, 

the  wars  of  Brutus  and  Cafiius  with  Augu- 

ftas  and  Antony.     Their  partiality  for  li- 

K  k  berty 


498 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


berty  did  not  here  forfake  them ;  they  took 
part  in  the  conteft  with  the  two  patriot  Ro- 
mans- and  erected  their  frames  near  their 
own  ancient  deliverers,  Harmodius  and 
Ariftpgiton>  who  had  ilain  Hipparchus. 
Biitthey  were  lliil  unhappy,  for  their  ene- 
mies triumphed. 

They  made  their  peace  however  with 
Auguftus;  and,  having  met  afterwards 
v.itn  different  treatment  under  different 
emperors,  fometimes  favourable,  fome- 
■  times  harm,  and  never  more  fevere  than 
under  Vefpafian,  their  oppreffions  were  at 
length  relieved  by  the  virtuous  Nerva  and 
Trajan. 

Mankind,  during  the  interval  which  be- 
gan from  Nerva,  and  which  extended  to 
the  death  of  that  bell:  of  emperors,  Marcus 
Antoninus,  felt  a  refpite  from  thofe  evils 
which  they  had  fo  feverely  felt  before,  and 
which  they  felt  fo  feverely  revived  under 
Commodus,  and  his  wretched  fucceffbrs. 

Athens,  during  the  above  golden  period, 
enjoyed  more  than  all  others  the  general 
felicity,  for  Hie  found  in  Adrian  fo  gene- 
rous a  benefactor,  that  her  citizens  could 
hardly  help  efteeminghima  fecond  founder. 
He  reftored  their  old  privileges,  gave  them 
new;  repaired  their  ancient  buildings, and 
added  others  of  his  own.  Marcus  Anto- 
ninus, although  he  did  not  do  fo  much,  ft  ill 
continued  to  ihew  them  his  benevolent  at- 
tention. 

If  from  this  period  we  turn  our  eyes 
back,  we  {hall  find,  for  centuries  before, 
that  Athens  was  the  place  of  education, 
not  only  for  Greeks,  but  for  Romans. 
'Twas  hither  that  Horace  was  fent  by  his 
father;  twas  here  that  Cicero  put  his  fon 
Marcus  under  Cratippus,  one  of  the  ableff 
philofophers  then  belonging  to  that  city. 

The  feels  of  philofophers  which  we  have 
already  defcribed,  were  ftill  exifting  when 
St.  Paul  came  thither.  We  cannot  enough 
admire  the  fuperior  eloquence  of  that 
apolTle,  in  his  manner  of  addrefling  fo  in- 
telligent an  audience.  We  cannot  enough 
admire  the  fublimity  of  his  exordium;  the 
propriety  of  his  mentioning  an  altar  which 
he  had  found  there ;  and  his  quotation  frcm 
Aratus,  one  of  their  well-known  poets. 
Acts  xvii.  22. 

Nor  was  Athens  only  celebrated  for  the 
refidence  of  philofophers,  and  the  inftitu- 
tion  of  youth:  Men  of  rank  and  fortune 
found  pleafure  in  a  retreat  which  contri- 
buted fo  much  to  their  liberal  enjoyment. 
The  friend  and  correfpondent  of  Ci- 
cero, T.  Pom  nonius,  from  his  long  attach- 


ment to  this  city  and  country,  had  attained 
fuch  a  perfection  in  its  arts  and  language, 
that  he  acquired  to  himfelf  the  additional 
name  of  Atticus.  This  great  man  may  be 
faid  to  have  lived  during  times  of  the  word: 
and  crueller!  factions.  His  youth  was  fpent 
under  Sylla  and  Marius  ;  the  middle  of  his 
life  during  all  the  fanguinary  fcenes  that 
followed  ;  and  when  he  was  old,  he  faw 
the  profcriptions  of  Antony  and  O&avius. 
Yet  though  Cicero  and  a  multitude  more  of 
the  beft  men  periihed,  he  had  the  good 
fortune  to  furvive  every  danger.  Nor  did 
he  feek  a  fafety  for  himfelf  alone  :  his  vir- 
tue fo  recommended  him  to  the  leaders  of 
every  fide,  that  he  was  able  to  fave  not 
himfelf  alone,  but  the  lives  and  fortunes  of 
many  of  his  friends. 

When  we  look  to  this  amiable  character, 
we  may  well  fuppofe,  that  it  was  not  mere- 
ly for  amufement  that  he  chofe  to  live  at 
Athens;  but  rather  that,  by  relidmg  there, 
he  might  fo  far  realize  philofophy,  as  to 
employ  it  for  the  conduct  of  life,  and  not 
merely  for  orientation. 

Another  perfon,  during  a  better  period 
(that  1  mean  between  Nerva  and  Marcus 
Antoninus)  was  equally  celebrated  for  his 
affection  to  this  city.  By  this  perfon  I 
mean  Herodes  Atticus,  who  acquired  the 
lafl  name  from  the  fame  reafons  for  which 
it  had  formerly  been  giv«n  to  Pomponius. 

We  have  remarked  already,  that  viciffi- 
tudes  befal  both  men  and  cities,  and  changes 
too  often  happen  from  profperous  to  ad- 
verfe.  Such  was  the  date  of  Athens,  un- 
der the  fucceffbrs  of  Alexander,  and  fo  on 
from  Sylla  down  to  the  time  of  Auguftus. 
It  fhared  the  fame  hard  fate  with  the  Ro- 
man empire  in  general,  upon  the  acceffion. 
of  Commodus. 

At  length,  after  a  certain  period,  the 
Barbarians  of  the  North  began  to  pour 
into  the  South.  Rome  was  taken  by  Alaric, 
and  Athens  was  beiieged  by  the  fame.  Yet 
here  we  are  informed  (at  leaft  we  learn  fo 
from  hillory)  that  it  was  miraculoufly  faved 
by  Minerva  aud  Achilles.  The  goddefs,  it 
feems,  and  the  hero,  both  of  them  appear- 
ed, compelling  the  invader  to  raife  the 
liege.  Harris, 

§  210.  The  Account  given  hy  Syne- 
sius  6/  Athens,  and  its  fubfeqpent 
Hijlcry. 

Syncfius,  who  lived  in  the  fifth  century, 
vifited  Athens,  and  gives,  in  his  epiltles.an 
account  of  his  vifit.  Its  luftre  appears. at 
that  time  to  have  been  greatly  diminifhed. 

Among 


/ 


BOOK   II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


499 


Among  other  things  he  informs  us,  that 
the  celebrated  portico  or  colonnade,  the 
Greek  name  of  which  gave  name  to  the 
feci  of  Stoics,  had,  by  an  oppreflive  pro- 
conful,  been  defpoilcd  of  its  fine  pictures; 
and  that,  on  this  devaluation,  it  had  been 
fdrfakeri  by  thofe  philosophers. 

h\  the  thirteenth  century,  when  the 
Grecian  empire  was  cruelly  oppreffed  by 
the  crufaders,  and  all  things  in  confufion, 
Athens  was  befieged  by  one  Segurus  Leo, 
who  was  unable  to  take  it;  and,  after 
that,  by  a  Marquis  of  Montferrat,  to  whom 
it  furrendered. 

Its  fortune  after  this  was  various ;  and  it 
was  fometimes  under  the  Venetians,  Some- 
times under  the  Catalonians,  till  Mahomet 
the  Great  made  himfelf  mailer  or  Constan- 
tinople. This  fatal  cataStrophe  (which 
happened  near  two  thoufand  years  after 
the  time  of  Pifiltratus)  brought  Athens, 
and  with  it  all  Greece,  into  the  hands  cf 
the  Turks,  under  whole  defpotic  yoke  it 
has  continued  ever  fmce. 

The  city  from  this  time  has  been  occa- 
iionally  viiited,  and  descriptions  of  it  pub- 
limed  by  different  travellers.  Wheeler 
was  there  along  with  Spon,  in  the  time  of 
our  Charles  the  Second,  and  both  of  them 
have  publilhed  curious  and  valuable  narra- 
tives. Others,  as  well  natives  of  this 
ifland  as  foreigners,  have  been  there  fince, 
and  fome  have  given  (as  Monfr.  Le  Roy) 
fpecious  publications  of  what  we  are  to 
fuppofe  they  fiw.  None  however  have 
equalled  the  truth,  the  accuracy,  and  the 
elegance  of  Mr.  Stuart,  who,  after  having 
refided  there  between  three  and  four  years, 
has  given  fuch  plans  and  elevations  of  the 
capital  buildings  now  Handing,  together 
with  learned  comments  to  elucidate  every 
part,  that  he  feems,  as  far  as  was  poffible 
for  the  power  of  defcription,  to  have  re- 
ftored  the  city  to  its  ancient  fplendour. 

He  has  not  only  given  us  the  greater 
outlines  and  their  meafures,  but  feparate 
meafures  and  drawings  of  the  minuter  de- 
corations;  fo  that  a  Britilh  artifi:  may  (if 
he  pleafe)  follow  Phidias,  and  build  in  Bri- 
tain as  Phidias  did  at  Athens. 

Spon,  fpeaking  of  Attica,  fays,  *  that 
the  road  near  Athens  was  pleahng,  and 
the  very  peafants  polimed.'  Speaking  of 
the  Athenians  in  general,  he  fays  of  them 
— u  ils  ont  une  politeSie  d'efprit  naturelle, 
&  beaucoup  d'addrefie  dans  toutes  les  af- 
faires, qu'ils  entreprenent." 

Wheeler,  who  was  Spon's  fellow-tra- 
veller, fays   as  follows,  when  he  and  his 


company  approached  Athens :  "  We  be- 
gan now  to  tiiink  ourfelves  in  a  more  ci- 
vilized country  than  we  had  yet  paft:  for 
not  a  Shepherd  that  we  met,  but  bid  us  wel- 
come, and  wifhed  us  a  good  journey." 
P-  335*  Speaking  of  the  Athenians,  he 
adds,  "This  muft  with  great  truth  be  faid 
of  them,  their  bad  fortune  hath  not  been 
able  to  take  from  them  what  they  have  by 
nature,  that  is,  much  fubtlety  or  wit." 
p.  347.  And  again.  "  The  Athenians, 
notwithftahding  the  long  pofieffion  that 
barbariim  hath  had  of  this  place,  Seem  to 
be  much  more  poliihed,  in  point  of  man- 
ners and  converfation,  than  any  other  in 
thefe  parts ;  being  civil,  and  of  reipeclful 
behaviour  to  all,  and  highly  complimental 
in  their  difcourfe."  p.  356. 

Stuart  fays  of  the  prefent  Athenians, 
what  Spon  and  Wheeler  laid  of  their  fore- 
fathers ; — "  he  found  in  them  the  fame  ad- 
drefs,  the  fame  natural  acutenefs,  though 
feverely  curbed  by  their  defpotic  mailers. " 

One  cuftcm  I  cannot  omit.  He  tells  me, 
that  frequently  at  their  convivial  meetings, 
one  of  the  company  takes  what  they  now 
call  a  lyre,  though  it  is  rather  a  fpecies  of 
guitar,  and  after  a  ihort  prelude  on  the  in- 
ltrument,  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  infpira- 
tion,  accompanies  his  inflrumental  mufic 
with  his  voice,  Suddenly  chanting  fome  ex- 
tempore verfes,  which  feldom  exceed  two 
or  three  diftichs;  that  he  then  delivers  the 
lyre  to  his  neighbour,  who,  after  he  has 
done  the  fame,  delivers  it  to  another;  and 
that  fo  the  lyre  circulates,  till  it  has  paft 
round  the  table. 

Nor  can  I  forget  his  informing  me;  that, 
nctwithftanding  the  various  fortunes  of 
Athens,  as  a  city,  Attica  was  Still  famous 
for  Olives,  and  Mount  Hymettus  for  Honey. 
Human  inftitutions  perifh,  but  Nature  is 
permanent.  Harris, 

§   211.     Anecdote  of  the  Modern  Greejcs. 

I  fhall  quit  the  Greeks,  after  I  have  re- 
lated a  Short  narrative;  a  narrative,  fo  far 
curious,  as  it  helps  to  prove,  that  even 
among  the  prefent  Greeks,  in  the  day  of 
fervitude,the  remembrance  of  their  ancient 
glory  is  hot  totally  extincT.. 

When  the  late  Mr.  Anfon  (Lord  Anfon's 
brother)  was  upon  his  travels  in  the  Eaft, 
he  hired  a  veffel  to  viSit  the  ifle  of  Tene- 
dos.  His  pilot,  an  old  Greek,  as  they  were 
failing  along,  Said  with  Some  Satisfaction, 
"  There  'twas  our  fleet  lay."  Mr.  Anion 
demanded,  "  What  fleet  ?"  «  What  flees !  ' 
replied  the  old  man  (a  little  piqued  at  the 

K  k  2  qutition) 


?co 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


qaeftion)   *'  why  our  Grecian  fleet  at  the 
fiege  of  Troy*."  Hams. 

§212.     On  the  different  Modes  of  Hiftory. 

The  modes  indeed  of  hiftory  appear  to 
be  different.  There  is  a  mode  which  we 
may  call  hiftorical  declamation ;  a  mode, 
where  the  author,  dwelling  little  upon  facts, 
indulges  himfelfin  various  and  copious  re- 
flections. 

Whatever  good  (if  any)  may  be  derived 
from  this  method,  it  is  not  likely  to  give 
us  much  knowledge  of  facts. 

Another  mode  is  that  v\hich  I  call  gene- 
ral or  rather  public  hiftory  ;  a  mode  abun- 
dant in  facts,  where  treaties  and  alliances, 
battles  and  lieges,  marches  and  retreats, 
are  accurately  detailed;  together  with 
dates,  defcriptions,  t  ibles,  plans,  and  all  the 
collateral  helps  both  of  chronology  and 
geography. 

In  this,  no  d^ubt,  there  is  utility:  yet 
the  famenefs  of  the  events  refembles  not  a 
little  the  famenefs  of  human  bodies.  One 
head,  two  moulders,  two  legs,  &c.  fecm 
equally  to  characterife  an  European  and  an 
African  ;  a  native  of  old  Rome,  and  a  na- 
tive of  modern. 

A  third  fpecies  of  hiftory  Mill  behind,  is 
that  which  gives  a  fample  of  fentirnents 
and  manners. 

If  the  account  of  thefe  laft  be  faithful, 
it  cannot  fail  being  instructive,  fir.ee  we 
view  through  thefe  the  interior  of  human 
nature.  'Tis  by  thefe  we  perceive  what 
fort  of  animal  man  is:  fo  that  while  not 
only  Europeans  are  diftinguifhed  from 
Afiatics,  but  Engl ith  from  French.,  French 
from  Italian?, and  (what  is  ftill  more)  every 
individual  from  his  neighbour;  we  view 
at  the  fame  time  one  nature,  which  is  com- 
mon to  them  all. 

Horace  informs  us  that  a  drama,  where 
the  ientiments  and  manners  are  well  pre- 
ferved,  will  pleafe  the  audience  more  than 
a  pompous  fable,  where  they  are  wanting. 
Perhaps  what  is  true  in  dramatic  compoli- 
tion,  is  no  lefs  true  in  hillorical. 

Plutarch,  among  the  Greek  historians, 
appears  in  a  peculiar  manner  to  have  me- 
nu-! t ; . is  prai  e. 

No.  ought  i  to  oc-it  (as  I  mall  foon  re- 
fer to  them)  fome  of  cur  beft  Monki'lh 
biilorians,  though  prone  upon  occanon  to 
degenerate  into  the  incredible.  As  they 
often  lived  during  the  times  which  f h-.  y 


def  ribed,  'twas  natural  they  fhould  paint 
the  life  and  the  manners  which  they  law. 

Ibid. 


*  This  ftoi  y  was  tol 
fey  lAi .  An  »n  himfelf. 


the  author,  Mr-  Hard 


§  213.  C.nncerning  Natural  Beauty;  its 
Idea  the  fame  in  all  Times.— -Tk  essa- 
lian  Temple. — Tafte  of  Virgil, 
and  Ho  r  a  c  c — of  Milton,  in  defer  ib- 
ing  Paradife — exhibited  of  late  Years  firft 
in  Pictures — thence  transferred  to  Eng- 
lish Gardens— -not  wanting  to  the  en- 
lightened F  <w  of  the  middle  Age — proved 
in  Le  t  A n D,  Petrarch,  and  S  a  n n  a- 
za  R  i  us. — Comparifon  between  the  Young- 
er C v  r v s,  and  Philip  le  Bel  of 
France. 

Let  us  pafs  for  a  moment  from  the  ele- 
gant works  of  Art,  to  the  more  elegant 
vvoi  ks  of  Nature.  The  two  fubjects  are  fo 
nearly  allied,  that  the  fame  tafte  ufually 
reliihes  them  both. 

Now  there  is  nothing  more  certain,  than 
that  the  face  of  inanimate  nature  has  been 
at  all  times  captivating.     The  vulgar,  in- 
deed, look  no  farther  than  to  fcenes  of  cul- 
ture, becaufe  all    their  views  merely  ter- 
minate in  utility.     They  only  remark,  that 
'tis  fine  barley  ;  that  'tis  rich  clover  ;  as  an 
ox  or  an  afs,ifthey  could  fpeak,  wou'd  in- 
form us.  Cut  the  liberal  have  nobler  views; 
and   though  they   give  to  culture  its  due 
praife,  they  can  be  delighted  with  natmal 
beauties,  where  culture  was  never  known.. 
Ages  ago  they  have  celebrated  with  en» 
thufiaftic  rapture,   "  a  deep  retired  vale, 
"  with  a  river  ruining  through  it;  a  vale 
"  having  its  fides  formed  by  two  imme<Te 
"  and  oppofite  mountains,  and  thofe  fides 
lt  diversified  by  woods,  precipices,   rocks, 
"  and  romantic  caverns."      Such  was   the 
fcene  produced  by  the  river  Peneu  ,  as  it 
ran  between  the  mountains   Olympus  and 
Oil  a,  in  that  well-known  vale  the  Thef- 
falian  Tempe. 

Virgil  and  Horace,  the  firft  for  tafte 
among  the  Romans,  appear  to  have  been 
enamoured  with  the  beauties  of  this  cha- 
racter. Horace  prayed  for  a  villa,  where 
there  was  a  garden,  a  rivulet,  and  above 
thefe  a  little  grove  : 

Knrtus  uhi  ct  tccto  vicinns  jugis  aqurp  fons, 
Et  paul&m  fylvse  hiper  his  furet. 

Sat.  VI.  1. 

V;  i  gil  wimed  to  enjoy  rivers  and  woods, 
and  to  be  hid  under  immenfe  fhade  in  the 

cool  valleys  of  mount  Hasmu; 

— O  '   qui  me  ^c-Jitlisin  vallihus  Ha-mi 
Siibt,  e    ingenti  rauioruui  picte?-  t  un  b  a  ? 

Gwrj.  II.  4^6. 

The 


BOOK    II.       CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


501 


The  great  elements  of  this  fpecies  of 
beauty,  according  to  thefe  principles,  were 
water,  wood,  and  uneven  ground  ;  to  which 
may  be  added  a  fourth,  that  is  to  fay, 
lawn.  'Tis  the  happy  mixture  of  thefe 
four  that  produces  every  fcene  of  natural 
beauty,  as  'tis  a  more  myfterious  mixture 
of  other  elements  (perhaps  as  iimple,  and 
not  more  in  number)  that  produces  a  world 
or  univerfe. 

Virgil  and  Horace  having  been  quoted, 
we  may  quote,  with  equal  truth,  our  great 
countryman,  Milton.  Speaking  of  the  flow- 
ers of  Paradife,  he  calls  them  flowers, 

which  not  nice  Art 

In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  N  iture  boon 
Fours  forth  profufe  on  hiiJ,  and  dale,  and  plain. 
P.  L.  IV.  Z45. 

Soon  after  this  he  fubjoins — 

this  was  the  place, 

A  happy  rural  feat,  of  various  view. 

He  explains  this  variety,  by  recounting 
the  lawns,  the  flocks,  the  hillocks,  the  val- 
leys, the  grots,  the  waterfalls,  the  lakes, 
See.  &c.  And  in  another  book,  describing 
the  approach  of  Raphael,  he  informs  us, 
that  this  divine  meffenger  paffc 

■    — through  groves  of  myrrh, 
And  flow'ring  odors,  caffia,  nard,  and  balm, 
A  wildenieti;  of  fweets;  for  nature  here 
Wanton'd  as  in  her  prime,  and  play'd  at  will 
Her  virgin  fancies,  pouring  forth  more  fweet, 
Wild  above  rule  or  art,  enormous  blifs ! 

IV.  292. 

The  painters  in  the  preceding  century 
feem  to  have  felt  the  power  of  thefe  ele- 
ments, and  to  have  transferred  them  into 
their  landfcapes  with  fuch  amazing  force, 
that  they  appear  not  fo  much  to  have  fol- 
lowed as  to  have  emulated  nature.  Claude 
da  Lorraine,  the  Pouffins,  Salvator  Rofa, 
and  a  few  more,  may  be  called  fuperior 
artiits  in  this  exquillte  tafte. 

Our  gardens  in  the  mean  time  were  tafte- 
lefs  and  infipid.  Thole  who  made  them, 
thought  the  farther  they  wandered  from 
nature,  the  nearer  they  approached  the 
fublime.  Unfortunately,  where  they  tra- 
velled, no  fublime  was  to  be  found;  and 
the  farther  they  went,  the  farther  they  left 
it  behind. 

But  perfection,  alas !  was  not  the  work 
of  a  day.  Many  prejudices  were  to  be  re- 
moved; many  gradual  afcents  to  be  made; 
afcents  from  bad  to  good,  and  from  good 
to  better,  before  the  delicious  amer.ities 
of  a  Claude  or  a  Pouffin  could  be  rivalled 
in  a  Stour-head,  a  Hagley,  or  a  Stow  ;  or 
the  trsmeudous  charms  «f  a  Salvator  PvOia 


be  equalled  in  the  fcenes  of  a  Piercefield, 
or  a  Mount  Edgecumb. 

Not  however  to  forget  the  fubjeft  of  our 
inquiry. — Though  it  was  not  before  the 
prefent  century,  that  we  eftablifhed  a 
chafter  talte ;  though  our  neighbours  at 
this  inftant  are  but  learning  it  from  «s ; 
and  though  to  the  vulgar  eveiy  where  it  is 
totally  incompi  eheniible  (be  they  vulgar 
in  rank,  or  vulgar  in  capacity)  :  yet, 
even  in  the  darkeft  periods  we  have  been 
treating,  of  periods  when  tafte  is  often 
thought  to  have  been  loft,  we  (hall  ftill 
difcover  an  enii  htened  few,  who  were  by 
no  means  infeniible  to  the  power  of  theie 
beauties. 

How  warmly  does  L eland  defcribe  Guy's 
Cliff;  Sannazarius,  his  villa  of  Mergillinaj 
and  Petrarch,  his  favourite  Vauclufe  ! 

'I  ake  Guy's  CliiFfrom  Leland  in  his  own 
old  Engbfh,  mixt  with  Latin — "  It  is  a 
"  p*.ace  meet  for  the  Mules ;  there  is  fy- 
"  fence ;  a  praty  wood  ;  antra  in  vivo  faxo 
"  (grottos  in  the  living  rock)  ;  the  river 
"  rolling  over  the  Hones  with  a  praty 
"  noyfe."  His  Latin  is  more  elegant—. 
"  Nemufculum  ibidem  opacum,  fontes  li- 
"  quidi  et  gemmei,  prata,  florida,  antra 
"  mufcofa,  rivi  levis  et  per  faxa  decurfus, 
"  nee  non  folitudo  et  quies  Mufis  amicif* 
"  fima."— Vol.  iv.  p.  66. 

Mergillina,  the  villa  of  Sannazarius,  near 
Naples,  is  thus  fketched  in  different  parts 
of  his  poems : 

Excifo  in  fcopulo,  flu&us  unde  aurea  canos 
Dcfpiciens,  celfo  lie  culmine  Mergilline 
Attolht,  aautifque  procul  vertientibus  oflfert. 
Sannaz.  De  partu  Virgin.  I.  25. 

Rupis  O  !  facra,  pelagique  cuftos, 
Villa,  Nymphai  um  cuftos  et  propinquas 
Doridos       ■    . 

Tu  mihi  folos  nemorum  recelfus 
Das,  et  harentes  per  opaca  lauros 
Saxa :   Tu,  fontes,  Agamppedumque 
Antra  recludis. 

Ejufd.  Epigr.  I.  2. 

— —  quasque  in  primis  mihi  grata  miniftr.it 
Otia,  Mufarumque  cavas  per  faxa  latebras, 
Mergillina  ;  novos  funduntubi  citria  flores. 
Curia,  Medorum  facros  referentia  lucos. 

Ejufd. De  partu  Virgin.  III.  tub.  fin. 

De  Fonte  Mergillino. 
Eft  mihi  riVo  vitreus  perenni 
Fons,  aienofum  prope  httus,  imde 
Sspe  defcendens  fibi  nauta  rores 
Haunt  amicos,  &c. 

Ejufd.  Epigr.  II.  36. 

It  would  be  difficult  to   tranflate  theft 
eleganc  models.— it  15  fuificieat  to  expreit 
k  k  3  vvh*} 


502 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PR0SE\ 

§ 


what  they  mean,  collectively — «  that  the 
"  villa  or"  Mergillina  had  foiitary  woods; 
''  had  groves  of  laurel  and  citron;  had 
**  grotios  in  the  rock,  with  rivulets  and 
"  fprings;  and  that  from  its  lofty  iituation 
t(  it  looked  down  upon  the  fea,  and  com- 
'*  manded  an  extenfive  profpccV 

It  is  no  wonder  that  fuch  a  villa  mould 
enamour  fuch  an  owner.  So  ftrong  was 
his  affection  for  it,  that  when,  during  the 
fubfequent  wars  in  Italy,  it  was  demoliihed 
by  the  imperial  troops,  this  unfortunate 
event  was  fuppofed  to  have  haftened  his 
end. 

Vauclufe  (Vallis  Claufa)  the  favourite 
retreat  of  Petrarch,  was  a  romantic  fcene, 
not  far  from  Avignon 

"  It  is  a  valley,  having  on  each  hand, 
"as  you  enter,  immenfe  clifFs,  but  clofed 
*'  up  at  one  of  its  ends  by  a  femicircukr 
<s  ridge  of  them;  from  which  incident  it 
"  derives  its  name.  One  of  the  moll  ftu- 
"  pendous  of  thefe  cliffs  Hands  in  the  front 
**  of  the  femtcircle,  and  lias  at  its  foot  an 
ts  opening  into  an  immenfe  cavern.  With- 
"  in  the  mo  ft  retired  and  gloomy  part  of 
"  this  cavern  is  a  large  oval  bafon,  the  pro- 
*'  duclion  of  nature,  filled  with  pellucid  and 
"  unfathomable  water ;  and  from  this  re- 
"  fervoir  ifiues  a  river  of  refpe&able  mag- 
"  nitude,  dividing,  as  it  runs,  the  meadows 
*'  beneath,  and  winding  through  the  pre- 
"  cipices  that  impend  from  above." 

This  is  an  imperfect  fketch  of  that  fpor, 
where  Petrarch  fpent  his  time  with  fo  much 
delight,  as  to  fay  that  this  alone  was  life  to 
him,  the  reft  but  a  itate  of  punifhment. 

In  the  two  preceding  narratives  I  feem 
to  fee  an  anticipation  of  that  tafle  for  natu- 
ral beauty,  which  now  appears  to  fiourifh 
through  Great  Britain  in  fuch  perfection. 
It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  the  owner  of 
Mergiliina  would  have  been  charmed  with 
Mount  Edgcumb;  and  the  owner  of  Vau- 
clufe have  been  delighted  with  Piercefield. 
When  we  read  in  Xenophon,  that  the 
younger  Cyms  had  with  his  own  hand 
planted  trees  for  beauty,  we  are  not  fur- 
pi  ifed,  though  pi.  afed  with  the  ftcry,  as 
the  age  was  polifhed,  and  Cyrus  an  accom- 
plifhed  prince.  But  when  w  e  read,  that  in 
the  beginning  of  the  14th  century,  a  king 
of  France  (Philip  le  Btl)  fhould  make  it 
penal  to  cut  down  a  tree,  qui  a  cjle garde 
pour  fa  beaute,  '  which  had  been  prcferved 
for  its  beauty  ;'  though  we  praife  the  law, 
we  cannot  help  beii  g  i'urprifed,  that  the 
prince  fhould  at  fuch  a  period  have  been 
fo  far  enikhtci.ed.  Harris. 


2 1 4.  Superior  Literature  and  Knowledge 
both  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  Clergy, 
•whence — Barbarity  and  Ignorance  of  the 
Laity,  whence — Samples  *f  Lay  Manners, 
in  a  Story  f ran  Anna  Comnena's  Hifory. 
—Church  Authority  ingenuoufy  employed  to 
check  Barbarity — the  fame  Authority  em- 
ployed for  other  good  Purpofes — to  fave  the 
poor  "Jews — to  flop  Trials  by  Battle.—' 
Mo- ' e Juggeftcd  concerning  Lay  Manners,—-' 
Ferocity  of  the  horthern  Laymen,  whence 
—different  Caufes  affgned. — Inventions 
during  the  dark  Ages  great,  though  the 
Inventors  often  unknown.— —Inference  arif- 
ing  from  thefe  Inventions. 

Before  I  quit  the  Latins,  I  fhall  fubjoin 
two  or  three  obfervations  on  the  Europeans 
in  general. 

The  fuperior  characters  for  literature 
here  enumerated,  whether  in  the  Weftern 
or  Eaftern  Chriftendom  (for  it  is  of  Chrif- 
tendom  only  we  are  now  fpeaking)  were 
by  far  the  greateft  part  of  them  ecclefiaf- 
tics. 

In  this  number  we  have  fele&ed  from 
among  the  Greeks  the  patriarch  of  Con- 
ftantinopie,  Photius ;  Michael  Pfellus; 
Euflathius  and  Euftratius,  both  of  epifco- 
pal  dignity  ;  Planudes ;  Cardinal  BeiTario 
-—from  among  the  Latins,  venerable  Bede  ; 
Gerbertus,  afterwards  Pope  Silvefter  the 
Second;  Ingulphus,  Abbot  of  Croyland  ; 
Hildebeit.  Archbifhop  of  Tours;  Peter 
Abelard;  John  of  Salifbury,  Bilhop  of 
Chart) es;  Roger  Bacon;  Francis  Petrarch; 
many  Monkifh  hiftorians ;  ./Eneas  Sylvius, 
afterwards  Pope  Pius  the  Second,  Sec. 

Something  has  been  already  faid  con- 
cerning each  of  thefe,  and  other  ecclefiaf- 
tics.  At  prefent  we  fhall  only  remark, 
that  it  was  neceffary,  from  their  very  pro* 
feflion,  that  they  fhould  read  and  write; 
acccmplifhments  at  that  time  ufually  con- 
fined to  themfelves. 

Thole  of  the  Wellern  Church  were  ob- 
liged to  acquire  fome  knowledge  of  Latin  ; 
and  for  Greek,  to  thofe  of  the  Eaftern 
Church  it  was  ftill  (with  a  few  corruptions) 
their  native  language. 

If  we  add  to  thefe  preparations  their 
mode  of  life,  which,  being  attended  moftly 
with  a  decent  competence,  gave  them  im- 
menfe leifure;  it  was  not  wonderful  that, 
among  fuch  a  multitude,  the  more  merito- 
rious fhould  emerge  and  foar,  by  dint  of 
genius,  above  the  common  herd.  Similar 
eiivcts  proceed  from  fimilar  caufes.  'i  he 
learning    of  Egypt  was  pofleft   by  their 

prieftsj 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


5^3 


priefts ;  who  were  Iikewife  left  from  their 
inftitution  to  a  life  of  leifure. 

From  the  laity,  on  the  other  fide,  who, 
from  their  mean  education,  wan  fed  all 
thefe  requifites,  they  were  in  fa£l  no  better 
than  what  Drydcn  calls  them,  a  tribe  of 
Jffachar;  a  race,  from  their  cradle  bred  in 
barbarity  and  ignorance. 

A  fample  of  thefe  illuilrious  laymen  may 
be  found  in  Anna  Comnena's  hiftory  of  her 
father  Alexius,  who  was  Grecian  emperor 
in  the  eleventh  century,  when  the  firif. 
Crufade  arrived  at  Conftar.tinople.  So 
promifcuous  a  rout  of  rude  adventurers 
could  not  fail  of  giving  umbrage  to  the 
Byzantine  court,  which  was  ftately  and  ce- 
remonious, and  confcious  withal  of  its  in- 
ternal debility. 

After  fome  altercation,  the  court  per- 
mitted them  to  pafs  into  Afia  through  the 
Imperial  territories,  upon  their  leaders  tak- 
ing an  oath  of  fealty  to  the  emperor. 

What  happened  at  the  performance  of 
this  ceremonial,  is  thus  related  by  the  fair 
hiftorian  above-mentioned. 

"  All  the  commanders  being  afiembled, 
"  and  Godfrey  of  Bulloign  himfeif  among 
"  the  reft,  as  loon  as  the  oath  was  finiihed, 
"  one  of  the  counts  had  the  audaciouihefs 
**  to  feat  himfeif  befide  the  emperor  upon 
"  his  throne.  Earl  Baldwin,  one  of  their 
*'  own  people,  approaching,  took  the 
«'  count  by  the  hand,  made  him  rife  from 
"  the  throne,  and  rebuked  him  for  his 
"  infolence. 

"  The  count  rofe,  but  made  no  re- 
"  ply,  except  it  was  in  his  own  unknown 
"  jargon,  to  mutter  abufe  upon  the  em- 
•'  peror. 

"  When  all  things  were  difpatched,  the 
"  emperor  lent  for  this  man,  and  demand- 
"  ed  who  he  was,  whence  he  came,  and  of 
"  what  lineage? — His  anfwcr  was  as  fol- 
"  lows — I  am  a  genuine  Frank,  and  in  the 
"  number  of  their  nobility.  One  thing  I 
**  knew,  which  is,  that  in  a  certain  part  of 
"  the  country  I  came  from,  and  in  a  place 
"  where  three  ways  meet,  there  Hands  an 
««  ancient  church,  where  every  one  who 
"  has  a  defire  to  engage  in  angle  combat, 
"  having  put  himfeif  into  fighting  order, 
*'  comes,  and  there  implores  the  afliftance 
"  of  the  Deity,  and  then  waits  in  expefta- 
"  tion  of  fome  one  that  will  dare  attack 
"  him.  On  this  fpot  I  myfelf  waited  a 
"  long  time,  expecting  and  feeking  fome 
"  one  that  would  arrive  and  fight  me.  But 
"  the  man,  that  would  dare  this,  was  no 
"  where  to  be  founds' 


"  The  emperor,  having  heard  this 
"  ftrange  narrative,  replied  pleafantly — . 
"  If  at  the  time  when  you  fought  war, 
"  you  could  not  find  it,  a  feafon  is  now 
"  coming  in  which  you  will  find  wars 
"  enough.  I  therefore  give  you  this  ad- 
"  vice;  not  to  place  yourielf  either  in  the 
"  rear  of  the  army,  or  in  the  front,  but 
"  to  keep  among  thofe  who  fupport  the 
"  centre;  for  I  have  long  had  know- 
"  ledge  of  the  Turkiih  method  in  their 
"  wars." 

This  was  one  of  thofe  counts,  or  barons, 
the  petty  tyrants  of  Weftern  Europe  ;  men, 
who,  when  they  were  not  engaged  in  gene- 
ral wars  (fuch  as  the  ravaging  of  a  neigh- 
bouring kingdom,  the  maffacring  of  infi- 
dels, heretics,  &c.)  had  no  other  method 
of  filling  up  their  leifure,  than,  through 
help  of  their  valfals,  by  waging  war  upon 
one  another. 

And  here  the  humanity  and  wifdom  of 
the  church  cannot  enough  be  admired, 
when  by  her  authority  (which  was  then 
mighty)  me  endeavoured  to  lhorten  that 
fcene  of  blcodfhed,  which  fire  could  not 
totally  prohibit.  The  truce  of  God  (a 
name  given  it  purpofely  to  render  the  mea- 
furemore  folemn)  enjoined  thefe  ferocious 
beings,  under  the  terrors  of  excommuni- 
cation, not  to  fight  from  Wednefday  even- 
ing to  Monday  morning,  out  of  reverence 
to  the  myfteries  accomplifhed  on  the  other 
four  days;  the  afcenfion  on  Thurfday  ;  the 
crucifixion  on  Friday  ;  the  delcent  to.heil 
on  Saturday ;  and  the  refurredlion.  on 
Sunday. 

I  hope  a  farther  obfervation  will  be  par- 
doned, when  I  add,  that  the  fame  humanity 
prevailed  during  the  fourteenth  century, 
and  that  the  terrors  of  church  power  were 
then  held  forth  with  an  intent  equally  laud- 
able. A  dreadful  plague  at  that  period 
defolated  all  Europe.  The  Germans,  with 
no  better  reafon  than  their  own  fenfeleis 
fuperftition,  imputed  this  calamity  to  the 
Jews,  who  then  lived  among  them  in  great 
opulence  and  fpiendour.  Many  thousands 
of  thefe  unhappy  people  were  inhumanly 
maffacred,  till  the  pope  benevolently  in- 
terfered, and  prohibited,  by  the  fevereft, 
bulls,  fo  mad  and  fanguinary  a  proceed- 
ing. 

I  could  not  omit  two  fuch  falutary  exer- 
tions of  church  power,  as  they  both  occur 
within  the  period  of  this  inquiry.  I  might 
add  a  third,  I  mean  the  oppofing  and  en- 
deavouring to  check  that  abfurdeft  of  al] 
practices,  the  trial  by  battle,  which  Spel. 
K  k  4  man 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


5^+ 

man  exprefsly  tells  us,  that  the  church  in 
all  ages  condemned. 

It  muff  be  confefied,  that  the  fact  juft  re- 
latedj,  concerning  the  unmannered  count, 
at  the  court  of  Constantinople,  is  rather 
againfl  the  order  of  Chronology,  for  it  hap- 
pened during  the  fir  ft  crufades.  It  ferves, 
however,  to  Ihew  the  manners  of  the  Latin, 
or  Weft  em  laity,  in  the  beginning  of  that 
holy  war.  They  did  not  in  a  fucceffion  of 
years,  grow  better,  but  worfe. 

It  was  a  century  after,  that  another  cru- 
fade,  in  their  march  againft  infidels,  facked 
this  very  city  ;  depofed  the  then  emperor ; 
aad  committed  devaftations,  which  no  one 
would  have  committed  but  the  moft  igno- 
rant, as  well  as  cruel  barbarians. 

Eut  a  queftion  here  occurs,  euher  to  pro- 
pofe  than  to  anfwer — "  To  what  are  we  to 
"  attribute  this  character  of  ferocity,  which 
"  (eems  to  have  then  prevailed  through  the 
"  laity  of  Europe  rJ' 

Shall  we  fay  ic  was  climate,  and  the 
nature  of  the  country  ? — Thefe,  we  muft 
confefs,  have,  in  fome  inftances,  great  in- 
fluence. 

The  Indians,  feen  a  few  years  fince  by 
Mr.  Byron  in  the  fouthern  parts  of  South 
America,  were  brutal  and  favage  to  an 
enormous  excefs.  One  of  them,  for  a  tri- 
vial offence,  murdered  his  own  child  (an 
infant)  by  dafhing  it  againft  the  rocks. — 
The  Cyclopes,  as  deicri'oed  by  Homer, 
were  much  of  the  fame  fort;  each  of  them 
gave  law  to  his  own  family,  without  regaid 
for  one  another:  and  beiides  this,  they  were 
Atheifts  and  Man-eaters. 

May  we  not  fupppfe,  that  a  ilormy  fea, 
tocrf^her  with  a  frozen,  barren,  and  inho- 
ipnablefhore,  might  work  on  the  imagina- 
tion of  thefe  Indians,  fo  as,  by  banilhing 
al!  pleafing  and  benign  ideas,  to  fill  them 
with  habitual  gloom,  and  a  propenfity  to 
be  cruel  r — Or  might  not  the  tremendous 
fcenes  of  JEtr.a.  have  had  a  like  effect  upon 
the  Cyclopes,  who  lived  amid  fmcke,  thun- 
derings,  eruptions  of  fire,  and  earthquakes? 
If  we  may  believe  Fazeliu.%  who  wrote  up- 
on Sicily  about  two  hundred  years  ago,  the 
inhabitants  near  iEtna  were  in  his  "time  a 
iimilar  race. 

If  therefore  thefe  limited  regions  had 
fuch  an  effect  upon  their  natives,  may  not 
a  Iimilar  effect  be  prefumed  from  the  vaft 
regions  of  the  North?  may  not  its  cold, 
barren,  uncomfortable  climate,  have  made 
its  numerous  tribes  equally  rude  and  fa- 
vage ?  > 

If  this  be  not  enough,  we  may  add  ano- 


ther caufe,  I  mean  their  profound  igno- 
rance. Nothing  mends  the  mind  more 
than  culture;  to  which  thefe  emigrants  had 
no  defire,  either  from  example  or  edu- 
cation, to  lend  a  patient  ear. 

We  may  add  a  farther  caufe  ftill,  which 
is,  that  when  they  had  acquired  countries 
better  than  their  own,  they  fettled  under 
the  fame  military  form  through  which  they 
had  conquered  ;  and  were  in  fact,  when  fet- 
tled, a  fort  of  army  after  a  campaign, 
quartered  upon  the  wretched  remains  of  the 
ancient  inhabitants,  by  whom  they  were 
attended  under  the  different  names  of  ferfs, 
vaffals,  villains,  Sec. 

It  was  not  likely  the  ferocity  of  thefe 
conquerors  fhouid  abate  with  regard  to 
their  vaffals,  whom,  as  ftrangers,  they  were 
more  likely  to  fufpect  than  to  love. 

It  was  not  likely  it  fhouid  abate  with  re- 
gard to  one  another,  when  the  neighbour- 
hood of  their  caflles,  and  the  contiguity  of 
their  territories,  muft  have  given  occafrons 
(as  we  learn  from  hiftory)  for  endlefs  alter- 
cation. Eut  this  we  leave  to  the  learned  in 
feudal  tenures. 

We  flra.Il  add  to  the  preceding  remarks, 
one  more,  femewhat  frmilar,  and  yet  per- 
fectly different;  which  is,  that  though  the 
darknefs  in  Weftern  Europe,  during  the 
peiiod  here  mentioned,  was  (in  Scripture 
language)  "a  daiknefs  that  might  be  felt," 
yet  it  is  furprifmg,  that  during  a  period  {o 
obfeure,  many  admirable  inventions  found 
their  way  into  the  world;  I  mean  fuch  as 
clocks,  telefcopes,  paper,  gunpowder,  the 
mariner's  needle,  printing,  and  a  number 
here  omitted. 

It  is  fu rp riling  too,  if  we  confider  the 
importance  of  thefe  arts,  and  their  exten- 
five  utility,  that  it  fhouid  be  either  unknown, 
or  at  hall  doubtful,  by  whom  they  were  in- 
vented. 

A  lively  fancy  might  almoft  imagine, 
that  ev-ry  art,  as  it  was  wanted,  had 
fuddenly  flatted  forth,  addreffmg  thofe 
that  fought  it,  as  Eneas  did  his  compa- 
nions  

Coram,  quem  quaeritis,  adfum.     Virc. 

And  yet,  fancy  apart,  of  this  we  may  be 
allured,  that  though  the  particular  inven- 
tors may  unfortunately  be  forgotten,  the 
inventions  themftlves  are  clearly  referable 
to  man;  to  that  fubtle  and  active  principle, 
human  wit,  or  ingenuity. 

Lit  me  then  fubmit  the  following  que- 
ry— 

If  the  human  mind  be  as  truly  of  divine 

O;  k'ii! 


BOOK   II.      CLASSICAL    AND   HISTORICAL. 


origin  as  every  other  part  of  the  univerfe ; 
and  if  every  other  part  of  the  univerfe  bear 
teftimony  to  its  author;  do  not  the  inven- 
tions above-mentioned  give  us  reafon  to 
affert,  that  God,  in  the  operations  of  man, 
never  leaves  himlelf  without  a  witnefs? 

Harris. 

§  2 1 5.  Opinions  on  Pafi  Ages  and  the  Pre- 
fent.—  Condujion  arijing  from  the  Difcuf- 
Jion  of  thefe  Opinions. — Condujion  of  the 
Whole. 

And  now  having  done  with  the  Middle 
Age,  we  venture  to  fay  a  word  upon  the 
Prefent. 

Every  pari:  age  has  in  its  turn  been  a  pre- 
fent age.  This  indeed  is  obvious,  but  this 
is  not  all;  for  every  pad  age,  when  pre- 
fent, has  been  the  object  of  abufe.  Men 
have  been  reprefented  by  their  contempo- 
raries not  only  as  had,  but  degenerate;  as 
inferior  to  their  predeceffors  both  in  morals 
and  bodily  powers. 

This  is  an  opinion  fo  generally  receiv- 
ed, that  Virgil  (in  conformity  to  it)  when 
he  would  exprefs  former  times,  calls  them 
fnnply  better,  as  if  the  term,  better,  implied 
former  of  courfe. 

Hie  genus  antiquum  Feucri,  pulcherrima  proles, 
Magnaiiimi  heroes,  nati  mclioribus  annis. 

JEn.  vi.  648. 

The  fame  opinion  is  afcribed  by  Homer 
to  old  Neftor,  when  that  venerable  chief 
(peaks  of  thofe  heroes  whom  he  had  known 
in  his  youth.  He  relates  fome  of  their 
•names.  Perithous,  Dry  as,  Cseneus,  The- 
feus;  and  fome  alio  of  their  exploits;  as 
how  they  had  extirpated  the  favage  Cen- 
taurs.— He  then  fubjoins. 

T»v  oi  m>  /3jSto7  e.Viv  ETrr^So'uiK,  /na^uiro. 

JX.  A.  271. 

with  thefe  no  one 

Of  earthly  race,  as  men  are  now,  could  fight. 

As  thefe  heroes  were  fuppofed  to  exceed 
in  Itrength  thole  of  the  Trojan  war,  fo 
were  the  heroes  of  that  period  to  exceed 
thofe  that  came  after.  Hence,  from  the 
time  of  the  Trojan  war  to  that  of  Homer, 
we  learn  that  human  itrength  was  decreas- 
ed by  a  complete  half. 

Thus  the  fame  Homer, 

— — 5  5=  j^eg/wa&ev  Xati  Xs'?' 

Oiot  vDv  (S^C'fCl  tier     '    0  06  IJ.W  fctt  WaXKi  x)  OiOJ. 

IA.  E.  3C2. 

Then  grafp'd  Tyuides  in  his  hand  a  ftone, 
A  bulk  immer.fe,  which  not  two  men  could  bear, 
As  men  are  now,  but  he  alone  with  eafe 
HvuTdat— ' 


5°S 

Virgil  goes  farther,  and  tells  us,  that 
not  twelve  men  of  his  time  (and  thofe  too 
chofen  ones)  could  even  carry  the  itone 
which  Turnus  flung: 

Vix  illud  lecti  bis  fex  cervice  fubirent, 

Qualia  nunc  hominum  producit  corpora  tell  us  a 

Hie  manu  raptum  trepida  torquebat  in  hoitem. 

jEd.  xii.  899. 

Thus  human  ftrengih,  which  in  Homer's 
time  was  lefl'ened  to  half,  in  Virgil's  time 
was  lefl'ened  to  a  twelfth.  If  Itrength  and 
bulk  (as  commonly  happens)  be  propor- 
tioned, what  pygmies  in  Mature  mult  the 
men  of  Virgil's  time  have  been,  when  their 
Itrength,  as  he  informs  us,  was  fo  far  di- 
miniihed !  A  man  only  eight  times  as 
ltrong  (and  not,  according  to  the  poet, 
twelve  times)  mult  at  leaii  have  been  be- 
tween rive  and  fix  feet  higher  than  they 
were. 

Eut  we  all  know  the  privilege  claimed 
by  poets  and  painters. 

It  is  in  virtue  of  this  privilege  that  Ho- 
race, when  he  mentions  the  moral  degene- 
racies of  his  contemporaries,  afferts  that 
"  their  fathers  were  worfethan  their  grand- 
"  fathers;  that  they  were  worfe  than  their 
"  fathers ;  and  that  their  children  would  be 
"  worfe  than  they  were;"  defenbing  no 
fewer,  after  the  grandfather,  than  three  fuc- 
ceihons  of  degeneracy : 

/Etas  parentum,  pejor  avis,  tulit 
Kos  nequiores,  niox  daturos 
Pi  ogeuiem  vitiofiorum. 

Hor.  Od.  L.  iii.  ft. 

We  need  only  afk,  were  this  a  fad,  wiat 
would  the  Romans  have  been,  had  they  de- 
generated in  this  proportion  for  iive  or  fix 
generations  more? 

Yet  Juvenal,  fubfequent  to  ail  this,  fup- 
pofes  a  fimilar  progreihon;  a  progreifion  in 
vice  and  infamy,  which  was  not  complete 
till  his  own  times. 

Then  truly  we  learn,  it  could  go  no  far- 
ther : 

Nil  erit  ol  terras,  noftris  quod  moribus  addat 

Pofteritas,  &c 

Omne  in  prascipiti  vitium  ftetit,  &c. 

Sat.  i.  147,  &c. 

But  even  Juvenal,  it  feems,  was  miltak- 
en,  bad  as  we  mult  allow  his  times  to  have 
been.  Several  centuries  after,  without  re- 
gard to  Juvenal,  the  fame  doctrine  was  in- 
culcated with  greater  zeal  than  ever. 

When  the  Weftern  empire  began  to  de- 
cline, and  Europe  and  Africa  were  ravaged 
by  barbarians,  the  calamities  then  happen- 
ing (and  formidable  they  were)  naturally 
4  led 


5o5 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


led  men,  who  felt  them,  to  elleem  their 
own  age  the  worft. 

The  enemies  of  Chriftianity  (for  Pa- 
ganifrn  was  net  then  extinct)  abfurdly 
turned  tl.efe  calamities  to  the  difcredit  of 
the  Chriflian  religion,  and  faid,  the  times 
were  fo  unhappy,  becaufe  the  gods  were 
dishonoured,  and  the  ancient  worfhip  neg- 
lected, Oroiius,  a  Chriftian,  did  not  deny 
the  melanchclv  facts,  but,  to  ob\  iate  an  ob- 
jection fo  difhoncurable  to  the  true  reli- 
gion, he  endeavours  to  prove  from  hiiio- 
nans,  both  facred  and  profane,  that  calami- 
ties of  every  fort  had  existed  in  every  age, 
as  many  and  as  great  as  thofe  that  exiiled 
then. 

If  Oroiius  has  reafoned  right  (and  his 
work  is  an  elaborate  one)  it  follows,  that 
the  lamentations  made  then,  and  made  ever 
fince,  are  no  more  than  natural  declama- 
tions incidental  to  man  ;  declamations  na- 
turally arifing  (let  hinilive  at  any  period) 
from  the  fuperior  efficacy  of  prefent  events 
upon  prefent  fenfations. 

There  is  a  praife  belonging  to  the  pafr, 
congenial  with  this  cenfure  ;  a  praife  form- 
ed  from  negatives,  and  belt  illuitrated  by 
examples. 

Thus  a  declaimer  night  affert,  (fuppof- 
inghe  hadawifh,  by  exalting  the  eleventh 
century,  to  debafe  the  prefent)  that  "  in 
*'•  the  time  of  the  Norman  conqueror  we 
"  had  no  routs,  no  ridottos,  no  Newmar- 
"  kets,  no  candidates  to  bribe,  no  voters  to 
"■'  be  bribed,  &c."  and  ihdng  on  negatives, 
as  long  as  he  thought  proper. 

What  then  are  ive  to  do,  when  we  hear 
fuch  panegyric? — Are  we  to  deny  the 
facts; — That  cannot  be. —  Are  we  to  ad- 
mit the  conclufion  ?— Th?:t  appears  not 
quite  agreeable. — No  method  is  left,  but 
to  compare  evils  with  evils;  the  evils  of 
ic66  with  thofe  of  1780;  and  ice  whether 
the  former  age  had  not  eviis  of  its  own, 
fuch  as  the  prefent  never  experienced,  be- 
£aufr  they  do  not  now  exift. 

We  may  allow  the  eviis  of  the  prefent 
day  to  he  real — we  may  even  allow  that 
a  much  larger  number  might  have  been 
added — but  then  we  may  alkdge  evils,  by 
?,vay  of  r.-uir/i,  felt  in  thofe  days  feverely, 
but  now  not  felt  at  all. 

V/e  may  affert,  "  we  have  not  now,  as 
"  happened  then,  feen  our  country  con- 
"  quered  by  foreign  invaders,  nor  our  pro- 
"  perty  taken  from  us,  and  diftributed 
"among  the  conquerors;  nor  ourfelves, 
'-  fn  hi  freemen,  debafed  into  flaves;  nor 
"  our  rights  fubmitted  to  unknown  laws, 


"  imported,  without  our  confent,  from  fo» 
"  reign  countries." 

Should  the  fame  reafonings  be  urged  in. 
favour  of  times  nearly  as  remote,  and  other 
imputations  of  evil  be  brought,  which, 
though  well  known  now,  did  not  then 
exift,  we  may  Hill  retort  that — "  we  are  no 
"  longer  now,  as  they  were  then,  fubjedt  to 
"  feudal  oppreflion;  nor  dragged  to  war, 
"  as  they  were  then,  by  the  petty  tyrant  of 
"  a  neighbouring  caitle;  nor  involved  in 
"  fcenes  oi  blood,  as  they  were  then,  ar:d 
"  that  for  many  years,  during  the  uninte- 
"  refting  difputes  between  a  Stephen  and  a 
«  Maud." 

Should  the  fame  declaimer  pafs  to  a  later 
period,  and  praife,  after  the  iame  manner, 
the  reign  of  Henry  the  Second,  we  have 
then  to  retort,"  that  we  have  now  no  Beck- 
"  ets."  Should  he  proceed  to  Richard 
the  Firft,  "that  we  have  now  no  holy  wars" 
— to  John  Lackland,  and  his  ion  Henry, 
"  that  we  have  now  no  barons  wars"—- 
and  with  regard  to  both  of  them,  "  that, 
"  though  we  enjoy  at  this  initant  all  the  be- 
"  nefits  of  Magna  Charta,  we  have  not 
"  been  compelled  to  purchafe  them  at  the 
"  price  of  our  blood." 

A  feries  of  convuliions  bring  us,  in  a 
few  years  more,  to  the  wars  between  the 
houfes  of  York  and  Lancalter — thence  from 
the  fall  of  the  Lancalter  family  to  the  ca- 
lamities of  the  York  family,  and  its  final 
celirucuon  in  Packard  the  Third — thence 
to  the  opprellive  period  of  his  avaricious 
fucceffor;  and  from  him  to  the  formidable 
reign  of  his  relentiefs  fon,  when  neither  the 
coronet,  nor  the  mitre,  nor  even  the  crown, 
could  protect;  their  wearers;  and  when  (to 
theamazementofpoiierity)  thofe,by  whom 
church  authority  was  denied,  and  thofe,  by 
whom  it  was  maintained,  were  dragged  to- 
gether to  Smithheld,  and  burnt  at  one  and 
the  fame  (take. 

The  reign  of  his  fuccelTor  was  fhort  and 
turpid,  and  foon  followed  by  the  gloomy 
one  of  a  bigotted  woman. 

We  itop  here,  thinking  we  haveinftances 
enough.  Thofe,  who  hear  any  portion  of 
thefe  paft  times  praifed  for  the  invidious 
purpoie  above-mentioned,  may  anfwer  by 
thus  retorting  the  calamities  and  crimes 
which  exiiled  at  the  time  praifed,  but  which 
now  exift  no  more.  A  true  eiumate  can 
never  be  formed,  but  in  confequence  of 
fuch  a  comparifon  ;  for  if  we  drop  the 
laudable,  and  alledge  only  the  bad,  or  drop 
the  bad,  and  alledge  only  the  laudable,  there 
is  no  age,  whatever  its  real  character,  but 

may 


BOOK    II.       CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


5°7 


may  be  made  to  pafs  at  pltafure  either  for 
a  good  one  or  a  bad  one. 

If  I  may  be  permitted  in  this  place  to 
add  anobfervation,  it  fhall  be  an  obferva- 
tion  founded  upon  many  years  experience. 
I  have  often  heard  declamations  againll  the 
prefent  race  of  men;  declamations  againfl: 
them,  as  if  they  were  the  worlt  o^  animals; 
treacherous,  falfe,  felfifli,  envious,  oppref- 
five,  tyrannical,  &c.  &c.  This  (I  lay)  I 
have  often  heard  from  grave  deciaimers, 
and  have  heard  the  fentiment  delivered  with 
a  kind  of  oracular  pomp. — Yet  I  never 
heard  any  fucii  declaimer  fay  (what  would 
have  been  fincere  at  lealt,  if  it  had  been 
nothing  more)  «  I  prove  my  affertion  by 
*'  an  example,  where  I  cannot  err ;  I  aiTert 
'*  myieif  to  be  the  wretch  i  have  been  juft 
"  describing. " 

So  far  from  this,  it  would  be  perhaps 
dangerous  to  a(k  him,  even  in  a  gentle 
whilper — "  You  have  been  talking,  with 
much  confidence,  about  certain  profligate 
beings — Are  you  certain,  that  you  your- 
felf  are  not  one  of  the  number?" 

I  hope  I  may  be  pardoned  fur  the  fol- 
lowing -necdote,  although  compelled,  in 
relating  it,  to  make  myieif  a  party. 

"  oitting  once  in  my  library  with  a 
'*  friend,  a  worthy  but  melancholy  man,  I 
•'  read  him,  out  of  a  book,  the  following 
"  pafiage — ■ — 

"  In  our  time  it  may  be  fpoken  more 
"  truly  than  of  old,  that  virtue  is  gone  ;  the 
"  church  is  under  foot ;  the  clergy  is  in 
"  error;  the  devil  reigneth,  &c.  &c.  My 
"  friend  interrupted  me  with  a  figh,  and 
"  faid,  Alas  !  how  true  !  How  juit  a  pic- 
"  ture  of  the  times  ! — I  a&ed  him,  of  what 
"  times  ?— Of  what  times  !  replied  he  with 
"  emotion;  can  you  fuppofe  any  other  but 
"  the  prefent  ?  were  any  before  ever  fo 
*'  bad,  fo  corrupt,  lo  &c.  r — Forgive  me 
"  (faid  I)  for  flopping  yon — the  times  I 
"  am  reading  of  are  older  than  you  ima- 
"  gine  ;  the  fentiment  was  delivered  about 
"  four  hundred  years  ago ;  its  author  Sir 
"  John  Mandeviile,  who  died  in  1371-" 

As  man  is  by  nature  a  focial  animal, 
good-humour  feems  an  ingredient  highly 
neceifary  to  his  character.  It  is  the  fait 
which  gives  a  feafoning  to  the  feaft  of  life  ; 
and  which,  if  it  be  wanting,  furely  renders 
•the  feaft  incomplete.  Many  caufes  con- 
tribute to  impair  this  amiable  quality,  and 
nothing  perhaps  more  than  bad  opinions 
of  mankind.  Bad  opinions  of  mankind 
naturally  lead  us  to  Mi.Canthropy.  Tf  thefe 
bad  opinions  go  farther,  and  are  applied 


to  the  univerfe,  then  they  lead  to  fomething 
worfe,  forthey  lead  to  Atheifm.  The  me- 
lancholy and  morofe  character  being  thus 
infenfibly  formed,  morals  and  piety  link  of 
courfe;  for  what  equals  have  we  to  love, 
or  what  luperior  have  we  to  revere,  when 
we  have  no  other  objects  left  than  thofc  of 
hatred  or  of  terror  ? 

It  mould  feem  then  expedient;  if  we  va- 
lue our  better  principles,  nay,  if  we  value 
our  own  happinefs,  to  withiland  fuch  dreary 
ientiments.  It  was  the  advice  of  a  wile 
man — "  Say  not  thou,  what  is  the  caule 
that  the  former  days  were  better  than  thefe  f 
For  thou  doft  not  inquire  wifely  concern- 
ing this."     Ecci.  vii.  10. 

Things  prefent  make  impreffions  amaz- 
ingly fuperior  to  things  remote  ;  fo  that,  in 
objects  of  every  kind,  we  are  eafily  miftak- 
en  as  to  their  comparative  magnitude. 
Upon  the  canvafs  of  the  fame  picture  a 
near  iparrow  occupies  the  fpace  of  a  dis- 
tant eagle  ;  a  near  mole -hill,  that  of  a  dif- 
tant  mountain.  In  the  perpetration  of 
crimes  there  are  few  perfons,  1  believe,  who 
would  not  be  more  (hocked  at  actually 
feeing  a  iingle  man  alTaiTinated  (even  tak- 
ing away  the  idea  of  perfonal  danger)  than 
they  would  be  mocked  in  reading  the  mai- 
facre  of  Paris. 

The  wife  man,  jure  quoted,  wifhes  to  fave 
us  from  thefe  errors.  Fie  has  already  in- 
formed us — "  The  thing  that  hath  been, 
is  that  which  (hall  be  ;  and  there  is  no  new 
thing  under  the  fun.  Is  there  any  thin  a- 
whereof  it  may  be  faid,  See,  this  is  new"? 
It  hath  been  already  of  old  time,  which  was 
befoie  us."  He  thenfubjoins  the  caufe  of 
this  apparent  novelty — "  things  paft,  when 
they  return,  appear  new,  if  they  are  for- 
gotten ;  and  things  prefent  will  appear  io, 
mould  they  too  be  forgotten,  when  they  re- 
turn."    Eccl.  i.  9.  ii.  16. 

This  forgetfulnefs  oi'  what  is  fimilar  in 
events  which  return  (for  in  every  return- 
ing event  fuch  iimiiarity  exifts)  is  the  for', 
getfulnefs  01  a  mind  uninftructed  and  weak  • 
a  mind  ignorant  of  that  great,  that  pro- 
vidential circulation,  which  never  ceafes 
for  a  moment  through  every  part  of  the  , 
univerfe. 

It  is  not  like  that  forgetfulnefs  which 
I  once  remember  in  a  man  of  lettes- 
who  when,  at  the  conclufion  of  a  ior.o- 
life,  he  found  his  memory  began  to  fail 
faid  chearfully — "  Now  I  (hall  have  a 
"  pleifure  I  could  not  have  before;  that  of 
"  reading  my  old  books,  and  finding  them 
"  all  new." 

There 


50S 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


There  was  in  this  confolation  fome- 
thing  philcfophical  and  pleafing.  And 
yet  perhaps  it  is  a  higher  philofophy 
(could  we  attain  it)  not  to  forget  the  pair, 
but  in  contemplation  of  the  pall  to  view 
the  future ;  fo  that  we  may  fay,  on  the 
xvorit  profpects,  with  a  becoming  reiigna- 
tion,  what  Eneas  faid  of  old  to  the  Cumean 
Prophetefs, 

Virgin,  no  fcenes  of  ill 

To  me,  or  new,  or  unexpected  rife  ; 

3've  feen  'em  all ;  have  feen,  and  long  before 

Within  myfelf  revolv'd  'em  in  my  mind. 

i£n.  VI.  103,  104,  105. 

In  fuch  a  conduct,  if  well  founded,  there 
is  not  only  fortitude,  but  piety :  Fortitude, 
which  never  finks,  from  a  confeious  in- 
tegrity; and  Piety,  which  never  refills,  by 
referring  all  to  the  Divine  Will. 

Harris. 

§  216.  The  Character  of  the  Man  of  Bu- 
jSxe/s  often  united  n.vitk ,  and  adorned  by  that 
of  the  Scholar  and  Philofopher. 

Philofophy,  taking  its  name  from  the 
love  of  wifdom,  and  having  for  its  end 
the  inveftigation  of  truth,  has  an  equal  re- 
gard both  to  practice  and  fpeculation,  in  as 
much  as  truth  of  every  kind  is  firnilar  and 
congenial.  Hence  we  find  that  fome  of 
the  mod  illuftrious  actors  upon  the  great 
theatre  of  the  world  have  been  engaged  at 
times  in  philofophical  fpeculation.  Peri- 
cles, who  governed  Athens,  was  the  difci- 
ple  of  Anaxagoras;  Epaminondas  fpent 
his  youth  in  the  Pythagorean  fchool;  Alex- 
ander the  Great  had  Arillotle  for  his  pre- 
ceptor ;  and  Scipio  made  Polybius  his 
companion  and  friend.  Why  need  I  men- 
tion Cicero,  or  Cato,  or  Brutus  ?  The  ora- 
tions, the  epiilles,  and  the  philofophical 
works  of  the  firft,  (hew  him  fuihxiently 
converfant  both  in  action  and  contempla- 
tion. So  eager  was  Cato  for  knowledge, 
even  when  mrrounded  with  buiiiiefs,  that 
he  ufed  to  read  philofophy  in  the  fenate- 
houfc,  while  the  fenate  was  afil-mbling; 
and  as  for  the  patriot  Brutus,  though  his 
life  was  a  continual  fcene  of  the  moil  im- 
portant actions,  he  found  time  not  only 
to  ftudy,  but  to  compole  a  Treatife  upon 
Virtue. 

When  thefe  were  gone,  and  the  worll  of 
times  fucceeded,  Thrafea  Paetus,  and  Flel- 
Vldius  Prifcus,  were  at  the  fame  period 
both  fenators  and  philofophers  ;  and  appear 
to  have  {imported  the  ltvcrcil  trials  oi' ty- 


rannic oppreffion,  by  the  man!y  fyflem  of 
the  Stoic  moral.  The  belt  emperor  whom 
the  Romans,  or  perhaps  any  nation,  ever 
knew,  Marcus  Antoninus,  was  involved 
during  his  whole  life  in  bufmefs  of  the  laft 
confequence ;  fome  times  confpiracies  form- 
ing, which  he  was  obliged  to  difiipatej 
formidable  wars  arifing  at  other  times, 
when  he  was  obliged  to  take  the  field, 
Yet  during  none  of  thefe  periods  did  he 
forfake  philofophy,  but  Hill  perfifted  in 
meditation,  and  in  committing  his  thoughts 
to  writing,  during  moments,  gained  by 
Health  from  the  hurry  of  courts  and  cam- 
paigns. 

If  we  defcend  to  later  ages,  and  fearch 
our  own  country,  we  fhall  find  Sir  Thomas 
More,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Sir  Walter  Ra- 
leigh, Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  Milton, 
Algernon  Sidney,  Sir  William  Temple,  and 
many  others,  to  have  been  all  of  thtm  emi- 
nent in  public  life,  and  yet  at  the  fame 
time  confpicuous  for  their  fpeculations  and 
literature.  If  we  look  abroad,  examples 
of  like  characters  will  occur  in  other  coun- 
tries. Grotius,  the  poet,  the  critic,  the 
philofopher,  and  the  divine,  was  employed 
by  the  court  of  Sweden  as  ambafl'ador  to 
France  ;  and  De  Witt,  that  acute  but  un- 
fortunate ilatefman,  that  pattern  of  parfi- 
mony  and  political  accompliihments,  was 
an  able  mathematician,  wrote  upon  the 
Elements  of  Curves,  and  applied  his  alge- 
bra with  accuracy  to  the  trade  and  com- 
merce of  his  country. 

And  fo  much  in  defence  of  Philofpphy, 
againft  thofe  who  may  poffibly  undervalue 
her,  becaufe  they  have  fucceeded  without 
her  ;  thofe  I  mean  (and  it  mud  be  confeft 
they  are  many)  who,  having  fpent  their 
whole  lives  in  what  Milton  calls  the  "  bufy 
hum  of  men,"  have  acquired  to  themfelves 
habits  of  amazing  efficacy,  unaffifted  by 
the  helps  of  fcience  and  erudition.  To  fuch 
the  retired  iludent  may  appear  an  awkward 
being,  becaufe  they  want  a  juft  ftandard 
to  meafure  his  merit.  But  let  them  recur 
to  the  bright  examples  before  ailedged  ; 
let  them  remember  that  thefe  were  eminent 
in  their  own  way  ;  were  men  of  action  and 
bufmefs ;  men  of  the  world ;  and  yet  did 
they  not  difdain  to  cultivate  philofophy, 
nay,  were  many  of  them  perhaps  indebted 
to  her  for  the  fplendor  of  their  active  cha- 
racter. 

This  reafoning  has  a  farther  end.  It 
juftifies  rne  in  the  addrefs  of  thefe  phi- 
lofophical   arrangements;  as  your  Lord- 

ftiip 


BOOK    II.       CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL. 


509 


fhip*  has  been  diftinguifhed  in  either  cha- 
racter, I  mean  in  your  public  one,  as  well 
as  in  your  private.  Thofe  who  know  the 
hiltory  of  our  foreign  tranfa&ions,  know 
the  reputation  that  you  acquired  in  Ger- 
many, by  negociations  of  the  laft  im- 
portance :  and  thofe  who  are  honoured 
with  your  nearer  friendfhip,  know  that 
you  can  fpeculate  as  well  as  act,  and  can 
employ  your  pen  both  with  elegance  and 
inftruftion. 

It  may  not  perhaps  be  unentertaining 
to  your  Lordfhip  to  fee  in  what  manner 
the  *  Preceptor  of  Alexander  the  Great 
arranged  his  pupil's  ideas,  fo  that  they 
might  not  caufe  confufioa,  for  want  of 
accurate  difpofition.'  It  may  be  thought 
alfo  a  fact  worthy  your  notice,  that  he 
became  acquainted  with  this  method  from 
the  venerable  Pythagoras,  who,  unlefs  he 
drew  it  from  remoter  fources,  to  us  un- 
known, was,  perhaps,  himfelf  its  inventor 
and  original  teacher.  Harris. 

§   217.  The  ProgreJJions    of  Art  difgufful, 
the  Completion    beautiful. 

Fables  relate  that  Venus  was  wedded  to 
Vulcan,  the  goddefs  of  beauty  to  the  god 
of  deformity.  The  tale,  as  forne  explain 
it,  gives  a  double  reprefentation  of  art ; 
Vulcan  fhcwing  us  the  progeffions  of  art, 
and  Venus  the  completions.  The  pro- 
greflions,  fuch  as  the  hewing  of  ftone, 
the  grinding  of  colours,  the  fufion  of 
metals,  thefe  all  of  them  are  laborious, 
and  many  times  difguftful  ;  the  comple- 
tions, fuch  as  the  temple,  the  palace,  the 
pidure,  the  ftatue,  thefe  all  of  them  are 
beauties,  and  juftly  call  for  admiration. 

Now  if  logic  be  one  of  thofe  arts, 
which  help  to  improve  human  reafon,  it 
muft  neceffkrily  be  an  art  of  the  progref- 
five  character;  an  art  which,  not  ending 
with  itfelf,  has  a  view  to  fomething  far- 
ther. If  then,  in  the  fpeculations  upon 
it,  it  fhould  appear  dry  rather  than  ele- 
gant, fevere  rather  than  pleafing,  let  it 
plead,  by  way  of  defence,  that,  though 
its  importance  may  be  great,  it  partakes 
from  its  very  nature  (which  cannot  be 
changed)  more  of  the  deformed  god,  than 
of  the  beautiful  goddefs.  Ibid. 

§  218.  Thoughts  en  Elegance. 
Having  anfwered  the  objections  ufually 
*  Addreffed  to  the  right   honourable  Thomas 

Lord    Jiyde,  qhance^lor  of  the  Duchy  of  Lan- 

ciijr,  &c. 


brought  againft  a  permanent  fenfe  of 
beauty,  let  us  now  proceed  to  Angle  out 
the  particular  fpecies  or  kinds  of  beauty; 
and  begin  with  elegance  of  perfon,  that 
fo  wonderfully  elevates  the  human  cha- 
racter. 

Elegance,  the  moft  undoubted  offspring 
and  vifible  image  of  fine  talte,  the  mo- 
ment it  appears,  is  univerfally  admired : 
men  difagree  about  the  other  conftituent 
parts  of  beauty,  but  they  all  unite  with- 
out hefitation  to  acknowledge  the  power 
of  elegance. 

The  general  opinion  is,  that  this  moil: 
confpicuous  part  of  beauty,  that  is  per- 
ceived and  acknowledged  by  every  body,. 
is  yet  utterly  inexplicable,  and  retires 
from  our  fearch  when  we  would  difcover 
what  it  is.  Where  mall  I  find  the  fecret 
retreat  of  the  graces,  to  explain  to  me 
the  elegance  they  dittate,  and  to  paint, 
in  vifible  colours,  the  fugitive  and  va- 
rying enchantment  that  hovers  round  a 
graceful  perfon,  yet  leaves  us  for  ever  in 
agreeable  fufpence  and  confufion  ?  I  need 
not  feek  for  them,  madam;  the  graces 
are  but  emblems  of  the  human  mind,  in 
its  lovelieft  appearances ;  and  while  I 
write  for  you,  it  is  impoflible  not  to  feel 
their  influence. 

Perfonal  elegance,  for  that  is  the  ob- 
ject of  our  prefent  enquiry,  may  be  de- 
fined the  image  and  reflection  of  the 
grandeur  and  beauty  of  the  invihble  foul. 
Grandeur  and  beauty  in  the  foul  itfelf  are 
not  objects  of  fenfe  ;  colours  cannot  paint 
them,  but  they  are  united  to  fentiments 
that  appear  vifible ;  they  beftow  a  noble 
meaning  and  importance  of  attitude,  and 
diffufe  inexpreffible  lovelinefs  over  the 
perfon. 

When  two  or  more  pafiions  or  fenti- 
ments unite,  they  are  not  fo  readily  dif- 
tinguifhed, as  if  they  had  appeared  fepa- 
rate ;  however,  it  is  eafy  to  obferve,  that 
the  complacency  and  admiration  we  feel 
in  the  prefence  of  elegant  perfons,  is 
made  up  of  refpect  and  affection;  and 
that  we  are  difappointed  when  we  fee 
fuch  perfons  act  a  bale  or  indecent 
part.  Thefe  fymptoms  plainly  fhew,  that 
perfonal  elegance  appears  to  us  to  be  the 
image  and  reflection  of  an  elevated  and 
beautiful  mind.  In  fome  characters,  the 
grandeur  of  foul  is  predominant ;  in 
whom  beauty  is  majeitic  and  awful.  In 
this  ftile  is  Mifs  F .  In  other  cha- 
racters, a  foft  and  attracting  grace  is  more 
confpicuous:    this    latter    kind  is  more- 


pie*  <= 


& 


5io 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


pleafing,  for  an  obvious  reafon.  But 
elegance  cannot  exift  in  either  alone, 
without  a  mixture  of  the  other;  for  ma- 
jefty  without  the  beautiful,  would  be 
■  haughty  and  difguiting ;  and  eafy  acceffi- 
b!e  beauty  would  iofe  the  idea  of  elegance, 
and  become  an  object  of  contempt. 

The  grandeur  and  beauty  of  the  foul 
charm  us  univerfallv,  who  have  all  of  us 
implanted  in  our  bofoms,  even  in  the 
midft  of  miferv,  paffions  of  high  defcent, 
immenfe  ambition,  and  romantic  hopes. 
You  may  conceive  an  imprifoned  bird, 
whofe  wild  notes,  prompted  by  the  ap- 
proach of  fpring,  gave  her  a  confufed 
notion  of  joy,  although  {he  has  no  diftinct 
idea  of  airy  flights  and  fummer  groves ; 
fo  when  man  emerging  from  wretched- 
nefs  afliimes  a  nobler  character,  and  the 
elevation  of  the  human  genius  appears 
openly,  we  view,  with  fecretjoy  and  de- 
lightful amazement,  the  fure  evidence 
and  pledge  of  our  dignity:  the  mind 
catches  fire  by  a  train  that  lies  within 
itfelf,  and  expands  with  conscious  pride 
and  merit,  like  a  generous  youth  over 
the  images  of  his  country's  heroes.  Of 
the  fcftened  and  engaging  part  of  ele- 
gance, I  fhall  have  occaiion  to  {peak  at 
large  hereafter. 

Perfonal  elegance  or  grace  is  a  frirri- 
tive  luflre,  that  never  fettles  in  any  part 
of  the  body,  you  fee  it  glance  and  difap- 
pear  in  the  features  and  motions  of  a 
graceful  perfon;  it  {takes  your  view;  it 
ihines  like  an  exhalation:  but  the  moment 
you  follow  it,  the  wandering  flame  va- 
nishes, and  immediately  lights  up  in 
fomething  elfie  :  you  may  as  well  think 
of  fixing  the  pleafing  delufton  of  your 
dreams,  or  the  colours  of  a  diffolving 
rainbow. 

You  have  arifen  early  at  times,  in  the 
fummer  feafon,  to  take  the  advantage  of 
the  cool  of  the  morning,  to  ride  abroad. 
Let  us  fuppofe  you  have  miftaken  an 
hour  or  two,  and  jufl  got  out  a  few  mi- 
nutes before  the  rifing  of  the  iun.  You 
fee  the  fields  and  woods  that  lay  the 
night  before  in  obfeurity,  attiring  them- 
felves  in  beauty  and  verdure  ;  you  fee  a 
profufion  of  brilliants  mining  in  the  dew  ; 
you  fee  the  ilream  gradually  admitting 
the  light  into  its  pure  boibm ;  and  you 
hear  the  birds,  which  are  awakened  by  a 
rapture,  that  comes  upon  them  from  the 
morning,  if  the  eaftern  fey  be  clear, 
you  fee"  it  glo.v  with  the  promife  of  a 
nc  tluit  has  not  yet  appeared  j   and  if 


it  be  ovcrcafr  with  clouds,  you  fee  thofe 
clouds  ftained  by  a  bright  red,  bordered 
with  gold  or  filver,  that  by  the  changes 
appear  volatile,  and  ready  to  vaniih. 
How  various  and  beautiful  are  thofe  ap- 
pearances, which  are  not  the  fun,  but  the 
dillant  effects  of  it  over  different  objects ! . 
In  like  manner  the  foul  flings  inexprefii- 
ble  charms  over  the  human  perfon,  and 
actions ;  but  then  the  caufe  is  lefs  known, 
becaufe  the  foul  for  ever  fhtnes  behind  a 
cloud,  and  is  always  retired  from  our 
fenfes. 

You  conceive  why  elegance  is  of  a  fu- 
gitive nature,  and  exifts  chiefly  in  mo- 
tion :  as  it  is  communicated  by  the  prin- 
ciple of  action  that  governs  the  whole 
perfon,  it  is  found  over  the  whole  body, 
and  is  fixed  no  where.  The  curious  eye 
with  eagernefs  purfues  the  wandering 
beauty,  which  it  fees  with  furprize  at 
every  turn,  but  is  never  able  to  overtake. 
It  is  a  waving  flame,  that,  like  the  re- 
flection of  the  fun  from  water,  never 
fettles  ;  it  glances  on  you  in  every  motion 
aud  difpofition  of  the  body  :  its  different 
powers  through  attitude  and  motion  feem 
to  be  collected  in  dancing,  wherein  it 
pla)s  over  the  arms,  the  legs,  the  breaft, 
the  neck,  and  in  fhort  the  whole  frame  : 
but  if  grace  has  any  fixed  throne,  it  is  in 
the  face,  the  refidcu.ee  of  the  foul,  where 
you  think  a  thouiand  times  it  is  juft  iffu- 
ing  into  view. 

Elegance  afliimes  to  itfelf  an  empire 
equal  to  that  of  the  foul :  it  rules  and  in- 
fpires  every  part  of  the  body,  and  makes 
ufe  of  all  the  human  powers;  but  it  par- 
ticularly takes  the  paffions  under  its 
charge  and  direction,  and  turns  them  into 
a  kind  of  artillery,  with  which  it  does  in- 
finite execution. 

The  paffions  that  are  favourites  with 
the  graces  are  modefty,  good  nature, 
particularlv  when  it  is  heightened  by  a 
fmall  colouring  of  affection  into  foveetnefs, 
and  that  fine  languor  which  feems  to  be 
formed  of  a  mixture  of  ftiil  joy  and  hope. 
Surprise,  fhame,  and  even  grief  and  an- 
ger, have  appeared  pleafing  under  pro- 
per reftrictions ;  for  it  muff  be  obferved, 
that  ail  excefs  is  {hocking  and  difagree- 
able,  and  that  even  the  moil  pleafing 
paffions  appear  to  molt  advantage  when 
the  tincture  they  calf  over  the  counte- 
nance is  enfeebled  and  gentle.  The  paf- 
fions that  are  enemies  to  the  graces  are, 
impudence,  affectation,  ltrong  and  harih. 
degrees  of  pride,  malice,  and  aufterity. 

There 


BOOK    II.    CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL.        su 


There  is  an  union-  of  the  fine  paflions, 
but  fo  delicate  that  you  cannot  conceive 
any  one  of  them  feparate  from  the  reft, 
called  fenfibility,  which  is  requifite  in  an 
elegant  deportment ;  it  chiefly  refides  in 
the  eye,  which  is  indeed  the  feat  of  the 
toaffions. 

I  have  fpoken  of  the  paflions  only  as 
they  are  fubfervieut  to  grace,  which  is 
the  object  of  our  prefent  attention.  rriie 
'face  is  the  mother-country,  if  I  may  call 
it  (o,  or  the  habitation  of  grace ;  and  it 
vifits  the  other  parts  of  the  body  only  as 
diftant  provinces,  w  ith  fome  little  partia- 
lity to  the  neck,  and  the  fine  bafi.s  that 
fupports  it;  but  the  countenance  is  the 
very  palace  in  which  it  takes  up  its  refi- 
dence ;  it  is  there  it  revels  through  its 
various  apartments  :  you  fee  it  wrapped 
in  clouded  majefty  upon  the  brow ;  you 
difcover  it  about  the  lips  hardly  riling 
to  a  fmile,  and  vanifhing  in  a  moment, 
when  it  is  rather  perceived  than  feen; 
and  then  by  the  mod  engaging  vici'Ti- 
tudes,  it  enlivens,  flames,  and  diffolves 
in  the  eye. 

You  have,  I  fuppofe,  all  along  ob- 
ferved,  that  1  am  not  treating  of  beauty, 
which  depends  on  different  principles,  but 
of  that  elegance  which  is  the  effect  of  a 
delicate  and  awakened  tafte,  and  in  every 
kind  of  form  is  the  enchantment  that  at- 
tracts and  p'cafes  univerfally,  even  with- 
out the  afliftance  of  any  other  charm  ; 
whereas  without  it  no  degree  of  beauty  is 
charming.  Ycu  have  undoubtedly  leen 
women  lovely  without  much  beauty,  and 
handfome  without  being  lovely;  it  is 
gracefulnefs  caufes  this  variation,  and 
throws  a  luitre  over  difagreeable  features, 
as  the  fun  paints  a  fhowery  cloud  with 
the  colours  of  the  rainbow. 

I  before  remarked,  that  the  grace  of 
every  elegant  perfon  is  varied  agreeable 
to  the  character  and  difpofiticn  of  the 
perfon  it  beautifies ;  I  am  fenfible  you 
readily  conceive  the  reafon.  Elegance  is 
the  natural  habit  and  image  of  the  foul 
beaming  forth  in  action;  it  muft  therefore 
be  expreffed  by  the  peculiar  features,  air, 
and  difpofition  of  the  perfon ;  it  muft 
arile  from  nature,  and  flow  with  eafe  and 
a  propriety  that  diftinguilhes  it.  The 
imitation  of  any  particular  perfon,  how- 
ever graceful,  is  dangerous,  left  the  af- 
fectation appear  ;  but  the  unftudied  ele- 
gance of  nature  is  acquired  by  the  ex- 
ample and  converfation  of  feveral  elegant 
perfons  of  different  characters,  which  peo- 


ple adapt  to  the  import  of  their  own  ges- 
tures, without  knowing  how. 

It  is  alio  becaufe  elegance  is  the  re- 
flection of  the  foul  appearing  in  action, 
that  good  ftataes,  and  pictures  drawn  from 
life,  are  laid  before  the  eye  in  mo- 
tion. If  you  look  at  the  old  Gothic 
churches  built  in  barbarous  ages,  you  will 
fee  the  iiatues  reared  up  dead  and  inani- 
mate againft  the  walls. 

I  faid,  at  the  beginning  of  this  little 
difcourfe,  that  the  beauty  of  drefs  refults 
from  mode  or  fafhion,  and  it  certainly 
does  fo  in  a  great  meafure ;  but  I  muft  limit 
that  affertion  by  the  following  obfervation, 
that  there  is  alfo  a  real  beauty  in  attire 
that  does  not  depend  on  the  mode  :  thofe 
robes  which  leave  the  whole  perfon  at 
liberty  in  its  motions,  and  that  give  to  the 
imagination  the  natural  proportions  and 
fymmetry  of  the  body,  are  always  more 
becoming  than  fuch  as  reftrain  any  part  of 
the  body,  or  in  which  it  is  loft  or  disfigur- 
ed. You  may  eaiily  imagine  how  a  pair 
of  ftays  laced  tightly  about  the  Minerva 
we  admired,  would  opprefs  the  fublime 
beauty  of  her  comportment  and  figure. 
Since  perfons  of  rank  cannot  chufe  their 
own  drefs,  but  muft  run  along  with  the 
prefent  fafhion,  the  fecret  of  drefiing 
gracefully  muft  confift  in  the  flender  va- 
riations that  cannot  be  obferved  to  defert 
the  fafhion,  and  yet  approach  nigher  to 
the  complexion  and  import  of  the  coun- 
tenance, and  that  at  the  fame  time  allows 
to  the  whole  body  the  greater!:  pof- 
fible  freedom,  eafe,  and  imagery  :■  by 
imagery  I  mean,  that  as  a  good  painter 
will  fliew  the  effect  of  the  mufcles  that  do 
not  appear  to  the  eye,  fo  a  perfon  fkilful 
in  drefs  will  difplay  the  elegance  of  the 
form,  though  it  be  covered  and  out  of 
view.  As  the  tafte  of  drefs  approaches 
to  perfection  all  art  disappears,  and  it 
feems  the  effect  of  negligence  and  inftinc- 
tive  inattention  ;  for  this  reafon  its  beau- 
ties arife  from  the  manner  and  general 
air  rather  than  from  the  ricrmefs.  which 
lart,  when  it  becomes  too  grols  and  op- 
preilive,  deftroys  the  elegance.  A  bril- 
liancy and  parade  in  drefs  is  therefore  the 
infallible  fign  of  bad  tafte,  that  in  this 
contraband  manner  endeavours  to  make 
amends  for  the  want  of  true  elegance,  and 
bears  a  relation  to  the  heaps  of  ornament 
that  encumbered  the  Gothic  buildings. 
Apelles  obferving  an  Helen  painted  by 
one  of  his  fcholars,  that  was  overcharged 
with  a  rich  drefs,  "  I   find,  voung  man," 

fatal 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


512 

faid    he,   "  not  being    able  to  paint    her 
beautiful,  you  have  made  her  fine." 

Harfh  and  violent  motions  are  always 
unbecoming.  Milton  attributes  the  fame 
kind  of  motion  to  his-  angels  that  the  Hea- 
thens did  to  their  deities,  foft,Jliding  tvitb- 
cutjlep.  It  is  impoflible  to  preferve  the 
attractions  in  a  country  dance  that  attend 
on  a  minuet ;  as  the  Hep  quickens,  the 
moil  delicate  of  the  graces  retire.  The 
rule  holds  univerfally  through  all  action, 
whether  quick  or  flow  ;  it  fhould  always 
partake  of  the  fame  polifhed  and  foftened 
motion,  particularly  in  the  tranfitions  of 
the  countenance,  where  the  genius  of  the 
perfon  i'eems  to  hover  and  refide. 

The  degrees  run  very  high  upon  the 
icale  of  elegance,  and  probably  few  have 
arrived  near  the  higheft  pitch  ;  but  it  is 
certain,  that  the  idea  of  furprifing  beauty, 
that  was  familiar  in  Greece,  has  been. 
hardly  conceived  by  the  moderns :  many 
of  their  ftatues  remain  the  objects  of  our 
admiration,  but  wholly  fuperior  to  imita- 
tion ;  their  pictures,  that  have  funk  in  the 
wreck  of  time,  appear  in  the  defcriptions 
made  of  them  to  have  equal  imagination 
with  the  ftatues  ;  and  their  poetry  abounds 
with  the  fame  ceieftial  imagery.  But 
what  puts  this  matter  out  of  doubt  is,  that 
their  celebrated  beauties  were  the  models 
of  their  artifts,  and  it  is  known,  that  the 
elegancies  of  Thais  and  Phryne  were 
cooled  by  the  famous  painters  of  Greece, 
and  configned  to  canvafs  and  marble  to 
aftonuh  and  charm  diftant  ages. 

Perfonal  elegance,  in  which  tafte  af- 
fumes  the  molt  confpicuous  and  noble  ap- 
pearance, confuies  us  in  our  enquiries 
after  it,  by  the  quicknefs  and  variety  of 
its  changes,  as  well  as  by  a  complication 
that  i?  not  eafily  unravelled.  I  defined 
it  to  be  the  image  and  reflection  of  a  great 
and  beautiful  foul;  let  us  feparate  the 
diftinct  parts  of  this  variety  ;  when  they 
appear  afunder  you  will  find  them  per- 
fectly familiar  and  intelligible. 

The  firft,  and  moft  refpe&able  part, 
that  enters  into  the  compofition  of  ele- 
gance, is  the  lofty  confeioufnefs  of  worth 
or  virtue,  which  fuftains  an  habitual  decen- 
cy, and  becoming  pride. 

The  fecond,  and  moft  pleafmg  part,  is  a 
difplay  of  good-nature  ^approaching  to 
afeclicn,  of  gentle  affability,  and,  in  ge- 
neral, of  the  pleafing  paffions.  It  feeros 
ditficult  to  reconcile  thefe  two  parts,  ar.d 
in  fact  it  is  Co  ?  but  when  they  uv.itc,  then 
$ey   apoeax  like  a  rqfervsd  and  virgin 


kindnefs,  that  is  at  at  once  noble  and  fioft, 
that  may  be  won,  but  muft  be  courted 
with  delicacy. 

The  third  part  of  elegance  is  the  ap- 
peal ance  of  a  polifhed  and  tranquil  habit 
of  mind,  that  foftens  the  actions  and  emo- 
tions, and  gives  a  covert  proipedl  of  inno- 
cence and  undillurbed  repofe.  I  will  treat 
of  thefe  feparate,  and  firft  of  dignity  of 
foul. 

I  obferved,  near  the  beginning  of  this 
di'fcourfe,  in  annver  to  an  objection  you 
made,  that  the  mind  has  always  a  tafte 
for  truth,  for  gratitude,  for  generofity, 
and  greatnefs  of  foul :  thefe,  which  are 
peculiarly  called  fentiments,  (lamp  upon 
the  human  fpirit  a  dignity  and  worth  not 
to  be  found  in  any  other  animated  being. 
However  great  and  furprifing  the  moft 
glorious  objects  in  nature  be,  the  heaving 
ocean,  the  moon  that  guides  it,  and  cafts 
a  foftened  luftre  over  thg.-r.ight,  the  ftarry 
firmament,  or  the  fun  itfelf;  yet  their 
beauty  and  grandeur  inftantly  appear  of 
an  inferior  kind,  beyond  all  comparifon, 
to  this  of  the  foul  of  man.  Thefe  fenti- 
ments are  united  under  the  general  name 
of  virtue  ;  and  fuch  are  the  embellifhments 
they  diffufe  over  the  mind,  that  Plato,  a 
very  polite  philofopher,  fays  finely,  "If 
Virtue  was  to  appear  in  a  vifible  fhape,  all 
men  would  be  enamoured  of  her." 

Virtue  and  truth  are  infeparable,  and 
take  their  flight  together.  A  mind  de- 
void of  truth  is  a  frightful  wreck ;  it  is 
like  a  great  city  in  ruins,  whofe  mouldering 
towers,  juft  bring  to  the  imagination  the 
mirth  and  life  that  once  were  there,  and  is 
now  no  more.  Truth  is  the  genius  of 
tafte,  and  enters  into  the  eflence  of  fimple 
beauty,  in  wit,  in  writing,  and  throughout 
the  fine  arts. 

Generofity  covers  almoft  all  other  de- 
fects, and  raifes  a  blaze  around  them  in 
which  they  difappear  and  are  loft :  like 
fovereign  beauty,  it  makes  a  lhort  cut  to 
our  affections  ;  it  wins  our  hearts  without 
refiilancc  or  delay,  and  unites  all  the  world 
to  favour  and  fupport  its  defigns. 

Grandeur  of  foul,  fortitude,  and  a  refo- 
lution  that  haughtily  ftruggles  with  defpair, 
aud  will  neither  yield  to,  nor  make  terms 
with  misfortunes;  which,  through  every 
fituation,  repofes  a  noble  confidence  in  it- 
felf, and  has  an  immoveable  view  to  future 
glory  and  honour,  n  ftonilhes  the  world  with 
admiration  and  delight.  We,  as  it  were, 
lean  forward  with  furprife  and  trembling 
ioy  to  beheld  the  human  foul  collecting  its 

ftrenzth. 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.        513 


frrength,  and  aflerting  a  right  to  fuperior 
fates.  When  you  leave  man  out  of  your 
account,  and  View  the  whole  viiible  crea- 
tion befide,  you  indeed  fee  feveral  traces  of 
grandeur  and  unfpeakable  power,  and  the 
intermixture  of  a  rich  fcenery  of  beauty; 
yet  full  the  whole  appears  to  be  but  a  fo- 
lemn  abfurditv,  and  to  have  a  littlenefs  and 
insignificancy.  But  when,  you  reftore man 
to  profpct,  and  put  him  at  the  head  of  ir, 
endued  with  genius  and  an  immortal  foul ; 
when  you  give  him  a  pafiion  for  truth, 
boundlefs  views  that  fpread  along  through 
eternity,  and  a  fortitude  that  ftruggles  with 
fate,  and  yields  not  to  misfortunes,  then  the 
/kies,  the  ocean,  and  the  earth,  take  the 
flamp  of  worth  and  dignity  from  the  noble 
inhabitant  whofe- purpofes  they  ferve. 

A  mind  fraught  with  the  virtues  is  the 
natural  foil  of  elegance.  Unaffected  truth, 
generofity,  and  grandeur  of  foul,  for  ever 
pleafe  and  charm  :  even  when  they  break 
from  the  common  forms,  and  appear  w  ild 
and  unmethodized  by  education,  they  are 
frill  beautiful.  On  the  contrary,  as  foon  as 
we  difcover  that  outward  elegance,  which 
is  formed  by  the  mode,  to  want  truth,  ge- 
nerofity, or  grandeur  of  foul,  it  initantly 
links  in  our  eiteem  like  counterfeit  coin, 
and  we  are  fenfible  of  a  reluctant  disap- 
pointment, like  that  of  the  lover  in  the  epi- 
gram, who  became  enamoured  with  the 
lady's  voice  ana  the  foftnefs  of  her  hand 
in  the  dark,  but  was  cured  of  his  pafiion  as 
foon  as  he  had  light  to  view  her. 

Let  us  now  pais  on  to  the  moft  pleafmg 
pare  of  elegance,  an  habitual  difplay  of 
the  kind  and  gentle  paffions. 

We  are  naturally  inclined  to  love  thofe 
who  bear  an  affection  to  us ;  and  we  are 
charmed  with  the  homage  that  is  paid  to 
our  merit:  by  thefe  wcakneffes  politenefs 
attacks  us.  The  well-bred  gentleman  al- 
ways in  his  behaviour  infmuates  a  regard 
to  others,  tempered  with  refpect.  His  at- 
tention to  pleafe  confeifes  plainly  his  kind- 
nefs  to  you,  and  the  high  eiteem  he  holds 
you  in.  The  afliduous  prevention  of  our 
wim.es,  and  that  yielding  f.veetnefs  cora- 
plaifance  puts  on  for  our  fake,  are  irreiilH- 
ble ;  and  although  we  know  this  kind  of 
flattery  to  be  proftitute  and  habitual,  yet 
it  is  not  indifferent  to  us  ;  we  receive  it  in 
a  manner  that  fhows  how  much  it  gratifies 
us. 

The  defire  of  being  agreeable,  finds  out 
the  art  of  being  Co  without  ftudy  or  labour. 
Kuilics  who  fall  in  love,  grow  unufually  po- 
lite and  engaging.     This  new  charm,  that 


has  altered  their  natures,  and  fuddenly  en- 
dued them  with  the  powers  of  pleafmg,  is 
nothing  more  than  an  enlivened  attention 
to  pleafe,  that  has  taken  pofTeSion  of  their 
minds,  and  tinctured  their  actions.  We 
ought  not  to  wonder  that  love  is  thus  en- 
chanting :  its  tender  affiduity  is  but  the 
natural  addrefs  of  the  paihon  ;  politenefs 
borrows  the  flattering  form  of  affection, 
ana  becomes  agreeable  by  the  appearance 
of  kindnefs. 

What  pleafes  us  generally  appears  beau- 
tiful. Cornplaifance,  that  is  fo  engaging, 
gives  an  agreeablenefs  to  the  whole  per- 
fon,  and  creates  a  beauty  that  nature  gave 
not  to  the  features;  it  fubmits,  itpromifes,it 
applauds  in  the  countenance;  the  heart 
lays  itfelf  in  fmiles  at  your  feet,  and  a  voice 
that  is  indulgent  and  tender,  is  always 
heard  with  pieafure. 

The  lair,  condiment  part  of  elegance  is 
the  picture  of  a  tranquil  foul,  that  appears 
in  foftening  the  actions  and  emotion  ,  and 
exhibits  a  retired  profpect  of  happinefs  and 
innocence. 

A  calm  of  mind  that  is  feen  in  graceful 
eafy  action,  and  in  the  enfeebicment  of  our 
paiiions,  gives  us  an  idea  of  the  golden  age, 
when  human  nature,  adorned  with  inno- 
cence, and  the  peace  that  attends  it,  repofed 
in  the  arms  of  content.  This  ferene  pro- 
fpect of  human  nature  always  pleafes  us ; 
and  although  the  content,  whofe  image  it 
is,  be  viiionary  in  this  world,  and  we  can- 
not arrive  at  it,  yet  it  is  the  point  in  ima- 
gination we  have  finally  in  view,  in  all  the 
pursuits  of  life,  and  the  native  home  for 
which  we  do  not  ceafe  to  languifh. 

The  fentiment  of  tranquility  particular- 
ly beautifies  pafioral  poetry.  The  images 
of  calm  and  happy  quiet  that  appear  in 
(haded  groves,  in  iilent  vales,  and  {lumbers 
by  falling  ftreams,  invite  the  poet  to  in- 
dulge his  genius  in  rural  fcenes.  The 
mafic  that  lulls  and  compofes  the  mind,  at 
the  fame  time  enchants  it.  The  hue  of 
this  beauteous  eafe,  cafe  over  the  human 
actions  and  emotions,  forms  a  very  delight- 
ful part  of  elegance,  and  gives  the  other 
conftituent  parts  an  appearance  of  nature 
and  truth  :  for  in  a  tranquil  date  of  mind, 
undiflurbed  by  wants  or  fears,  the  views  of 
men  are  generous  and  elevated.  From  the 
combination  of  thefe  fine  parts,  grandeur 
of  foul,  complacency,  and  eafe,  arife  the 
ench.  ntments  of  elegance  ;  but  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  two  laft  are  oftener  found 
together,  and  then  they  form  Poiiten  fs. 
When  we  take  a  view  ox  t;ie  ieparate 
L  1  parts 


5i4 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


farts  that  conftitute  perfcr.al  elegance,  we 
immediately  know  the  feeds  that  are  proper 
to  be  cherifhed  in  the  infant  mind,  to  bring 
forth  the  beauteous  production.  The  vir- 
tues mould  be  cultivated  early  with  facred 
care.  Good-nature,  modefty,  affability, 
and  a  kind  concern  for  others,  mould  be 
carefully  inculcated;  and  an  eafy  uncon- 
ftrained  dominion  acquired  by  habit  ever 
the  paffions.  A  mind  thus  finely  prepared, 
is  capable  of  the  higher!  luftre  of  elegance ; 
which  is  afterwards  attained  with  as  little 
labour  as  our  firit  language,  by  only  affo- 
ciating  with  graceful  people  of  different 
characters,  from  whom  an  habitual  grace- 
fulnefs  will  be  acquired,  that  will  bear  the 
natural  unaffected  ft  amp  of  our  own  minds ; 
in  lhort,  it  will  be  our  own  character  and 
genius  ftripped  of  its  native  rudenefs,  and 
enriched  with  beauty  and  attraction. 

Nature,  that  beitows  her  favours  with- 
out refpedt  of  pcr'ons,  often  denies  to  the 
great  the  capacity  of  diftinguifhed  ele- 
gance, and  flings  it  away  in  obfeure  vil- 
lages. You  fometimes  fee  it  at  a  country 
fair  fpread  an  amiablenefs  over  a  fun-burnt 
girl,  like  the  light  of  the  moon  through  a 
milt ;  but  fuch,  madam,  is  the  neceffity  of 
habitual  elegance  acquired  by  education 
and  converfe,  that  if  even  you  were  born 
in  that  low  clafs,  you  could  be  no  more 
than  the  faireit  damfel  at  the  may-pole, 
and  the  object  of  the  hope  and  jealoufy  of 
a  few  ruitics. 

People  are  rendered  totally  incapable  of 
elegance  by  the  want  of  good-nature,  and 
the  other  gentle  paffions ;  by  the  want  of 
modefty  and  feniibility ;  and  by  a  want  cf 
that  noble  pride,  which  arifes  from  a  con- 
fcioufnefs  of  lofty  and  generous  fentiments. 
The  abfence  of  thefe  native  charms  is  ge- 
nerally fupplied  by  abrifk  ftupidity,  an  im- 
pudence unconfeious  of  defect,  a  caft  of 
malice,  and  an  uncommon  tendency  to  ri- 
dicule; as  if  nature  had  given  thefc  her 
ftep-children  an  initinctive  intelligence, 
that  they  can  rife  out  of  contempt  only  by 
the  depreflion  of  others.  For  the  lame 
rcafon  it  is,  that  perfons  of  true  and  finifh- 
ed  tafle  feldom  affect  ridicule,  becaufe  they 
are  cenfeious  of  thtir  own  fuperior  merit. 
Pride  is  thecaufe  of  ridicule  in  the  one,  as 
it  is  of  candour  in  the  other ;  but  the  ef- 
fects differ  as  the  ftudied  parade  of  pover- 
ty  does  from  the  negligent  grandeur  of 
riches.  You  will  fee  nothing  more  com- 
mon in  the  world,  than  for  people,  who  by 
ftu]  idity  and  infenfibility  are  incapable  of 
the  graces,  to    commence    wits   on  the 


flrength  of  the  petite  talents  of  mimicry 
and  the  brilk  tartnefs  that  ill-nature  never 
fails  to  fupply. 

From  what  I  have  faid  it  appears,  that 
a  fenfe  of  elegance  is  a  fenfe  of  dignity,  of 
virtue,  and  innocence,  united.  Is  it  not 
natural  then  to  expect:,  that  in  the  courfe 
of  a  liberal  education,  men  fhould  cultivate 
tli  ■  generous  qualities  they  approve  and  af- 
fume  ?  But  initead  of  them,  men  only  aim 
at  the  appearances,  which  require  no  felf- 
denial ;  and  thus,  without  acquiring  the 
virtues,  they  facrifice  their  honelty  and  fin- 
cerity :  whence  it  comes  to  pais,  that  there 
is  often  the  lead  virtue,  where  there  is  the 
greatelt  appearance  of  it ;  and  that  the  po- 
lifhed  part  of  mankind  only  arrive  at  the 
fubtile  corruption,  of  uniting  vice  with  the 
drefs  and  complexion  of  virtue. 

I  have  dwelt  on  perfonal  elegance,  be- 
caufe the  ideas  and  principles  in  this  part 
of  good  tafte  are  more  familiar  to  you. 
We  may  then  take  them  for  a  foundation, 
in  our  future  obfervations,  fince  the  fame 
principles  of  ealy  grace  and  fimple  gran- 
deur, will  animate  our  ideas  with  an  un- 
ftudied  propriety,  and  enlighten  our  judg- 
ments in  beauty,  in  literature,  in  fculpture, 
painting,  and  the  other  departments  of  fine 
taite.  UJher. 

§    ZI9.      On   Perfonal  Beauty. 

I  fhall  but  flightly  touch  on  our  tafte  of 
perfonal  beauty,  becaufe  it  requires  no  di- 
rections to  be  known.  To  atk  what  is 
beauty,  fays  a  philofopher,  is  the  qucltion 
of  a  blind  man.  I  ihall  therefore  only 
make  a  few  reflections  on  this  head,  that 
lie  out  of  the  common  track.  But,  prior 
to  what  I  have  to  fay,  it  is  neceflary  to 
make  fome  obfervations  on  phyfiognomy. 

There  is  an  obvious  relation  between  the 
mind  and  the  turn  of  the  features,  fo  well 
known  by  infiinct,  that  every  one  is  more 
or  lei's  expert  at  reading  the  countenance. 
We  look  as  well  asfpeak  our  minds  ;  and 
amongit  people  of  little  experience,  the 
look  is  generally  moil  iincere.  This  is  fo 
well  ur.dcrftood,  that  it  is  become  a  part  of 
education  to  learn  to  difguife  the  counte- 
nance, which  yet  requires  a  habit  from 
early  youth,  and  the  continual  practice  of 
hypocrify,  to  deceive  an  intelligent  eye. 
The  natural  virtuesand  vicesnotonly  have 
their  places  in  the  afpect,  even  acquired 
habits  that  much  affect  the  mind  fettle  there; 
contemplation,  in  length  of  time,  gives 
*a  caft  of  thought  on  the  countenance. 

Now  to  come  back  to  our  fubject.   The 
iuTcmblage 


BOOK   II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.        515 


aflemblage  called  beauty,  is  the  image  of 
noble  fentiments  and  amiable  paffions  in 
the  face  ;  but  fo  blended  and  confufed  that 
we  are  not  able  to  feparate  and  diffinguilh 
them.  The  mind  has  a  fenfibility,  and 
clear  knowledge,  in  many  inftances  without 
reflection,  or  even  the  power  of  reafoning 
upon  its  own  perceptions.  We  can  no 
more  account  for  the  relation  between  the 
paffions  of  the  mind  and  a  fet  of  features, 
than  we  can  account  for  the  relation  be- 
tween the  founds  of  mufic  and  the  paffions ; 
the  eye  is  judge  of  the  one  without  princi- 
ples or  rules,  as  the  ear  is  of  the  other. 
It  is  impoffible  you  mould  not  take  notice 
of  the  remarkable  difference  of  beauty  in 
the  fame  face,  in  a  good  and  in  ill  humour  : 
and  if  the  gentle  paffions,  in  an  indifferent 
face,  do  not  change  it  to  perfect  beauty,  it 
is  becaufe  nature  did  not  originally  model 
the  features  to  the  Jutland  familiar  expref- 
iion  of  thofe  paffions,  and  the  genuine  ex- 
prelfions  of  nature  can  never  be  wholly  ob- 
literated. But  it  is  neceffary  to  observe, 
that  the  engaging  import  that  forms  beau- 
ty, is  often  the  fymbol  of  paffions  that,  al- 
though pleafing,  are  dangerous  to  virtue ; 
and  that  a  firmnefs  of  mind,  whofe  call  of 
feature  is  much,  lefs  pleafing,  is  more  fa- 
vourable to  virtue.  Prom  the  affinity  be- 
tween beauty  and  the  paffions  it  mull  fol- 
low, that  beauty  is  relative,  that  is,  a  fenfe 
of  human  beauty  is  confined  to  our  fpecies ; 
and  alio,  as  far  as  we  have  power  over  the 
paffions,  we  are  able  to  improve  the  face, 
and  tranfplant  charms  into  it ;  both  of 
which  bbfervations  have  been  often  made. 
From  the  various  principles  of  beauty,  and 
tne  agreeable  combinations,  of  whicii  the 
face  gives  intelligence,  fprings  that  variety 
found  in  the  ftyle  of  beauty. 

Complexion  is  a  kind  of  beauty  that  is 
only  pleafing  by  affociation.  The  brown, 
the  fair,  the  black,  are  not  any  of  them  ori- 
ginal beauty  ;  but  when  the  complexion  is 
united  in  one  picture  on  the  imagination, 
with  the  affemblage  that  forms  the  imao-e  of 
the  tender  paffions,  with  gentle  fmiles,  and 
kind  endearments,it  is  then  infeparable  from 
our  idea  of  beauty,  and  forms  a  part  of  it. 
From  the  fame  caufe,  a  national  fet  of  fea- 
tures appear  amiable  to  the  inhabitants,  who 
have  been  accuitomed  tc  fee  the  amiable  dif- 
pofitions  through  them.  This  obfervation 
refolves  a  difficulty,  that  often  occurs  in  the 
reflections  of  men  on  our  prefent  fubjedt. 
We  all  fpeak  of  beauty  as  if  it  were  ac- 
knowledged and  fettled  by  a  public  ftan- 
dard;  yet  we  find,  in  fact,  that  people,  in 
placing  their  affedions,  often  have  little  re- 


gard to  the  common  notions  of  beauty. 
The  truth  is,  complexion  and  form  being 
the  charms  that  are  vifibleand  confpicuous, 
the  common  ftandard  of  beauty  is  gene- 
rally reilrained  to  tiiofe  general  attractions  :  • 
but  fince  perianal  grace  and  the  engaging 
paffions,  although  they  cannot  be  delineated, 
have  a  mo.e  univerial  and  uniform  power, 
it  is  no  wonder  people,  in  reiigning  their 
hearts,  fo  often  contradict  the  common  re- 
ceived ftandard.  Accordingly,  as  the  en- 
gaging paffions  and  the  addrefs  are  difco- 
vered  in  converfation,  the  tender  attach- 
ments of  people  are  generally  fixed  by  an 
intercourfe  of  fentiment,  and  feldom  by  a 
tranfient  view,  excep-.  in  romances  and  no- 
vels. It  is  further  to  be  obferved,  that 
when  once  the  affections  are  fixed,  a  new 
face  with  a  higher  degree  of  beauty  will 
not  always  have  a  higher  degree  of  power 
to  remove  them,  becaufe  our  affections  arife 
from  a  fource  within  ourfelves,  as  well  as 
from  external  beauty  ;  and  when  the  ten- 
der paffion  is  attached  by  a  particular  ob- 
ject, the  imagination  furrounds  that  object 
with  a  thoufand  ideal  embellishments  that 
exift  only  in  the  mind  of  the  lover. 

The  hiftory  of  the  fhort  life  of  beauty 
may  be  collected  from  what  I  have  faid.  In 
youth  that  borders  on  infancy,  the  paffions 
are  in  a  ftate  of  vegetation,  they  only  ap- 
pear in  full  bloom  in  maturity  ;  for  which 
reafon  the  beauty  of  youth  is  no  more  than 
the  dawn  and  promife  of  future  beauty. 
The  features,  as  we  grow  ino  years,  gra- 
dually form  along  with  the  mind  :  different 
fenfibilities  gather  into  the  countenance, 
and  become  beauty  there,  as  colours  mount 
in  a  tulip,  and  enrich  it.  When  the  elo- 
quent force  and  delicacy  of  fentiment  has 
continued  fome  little  time,  age  begins  to 
ftifFen  the  features,  and  deftroy  the  engag- 
ing variety  and  vivacity  of  the  counte- 
nance, the  eye  gradually  lofes  its  fire,  and 
is  no  longer  the  mirror  of  the  agreeable 
paffions.  Finally,  old  age  furrows  me  face 
with  wrinkles,  as  a  barbarous  conqueror 
overturns  a  city  from  the  foundation,  and 
traniltory   beauty  is  extinguished. 

Beauty  and  elegance  are  nearly  related, 
their  difference  confilts  in  this,  that  ele- 
gance is  the  image  of  the  mind  difpiayed 
in  motion  and  deportment ;  beauty  is  an 
image  of  the  mind  in  the  countenance  and 
form  j  consequently  beauty  is  of  a  more 
fixed  nature,  and  owes  lefs-  to  art  and 
habit. 

When  I  fpeak  of  beauty,  it  is  not  wholly 
out  of  my  way  to  make  a  lingular  obfer na- 
tion on  the  tender  pafficn  in  our  fpecies. 
Lis  Innocent 


$i6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN*  PROSE. 


Innocent  and  virtuous  love  carts  a  beaute- 
ous hue  over  human  nature  ;  it  ouiekens 
and  ftrengthens  our  admiration  ofvi.tue, 
and  our  deteftatien  of  vice ;  it  opens  cur 
eyes  to  our  imperfections,  and  gives  us  a 
pride  in  excelling;  it  infpires  us  with  heroic 
fentiments,  generofity,  a  contempt  cf  life, 
a  boldnefs  for  enterprize,  chaitity,  and 
purity  of  fentiment.  It  takes  a  fimilkude 
to  devotion,  and  almoit  deifies  the  object 
of  paffion.  People  whofe  breafts  are  dulled 
with  vice,  or  itupified  by  nature,  call  this 
paffion  romantic  love  ;  but  when  it  was  the 
mode.it  was  the  diagnoftic  of  a  virtuous  age. 
Theft  fymptoms  of  heroifm  fpring  from 
an  obfeure  principle,  that  in  a  noble  mind 
unites  itfelf  with  every  paflionate  view  in 
lire;  this  namelefs  principle  is  diflinguifh- 
ed  by  endowing  people  with  extraordinary 
powers  and  enthufiafm  in  the  puriuit  of 
their  favourite  wifhes,  and  by  difguit  and 
difappointment  when  we  arrive  at  the  point 
where  our  withes  feem  to  be  compleated. 
It  has  made  great  conquerors  del  pile  dan- 
gers and  death  in  their  way  to  victory,  and 
ligh  afterwards  when  they  had  no  m<  ire  to 
conquer.  Ujber, 

§   220.    On  Coircerfai'tcn. 

From  external  beauty  we  come  to 
the  charms  of  converfation  and  writing. 
Words,  by  reprefenting  ideas,  become 
the  picture  of  our  thoughts,  and  commu- 
nicate them  with  the  greater!  fidelity. 
But  they  are  not  only  the  figns  of  ftniible 
ideas,  they  exhibit  the  very  image  and 
diiiinguiihing  likenefs  of  the  mind  that 
ufes  tlnm. 

Converfation  decs  not  require  the  fame 
merit  to  pleafe  that  writing  does.  The 
human  foul  is  endued  with  a  kind  cf  na- 
tural expreflion,  which  it  does  not  acquire. 
The  expreflion  I  fpeak  of  conhils  in  the 
fignificant  modulations  and  tones  of  voice, 
accompanied,  in  unaffected  people,  by  a 
propriety  of  gefture.  This  native  lan- 
g-iage  was  not  intended  by  nature  to  re- 
p  •.lent  the  traniitory  ideas  that  ccrae  by 
tl  -  1  nfes  to  the  imagination,  but  thepuf- 
iions  of  the  mind  and  its  emotions  only ; 
therefore  modulation  and  gefture  give  life 
and  paffion  to  words;  their  mighty  force 
in  oratory  is  very  conipicuous  :  but  al- 
though their  effects  be  milder  in  converfa- 
tion, )  et  they  are  very  fenfible ;  they 
agitate  the  loul  by  a  variety  of  gentle 
lunations,  and  heip  to  form  that  fweet 
charm  that  makes  tne  molt  trifling  fubjects 
engaging.     This  Ime  expreiiion,  which  is 


not  learned,  is  not  fo  much  taken  notice  of 
as  it  deferves,  becaufe  it  is  much  fuper- 
feded  by  the  ufe  of  artificial  and  acquired 
language.  The  modern  fyftem  of  philo- 
fophy  has  alfo  concurred  to  ihut  it  out 
from  our  reflections. 

It  is  in  converfation  people  put  on  all 
their  graces,  and  appear  in  the  luftre  of 
good-breeding.  It  is  certain,  good- 
breeding,  that  lets  fo  great  a  diftinction 
between  individuals  of  the  fame  fpecies, 
creates  nothing  new  (I  mean  a  good  edu- 
cation) but  only  draws  forth  into  profpect, 
with  fkill  and  addrefs,  the  agreeable  dif- 
poiitions  and  fentime-nts  that  lay  latent  in 
the  mind.  You  may  call  good-breeding 
artificial  ;  but  it  is  like  the  art  of  a  gar- 
dener, under  whofe  hand  a  ban  en  tree 
puts  forth  its  own  bloom,  and  is  enriched 
with  its  fpecific  fruit.  It  is  fcarce  pofiible 
to  conceive  any  fcene  fo  truly  agreeable, 
as  an  affembly  of  people  elaborately  edu- 
cated, who  affume  a  character  fuperior  to 
ordinary  life,  and  fupport  it  with  eafeand 
familiarity. 

The  heart  is  won  in  convention  by  its 
own  paffions.  Its  pride,  its  grandeur,  its 
affections,  lay  it  open  to  the  enchantment 
of  an  infatuating  addrefs.  Flattery  is  a 
grofs  charm,  but  who  is  proof  ugainlt  a 
gentle  and  yielding  diipolition,  that  infers 
your  fuperiority  with  a  delicacy  fo  fine, 
that  you  cannot  fee  the  lines  of  which  it  is 
compofed  ?  Generofity,  difmtereitednefs, 
a  noble  love  of  truth  that  will  not  deceive, 
a  feeling  of  the  diitrefies  of  others,  and 
greatneis  cf  foul,  infpire  us  with  admira- 
tion along  with  love,  and  take  our  affec- 
tions as  it  were  by  itorro  ;  but,  above  all, 
we  are  feduced  by  a  view  of  the  tender 
and  affectionate  pafEons  ;  they  carry  a  foft 
infection,  and  the  heart  is  betrayed  to  them 
ly  its  own  forces.  If  we  are  to  judge  from 
fymptoms,  the  foul  that  engages  us  fo 
powerfully  by  its  reflected  glances,  is  an. 
object  of  infinite  beauty.  I  obferved  before, 
that  the  modulations  of  the  human  voice 
that  exprefs  the  foul,  move  us  powerfully; 
and  indeed  we  are  affected  by  the  natural 
emotions  of  the  mini  expreflbd  in  the 
fimpleit  language :  in  ihort,  the  happy  art, 
that,  in  converfation  and  the  intercourfe  of 
life,  lays  hold  upon  our  affections,  is  but 
a  juit  addrefs  to  the  engaging  pallions  in 
tne  human  breait.  But  this  f/ien  power, 
like  beauty,  is  the  gift  of  nature. 

Soft  plenfing  1'peeL'h  and  graceful  outward  fliow, 
^u  aits  can  gain  them,  but  the  geils  btftow. 

i^o.   k's   HoM. 

From 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.        517 

the  negligent  air  of  nature  ;  whereas,  wit 
in  converfation  is  an  enemy  to  reflection, 
and  glows  brighteft  when  the  imagination 


'  From  the  various  combinations  of  the 
feveral  endearing  paffions  and  lofty  fenti- 
ments,  arife  the  variety  of  pleaiing  cha- 
racters that  beautify  human  focirty. 

There  is  a  different  fource  o£pleafure 
in  converfation  from  what  I  have  fpoken 
of,  called  wit ;  which  diverts  the  world 
fo  much,  that  I  cannot  venture  to  omit  it, 
although  delicacy  and  a  refined  talte  hefi- 
tate  a  little,  and  will  not  allow  its  value  to 
be  equal  to  its  currency.  Wit  deals  largely 
in  allufion  and  whimfical  fimilitudes;  its 
countenance  is  always  double,  and  it 
unites  the  true  and  the  fantaftic  by  a  nice 
gradation  of  colouring  that  cannot  be 
perceived.  You  obferve  that  I  am  ouly 
{peaking  of  the  ready  wit  of  converfa- 
tion. 

Wit  is  preperly  called  in  to  fupport  a 
converfation  where  the  heart  or  affec- 
tions are  not  concerned ;  and  its  proper 
bufinefs  is  to  relieve  the  mind  from  foli- 
tary  inattention,  where  there  is  no  room 
to  move  it  by  paffion  ;  the  mind's  eye, 
when  difengaged,  is  diverted  by  being-  fixed 
upon  a  vapour,  that  dances,  as  it  were, 
on  the  furface  of  the  imagination,  and 
continually  alters  its  afpect:  the  motley 
image,  whofe  comic  fide  we  had  only 
time  to  furvey,  is  too  unimportant  to  be 
attentively  confidered,  and  luckily  vanifhes 
before  we  can  view  it  on  every  fide. 
Shallow  folks  expect  that  thofe  who  di- 
verted them  in  converfation,  and  made 
happy  ban  mots,  ought  to  write  well ;  and 
imagine  that  they  themfelves  were  made 
to  laugh  by  the  force  of  genius :  but  they 
are  generally  difappointed  when  they  fee 
the  admired  character  defcend  upon  paper. 
The  truth  is,  the  frivolous  turn  and  habit 
of  a  comic  companion,  is  almoft  diame- 
trically oppofite  to  true  genius,  whofe 
natural  exercife  is  deep  and  flow-paced 
reflection.  You  may  as  well  expect:  that 
a  man  fhould,  like  Casfar,  form  confiftent 
fchemes  for  fubduing  the  world,  and  em- 
ploy the  principal  part  of  his  time  in 
catching  flies.  I  have  often  heard  people 
exprefs  a  furprife,  that  Swift  and  Addiion, 
the  two  greateft  mailers  of  humour  of  the 
lafl  age,  were  eafily  put  out  of  countenance, 
as  if  pun,  mimicry,  or  repartee,  were  the 
offspring  of  genius. 

Whatever  fimilitude  may  be  between 
humour  in  writing,  and  humour  in  con- 
verfation, they  are  generally  found  to  re- 
quire different  talents.  Humour  in  writ- 
ing is  the  offspring  of  reflection,  and  is  by 
nice  touches  and  labour  brought  to  wear 


flings.off  the  thou .  ht  the  moment  it  arifes, 
in  irs  genuine  new-born  drefs.  Men  a 
little  elevated  by  liquor,  feem  to  have  a 
peculiar  facility  at  itriking  out  the  capri- 
ci  ms  and  fantaftic  images  that  raife  our 
mirth  ;  in  fact,  what  we  generally  adini  e 
in  fallies  of  wit,  is  the  nicety  with  which 
they  touch  upon  the  verge  of  folly,  indis- 
cretion, or  malice,  while  at  the  fame  time 
they  preferve  thought,  fubtlety,  and  good- 
hu  nour ;  and  what  we  laugh  at  is  the  mot- 
ley appearance,  whofe  whimfical  coufiit- 
ency  we  cannot  account  for. 

People  are  pleafed  at  wit  for  the  fame 
reafon  that  they  are  fond  of  diverfion  of 
any  kind,  not  for  the  worth  of  the  thing, 
but  hecaufe  the  mind  is  not  abie  to  bear 
an  intend  train  of  thinking  ;  and  yet  the 
ceaflng  of  thought  is  infufferable,  or  rather 
impoflible.  In  fuch  an  uneafy  dilemma, 
the  unileady  excurfions  of  wit  give  the 
mind  its  natural  action,  without  fatigue, 
and  relieve  it  delightfully,  by  employing 
the  imagination  without  requiring  any  re- 
flection. Thofe  who  have  an  eternal  ap- 
petite for  wit,  like  thofe  who  are  ever  in 
queft  of  diverfion,  betray  a  frivolous  mi- 
nute genius,  incapable  of  thinking. 

UJber. 

§  221.  On  Mufic. 
*  There  are  few  who  have  not  felt  the 
charms  of  ftiufic,  and  acknowledged  its 
exprefiions  to  be  intelligible  to  the  heart. 
It  is  a  language  of  delightful  fenfations, 
that  is  far  more  eloquent  than  words :  it 
breathes  to  the  ear  the  cleareft  intima- 
tions ;  but  how  it  was  learned,  to  what 
origin  we  owe  it,  or  what  is  the  meaning 
of  fome  of  its  molt  affecting  itrains,  we 
know  not. 

We  feel  plainly  that  mufic  touches  and 
gently  agitates  the  agreeable  and  fublime 
paffions ;  that  it  wraps  us  in  melancholy, 
and  elevates  in  joy ;  that  it  diflblves  and 
inflames;  that  it  melts  us  in  tendernefs, 
and  roufes  to  rage :  but  its  ftrokes  are  fo 
fine  "and  delicate,  that,  like  a  tragedy, 
even  the  paffions  that  are  wounded  pieafe  ; 
its  forrows  are  charming,  and  its  rage 
heroic  and  delightful ;  as  people  feel  the 
particular  paffions  with  different  degrees 
of  force,  their  tafte  of  harmony  muft  pro- 
portionably  vary.  Mufic  then  is  a  lan- 
guage directed  to  the  paffions;  but  the 
rudelt  paffions  put  on  a  new  nature,  and 
L  1  3  becosit 


5i« 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


become   pleating    in    harmony :    let    me 
add,  alfo,  that   it   awakens  fome  paffioris 
which  we  perceive  not  in  ordinary  life. 
Particularly  the  mo  ft  elevated  fenfation  of 
mufic  arifes  from  a  confiifed  perceptionof 
ideal  or   viiionary    beauty   and    rapture, 
which  is  Sufficiently  perceivable  to  fire  the 
jmagin   tion,  but  not  clear  enough  to  be- 
come an  object  of  knowledge.     This  Sha- 
dowy    beauty    the    mind   attempts,  with 
a  languishing  curiofity,  to  collect  into  a 
distinct    object   of  view   and  comprehen- 
sion;    but   it  finks  raid  efcapes,   like    the 
diffolving    ideas  of    a    delightful  dream, 
that  are  neither  within  the  reach  of  the 
memory,  nor   yet  totally  fled.     The  no- 
bleft   charm  of   mufic   then,  though    real 
and    affecting,    feems    too    confuted   and 
fluid  to  be  collected  into  a  diftinct    idea. 
Harmony   is   always    understood    by    the 
crowd,  and  almoft  always  mistaken  by  mu- 
ficians ;  who  are,  with  hardly  any  excep- 
tion, Servile  followers  of  the  tafte  of  mode, 
and  who  having  expended  much  time  and 
pains  on  the  mechanic  and  practical  part, 
lay  a    StreSs   on    the  dexterities    of  hand, 
which  yet  have  no  real  value,  but.  as  they 
ferve  to  produce  thofe  collections  of  found 
that  move  the  paffions.     The  prefent  Ita- 
lian tafte  for  mufic  is  exactly  correspon- 
dent  to   the   tafte  of  tragi-comedy,    that 
about  a  century  ago  gained  ground  upon 
the  Stage.     The  muSicians  of  the  prefent 
day  are   charmed  at  the  union  they  form 
between  the  grave  and  the  fantaStic,  and  at 
the  furprifing  tranfitiens  they  make  between 
extremes,  while  every  hearer  who  has  the 
leait  remainder  of  the  tafte  of  nature  left, 
is   mocked  at  the  ftrange  jargon.     If  the 
fame  tafte  Should  prevail  in  painting-,  we 
Tnuft  Soon  expect  to  fee  the  woman's  head, 
a   horfe's  body,  and  a    fifth's   tail,  united 
by    fort  gradations,  greatly     admired   at 
our  public  exhibitions.      MuSical  gentle- 
men ihould  take  particular  care  to  preferve 
in  its  full  vigour  and  fenfihility  their  ori- 
ginal  natural  tafte,  which  alone  feels  and 
diScovers  the  true  beauty  of  mufic. 

If  Milton,  ShakeSpeare,  or  Dryden, 
had  been  born  with  the  fame  genius  and 
infpifation  for  mufic  as  for  poetry,  and 
had  palled  through  the  practical  part 
without  corrupting  the  natural  tafte,  or 
blending  with  it  prepofiefiion  in  favour 
of  the  flights  and  dexterities  of  hand,  then 
would  their  notes  be  tuned  to  paffions  and 
to  Sentiments  as  natural  and  expreflive  as 
the  tones  and  modulations  of  the  voice  in 
diScomSe,     The    mufic  and   the    thought 


would   not    make   different    expreffions : 
the  hearers  would  only  think  impetuouSly  ; 
and  the  effect  of  the  mufic  would   be  to 
give  the  ideas  a  tumultuous  violence  and 
divine  impulSe  upon  the  mind.    Anv  per- 
fon  converfant  with  the  claffic  poets,  fees 
inftantly  that  the  pafiionate  power  of  mufic 
1  Speak  of,  was  perfectly   underftood  and 
practifed  by  the  ancients ;  that  the  mufes 
of  the  Greeks  always  Sung,  and  their  Song 
was  the  echo  of  the  Subject,  which  Swelled 
their  poetry  into  enthufiafm  and  rapture. 
An  enquiry  into  the  nature  and  merits  of 
the  ancient     mufic,   and     a     comparison 
thereof  with    modern   compoSition,  by   a 
perSon  of  poetic  genius  and  an  admirer  of 
harmony,  who  is  free  from  the  (hackles  of 
practice,  and  the  prejudices  of  the  mode, 
aided  by  the  countenance  of  a  few  men  of 
rank,  of  elevated    and  true  tafte,   would 
probably  lay  the  prefent  half-Gothic  mode 
of  mufic    in  ruins,   like   thofe    towers  of 
whofe  little  laboured   ornaments  it  is   an 
exact    picture,   and    reftore    the    Grecian 
tafte  of  pafiionate   harmony    once  more, 
to  the  delight  and   wonder  of  mankind. 
But  as  from  the  difpofition  of  thino-s,  and 
the   force  of  fafhion,  we  cannot  hope  in. 
our  time  to  refcue  the  facred  lyre,  and  See 
it  put  into  the  hands  of  men  of  genius,  I 
can  only  recall  you  to  your  own  natural 
feeling  of  harmony,  and  obServe  to  you, 
that  its  emotions  are  not  found  in  the  la- 
boured, fantaftic,  and  furprifing  compofi- 
tions  that  form  the  modern  Style  of  mufic  : 
but  you  meet   them    in  Some  few  pieces 
that   are  the   growth  of  wild   unvitiated 
tafte:  you  difcover  them  in  the  Swelling 
founds  that  wrap  us  in   imaginary  gran- 
deur; in  thoSe  plaintive  notes  that  make 
us  in  love  with  woe  ;    in  the  tones  that 
utter  the  lover's  Sighs,  and  fluctuate  the 
breaft  with  gentle   pain;    in    the    noble 
Strokes  that  coil  up  the  courage  and  fury 
of    the    foul,    or  that  lull  it  in  confuSed 
viiions  of  joy  :  in  Short,  in- thofe  affectino- 
Strains  that  find  their  way  to  the  inward 
recefles  of  the  heart : 


Untwifting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  foul  of  harmony. 


Mil  tont. 
\jjher. 


§222.  On  Sculpture  and  Painting. 
Sculpture  and  painting  have  their  Stan- 
dard in  nature  ;  and  their  principles  differ 
only  according  to  the  different  materials 
made  ufe  of  in  thefe  arts.  The  variety  of 
his  colours,  and  the  flat  furface  on  which 
the  painter  is  at  liberty  to  raife  his  magic 

objects, 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL. 


5'f 


objects,  give  him  a  vaft  fcope  for  orna- 
ment, variety,  harmony  of  parts,  and  op- 
pofition,  topleafe  the  mind,  and  divert  it 
from  too  ftrict  an  examination.  The  fculp- 
tor  being  fo  much  confined,  has  nothing  to 
move  with  but  beauty,  paffion,  and  force 
of  attitude  ;  fculpture  therefore  admits  of 
no  mediocrity  ;  its  works  are  either  into- 
lerable, or  very  fine.  In  Greece,  the 
finilhino-  of  a  linele  ftatue  was  often  the 
work  of  many  years. 

Sculpture  and  painting  take  their  merit 
from  the  fame  fpirit  that  poetry  does ;  a 
juitnefs,  a  grandeur,  and  force  of  expref- 
fion  :  and  their  principal  objects  are,  the 
fublime,  the  beautiful,  and  the  paffionate. 
Painting,  on  account  of  its  great  latitude, 
approaches  alfo  very  near  to  the  variety  of 
poetry ;  in  general  their  principles  vary 
only  according  to  the  different  materials 
of  each. 

Poetry  is  capable  of  taking  a  feries  of 
fucceffive  facts,  which  comprehend  a  whole 
action  from  the  beginning.  .It  puts  the 
paflions  in  motion  gradually,  and  winds 
them  up  by  fucceffive  efforts,  that  all 
conduce  to  the  intended  effect ;  the  mind 
could  never  be  agitated  fo  violently,  if  the 
itorm  had  not  come  on  by  degrees :  be- 
fides,  language,  by  its  capacity  of  repre- 
fenting  thoughts,  of  forming  the  commu- 
nication of  mind  with  mind,  and  defcrib- 
ing  emotions,  takes  in  lev eral  great,  awful, 
and  paffionate  ideas  that  colours  cannot 
reprefent;  but  the  painter  is  confined  to 
objecls  of  virion,  or  to  one  point  or  in- 
ftant  of  time:  and  is  not  to  bring  into 
view  any  events  which  did  not,  or  at  lead 
might  not  happen,  at  one  and  the  fame 
inftant.  The  chief  art  of  the  hiitory- 
painter,  is  to  hit  upon  a  point  of  time, 
that  unites  the  whole  fucceffive  action  in 
one  view,  and  ftrikes  out  the  emotion  you 
are  defirous  of  railing.  Some  painters 
have  had  the  power  of  preferving  the 
traces  of  a  receding  paffion,  or  the  mixed 
diturbed  emotions  of  the  mind,  without 
impairing  the  principal  paffion.  The 
Medea  of  Timomachus  was  a  miracle  of 
this  kind;,  her  wild  love,  her  rage,  and 
her  maternal  pity  were  all  poured  forth 
to  the  eye,  in  one  portrait.  From  this 
mixture  of  paffions,  which  is  in  nature, 
the  murderefs  appeared  dreadfully  affect- 
ing. 

It  is  very  neceffary,  for  the  union  of 
defign  in  painting,  that  one  principal 
figure  appear  eminently  in  view,  and  that 
all  the  reft   be  fuborainate  to  it ;  that  is, 


the  paffion  or  attention  of  that  princioal 
object  lhould  give  a  cart  to  the  wuole 
piece  :  for  inftance,  if  it  be  a  wrefiler,  or 
a  courier  in  the  race,  the  whole  fcene 
mould  not  only  be  active,  but  the  at- 
tentions and  paffions  of  the  reft  of  the 
figures  mould  all  be  directed  by  that 
object.  If  it  be  a  fifherman  over  the 
ftrcam,  the  whole  fcene  muft  be  filent  and 
meditative;  if  ruins,  a  bridge,  or  waterfall, 
even  the  living  perfons  muft  be  fubordi- 
nate,  and  the  traveller  fhould  gaze  and 
look  back  with  wonder.  This  ftrict  union 
and  concord  is  rather  more  neceffary  in 
painting  than  in  poetry:  the  reafon  is, 
painting  is  almoft  palpably  a  deception, 
and  requires  the  utmoft  fkiil  in  felecting  a 
vicinity  of  probable  ideas,  to  give  it  the 
air  of  reality  and  nature.  For  this  reafon 
alfo  nothing  ilrange,  wonderful,  or  fhock- 
ing  to  credulity,  ought  to  be  admitted  in 
paintings  that  are  defigned  after  real  life. 

The  principal  art  of  the  landfcape- 
painter  lies  in  (electing  thofe  objects  of 
view  that  are  beautiful  or  great,  provided 
there  be  a  propriety  and  a  juft  neighbour- 
hood preferved  in  the  affemblage,  along 
with  a  carelefs  diftribution  that  folicits 
your  eye  to  the  principal  object  where  it 
refts ;  in  giving  fuch  a  glance  or  conluficd 
view  of  thofe  that  retire  out  of  profpect, 
as  to-  raife  curioiity,  and  create  in  the 
imagination  affecting  ideas  that  do  not  ap- 
pear ;  and  in  beftowing  as  much  life  and 
action  as  pollible,  without  overcharging  the 
piece.  A  landicape  is  enlivened  by  put- 
ting the  animated  figures  into  action ;  by 
Hinging  over  it  the  chearful  afpect  which 
the  fun  beftows,  either  by  a  proper  difpo- 
iition  of  lhade,  or  by  the  appearances  that 
beautify  his  rifing  or  fetting;  and  by  a 
judicious  profpect  of  water,  which  always 
conveys  the  ideas  of  motion:  a  few  dime- 
veiled  clouds  have  the  lame  effect,  but 
with  fomewhat  lefs  vivacity. 

The  excellence  of  portrait-painting  and 
fculpture  f  prings  from  tne  lame  principles 
that  affect  us  in  life;  they  are  northe  per- 
fons who  perform  at  a  comecy  or  tragedy 
we  go  to  lee  with  lomucn  pleaiurej  but  tne 
paffions  and  emotions  they  display:  in  like 
manner,  the  value  of  itatues  ana  pictures 
rifes  in  proportion  to  the  ltiengtii  and 
clearnefs  of  the  expreffion  of  the  paffions, 
and  to  the  peculiar  ana  dininguilhing  air 
of  character.  Great  painters  alihoft  al- 
ways chufe  a  fine  face  to  exhibit  the  paf- 
fions in.  If  you  recollect  what  I  laid  on 
beaut), you  will  eafily  conceive  the  reafon 
it  1   4  why 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


520 

why  the  agreeable  paffions  are  molt  lively 
in  a  beautiful  face ;  beauty  is  the  natural 
vehicle  of  the  agreeable  paflions.  For  the 
fame  reafon  the  tempeltuous  pafficns  ap- 
pear ftroi  geit  in  a  fine  face  ;  it  fuffers  the 
moil  violent  derargement  by  them.  To 
which  we  may  add,  upon  the  fame  princi- 
ple, that  dignity  or  courage  cannot  be  mix- 
ed in  a  very  ill-iavoured  countenance  ;  and 
that  the  painter  after  exerting  his  whole 
fkil!,  finds  in  their  (lead  pride  and  terror. 
Theie  obiervatiens,  which  have  been  often 
made,  ferve  to  illuftrate  our  thoughts  on 
beauty.  Belides  the  ftricl  propriety  of  na- 
ture, fculpture  and  figure-painting  is  a 
kind  of  defcription,  which,  like  poetry,  is 
under  the  direction  of  genius ;  that,  while 
it  preferves  nature,  fometimes,  in  a  fine 
flight  of  fancy,  throws  an  ideal  fplendor 
over  the  figures  that  never  exifled  in  real 
life.  Such  is  the  fublime  and  celeftial  cha- 
racter that  breathes  over  the  Apollo  Be  l- 
vedere,  and  the  inexprefilble  beauties  that 
dwell  upon  the  Venus  of  Medici,  and  feeni 
to  fhed  an  illumination  around  her.  This 
fuperku  beauty  muft  be  varied  with  pro- 
priety, as  well  as  the  paflions ;  the  elegance 
of  Juno,  muft  be  decent,  lofty,  and  elat- 
ed; of  Minerva,  mafculine,  confident,  and 
chafle;  and  of  Venus  winning,  foft,  and 
confeious  of  pleaiing.  Thefe  filler  arts, 
painting  and  flatuary,  as  well  as  poetry, 
put  it  out  of  all  doubt,  that  the  imagination 
carries  the  ideas  of  the  beautiful  and  the 
fublime  far  beyond  viiible  nature ;  fince 
r.o  mortal  ever  poflrfTcd  the  bla^e  of  di- 
vine charms  that  furrounds  the  Apollo 
Belvedere,  or  the  Venus  of  Medici,  I  have 
juft  mentioned. 

A  variety  and  fiufh  of  colouring  is  ge- 
nerally the  refuge  of  painters,  who  are  not 
able  to  animate  their  defigns.  We  may 
call  a  luflre  of  colouring,  the  rant  and  fufi- 
tian  of  painting,  under  which  are  hid  the 
want  of  ftrength  and;  nature.  None  but  a 
painter  of  real  genius  can  be  fevere  and 
modefi  in  his  colouring,  and  pleafe  at  the 
fame  time.  It  muft  be  obferved,  that  the 
glow  and  variety  of  colon;  3 give  a  pleafure 
of  a  very  different  kind  fiom  the  object  of 
painting.  When  foreign  ornaments,  gild- 
ing, and  carving  come  to  be  confidered  as 
r.eceflary  to  the  beauty  of  pictures,  they  are 
a  plain  diagnollic  of  a  decay  in  tafte  and 
power.  JJJk  er. 

§   223.     On  ArchiteEiure. 
A  free  and  eafy  proportion,  united  with 
fimplicity,  feem  to  continue  the  elegance 


of  form  in  building.  A  fubordination  of 
parts  to  one  evident  defign  forms  fimpli- 
citv;  when  the  members  thus  evidently 
related  are  great,  the  union  is  always  very 
great.  In  the  proportions  of  a  noble  edi- 
fice, you  fee  the  image  of  a  creating  mind 
refult  from  the  whole.  The  evident  uni- 
formity of  the  rotunda,  and  its  unparal- 
leled fimplicity,  are  probably  the  ft  urces 
of  its  fuperior  beauty.  When  we  lookup 
at  a  vaulted  roof,  that  feems  to  reft  upon 
our  horizon,  we  are  aftoniihed  at  the  mag- 
nificence, more  than  at  the  vifible  extent. 

When  I  am  taking  a  review  of  the  ob- 
jects of  beauty  and  grandeur,  can  I  pafs 
by  unnoticed  the  fource  of  colours  and  vi- 
fible beautv  ?  When  the  light  is  withdrawn 
all  nature  retires  from  view,  vifible  bodies 
are  annihilated,  and  the  foul  mourns  the 
univerfal  abfence  in  foiitude?  when  it  re- 
turns, it  brings  along  with  it  the  creation, 
andreftores  joy  as  well  as  beautv. 

Hid. 

§■  2  2.f.    Thoughts  o;i  Colours   and  Lights. 

H  J  fhould  diftinguiih  the  perceptions  of 
the  fenfes  from  each  other,  according  to 
the  ftrength  of  the  traces  left  on  the  ima- 
gination, I  fhould  call  thofe  of  hearing, 
feeling,  fmelling,  and  tailing,  notions,  which 
imprefs  the  memory  but  weakly  ;  while 
thole  of  colours  I  fhould  call  ideas,  to  de- 
note their  ftrength  and  peculiar  cleamefs 
upon  the  imagination.  This  diftin&ion 
deferves  particular  notice.  The  author  of 
nature  has  drawn  an  impenetrable  veil  over 
the  fixed  material  world  that  furrounds  us; 
folid  matter  refufes  our  acquaintance,  and 
will  be  known  to  us  only  by  refilling  the 
touch  ;  but  how  obfeure  are  the  informa- 
tions of  feeling?  light  comes  like  an  inti- 
mate acquaintance  to  relieve  us :  it  intro- 
duces all  nature  to  us,  the  fields,  the  trees, 
the  flowers,  the  cryftal  ftreams,  and  azure 
iky.  But  all  this  beauteous  diverfity  is  no 
more  than  an  agreeable  enchantment  form- 
ed by  the  light  that  fpreads  itfelf  to  view; 
the  fixed  parts  of  nature  are  eternally  en- 
tombed beneath  the  light,  and  we  fee  no- 
thing in  facl  but  a  creation  of  colours. 
Schoolmen,  wi}h their  ufual  arrogance,  will 
tell  you  their  ideas  are  tranferipts  of  na- 
ture, and  aflure  you  that  the  veracity  of 
God  requires  they  fhould  be  fo,  becaufe  we 
cannot  well  avoid  thinking  fo  :  but  nothing 
is  an  object  of  virion  but  light,  the  picbure 
we  lee  is  not  annexed  to  the  earth,  but 
comes  with  angelic  celerity  to  meet  our 
eyes.     That  which  is  called  body  or  fub- 

ftance, 


BOOK    II.     CLASSICAL     AMD    HISTORICAL. 


5*t 


ftance,  that  reflects  the  various  colours  of 
the  light,  and  lies  hid  beneath  the  appear- 
ance, is  wrapt  in  impenetrable  obfcurity  ; 
it  is  fatally  fhut  out  from  our  eyes  and 
imagination,  and  only  caufes  in  us  the  ideas 
of  feeling,  tailing,  or  fmfcliing,  which  yet 
are  not  retemblances  of  any  part  of  matter. 
I  do  not  know  if  I  appear  too  itrong  when 
I  call  colours  the  expreffion  of  the  Divinity. 
Light  {hikes  with  fuch  vivacity. and  force, 
that  we  can  hardly  call  it  inanimate  or  un- 
intelligent. XJJher. 

§    225.   On  Uniformity. 

Shall  we  admit  uniformity  into  our  lift 
of  beauty,  or  firft  examine  its  real  merits  ? 
"When  we  look  into  the  works  of  nature,  we 
cannot  avoid  obferving  that  uniformity  is 
but  the  beauty  of  minute  objects.  The 
oppofite  fides  of  a  leaf  divided  in  the  mid- 
dle, and  the  leaves  of  the  fame  ipech  s  of 
vegetables,  retain  a  ftriking  uniformity  ; 
but  the  branch,  the  tree,  and  foreft,  deiert 
this  fimilarity,  and  take  a  noble  irregula- 
rity with  vait  advantage.  Cut  a  tree  into 
a  regular  form,  and  you  change  its  lofcy 
port  for  a  minute  prettinefs.  What  forms 
the  beauty  of  country  fcenes,  but  the  want 
of  uniformity  ?  No  two  hills,  vales,  rivers, 
or  profpe&s,  are  alike  ;  and  you  are  charm- 
ed by  the  variety.  Let  us  now  fuppofe  a 
country  made  up  of  the  moil  beautiful  hills 
anddefcents  imaginable,  by t  every  hill  and 
every  vale  alike,  and  at  an  equal  diftance  ; 
they  foon  tire  you,  and  you  find  the  delight 
vanifhes  with  the  novelty. 

There  are,  I  own,  certain  aftemblages 
that  form  a  powerful  beauty  by  their  union, 
of  which  a  fine  fice  is  ineonteflible  evi- 
dence. But  the  charm  does  not  feern  by 
any  means  to  refide  in  the  uniformity, 
which  in  the  human  countenance  is  not 
very  exacL  The  human  countenance  may 
be  planned  out  much  more  regularly,  but 
I  fancy  without  adding  to  the  beauty,  for 
which  we  mufl  feek  another  fource.  In 
truth,  the  fineft  eye  in  the  world  without 
meaning,  and  the  fined  mouth  without  a 
fmile,  are  irfipid.  An  agreeable  counte- 
nance includes  in  the  idea  thereof  an  agree- 
able and  gentle  difpofition,  How  the  coun- 
tenance, and  an  arrangement  of  colours 
and  features,  can  exprefs  the  idea  of  an 
im.een  mind,  we  know  not ;  but  fo  the  fact 
is,  and  to  this  fine  intelligent  picture,  whe- 
ther it  be  faife  or  true,  certain  I  am,  that 
the  beauty  of  the  human  countenance  is 
owing,  more  than  to  uniformity.  Shall  we 
|hen  fay3  that  the  great  ft  uniformity,  along 


with  the  greateft  variety,  forms  beauty  ? 
But  this  is  a  repetition  of  words  without 
difiinft  ideas,  and  explicates  a  well-known 
efiect  by  an  obfeure  caufe.  Uniformity,  as 
far  as  it  extends,  excludes  variety ;  and 
variety,  as  far  as  it  reaches,  excludes  uni- 
formity. Variety  is  by  far  more  pleafing 
than  uniformity,  but  it  does  not  conftitute 
beauty ;  for  it  is  impofiible  that  can  be 
called  beauty,  which,  when  well  known, 
ceafes  to  pleafe :  whereas  a  fine  piece  of 
mafic  (hall  charm  after  being  heard  a  hun- 
dred times;  and  a  lovely  countenance  makes 
a  flronger  impreffion  on  the  mind  by  being 
often  feen,  becaufe  there  beauty  is  real.  I 
think  we  may,  upon  the  whole,  conclude, 
that  if  uniformity  be  a  beauty,  it  is  but  the 
beauty  of  minute  objects;  and  that  it 
pleafes  only  by  the  vifible  defign,  and  th 
evident  footfteps  of  intelligence  it  difco 


vers. 


co- 
Ibid. 


%    226.     On  Novelty. 

I  muft  fay  fomething  of  the  evanefcent 
charms  of  novelty.  When  our  curiofitvis 
excited  at  the  opening  of  new  fcenes,  our 
ideas  are  affecting  and  beyond  life,  and  we 
fee  objects  in  a  brighter  hue  than  they  af- 
ter appear  in.  For  when  curiofity  is  fated, 
the  objects  grow  dull,  and  cur  ideas  fall  to 
their  diminutive  natural  fize.  What  I  have 
faid  may  account  for  the  raptured  profpeel 
of  our  youth  we  fee  backward;  'novelty 
always  recommends,  becaufe  expectations 
of  the  unknown  are  ever  high;  and  in  youth 
we  have  an  eternal  novelty  ;  unexperienced 
credulous  youth  gilds  our  young  ideas,  and 
ever  meets  a  freih  luftre  that  is  not  yet  al- 
layed by  doubts.  h\  age,  experience  cor- 
rects our  hopes,  and  the  imagination  ccols; 
for  this  reafon,  vvifdom  and  high  pleafure 
do  not  refide  together. 

1  have  obferved  through  this  difcourfe, 
that  the  delight  we  receive  from  the  vifible 
objects  of  nature,  or  from  the  fine  arts,  may 
be  divided  into  the  conceptions  ofthefub* 
lime,  and  conceptions  of  the  beautiful.  Of 
the  origin  of  the  fublime  1  fpoke  hypotht- 
tically,  and  with  diffidence;  all  we  certain- 
ly know  on  this  head  is,  that  the  fen- 
fations  of  the  fublime  we  receive  from  ex» 
ternal  objects,  are  attended  with  obfeure 
ideas  of  power  and  immenfity;  the  origin 
of  our  fenfations  of  beauty  are  ftill  moie 
unintelligible ;  however,  I  think  there  is 
fome  foundation  for  claifing  the  objects  of 
beauty  under  different  heads,  by  a  corre- 
fpondence  or  fimilarity,  that  may  be  ob- 
ferved between  feveral  particulars.    Ibid. 

h  227. 


52* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


§  227.  On  the  Origin  of  our  general  Ideas 
of  Beauty. 

A  full  and  confident  evidence  of  defign, 
efpecially  if  the  defign  be  attended  with  an 
important  effect,  giv.es  the  idea  of  beauty: 
thus  a  fhip  under  fail,  a  greyhound,  a  wcll- 
fhaped  horfe,  are  beautiful,  becaufe  they 
difplay  with  eafe  a  great  defign.  Birds  and 
beails  of  prey,  completely  armed  for  de- 
ftru&ion,  are  for  the  fame  reafon  beautiful, 
although  objects  of  terror. 

Where  different  defign.-;  at  a  fingle  view, 
appear  to  concur  to  one  effect,  the  beauty 
accumulates ;  as  in  the  Grecian  architec- 
ture :  where  different  defigns,  leading  to 
different  effects,  unite  in  the  fame  whole, 
they  caufe  confufion,  and  diminifh  the  idea 
of  beauty,  as  in  the  Gothic  buildings. 
Upon  the  fame  principle,  confunon  and 
ciforder  are  ugly  or  frightful ;  the  figures 
made  by  ipilled  liquors  are  always  ugly. 
Regular  figures  are  handfome;  and  the 
circular  the  moll  regular,  is  the  moft  beau- 
tiful. This  regulation  holds  only  where 
the  fublime  does  not  enter ;  for  in  that  cafe 
the  irregularity  and  careleffnefs  add  to  the 
ideas  of  power,  and  raife  in  proportion  our 
admiration.  The  confufion  in  which  we  fee 
the  liars  fcattered  over  the  heavens,  and 
the  rude  arrangement  of  mountains,  add 
to  their  grandeur. 

A  mixture  of  the  fublime  aids  exceed- 
ingly the  idea  of  beauty,  and  heightens  the 
horrors  of  diforder  and  uglinefs.  Perfonal 
beauty  is  vaftly  railed  by  a  noble  air;  on 
the  contrary,  the  diiTolution  and  ruins  of  a 
large  city,  diilrefs  the  mind  proportionally  : 
but  while  we  mourn  over  great  ruins,  at 
the  deilruclion  of  our  fpecies,  we  are  alfo 
foothed  by  the  generous  commiferation  we 
feel  in  cur  own  breaffs,  and  therefore  ruins 
give  us  the  fame  kind  of  grateful  melan- 
choly we  feel  at  a  tragedy.  Of  all  the 
objects  of  difcord  and  confufion,  no  other 
is  lo  (hocking  as  the  human  foul  in  mad- 
nefs.  When  we  fee  the  principle  of  thought 
and  beauty  difordered,  the  horror  is  too 
high,  like  that  of  a  maffacre  committed 
before  our  eyes,  to  fuffer  the  mind  to  make 
any  reflex  act  on  the  god-like  traces  of 
pity  that  dillinguifn  our  fpecies  ;  and  we 
feel  no  fenfations  but  thofe  of  difmay  and 
terror. 

Regular  motion  and  life  fhewn  in  inani- 
mate objects,  give  us  alfo  the  fecret  plea- 
fure  we  call  beauty.  Thus  waves  'pent, 
and  fucceffively  breaking  upon  the  fhore, 
and  waving  fields  of  corn  and  crafsin  con- 


tinued motion,  are  ever  beautiful.  The 
beauty  of  colours  may  perhaps  be  arranged 
under  this  head  :  colours,  like  notes  of  mu- 
fic,  affect  the  paflions ;  red  inches  anger, 
black  to  melancholy  ;  white  brings  a  gen- 
tle joy  to  the  mind;  the  fofter  colours  re- 
fresh or  relax  it.  The  mixtures  and  gra- 
dations of  colours  have  an  effect  corre- 
fpondent  to  the  tranfitions  and  combine - 
tions  of  founds;  but  the  flrokes  are  too 
tranfie^t  and  feeble  to  become  the  objects 
of  expreffion. 

Beauty  alfo  refults  from  every  difpofiticn 
of  nature  that  plainly  difcovers  her  favour 
and  indulgence  to  us.  Thus  the  fpring 
feafon,  when  the  weather  becomes  mild, 
the  verdant  fields,  treej  loaded  with  fruit 
or  covered  with  fhade,  clear  fprings,  but 
particularly  the  human  face,  where  the  gen- 
tle paflions  are  delineated,  are  beyond  ex- 
prefhon beautiful.  On  the  fame  principle, 
inclement  wintry  fkies,  trees  flripped  of 
their  verdure,  defert  barren  lands,  and, 
above  all,  death,  are  frightful  and  ihock- 
ing.  I  mull,  however,  obierve,  that  1  do 
not  by  any  means  fuppofe,  that  the  fenti- 
ment  of  beauty  arifes  from  a  reflex  confe- 
derate acl  of  the  mind,  upon  the  obferva- 
tion  of  the  defigns  of  nature  or  of  art;  the 
fentiment  of  beauty  is  inilantaneous,  and 
depends  upon  no  prior  reflections.  All  I 
mean  is,  that  defign  and  beauty  are  in  an 
arbitrary  manner  united  together ;  fo  that 
where  we  fee  the  one,  whether  we  reflect 
on  it  or  no,  we  perceive  the  other.  I  mull 
further  add,  that  there  may  be  other  divi- 
fions  of  beauty  eafily  difcoverable,  which  I 
have  not  taken  notice  of. 

The  general  fenfe  of  beauty,  as  well  as 
of  grandeur,  feems  peculiar  to  man  in  the 
creation.  The  herd  in  common  with  him 
enjoy  the  gentle  breath  of  fpring;  they  lie 
down  to  repofe  on  the  flowery  bank,  and 
hear  the  peaceful  humming  of  the  bee; 
they  enjoy  the  green  fields  and  paflures : 
but  we  have  realon  to  think,  that  it  is  man 
only  who  fees  the  image  of  beauty  over 
the  happy  profpecl,  and  rejoices  at  it ;  that 
it  is  hid  from  the  brute  creation,  and  de- 
pends not  upon  fenfe,  but  on  the  intelligent 
mind. 

We  have  juft  taken  a  tranfient  view  of 
the  principal  departments  of  tafle  ;  let  us 
now,  madam,  make  a  few  general  reflec- 
tions upon  our  fubjecl.  UJhcr. 

§  22S.   Senfe,  Tajie,  and  Genius  dijibiguijhed. 

The  human  genius,  with  the  beil  aflift- 
ancc,  and  the  fineil  examples,  breaks  forth 

but 


BOOK    II.       CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.         523 


but  flowly  ;  and  the  greateft  men  have  but 
gradually  acquired  a  juft  tafte,  and  chatte 
fimple  conceptions  of  beauty.  At  an  im- 
mature age,  the  fenfe  of  beauty  is  weak 
and  confufed,  and  requires  an  exeefs  of 
colouring  to  catch  its  attention.  It  then 
prefers  extravagance  and  rant  to  juftnefs, 
a  grols  falfe  wit  to  the  engaging  light  of 
nature,  and  the  fliewy,  rich,  and  glaring, 
to  the  fine  and  amiable.  This  is  the  child- 
hood of  tafte ;  but  as  the  human  genius 
ftrengthens  and  grows  to  maturity,  if  it  be 
afiifted  by  a  happy  education,  the  fenfe  of 
univerfal  beauty  awakes  ;  it  begins  to  be 
dHgufted  with  the  falfe  and  miihapen  de- 
ceptions that  pleafed  before,  and  refts  with 
delight  on  elegant  fimplicity,on  pictures  of 
eafy  beauty  and  unaffected  grandeur. 

The  progrefs  of  the  fine  arts  in  the  hu- 
man mind  may  be  fixed  at  three  remark- 
able degrees,  from  their  foundation  to  the 
loftieft  height.  The  bafis  is  a  fenfe  of 
beauty  and  of  the  iublime,  the  fecond  flep 
we  may  call  tafte,  and  the  laft  genius. 

A  fenfe  of  the  beautiful  and  of  the  great 
is  univerfal,  which  appears  from  the  uni- 
formity thereof  in  the  moll  diftant  ages 
and  nations.  What  was  engaging  and 
fublime  in  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  are 
fo  at  this  day :  and,  as  I  obferved  before, 
there  is  not  the  leaft  necefiity  of  improve- 
ment or  icience,  to  difcover  the  charms  of 
a  graceful  8r  noble  deportment.  There 
is  a  fine,  but  an  ineffectual  light  in  the 
breaft  of  man.  After  nightfall  we  have 
admired  the  planet  Venus  ;  the  beauty  and 
vivacity  of  her  luftre,  theimmenfe  diftance 
from  which  we  judged  her  beams  iiiued, 
and  the  filence  of  the  night,  all  concurred 
to  ftrike  us  with  an  agreeable  amazement. 
But  ihe  fhone  in  diftinguifhed  beauty,  with- 
out giving  fufficient  light  to  direct  our 
fteps,  or  lhew  us  the  objects  around  us. 
Thus  in  unimproved  nature,  the  light  of 
the  mind  is  bright  and  uieiefs.  In  utter 
barbarity,  our  prolpect  of  it  is  itill  lefs 
fixed ;  it  appears,  and  then  again  feems 
wholly  to  vanilh  in  the  favage  breaft,  like 
the  lame  planet  Venus,  when  ihe  has  but 
juft  raifed  her  orient  beams  to  mari- 
ners above  the  waves,  and  is  now  defcried, 
and  now  loft,  through  the  fwelling  billows. 
The  next  ftep  is  tafte,  the  fubject  of  our 
enquiry,  whicn  confifts  in  a  diftinct, 
unconfufed  knowledge  of  the  great  and 
beautiful.  Although  you  fee  not  many 
pofTeffed  of  a  good  tafte,  yet  the  generality 
of  mankind  are  capable  of  it.  The  very 
populace  of  Athens  had  acquired  a  good 


tafte  by  habit  and  fine  examples,  fo  that  a 
delicacy  of  judgment  feemed  natural  to 
all  who  breathed  the  air  of  that  elegant 
city  :  we  find,  a  manly  and  elevated  fenfe 
diftinguilh  the  common  people  of  Rome 
and  of  all  the  cities  of  Greece,  while  the 
level  of  mankind  was  preferved  in  thofe 
cities ;  while  the  Plebeians  had  a  fhare  in 
the  government,  and  an  utter  feparation 
was  not  made  between  them  and  the  no- 
bles, by  wealth  and  luxury.  But  when 
once  the  common  people  are  rent  afunder 
wholly  from  the  great  and  opulent,  and 
made  fubiervient  to  the  luxury  of  the  lat- 
ter ;  then  the  tafte  of  nature  infallibly 
takes  her  flight  from  both  parties.  The 
poor  by  a  fordid  habit,  and  an  attention 
wholly  confined  to  mean  views,  and  the 
rich  by  an  attention  to  the  changeable 
modes  of  fancy,  and  a  vitiated  preference 
for  the  rich  and  coftly,  lofe  view  of  fimple 
beauty  and  grandeur.  It  may  feem  a  pa- 
radox, and  yet  I  am  firmly  perfuaded, 
that  it  would  be  eafier  at  this  day  to 
give  a  good  tafte  to  the  young  lavages  of 
America,  than  to  the  noble  youth  of  Eu- 
rope. 

Genius,  the  pride  of  man,  as  man  is  of 
the  creation,  has  been  polTeiled  but  by 
few,  even  in  the  brighteft  ages.  Men  of 
fuperior  genius,  while  they  fee  the  reft  of 
mankind  painfully  ftruggiing  to  compre- 
hend obvious  truths,  glance  themfelves 
through  the  moil  remote  confequences, 
like  lightning  through  a  path  that  can- 
not be  traced.  They  fee  the  beauties  of 
nature  with  life  and  warmth,  and  paint  them 
forcibly  without  effort,  as  the  morning  fun  ■ 
docs  the  fcenes  he  rifes  upon  ;  and  in  fe- 
veral  inftances,  communicate  to  objects  a 
morning  frefhnefsand  unaccountable  luilre, 
that  is  not  feen  in  the  creation  of  nature. 
The  poet,  the  ftatuary,  the  fainter,  have 
produced  images  that  left  nature  far  be- 
hind. 

The  conftellations  of  extraordinary  per- 
fonageswhoappearedin  Greece  and  Rome, 
at  or  near  the  fame  period  of  time,  after 
ages  ofdarknefs  to  which  we  know  no  be- 
ginning ;  and  the  long  barrennefs  of  thofe 
countries  after  in  great  men,  prove  that 
genius  owes  much  of  i:s  luftre  to  a  pergo- 
nal conteft  of  glory,  and  the  ftrong  rival- 
fhip  of  great  examples  within  actual  view 
and  knowledge ;  and  that  great  parts  alone 
are  not  able  to  lift  a  penon  out  of  bar- 
barity. It  is  further  to  be  obferved,  that 
when  the  infpiring  fpirit  of  the  fine  arts 
retired,  and  left  inanimate  and  cold  the 

breafts 


524 


E  L  E  G  A  NT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


breaits  of  poets,  painters,  and  Statuaries, 
men  of  tafte  Still  remained,  who  diitin- 
guifhed  and  admired  the  beauteous  monu- 
ments of  genius;  but  the  power  of  exe- 
cution was  loft;  and  although  monarchs 
loved  and  courted  the  arts,  yet  they  re- 
fufecl  to  return.  From  whence  it  is  evi- 
dent, that  neither  tafte,  nor  natural  parts, 
form  the  creating  genius  that  in)  pi  red  the 
great  mafters  of  antiquity,  and  that  they 
owed  their  extraordinary  powers  to  Some- 
thing different  from  both. 

Jf  we  confider  the  numbers  of  men  who 
wrote  well,  and  excelled  in' every  depart- 
ment of  the  liberal  arts,  in  the  ages  of 
genius,  and  the  fimplicity  that  always  at- 
tends beauty  ;  we  muft  be  led  to  think, 
that  although  few  perhaps  can  reach  to 
the  fupreme  beauty  of  imagination  dif- 
played  by  the  firft-rate  poets,  orators,  and 
philofophers ;  yet  molt  men  are  capable 
of  juft  thinking  and  agreeable  writing. 
Nature  lies  very  near  our  reflections,  and 
will  appear,  if  we  be  not  milled  and  preju- 
diced before  the  fenfe  of  beauty  grows  to 
maturity.  The  populace  of  Athens  and 
Rome  prove  ftrongly,  that  uncommon  parts 
or  great  learning  are  notneceffary  to  make 
men  think  juflly.  XJJher, 

§   229.  thoughts  on  the  Human  Capacity. 

We  know  not  the  bounds  of  tafte,  be- 
caufe  we  are  unacquainted  with  the  extent 
and  boundaries  of  the  human  genius.  The 
mind  in  ignorance  is  like  a  fleeping  giant ; 
it  has  immenfe  capacities  without  the  power 
of  ufing  them.  By  iiftening  to  the  lectures 
of  Socrates,  men  grew  heroes,  philofo- 
phers, and  legiflators ;  for  he  of  all  man- 
kind feemed  to  have  difcovercd  the  fhort 
and  lightfome  path  to  the  faculties  of  the 
mind.  To  give  you  an  inftance  of  the 
human  capacity,  that  conies  more  imme- 
diately within  your  notice,  what  graces, 
what  Sentiments,  have  been  transplanted 
into  the  motion  of  a  mir.uet,  of  which  a 
favage  Las  no  conception  !  We  know  not 
to  what  degree  of  rapture  harmony  is 
capable  of  bang  carried,  nor  what  hidden 
powers  may  be  in  yet  unexperienced  beau- 
ties of  the  imagination,  whole  objects  are 
in  fcer.es  and  in  worlds  we  arc  Ih  angers 
to.  Children,  who  die  young,  have  no 
conception  or  the  Sentiment  of  perfonal 
beaut}'.  Are  we  certain  that  we  are  net 
vet  children  in  refpect  to  feveral  fpeciesof 
beauties ;  We  art  ignorant  whether  there 
be    not  paflions    in  the    foul,   that  have 


hitherto  remained  unawaked  and  undisco- 
vered for  want  of  objects  to  rpufe  them  : 
we  feel  phairJy  that  fome  fuch  are  gentlv 
agitated  and  moved  bv  certain  notes  of 
mufic.  In  reality,  we  know  not  but  the 
tafte  and  capacity  of  beauty  and  grandeur 
in  the  foul,  may  extend  as  far  beyond 
all  we  actually  perceive,  as  this  whole 
world  exceeds  the  fphere  of  a  cockle  or  art 
oyiter.  Ibid. 

§   230.  Tafte  hanu  depra<v$d and luji. 

Let  us  now  confider  by  what  means  tafte 
is  ufually  depraved  and  loft  in  a  nation, 
that  is  neither  conquered  by  barbarians 
nor  has  loft  the  improvements  in  agricul- 
ture, husbandry,  and  defence,  that  allow 
men  leifure  for  reflection  and  embellish- 
ment. I  obferved  before  that  this  natural 
light  is  not  fo  clear  in  the  greateft  men, 
but  it  may  lie  oppreffed  by  barbarity. 
When  people  of  mean  parts,  and  of  pride 
without  genius,  get  into  elevated  Stations, 
they  want  a  tafte  for  Ample  grandeur,  and 
miftake  for  it  what  is  uncommonly  glaring 
and  extraordinary  ;  whence  proceeds  falfe 
wit  of  every  kind,  a  gaudy  richnefs  in 
drefs,  an  oppreffive  load  of  ornament  in 
building,  and  a  grandeur  overftrained  and 
puerile  univerfally.  I  muft  obferve,  that 
people  of  bad  tafte  and  little  jrenius  almoft 
always  lay  a  great  ftrefs  on  trivial  matters, 
and  are  oftentatious  and  exact  in  Angulari- 
ties, or  in  a  decorum  in  trifles.  When 
people  of  mean  parts  appear  in  high  Sta- 
tions, and  at  the  head  of  the  faShionable 
world,  they  cannot  fail  to  introduce  a  faiie 
embroidered  habit  of  mi:;d:  people  of 
nearly  the  fame  genius,  who  make  up  the 
crowd,  will  admire  and  follow  them  ;  and 
at  length  Solitary  tafte,  adorned  only  by 
noble  Simplicity,  will  be  loft  in  the  general 
example. 

Alfo  when  a  nation  is  much  corrupted ; 
when  avarice  and  a  love  of  gain  have  Seiz- 
ed upon  the  hearts  of  men  ;  when  the  no- 
bles ignominiouSly  bend  their  necks  to 
corruption  and  bribery,  or  enter  into  the 
bafe  niyfteries  of  gaming;  then  decency, 
elevated  principles,  and  greatnefs  oS  foul, 
expire;  and  all  that  remains  is  a  comedy 
or  puppct-lhew  of  elegance,  in  which  the 
dancing-mafter  and  peer  are  upon  a  level, 
and  the  mind  is  underftood  to  have  no  part 
in  the  drama  of  politeneSs,  or  elfe  to  act 
under  a  mean  difguife  of  virtues  which  it  is 
not  pofTefTed  of.  Ibid. 

S  23*- 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


P5 


%    231.       Some    Reflections  on  the    Human 
j  Mind. 

Upon  putting  together  the  whole  of  our 
reflexions  you  fee  two   different  natures 
laying  claim  to  the  human  race,  and  drag- 
eine  it  different  ways.     You  fee  a  necef- 
fity,  that  anfes  from  our  iituation  and  cir- 
cum  fiances,  bending  us  down  into  unworthy 
mifery  and  fordid  bafenefs  ;   and  you  fee, 
when  we  can  elcape  from  the  infiulting  ty- 
ranny of  our  fate,   and  acquire  eafe  and 
freedom,  a  generous  nature,  that  lay  ftupi- 
fied  and  epprefled,  begin   to  awake  and 
charm    us  with  profpecls    of  beauty    and 
glory.       This    awaking  genius  gazes    in 
rapture  at  the    beauteous    and    elevating 
fcenes  of  nature.     The  beauties  of  "nature 
are  familiar,  and  charm  it  like  a  mother's 
bofom;  and    the  objects  which  have  the 
plain  marks  of  immenfe  power  and  gran- 
deur, raife  in  it  a  frill,  an  inquifitive,   and 
trembling  defght :  but  genius  often  throws 
Over  the  objects  of  its  conceptions  colours 
finer  than   thofe   of  nature,  and  opens    a 
paradife  that  exiils  no  where  but    in  its 
own  creations.     The  bright  and  peaceful 
fcenes  of  Arcadia,  and  the  lovely  defcrip- 
tions  ofpafloral  poetry,  never  exifted  Gn 
earth,  no  more  than  Pope's  fhepherds  cr 
the  river  gods  of  Windfor  foreft  :  it  is  all 
but  a  charming  illufion,  which  the  mind 
firft  paints  with  celeflial  colours  and  then 
Ianguifh.es  for.      Knight-errantry  is.  ano- 
ther kind  of  delufion,  which,  though  it  "be 
fictitious  in  fact,  yet  is  true  in  fentiment.    I 
believe  there  are  few  people  who  in  their 
youth,  before  they   be  corrupted    by  the 
commerce  of  the  world,  are   not  knight- 
errants  and  princeffes  in  their  hearts.    The 
foul,  in  a  beauteous  ecilacy,  communicates 
a   flame   to  words    which  they  had    not  ; 
and  poetry,  by  its  quick  transitions,   bold 
figures,  lively  images,  and  the  variety  of 
eif  rts  to  paint  the  latent  rapture,  bears 
witnefs,  that  the    cenfafed    ideas  of   the 
mind  are  frill  infinitely  fuperior,  and  be- 
yond the   reach  of  all  defcription.    It   is 
this  divine  fpirit  that,  when  roufed  from  its 
lethargy,  breathes  in  noble  fentiments,  that 
charms  in  elegance,  that  (lamps  upon  mar- 
ble   or    canvafs   the  figures  of  gods  and 
heroes,  that  infpires  them  with  an  "air  above 
humanity,  and  leads  the  foul  through  the 
enchanting  meanders  of  mufic  in  a  waking 
vifion,  through  which  it  cannot  break,  to 
difcover  the  near  objects  tjiat  charm  it. 

How  fhall  we  venture  to  trace  the  ob- 
ject of  this  furprizing  beauty  peculiar  to 


genius,  which  evidently  does  not  come  to 
the  mind  frcm  the  fenies  ?  It  is  not  con- 
veyed in  found,  for  we  feel  the  founds  of 
muJic  charm  us  by    gently  agitating  and 
fwelling  the  pafficns,  and  letting  fotne  paf- 
fions  afloat,  for  which  wc  have  no  name, 
and  knew  not  until  they  were  awaked  in 
the  mild  by  harmony.     This  beauty  does 
net  arrive  at  the  mind  by  the  ideas  of  vi- 
fion, though  it  be  moved  by  them;  for  it 
evidently  bellows  on  the  mimic  reprefen- 
tations  and  images  the  mind  makes  of  the 
objects   of  fenfe,  an  enchanting  lovelinefa 
that  never  exifted  in  thofe  objects    Where 
lhall   the  foul  find  this   amazing  beauty, 
v\  hofe  very  fhadow,  glimmering  upon  the 
imagination,    opens  unfpeakable  raptures 
in  it,  and  diffracts  it  with  languilbingplea- 
fute?     What  are  thofe  ftranger  fentiments 
that  lie  in  wait  in  the  foul,  until  mufic  calls, 
them  forth  ?     What    is    the  obfeure   but 
unavoidable  value  or  merit  of  virtue  ?  or 
who  is  the  law-maker  in  the  mind  who 
gives   it  a  worth  and  dignity  beyond  all 
eftimation,  and  punifhes  the  breach  of  it 
with  confeious  terror  and  defpair  ?  What 
is    it,  iu  objects    of  immeafurable  power 
and  grandeur,  that  we  look  for  with  ili'I 
amazement  and     awful    delight? — But  I 
find,  madam,  we  have  been  ififenfibiy  led 
into   Subjects    too  abflrufe  and  fevere ;  I 
mail  nor.  put    the  graces  with  whom  we 
have  been  converfing  to  flight,  and  draw 
the  ferious    air    of   meditation  over  that 
countenance  where  the    fmiles    naturally 
dwell. 

I  have,  in  confequence  of  your  permif- 
fion,  put  together  fuch  thoughts  as  oc- 
curred to  me  on  good  taile.  i  told  you, 
if  I  had  leifure  hereafter,  I  would  difpoie 
of  them  with  more  regularity,  and  add 
any  new  obfervations  that  I  may  make, 
Before  I  fmiih,  I  mu.fr.  in  juflice  make  my 
acknowledgments  of  the  affiftance  I  re- 
ceived, 1  took  notice,  at  the  beginning, 
that  Rollings  Obfervations  on  Taile  gave 
occafion  to  this  difcourfe.  Sir  Harry  Beau-. 
mom's  polimed  dialogue  on  beauty,  called 
Crito,  was  of  fcrvice  to  me  ;  and  I  have 
availed  myfelfof  the  writings  and  fen t;-. 
men. j  of  the  ancients,  particularly  of  the 
pocrs  and  ftatuaries  of  Greece,  which  was 
the  native  and  original  country  of  the 
graces  and  fine  arts.  Bat  i  fhould  be  very 
unjuft;  if  I  did  not  make  my  chief  ac-e 
kncwledgments  where  they  are  mo~e  pe- 
culia.ly  due.  If  your  modefly  will  not 
fuffer  me  to  draw  that  picture  from  whisht 
I  tp>ro.ved  my  ideas  of  el  g«nce,  i  arn 

eouni 


526 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


bound  at  lead,  in  honefty,  to  difclaim  every 
merit  but  that  of  copying  from  a  bright 
original.  UJher. 

§  232.  General  Reflexions  upon  iuhat  is 
called  Good  Tafte.  From  Rollin'j 
Belles  Lettrcs. 

Tafte  as  it  now  falls  under  our  confi- 
deration,  that  is,  with  reference  to  the 
reading  of  authors  and  compofuion,  is  a 
clear,  lively,  and  diftinct  difcerning  of  all 
the  beauty,  truth,  and  juilnefs  of  the 
thoughts  and  expreffions,  which  compofe 
a  dilcourfe.  It  diftmgaifh.es  what  is  con- 
formable to  eloquence  and  propriety  in 
every  character,  and  fuitable  in  different 
circuinftances.  And  whilft,  with  a  delicate, 
and  exquiiite  fagacity,  it  notes  the  graces, 
turns,  manners,  and  expreffions, moil  likely 
to  pleafe,  it  perceives  alio  all  the  defects 
which  produce  the  contrary  effeel,  and  dif- 
tinguifhes  precifely  wherein  thofe  defects 
coniift,  and  how  far  they  are  removed 
from  the  Uriel  rules  of  art,  and  the  real 
beauties  of  nature. 

This  happy  faculty,  which  it  is  more 
eafy  to  conceive  than  define,  is  lefs  the 
effect  of  genius  than  judgment,  and  a  kind 
of  natural  reai'on  wrought  up  to  perfection 
by  ftudy.  It  ferves  in  compofuion  to  guide 
and  dirccl  the  underftanding.  It  makes 
ufe  of  the  imagination,  but  without  fub- 
mitting  to  it,  and  keeps  it  always  in  fub- 
jeclion.  It  confults  nature  universally,  fol- 
lows it  ftep  by  ftep, and  is  a  faithful  image 
of  it.  Reierved  and  fparing  in  the  midlt 
of  abundance  and  riches,  it  difpenTes  the 
beauties  and  graces  of  difcourfe  with  tem- 
per and  wiidom.  It  never  fuffers  itfelf  to 
be  dazzled  with  the  falfe,  how  glittering  a 
figure  foever  it  may  make.  '  fis  equally 
offended  with  too  much  and  too  little.  It 
knows  precifely  where  it  muft  ftop,  and 
cuts  off,  without  regret  or  mercy,  what- 
ever exceeds  the  beautiful  and  perfect. 
'Tis  the  want  oi  this  quality  which  occa- 
sions the,  various  fpecies  of  bad  ftyle;  as 
bombaft,  conceit,  and  witticiim  ;  in  which 
as  Quintilian  fays,  the  genius  is  void  of 
judgment,  and  iuffers  itielf  to  be  carried 
away  with  an  appearance  of  beauty,  quo- 
ties ■  ingenium  judicio  caret,  cif  fpeciebonifal- 
litur. 

^  Tafte,  fimple  and  uniform  in  its  prin- 
ciple, is  varied  and  multiplied  an  infinite 
number  of  ways,  yet  io  as  under  a  thou- 
fand  different  forms,  in  profe  or  verfc,  in 
a  declamatory  or  concife,  fublime  or  fim- 
ple, jeeofe  or  ferious  ftyle,  'tis  always  the 


fame,  and  carries  with  it  a  certain  charac- 
ter of  the  true  and  natural,  immediately 
perceived  by  all  perfons  of  judgment.  We 
cannot  fay  the  flyle  of  Terence,  Phsdrus, 
Salluft,  Caffar,  Tully,  Livy,  Virgil,  and 
Horace,  is  the  fame.  And  yet  they  have 
all,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expreffion,  a 
certain  tincture  of  a  common  fpirit,  which 
in  that  diverfity  of  genius  and  ftyle  makes 
an  affinity  between  them,  and  'a  fenfible 
difference  alio  betwixt  them  and  the  other 
wi  iters,  who  have  not  the  ftamp  of  the  bell 
age  of  antiquity  upon  them. 

I  have  already  faid,  that  this  diftinguifh- 
ing  faculty  was'  a  kind  of  natural  reafon 
wrought  up  to  perfection  by  ftudy.  In 
reality  all  men  bring  the  firft  principles  of 
tafte  with  them  into  the  world,  as  well  as 
thofe  of  rhetoric  and  logic.  As  a  proof  of 
this,  we  may  urge,  that  every  good  orator 
is  almoft  always  infallibly  approved  of  by 
the  people,  and  that  there  is  no  difference 
of  tafte  and  fentiment  upon  this  point,  as 
Tully  obferves,  between  the  ignorant  and 
the  learned. 

The  cafe  is  the  fame  with  mufic  and 
painting.  A  concert,  that  has  all  its  parts 
well  compofed  and  well  executed,  both  as 
to  inftruments  and  voices,  pleafes  univer- 
fally.  But  if  any  difcord  ariies,  any  ill 
tone  of  voice  be  intermixed,  it  fhalf  dif- 
pleafe  even  thofe  who  are  absolutely  igno- 
rant of  mufic.  They  know  not  what  it  is 
that  offends  them,  but  they  find  fomewhat 
grating  in  it  to  their  ears.'  And  this  pro- 
ceeds from  the  tafte  and  fenfe  of  harmony 
implanted  in  them  by  nature.  In  like 
manner  a  fine  picture  charms  and  trans- 
ports a  fpeclator,  who  has  no  idea  ofpaint- 
ing.  Afk  him  what  pleafes  him,  and  why 
it  pleafes  him,  and  he  cannot  eafily  give 
an  account,  or  fpecify  the  real  reafons ; 
but  natural  fentiment  works  almoft  the 
fame  effect  in  him  as  art  and  ufe  in  eon- 
noiffeurs. 

The  like  obfervations  will  hold  good  as 
to  the  tafte  we  are  here  fpeakingof.  Mod 
men  have  the  firft  principles  of  it  in  them- 
ielves,  though  in  the  greater  part  of  them 
they  lie  dormant  in  a  manner,  for  want  of 
inftruclion  or  reflection ;  as  they  are  often 
ftifled  or  corrupted  by  a  vicious  education, 
bad  cuftoms,  or  reigning  prejudices  of  the 
age  and  country. 

But  how  depraved  foever  the  tafte  may 
be,  it  is  never  abfolutely  loft.  There  are 
certain  fixed  remains  of  it,  deeply  rooted 
in  the  underftm  ing,  wherein  all  men 
agree.  Where  thefe  fecret  feeds  are  cul- 
tivated 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.         527 


iivated  with  care,  they  may  be  carried 
to  a  far  greater  height  of  perfection. 
And  if  it  i'o  happens  that  any  frefh  light 
awakens  thefe  firft  notions,  and  renders  the 
mind  attentive  to  the  immutable  rules  of 
truth  and  beauty,  fo  as  to  difcover  the  na- 
tural and  neceffary  confequences  of  them, 
and  ferves  at  the  fame  time  for  a  model 
to  facilitate  the  application  of  them ;  we 
generally  fee,  that  men  of  the  belt  fenfe 
gladly  call  off  their  ancient  errors,  correct 
the  mifhkes  of  their  former  judgments, 
and  return  to  the  juilnefs,  and  delicacy, 
which  are  the  effects  of  a  refined  tafte,  and 
by  degrees  draw  others  after  them  into  the 
fame  way  of  thinking. 

To  be  convinced  of  this,  we  need  only 
look  upon  the  fuccefs  of  certain  great  ora- 
tors and  celebrated  authors,  who  by  their 
natural  talents  have  recalled  thefe  primi- 
tive ideas,  and  given  freih  life  to  thefe 
feeds,  which  lie  concealed  in  the  mind  of 
every  man.  In  a  little  time  they  united 
the  voices  of  thofe  who  made  the  bell:  ufe 
of  their  reafon,  in  their  favour;  and  foon 
after  gained  the  applaufe  of  every  age 
and  condition,  both  ignorant  and  learned. 
It  would  be  eafy  to  poiat  out  amongft  us 
the  date  of  the  good  tafte,  which  now 
reigns  in  all  arts  and  fciences  ;  by  tracing- 
each  up  to  its  original,  we  mould  fee  that 
a  fmall  number  of  men  of  genius  have  ac- 
quired the  nation  this  glory  and  advan- 
tage. 

Even  thofe,  who  live  in  the  politer  ages 
without  any  application  to  learning  or 
ftudy,  do  not  fail  to  gain  fome  tincture  of 
the  prevailing  good  tafte,  which  has  a  lhare 
without  tneir  perceiving  it  themfelves,  in 
their  converfation,  letters,  and  behaviour. 
There  are  few  of  our  foldiers  at  prefent, 
who  would  not  write  more  correctly  and 
elegantly  than  Ville-Hardouin,  and  the 
other  officer*  who  lived  in  a  ruder  and  more 
barbarous  age. 

From  what  I  have  faid,  we  may  con- 
clude, that  rules  and  precepts  may  be  laid 
down  for  the  improvement  of  this  dilcern- 
ing  faculty ;  and  I  cannot  perceive  why 
Quintilian,  who  juftly  fets  fuch  a  value 
upon  it,  ihould  fay  that  it  is  no  more  to  be 
obtained  by  art,  than  the  tafte  or  fmell ; 
Ncn  magis  arte  traditur,  quam  guftus  ant 
odor;  unlets  he  meant,  that  fome  perfons 
are  fo  ftupid,  and  have  fo  little  ufe  of  their 
judgment,  as  might  tempt  one  to  believe 
that  it  was  in  reality  the  gift  of  nature 
alone. 

Neither  do  I  think  that  Quintilian  is 


abfolutely  in  the  right  in  the  inftance  he 
produces,  at  leaft  with  refpedt  to  tafte.  We 
need  only  imagine  what  pafles  in  certain 
nations,  in  which  long  cuftom  has  intro- 
duced a  fondnefs  for  certain  odd  and  ex- 
travagant dilhes.  They  readily  commend 
good  liquors,  elegant  food,  and  good  cook- 
ery. Thev  f°on  learn  to  difcern  the  deli- 
cacy of  the  feafoning,  when  a  fkilful  maf- 
ter  in  that  way  has  pointed  it  out  to  them, 
and  to  prefer  it  to  the  groflhefs  of  their 
former  diet.  When  I  talk  thus,  I  would 
not  be  underftood  to  think  thofe  nations 
had  great  caufe  to  complain,  for  the  want 
of  knowledge  and  ability  in  what  is  be- 
come fo  fatal  to  us.  But  we  may  judge 
from  hence  the  refemblance  there  is  be- 
tween the  tafte  of  the  body  and  mind,  and 
how  proper  the  firft  is  to  defcribe  the  cha- 
racters of  the  fecond. 

The  good  tafte  we  fpeak  of,  which  Is 
that  of  literature,  is  not  limited  to  what 
we  call  the  fciences,  but  extends  itfelf  im- 
perceptibJy^  to  other  arts,  fuch  as  archi- 
tecture, painting,  fculpture,  and  mufic. 
'Tis  the  fame  difcerning  faculty  which  in- 
troduces univerfally  the  fame  elegance,  the 
fame  fymmetry,  and  the  fame  order  in  the 
difpofuion  of  the  parts;  which  inclines  us 
to  a  noble  iimp'.icity,  to  natural  beauties, 
and  a  judicious  choice  of  ornament?.  On 
the  pther  hand,  the  depravation  of  tafte  in 
arts  has  been  always  a  mark  and  confe- 
quence  of  the  depravation  of  tafte  in  lite- 
rature. The  heavy,  confufed,  and  grofs 
ornaments  of  the  old  Gothic  buildings, 
placed  ufually  without  elegance,  contrary 
to  all  good  rules,  and  out  of  all  true  pro- 
portions, were  the  image  of  the  writings 
of  the  authors  of  the  fame  age. 

The  good  tafte  of  literature  reaches  alfo 
to  public  cuftoins  and  the  manner  of  liv- 
ing. An  habit  of  confulting  the  belt  rules 
upon  one  fubject,  naturally  leads  to  the 
doing  it  alfo  upon  others.  Paulus  yEmi- 
lius,  whofe  genius  was  fo  univerfally  ex- 
tenfive,  having  made  a  great  feaft  for  the 
entertainment  of  all  Greece  upon  the  con- 
queft  of  Macedon,  and  obferving  that  his 
guefts  looked  upon  it  as  conducted  with 
more  elegance  and  art  than  might  be  ex- 
pected from  a  foldier,  told  them°they  were 
much  in  the  wrong  to  be  furorifed  at  it ; 
for  the  fame  genius,  which  taught  how  to 
draw  up  an  army  to  advantage,  naturally 
pointed  out  the  proper  difpofition  of  a 
table. 

But  by  a  ftrange,  though  frequent  re- 
volution, which  is  one  great  proof  of  the 

weaknefs,, 


52S 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


weaknefs,  or  rather  the  corruption  of  hu- 
man underftanding,  tV is  very  delicacy  and 

elegance,  which  the  good  tafte  of  litera- 
ture and  eloquence  ufually  introduces  into 
common  life,  for  buildings,  for  inftance, 
and  entertainments,  coming  by  little  and 
little  to  degenerate  into  excefs  and  luxury, 
introduces  in  its'  turn  the  had  tafte  in  lite- 
rature and  eloquence.  This  Seneca  in- 
forms us,  in  a  very  ingenious  manner,  in 
one  of  his  epiftles,  where  he  feems  to  have 
drawn  a  good  defcription of himfelf,  though 
he  did  not  perceive  it. 

One  of  his  friends  had  afked  him, 
whence  the  alteration  could  pofiibly  arife 
which  was  fometimes  cbfervable  in  elo- 
quence, and  which  carried  moil  people  into 
certain  general  faults;  fuch  as  the  affec- 
tation of  bold  and  extravagant  figures, 
metaphors  ftruck  off  without  meafure  or 
caution,  fentences  fo  ihort  and  abrupt,  that 
they  left  people  rather  to  guefs  what  they 
meant,  than  conveyed  a  meaning. 

Seneca  anfwers  this  queftion  by  a  com- 
mon proverb  among  the  Greeks;  "As  is 
their  life,  fo  is  their  difecuric,"  Talis  homt- 
nibusfuii  oratio,  qualis  <vita.  As  a  private 
perfon  lets  us  into  his  character  by  his  dif- 
courfe, fo  the  reigning  ftyle  is  oft  an  image 
of  the  public  manners.  The  heart  carries 
the  underftanding  away  with  it,  and  com- 
municates its  vices  to  it,  as  well  as  its 
virtues.  V,  hen  men  ftrive  to  be  diftin- 
guifhed  from  the  reft  o't  the  world  by  no- 
velty, and  refinement'  in  their  furniture, 
buildings,  and  entertainments,  and  a  ftudi- 
ous  fearch  after  every  thing  that  is  not  in 
common  ufej  the  fame  tafte  will  prevail 
in  eloquence,  and  introduce  novelty  and 
irregularity  there.  When  the  mind  is  once 
accuftomed  to  defpifc  rules  in  manners,  it 
will  not  follow  them  in  ftyle.  Nothing 
will  then  go  down  but  what  ftrikes  by  its 
being  new  and  glaring,  extraordinary  and 
affected.  Trifling  and  chiidim  thoughts 
will  take  place  of  fuch  as  are  bold  and 
Qverftrained  to  an  excefs.  We  (hall  ailed 
a  flcek  and  florid  ftyle,  and  an  elocution 
pompous  indeed,  but  with  little  more  than 
mere  found  in  it. 

And  this  fort  of  faults  is  generally  the 
effect  of  a  Angle  man's  example,  who, 
having  gained  "reputation  enough  to  be 
followed"  by  the  multitude,  fets  up  for  z. 
mailer,  and  gives  the  ftrain  to  others.  'Tis 
thought  honourable  to  imitate  him,  to  ob- 
serve and  copy  after  him,  and  his  fiyle  be- 
comes the  rule  and  model  of  the  public 
tafte. 


As  then  luxury  in  diet  and  drefs  is  a 
plain  indication  that  the  manners  are  not 
under  fo  good  a  regulation  as  they  ftiould 
be  ;  fo  a  licentioufnefs  of  ftyle,  when  it  be- 
comes public  and  general,  mews  evidently 
a  depravation  and  corruption  of  the  under- 
standings of  mankind. 

To  remedy  this  evil,  and  reform  the 
thoughts  and  exprefliors  ufed  in  ftyle,  it 
will  he  requifttc  to  cleanfe  the  fpring  from 
whence  they  proceed.  'Tis  the  mind  that 
muft  be  cured.  When  that  is  found  and 
vigorous,  eloquence  will  be  fo  too  ;  but  it 
becomes  feeble  and  languid  when  the  mind 
is  enfeebled  and  enervated  by  pleafures 
and  delights.  In  a  word,  it  is  the  mind 
which  prefides,  and  directs,  and  gives 
motion  to  the  whole,  and  all  the  reft  fol- 
lows its  impreilions. 

He  has  obferved  elfewhere,  that  a  {[yle 
too  ftudied  and  far-fetched  is  a  mark  of 
a  little  genius.  He  would  have  an  orator, 
efpecially  when  upon  a  grave  and  ferious 
fubjeel,  be  lefs  curious  about  words,  and 
the  manner  of  placing  them,  than  of  hi» 
matter,  and  the  choice  of  his  thoughts. 
When  you  fee  a  difcourfe  laboured  and 
poliihed  with  fo  much carefulnefs  and ftudy, 
you  may  conclude,  fays  he,  that  it  comes 
from  a  mean  capacity,  that  bufies  itfelf  in 
trifles.  A  writer  of  great  genius  will  not 
ftand  for  fuch  minute  things.  He  thinks 
and  fpeaks  with  more  noblenefs  and  gran- 
deur, and  we  may  difcern,  in  all  he  fays,  a 
certain  cafy  and  natural  air,  which  argues  a 
man  of  real  riches,  who  does  not  endeavour 
to  appear  fo.  He  then  compares  this  florid 
prinked  eloquence  to  young  people  curled 
out  and  powdered,  and  continually  before 
their  glafs  and  the  tuilet :  Barb  a  et  coma 
nitldcs,  de  capfula  toios.  Nothing  great  and 
folid  can  be  expecled  from  fuch  characters. 
So  alfo  with  orators.  The  difcourfe  is  in 
a  manner  the  vifage  of  the  mind.  If  it  is 
decked  out,  tricked  up,  and  painted,  it  is 
a  fign  there  is  fome  defect  in  the  mind, 
and  all  is  not  found  within.  So  much 
finery,  difplayed  with  fuch  art  and  ftudy, 
is  not  the  proper  ornament  of  eloquence. 
Non  eft  ornament um  'virile,  concinnitas. 

Who  would  not  think,  upon  hearing 
Seneca  talk  thus,  that  he  was  a  declared 
enemy  of  bad  tafte,  and  that  no  one  was 
more  capable  of  oppoiing  and  preventing 
it  than  he  ?  And  yet  it  was  he,  more  than 
any  other,  that  contributed  to  the  depra- 
vation of  tafte,  and  corruption  of  eloquence. 
I  fhall  take  an  cccafion  to  ipeak  upon  this 
fubjeel  in  another  place,  and  lhail  do  it 

the 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


529 


the  more  freely,  as  there  is  caufe  to  fear 
left  the  bad  tafte  for  bright  thoughts,  and 
turns  of  expreffion,  which  is  properly  the 
character  of  Seneca,  fhould  prevail  in  our 
own  age.  And  I  queftion  whether  this 
be  not  a  mark  and  prefage  of  the  ruin  of 
eloquence  we  are  threatened  with,  as  the 
immoderate  luxury  that  now  reigns  more 
than  ever,  and  the  almoft  general  decay  of 
good  manners,  are  perhaps  alfo  the  fatal 
harbingers  of  it. 

One  fingle  perfon  of  reputation  fome- 
times,  as  Seneca  obferves,  and  he  himfeif 
is  an  inftance  of  it,  who  by  his  eminent 
qualifications  mall  have  acquired  the  efteem 
of  the  public,  may  fuirice  to  introduce  this 
bad  tafte,  and  corrupt  ftyle.  Whilft  moved 
by  a  fecret  ambition,  a  man  of  this  cha- 
racter ftrives  to  diftinguifh  himfeif  from 
the  reft  of  the  orators  and  writers  of  his 
age,  and  to  open  a  new  path,  where  he 
thinks  it  better  to  march  alone  at  the  head 
of  his  new  difciples,  than  follow  at  the 
heels  of  the  old  mailers ;  whilft  he  prefers 
the  reputation  of  wit  to  that  of  folidity, 
purfues  what  is  bright  rather  than  what 
is  folid,  and  fets  the  marvellous  above 
the  natural  and  true  ;  whilft  he  choofes  ra- 
ther to  apply  to  the  fancy  than  to  the 
judgment,  to  dazzle  reafon  than  convince 
it,  to  furprife  the  hearer  into  an  approba- 
tion, rather  than  deferve  it ;  and  by  a 
kind  of  delufion  and  foft  enchantment  car- 
ry off  the  admiration  and  applaufes  of  fu- 
perficial  minds  (and  fuch  the  multitude 
always  are)  ;  other  writers,  feduced  by 
the  charms  of  novelty,  and  the  hopes  of 
a  like  fuccefs,  will  fuller  themfelves  infen- 
iibly  to  be  hurried  down  the  ftream,  and 
add  ftrength  to  it  by  following  it.  And 
thus  the  old  tafte,  though  better  in  itfelf, 
fhall  give  way  to  the  new  one  without 
redrefs,  which  fhall  prefently  affume  the 
force  of  law,  and  draw  a  whole  nation 
after  it. 

This  fhould  awaken  the  diligence  of  the 
mailers  in  the  univerfity,  to  prevent  and 
hinder,  as  much  as  in  them  lies,  the  ruin 
of  good  tafte;  and  as  they  are  entruftej 
with  the  public  inftru&ion  of  youth,  they 
mould  look  upon  this  care  as  an  effential 
part  of  their  duty.  The  cuftom,  manners, 
and  laws  of  the  ancients  have  changed ; 
they  are  often  oppofite  to  our  way  of  life, 
and  the  ufages  that  prevail  amongft  us ; 
"and  the  knowledge  of  them  may  be  there- 
fore lefs  neceflary  for  us.  Their  attions 
are  gone  and  cannot  return  ;  great  events 
have  had  their  courfe,   without  any  rea- 


fon left  for  us  to  expert  the  like ;  and  the 
revolutions  of  Hates  and  empires  have  per- 
haps very  little  relation  to  their  prefent 
fituation  and  wants,  and  therefore  become 
of  lefs  concern  to  us.  But  good  tafte,  which 
is  grounded  upon  immutable  principles, 
is  always  the  fame  in  every  age ;  and  it 
is  the  principal  advantage  that  young  per- 
fons  fhould  be  taught  to  obtain  from  read- 
ing of  ancient  authors,  who  have  ever  been 
looked  upon  with  reafon  as  the  mafters, 
depoiitories,  and  guardians  of  found  elo- 
quence and  good  tafte.  In  fine,  of  all 
that  may  anywife  contribute  to  the  cul- 
tivating the  mind,  we  may  truly  fay  this 
is  the  moil  effential  part,  and  what  ought 
to  be  preferred  before  all  others. 

This  good  taile  is  not  confined  to  lite- 
rature ;  it  takes  in  alfo,  as  we  have  already 
fuggefled,  all  arts  and  fciences,  and  bran- 
ches of  knowledge.  It  confiils  therefore  in 
a  certain  juft  and  exact  difcernment,  which 
points  out  to  us,  in  each  of  the  fciences 
and  branches  of  knowledge,  whatever  is 
moll  curious,  beautiful,  and  ufeful,  what- 
ever is  moft  effential,  fuitable,  or  necef- 
fary  to  thofs  who  apply  to  it ;  how  far 
confequently  we  fhould  carry  the  ftudy  of 
it ;  what  ought  to  be  removed  from  it ; 
what  deferves  a  particular  application  and 
preference  before  the  reft.  For  Want  of 
this  difcernment,  a  man  may  fall  fhort  of 
the  moil  effential  part  of  his  profeffion, 
without  perceiving  it :  nor  is  the  cafe  fa 
rare  as  one  might  imagine.  An  inftance 
taken  from  the  Cyropiedia  of  Xenophon 
will  fet  the  matter  in  a  clear  light. 

The  young  Cyrus,  fon  of  Cambyfes 
King  of  Perfia,  had  long  been  under  the 
tuition  of  a  mailer  in  the  art  of  war, 
who  was  without  doubt  a  perfon  of  the 
greateft  abilities  and  bell  reputation  in  his 
time.  One  day,  as  Cambyfes  was  dif- 
courfing  with  his  fon,  he  took  occafion  to 
mention  his  matter,  whom  the  young 
Prince  had  in  great  veneration,  and  from 
whom  he  pretended  he  had  learnt  in 
general  whatever  was  neceflary  for  the 
command  of  an  army.  Has  your  mailer, 
fays  Cambyfes,  given  you  any  lectures 
of  oeconcmy  ;  that  is,  has  he  taught  you 
how  to  provide  your  troops  with  necef- 
faries,  to  fupply  them  with  provilions, 
to  prevent  the  diftempers  that  are  inci- 
dent to  them,  to  cure  them  when  they 
are  fick,  to  ftrengthen  their  bodies  by  fre- 
quent exercife,  to  raiie  emulation  among 
them,  how  to  make  yourfelf  obeyed, 
efteemed,  and  beloved  by  them  ?  Upon 
M  m  all 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


all  thefe  points,  anfwered  Cyrus,  and  fe- 
ver .1  others  the  King  ran  over  to  him,  he 
has  not  ("poke  one  word,  and  they  are  all 
new  to  me.  And  what  has  he  taught  you 
then  ?  To  exercife  my  arms,  replies  the 
young  Prince,  to  ride,  to  draw  the  bow, 
to  caft  a  fpear,  to  form  a  camp,  to  draw 
the  plan  of  a  fortification,  to  range  my 
of  battle,  to  make  a  review, 
to  fee  that  they  march,  file  off, .and  en- 
Camp.  Cambyfes  fmiled,  and  let  his  fon 
ice,  that  he  had  learnt  nothing  of  \i  h  it 
was  moft  eflential  to  the  making  of  a  good 
\  and  an  able  general;  and  taught 
him  far  more  in  one  converiation,  which 
certainly  deferves  well  to  be  ftudied  by 
young  gentlemen  that  are  defigned  for  the 
.  than  his  famous  mailer  had  done  in 
many  years. 

Every  profeffion  is    liable  to  the  fame 
inconvenience,  either  from  our  not  being 
fttfficiently  attentive  to  the  principal  end 
we  fhould  have  in  view    in  our  applica- 
tions to  it,  or  from  taking  cuftom  for  our 
gu.de,  and  blindly  following  the  footfteps 
of  others,  who  have  gone  before  us.    There 
is  nothing  more  ufeful  than  the  knowledge 
of  hiftory.     But  if  we  reft  fatisfied  in  load- 
ing our  memory  with  a  multitude  of  fa  els 
of  no  great  curiofity  or  importance,  if  we 
dwell  only   upon  dates  and  difficulties    in 
chronology    or   geography,    and   take   no 
pains  to  get  acquainted  with  the  genius, 
manners,  and  characters  of  the  great  men 
we   read  of,  we  (hall  have  learnt  a  great 
deal,  and  know  but  very  little.     A  treatife 
of  rhetoric   may  be    extenfive,  enter  inr.o 
a  long  detail  of  precept,  define  very  ex- 
every  trope  and   figure,  explain  well 
tl  eir   differences,    and  largely    treat  fuch 
queftions  as  were  warmly  debated  by  tve 
rhetoricians  of  old ;  and  with  all  this  be 
very  like  that  difcourfe  of  rhetoric  Tully 
fpcaks  of,  which  was  only  fit  to  teach  people 
not  to  Ipeak  at  all,  or  not  to  the  purpefe. 
Scrip/it  ariem  rhetoricam  Cleantbes,  fed  lie, 
.    '    quis  obmatej'cere  i         ,   ■    't,  nil 
1  beat,    fn  -.  one  rragj 

:  o  i  km  itty  and     bftrufe 

'.  irn  a    great    many 

fine  ,  .  '  ;         ,  and  at  the  fame 

part  of  the     i 
:   i      i  form  the  judgment  and  direct 
th        i 

fn  a  ,     :  •   n-f  '1  nr  e'effary  qualiii- 

(     icii,  not  only  in  the  art  of  fpeaking  and 

i        .,  but  in  the  whole  conduct  of 

lence,  and  i    . 

:h  u±r  i  -  J  fal  jetts  and  en  cwry 


occaficn  teaches  us  what  we  fhould  do, 
and  how  to  do  it.  Mud  dicere  fatis  habeo, 
nihil  effe,  non  modo  in  orando,  fed  in  otnhi 
•v  .  i,  prius  conjilio.  Rollin, 

§    :•-.     Dr.    Johnson'.*  Preface  to  his 
Ei iition  of  Shakespeare. 

That  praifes  are  without  reafon  lavifhed  ■ 
on  the  dead,  and  that  the  honours  due  only 
to  excellence  are  paid  to  antiquity,  is  a 
complaint  likely  to  be  always  continued 
by  thefe,  who,  being  able  to  add  nothing 
to  truth,  hope  for  eminence  from  the  he- 
retics of  paradox  ;  or  thole,  who,  being 
forced  by  difappointment  upon  confolatory 
ex]  edients,  are  willing  to  hope  from  pof- 
terity  what  the  prefent  age  refufes,  and 
flatter  themfelves  that  the  regard,  which 
is  yet  denied  by  envy,  will  be  at  laft  be- 
llowed by  time. 

Antiquity,  like  every  other  quality  that 
attracts  the  notice  of  mankind,  has  undoubt- 
edly votaries   that  reverence  it,  not  from 
reafon,  but    from  prejudice.     Some   feem 
to  admire    indifcriminately  whatever  has  • 
been  long  preferved,  without  confidering 
that  time  lues  fometimes   co-operated  with 
chance;  all  perhaps  are  more  willing  to 
honour  pall  than  prefent  excellence ;  and 
the    mind    contemplates    genius    through 
the  lhade  of  age,  as  the  eye  furveys  the  ' 
fun  through  artificial  opacity.     The  great 
contention  of  criticifm  is  to  find  the  faults 
of  the  moderns,  and  the  beauties    of  the 
ancients.     While  an  author  is  yet  living, 
we  elHmate   his  powers  by  his  worit  per- 
formance;  and  when  he  is  dead,  we  rate 
'    his  bell. 
orks,     -   'ever,  of  which  the  ex- 
ice  is  not  abfolute  and  definite,  but 
al    and  comparative;  to    works  net 
railed   upon    principles  demonflrative  and 
:i    ttific,  but   appealing  wholly  to  obfer- 
vation  and  experience,  no  other  teft  can  be 
ap  'lied  tl  an  length  of  duration  and  con- 
:e  of  efteem.     What  mankind  have 
pollened    they  have  often  examined 
■ed  ;  and  if  they  pertill  to  value 
the  poflefiion,  it  is  becaufe  frequent  com- 
\  tve  confirmed  opinion  in  its  fa- 

vour. As  among  the  works  of  nature  no. 
m;  a  can  properly  call  a  river  deep,  or  a 
mountain  high,  without  the  knowledge  of 
many  mountains,  and  many  rivers;  (o, 
in  the  productions  of  genius,  nothing  can 
be  ftyled  excellent  till  it  has  been  com- 
;  with  other  works  of  the  fame  kind, 
nitration  immediately  difplays  its 
power,  and  has  nothing  to  hope  <r  fear 

from 


BOOK    II.    CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


53* 


•  from  the  flux  of  years;  but  works  tenta- 
tive and  experimental  muft  be  eftimafed 
by  their  proportion  to  the  general  and 
collective  ability  of  man,  as  it  is  difcovered 
in  a  long  fucceifion  of  endeavours.  Of 
the  firft  building  that  was  railed,  it  might 
be  with  certainty  determined,  that  it  was 
round  or  fquare;  but  whether  it  was  fpa~ 

•  cious  or  lofty  mull  have  been  referred 
to  time.  The  Pythagorean  fcale  of  num- 
bers was  at  once  difcovered  to  be  perfect  : 
but  the  poems  of  Homer  we  yet  know  not 

t  to  tranfcend  the  common  limits  of  human 
intelligence,  but  by  remarking,  that  na- 
tion after  nation,  and  century  after  cen- 
tury, has  been  able  to  do  little  more  than 

•  tranfpofe  his  incidents,  new  name  his  cha- 

•  rafters,  and  paraphrafe  his  fentiments. 

The  reverence  due  to  writings  that  have 
long  fubjifted,  arifes,  therefore,  sot  from 
any  credulous  confidence  in  the  fuperior 
vyifdom  of  pa  ft  ages,  or  gloomy  perfuafion 
of  the  degeneracy  of  mankind,  but  is  the 
confequence  of  acknowledged  and  indubi- 
table pofitions,  that  what  has  been  longeft 
known  has  been  molt  confidered,  and  what 
is  moft  confidered  is  bell  underftood. 

The  poet,  of  whqfe  works  I  have  un- 
dertaken the  revifion,  may  now  begin  to 
ailume  the  dignity  of  an  ancient,  and 
claim  the  privilege  of  etlablifhed  fame  and 
prefcriptive  veneration.  He  has  long  out- 
lived his  century,  the  term  commonly 
fixed  as  the  teft  of  literary  merit.  What- 
ever advantages  he  might  once  derive 
from  perfonal  allufion,  local  cuftoms,  or 
temporary  opinions,  have  for  many  years 
been  loft;  and  every  topic  of  merriment,  or 
motive  of  forrow,  which  the  modes  of  ar- 
tificial life  afforded  him,  now  only  obfcure 
the  -fcenes  which  they  once  illuminated. 
The  effects  of  favour  and  competition  are 
nt  an  end  ;  the  tradition  of  his-  friendfliips 
and  his  enemies  has  perifhed ;  his  works 
fuppcrt  no  opinion  with  arguments,  nor 
fupply  any  faction  with  invectives  ;  they 
.can  neither  indulge  vanity,  nor  gratify 
malignity;  but  are  read  without  any  other 
reafon  than  the  defire  of  pleafure,  and  are 
therefore  praifed  only  as  pleafure  is  ob- 
tained :  yet,  thus  unaflifted  by  intereft  or 
paffions  they  have  pail  through  variations 
©f  tafte  and  change  of  manners,  and,  as 
they  devolved  from  one  generation  to  an- 
other, have  received  new  honours  aj:  every 
tranfmiffion. 

Sut  becaufe  human  judgment,  though 
it  be  gradually  gaining  upon  certainty, 
never  becomes  infallible;  and  approbation, 
jpough  long  compiled,,  may  yet  be  only 


the  approbation  of  prejudice  or  fafhion  ;  it 
is  proper  to  enquire,  by  what  peculiarities 
of  excellence  Shakefpeare  has  gained  and 
kept  the  favour  of  his  countrymen. 

Nothing  can  pleafe  many  and  pleafe 
long,  but  juft  reprefentations  of  general 
nature.  Particular  manners  can  be  known 
to  few,  and  therefore  few  only  can  judge 
how  nearly  they  are  copied.  Tne  irre- 
gular combinations  of  fanciful  invention 
may  delight  awhile,  by  that  novelty  of 
which  the  common  fatiety  of  life  fends  us 
all  in  queft ;  but  the  pleafures  of  fudden 
wonder  are  foon  exhaafted,  and  the  mind 
can  only  repofe  on  the  /lability  of  truth. 

Shakefpeare  is,  above  all  writers,  at 
leaft  above  all  modem  writers,  the  poet 
of  nature ;  the  poet  that  holds  up  to  his 
readers  a  faithful  mirror  of  manners  and 
of  life.  His  characters  are  not  modified 
by  the  cuftoms  of  particular  places,  un- 
practifed  by  the  reft  of  the  world;  by  the 
peculiarities  of  ftudies  or  profeffions,  which 
can  operate  but  upon  fmali  numbers;  cr 
by  the  accidents  of  tranfient  fafhions  or 
temporary  opinions :  they  are  the  genuine 
progeny  of  common  humanity,  fuch  as  ths 
world  will  always  fupply,  and  obfe  v  :  on 
will  always  find.  His  perfons  act  and 
fpeak  by  the  influence  of  thofe  general 
paffions  and  principles  by  which  all  minds 
are  agitated,  and  the  whole  fiyftem  of  life 
is  continued  in  motion.  In  the  writings  of 
other  poets,  a  character  is  too  often  an 
individual;  in  thofe  of  Shakefpeare,  it  is 
commonly  a  fpecies. 

It  is  from  this  wide  extenfion  of  deiign. 
that  fo  much  inftruction  is  derived.  It  is 
this  which  fills  the  plays  of  Shakefpeare 
with  practical  axioms  and  domeftic  wif- 
dom.  It  was  faid  of  Euripides,  that  every 
verfe  was  a  precept;  and  it  may  be  faid 
of  Shakefpeare,  that  from  his  works  may 
be  collected  a  fyftern  of  civil  and  cecono- 
mical  prudence.  Yet  his  real  power  is  not 
fhewn  in  the  iplendor  of  particular  paflages, 
but  by  the  progress  of  his  fable,  and  the 
tenor  of  his  dialogue;  and  he  that  tries  to 
recommend  him  by  felect  quotations,  will 
fuccced  like  the  pedant  in  HierccLes,  who, 
when  he  offered  his  ho'ufe  to  fale,  canieq 
a  brick  in  his  pocket  as  a  fpecimen. 

It  will  not  eafilybe  imagined  how  much 
Shakefpeare  excels  in  accommodating  hi? 
fentiments  to  real  life,  but  by  comparing 
him  with  other  authors.  It  was  observed 
of  the  ancient  fchools  of  declamation,  tha| 
the  more  diligently  they  were  frequented, 
the  more  was  the  Undent  difquaiified  for 
the  world,  becaufe  he  found  nothing  there 


Mm* 


Men 


532 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


which  he  fliould  ever  meet  in  any  other 
place.  The  fame  remark  may  be  applied 
to  every  ftage  but  that  of  Shakefpeare.  The 

theatre,  when  it  is  under  any  other  direc- 
tion, is  peopled  by  fuch  characters  as  were 
never  feen,  convening  in  a  language 
which  was  never  heard,  upon  topics  which 
will  never  arife  in  the  commerce  of  man- 
kind. But  the  dialogue  of  this  author  is 
often  fo  evidently  determined  by  the  in- 
cident which  produces  it,  and  is  purfued 
with,  fo  much  eafe  and  fimplicity,  that  it 
feems  fcarcely  to  claim  the  merit  of  fiftion, 
but  to  have  been  gleaned  by  diligent  fe- 
leftion  out  of  common  converfation  and 
common  occurrences. 

Upon  every  other  Mage  the  univerfal 
agent  is  love,  by  whole  power  all  good  and 
Cvil  is  diftributed,  and  every  action  quick- 
ei  cd  or  retarded.  To  bring  a  lover,  a 
lady,  and  a  rival  into  the  fable  ;  to  entangle 
them  in  contradictory  obligations,  perplex 
them  with  oppofnions  of  intereft,  and  har- 
rafs  them  with  violence  of  defires  incon- 
fiitent  with  each  other;  to  make  them  meet 
in  rapture,  and  part  in  agonv;  to  fill  their 
mouths  with  hyperbolical  joy  and  outra- 
geous forrow  ;  to  diitrefs  them  as  nothing 
human  ever  was  diitreli'ed;  to  deliver  them 
as  nothing  human  ever  was  delivered;  is 
the  bunnefs  of  a  modern  dramatiiL  For 
tins,  probability  is  violated,  life  is  mifre- 
prefented,  and  language  is  depraved.  But 
Jove  is  only  one  of  many  pafiions;  and  as 
it  has  no  greater  influence  upon  the  ium  of 
life,  it  has  little  operation  in  the  dramas  of 
ii  poet,  who  caught  his  ideas  from  the  liv- 
ing world,  and  exhibited  only  what  he  faw 
before  him.  He  knew  that  any  other  paf-' 
fion,  as  it  was  regular  or  exorbitant,  was  a 
caufe  of  happinefs  or  calamity. 

Characters,  thus  ample  and  general,  were 
not  eafily  difcriminated  and  preferved  ;  vet 
perhaps  no  poet  ever  kept  his  perfonages 
more  ciftinft  from  each  other.  I  will  not 
fay  with  Pope,  that  every  fpeech  may  be 
affigned  to  the  proper  fpeaker,  becaufe 
many  fpeeches  there  are  which  have  no- 
thing charafteriltical;  but,  perhaps,  though 
fome  may  be  equally  adapted  to  every 
pcrfon,  it  will  be  difficult  to  find  any  that 
can  be  properly  transferred  from  the  pre- 
fent  poffefTor  to  another  claimant.  The 
choice  is  right,  when  there  is  rcafon  for 
choice. 

Other  drarnatifts  can  only  gain  attention 

by  hyperbelical.or  aggravated  characters, 

'.ulotis  and  unexampled  excellence  or 

■  ity,  as  the  writers  of  barbarous  ro- 


mances invigorated  the  reader  by  a  giant 
and  a  dwarf;  and  he  that  fhould  form  his 
expectations  of  human  affairs  from  the  play, 
or  from  the  tale,  would  be  equally  deceiv- 
ed. Shakefpeare  has  no  heroes  ;  his  fcenes 
are  occupied  only  by  men,  who  aft  and 
fpeak  as  the  reader  thinks  that  he  fhould 
himfelf  have  fpoken  or  afted  on  the  fame 
occaiion :  even  where  the  agency  is  fuper- 
natural,  the  dialogue  is  level  with  life. 
Other  writers  difguife  the  moft  natural 
paffions  and  moll  frequent  incidents ;  (o 
that  he  who  contemplates  them  in  the  book 
will  not  know  them  in  the  world:  Shake- 
fpeare approximates  the  remote,  and  fami- 
liarizes the  wonderful ;  the  event  which  he 
reprefents  will  not  happen  ;  but,  if  it  were 
pofhble,  its  effefts  would  probably  be  fuch 
as  he  has  affigned;  and  it  may  be  faid, 
that  he  has  not  only  fhewn  human  nature 
as  it  afts  in  real  exigencies,  but  as  it  would 
be  found  in  trials,  to  which  it  cannot  be 
expofed. 

This  therefore  is  the  praife  of  Shake- 
fpeare, that  his  drama  is  the  mirror  of 
life;  that  he  who  has  mazed  his  imagina- 
tion, in  following  the  phantoms  which 
other  writers  raife  up  before  him,  may 
here  be  cured  of  his  delirious  eeffacies, 
by  reading  human  fentiments  in  human 
language,  by  fcenes  from  which  a  hermit 
may  eftimate  the  tranfaftions  of  the  world, 
and  a  confeflbr  predift  the  progrefs  of  the 
pailions. 

His  adherence  to  general  nature  has 
expofed  him  _  to  the  cenfure  of  critics, 
who  form  their  judgments  upon  narrower 
principles.  Dennis^  and  Rymer  think  his 
Romans  not  fufficiently  Roman;  and  Vol- 
taire cenfures  his  kings  as  not  completely 
royal.  Dennis  is  offended,  that  Menenius, 
a  fenator  of  Rome,  fhould  play  the  buf- 
foon; and  Voltaire  perhaps  thinks  decency  ' 
violated  when  the  Daniih  ufurper  is  repre- 
fented  as  a  drunkard.  But  Shakefpeare 
always  makes  nature  predominate  over 
accident;  and  if  he  preferves  the  effentkl 
charafter,  is  not  very  careful  of  diiHnclions 
fuperinduced  and  adventitious.  His  fiory 
requires  Romans  or  Kings,  but  he  thinks 
only  on  men.  He  knew"  that  Rome,  like 
every  other  city,  had  men  of  ail  difpofi- 
tions ;  and  wanting  a  buffoon,  he  went  into 
the  fenate-hcufe  for  that  which  the  feiiate-' 
houfe  would  certainly  have  afforded  him. 
He  was  inclined  to  fhew  an  ufurper  and  a 
murderer  not  only  odious,  but  defpicablr; 
he  therefore  added  drunkennefs  to  his  other 
qualities,   knowing  that  kings  love  wine 

like 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


533 


like  other  men,  and  that  wine  exerts  its 
natural  power  upon  kings.  Thefe  are  the 
petty  cavils  of  petty  minds ;  a  poet  over- 
looks the  cafual  diltinction  of  country  and 
condition,  as  a  painter,  fatisfied  with  the 
figure,  neglects  the  drapery. 

The  cenfure  which  he  has  incurred  by 
mixing  comic  and  tragic  fcenes,  as  it  ex- 
tends to  all  his  works,  deferves  more  consi- 
deration. Let  the  fact  be  firft  Hated,  and 
then  examined. 

Shakefpeare's  plays  are  not,  in  the  ri- 
gorous and  critical  ienfe,  either  tragedies 
or  comedies,  but  compoiitions  of  a  diltlruit 
kind;  exhibiting  the  real  ftate  of  fublu- 
nary  nature,  which  partakes  of  good  and 
evil,  joy  and  forrow,  mingled  with  endlefs 
variety  of  proportion,  and  innumerable 
modes  of  combination ;  and  expreffing  the 
courfe  of  the  world,  in  which  the  lofs  of 
one  is  the  gain  of  another ;  in  which,  at 
the  fame  time,  the  reveller  is  haitening  to  his 
wine,  and  the  mourner  burying  his  friend  ; 
in  which  the  malignity  of  one  is  fometimes 
defeated  by  the  frolic  of  another;  and  many 
mifchiefs  and  many  benefits  are  done  and 
hindered  without  defign. 

Out  of  this  chaos  of  mingled  purpofes 
and  casualties,  the  ancient  poets,  according 
to  the  laws  which  cuitom  had  prefcribed, 
felected  feme  the  crimes  of  men,  and  fome 
their  abfurdities ;  fome  the  momentous  vi- 
ciiiitudes  of  life,  and  fome  the  lighter  oc- 
currences; fome  the  terrors  of  diiirefs,  and 
fome  the  gaieties  of  profperity.  Thus  rofe 
the  two  modes  of  imitation,  known  by  the 
names  of  tragedy  and  comedy,  compofitions 
intended  to  promote  different  ends  by  con- 
trary means,  and  confidered  as  fo  little  al- 
lied, that  I  do  not  recoiled,  among  the 
Greeks  or  Romans,  a  fingle  writer  who  at- 
tempted both. 

Shakeipeare  has  united  the  powers  of 
exciting  laughter  and  forrow,  not  only  in 
one  mind,  but  in  one  compohtion.  Almoit 
all  his  plays  are  divided  between  ferious 
and  ludicrous  characters;  and  in  the  fuc- 
ceffive  evolutions  of  the  defign,  fometimes 
produce  ferioufnefs  and  forrow,  and  fome- 
times levity  and  laughter. 

That  this  is  a  practice  contrary  to  the 
rules  of  criticifm  will  be  readily  allowed; 
but  there  is  always  an  appeal  open  from 
criticifm  to  nature.  The  end  of  writing 
is  to  inllruct;  the  end  of  poetry  is  to  in- 
ftructby  pleafmg.  That  the  mingled  drama 
may  convey  all  the  inftruction  of  tragedy 
or  comedy  cannot  be  denied,  becauie  it  in- 
cludes both  in  its  alterations  of  exhibition. 


and  approaches  nearer  than  either  to  the 
appearance  of  life,  by  mewing  how  great 
machinations  and  llender  defigns  may  pro- 
mote or  obviate  one  another,  and  the  high 
and  the  low  co-operate  in  the  general  fyftem 
by  unavoidable  cancatenation. 

It  is  objected,  that  by  this  change  of 
fcenes  the  paflions  are  interrupted  in  their 
progrefiion,  and  that  the  principal  event, 
being  not  advanced  by  a  due  gradation 
of  preparatory  incidents,  wants  at  lair  the 
power  to  move,  which  conftitutes  the  per- 
fection of  dramatic  poetry.  This  reaion- 
ing  is  fo  fpecious,  that  it  is  received  as  true 
even  by  thofe  who  in  daily  experience  feel 
it  to  be  falfe.  The  interchanges  of  min- 
gled fcenes  feldom  fail  to  produce  the  in- 
tended viciffitudes  of paffion.  fiction  can- 
not move  fo  much,  but  that  the  attention 
may  be  eafily  transferred ;  and  though  it 
mult  be  allowed  that  pleafmg  melancholy 
be  fometimes  interrupted  by  unwelcome 
levity,  yet  let  it  be  confidered  likewife, 
that  melancholy  is  often  not  pleafmg,  and 
that  the  difturbance  of  one  man  may  be 
the  relief  of  another;  that  different  audi- 
tors have  different  habitudes ;  and  that, 
upon  the  whole,  all  pleafure  confifts  in 
variety. 

The  players,  who  in  their  edition  divided 
our  author's  works  into  comedies,  hiitories, 
and  tragedies,  feem  not  to  have  diftinguifh- 
ed  the  three  kinds  by  any  very  exact  or 
definite  ideas. 

An  action  which  ended  happily  to  the 
principal  perfons,  however  ferious  or  dif- 
trefsful  through  its  intermediate  incidents, 
in  their  opinion  confr.itut.ed  a  comedy.  This 
idea  of  a  comedy  continued  long  amongfl 
us ;  and  plays  were  written,  which,  by 
changing  the  cataiirophe,  were  tragedies 
to-day,  and  comedies  to-morrow. 

Tragedy  was  not  in  thofe  times  a  poem 
of  more  general  dignity  or  elevation  than 
comedy ;  it  required  only  a  calamitous 
concluiion,  with  which  the  common  cri- 
ticifm of  that  age  was  fatisfied,  what- 
ever lighter  pleafure  it  afforded  in  its 
progrefs. 

Hiilory  was  a  fcries  of  actions,  with  no 
other  than  chronological  fucceffion,  inde- 
pendent on  each  other,  and  without  any 
tendency  to  introduce  or  regulate  the  con- 
cluiion. It  is  not  always  very  nicely  dif- 
tinguiihed  from  tragedy.  There  is  not 
much  nearer  approacli  to  unity  of  action 
in  the  tragedy  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra, 
than  in  the  hiftory  of  Richard  the  Se- 
cond.    But  a  hiftory  might  be  continued 

M  m  3  through 


5 


M 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


through  many  plays ;  as  it  had  no  plan,  it 
had  ro  limits. 

Through  all  thefe  denominations  of  the 
drama,  Shakefpeare's  mode  of  compcfition 
is  the  fame;  an  interchange  of  ferioufnefs 
and  merriment,  by  which  the  mind  is  foft- 
encd  at  one  time,  and  exhilarated  at  another. 
But  whatever  be  his  purpofe,  whether  to 
gladden  or  deprefs,  or  to  conduct  the  ilory, 
Without  vehemence  or  emotion,  through 
tracts  of  eafy  and  familiar  dialogue,  he  ne- 
ver fails  to  attain  his  purpofe;  as  he  com- 
mands us,  we  laugh  or  mourn,  or  fit  filent 
with  quiet  expectation,  in  tranquillity  with- 
out indifference. 

When  Shakefpeare's  plan  is  undenlood, 
moil:  of  the  criticifms  of  Rymer  and  Vol- 
taire vanifh  away.  The  play  of  Hamlet 
is  opened,  without  impropriety,  bv  two 
cei  tinels  :  lago  bellows  at  Brabaiaio's  win- 
dow, without  injury  to  the  fche'me  of  the 
play,  though  in  terms  which  a  modern  au- 
dience would  not  eaiily  endure;  the  cha- 
racter of  Pclonius  is  feafonable  and  ufeful ; 
and  the  Grave-diggers  themlelves  may  be 
heard  with  applauie. 

Shakespeare  engaged  in  dramatic  poetry 
with  the  world  open  before- him;  the  rules 
of  the  ancients  were  yet  known  to  few;  the 
public  judgment  was  unformed:  he  had  no 
(  .::  pie  of  inch  fame  as  might  force  him 
upon  imitation,  nor  critics  or  fuch  autho- 
rity as  might  reftrairi  his  extravagance; 
he  therefore  indulged  his  natural  difpofi- 
l:on ;  and  his  difpofition,  as  Rymer  has  re- 
marked, led  him  to  comedy.  In  tragedy 
he  often  writes,  with  great  appearance  of 
toil  and  kudy,  what  is  written  at  hit  with 
little  felicity;  but  in  his  comic  fcenes,  he 
fe  ::;>:i  -  ;  -  duce,  without  labour,  what  no 
labour  can  improve*  In  tragedy  he  is  al- 
•  ftruggiing  after  fome  occaiion  to  be 
comic;  but  in  corner     tie  feems  , 

or  to  luxuriate,  as  in  a  mode  of  thi 

enial  to  his-  nature.  In  his  tragic 
■  -  is  always  fomething  wani 
but  his  comedy  often  fur] 
pr  deiire.  His  comedy  pleafes"  by  the 
I  ights  and  the  language,  and  his  tra- 
g  y,  for  the  greater  pan,  by  incident  and 
action.  His  tragedy  fee  mo  to  be  fkill,  his 
eomedy  to  be  initincT:. 

The  force  of  his  comic  fcenes  has  fuf- 
fered  little  diminution,  from  the   c 
rnade  by  a  century  and  a  half,  in  m; 
or  in  words.     As  his  perfc  '.  upon 

rifirtg  from  genuine  paffion,  very 
ittl  ':-cd   by   particular  forms,  their 

es  and  vexation,';  are  communicable 
*.  a  i  times  and  to  all  places;  they  are  na- 


tural, and  therefore  durable:  the  adventi- 
tious peculiarities  of  petfonal  habits  are 
only  fuperfkial  dyes,  bright  and  pieafing 
for  a  little  while,  yet  foon  fading  to  a  dim 
tinft,  without  any  remains  of  forme-  luftre ; 
but  the  difcriminations  of  true  paffion  are 
the  colours  of  nature  :  they  pervai 
whole  mafs,  and  can  only  perilh  with  the 
body  that  exhibits  them.  The  accidental 
competitions  of  heterogeneous  modes  are 
diffolved  by  the  chance  which  combined 
them;  but  the  uniform  fimplicity  of  pri- 
mitive qualities  neither  admits  increafe,  nor 
fakers  decay.  The  fand  heaped  by  one 
flood  is  fcattered  by  another,  but  the  rock 
always  continues  in  its  place.  The  fxream 
°f  time,  which  is  continually  warning  the 
diffoluble  fabrics  of  other  poets,  pafl'es 
without  injury  to  the  adamant  of  Shake- 
ipeare. 

It  there  be,  what  I  believe  there  is,  in 
every  nation,  a  ftyle  which,  never  becomes 
obfolete,  a  certain  mode  of  phrafeology  fo 
confonant  and  congenial  to  the  analogy  and 
principles  of  its  refpective  language,  as  to 
remain  fettled  and  unaltered;  this  ftyle  is 
probably  to  be  fought  in  the  common  in- 
iercourje  of  life,  among  thofe  who  fpeak 
only  to  be  underftood,  without  ambition  of 
elegance.  The  polite  arc  always  en  ' 
modifh  innovations,  and  the  learned  i  t 

from  eftablifhed  forms  of  fpeech,  in  hopes 
of  finding  or  making  better;  thofe  who 
wifh  for  dift inclion  forfakethe  vulgar,  ..  \  .; 
the  vulgar  is  right;  but  there  is  a  co 
fation  above  groflhefs,  and  below  n 
ment,  where  propriety  refides,  and  where 
this  poet  feems  to  have  gathered  his  co- 
mic dialogue.  He  is  therefore  more  agree- 
able to  the  ears  of  the  prefent  age 'than 
?-!->"  other  author  equally  remde,  and 
among  his  other  excellencies  deierves  to 
be  ftudied  as  one  of  the  original  makers  of 
our  language. 

Thefe  observations  are  to  be  ccnfidered 
not  as  unexceptionably  conftant,  but  as 
contai  i  gene  ral  and  predominant  truth. 
Shakefpeare's  familiar  dialogue  is  affirmed 
to  be  finooth  and  clear,  yet  not  wholly 
without  ruggednefs  or  difficulty;  as  a 
country  may  be  eminently  fruitful,  though 
it  has  fpots  unfit  for  cultivation:  his  cha- 

ters  are  praifed  as  natural,  though 
their  fentimehts  are  fometimes  forced,  a 'id 
their  actions  improbable;  as  the  earth 
upon  the  whole  is  fpherical,  though  its 
furface  is  varied  with  protuberances  and 
cavities. 

Shakefpeare    with   his   excellencies    has 
likewifc  faults,  and  faults  fufficient  to  ob- 

fc  are 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.  53; 


fcure  and  overwhelm  any  other  merit.  ^  I 
mall  ihevv  them  in  the  proportion  in  which 
they  appear  to  me,  without  envious  ma- 
lignity or  fuperftitious  veneration.  No 
queftion  can  be  more  innocently  difcufled 
than  a  dead  poet's  pretentions  to  renown; 
and  little  regard  is  due  to  that  bigotry 
which  fets  candour  higher  than  truth. 

His  firft  defecl  is  that  to  which  may  be 
imputed  moil  of  the  evil  in  books  or  in 
men.  He  facrifices  virtue  to  convenience, 
and  is  fo  much  more  careful  to  pleafe  than 
to  infTrucT:,  that  he  feems  to  write  without 
any  moral  purpofe.  From  his  writings, 
indeed,  a  fyftem  of  focial  duty  may  be  fe- 
le&ed,  for' he  that  thinks  reafonably  muft 
think  morally ;  but  his  precepts  and  axioms 
drop  carnally  from  him";  he  makes  no  juft 
diftribution  of  good  or  evil,  nor  is  always 
careful  to  mew  in  the  virtuous  a  difappro- 
bation  of  the  wicked;  he  carries  his  per- 
fons  indifferently  through  right  and  wrong, 
and  at  the  dole  difmifles  them  without 
further  care,  and  leaves  their  examples  to 
operate  by  chance.  This  fault  the  bar- 
barity of  his  age  cannot  extenuate;  tor  it 
is  always  a  writer's  duty  to  make  the  world 
better,  and  juftice  is  a  virtue  independent 
on  time  or  place. 

The  plots  are  often  fo  loofely  formed, 
that  a  very  flight  confideration  may  im- 
prove them,  and  fo  carelefsly  purfued,  that 
he  feems  not  always  fully  to  comprehend 
his  ovvndefign.  He  omits  opportunities  of 
intruding  or  delighting,  winch  the  train  of 
his  (lory  feems  to  force  upon  him,  and  ap- 
parently rejects  thole  .exhibitions  which 
would  be  more  affecting,  for  the  fake  of 
thofe  which  are  more  eafy. 

It  may  be  obferved,  that  in  many  of  his 
plays  the  latter  part  is  evidently  negleded. 
When  he  found  himfelf  near  the  end  of  his 
work,  and  in  view  of  his  reward,  he  lhort- 
ened  the  labour  to  fnatch  the  profit.  He 
therefore  remits  his  efforts  where  he  fhould 
molt  vigorouily  exert  them,  and  his  cataf- 
trophe  is  improbably  produced  or  imper- 
fectly reprefented. 

He  had  no  regard  to  diftinclion  of  time 
or  place,  but  gives  to  one  age  or  nation, 
without  fcruple,  the  cuitoms,  'inftitutions, 
and  opinions  of  another,  at  the  expence  not 
only  of  likelihood,  but  of  poffibility.  Thefe 
faults  Pope  has  endeavoured,  with  more 
zeal  than  judgment,  to  transfer  to  his  ima- 
gined interpolators.  We  need  not  wonder 
to  find  Heclor  quoting  Arilrotle,  when  we 
fee  the  loves  of  Thefeus  and  Hippolyta 
Combined  with  the  Gothic   mythology  of 


fairies.     Shakefpeare,  indeed,  was  not  the 
only  violator  of  chronolcg    :    for,  in  the 
fame  age,  Sidney,  who  wanted  not  tl 
vantages  of  learning,  has,   in  his  A  ■ 
confounded  the  paitoral    with    the 
times,  the  days  of  innocence,    quiet,  and 
fecurity,   with    thofe    of  turbulence,  \  io- 
lence,  and  adventure. 

In  his  comic  fcenes  he  is  feldom  very 
fuccefsful,  when  he  engages  his  chai 
in  reciprocations  of  fmartnefs  and  c, 
of  farcafm;  their  jefts  are  commonly  ■ 
and  their  pleafantry  licentious;  neit  ,  3 
gentlemen  nor  his  ladies  have  much  .::':!- 
cacy,  nor  are  fufficiently  diftinguifhed  from 
his  clowns  by  any  appearance  of  refined 
manners.  Whether  he  reprefented  the  real 
converfation  of  his  time  is  not  eafy  to  de- 
termine ;  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  is  com- 
monly  fuppofed  to  have  been  a  time  of 
ftatelinefc,  formality,  and  referve;  yet,  per- 
haps the  relaxations  of  that  feverity  were 
not  very  elegant.  There  muff,  however, 
have  been  always  fome  modes  of  gaiety 
preferable  to  others,  and  a  writer  ought  to 
choofe  the  heft. 

In  tragedy,  his  performance  feems  con- 
ffantly  to  be  worfe,  as  his  labour  is  more. 
The  effulions  of  pafiion,  which  exigence 
forces  out,  are  for  the  moil  part  11  rii 
and  energetic  ;  but  whenever  he  Solicits  his 
invention  or  itrains  his  faculties,  ',., 
fpring  of  his  throes  is  tumour,  meannefs, 
tedioufnefs,  and  obfeurity. 

In  narration,  he  affedls  a  difproportionate 
pomp  of  diction,  and  a  wearifome  1  rain  of. 
circumlocution,  and  tells  the  incident  im- 
perfectly in  many  words,  which  might  have 
been  more  plainly  delivered  in  few,  Nar- 
ration in  dramatic  poetry  is  naturally  te- 
dious, as  it  is  unanimated  and  inactive,  and 
obilrucls  the  progrefs  of  the  aftion ;  it  mould 
therefore  always  be  rapid,  and  enlivened  by 
frequent  interruption.  Shakefpeare  found 
it  an  incumbrance,  and  inilead  of  lighten- 
ing it  by  brevity,  endeavoured  to  recom- 
mend it  by  dignity  and  fplendor. 

His  declamations,  or  fet  fpeeches,  are 
commonly  cold  and  weak,  for  his  power 
was  the  power  of  nature;  when  be  endear 
voured,  like  other  tragic  writers,  to  catch 
opportunities  of  amplification,  and,  infeead 
of  inquiring  what  the  occafion  demanded, 
to  fhew  how  much  his  ftores  of  knowledge 
could  fupply,  he  feldom  efcapes  without  the 
pity  or  refentment  of  his  reader. 

Itis  incident  to  him  to  be  now  and  then 

entangled  with  an  unwieldy  fentiment,which 

ho  cannot  well  expreis,  and  will  not  reject  j 

M  m  4  tie 


53* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


he  struggles  with  it  a  while,  and,  if  it  con- 
tinues ftubbom,  comprizes  it  in  words  inch 
as  occur,  and  leaves  it  to  be  diientangled 
and  evolved  by  thcfe  who  have  more  lei- 
sure to  beftow  upon  it. 

Not  that  always  where  the  language  is 
intricate  the  thought  is  fubtile,  or  the 
image  always  great  where  the  line  is  bulky ; 
the  quality  of  words  to  things  is  very  often 
neglected,  and  trivial  lentiments  and  vul- 
gar ideas  difappointthe  attention,  to  which 
they  are  recommended  by  fonorous  epi- 
thets and  fwelling  figures. 

But  the  admirers  ot  this  great  poet  have 
moft  reafon  to  complain  when  he  approach- 
es neareft  to  his  highell  excellence,  and 
feems  fully  refolved  to  fink  them  in  dejec- 
tion, and  mollify  them  with  tender  emo- 
tions by  the  fall  of  greatnefs,  the  danger  of 
innocence,  or  the  croffes  of  love.  What 
he  does  belt,  he  foon  ceafes  to  do.  He  is 
not  long  feft  and  pathetic  without  feme 
idle  conceit,  or  contemptible  equivocation. 
He  no  fooner  begins  to  move,  than  he  coun- 
teracts himfelf;  and  terror  and  pity,  as  they 
are  rifmg  in  the  mind,  are  checked  and 
blafled  by  fudden  frigidity. 

A  quibble  is  to  Shakefpeare  what  lumi- 
nous vapcurs  are  to  the  tiaveller;  he  fol- 
lows it  at  all  adventures;  it  is  lure  to  had 
him  cut  of  his  way,  and  lure  to  engulf  him 
in  the  mire.  Jt  has  iome  malignant  power 
over  his  mind,  and  its  fafcinations  are  irre- 
iifiible.  Whatever  be  the  dignity  or  pro- 
fundity of  his  difquifition,  whether  he  be 
enlarging  knowledge,  or  exalting  affection, 
whether  he  be  amuling  attention  with  Inci- 
dents, or  enchaining  it  in  fufperife,  let  but 
a  quibble  fpring  up  before  him,  and  he 
leaves  his  work  unfinifhed.  A  quibble  is 
the  gclden  apple  for  which  he  will  always 
turn  afide  from  his  career,  or  {icop  from 
his  elevation.  A  quibble,  poor  and  barren 
as  it  is,  gave  him  fuch  delight,  that  he  v\as 
<ronfent  to  purchafe  it,  by  the  facrince  cf 
realon,  propriety,  and  truth.  A  quibble 
was  to  him  the  fatal  Cleopatra  for  which 
hs  loft  the  world,  and  was  content  to  lefe 
it. 

It  will  be  thought  ftrange,  that,  in  enu- 
merating the  defects  of  this  writer,  1  have 
not  yet  mentioned  his  neglect  of  the  uni- 
ties j  his  violation  of  thofe  law?  which 
hayp  been  ir.flituted  and  eflablifned  by  the 
joint  auinority  of  poets  and  critics. 

For  his  other  deviations  firm  the  art 
©f  writing,  f  relign  him  to  critical  juftice, 
without  making  any  other  demand  in  his 
fppur,  thrtu  that  which  mult  be  indulged 


to  all  human  excellence;  that  his  virtues 
be  rated  with  his  failings:  but,  from  the 
cenfure  which  this  irregularity  may  bring 
upon  him,  I  {hall,  with  due  reverence  to 
that  learning  which  I  muft  oppofe,  adven- 
ture to  try  how  I  can  defend  him. 

His  hiitories,  being  neither  tragedies 
nor  comedies,  are  not  fubject  to  any  of 
their  laws ;  nothing  more  is  necefTary  to 
all  the  praife  which  they  expect,  than  that 
the  changes  of  action  be  io  prepared  as  to 
be  underitood,  that  the  incidents  be  vari- 
ous and  affecting,  and  the  characters  con- 
fiilent,  natural,  and  diftincl.  No  other 
unity  is  intended,  and  therefore  none*  is 
to  be  fought. 

In  his  other  works  he  has  well  enough 
preierved  the  unity  of  action.  He  has 
not,  indeed,  an  intrigue  regularly  per- 
plexed and  regularly  unravelled ;  he  does 
not  endeavour  to  hide  his  defign  only  to 
difcover  it;  for  this  is  feldom  the  order  of 
ical  events,  and  Shakefpeare  is  the  poet 
or  nature  :  but  his  plan  has  commonly 
what  Ariftotle  requires,  a  beginning, 
a  middle,  and  an  end  ;  one  event  is  con- 
catenated with  another,  and  the  conclu- 
sion follows  by  eafy  confequence.  There 
are  perhaps  feme  incidents  that  might 
be  lpared,  as  in  other  poets  there  is  much 
talk  that  only  fills  up  time  upon  the  ftage  5 
but  the  general  fyftem  makes  gradual  ad- 
vances, and  the  end  of  the  play  is  the 
end  of  expectation. 

To  the  unities  cf  time  and  place  he  has 
fhewn  no  regard ;  and  perhaps  a  nearer 
view  of  the  principles  on  which  they  Hand, 
will  diminilh  their  value,  and  withdraw 
from  them  the  \  eneration  which,  from  the 
time  of  Corneille,  they  have  very  gene- 
rally received,  by  difecvering  that  they 
have  given  more  trouble  to  the  poet,  than 
pica i ure  to  the  auditor. 

The  necefHty  of  obferving  the  unities 
of  time  and  place  arifes  from  the  fhppofed 
neceffity  of  making  the  drama  credible. 
The  critics  hold  it  impoflible,  that  an  ac- 
tion of  months  or  years  can  be  poflibly  be- 
lieved to  pais  in  three  hours ;  or  that  the 
fpectator  can  fuppofe  himielfto  fit  in  the 
theatre,  while  ambaffadors  go  and  return 
between  diftant  kings,  while  armies  are 
levied  and  towns  beheged,  while  an  exile 
wanders  and  returns,  or  till  he  whom  they 
faw  courting  his  miftrefs,  mould  lament 
the  untimely  fall  of  his  fon.  The  mind 
revolts  from  evident  falfehood,  and  fiction 
lofes  its  foice  when  it  departs  from  the 
refemblance  of  reality, 

Fiona 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.  537 


From  the  narrow  limitation  of  time  ne- 
cefTiirily  arifes  the  contraftion  of  place. 
The  fpcftator,  who  knows  that  he  faw  the 
firft  aft  at  Alexandria,  cannot  fuppofe  that 
he  fees  the  next  at  Rome,  at  a  diitance  to 
which  not  the  dragons  of  Medea  could,  in 
fo  fhort  a  time,  have  tranfported  him ;  he 
knows  with  certainty  that  he  has  not 
changed  his  place ;  and  he  knows  that 
place  cannot  change  itfelf ;  that  what  was 
a  houfe  cannot  become  a  plain ;  that  what 
was  Thebes  can  never  be  Perfepolis. 
.  Such  is  the  triumphant  language  with 
which  a  critic  exults  over  the  mifery  of  an 
irregular  poet,  and  exults  commonly  with- 
out refinance  or  reply.  It  is  time,  there- 
fore, to  teil  him,  by  the  authority  of  Shake- 
fpeare,  that  he  affumes,  as  an  unqueilion- 
able  principle,  a  pofition,  which,  while  his 
breath  is  forming  it  into  words,  his  under- 
Handing  pronounces  to  be  falie.  It  is 
falie,  that  any  reprefentation  is  miftaken 
for  reality;  that  any  dramatic  fable,  in  its 
materiality,  was  ever  credible,  or,  for  a 
fingle  moment,  was  ever  credited. 

The  objection  ariiing  from  the  impoffi- 
bility  of  palling  the  firft  hour  at  Alexan- 
dria, and  the  next  at  Rome,  fuppoies,  that 
when  the  play  opens,  the  fpeftator  really 
imagines  himfelf  at  Alexandria;  and  be- 
lieves that  his  walk  to  the  theatre  has  been 
a  voyage  to  Egypt,  and  that  he  lives  in 
the  days  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra.  Surely 
he  that  imagines  this  may  imagine  more. 
He  that  can  take  the  ftage  at  one  time  for 
the  palace  of  the  Ptolemies,  may  take  it 
in  half  an  hour  for  the  promontory  of 
Aftium.  Delufion,  if  delufion  be  admitted, 
has  no  certain  limitation  ;  if  the  fpeftator 
can  be  once  perfuaded,  that  his  old  ac- 
quaintance are  Alexander  and  Ca;far, 
that  a  room  illuminated  with  candles  is 
the  plain  of  Pharfalia,  or  the  bank  of 
Granicus,  he  is  in  a  ftate  of  elevation 
above  the  reach  of  reafon,  or  of  truth,  and 
from  the  heights  of  empyrean  poetry, 
may  delpife  the  circumfpeftions  of  terrei- 
trial  nature.  There  is  no  reafon  why  a 
mind  thus  wandering  in  ecftacy,  fhould 
count  the  clock;  or  why  an  hour  mould 
not  be  a  century  in  that  calenture  of  the 
brain  that  can  make  the  ftage  a  field. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  fpeftators  are 
always  in  their  fenfes,  and  know,  from  the 
firft  aft  to  the  laft,  that  the  ftage  is  only  a 
ftage,  and  that  the  players  are  only  players. 
They  came  to  hear  a  certain  number  of 
lines  recited  with  juft  gefture  and  elegant 
modulation,     The  lines  relate  to  fome  ac- 


tion, and  an  aftion  muft  be  in  fome  place ; 
but  the  different  aftions  that  complete  a 
ftory  may  be  in  places  very  remote  from 
each  other;  and  where  is  the  abfurdity  of 
allowing  that  fpace  to  reprefent  firft 
Athens,  and  then  Sicily,  which  was  always 
known  to  be  neither  Sicily  nor  Athens, 
but  a  modern  theatre  ? 

By  fuppofition,  as  place  is  introduced, 
time  may  be  extended ;  the  time  required 
by  the  fable  elapfes  for  the  moft  part  be- 
tween the  afts ;  for,  of  fo  much  of  the  ac- 
tion as  is  reprefented,  the  real  and  poetical 
duration  is  the  fame.  If,  in  the  firft  aft, 
preparations  for  war  againft  Mithridates 
are  reprefented  to  be  made  in  Rome,  the 
event  of  the  war  may,  without  abfurdity, 
be  reprefented,  in  the  cataftrophe,  as  hap- 
pening in  Pontus;  we  know  that  there  is 
neither  war,  nor  preparation  for  war;  we 
know  that  we  are  neither  in  Rome  nor 
Pontus;  that  neither  Mithridates  nor  Lu* 
cullus  are  before  us.  The  drama  exhibits 
fucceffive  imitations  of  fheceffive  aftions; 
and  why  may  not  the  fecond  imitation  re- 
prefent an  aftion  that  happened  years 
after  the  firft,  if  it  be  fo  connefted  with  it, 
that  nothing  but  time  can  be  fuppofed  to 
intervene  ?  Time  is,  of  all  modes  of  ex- 
istence, moft  oblequious  to  the  imagina- 
tion; a  lapfe  of  years  is  as  eafily  conceiv- 
ed as  a  pafiage  of  hours.  In  contempla- 
tion we  eafily  contraft  the  time  of  real 
aftions,  and  therefore  willingly  permit  it 
to  be  contrafted  when  we  only  fee  their 
imitation. 

It  will  be  alked,  how  the  drama  moves, 
if  it  is  not  credited  ?  It  is  credited  with  all 
credit  due  to  a  drama.  It  is  credited,  when- 
ever it  moves,  as  a  juft  pifture  of  a  real 
original;  as  reprefenting  to  the  auditor 
what  he  would  himfelf  feel,  if  he  were  to 
do  or  fuffer  what  is  there  feigned  to  be 
Tuffered  or  to  be  done.  The  reflection 
that  ftrikes  the  heart  is  not,  that  the  evils 
before  us  are  real  evils,  but  that  they  arc 
evils  to  which  we  ourfelves  may  be  ex- 
pofed.  If  there  be  any  fallacy,  it  is  not 
that  we  fancy  the  players,  but  that  we 
fancy  ourfelves  unhappy  for  a  moment  j 
but  we  rather  lament  the  poffibility,  than 
fuppofe  the  prefence  of  mifery,  as  a  mo- 
ther weeps  over  her  babe,  when  (he  re- 
members that  death  may  take  it  from  her. 
The  delight  of  tragedy  proceeds  from  our 
coniciouinefs  of  fiction ;  if  we  thought 
murders  and  treafons  real,  they  would 
pleafe  no  more. 

Imitations  produce  pain  or  pleafure,  not 

becaufe 


53« 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


becaufe  they  are  miftaken  for  realities, 
but  becaufe  they  bring  realities  to  mind. 
When  the  imagination  is  recreated  by  a 
painted  landfcape,  the  trees  are  not  fup- 
pofed  capable  to  give  us  made,  or  the 
fountains  coolnefs ;  but  we  confider  bow 
we  mould  be  pleafed  with  fuch  fountains 
playing  befide  us,  and  fuch  woods  waving 
over  us.  We  are  agitated  in  reading  the 
hiftory  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  yet  no  man 
takes  his   book  for  the  field  of  urt. 

A  dramatic  exhibition  is  a  boo!:  recited 
with  concomitants  that  increafeor  dirninifh 
its  erfecl.     Familiar  comedy  is  often  more 
powerful  on  the  theatre,  than  in  the  | 
imperial  tragedy  is  al 
in  our  of  Petruchio  may  be  heigl 
grimace;  but  what  voice  or  what  gefture 
c       I  ope   to  add  dignity  or  force  to  the 
quy  cf  Cato  ? 

A  play  read  affefts  the  mind  like  a  play 
afted.  It  is  therefore  evident,  that  the 
action  is  not  fuppofed  to  be  real ;  and  it 
follows,  that  between  the  afts  a  longer  or 
ihorter  time  may  be  allowed  to  pafs,  and 
that  no  more  account  of  fpace  or  duration 
is  to  be  taken  by  the  auditor  of  a  d 
than  by  the  reader  of  a  narrative,,  I 
whom  may  pais  in  an  hour,  the  life  of 
a  hero,  or  the  revolutions  of  an  empire. 

Whether  Shakefpeare  knew  the  unities, 
and  rejected  them  by  defign,  or  deviated 
from  them  by  happy  ignorance,  it  is,  I 
think,  impofiible  to  decide,  and  ufelefs 
to  inquire.  We  may  reafonably  fuppofe, 
that,  when  he  rofe  to  notice,  he  did  not 
want  the  counfels  and  admonitions  of  fcho- 
lars  and  critics,  and  that  he  at  iaft  delibe- 
rately perfiiled  in  a  practice,  which  he 
might  have  begun  by  chance, 
thinr^  is  effential  to  the  fable  but  unity  of 
action,  and  as  the  unities  of  time  and  place 
arife  evidently  from  fa  He  affumptions,  and 
by  circumfcribing  the  extent  of  the  drama, 
leffens  its  variety,  I  cannot  think  it  much 
to  be  lamented  that  they  were  not  I 
by  him,  or  not  obferved:  nor,  if  fuch  an- 
other poet  could  arife,  fhould  I  very  vehe- 
mently reproach  bim,  that  his  fill:  a<5r. 
paffed  at  Venice,  and  his  next  in  Cyprus. 
Such  violations  of  rules,  merely  pofitive, 
become  the  comprehensive  genius  of 
Shakefpeare,  and  fuch  cenfures  arc  fuit- 
able  to  the  minute  and  ilender  criticifm  of 
i  re  : 

adeo  rvrmifauit  imis 
Lon|  nmadii       ut  non,  u  voce  Metelli 

.  caalint  a  Caefare  toili. 


Yet  when  I  fpeak  thus  flightly  of  dra- 
matic rules,  I  cannot  but  recoiled  how  much 
wit  and  learning  may  be  produced  againit 
me;  before  fuch  authorities  J  am  afraid  to 
Hand,  not  that  I  think  the  prefent  queilion 
one  of  thofe  that  are  to  be  decided  by  mere 
authority,  but  becaufe  it  is  to  be  fufpected, 
that  theie  perhaps  have  not  been  fo  eafily 
received,  but  for  better  reafons  than  I 
have  yet  been  able  to  find.  The  refult  of 
my  enquiries,  in  which  it  would  be  ludi- 
crous to  boaft  of  impartiality,  is,  that  the 
unities  of  time  and  place  are  not  effential  to 
drama;  that  though  they  may  fome- 
times  conduce  to  pleafure,  they  are  al- 
to befacrificed  to  the  nobler  beauties 
of  variety  and  mftru&ion;  and  that  a  play 
written  with  nice  obfervation  of  critical 
-■  contemplated  as  an  elabo- 
rate curiofity,  as  the  product  of  fapcrfluous 
and  oftentatious  art,  by  which  is  fliewn, 
rather  what  is  poihbie  than  what  is  necef- 
fary. 

He   that,    without   diminution   of   any 
other    excellence,    mail    prefer ve    all    the 
i   unbroken,    deferves   the   like    ap- 
with   the   arch  .   i   mail  dif- 

play  all  the  orders  of  architecture  in  a  ci- 
without    any    deduction    from    its 
h:    but  the    principal  beauty    of  a 
!    is  to  exclude  the  enemy;  and  the 
greatefl  grace  i  of  a  play  are  to  copy  na- 
ture, and  inflruct  life. 

Perhaps,  what  I  have  here  not  dogma- 
tically but  deliberately  written,  may  recall  ' 
the  principles  of  the  drama  to  a  new  exa- 
mination.  I  am  almoft-  frighted  at  mv 
own  temerity;  and  when  I  ellimate  the 
fame  and  the  ftrength  of  thofe  that  main- 
tain the  contrary  opinion,  am  ready  to  fink 
down  in  reverential  filence;  as  ^Eneas 
ew  from  the  defence  of  Troy,  when 
he  faw  Neptune  making  the  wail,  and  Juno 
'leading  the  befiegers. 

Thole  whom  my  arguments  cannot  per- 
fuade  to  give  their  approbation  to  the 
judgment  of  Shakefpeare,  will  eafily,  if 
they  confider  the  condition  of  his  life, 
make  fome  allowance  for  his  ignorance. 
Every  man's  performances,  to  be  vi  ■ 
eftimatcd,  mull  be  compared  with  the  ftate 
of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and  with 
own  particular  opportunities;  and  though 
io  a  reader  a  book  be  not  wprfe  or  better 
for  the  circumftances  of  the  author,  yet  as 
there  is  always  a  filent  reference  of  ha- 
man  works  to  human  abilities,  and  as  the 
inquiry,  how  far  mai  m  ij  ..rend  his  de- 
fignsj  or  how  high  :ma;  rate  his  native 
'J  force, 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL 

force,  is  of  far  greater  dignity  than  in 
what  rank  we  fhali  place  any  particular 
performance,  curicfity  is  always  bufy  to 
difcover  the  inftruments,  as  well  as  to  fur- 
vey  the  workmanfhip,  to  know  how  much 
is  to  be  afcribed  to  original  powers,  and 
how  much  to  caiual  and  adventitious  heip. 
The  palaces  of  Peru  or  Mexico  were  cer- 
tainly mean  and  incommodious  habitations, 
if  compared  to  the  houfes  of  European 
nionarchs;  yet  who  could  forbear  to  view 
them  with  alloniihment,  who  remembered 
that  they  were  built  without  the  ufe  of 
iron  ? 

The  Englifh  nation,  in  the  time  of 
Shakeipeare,  was  yet  ftruggling  to  emerge 
from  barbarity.  The  philology  of  Italy 
had  been  tranfplanted  hither  in  the  reign 
oJ'"  Henry  the  Eighth;  and  the  learned 
languages  had  been  fuccef  fully  cultivated 
by  Lilly,  Linacre,  and  More;  by  Pole, 
Cheke,  and  Gardiner;  and  afterwards  by 
Smith,  Clerk,  Haddon,  and  Afcham. 
Greek  was  now  taught  to  boys  in  the 
principal  fchools;  and  thofe  who  united 
elegance  with  learning,  read,  with  great 
cogence,  the  Italian  and  Spaniih  poets. 
But  literature  was  yet  confined  to  profefled 
fcholars,  or  to  men  and  women  of  high 
rank.  The  public  was  grofs  and  dark; 
and  to  be  able  to  read  and  write,  was  an 
iiecomplimment  frill  valued  for  its  rarity. 

Nations,  like  individuals,  have  their  in- 
fancy. A  people,  newly  awakened  to 
literary  curiofity,  being  yet  unacquainted 
with  the  true  ftate  of  things,  knows  not 
how  to  judge  of  that  which  is  propofed 
as  its  refemblance.  Whatever  is  remote 
from  common  appearances  is  always  wel- 
come to  vulgar,  as  to  childifh  credulity; 
and  of  a  country  unenlightened  by  learn- 
ing, the  whole  people  is  the  vulgar.  The 
ftudy  of  thofe  who  then  afpired  to  plebeian 
learning  was  laid  out  upon  adventures, 
giants,  dragons,  and  enchantments.  The 
Death  of  Arthur  was  the  favourite  volume. 
The  mind,  which  was  feafted  on  the 
luxurious  wonders  of  fiction,  has  no  tafte 
of  the  infipidity  of  truth.  A  play,  which 
imitated  only  the  common  occurrences  of 
the  world,  would,  upon  the  admirers  of 
Palmerin  and  Guy  o£  Warwick,  have 
made  little  impreifion;  he  that  wrote  for 
fuch  an- audience  was  under  the  neceflity 
of  looking  round  for  flrange  events  and 
Fabulous  tranfaclions ;  and  that  incredi- 
bility, by  which  maturer  knowledge  is 
offended,  was  the  chief  recommendation 
ef  writings  to  unfkiiful  curiofity. 


AND    HISTORICAL.  539 

Our  author's  plots  are  generally  bor- 
rowed from  novels  ;  and  it  is  reafonable 
to  fuppofe,  that  he  choie  the  mod  popular, 
fuch  as  were  read  by  many,  and  related 
by  more ;  for  his  audience  could  not  have 
followed  him  through  the  intricacies  of  the 
drama,  had  they  not  held  the  thread  of 
the  ftery  in  their  hands. 

The  llories,  which  we  now  find  only  in 
remoter  authors,  were  in  his  time  acceffible 
and  familiar.  The  fable  of  As  you  like 
it,  which  is  fuppofed  to  be  copied  from 
Chaucer's  Gamelyn,  was  a  little  pamphlet 
of  thofe  times;  and  old  Mr.  Cibber  re- 
membered the  tale  of  Hamlet  in  plain 
Englilh  profe,  which  the  critics  have  now 
to  ieek  in  Saxo  Grammaticus. 

His  Engliih  hiftories  he  took  from  Eng- 
lifh chronicles  and  Englifh  ballads;  and 
as  the  ancient  writers  were  made  known 
to  his  countrymen  by  verfions,  they  fup- 
plied  him  with  new  fubjefts;  he  dilated 
fome  of  Plutarch's  lives  into  plays,  when 
they  had  been  tranflated  by  North. 

His  plots,  whether  hiflorical  or  fabulous, 
are_  always  crowded  with  incident?,  by 
which  the  attention  of  a  rude  people  was 
more  eafily  caught  than  by  fentiment  or 
argumentation ;  and  fuch  'is  the  power 
of  the  marvellous,  even  over  thofe  who 
defpife  it,  that  every  man  finds  his  mind- 
more  ilrongly  feized  by  the  tragedies  of 
Shakefpeare  than  of  any  other  writer: 
others  pleaie  us  by  particular  fpeeches ; 
but  he  always  makes  us  anxious  for  the 
event,  and  has,  perhaps,  excelled  all  but 
Homer  in  fecuring  the  firft  purpofe  of  a 
writer,  by  exciting  reftlefs  and  unquench- 
able curiofity,  and  compelling  him  that 
reads  his  work  to  read  it  through. 

The  mows  and  bullle,  with  which  his 
plays  abound  have  the  fame  original.  As 
knowledge  advances,  pleafure  pafies  from 
the  eye  to  the  ear,  but  returns,  as  it  de- 
clines, from  the  ear  to  the  eye.  Thofe  to 
whom  our  author's  labours  were  exhibited, 
had  more  fkill  in  pomps  or  pioceffions 
than  in  poetical  language,  and  perhaps 
wanted  feme  vifible  and  diicriminated 
events,  as  comments  on  the  dialogue.  He 
knew  how  he  mould  moil  pleaie ;  and 
whether  his  practice  is  more  agreeable 
to  nature,  or  whether  his  example  has 
prejudiced  the  nation,  we  Hill  find,  that  on 
our  ilage  fomething  mufl  be  done  as  well 
as  faid,  and  inactive  declamation  is  very 
coldly  heard,  however  mufical  or  elep-ant, 
pafhonate  or  fublime. 

Voltaire  exprefles  his  wonder,  that  our 

author's 


.o 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


54 

author's  extravagancies  are  endured  by  a 
nation,  which  has  Seen  the  tragedy  of  Cato. 
Let  him  be  anfwered,  that  Addifon  Speaks 
the  language  of  poets,  and  Shakefpeare  of 
men.  We  find  in  Cato  innumerable  beau- 
ties which  enamour  us  of  its  author,  but 
we  fee  nothing  that  acquaints  us  with  hu- 
man Sentiments  or  human  actions;  we 
place  it  with  the  faireit  and  the  nobleSi 
progeny  which  judgment  propagates  by 
conjunction  with  learning;  but  Othello  is 
the  vigorous  and  vivacious  offspring  of 
observation  impregnated  by  genius.  Cato 
affords  a  Splendid  exhibition  of  artificial 
and  fictitious  manners,  and  delivers  juft 
and  noble  fentiments,  in  diction  eafy,  ele- 
vated and  harmonious,  but  its  hopes  and 
fears  communicate  no  vibration  to  the 
ifceaxt;  the  composition  refers  us  only  to 
the  writer;  we  pronounce  the  name  of 
Cato.,  but  we  think  on  Addifon. 

The  work  of  a  correct  and  regular 
writer  is  a  garden  accurately  formed  and 
diligently  planted,  varied  with  (hades,  and 
icented  with  flowers;  the  compoiition  of 
Shakefpeare  is  a  farefi,  in  which  oaks  ex- 
tend their  branches,  and  pines  tower  in 
she  air,  interfperfed  fome times  with  weeds 
and  brambles,  and  fometimes  giving  Shel- 
ter to  myrtles  and  to  rofes;  filling  the  eye 
with  awful  pomp,  and  gratiiying  the  mind 
with  endlefs  diverSity.  Other  poets  dif- 
play  cabinets  of  precious  rarities,  minutely 
finished,  wrought  into  ihape,  and  polifhed 
into  brightness.  Shakefpeare  opens  a 
mine  which  contains  gold  and  diamonds  in 
inexhaustible  plenty,  though  clouded  by 
incrufb.tions,  debaied  by  impurities,  and 
mingled  with  a  mafs  of  meaner  minerals. 

it  has  been  much  disputed  whether 
Shakefpeare  owed  his  excellence  to  his 
own  native  force,  or  whether  he  had  the 
eoiamon  helps  of  fcholallic  education,  the 
precepts  of  critical  Science,  and  the  exam- 
ples of  ancient  authors. 

There  has  always  prevailed  a  tradition, 
that  Sliakefpeare  wanted  learning,  that  he 
had  no  regular  education,  nor  much  (kill 
in  the  deaa  languages.  Jonfon,  his  friend, 
affirms,,  that  be  land  fmall  Latin  and  lefs 
Greek ;  who,  befides  tnat  he  had  no  ima- 
ginable temptation  to  falfehood,  wrote  at 
a  time  when  the  character  and  acquisitions 
of  Shakefpeare  were  known  to  multitudes, 
His  evidence  ought  therefore  to  decide  the 
cor.troverfy,  unlei's  feme  testimony  of  equal 
-  could  be  oppofed. 

Same  have  imagined,  that  they  have  dif- 
e<_    .  .  d  deep  learning  in  many  imitauoas 


of  old  writers;  but  the  examples  which  I 
have  known  urged  were  drawn  from  books 
translated  in  his  time;  or  were  fuch  eafy 
coincidences  of  thought,  as  will  happen  to 
all  who  confider  the  lame  Subjects;  or  fuch 
remarks  on  life,  or  axioms  of  morality,  as 
float  in  converfation,  and  are  tranfmitted 
through  the  world  in  proverbial  fentences. 

I  have  found  it  remarked,  that  in  this 
important  fentence,  Go  before,  I'll  follow, 
we  read  a  translation  of  /  pra,  Jequar.  I 
have  been  told,  that  when  Caliban,  after  a 
pleaSing  dream,  fays,  I  cry' d  to  jleep  againy 
the  author  imitates  Anacreon,  who  had, 
like  every  other  man,  the  Same  vvifh  on  the 
fame  occafion. 

There  are  a  few  paifages  which  may  paSs 
for  imitations,  but  fo  few,  that  the  excep- 
tion only  confirms  the  rule;  he  obtained 
them  from  accidental  quotations,  or  by 
oral  communication  ;  and  as  he  ufed  what 
he  had,  would  have  ufed  more  if  he  had 
obtained  it. 

The  Comedy  of  Errors  is  confefTedlv 
taken  from  the  Menaxhmi  of  Plautus ; 
from  the  only  play  of  Plautus  which  was 
then  in  English.  What  can  be  more  pro- 
bable, than  thai  he  who  copied  that  would 
have  copied  more;  but  that  thofe  whick 
were  not  tran Slated  were  inacceffible  : 

Whether  he  knew  the  modern  languages 
is  uncertain.  That  his  plays  have  fome 
French  Scenes,  proves  but  little;  he  might 
eafily  procure  them  to  be  written,  and  pro- 
bably, even  though  he  had  known  the  lan- 
guage in  the  common  degree,  he  could 
not  have  written  it  without  affiftance.  In 
the  itory  cf  Romeo  and  Juliet,  he  is  ob- 
served to  have  followed  the  Englifh  transla- 
tion, where  it  deviates  from  the  Italian  ; 
but  this,  on  the  other  part,  proves  nothing 
againlt  his  knowledge  of  the  original,  tie 
was  to  copy,  not  what  he  knew  himfelfj 
bat  what  was  known  to  his  audience. 

It  is  mo  ft  likely  that  he  had  learned  La- 
tin Sufficiently  to  make  him  acquainted 
with  construction,  but  that  he  never  ad- 
vanced to  an  eafy  perufal  of  the  Roman 
authors.  Concerning  his  Skill  in  modern 
languages,  I  can  find  no  fufficient  ground 
of  determination  ;  but,  as  no  imitations  of 
Piench  or  Italian  authors  have  been  disco- 
vered, though  the  Italian  poetry  was  then, 
high  in  efttem,  I  am  inclined  to  believe, 
that  he  read  little  more  than  Englifh,  and 
chofe  for  his  fables  only  fuch  tales  as  he 
found  translated. 

'I  hat  much  knowledge  is  Scattered  over 
his  works  is  very  jufUy  obferved  by  Pope, 

but 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


S4* 


but  it  is  often  fuch  knowledge  as  books 
did  not  fupply.  He  that  will  undcrftand 
Shakefpeare  muft  not  be  content  to  lludy 
him  in  the  clofet,  he  muft  look  for  his 
meaning  fometimes  among  the  ipcrts  of 
the  field,  and  fometimes  among  the  manu- 
factures of  the  fhop. 

There  is,  however,  proof  enough  that  he 
was  a  very  diligent  reader,  nor  was  our 
language  then  (o  indigent  of  books,  but 
that  he  might  very  liberally  indulge  his  cu- 
riofity  without  excurfion  into  foreign  li- 
terature. Many  of  the  Roman  authors 
were  translated,  and  fome  of  the  Greek; 
the  Reformation  had  filled  the  kingdom 
with  theological  learning;  moll  of  the 
topics  of  human  difquifition  had  found 
Englifli  writers;  and  poetry  had  been  cul- 
tivated, not  only  with  diligence,  but  fuc- 
cefs.  This  was  a  ftock  of  knowledge  fuf- 
ficient  for  a  mind  fo  capable  of  appropriat- 
ing and  improving  it. 

But  the  greater  part  of  his  excellence 
was  the  product  of  his  own  genius.  He 
found  the  Engliih  ftage  in  a  Hate  of  the  ut- 
moft  rudenefs;  no  eflays  either  in  tragedy 
or  comedy  had  appeared,  from  which  it 
could  be  difcovered  to  what  degree  of  de- 
light either  one  or  other  might  be  carried. 
Neither  character  nor  dialogue  were  yet 
underftood.  Shakefpeare  may  be  truly 
faid  to  have  introduced  them  both  amongft 
us,  and  in  fome  of  his  happier  fcenes  to 
have  carried  them  both  to  the  utmoft 
height. 

By  what  gradations  of  improvement  he 
proceeded,  is  not  eafily  known;  for  the 
chronology  of  his  works  is  yet  unfettled. 
Rowe  is  of  opinion,  that  perhaps  <we  are 
not  to  look  for  his  beginning,  like  thofs  of 
other  writers,  in  his  leaf  perfefi  nuorks ; 
art  had  fo  little,  and  nature  fo  large  a  pare 
in  <vjhat  he  did,  that  for  aught  I  kno-iv,  fays 
he,  the  performances  of  his  youth,  as  they 
nvere  the  moft  vigorous,  <zuere  the  left.  But 
the  power  of  nature  is  only  the  power  of 
ufing,  to  any  certain  purpofe,  the  materials 
which  diligence  procures,  or  opportunity 
fupplies.  Nature  gives  no  man  know- 
ledge, and,  when  images  are  collected  by 
ftudy  and  experience,  can  only  affift  in 
combining  or  applying  them.  Shake- 
fpeare, however  favoured  by  nature,  could 
impart  only  what  he  had  learned ;  and,  as 
he  muft  increafe  his  ideas,  like  other  mor- 
tals, by  gradual  acquifuion,  he,  like  them, 
grew  vviferas  he  grew  older,  could  difpiay 
kfe  better,  as  he  knew  it  more,  and  inftruct 


with  more  efficacy,  as  he  was  himfelf  more 
amply  inftructed. 

There  is  a  vigilance  of  obfervation,  and 
accuracy  of  diftincYion,  which  books  and 
precepts  cannot  confer;  from  this,  almoft 
all  original  and  native  excellence  proceeds. 
Shakefpeare  muft  have  looked  upon  mart- 
kind  with  perfpicacity,  in  the  higheft  de- 
gree curious  and  attentive.  Other  writers 
borrow  their  characters  from  preceding 
writers,  and  diverfify  them  only  by  the  ac- 
cidental appendages  of  prefent  manners; 
the  drefs  is  a  little  varied,  but  the  body  is 
the  fame.  Our  author  had  both  matter 
and  form  to  provide;  for,  except  the  cha- 
racters of  Chaucer,  to  whom  I  think  he  is 
not  much  indebted,  fhere  were  no  writers 
in  Englifh,  and  perhaps  not  many  in  other 
modern  languages,  which  fhewed  life  in  its 
native  colours. 

The  conteft  about  the  original  benevo. 
lence  or  malignity  of  man,  had  not  yet 
commenced.  Speculation  had  not  yet  at- 
tempted to  analyfe  the  mind,  to  trace  the 
paffions  to  their  fources,  to  unfold  the  fe- 
minai  principles  of  vice  and  virtue,  or 
found  the  depths  of  the  heart  for  the  mo- 
tives of  action.  All  thofe  inquiries,  which, 
from  the  time  that  human  nature  became 
the  fafhionable  ftudy,  have  been  made 
fometimes  with  nice  difcernment,  but  of- 
ten with  idle  fubtilty,  were  yet  unattempt- 
ed.  The  tales,  with  which  the  infancy  of 
learning  was  fatisfied,  exhibited  only  the 
fuperficial  appearances  of  action,  related 
the  events,  but  omitted  the  caufes,  and 
were  formed  .  for  fuch  as  delighted  in 
wonders  rather  than  in  truth.  Mankind 
.  was  not  then  to  hi  ftudied  in  the  clofet ; 
he  that  would  know  the  world,  was  under 
the  necefiity  of  gleaning  his  own  remarks, 
by  mingling,  as  he  could,  in  its  bufineis 
and  amufements. 

Boyle  congratulated  himfelf  upon  his 
high  birth,  becaufe  it  favoured  his  curio- 
fity,  by  facilitating  his  accefs.  Shake- 
fpeare liad  no  fuch  advantage  ;  he  came  to 
London  a  needy  adventurer,  and  lived  for 
a  time  by  very  mean  employments.  Many 
works  of  genius  and  learning  have  been 
performed  in  ftates  of  life  that  appear  very 
little  favourable  to  thought,  or  to  enquiry  : 
fo  many,  that  he  who  confiders  them,  is  in- 
clined to  think  that  he  fees  enterprize  and 
perfeverance  predominating  over  all  exter- 
nal agency,  and  bidding  help  and, hindrance 
vanifh  before  them.  The  genius  of  Shake- 
fpeare was  not  to  be  depreffed  by  the  weight 

of 


S\z 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


cf  poverty,  nor  limited  by  the  narrow  con- 
verfation  to  which  men  in  want  are  inevi- 
tably condemned;  the  incumbrances  cf  his 
fortune  were  fhaken  from  his  mind,  as  dew- 
drops  from  a  lion's  mane. 

Though  he  had  fo  many  difficulties  to 
encounter,  and  io  little  affiftance  to  fur- 
mount  them,  he  has  been  able  to  obtain  an 
exact  knowledge  of  many  modes  of  life, 
and  many  carts  of  native  difpofitions;  to 
vary  them  with  great  multiplicity  ;  to  mark 
them  by  nice  diftindtions ;  and  to  fhew 
them  in  full  view  by  proper  combinations. 
In  this  part  of  his  performances  he  had 
none  to  imitate,  but  has  been  himfelf  imi- 
tated by  all  fucceeding  writers;  and  it  may 
be  doubted  whether,  from  all  his  fucceffors, 
more  maxims  of  theoretical  knowledge,  or 
more  rules  of  practical  prudence,  can  be 
collected,  than  he  alone  has  given  to  his 
country. 

Nor  was  his  attention  confined  to  the 
actions  of  men ;  he  was  an  exact  furveyor 
of  the  inanimate  world;  his  defcriptions 
have  always  fome  peculiarities,  gathered  by 
contemplating  things  as  they  really  exift. 
It  may  be  obferved,  that  the  oldeft  poets 
of  many  nations  preferve  their  reputation, 
and  that  the  following  generations  of  wit, 
after  a  fhort  celebrity,  fink  into  oblivion. 
The  firft,  whoever  they  be,  muft  take  their 
fentiments  and  defcriptions  immediately 
from  knowledge;  the  refemblance  is  there- 
fore juit;  their  defcriptions  are  A'erined 
by  every  eye,  and  their  fentiments  acknow- 
ledged by  every  breaft.  Thofe  whom  their 
fame  invites  to  the  fame  itudies,  copy 
]y  thern,  and  partly  nature,  till  the  books 
of  one  age  gain  iuch  authority,  as  to  ftand 
in  the  place  of  nature  to  anotaer;  and  imi- 
tation, always  deviating  a  little,  becomes 
at  laft  capricious  and  cafual.  Shake- 
fpeare,  whether  life  or  nature  be  Ivs  fub- 
]cd,  fhews  plainly  that  he  has  feen  with 
his  own  eyes;  he  gives  the  image', 
he  receives,  not  weakened  or  diftorted  by 
the  intervention  of  any  other  mind;  the 
ignorant  feel  his  reprefentations  to  be  juit, 
and  the  learned  fee  that  they  are  complete. 

Perhaps  it  would  not  be  eafy  to  find  any 
author,  except  Homer,  who.  invented  fo 
much  as  Shakefpeare,  who  fo  much  ad- 
vanced the  iluJies  which  he  cultivated,  or 
I  fo  much  novelty  upon  his  age  or 
country.  The  form,  the  characters,  the 
language,  and  the  ihows  of  the  Eng- 
1.  i  are  Ms-     He  ferns,  fays  Dennis, 

to  have  been  the  very  original  cf  cur  Englijb 
tfagical  harmony,  that  is,    the  harmony    of 


blank  verfc,  diverffied  often  by  difyllahle  and: 
trifjyllable  terminations.  For  the  diverfty 
dijtinguijhes  it  from  heroic  harmony,  and  by 
bringing  it  nearer  to  common  ife,  makes  it 
more  proper  to  gain  attention,  and  more  ft  for 
aclion  and  dialogue.  Such  <verfe  vje  make 
nvhen  <vje  are  writing  profe ;  ive  make  fuch 
verfe  in  common  cenvcrjarion. 

I  know  not  whether  this  praife  is  rigo- 
roufly  juit.  The  dihyllable  termination, 
which  the  critic  rightly  appropriates  to  the 
drama,  is  to  be  found,  though,  I  think,' not  ' 
in  Gorboduc,  which  is  confefi'edly  before 
our  author;  yet  in  Hieronymo* ,  of  which 
the  date  is  not  certain,  but  which  there  is 
rcafon  to  believe  at  leaft  as  old  as  his  ear- 
lier! plays.  This  however  is  certain,  that 
he  is  the  firft  who  taught  either  tragedy  or 
com.dy  to  pi eafe,  there  being  no  theatrical 
piece  of  any  older  writer,  of  which  the 
name  is  known,  except  to  antiquaries  and 
collectors  of  books,  which  are  fought  be- 
cauie  they  are  fcarce,  and  would  not  have 
been  fcarce  had  they  been  much  eiteemed. 

To  him  we  muft  afcribe  the  praife,  un- 
lefs  Spenfer  may  divide  it  with  him,  of 
having  firft  difcovered  tohow  much  fmooth- 
nefs  and  harmony  the  Englifh  language 
could  be  foftened.  He  has  fpeeches,  per- 
haps fometim^s  fcenes,  which  have  all  the 
delicacy  of  Rowe,  without  his  effeminacy. 
He  endeavours,  indeed,  commonly  to  itrike 
by  the  force  and  vigour  of  his  dialogue, 
but  he  never  executes  his  purpofe  better, 
than  when  he  tries  to  footh  by  foftnefs. 

Yet  it  muft  be  at  laft  confeffed,  that  as 
we  owe  every  thing  to  him,  he  owes  fome- 
thing  to  us  ;  that,  if  much  of  his  praife  is 
paid  by  perception  and  judgment,  much  is 
likewife  given  by  cuitom  and  veneration. 
We  fix  our  eves  upon  his  graces,  and  turn 
them  from  his  deformities,  and  endure  in 
him  what  we  fhould  in  another  loath  or  de- 
f]  ife.  If  we  endured  without  p  railing, 
i  for  the  father  of  our  drama  might 
excufe  cs;  but  I  have  feen,  in  the  boo!;  of 
fome  modern  critic,  a  collection  of  anoma- 
lies, which  fhew  that  he  has  corrupted  lan- 
guage by  every  mode  of  depravation,  but 
which  his  admirer  has  accumulated  as  a 
monument  of  honour. 

He  has  fcenes  of  undoubted  and  perpe- 
tual excellence,  but  perhaps  not  one  play, 
which  if  it  were  now  exhibited  as  the  work 
of  a  contemporary  writer,  would  be  heard 
to  the  conclufion.     I  am  indeed  far  from 

*  It  appear;,  from  the  induction  of  Ben 
Jonfon's  JSartbobmiKV-Fafr,  to  have  Ween  a;ted 
before  the  year  1590.  JSteevem^s. 

think;ng> 


BOOK    II.       CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL. 


543 


thinking,  that  his  works  were  wrought 
to  his  own  ideas  of  perfection ;  when  they 
were  fuch  as  would  fatisfy  the  audience, 
they  fatisfied  the  writer.  It  is  feldom  that 
authors,  though  more  ttudious  of  fame  than 
Shakefpeare,  rife  much  above  the  ihmdard 
of  their  own  age ;  to  add  a  little  to  what 
is  bell,  will  always  be  fufricient  for  prefent 
praile,  and  thofe  who  find  themfelves  ex- 
alted into  fame,  are  willing  to  credit  their 
encomiaits,  and  to  fpare  the  labour  of  con- 
tending with  themfelves. 

It  does  not  appear,  that  Shakefpeare 
thought  his  works  worthy  of  posterity, 
that  he  levied  any  ideal  tribute  upon  fu- 
ture times,  or  had  any  further  prolpecl, 
than  of  prefent  popularity  and  prefent  pro- 
fit. When  his  plays  had  been  aftecl,  his 
hope  was  at  an  end ;  he  folicited  no  addi- 
tion of  honour  from  the  reader.  He  there- 
fore made  no  fcruple  to  repeat  the  fame 
jefts  in  many  dialogues,  or  to  entangle  dif- 
ferent plots  by  the  fame  knot  of  perplexity; 
which  may  be  atleaft  forgiven  him  by  thofe 
who  recollect,  that  of  Congreve's  four  co- 
medies, two  are  concluded  by  a  marriage 
in  a  mafic,  by  a  deception,  which,  perhaps, 
never  happened,  and  which,  whether  likely 
or  not,  he  did  not  invent. 

So  carelefs  was  this  great  poet  of  future 
fame,  that,  though  he  retired  to  eafe  and 
plenty,  while  he  was  yet  little  declined  into 
the  <vale  of  years,  before  he  could  be  dif- 
gufted  with  fatigue,  or  difabled  by  in- 
firmity, he  made  no  collection  of  his  works, 
nor  defired  to  refcue  thofe  that  had  been 
already  publifned  from  the  depravations 
that  obfcured  them,  or  fecure  to  the  reft 
a  better  deftiny,  by  giving  them  to  the 
world  in  their  genuine  ilate.  J  dm/on. 

§  2  3  4.  P o  p  E ' s  Preface  to  bis  Ho  .w  e  r  . 
Homer  is  univerfally  allowed  to  have 
had  the  greateit  Invention  of  any  writer 
whatever.  The  praife  of  Judgment  Vir- 
gil has  juftly  contefted  with  him,  and  others 
may  have  their  pretenfions  as  to  particular 
excellencies;  but  his  Invention  remains  yet 
unrivalled.  Nor  is  it  a  wonder  if  he  has 
ever  been  acknowledged  the  greateit  of 
poets,  who  moll  excelled  in  that  which  is 
the  very  foundation  of  poetry.  It  is  the 
Invention  that  in  different  degrees  dittin- 
guifhes  all  great  geniufes ;  the  utraoft 
ftretch  of  human  ftudy,  learning,  and  in- 
duftry,  vyhich  matters  every  thing  befides, 
can  never  attain  to  this.  It  furnifh.es  Art 
with  all  her  materials,  and  without  it,  Judg- 
ment itfelf  can  at  beft  but  ileal  wifely;  for 


Art  is  only  like  a  prudent  fteward  that  lives 
on  managing  the  riches  of  Nature.  What- 
ever praifes  may  be  given  to  works  of 
judgment,  there  is  not  even  a  fingle  beautv 
in  them  to  which  the  invention  muft  not 
contribute :  as  in  the  moil:  regular  gardens, 
art  can  only  reduce  the  beauties  of  nature 
to  more  regularity,  and  fuch  a  figure,  which 
the  common  eye  may  better  take  in,  and 
is  therefore  more  entertained  with.  And 
perhaps  the  reafon  why  common  critics  are 
inclined  to  prefer  a  judicious  and  methodi- 
cal genius  to  a  great  and  fruitful  one  is,  be- 
caufe  they  find  it  eafier  for  themfelves  to 
purfue  their  obfervations  through  an  uni- 
form and  bounded  walk  of  art,  than  to 
comprehend  the  vaft  and  various  extent  of 
nature. 

Our  author's  work  is  a  wild  paradife, 
where  if  we  cannot  fee  all  the  beauties  fo 
diftinctly  as  in  an  ordered  garden,  it  is  only 
becaufe  the  number  of  them  is  infinitely 
greater.  It  is  like  a  copious  nurfery 
which  contains  the  feeds  and  firft  produc- 
tions of  every  kind,  out  of  which  thofe  who 
followed  him  have  but  felected  fome  parti- 
cular plants,  each  according  to  his  fancy, 
to  cultivate  and  beautify,  If  fome  thines 
are  too  luxuriant,-  it  is  owing  to  the  rich- 
nefs  of  the  foil ;  and  if  others  are  not  ar- 
rived to  perfection  or  maturity,  it  is  only 
becaufe  they  are  over-run  and  opprefi  by 
thofe  of  a  ftronger  nature. 

it  is  to  the  ftrength  of  this  amazing  in- 
vention we  are  to  attribute  that  unequalled 
fire  and  rapture,  which  is  io  forcible  in 
Horner,  that  no  man  of  a  true  poetical 
fpirit  is  matter  of  himfelf  while  he  reads 
him.  What  he  _  writes,  is  of  the  moil  ani- 
mated nature  imaginable;  every  thin* 
moves,  every  thing  lives,  and  is  put  in 
adion.  If  a  council  be  called,  or  a  battle 
fought,  you_  are  not  coldly  informed  of 
what  was  faid  or  done  as  from  a  third  per- 
fon ;  the  reader  is  hurried  out  of  himfelf 
by  the  force  of  the  poet's  imagination,  and 
turns  in  one  place  to  a  hearer,  in  another 
to  a  fpeclator.  The  courfe  of  his  verfes 
refembles  that  of  the  army  he  deicribes : 

Oi  S1  %.%'  itrav,  ifii  7S  OTy^>  ^Q±v  ^^  n^t. 

"  They  pour  along  like  a  fire  that  fweeps 
"  the  whole  earth  beft  re  it."  It  is  how- 
ever remarkable  that  his  fancy,  which  is 
every  where  vigorous,  is  not  difcovered 
immediately  at  the  beginning  of  his  poem 
in  its  fulleit  fplendor :  it  grows  in  the  pro- 
grefs  both  upon  himfelf  and  others,  and 
becomes  on  fire,  like  a  chariot-wheel,  by 
its  §yyn  rapidity,     Exact  difpofition,  juit 

thought. 


544 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


thought,  correct  elocution,  polifhed  num- 
bers, may  have  been  found  in  a  thoufand; 
but  this  poetical  fire,  this  "  vivida  vis  ani- 
mi,"  in  a  very  few.  Even  in  works  where 
all  thofe  are  imperfect  or  neglected,  this 
can  overpower  criticifm,  and  make  us  ad- 
mire even  while  we  difapprove.  Nay, 
where  this  appears,  though  attended  with 
abfurdities,  it  brightens  all  the  rubbifh 
about  it,  till  we  fee  nothing  but  its  own 
fplendor.  This  fire  is  difcerned  in  Virgil, 
but  difcerned  as  through  a  glafs,  reflected 
from  Homer,  more  mining  than  fierce,  but 
every  where  equal  and  conltant :  in  Lucan 
and  Statius,  it  burlts  out  in  fudden,  fhort, 
and  interrupted  flafnes :  in  Milton  it  glows 
like  a  furnace  kept  up  to  an  uncommon 
ardor  by  the  force  of  art:  in  Shakefpeare, 
it  ftrikes  before  we  are  aware,  like  an  acci- 
dental fire  from  heaven :  but  in  Homer,  and 
in  him  only,  it  burns  every  where  clearly, 
and  every  where  irrefiftibly. 

I  fhall  here  endeavour  to  fhew,  how  this 
vaft  Invention  exerts  itfelf  in  a  manner  fu- 
perior  to  that  of  any  poet,  through  all  the 
main  constituent  parts  of  his  work,  as  it  is 
the  great  and  peculiar  characteriftic  which 
diftinguifhes  him  from  all  other  authors. 

This  ftrong  and  ruling  faculty  was  like 
a  powerful  ftar,  which,  in  the  violence  of 
its  courfe,  drew  all  things  within  its  vortex. 
It  feemed  not  enough  to  have  taken  in  the 
whole  circle  of  arts,  and  the  whole  compafs 
of  nature,  to  fupply  his  maxims  and  re- 
flections ;  all  the  inward  paiiions  and  affec- 
tions of  mankind,  to  furnifh  his  characters ; 
and  all  the  outward  forms  and  images  of 
things  for  his  defcriptions ;  but,  wanting 
vet  an  ampler  fphere  to  expatiate  in,  he 
opened  a  new  and  boundlds  walk  for  his 
imagination,  and  created  a  world  for  him- 
felf  in  the  invention  of  fable.  That  which 
Arillotle  calls  the  "  Soul  of  poetry/'  was 
hrft  breathed  into  it  by  Homer.  I  mall 
begin  with  confidering  him  in  this  part,  as 
it  is  naturally  the  firit;  and  I  fpeak  of  it 
both  as  it  means  the  dejign  of  a  poem,  and 
as  it  is  taken  for  fiction. 

Fable  may  be  divided  into  the  Probable, 
the  Allegorical,  and  the  Marvellous.  The 
probabie  fable  is  the  recital  of  fuch  actions 
as  though  they  did  not  happen.,  yet  might, 
in  the  common  courfeof  nature :  or  of  fuch 
as,  though  they  did,  become  fibles  by  the 
additional  epifbdes  and  manner  of  telling 
them.  Of  this  fort  is  the  main  ftory  of  an 
epic  poem,  the  return  of  Ulyffes,  the  fet- 
tlement  of  the  Trojans  in  Italy,  or  the 
like.     That  of  the  lUad  is  the  anger  of 


Achilles,  the  moft  fhort  and  fingle  fubjeft 
that  ever  was  chofen  by  any  poet.     Yet 
this  he  has  fupplied  with  a  vafter  variety  of 
incidents  and  events,  and  crowded  with  a 
greater  number  of  councils,  fpeeches,  bat- 
tles, and  epifodes  of  all  kinds,  than  are  to 
be  found  even  in  thofe  poems  whofe  fchemes 
are  of  the  utmoft  latitude  and  irregularity. 
The  action  is  hurried  on  with  the  moft  ve- 
hement fpirit,  and  its  whole  duration  em- 
ploys not  fo  much  as  fifty  days.     Virgil, 
for  want  of  fo  warm  a  genius,  aided  him- 
felf  by  taking  in  a  more  extenfive  fubject, 
as  well  as  a  greater  length  of  time,  and  con- 
tracting the  defign  of  both  Homer's  poems 
into  one,  which  is  yet  but  a  fourth  part  as 
large  as  his.     The  other  epic  poets  have 
ufed  the  fame  practice,  but  generally  car- 
ried it  fo  far  as  to  fuperinduce  a  multipli- 
city of  fables,  deftroy  the  unity  of  action, 
and  lofe  their  readers  in  an  unreafonable 
length  of  time.     Nor  is  it  only  in  the  main 
defign  that  they  have  been  unable  to  add 
to  his  invention,  but  they  have  followed 
him  in  every  epifode  and  part  of  ftory. 
If  he  has  given  a  regular  catalogue  of  an 
army,  they  all  draw  up  their  forces  in  the 
fame  order.     If  he  has  funeral  games  for 
Patroclus,  Virgil  has  the  fame  for  Anchifes ; 
and  Statius  (rather  than  omit  them)  de- 
ftroys  the  unity  of  his  action  for  thofe  of 
Archemoras.     If  Ulyffes  vifits  the  fhades, 
the  iEneas  of  Virgil,  and  Scipio  of  Silius., 
are  fent  after  him.     If  he  be  detained  from 
his  return  by  the  allurements  of  Calypfo, 
fo  is  iEneas  by  Dido,  and  Rinaldo  by  Ar- 
mida.    If  Achilles  be  abfent  from  the  army 
on  the  fcore  of  a  quarrel  through  half  the 
poem,  Rinaldo  muit  abfent  himfelf  juft  as 
long,  on  the  like  account.     If  he  gives  his 
hero  a  fuit  of  celeftial  armour,  Virgil  and 
Taffo  make    the    fame  prefent  to  theirs. 
Virgil  has  not  only  obferved  this  clofe  imi- 
tation ofHomer,  but  where  he  had  not  led 
the  way,    fupplied  the  want  from  other 
Greek  authors.     Thus  the  ftory  of  Sinon 
and  the  taking  of  Troy  was  copied  (fays 
Macrobius)   almoft  word  for  word  from 
Pifander,  as  the  loves  of  Dido  and  JEneas 
are  taken  from  thofe  of  Medea  and  Jafon 
in  Apollonius,  and  feveral  others   in  the 
lame  manner. 

To  proceed  to  the  allegorical  fable:  if 
we  reflect  upon  thofe  innumerable  know- 
ledges, thofe  fecrets  of  nature  and  phyfical 
phiiofophy,  which  Homer  is  generally  fup-  " 
pofed  to  have  wrapped  up  in  his  allegories, 
what  a  new  and  ample  icene  of  wonder  may 
this  confideration  afford  us !  how  fertile 

will 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


54S 


will  that  imagination  appear,  which  was 
able  to  clothe  all  theproperties  of  elements, 
the  qualifications  of  the  mind,  the  virtues 
and  vices,  in  forms  and  perfons ;  and  to 
introduce  them  into  actions  agreeable  to  the 
nature  of  the  things  they  fhadowed !  This 
is  a  field  in  which  no  fucceeding  poets 
could  difpute  with  Homer  ;  and  whatever 
commendations  have  been  allowed  them  on 
this  head,  are  by  no  means  for  their  in- 
vention in  having  enlarged  his  circle,  but 
for  their  judgment  in  having  contracted  it. 
For  when  the  mode  of  learning  changed 
in  following  ages,  and  fcience  was  delivered 
in  a  plainer  manner;  it  then  became  as  rea- 
fonable  in  the  more  modern  poets  to  lay  it 
afide,  as  it  was  in  Homer  to  make  ufe  of  it. 
And  perhaps  it  was  no  unhappy  circum- 
itance  for  Virgil,  that  there  was  not  in  his 
time  that  demand  upon  him  of  fo  great  an 
invention,  as  might  be  capable  of  furniih- 
ing  all  thofe  allegorical  parts  of  a  poem. 

The  marvellous  fable  includes  whatever 
is  fupernatural,  and  efpecially  the  machines 
of  the  gods.  He  feems  the  firft  who 
brought  them  into  a  fyftem  of  machinery 
for  poetry,  and  fuch  a  one  as  makes  its 
greatelt  importance  and  dignity.  For  we 
find  thofe  authors  who  have  been  offended 
at  the  literal  notion  of  the  gods,  conitantly 
laying  their  accufation  againft  Homer  as 
the  chief  fupport  of  it.  But  whatever 
caufe  there  might  be  to  blame  his  machines 
in  a  philofophical  or  religious  view,  they 
are  fo  perfect  in  the  poetic,  that  mankind 
have  been  ever  fince  contented  to  follow 
them :  none  have  been  able  to  enlarge  the 
fphere  of  poetry  beyond  the  limits  he  has 
fet:  every  attempt  of  this  nature  has  proved 
unfuccefsful;  and  after  all  the  various 
changes  of  times  and  religions,  his  gods 
continue  to  this  day  the  gods  of  poetry. 

We  come  now  to  the  characters  of  his 
perfons ;  and  here  we  fhall  find  no  author 
has  ever  drawn  fo  many,  with  fo  vifible  and 
furprifing  a  variety,  or  given  us  fuch  lively 
and  affecting  impreffions  of  them.  Every 
one  has  fomething  fo  fingularly  his  own, 
that  no  painter  could  have  diilinguiflied 
them  more  by  their  features,  than  the  poet 
has  by  their  manners.  Nothing  can  be 
more  exact  than  the  diftinctions  he  has  ob- 
ferved  in  the  different  degrees  of  virtues 
and  vices.  The  iingle  quality  of  courage 
is  wonderfully  diverfified  in  the  feveral 
characters  of  the  Iliad.  That  of  Achilles 
is  furious  and  intractable  ;  that  ofDiomede 
forward,  yet  liflening  to  advice,  and  fubjeft 
to  command:  that  of  Ajax  is  heavy,  and 


felf-confiding;  of  Hector,  active  and  vigi- 
lant: the  courage  of  Agamemnon  is  in- 
fpirited  by  love  of  empire  and  ambition  ; 
that  of  Menelaus  mixed  with  foftnefs  and 
tendernefs  for  his  people:  we  find  in  Ido- 
meneus  a  plain  direct  ibldier,  in  Sarpedon 
a  gallant  and  generous  one.  Nor  is  this 
judicious  and  afloniihing  diversity  to  be 
found  only  in  the  principal  quality  which 
conftitutes  the  main  of  each  character,  but 
even  in  the  under-parts  of  it,  to  which  he 
takes  care  to  give  a  tincture  of  that  prin- 
cipal one.  For  example,  the  main  cha- 
racters of  Ulyffes  and  Neitor  coniifl  in 
wifdom;  and  they  are  diftinct  in  this,  that 
the  wifdom  of  one  is  artificial  and  various, 
of  the  other  natural,  open,  and  regular.  But 
they  have,  befides,  characters  of  courage; 
and  this  quality  alfo  takes  a  different  turn 
in  each  from  the  difference  of  his  prudence: 
for  one  in  the  war  depends  ftill  upon  cau- 
tion, the  other  upon  experience.  It  would 
be  endlefs  to  produce  inflances  of  thefe 
kinds. — The  characters  of  Virgil  are  far 
from  ftriking  us  in  this  open  manner;  they 
lie  in  a  great  degree  hidden  and  undiftin- 
guifhed,  and  where  they  are  marked  moft 
evidently,  affect  us  not  in  proportion  to 
thofe  of  Homer.  His  charadters  of  valour 
are  much  alike ;  even  that  of  Turnus  feems 
no  way  peculiar  but  as  it  is  in  a  fuperior  de- 
gree; and  we  fee  nothing  that  differences 
the  courage  of  Mneitheus  from  that  of 
Sergeflhus,  Cloanthus,  or  the  reft.  In  like 
manner  it  may  be  remarked  of  Statius's 
heroes,  that  an  air  of  impetuoiity  runs 
through  them  all;  the  fame  horrid  and  fa- 
vage  courage  appears  in  his  Capaneus, 
Tydeus,  Hippomedon,  &c.  They  have  a 
parity  of  character,  which  makes  them 
feem  brothers  of  one  family.  I  believe 
when  the  reader  is  led  into  this  track  of 
reflection,  if  he  will  purfue  it  through  the 
epic  and  tragic  writers,  he  will  be  con- 
vinced how  infinitely  fuperior  in  this  point 
the  invention  of  Homer  was  to  that  of  all 
others. 

The  fpeeches  are  to  be  confidered  as 
they  flow  from  the  characters,  being  per- 
fect or  defective  as  they  agree  or  difagree 
with  the  manners  of  thofe  who  utter  them. 
As  there  is  more  variety  of  characters  in 
the  Iliad,  fo  there  is  of  fpeeches,  than  in 
any  other  poem.  Every  thing^  in  it  has 
manners  (as  Ariitotle  expreffes  it)  that  is, 
every  thing  is  acted  or  fpoken.  It  is  hardly 
credible,  in  a  work  of  fuch  length,  how 
fmall  a  number  of  lines  are  employed  in 
narration.     In  Virgil  the  dramatic  part  is 

N  n  lek 


546 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


lefs  in  proportion  to  the  narrative;  and  the 
fpeeches  often, confift  of  general  reflexions 
or  thoughts,  which  might  be  equally  juft 
in  any  perfon's  mouth  upon  the  fame  occa- 
fion.  As  many  of  his  perfons  have  no  ap- 
parent characters,  fo  many  of  his  fpeeches 
efcape  being  applied  and  judged  by  the 
rule  of  propriety.  We  oftener  think  of 
the  author  himfelf  when  we  read  Virgil, 
than  when  we  are  engaged  in  He  trier  :  all 
which  are  the  effects  of  a  colder  invention, 
that  interefls  us  lefs  in  the  aftion  defcribed ; 
Homer  makes  us  hearers,  and  Virgil  leaves 
us  readers. 

If  in  the  next  place  we  take  a  view  of 
the  fentiments,  the  fame  preliding  faculty 
is  eminent  in  the  fublimity  and  fpirit  of  his 
thoughts.  Longinus  has  given  his  opinion, 
that  it  was  in  this  part  Homer  principally 
excelled.  Wfiat  were  alone  fufficient  to 
prove  the  grandeur  and  excellence  of  his 
fentiments  in  general,  is,  that  they  have  fo 
remarkable  a  parity  with  thofe  of  the  fcrip- 
ture:  Duport,  in  his  Gnomologia  Home- 
rica,  has  collected  innumerable  inllances  of 
this  fort.  And  it  is  with  julticean  excellent 
modern  writer  allows,  that  if  Virgil  has 
not  fo  many  thoughts  that  are  low  and 
vulgar,  he  has  not  fo  many  that  are  fub- 
lime  and  noble ;  and  that  the  Roman  au- 
thor feldom  rifes  into  very  aftoniftiing  fen- 
timents, where  he  is  not  fired  by  the  Iliad. 

If  we  obferve  his  defcriptions,  images, 
and  fimiles,  we  mall  find  the  invention  {till 
predominant.     To  what  elfe  can  we  afcribe 
that  vail:  comprehenfion  of  images  of  every 
fort,  where  we  fee  each  circumftance  of 
art,  and  individual  of  nature,  fummoned 
together,  by  the  extent  and  fecundity  of 
his  imagination;   to  which  all  things,  in 
their  various  views,  preferred  themTelve's 
in  an  inftant,  and   had  their   impreffions 
taken  off  to  perfection  at  a  heat?     Nay, 
he  not  only  gives  us  the  full  profpe&s  ojf 
things,  but  feveral  unexpected  peculiarities 
Bind  fide-views,  unobferved  by  "any  painter 
■but  Homer.     Nothing  is  fo  furprifmg  as 
ithe  defcriptions  of  his  battles,  which  take 
bp    no  lefs  than   half  the   J;iad,   and  are 
■applied  with  fo  vail:  a  variety  of  incidents, 
What  no  one  bear,s  a  likenefs  to  another; 
Much  different  kinds  of  deaths,  that  no  two 
heroes  are  wounded  in   the  fame  manner; 
land  fuch  a  prcfufion  of  noble  ideas,  that 
every  battle  rifes  above  the  laft  in  great- 
!;    ,  horror,  and  confufion.     It  is  certain 
re  is  not  near  that  number  of  images 
delcriptiona  in  any  epic  poet ;  though 


y  one  has  aiaileu  hjnich  with  ; 


a  great 


quantity  out  of  him :  and  it  is  evident  of  Vir- 
gil efpecially,that  he  has  fcarce  any  compa- 
rifons  which  are  not  drawn  from  his  matter. 
If  we  defcend  from  hence  to  the  expref- 
fion,  we  fee  the  bright  imagination  of 
Homer  mining  out  in  the  moit  enlivened 
forms  of  it.  We  acknowledge  him  the  fa- 
ther of  poetical  diction,  the  finl  who  taught 
that  language  of  the  gods  to  men.  His 
expreflion  is  like  the  colouring  of  fome 
great  mailers,  which  difcovers  itfelf  to  be 
laid  on  boldly,  and  executed  with  rapidity. 
It  is  indeed  the  ltrongeft  and  molt  glowinp- 
imaginable,  and  touched  with  the  greateft 
fpirit.  Ariflotle  had  reafon  to  fay,  he  was 
the  only  poet  who  had  found  out  living 
words;  there  are  in  him  more  darino-  fi- 
gures and  metaphors  than  in  any  good  au- 
thor whatever.  An  arrow  is  impatient  to 
be  on  the  wing,  and  a  weapon  thirits  to 
drink  the  blood  of  an  enemy,  and  the  like. 
Yet  his  expreifion  is  never  too  big  for  the 
fenfe,  but  juttly  great  in  proportion  to  it. 
It  is  the  fentiment  that  tyvells'and  fills  out 
the  diction,  which  rifes  with  it,  and  forms 
itfelf  about  it:  for  in  the  fame  degree  that 
a  thought  is  warmer,  an  exprelT-on  will 
be  brighter;  as  that  is  more  ltrong,  this 
will  become  more  perfpiqiious :  like  glafs 
in  the  furnace,  which  grows  to  a  greater 
magnitude,  and  refines  to  a  greater  clear- 
nefs,  only  as  the  breath  within  is  more 
powerful,  and  the  heat  more  intenfe. 

To  throw  his  language  more  out  of* 
profe,  Homer  feems  to  have  affected  the 
compound  epithets.  This  was  a  fort  of 
competition  peculiarly  proper  to  poetry, 
not  only  as  it  heightened  the  di&ion, 
but  as  it  affiited  and  filled  the  numbers 
with  greater  found  and  pomp,  and  likewife 
conduced  in  fome  meafure  to  thicken  the 
images.  On  this  laft  consideration  I  can- 
not but  attribute  thefe  alfo  to  the  fruitful- 
nefs  of  his  invention,  fmce  (as  he  has  ma- 
naged them)  they  are  a  fort  of  fupernu- 
mrrary  pictures  of  the  perfons  or  things  to 
which  they  are  joined.  We  fee  the  mo- 
tion of  Heclor's  plumes  in  the  epithet  k^v- 
fiosioA©-,  the  landfcape  of  Mount  Neritu; 
in  that  of  tlrocrtyv?M®t,  and  fo  of  others ; 
which  particular  images  could  not  have 
been  infilled  upon  fo  long  as  to  exprefi 
them  in  a  delcription  (though  but  of  a 
fingle  line)  without  diverting  the  reader 
too  much  from  the  principal  action  or 
figure.  As  a  metaphor  is  a  fiiort  fimile,  one 
of  thefe  epithets  is  a  fhort  defcription. 

Laftly,  if  we  confider  his  verification, 
we  ihall  be  fenfible  what  a  jhare  pf  praife 

U 


' 


BOOK   II.        CLASSICAL    AND   HISTORICAL. 


547 


is  due  to  his  invention  in  that.  He  was 
not  fati-fied  with  his  language  as  he  found 
£t  fettled  in  any  one  part  of  Greece,  but 
fearched  through  its  differing  dialects  with 
this  particular  view,  to  beautify  and  per- 
fect his  numbers  :  he  confidered  thefe  as 
they  had  a  greater  mixture  of  vowels  or 
confonants,  and  accordingly  employed 
.them  as  the  verfe  required  either  a  greater 
fmoothnefs  or  ftrength.  What  lie  molt 
arretted  was  the  Ionic,  which  has  a  pecu- 
liar fweetnefs  from  its  never  ufmg  con- 
tractions, and  from  its  cultcm  of  revolving 
the  diphthongs  into  two  fvllables,  fo  as  to 
make  the  words  open  themfelves  with  a 
more  fpreading  and  fonorous  fluency. 
-With  this  he  mingled  the  Attic  contrac- 
tions, the  broader  Doric,  and  the  feebler 
JEoYic,  which  often  rejects  its  afpirale,  or 
takes  off  its  accent;  and  compleated  this 
variety  by  altering  fome  letters  with  the 
licence  of  poetry.  Thus  his  meafures,  in- 
stead of  being  fetteis  to  his  fenfe,  were 
always  in  readinefs  to  run  along  with  the 
warmth  of  his  rapture,  and  even  to  give  a 
farther  reprefentation  of  his  motions,  in 
the  correfpondence  of  their  founds  to  what 
they  fignified.  Out  of  all  thefe  he  has 
derived  that  harmony,  which  makes  us 
jconfefs  he  had  not  only  the  richefl  head,  but 
the  fineft  ear  in  the  world.  This  is  fo 
great  a  truth,  that  whoever  will  but  con- 
sult the  tune  of  his  verfes,  even  without 
underftanding  them  (with  the  fame  fort 
of  diligence  as  we  daily  fee  practifed  in  the 
cafe  of  Italian  operas)  will  find  more 
fweetnefs,  variety,  and  majefty  of  found, 
than  in  any  other  language  or  poetry. 
•The  beauty  of  his  numbers  is  allowed  by 
the  critics  to  be  copied  but  faintly  by 
Virgil  himfelf,  though  they  are  fo  juft  to 
afcribe  it  to  the  nature  of  the  Latin  tongue: 
indeed,  the  Greek  has  fome  advantages, 
both  from  the  natural  found  of  its  words, 
and  the  turn  and  cadence  of  its  verfe, 
which  agree  with  the  genius  of  no  other 
language.  Virgil  was  *  very  fenfible  of 
this,  and  ufed  the  utmoft  diligence  in 
working  up  a  more  intractable  language  to 
whatfoever  graces  it  was  capable  of;  and 
in  particular  never  failed  to  bring  the 
found  of  his  line  to  a  beautiful  agreement 
with  its  fenfe.  If  the  Grecian  poet  has  not 
been  fo  frequently  celebrated  on  this  ac- 
count ris  the  R.oman,  the  only  reafon  is, 
that  fewer  critics  have  underltood  one  lan- 
guage than  the  other.  Dionyfius  of  Hal  i- 
earnaffus  has  pointed  out  many  of  our  au- 
thors beauties  in  this  kind,  in  his  treatife 


of  the  Compofition  of  Words.  It  fufnces 
at  prefent  to  obferve  of  his  numbers,  that 
they  flow  with  fo  much  eafe,  as  to  make 
one  imagine  Homer  had  no  other  care 
than  to  tranfcribe  as  fail:  as  the  Mufes 
dictated :  and  at  the  fame  time  with  fo 
much  force  and  infpiring  vigour,  that 
they  awaken  and  raife  us  like  the  found  of 
a  trumpet.  They  roll  along  as  a  plentiful 
river,  always  in  motion,  and  always  full; 
while  we  are  borne  away  by  a  tide  .  of 
verfe,  the  mofl  rapid  and  yet  the  mcfl 
frnooth  imaginable. 

Thus,  on  whatever  fide  we  contemplate 
Homer,  what  principally  ftrikes  us  is  his 
Invention.  It  is  that  which  forms  the 
character  of  each  part  of  his  work;  and 
accordingly  we  find  it  to  have  made  his 
fable  more  extenfive  and  copious  than  any 
other,  his  manners  more  lively  and  ftrongly 
marked,  his  fpeeches  more  affecting  and 
tranfported,  his  fentiments  more  warm 
and  fublime,  his  images  and  defcript'ons 
more  full  and  animated,  his  expreilion 
more  raifed  and  daring,  and  his  numbers 
more  rapid  and  various.  I  hope,  in  what 
has  been  faid  of  Virgil,  with  regard  to  any 
of  thefe  heads,  I  have  no  way  derogated 
from  his  character.  Nothing  is  more  ab- 
furd  or  endlefs,  than  the  common  method 
of  comparing  eminent  writers  by  an  op~ 
pofiticn  of  particular  paffages  in  then:, 
and  forming  a  judgment  from  thenee  of 
their  merit  upon  the  whole.  We  ought  to 
have  a  certain  knowledge  of  the  principal 
character  and  diflinguifhing  excellence  of" 
each  :  it  is  in  that  we  are  to  confider  him, 
and  in  proportion  to  bis  degree  in  that  we 
are  to  admire  him.  No  author  or  man 
ever  excelled  all  the  world  in  more  than 
one  faculty ;  and  as  Homer  has  done  this 
in  Invention,  Virgil  has  in  Judgment. 
Not  that  we  are  to  think  Homer  wanted 
Judgment,  becaufe  Virgil  had  it  in  a  more 
eminent  degree,  or  that  Virgil  wanted  In- 
vention, becaufe  Homer  pcflefl  a  larger 
fhare  of  it:  each  of  thefe  great  authors  had 
more  of  both  than  perhaps  any  man  be- 
fidcs,  and  are  only  faid  to  have  iefs  in 
comparifon  with  one  another.  Homer 
was  the  greater  genius,  Virgil  the  better 
artift.  In  one  we  mofl  admire  the  man,  in 
the  other  the  work :  Homer  hurries  and 
tranfports  us  with  a  commanding  impe- 
tuoiity,  Virgil  leads  us  with  an  attractive 
majelty  :  Homer  fcatters  with  a  generous 
profuiion,  Virgil'  beftoy/s'  with  a  careful 
magnificence:  Homer,  like  the  Nile,  pours 
cut0  his  ikhes  with  a  boupdlefs  overflow ; 
N  n  %  Virgil 


54.S  ELEGANT    EXTR 

Virgil,  like  a  river  in  its  banks,  with  a 
gentle    and   conltant    ftrearrt.     When   we 
behold    their    battles,    methinks    the    two 
poets  refemble  the  heroes  they  celebrate; 
Homer,  boundlefs   and  irrefiftible    as    A- 
chilles,  bears   all    before  him,  and  fhines 
more  and  more    as  the  tumult  increafes ; 
Virgil,  calmly  daring  like  iEneas,  appears 
undiflurbed  in  the  raidit  of  the  action;  dif- 
pofes  all  about  him,    and  conquers  with 
tranquillity.     And    when    we    look  upon 
their  machines,  Homer  fefems  like  his  own 
Jupiter  in  his  terrors,  making  Olympus, 
{battering  the  lightnings,   and    firing   the 
heavens;  Virgil,  like  the  fame  power  in 
his  benevolence,  counfelling  with  the  gods, 
laying   plans  for  empires,   and   regularly 
oideiing  his  whole  creation. 

But  after  all,  it  is  with  great  parts,  as 
with  great  virtues,  they  naturally  border 
on  fome  imperfection ;  and  it  is  often  hard 
to  diftinguifh  exactly  where  the  virtue 
ends,  or  the  fault  begins.  As  prudence 
may  femetimes  link  to  fuipicion,  fo  may 
a  great  judgment  decline  to  coldnef;  and 
as  magnanimity  may  run  up  to  prorulion 
or  extravagance,  fo  may  a  great  invention 
to  redundancy  or  wildnefs.  If  we  look 
upon  Homer  in  this  view,  we  (hall  per- 
ceive the  chief  objections  againil  him  to 
proceed  from  fo  noble  a  caule  as  the  excels 
of  tiiis  faculty. 

Among  thefe  we  may  reckon  fome  of 
his  Marvellous  Fictions,  upon  which  fo 
much  criticiim  has  been  ipent,  as  fur- 
palling  all  the  bounds  of  probability.  Per- 
haps it  mav  be  with  great  and  fuperior 
louls,  as  with  gigantic  bodies,  which,  ex- 
ert'mg  themielves  with  unufual  ftrength, 
exceed  what  is  commonly  thought  the 
due  proportion  of  parts,  to  become  mi- 
racles in  the  whole ;  and,  like  the  old 
heroes  of  that  make,  commit  fomething 
near  extravagance,  amidlt  a  feries  of  glo- 
rious and  inimitable  performances.  Thus 
Homer  has  his  ipeaking  horfes,  and  Vir- 
gil his  myrtles  dilHlling  blood,  where  the 
latter  has  not  fo  much  as  contrived  the 
eafy  intervention  of  a  Deity  to  favc  the 
probability. 

It  is  owing  to  the  fame  vail:  invention, 
that  his  fimiles  have  been  thought  too  ex- 
uberant a.id  full  of  circurnitances.  The 
force  of  his  faculty  is  feen  in  nothing  more, 
than  in  its  inability  to  confine  itfelf  to  that 
fingle  circumHancc  upon  which  the  com- 
p  irifcrj  is  grounded  :  it  runs  out  into  em- 
bellifhments  of  additional  images,  which 
however  are  fo  managed  as  not  to  over- 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

power  the  main  one.  His  fimiles  are  like 
pictures,  where  the  principal  figure  has  not 
only  its  proportion  given  agreeable  to  the 
oiiginal,  but  is  alfo  fet  off  with  cccafional 
ornaments  and  profpects.  The  fame  will 
account  for  his  manner  of  heaping  a  num- 
ber of  comparifons  together  in  one  breath, 
when  his  fancy  fuggeited  to  him  at  once 
fo  many  various  and  correfponding  images. 
The  rea.der  will  eafily  extend  this  obi'er- 
vation  to  more  objections  of  the  fame 
kind. 

If  there  are  others  which  feem  rather  to 
charge  him  with  a  defect  or  narrownefs  of 
genius,  than  an  excefs  of  it;  thofe  feeming 
defects  will  be  found  upon  examination  to 
proceed  wholly  from  the  nature  of  the  times 
he  lived  in.  Such  are  his  grofTer  repre- 
fentations  of  the  gods,  and  the  vicious  and 
imperfect  manners  of  his  heroes ;  but  I 
mull  here  fpeak  a  word  of  the  latter,  as  it 
is  a  point  generally  carried  into  extremes, 
both  by  the  cenfurers  and  defenders  of 
Homer.  It  mull  be  a  itrange  partiality  to 
antiquity,  to  think  with  Madam  Dacier, 
"  that  *  thofe  times  and  manners  are  io 
"  much  the  more  excellent,  as  they  are 
"  more  contrary  to  ours."  Who  can  be  fo 
prejudiced  in  their  favour  as  to  magnify 
the  felicity  of  thofe  ages,  when  a  fpirit  of 
revenge  and  cruelty,  joined  with  the  prac- 
tice of  rapine  and  robbery,  reigned  through 
the  world ;  when  no  mercy  was  fhewn  but 
for  the  fake  of  lucre ;  when  the  greateft 
princes  were  put  to  the  fword,  and  their 
wives  and  daughters  made  (laves  and  con- 
cubines ?  On  the  other  fide,  1  .vould  not  be 
fo  delicate  as  thofe  modern  critics,  who  are 
fhocked  at  the  fervile  offices  and  mean  em- 
ployments in  which  we  fometimes  fee  the 
heroes  of  Homer  engaged.  There  is  a 
pleafure  in  taking  a  view  of  that  fimplicity 
in  oppofition  to  the  luxury  of  fucceeding 
ages,  in  beholding  monarchs  without  their 
guards,  princes  tending  their  flocks,  and 
princelies  drawing  water  from  the  lprings. 
When  we  read  Homer,  we  ought  to  reflect 
that  we  are  reading  the  moit  ancient  au- 
thor in  the  heathen  world  ;  and  thofe  who 
coniider  him  in  this  light  will  double  their 
pleafure  in  the  perufal  of  him.  Let  them 
think  thev  are  growing  acquainted  with 
nations  and  people  that  are  now  no  more ; 
that  they  are  ftepping  almoft  three  thou- 
fand  years  back  into  the  remoteft  antiquity, 
and  entertaining  themielves  with  a  clear 
and  furprifing  viiion  of  things  no  where  rife 


*  Preface  to  her  Homer. 


f 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


549 


to  be  found,  the  only  true  mirror  of  that 
ancient  world.  By  this  means  alone  their 
greateft  obftacles  will  vaniih;  and  what 
ufually  creates  their  diflike,  will  become  a 
fatisfadtion. 

This  confideration  may  farther  ferve  to 
anfwer  for  the  conitant  ufe  of  the  fame  epi- 
thets to  his  gods  and  heroes,  fuch  as  the 
far-darting  Phoebus,  the  blue-eyed  Pallas, 
the  fwift-footed  Achilles,  Sec.  which  fome 


Many  have  been  occasioned  by  an  injudi- 
cious endeavour  to  exalt  Virgil ;  which  is 
much  the  fame,  as  if  one  ihpuld  think  to 
raife  the  fuperllrudure  by  undermining  the 
foundation:  one  would  imagine,  by  the 
whole  courfe  of  their  parallels,  that  thefe 
critics  never  fo  much  as  heard  of  Homer's 
having  written  firft ;  a  confider.ition  which 
whoever  compares  thefe  two  poets  ought 
to  have  always  in  his  eye.     Some  accufe 


have  cenfured  as  impertinent  and  tedioufly     him  for  the  fame  things  which  they  ovei 


repeated.  Thole  of  the  gods  depended 
upon  the  powers  and  offices  then  believed 
to  belong  to  them,  and  had  contracted  a 
weight  and  veneration  from  the  rites  and 
folemn  devotions  in  which  they  were  ufed ; 
they  were  a  fort  of  attributes  in  which  it 
was  a  matter  of  religion  to  falute  them  on 
all  occafions,  and  which  it  was  an  irreve- 
rence to  omit.  As  for  the  epithets  of  great 
men,  Monf.  Boileau  is  of  opinion,  that  they 
were  in  the  nature  of  fur  names,  and  re- 
peated as  fuch;  for    the  Greeks,   having 


look  or  praife  in  the  other;  as  when  they 
prefer  the  fable  and  moral  of  the  4^ncis  to 
thefe  of  the  Iliad,  for  the  fame  reafons 
which  might  fet  the  Odyffes  above  the 
iEneis :  as  that  the  hero  is  a  wifer  man  j 
and  the  action  of  the  one  more  beneficial 
to  his  country  than  that  of  the  other :  or 
elfe  they  blame  him  for  not  doing  what  he 
never  defigned ;  as  becaufe  Achilles  is  not 
as  good  and  perfect  a  prince  as  tineas, 
when  the  very  moral  of  his  poem  required 
a  contrary  character:  it  is  thus  that  Rapin 


no  names  derived  from  their  fathers,  were     judges  in   his  companion  of  Homer  and 


obliged  to  add  fome  other  dittinction  of  each 
perfon;  either  naming  his  parents  exprefsly, 
or  his  place  of  birth,  profeflion,  or  the  like  : 
as  Alexander  the  fon  of  Philip,  Herodotus 
of  Halicarnaffus,  Diogenes  the  Cynic,  &c. 
Homer  therefore,  complying  with  the  cuf- 
tom  of  his  country,  ufed  fuch  diftinctive  ad- 
ditions as  better  agreed  with  poetry.  And 
indeed  we  have  fomething  parallel  to  thefe 
in  modern  times,  fuch  as  the  names  of 
Harold  Harefoot,  Edmund  Irdnfide,  Ed-, 
ward  Long-fhanks,  Edward  the  Black 
Prince,  &c.  If  yet  this  be  thought  to  ac- 
count better  for  the  propriety  than  for  the 
repetition,  I  fhall  add  a  farther  conjecture  : 
Hefiod,  dividing  the  world  into  its  different 
ages,  has  placed  a  fourth  age  between  the 
brazen  and  the  iron  one,  of  "  Heroes  dif- 
tinct  from  other  men :  a  divine  race,  who 
fought  at  Thebes  and  Troy,  are  called  De- 
mi-Gods, and  live  by  the  care  of  Jupiter 
in  tne  iflands  of  the  bleffed*."  Now  among 
the-divine  honours  which  were  paid  them, 
?hey  might  have  this  alio  in  common 
with  the  gods,  not  to  be  mentioned  with- 
out the  folemnity  of  an  epithet,  and  fuch 

as  might  be  acceptable    to    them    by    its     tions  to  their  reputation 
Celebrating  their  families,  actions,  or  qua- 
lities. 

What  other  cavils  have  been  raifed 
againft  Homer,  are  fuch  as  hardly  deferve 
a  reply,  but  will  yet  be  taken  notice  of 
i.s  they  occur  in  the  courfe  of  the  work. 

*  Kefiod?  lib.  i.  ver.   155,  &jc« 


Virgil,  Others  felect  thofe  particular  paf- 
fages  of  Homer,  which  are  not  fo  laboured 
as  fome  that  Virgil  drew  out  of  them:  this 
is  the  whole  management  of  Scaliger  in  his 
Poetices,  Others  quarrel  with  what  they 
take  for  low  and  mean  exprefiions,  fome- 
times  through  a  falfe  delicacy  and  refinov 
ment,  oftener  from  an  ignorance  of  the 
graces  of  the  original ;  and  then  triumph^. 
in  the  awkwardnefs  of  their  own  tranfla- 
tions;  this  is  the  conduct  of  Perault  in  his 
Parallels.  Laftly,  there  are  others,  who,, 
pretending  to  a  fairer  proceeding,  dillin- 
guilh  between  the  perfonal  merit  of  Ho- 
mer, and  that  of  his  work  ;  but  when  they 
come  to  afhgn  the  caufes  of  the  great  re- 
putation of  the  Iliad,  they  found  it  upon  the 
ignorance  of  his  times  and  the  prejudice 
of  thofe  that  followed  :  and,  in  pursuance 
of  this  principle,  they  make  thofe  accidents; 
(fuch  as  the  contention  of  the  cities,  &c.) 
to  be  the  caufes  of  his  fame,  which  were. 
in  reality  the  confequenccs  of  his  merit. 
The  fame  might  as  well  be  find  of  Virgil, 
or  any  great  author,  whofe  general  charac- 
ter will  infallibly  raife  many  caftial  addi- 
This  is  the  me- 
thod of  Monf.  de  la  Motte  ;  who  yet  con- 
feffes  upon  the  whole,  that  in  whatever  age 
Homer' had  lived,  he  mull  have  been  the 
greateft  poet  of  his  nation,  and  that  he  may 
be  laid  in  this  fenfe  to  be  the  mafter  even 
of  thofe  who  furpaffed  him, 

In  all  thefe  objections  we  fee  nothing 
that  contradicts  his  tide  to  the  honour  of 


55© 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN   PROSE; 


trie  chief  invention  ;  and  as  long  as  this 
(which  indeed  is  the  characteriftic  of  poetry 
itfelf)  remains  unequalled  by  his  followers, 
he  ftill  continues  iuperior  to  them.  A 
cooler  judgment  may  commit  fewer  faults, 
2nd  be  more  approved  in  the  eyes  of  one 
fort  of  critics :  but  that  warmth  of  fancy 
will  carry  the  loudeft  and  moft  univerfal 
applaufes,  which  holds  the  heart  of  a  reader 
uhdfer  the  ftrongeft  enchantment.  Homer 
not  only  appears  the  inventor  of  poetry, 
but  exec's  all  the  inventors  of  other  arts  in 
this,  that  he  has  fwallowed  up  the  honour 
of  thofe  wh.'  ficceeded  him.  What  he  has 
done  admitted  no  increafe,  it  only  left  room 
for  contraction  or  regulation.  He  fhewed 
all  the  ftretch  of  fancy  at  once;  and  if  he 
ri2s  failed  in  fome  of  his  flights,  it  was  but 
because  he  attempted  every  thing.  A  work 
of  this  kind  feems  like  a  mighty  tree  which 
Kfes  fem  the  moft  vigorous  feed,  is  im- 
proved with  induftry,  flourifhes,  and  pro- 
duces the  flneft  fruit;  nature  and  art  con- 
■  fpire  to  raife  it;  pleafure  and  profit  join  to 
make  it  valuable:  and  they  who  find  the 
jufteft  faults,  have  Only  faid,  that  a  few 
branches  (which  run  luxuriant  through  a 
richnefs  of  nature)  might  be  lopped  Into 
form  to  give  it  a  more  regular  appear- 
arce. 

Having  now  fpoken  of  the  beauties  and 
defects  or  the  prigina!,  it  remains  to  treat 
of  the  tranflation,  with  the  fame  view  to 
the  chief  characteriftic.  As  far  as  that 
is  feen  in  the  main  parts  of  the  poem,  fuch 
as  the  fable,  manners,  and  fentiments, 
no  tranflator  can  prejudice  it  but  by  wil- 
ful omiffions  or  contractions.  As  it  alfo 
breaks  out  in  every  particular  linage,  de- 
Icription,  and  fimile,  whoever  leflens  or 
too  much  foftens  thofe,  takes  off  from  this 
chief  character'.  It  is  the  firft  grand  duty 
of  an  interpreter  to  g:ve  his  author  entire 
land  unmaimed  ;  and  for  the  reft,  the  dic- 
tion and  verification  only  are  his  proper 
province;  fince  thefe  imuft  be  his  own,  but 
the  others  he  is  to  take  as  he  finds  them. 

[t  fhoulithen  be  confidered,  what  me- 
thods may  afford  feme  equivalent  in  our 
language  for  the  graces  of  thefe  in  the 
Greek.  Jt  is  certain  no  literal  tranflation 
can  be  jul'c  to  an  excellent  original  in  a 
Iuperior  language:  but  ir  is  a  great  mif- 
tske  to  imagine  (as  many  have  done)  that 

■  raft]  paraphrafe  can  make  amends  for 
:     general  defect;  which   is  no  lefs  in 

:■  to  lofe  the  fpirit  of  an  ancient,  by 

■  '    itmg  into  the  modern  manners  of  ex- 
r.fcn.     J,1  there  bo  fo'methnes  a  dark- 


nefs,  there  is  often  a  light  in  antiquity, 
which  nothing  better  prelerves  than  a  ver- 
fton  almoft  literal.  I  know  no  liberties 
one  ought  to  take,  but  thofe  which  are 
neceffary  for  transfufmg  the  fpirit  of  the 
original,  and  fupporting  the  poetical  ftyle 
of  the  tranflation  :  and  I  will  venture  to 
fay,  there  have  not  been  more  men  milled 
in  former  times  by  a  iervile  dull  adherence 
to  the  latter,  than  have  been  deluded  in 
ours  by  a  chimerical  infolent  hope  of 
railing  and  improving  their  author.  It  is 
not  to  be  doubted  that  the  fire  of  the  poem, 
is  what  a  tranflator  fhould  principally  re- 
gard, as  it  is  moft  likely  to  expire  in  his 
managing::  however,  it  is  his  fafeft  way 
to  be  content  with  preferving  this  to  his 
utmoft  in  the  whole,  without  endeavouring 
to  be  more  than  he  finds  his  author  is,  in 
any  particular  place.  It  is  a  great  fecret 
in  writing,  to  know  when  to  be  plain,  and 
when  poetical  and  figurative ;  and  it  is 
what  Homer  will  teach  us,  if  we  will  but 
follow  modeltly  in  his  footfteps.  Where 
his  diction  is  bold  and  lofty,  let  us  raife 
ours  as  high  as  we  can ;  but  where  he  is 
plain  and  humble,  we  ought  not  to  be  de- 
terred from  imitating  him  by  the  fear  of 
incurring  the  cenfure  of  a  mere  Eng'ilh 
critic.  Nothing  that  belongs  to  Homer 
feems  to  have  b;en  more  commonly  mlf- 
taken  than  the  juft  pitch  of  his  ftyle;  fome 
of  his  tranflators  having  fwelled  into  fuf- 
tian  in  a  proud  confidence  of  the  fublime ; 
others  funk  into  flatnefs  in  a  cold  and 
timorous  notion  of  Simplicity.  Methinks 
I  fee  thefe  different  followers  of  Homey, 
fome  fweating  and  ftraining  after  him  by 
violent  leaps  and  bounds,  (the  certain 
figns  of  falfe  mettle) ;  others  flowly  and 
fervilely  creeping  in  his  train,  while  the 
poet  himfeif  is  all  the  time  proceeding 
with  an  unaffected  and  ecual  majefty  be- 
fore them.  However,  of  the  two  extremes, 
one  could  fowner  pardon  frenzy  than  fri- 
gidity :  no  author  is  to  be  envied  for  fuch 
commendations  as  he  may  gain  by  that  cha  • 
rafter  of  ftyle,  which  his  friends  muft  agree 
together  to  call  iimplicity,  and  the  reft 
of  the  world  will  call  duln'efs.  There  is  a 
graceful  and  dignified  iimplicity,  as  well 
as  a  bald  and  fordid  one,  which  differ  as 
much  from  each  other  as  the  air  of  a  plain 
man  from  that  of  a  iloven  :  ft  is  one  thing 
to  be  tricked  up,  and  another  not  to  be 
dreffed  at  all.  Simplicity  is  the  mean  be- 
tween orientation  and  ruilicity. 

This    pure    and  noble   iimplicity  is  no 
where  in  fuch  perfection  as  in  the  Scrip- 
ture 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.         551 


ture  and  our  author.  One  may  affirm, 
with  all  refpett  to  the  infpired  writings, 
that  the  divine  fpifit  made  ufe  of  no  other 
words  but  what  were  intelligible  and 
common  to  men  at  that  time,  and  in  that 
part  of  the  world ;  and  as  Homer  is  the 
author  neareft  to  thofe,  his  ityle  muft  of 
courfe  bear  a  greater  refemblance  to  the 
facred  books  than  that  of  any  other  wri- 
ter. This  confideration  (together  with 
what  has  b^en  obierved  of  the  parity 
of  fome  of  his  thoughts)  may  methinks 
induce  a  tranflator  on  die  one  hand  to 
give  into  feveral  of  thofe  general  phrafes 
and  manners  of  expreihon,  which  have 
attained  a  veneration  even  in  our  language 
from  being  ufed  in  the  Old  Teftament; 
as  on  the  other,  to  avoid  thofe  which  have 
been  appropriated  to  the  Divinity,  and  in 
a  manner  configned  to  myftery  and  reli- 
gion. 

For  a  farther  prefervation  of  this  air  of 
Simplicity,  a  particular  care  fhould  be 
taken  to  exprefs  with  all  plainnefs,  thofe 
moral  fentences  and  proverbial  fpeeches 
which  are  fo  numerous  in  this  poet. 
They  have  fomething  venerable,  and  I 
may  fay  oracular,  in  that  unadorned  gra- 
vity and  fhortnefs  with  which  they  are 
delivered  :  a  grace  which  would  be  utterly 
loft  by  endeavouring  to  give  them  what 
we  call  a  more  ingenious  (that  is,  a  more 
modern)  turn  in  the  paraphrafe. 

Perhaps  the  mixture  of  fome  Grecifms 
and  old  words,  after  the  manner  of  Mil- 
ton, if  done  without  too  much  affectation, 
might  not  have  an  ill  effect:  in  a  verfion  of 
this  particular  work,  which  moft  of  any 
other  feems  to  require  a  venerable  antique 
cart.  But  certainly  the  ufe  of  modern 
terms  of  war  and  government,  fuch  as 
platoon,  campaign,  junto,  or  the  like  (into 
which  fome  of  his  tranilators  have  fallen) 
cannot  be  allowable ;  thofe  onlv  excepted, 
without  which  it  is  impoffible  to  treat  the 
fubjects  in  any  living  language. 

There  are  two  peculiarities  in  Homer's 
diction,  which  are  a  fort  of  marks,  or 
moles,  by  which  every  common  eye  dif- 
tinguifhes  him  at  firft  fight :  thofe  who 
are  not  his  greater!  admirers  look  upon 
them  as  defects,  and  thofe  who  are,  kern 
pleafed  with  them  as  beauties.  I  fpeak 
of  his  compound  epithets,  and  of  his  re- 
petitions. Many  of  the  former  cannot  be 
done  literally  into  Englifh  without  de- 
firoying  the  purity  of  our  language.  I 
believe  fuch  mould  be  retained  as  fiide 
feafily  of  themfelves  into  an  Engiiih  com- 


pound, without  violence  to  the  ear,  or  to 
the  received  rules  of  compofition;  as  well 
as  thofe  which  have  received  a  fanclion 
from  the  authority  of  our  befl  poets,  and 
are  become  familiar  through  their  ufe  of 
them;  fuch  as  the  cloud-compelling  Jove, 
ccc.  As  for  the  reft,  whenever  any  can 
be  as  fully  and  fignificantly  expreffed  in  a 
Angle  word  as  in  a  compound  one,  the 
courfe  to  be  taken  is  obvious. 

Some  that  cannot  be  fo  turned  as  to 
preferve  their  fall  image  by  one  or  two 
words,  may  have  juitice  done  them  by 
circumlocution  ;  as  the  epithet  iltoaiQvM-oi; 
to  a  mountain,  would  appear  little  or  ridi- 
culous tranflated  literally  "  leaf-fhaking," 
but  affords  a  majeftic  idea  in  the  peri- 
phrafis :  "  The  lofty  mountain  fiiakes  his 
waving  woods."  Others  that  admit  of 
differing  fignifications,  may  receive  an  ad- 
vantage by  a  judicious  variation  accord- 
ing to  the  occaiions  on  which  they  are 
introduced.  For  example,  the  epithet  of 
Apollo,  Ixrl&Qhoq,  or  "  far-fhooting,"  is 
capable  of  two  explications ;  one  literal 
in  refpeft  to  the  darts  and  bow,  the  enfigns 
of  that  god  ;•  the  other  allegorical  with 
regard  to  the  rays  of  the  fun:  therefore 
in  fuch  places  where  Apollo  is  reprefented 
as  a  god  in  perfon,  I  would  ufe  the  former 
interpretation;  and  where  the  effccls  of  the 
fun  are  defcribed,  I  would  make  choice 
of  the  latter.  Upon  the  whole,  it  will  be 
necefiary  to  avoid  that  perpetual  repeti- 
tion of  the  fame  epithets  which  We  find  in 
Homer;  and  which,  though  it  might  be 
accommodated  (as  has  been  already  ihewn) 
to  the  ear.  of  thofe  times,  is  by  no  means 
fo  to  ours :  but  one  may  wait  for  oppor- 
tunities of  placing  them,  where  they  de- 
rive an  addit  onai  beauty  from  the  occa- 
fions  on  which  they  are  employed ;  and  in 
doing  this  properly,  a  tranflator  may  at 
once  mew  his  fancy  and  his  judgment. 

As  for  Homer's  repetitions,  we  may  di- 
vide them  into  three  ibrts;  of  whole  nar- 
rations and  fpeeches,  of  fingle  fentences, 
and  of  one  verfe  or  hemiftich.  I  hope  it 
is  not  impoffible  to  have  fuch  a  regard  to 
thefe,  as  neither  to  lofe  fo  known  a  mark 
of  the  author  en  theonehand,  nor  to  offend 
the  reader  too  much  on  the  other.  The  re- 
petition is  not  ungraceful  in  thofe  fpeeches, 
where  the  dignity  of  the  fpeaker  renders 
it  a  fort  of  infolence  to  alter  his  words ; 
as  in  the  meffages  from  gods  to  men,  or 
from  higher  powers  to  inferiors  in  concerns 
of  Hate,  cr  where  the  ceremonial  of  reli- 
gion feems  to  require  it,  in  the  fclemn 
N  n  4  forms 


552  ELEGANT    EXTRACTS 

forms  of  prayer,  oaths,  or  the  like,  In 
other  cafes,  1  believe,  the  belt  rule  is,  to 
be  guided  by  the  nearnefs,  or  dillance,  at 
which  the  repetition:;  are  placed  in  the 
original :  when  they  follow  too  clofe,  one 
may  vary  the  expreffion ;  but  it  is  a  quef- 
tion,  whether  a  profefied  tranflator  be 
authorifed  to  omit  any  :  if  they  be  tedious, 
the  author  is  to  anfwer  for  it. 

It  only  remains  to  fpeak  of  the  Verfift- 
cation.  Homer  (as  has  been  faid)  is  per- 
petually applying  the  found  to  the  fenfe, 
and  varying  it  on  every  new  fubjecl. 
This  is  indeed  one  of  the  moll  exquilite 
beauties  of  poetry,  and  attainable  by  very 
few  :  I  know  only  of  Homer  eminent  for 
it  in  the  Greek,  and  Virgil  in  Latin.  I 
am  fenfible  it  is  what  may  fometimes  hap- 
pen by  chance,  when  a  writer  is  warm, 
and  fully  poffefTed  of  his  image:  how- 
ever it  may  be  reafonably  believed  they 
defigned  this,  in  vvhofe  verfe  it  fo  mani- 
feftly  appears  in  a  fuperior  degree  to  all 
ethers.  Few  readers  have  the  ear  to  be 
judges  of  it ;  but  thofe  who  have,  will  fee 
I  have  endeavoured  at  this  beauty. 

Upon  the  whole,  I  mall  confefs  myfelf 
utterly  incapable  of  doing  juilice  to  Ho- 
mer. I  attempt  him  in  no  ether  hope  but 
that  which  one  may  entertain  without 
much  vanity,  of  giving  a  more  tolerable 
copy  of  him  than  any  entire  tranflation  in 
verfe  has  yet  done.  We  have  only  thofe 
of  Chapman,  Hobbes,  and  Ogilby.  Chap- 
man has  taken  the  advantage  of  an  im- 
meafurable  length  of  verfe,  notwiiMand- 
ing  which,  there  is  fcarce  any  paraphrafe 
more  loofe.  and  rambling  than  his.  He 
has  frequent  interpolations  of  four  or  fix 
lines,  and  I  remember  one  in  the  thir- 
teenth book  of  the  Odyffes,  ver.  3  12,  where 
he  has  fpun  twenty  verfes  out  of  two. 
He  is  often  miilaken  in  fo  bold  a  manner, 
that  one  might  think  he  deviated  on  pur- 
pofe,  if  he  did  not  in  ether  place?  of  his 
notes  infiil  fo  much  upon  verbal  trifles. 
He  appears  to  have  had  a  flrong  affectation 
of  extracting  new  meanings  out  of  his 
author,  infomuch  as  to  promile,  in  Ms 
rhyming  preface,  a  poem  of  the  myileries 
he  had  revealed  in  Homer  :  and  perhaps 
he  endeavoured  to  ftrain  the  obvious  fenfe 
to  this  end.  His  expreffion  is  involved  in 
fuftian,  a  fault  for  which  he  was  remark- 
able in  his  original  writings,  as  in  the 
tragedy  of  Bully  d'Amboife,  &c.  In  a 
*vord,_  the  nature  of  the  man  may  account 
for  his  whole  performance ;  for  he  ap- 
pears, from  his  preface  and  remarks,  to 


IN    PROSE. 


have  been  of  an  arrogant  turn,  and  an 
enthufiaft  in  poetry.  His  own  boafl  of 
having  finilhed  half  the  Iliad  in  lefs  than 
fifteen  weeks,  fhews  with  what  negligence 
his  verfion  was  performed.  But  that 
which  is  to  be  allowed  him,  and  which 
very  much  contributed  to  cover  his  de- 
fects, is  a  daring  fiery  fpirit  that  animates 
his  tranflation,  which  is  fomething  like 
what  one  might  imagine  Homer  himfelf 
would  have  writ  before  he  arrived  at 
years  of  difcretion. 

Hobbes  has  given  us  a  corredl  explana- 
tion of  the  fenfe  in  general :  but  for  par- 
ticulars and  circumftanc  s  he  continually 
lops  them,  and  often  omits  the  mod  beau- 
tiful. As  for  its  being  elleemed  a  clofe 
tranflation,  I  doubt  not  many  have  been 
led  into  that  error  by  the  fhortnefs  of  it, 
which  proceeds  not  from  his  following  the 
original  line  by  line,  but  from  the  con- 
tractions above-mentioned.  He  fometimes 
omits  whole  fimiles  and  fentences,  and  is 
now  and  then  guilty  of  millakes,  into 
which  no  writer  of  his  learning  could 
have  fallen,  but  through  carelefinefs.  His 
poetry,  as  well  as  Ogilby's,  is  too  mean 
for  criticifm. 

It  is  a  great  lofs  to  the  poetical  world 
that  Mr.  Dryden  did  not  live  to  tranflate 
the  Iliad.  He  has  left  us  only  the  firfl 
book,  and  a  final  1  part  of  the  fixth;  in 
which,  if  he  has  in  fome  places  not  truly 
interpreted  the  fenfe,  or  preferved  the 
antiquities,  it  ought  to  be  excuied  on  ac- 
count of  the  hafle  he  was  obliged  to  write 
in.  He  feems  to  have  had  too  much  re- 
gard to  Chapman,  whofe  words  he  fome- 
times copied,  and  has  unhappily  followed 
him  in  pafihges  where  he  wanders  from 
the  original.  However,  had  he  tranflated 
the  whole  work,  I  would  no  more  have 
attempted  Homer  after  him  than  Virgil^ 
his  vexfionof  whom  ( notwithstanding  fome 
human  errors)  is  the  moil  noble  and 
fpirited  tranflation  I  know  in  any  lan- 
guage. But  the  fate  of  great  geniufes  is 
like  that  of  great  minillers,  though  they 
arc  confeffedly  the  firft  in  the  common- 
wealth of  letters,  they  mull  be  envied  and 
calumniated  only  for  being  at  the  head 
of  it. 

That  which,  in  my  opinion,  ought  to 
be  the  endeavour  of  any  one  who  tranf- 
lates  Homer,  is  above  all  things  to  keep 
alive  that  fpirit  and  fire  which  makes  his 
chief  character :  in  particular  places,  where 
the  fenfe  can  bear  any  doubt,  to  follow 
the  ftrongeil  and  moll  poetical,  as  moll 

agreeing 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.       55; 


agreeing  with  that  character ;  to  copy  him 
jn  all  the  variations  of  his  ftyle,  and  the 
different  modulations  of  his  numbers ;  to 
prefirrve,  in  the  more  a&ive  or  descriptive 
parts,  a  warmth  and  elevation;  in  the 
more  fedate  or  narrative,  a  plainnefs  and 
Solemnity  ;  in  the  fpeeches,  a  fullnefs  and 
perfpicuity ;  in  the  Sentences,  a  ihortneSs 
and  gravity  :  not  to  neglect  even  the  little 
figures  and  turns  on  the  words,  nor  Some- 
times the  very  call  of  the  periods,  neither 
to  omit  nor  confound  any  rites  or  cuftoms 
of  antiquity:  perhaps  too  he  ought  to  in- 
clude tiie  whole  in  a  lhorter  compafs  than 
has  itherto  b~en  done  by  any  tranflator, 
who  Jias  tola  ably  preServed  either  the 
fenSe  or  poerry.  What  I  would  Sarther 
recommend  to  him,  is  to  ftudy  his  author 
rather  f  om  r\is  own  text  than  from  any 
comm  ntaries.  ho\/  learned  Soever,  or 
wha  e  er  figure  they  may  make  in  the 
estimation  of  the  world;  to  confider  him 
attentively  in  comparison  with  Virgil 
above  all  the  ancients,  and  with  Milton 
abov ;  all  the  moderns.  Next  thefe,  the 
arcnbilhop  of  Cambray's  Telemachus  may 
give  hii  the  trucSt  idea  of  the  Spirit  and 
turn  of  our  author,  and  BoiTu's  admirable 
treatife  of  tne  epic  poem  the  julteft  notion 
of  hi:  dt  Sign  and  conduct.  But  after  all, 
with  whatever  judgment  and  ltudy  a  man 
may  proceed,  or  with  whatever  happinefs 
he  may  perSorm  Such  a  work,  he  muff 
hope  10  pleaie  but  a  few  ;  thofe  only  who 
have  at  once  a  tafte  of  poetry,  and  compe- 
tent learning.  Fur  to  Satisfy  Such  as  want 
either,  is  not  in  the  nature  of  this  under- 
taking ;  fince  a  mere  modern  wit  can  like 
nothing  that  is  not  modern,  and  a  pedant 
nothing  that  is  not  Greek. 

What  I  have  done  is  fubmitted  to  the 
public,  from  whofe  opinions  I  am  pre- 
pared to  learn;  though  I  fear  no  judges 
So  little  as  our  beft  poets,  who  are  molt 
fenfible  of  the  weight  of  this  talk.  As  for 
the  worll,  whatever  they  Shall  pleafe  to 
Say,  they  may  give  me  Some  concern  as 
they  are  unhappy  men,  but  none  as  they 
are  malignant  writers.  I  was  guided  in 
this  tranllation  by  judgments  very  difter- 
rent  from  theirs,  and  by  perfons  for  whom 
they  can  have  no  kindneSs,  if  an  old 
observation  be  true,  that  the  ffrongeff  an- 
tipathy in  the  world  is  that  of  fopls  to 
men  of  wit.  Mr.  Addifon  was  the  firft 
whofe  advice  determined  me  to  undei-- 
take-  this  talk,  who  was  pleaSed  to  write 
to  me  upon  that  occafion,  in  Such  terms  as 
I  cannot  repeat  without  vanity,    J  was 


obliged  to  Sir  Richard  Steele  for  a  very- 
early  recommendation  of  my  undertaking 
to  the  public.  Dr.  Swift  promoted  my 
intereft  with  that  warmth  with  which  he 
always  ferves  his  friend.  The  humanity 
and  franknefs  of  Sir  Samuel  Garth  are 
what  I  never  knew  wanting  on  any  occa- 
fion. I  muff  alio  acknowledge,  with  infi- 
nite pleafure,  the  many  friendly  offices,  ax 
well  as  Sincere  criticifms,  of  Mr.  Con- 
greve,  who  had  led  me  the  way  in  trans- 
lating feme  parts  of  Homer ;  as  I  wiffi, 
for  the  fake  of  the  world,  he  had  pre- 
vented me  in  the  reft.  I  muft  add  the 
names  of  Mr.  Rowe  and  Dr.  Parnell, 
though  I  Shall  take  a  farther  opportunity 
of  doing  juftice  to  the  Jaft,  whofe  good- 
nature (to  give  it  a  great  panegyric)  is 
no  lefs  extenfive  than  his  learning.  The 
favour  of  thefe  gentlemen  is  not  entirely 
undeferved  by  one  who  bears  them  fo  true 
an  affection.  But  what  can  I  fay  of  the 
honour  fo  many  of  the  great  have  done 
me,  while  the  firft  names  of  the  age  appear 
as  my  fubferibers,  and  the  moft  diftin- 
guifhed  patrons  and  ornaments  of  learn- 
ing as  my  chief  encouragers  ?  Amona 
thefe,  it  is  a  particular  pleafure  to  mc 
to  find,  that  my  higheft  obligations  are  to 
fuch  who  have  done  moft  honour  to  the 
name  of  poet:  that  his  grace  the  duke  of 
Buckingham  was  not  difpleaSed  I  lhould 
undertake  the  author,  to  whom  he  has 
given  (in  his  excellent  Ellay)  So  complete 
a  piaiSe. 

"  Read  Homer  once,  and  you  can  read  no  more; 
"  For  all  books  elie  appear  fo  mean,  fo  poor, 
"  Verfe  will  feem  Proie  ;  but  Still  perfift  to  read, 
*'  And  Homer  will  be-all  the  books  you  need." 

That  the  earl  of  Halifax  was  one  of  the 
firft  to  favour  me,  of  whom  it  is  hard  to 
fay,  whether  the  advancement  of  the  polite 
arts  is  more  owing  to  his  generofity  or 
his  example.  That  fuch  a  genius  as  my 
Lord  Bolingbroke,  not  more  dillinguifned 
in  the  great  Scenes  of  bufinefs  than  in 
all  the  uSeful  and  entertaining  parts  of 
learning,  has  not  reSufed  to  be  the  critic 
of  thele  Iheets,  and  the  patron  of  their 
writer.  And  that  fo  excellent  an  imitator 
of  Homer  as  the  noble  author  of  the  tra- 
gedy of  Heroic  Love,  has  continued  his 
partiality  to  me,  from  my  writing  Paltorals, 
to  my  attempting  the  Iliad.  I  cannot  denv 
myfelf  the  pride  of  confeffing,  that  I  have 
had  the  advantage  not  only  of  their  ad- 
vice for  the  conduct:  in  general,  but  their 
correction  of  Several  particulars  of  this 
translation, 

I  could 


554 


feLEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


I  could  fay  a  great  deal  of  the  pleafure 
of  being  diftinguifhed  by  the  earl  of  Car- 
narvon ;  but  it  is  almoft  abfurd  to  parti- 
cularize any  one  generous  action  in  a  per- 
fon  whofe  whole  life  is  a  continued  feries 
of  them.  Mr.  Stanhope,  the  prefent  fe- 
cretary  of  ftate,  will  pardon  my  deiire  of 
having  it  known  that  he  was  plea  fed  to 
promote  this  affair.  The  particular  zeal 
of  Mr.  Harcourt  (the  fon  of  the  late  lord 
chancellor)  gave  me  a  proof  how  much  I 
am  honoured  in  a  fhare  of  his  fricndihip. 
I  mult  attribute  to  the  fame  motive  that  of 
ieveral  others  of  my  friends,  to  whom  all 
acknowledgments  are  rendered  unneceffary 
by  the  privileges  of  a  familiar  correspon- 
dence :  and  I  am  fatisfied  I  can  no  better 
way  oblige  men  of  their  turn,  than  by  my 
filer,  ce. 

In  fhort,  I  have  found  more  patrons 
than  ever  Homer  wanted.  He  would 
have  thought  himfelf  happy  to  have  met 
the  fame  favour  at  Athens,  that  has  been 
fhown  me  by  its  learned  rival,  the  univer- 
sity of  O::ford.  If  my  author  had  the 
wits  of  after  ages  for  his  defender:,  his 
tranflator  has  had  the  .Beauties  of  the  pre- 
fent for  his  advocates;  a  pleafure  too 
great  to  be  changed  for  any  fame  in  re- 
verfion.  And  I  can  hardly  envy  him 
thofe  pompous  honours  he  received  alter 
death,  when  I  reflect  on  the  enjoyment  of 
fo  many  agreeable  obligations,  and  eafy 
friundfnips,  which  make  the  fatisfaction  of 
life.  Tills  diuinclion  is  the  more  to  be 
acknowledged,  as  it  is  fhewn  to  one  whofe 
pen  has  never  gratified  the  prejudices  of 
particular  parties,  or  the  vanities  of  parti- 
cular men.  Whatever  the  fuccels  may 
prove,  I  {hall  never  repent  of  an  under- 
taking in  which  I  have  experienced  the 
candour  and  friendihip  of  fo  many  perfons 
of  merit;  and  in  which  I  hope  to  pals 
f<  .v.e  of  thofe  years  of  youth  that  are  ge- 
T:  .ally  loft  in  a  circle  of  follies,  after  a 
manner  neither  wholly  unufeful  to  others, 
r.cr  difagreeable  to  rnyfelf.  Pote, 

•§    235-  An  EJfay  on  Virgil's  Georgics,  pre- 
ftxi.l  to  Mr.  TJrjden's  Tranjlation. 

"Virgil  may  be  reckoned  the  firft  who 
introduced  three  new  kinds  of  poetry 
amerng  th--  Xomans,  which  he  copied  after 
three  the  grcateft  matters  of  Greece. 
Theocritus  and  Homer  have  ftiil  difputed 
for  the  advantage  over  him  in  p.. .".oral 
and  heroics  ;  but  I  think  all  are  unanimous 
in  giving  him  the  precedence  to  Keuod  in 


his  Georgics.  The  truth  of  it  is,  the  fweet- 
nefs  and  ruilicity  of  a  paftoral  cannot  be  fo 
well  expreffed  in  any  other  tongue  as  in 
the  Greek,  when  rightly  mixed  and  quali- 
fied with  the  Doric  dialed! ;  nor  can  the 
majefly  of  an  heroic  poem  any  where  ap- 
pear fo  well  as  in  this  language,  which  has 
a  natural  greatnefs  in  it,  and  can  be  often 
rendered  more  deep  and  fonorous  by  the 
pronunciation  of  the  Ionians.  But  in  the 
middle  ftyle,  where  the  writers  in  both 
tongues  are  on  a  level,  we  fee  how  far  Vir- 
gil has  excelled  all  who  have  written  in  the 
fame  way  with  him. 

1  here  has  been  abundance  of  criticifm 
fpent  on  Virgil's  Paftorals  and  ^Eneids, 
but  the  Georgics  area  fubjeel  which  none 
of  the  critics  have  fuffieiently  taken  into 
their  confideration  ;  molt  of  them  palling 
it  over  in  filence,  or  cafting  it  under  the 
fame  head  with  Paftoral ;  a  divifion  by  no 
means  proper,  unlefs  we  fuppofe  the  ftyle 
of  a  huihandman  ought  to  be  imitated  in 
a  Georgic,  as  that  of  a  fhepherd  is  in 
Paftoral  But  though  the  fcene  of  both 
thefe  poems  lies  in  the  fame  place,  the 
fpeakers  in  them  are  of  a  quite  different 
character,  fmce  the  precepts  of  hufbandry 
are  not  to  be  delivered  with  the  ftmplicity 
of  a  plowman,  but  with  the  addrefs  of  a 
poet.  No  rules  therefore  that  relate  to: 
Paftoral  can  any  way  affect  the  Georgics, 
fince  they  fall  under  that  clafs  of  poetry 
which  conlifts  in  giving  plain  and  direct 
inftrucVions  to  the  reader ;  whether  they  be 
moral  duties,  as  thofe  of  Theognis  and 
Pythagoras ;  or  philofophical  fpeculationSj 
as  thoie  of  Aratus  and  Lucretius;  or  rules 
of  practice,  as  thofe  of  Hefiod  and  Virgil. 
Among  thefe  different  kinds  of  fubjeel?, 
that  which  the  Georgics  go  upon  is,  I 
think, the  meaneft  and  leaftimprovmg,  but 
the  moll  pleafing  and  delightful.  Pre- 
cepts of  morality,  befides  the  natural  cor- 
ruption of  our  tempers,  which  makes  us 
averfe  to  them,  are  fo  abftracted  from  ideas 
of  fenfe,  that  they  feluom  give  an  oppor- 
tunity for  thofe  beautiful  descriptions  and 
images  which  are  the  fpirit  and  life  of 
poetry.  Natural  philofophy  has  indeed 
fenfible  objects  to  work  upon,  but  then  it 
often  puzzies  the  reader  with  the  intricacy 
of  its  notions,  and  perplexes  him  with  the 
multitude  of  its  difputes.  But  this  kind 
of  poetry  I  am  now  fpeaking  of,  addreffes 
itfelf  wholly  to  the  imagination  :  it  is  alto- 
gether converfant  among  the  fields  and 
woods,  and  has  the  moil  delightful  part 
of  nature   for  iti  province.     It  raifes  in 

our 


BOOK    If.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


555 


pur  minds  a  pleafing  variety  of  fcenes  and 
landfcapes,  whilft  it  teaches  us,  and  makes 
the  dryeft  of  its  precepts  look  like  a  de- 
fcription.     '  A  Georgic  therefore  is  fome 

*  part  of  the  fcience  ©f  hufbandry  put  into 
'  a  pleafing  drefs,  and  fet  off  with  ail  the 

*  beauties  and  embellifhments  of  poetry.' 
Now  fince  this  fcience  of  hufbandry  is  of  a 
very  large  extent,  the  poet  fhevvs  his  fkill 
ih  Angling  out  fuch  precepts  to  proceed  on, 
as  are  lifeful,  and  at  the  fame  time  mofl 
capable  of  ornament.  Virgil  was  fo  well 
acquainted  with  this  fecret,  that  to  fet  off 
his  firft  Georgic  he  has  run  into  a  fet  of 
precepts,  which  are  almolt  foreign  to  his 
iubjeel:,  in  that  beautiful  account  he  gives 
us  of  the  figns  in  nature,  which  precede  the 
changes  of  the  weather. 

And  if  there  be  io  much  art  in  the 
choice  of  fit  precepts,  there  Is  much  more 
required  in  the  treating  of  them,  that  they 
may  fall  in  after  each  other  by  a  natural 
unforced  method,  and  ihew  themfelves  in 
the  befl  and  molt  advantageous  light.  They 
fhouldall  be  fo  finely  wrought  together  in 
the  fame  piece,  that  no  coarfe  feam  may 
difcover  where  they  join ;  as  in  a  curious 
brede  of  needle-work  one  colour  fails  away 
by  fuch  juit  degrees,  and  another  rifes  fo 
infenfibly,  that  we  fee  the  variety  without 
being  able  to  diitinguiih  the  total  vanifh- 
ir.g  of  the  one  from  the  firft  appearance  of 
the  other.  Nor  is  it  fufficient  to  range 
and  difpofe  this  body  of  precepts  into  a 
clear  and  eafy  method,  uniefs  they  are  de- 
livered to  us  in  the  mofl  pleafing  and 
agreeable  manner ;  for  there  are  feveral 
ways  of  conveying  the  fame  truth  to  the 
mind  of  man ;  and  to  choofe  the  plea- 
fanteft  cf  thefe  ways,  is  that  which  chiefly 
diftinguifh.es  poetry  from  profe,  and  makes 
Virgil's  rules  of  hufbandry  pleafanter  to 
read  than  Varro's.  Where  the  profe- 
writer  tells  us  plainly  what  ought  to  be 
done,  the  poet  often  conceals  the  precept 
in  a  defcription,  and  reprefents  his  coun- 
tryman performing  the  action  in  which  he 
would  inftruft  his  reader.  Where  the  one 
fets  out,  as  fully  and  diitinctly  as  he  can, 
all  the  parts  of  the  truth  which  he  would 
communicate  to  us ;  the  other  fingles  out 
the  molt  pleafing  circumftance  of  this 
truth,  and  fo  conveys  the  whole  in  a  more 
diverting  manner  to  the  underfhuiding. 
I  fhall  give  one  inftance  out  of  a  mul- 
titude of  this  nature  that  might  be  found 
in  the  Ge orgies,  where  the  reader  may 
fee  the  different  ways  Virgil  has  taken  to 
exprefa  the  fame   thing,  and  how   much 


pleafanter  every  manner  of  expreffion  is, 
than  the  plain  and  direct  mention  of  it 
would  have  been.  It  is  in  the  fecond 
Georgic,  where  he  tells  us  what  trees  will 
bear  grafting  on  each  other : 

Et  fsepe  alterius  ramos  impune  videmus 
Vertere  in  alterius,  rnutatamque  infita  mala 
Ferre  pyrum,  et  prunis  lapidofa  rubefcere  corna» 

— ■ SterilesPlatani  malos  gelfere  valentcs, 

Caftanea  fagos,  ornufque  incaauit  albo 
Flore  pyri !   Glandemqut  juesfregerefubulmiif 

Nee  longum  ternpus :  &  ingens 

Exiit  ad  ccelum  ramis  felicibus  arbos  ; 
Miraturque  novas  frondes  et  non  fua  poma. 

Here  we  fee  the  poet  confidered  all  the 
effects  of  this  union  between  trees  of  diffe- 
rent kinds,  and  took  notice  of  that  effect 
which  had  the  inoft  furprife,  and  by  con- 
fequence  the  moft  delight  in  it,  to  exprefs 
the  capacity  that  was  in  them  of  being 
thus  united.  This  way  of  writing  is  every 
where  much  in  ufe  among  the  poets,  and 
is  particularly  prattifed  by  Virgil,  who 
loves  to  fuggeft  a  truth  indirectly,  and 
without  giving  us  a  full  and  open  view  of 
it,  to  let  us  fee  juft  fo  much  as  will  natural- 
ly lead  the  imagination  into  all  the  parts 
that  lie  concealed.  This  is  wonderfully 
diverting  to  the  underltanding,  thus  to  re- 
ceive a  precept,  that  enters,  as  it  were, 
through  a  bye-way,  and  to  apprehend  an 
idea  that  draws  a  whole  train  after  it. 
For  here  the  mind,  which  is  always  de- 
lighted with  its  own  difcoveries,  only  takes 
the  hint  from  the  poet,  and  feems  to  work: 
out  the  reft  by  the  ftrength  of  her  own 
faculties. 

But  fince  the  inculcating  precept  upon 
precept,  will  at  length  prove  tirefome  to 
the  reader,  if  he  meets  with  no  entertain- 
ment, the  poet  muft  take  care  not  to  in- 
cumber his  poem  with  too  much  buiinefs  ; 
but  fometimes  to  relieve  the  fubjeci:  with  a 
moral  reflection,  or  let  it  reft  a  while,  for 
the  fake  of  a  pleafant  and  pertinent  di- 
greffion.  Nor  is  it  fufficient  to  run  out 
into  beautiful  and  diverting  digreifions  (as 
it  is  generally  thought)  uniefs  they  are 
brought  in  aptly,  and  are  fomething  of  a 
piece  with  the  main  defign  of  the  Georgic  : 
for  they  ought  to  have  a  remote  alliance 
at  leall  to  the  fubject,  that  fo  the  whole 
poem  may  be  more  uniform  and  agreeable 
in  all  its  parts.  We  fhculd  never  quite 
lofe  light  of  the  country,  though  we  are 
fometimes  entertained  with  a  diftan  >- 
fpect  of  it.     Of  this   nature  are  ['$ 

defcriptions  of  the  original  of  ag]  i, 

of  the  fruitfulnef s  of  Italy,  of  a  / 


y>« 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


life,  and  the  like,  which  are  not  brought  in 
by  force,  but  naturally  rife  out  of  the  prin- 
cipal argument  and  defign  of  the  poem. 
I  know  no  one  digreffion  in  the  Georgics 
that  may  feem  to  contradict  this  obferva- 
tion,  befides  that  in  the  latter  end  of  the 
iirlt  book,  where  the  poet  launches  out  into 
a  difcourfe  of  the  battle  of  Pharfalia,  and 
the  actions  of  Auguitus.  But  it  is  worth 
while  to  confider,  how  admirably  he  has 
turned  the  courfe  of  his  narration  into  its 
proper  channel,  and  made  his  hufbandman 
concerned  even  in  what  relates  to  the  bat- 
tle, in  thofe  inimitable  lines : 

Scilicet  et  tempos  veniet,  cum  finibus  Mis 
Agricola  incarvo  terram  molitus  aratro, 
JLxefa  inveniet  feahra  rubigine  pila  : 
Aut  gravibus  raftris  galeaspulfabit  inanes, 
Crandiaque  efforTis  mirabitur  otia  fepulcbris. 

And  afterwards,  fpeaking  of  Auguftus's 
actions,  he  ftili  remembers  that  agriculture 
ought  to  be  fome  way  hinted  at  through- 
out the  whole  poem  : 

— ■ Non  alius  nratro 

Dignus  bonps  :  fqualent  abdncYis  arva  colonis : 
El  curvae  rigidum  fakes  conflautur  in  enfem. 

We  now  come  to  the  ftyle  which  is  pro- 
per to  a  Georgic  ;  and  indeed  this  is  the 
part  on  which  the  poet  mull;  lay  out  all  his 
flrength,  that  his  words  may  be  warm  and 
glowing,  and  that  every  thing  he  defcribes 
may  immediately  prefent  itfelf,  and  rife  up 
to  the  reader's  view.  He  ought,  in  parti- 
cular, to  be  careful  of  not  letting  his  fubjedl 
debafe  his  ftyle,  and  betray  him  into  a 
meannefs  of  expreffion,  but  every  where  to 
keep  up  his  verfe,  in  all  the  pomp  of  num- 
bers and  dignity  of  words. 

I  think  nothing  which  is  a  phrafe  or 
faying  in  common  talk  fhould  be  admitted 
into  a  ferious  poem ;  becaufe  it  takes  off 
from  the  folemnity  of  the  expreffion,  and 
gives  it  too  great  a  turn  of  familiarity  : 
much  lefs  ought  the  low  phrafes  and  terms 
of  art  that  are  adapted  to  hufbandry,  have 
any  place  in  fuch  a  work  as  the  Georgic, 
which  is  not  to  appear  in  the  natural  fim- 
pKcity  and  nakednefs  of  its  fubjecl,  but  in 
the  pleafanteii:  drefs  that  poetry  can  beftow 
on  it.  Thus  Virgil,  to  deviate  from  the 
common  form  of  words,  would  not  raake 
life  of  tempore  bat  jfydere  in  his  firft  verfe  ; 
and  every  where  elfe  abounds  with  meta- 
phors, Grecifms,  and  circumlocutions,  to 
give  his  verfe  the  greater  pomp,  and  pre- 
ierve  it  from  finking  into  a  plebeian  ftyle. 
And  herein  confifts  Virgil's  mailer-piece, 


who  has  not  only  excelled  all  other  poets, 
but  even  himfelf  in  the  language  of  his  i 
Georgics ;  where  we  receive  more  ftrong 
and  lively  ideas  of  things  from  his  words, 
than  we  could  have  done  from  the  objects 
themfelves;  and  find  our  imaginations 
more  affecled  by  his  defcriptions,  than  they 
would  have  been  by  the  very  fight  of  what 
he  defcribes. 

1  fhall  now,  after  this  fhort  fceme  of 
rules,  confider  the  different  fuccefs  that 
Hefiod  and  Virgil  have  met  with  in  this 
kind  of  poetry,  which  may  give  us  fome 
further  notion  of  the  excellence  of  the 
Georgics.  To  begin  with  Hefiod ;  if  we 
may  guefs  at  his  character  from  his  writ- 
ings, he  had  much  more  of  the  hulband- 
man  than  the  poet  in  his  temper  :  he  was 
wonderfully  grave,  difcreet,  and  frugal;  he 
lived  altogether  in  the  country,  and  was 
probably,  for  his  great  prudence,  the  oracle 
of  the  whole  neighbourhood.  Thefe 
principles  of  good  hufbandry  ran  tnrougfi 
his  works,  and  directed  him  to  the  choice 
of  tillage  and  merchandize,  for  the  fubjecl 
of  that  which  is  the  moil  celebrated  of 
them.  He  is  every  where  bent  on  inftruc- 
tion,  avoids  all  manner  of  digreffions,  and 
does  not  ftir  out  of  the  field  once  in  the 
whole  Georgic.  His  method  in  defcribing 
month  after  month,  with  its  proper  feafons 
and  employments,  is  too  grave  and  fimple ; 
it  takes  oft"  from  the  furprife  and  variety 
of  the  poem,  and  makes  the  whole  look 
but  like  a  modern  almanack  in  verfe.  The 
reader  is  carried  through  a  courfe  of  wea- 
ther, and  may  before-hand  guefs  whether 
he  is  to  meet  with  inow  or  rain,  clouds  or 
funihine,  in  the  next  description.  His  de- 
fcriptions indeed  have  abundance  of  na^ 
ture  in  them,  but  then  it  is  nature  in  her 
fimpiicity  and  undrefs.  Thus  when  he 
ipeaks  of  January,  ««  The  wild  beads," 
lays  he,  "  run  fhivei  ing  through  the  woods* 
"  with  their  heads  (looping  to  the  ground, 
"  and  their  tails  clapt  between  their  legs ; 
"  the  goats  and  oxen  are  almoft  flsa'd 
"  with  cold  ;  but  it  is  not  fo  bad  with  the 
"  fheep,  becaufe  they  have  a  thick  coat 
"  or  wool  about  them.  The  old  men  too 
"  are  bitterly  pinched  with  the  weather  * 
"  but  the  young  girls  feel  nothing  of  it, 
"  who  fit  at  home  with  their  mothers  by 
"  a  warm  fire-fide."  Thus  does  the  old 
gentleman  give  himfelf  up  to  a  loofe  kind 
of  tattle,  rather  than  endeavour  after  a  juffc 
poetical  defcription.  Nor  has  he  fhewn 
more  of  art  or  judgment  in  the  precepts 
lie  has  given  us,  which  are  fown  (o  very 

thick^ 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


thick,  that  they  clog  the  poem  too  much, 
and  are  often  fo  minute  and  full  of  circum- 
ftances,  that  they  weaken  and  unnerve  his 
verfe.  But  after  all,  we  are  beholden 
to  him  for  the  firfl  rough  /ketch  of  a 
Georgic  :  where  we  may  ftill  difcover 
fomething  venerable  in  the  antiquenefs  of 
the  work ;  but  if  we  would  fee  the  defign 
enlarged,  the  figures  reformed,  the  colour- 
ing laid  on,  and  the  whole  piece  finifhed, 
we  muft  expert  it  from  a  greater  mailer's 
hand. 

Virgil  has  drawn  out  the  rules  of  tillage 
and  planting  into  two  books,  which  Hefiod 
has  difpatched  in  half  a  one;  but  has  fo 
raifed  the  natural  rudenefs  and  fimplicity 
of  his  fubject,  with  fuch  a  fignificancy  of 
expreffion,  fuch  a  pomp  of  verfe,  fuch  va- 
riety of  tranfitions,  and  fuch  a  folemn  air 
in  his  reflections,  that  if  we  look  on  both 
poets  together,  we  fee  in  one  the  plainnefs 
of  a  downright  countryman,  and  in  the 
other  fomething  of  ruftic  majelty,  like  that 
of  a  Roman  dictator  at  the  plow-tail.  He 
delivers  the  meaneft  of  his  precepts  with  a 
kind  of  grandeur;  he  breaks  the  clods  and 
tcffes  the  dung  about  with  an  air  of  grace- 
fulnefs.  His  prognoilications  of  the  wea- 
ther are  taken  out  of  Aratus,  where  we 
may  fee  how  judicioufly  he  has  picked  out 
thofe  that  are  moll  proper  for  his  hufband- 
man's  obfervation;  how  he  has  enforced 
the  expreffion,  and  heightened  the  images, 
which  he  found  in  the  original. 

The  fecond  bock  has  more  wit  in  it,  and 
a  greater  boldnefs  in  its  metaphors,  than  any 
of  the  reft.  The  poet,  with  a  great  beauty, 
applies  oblivion,  ignorance,  wonder,  de- 
fire,  and  the  like,  to  his  trees.  The  laft 
Georgic  has  indeed  as  many  metaphors, 
but  not  fo  daring  as  this;  for  human 
thoughts  and  paflions  may  be  more  natu- 
rally afcribed  to  a  bee,  than  to  an  inani- 
mate plant.  He  who  reads  over  the  plea- 
sures of  a  country  life,  as  they  are  de- 
scribed by  Virgil  in  the  latter  end  of  this 
book,  can  fcarce  be  of  Virgil's  mind,  in 
preferring  even  the  life  of  a  philofopher 
to  it.  * 

?  We  may,  I  thins,  read  the  poet's  clime 
m  his  defcription ;  for  he  feems  to  have 
been  in  a  fweatat  the  writing  of  it: 

~" ?  quis  me  Selidis  fub  montibus  H«mi 

aiftat,  et  ingenti  raniorum  protegat  umbra ! 

And  is  every  where  mentioning  among 
1«8  chief  pleafures,  the  coolnefs  of  his 
Ihades  and  rivers,  vales  and  grottos;  which 
a  more  northern  poet  would  have  omitted, 


557 


for  the  defcription  of  a  funny  hill  and  fire- 
fide. 

The  third  Georgic  feems  to  be  the  moft 
laboured  of  them  all ;  there  is  a  wonderful 
vigour  and  fpirit  in  the  defcription  of  the 
horfe  and  chariot-race.  The  force  of  love 
is  reprefented  in  noble  inftances,  and  very 
fublime  expreffions.  The  Scythian  winter- 
piece  appears  fo  very  cold  and  bleak  to 
the  eye,  that  a  man  can  fcarce  look  on  it 
without  ihivering.  The  murrain  at  the  end 
has  all  the  exprefiivenefs  that  words  can 
give.  It  was  here  that  the  poet  ftrained 
hard  to  outdo  Lucretius  in  the  defcription 
of  his  plague ;  and  if  the  reader  would  fee 
what  fuccefs  he  had,  he  may  find  it  at  laro-e 
in  Scaliger. 

But  Virgil  feems  no  where  fo  well 
pleafed  as  when  he  is  got  among  his  bees, 
in  the  fourth  Georgic  ;  and  ennobles  the 
actions  of  lb  trivial  a  creature,  with  meta- 
phors drawn  from  the  moft  important  con- 
cerns of  mankind.  His  verfes  are  not  in 
a  greater  noife  and  hurry  in  the  battles  of 
^£neas  and  Turnus,  than  in  the  engage- 
ment of  two  fwarms.  And  as  in  his  jEneis 
he  compares  the  labours  of  his  Trojans  to 
thofe  of  bees  and  pifmires,  here  he  com- 
pares the  labours  of  the  bees  to  thofe  of  the 
Cyclops.  In  fhort,  the  laft  Georgic 
was  a  good  prelude  to  the  /Eneis ;  and 
very  well  fhewed  what  the  poet  could  do 
in  the  defcription  of  what  was  really  great, 
by  his  describing  the  mock  grandeur  of  an 
infect  with  fo  good  a  grace.  There  is 
more  pleafantncfs  in  the  little  platform  of 
a  garden,  which  he  gives  us  about  the  mid- 
dle of  this  book,  than  in  all  the  fpacious 
walks  and  water-works  of  Rapin.  The 
fpeech  of  Proteus  at  the  end  can  never  be 
enough  admired,  and  was  indeed  very  fit 
to  conclude  fo  divine  a  work. 

After  this  particular  account  of  the 
beauties  in  the  Georgics,  I  fhould  in  the 
next  place  endeavour  to  point  out  its  im- 
perfections,  if  it  has  any.  But  though  I 
think  there  are  fome  few  parts  in  it  that 
are  not  fo  beautiful  as  the  reft,  I  mall  not 
prefume  to  name  them,  as  rather  fufpedt- 
ing  my  own  judgment,  than  I  can  believe 
a  fault  to  be  in  that  poem,  which  lay  fo 
ong  under  Virgil's  corredion,  and  had  his 
laft  hand  put  to  it.  The  firfl  Georgic 
was  probably  burlefqued  in  the  author's 
life  time;  for  we  ftill  find  in  the  fcholiafts 
a  verfe  that  ridicules  part  of  a  line  tranf, 
Jated  from  Hefiod— A Ww  ara,/ere  nudus. 
—And  we  way  eauly  guefs  at  the  judg- 
ment of  this  extraordinary  critic,  whoever 


558 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


he  was,  fromhiscenfuringin  this  particular 
precept,  We  may  be  fure  Virgil  would 
not  have  tranflated  it  from  Hefiod,  had  he 
not  difcovered  fome  beauty  in  it;  and  in- 
deed the  beauty  of  it  is  what  I  have  before 
obferved  to  be  frequently  met  with  in 
Virgil,  the  delivering  the  precept  fo  indi- 
rectly, and  fingling  out  the  particular  cir- 
cumstances of  fowing  and  plowing  naked, 
to  fuggelt  to  us  that  thefe  employments 
are  proper  only  in  the  hot  feaion  of  the 
year. 

I  mail  not  here  compare  the  ftyle  of  the 
Georgics  with  that  of  Lucretius,  which  the 
reader  may  fee  already  done  in  the  pre- 
face to  the  fecond  volume  of  Dry  den's 
Mifcellany  Poems ;  but  mail  conclude  this 
poem  to  be  the  moll:  complete,  elaborate, 
and  fmifhed  piece  of  all  antiquity.  The 
yEneis,  indeed,  is  of  a  nobler  kind  ;  but 
the  Georgic  is  more  perfect  in  its  kind. 
The  /Eneis  has  a  greater  variety  of  beau- 
ties in  it,  but  thofe  of  the  Georgic  are  more 
exquifite.  In  fhort,  the  Georgic  has  all  the 
perfection  that  can  be  expected  in  a  poem 
written  by  the  greater!  poet  in  the  flower 
of  his  age,  when  his  invention  was  ready, 
his  imagination  warm,  his  judgment  fettled, 
and  all  his  faculties  in  their  full  vigour  and 
maturity.  Addifon. 


§   236.     Hijlory   0/ the  Heathen 
Deities. 

1.  Coelus   and    Terra.      Ccelus 


/aid  to  be  the  fon  of  the  Air,  great  father 
of  the  gods,  and  hufband  of  Terra  the 
daughter  of  the  Earth ;  by  whom  he  had 
the  Cyclops,  Oceanus,  Titan,  the  Hundred 
Giants,  and  many  other  children,  the  moil 
eminent  of  which  was  Saturn. 

Nothing  is  more  uncertain  that  what  is 
related  of  Ccelus  and  Terra  ;  and  the  whole 
fable  plainly  feems  to  fignify  that  the  Air 
and  Earth  were  the  common  father  and 
parent  of  all  created  beings.  Ccelus  was 
called  Uranus  by  the  Greeks,  and  Terra 
was  alfo  named  Veita ;  ihe  prefided  over 
all  feaits  and  banquets ;  and  the  firft  fruits 
of  the  earth  were  offered  to  her  in  the  molt 
folemn  facrifices.  According  to  the  fable, 
Ccelus  was  dethroned  by  his  youngeft  fon 
Saturn,  and  wounded  by  him,  to  prevent 
his  having  more  children. 

2.  Saturn.  Saturn  was  the  fon  of 
Ccelus  and  Terra,  and  the  moft  ancient 
of  all  the  gods.  Titan,  his  elder  brother, 
rtfigned  his  birth-right  to  him,  on  condi- 
tion that  he  mould  deftroy   all  his  male 


iflue,  that  the  empire  of  the  world  might 
in  time  fall  to  his  pofterity.  Saturn  ac- 
cepted of  this  condition;  but  Titan  after- 
wards fufpecting  thathis  brother  had  broke 
the  contract  between  them,  made  war 
againit  him,  and  kept  him  in  prifon  ;  from 
whence  he  was  releafed  by  his  fon  Jupi- 
ter, and  re-initated  in  his  government:  he 
was  afterwards  dethroned  by  J  upiter  him- 
feif. 

Saturn  being  driven  from  his  throne, 
left  the  kingdom,  and  went  into  Italy,  and 
there  lived  with  king  Janus.  That  part 
of  Italy  where  he  concealed  himfelf  was, 
called  Latium. 

He  is  reprefented  as  the  emblem  of 
Time,  with  a  fcyihe  in  his  hand;  and  in 
his  time,  it  is  faid,  was  the  golden  age  of 
the  earth,  when  the  ground  yielded  all 
forts  of  fruit  without  culture,  and  Aftra:a, 
or  Jultice,  dwelt  among  men,  who  lived 
together  in  perfect  love  and  amity. 

The  Saturnalia,  or  Feaits  of  Saturn, 
were  inflituted  by  Tullus  king  of  the  Ro- 
mans; or,  according  to  Livy,  by  Sempro- 
nius  and  Minutius  the  confuis. 

3.  Cybele.  Cybele  was  the  wife  of 
Saturn,  and  accounted  mother  of  the  gods : 
fhe  was  called  Ops  by  the  Latins,  and  Rhea 
by  the  Greeks.  She  was  alfo  named  Bona 
Mater,  Veita,  and  Terra. 

Cybele  hath  her  head  crowned  with 
towers,  and  is  the  goddefs  of  cities,  gar- 
rifons,  and  all  things  that  the  earth  fuf- 
tains.  She  is  the  earth  itfelf,  on  which 
are  built  many  towers  and  caitles. 

In  her  hand  fhe  carries  a  key,  becaufe, 
in  winter  the  earth  locks  up  her  treafures, 
which  in  the  fpring  fhe  unloofes,  brings, 
forth  and  difpenfes  with  a  plentiful  hand. 

She  is  featcd  in  a  chariot,  becaufe  the 
earth  hangs  in  the  air,  being  poifed  by  its 
own  weight.  Her  garments  were  painted 
with  flowers  of  various  colours,  and  figured 
with  images  of  feveral  creatures ;  which 
needs  no  explanation,  fince  every  one 
knows,  that  iuch  a  drefs  is  fuitable  to  the 
earth. 

Divine  honours  were  daily  paid  to  this 
goddefs ;  and  the  prieits  of  Cybele  per- 
formed their  facririces  with  a  coniufed 
noife  of  timbrels,  pipes,  cymbals,  and  other 
instruments ;  and  the  facrificants  profaned 
both  the  temple  of  their  goddefs,  and  the 
ears  of  their  hearers,  with  howling,  riot, 
and  every  kind  of  wantonnefs. 

The  priefts  of  this  go  jdefs  were  called 
Galli,  from  a   river   in  Phrygia.      The/ 

wer& 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


559 


were  alfo  called  Curetes,  Corybantes,  Tel- 
chines,  Cabiri,  and  Idan  Dadlyli. 

4.  Jupiter,  Jupiter,  fon  of  Saturn 
and  Cybele,  or  Ops,  is  the  father  and  king 
of  gods  and  men.  He  is  reprefented  fit- 
ting on  a  throne  of  ivory  and  gold,  hold- 
ing thunder  in  his  right  hand,  and  in  the 
left,  a  fcepter  made  of  Cyprus;  which 
wood,  being  free  from  corruption,  is  a 
fymbol  of  eternal  empire.  On  this  fcep- 
ter fits  an  eagle;  either  becaufe  he  was 
brought  up  by  that  bird,  or  that  hereto- 
fore the  eagle  fitting  upon  his  head,  por* 
tended  his  reign;  or  becaufe  in  the  war 
againft  the  Giants,  it  brought  him  the 
thunder,  and  thence  was  called  his  Armour- 
bearer.  He  had  golden  (hoes,  and  an 
.embroidered  cloak,  adorned  with  various 
flowers,  and  figures  of  animals. 
•  He  was  educated,  as  well  as  born,  upon 
Ida,  a  mountain  in  Crete;  but  by  whom, 
the  variety  of  opinions  is  wonderful. 

There  are  fome  who  affirm,  that  he  was 
nurfed  by  the  Curetes,  or  Corybantes ;  fome 
by  the  Nymphs  ;  and  fome  by  Amalthea, 
daughter  of  Meliffus  king  of  that  illand. 
Others,  on  the  contrary,  have  recorded, 
.that  he  was  fed  by  the  bees  with  honey  ; 
Others,  by  goat's  milk. 

They  add  befides,  that  the  goat  being 
dead  and  the  (kin  pulled  off,  Jupiter  made 
of  it  a  fhield,  called  JEgis,  which  he  ufed 
afterwards  in  the  battle  againft  the  Giants. 

Jupiter,  after  he  had  depofed  his  father 
Saturn  from  the  throne,  and  expelled  him 
the  kingdom,  divided  the  parental  inheri- 
tance with  his  two  brothers,  Neptune  and 
Pluto.  He  fo  obliged  and  affifted  mankind 
by  great  favours,  .that  he  not  only  got  the 
title  of  Jupiter,  but  alio  obtained  divine 
honours,  and  was  eileemed  the  common 
father  of  gods  and  men. 

Jupiter  had  names  almoft  innumerable  ; 
which  he  obtained,  either  from  the  places 
where  he  lived,  and  wherein  he  was  wor- 
shipped, or  from  the  various  actions  of  his 
life. 

The  Greeks  called  him  Ammon  orHam- 
tnon,  which  Signifies  fandy.  He  obtained 
'.his  name  firft  in  Lybia,  where  he  was  wor- 
fhipped  under  the  figure  of  a  ram  ;  becaufe 
ivhen  Ba:chus  was  athirft  in  the  defarts  of 
Arabia,  and  implored  the  affiitance  of 
Jupiter,  Jupiter  appeared  in  the  form  of  a 
am,  opened  a  fountain  with  his  foot,  and 
iifcovered  it  to  him. 

I  He  was    called    Capitol inus,  from  the 
Eapitpjine  hijh  on  the  top  whereof  he  had 


the  firft  temple  that  ever  was  built  in 
Rome  ;  which  Tarquin  the  Elder  firft  vow- 
ed to  build,  Tarquin  the  Proud  did  build, 
and  Horatius  the  Conful  dedicated.  He 
was  befides  called  Tarpeius,  for  the  Tar- 
peian  rock  on  which  this  temple  was  built. 
He  was  alfo  ftyled  Optimus  Maximus, 
from  his  power  and  willingnefs  to  profit  all 
men. 

The  title  of  Dodonsus  was  given  Jupi- 
ter from  the  city  Dodona  in  Chaonia, 
which  was  fo  called  from  Dodona,  a  nymph 
of  the  fea.  Near  to  this  city  was  a  grove 
facred  to  him,  which  was  planted  with  oaks, 
and  famous,  becaufe  in  it  was  the  moil 
ancient  oracle  of  all  Greece. 

The  name  Feretrius  was  given  him,  be- 
caufe after  the  Romans  had  overcome  their 
enemies  they  carried  the  imperial  fpoils 
(Spolia  Opima)  to  his  temple.  Romulus 
firit  prefented  fuch  fpoils  to  Jupiter,  after 
he  had  (lain  Acron,  king  of  Camina  ;  and 
Cornelius  Gallus  offered  the  fame  fpoils, 
after  he  had  conquered  Tolumnius,  king 
of  Hetruria;  and,  thirdly,  M.  Marcellus, 
when  he  had  vanquifhed  Viridomarus  king 
of  the  Gauls. 

Thofe  fpoils  were  called  Opima,  which 
one  general  took  from  the  other  in  battle. 

He  is  alfo  named  Olympius  from  Olym- 
pus, the  name  of  the  mafter  who  taught 
him,  and  of  the  heaven  wherein  he  re- 
fides. 

The  Greeks  called  him  Xuttip  {Scter) 
Servator,  the  Saviour,  becaufe  he  delivered 
them  from  the  Medes. 

He  was  likewife  called  Xenius,  or  Hof- 
pitalis  ;  becaufe  he  was  thought  the  author 
of  the  laws  and  cuftoms  concerning  hofpi- 
tality. 

5.  Juno.  Juno  was  the  Queen  of 
Heaven,  both  the  fifter  and  wife  of  Jupi- 
ter; the  daughter  of  Saturn  and  Ops; 
born  in  the  ifland  Samos,  where  (he  lived 
while  (he  continued  a  virgin. 

Juno  became  extremely  jealous  of  Jupi- 
ter, and  never  ceafed  to  perplex  the  chil- 
dren he  had  by  his  miftreffes.  She  was 
mother  of  Vulcan,  Mars,  and  Hebe  ;  (lie 
was  alfo  called  Lucina,  and  prefided  over 
marriages  and  births ;  and  is  reprefented 
in  a  chariot  drawn  by  peacocks,  with  9 
fcepter  in  her  right  hand,  and  a  crown  on, 
her  head  ;  her  perfon  was  auguft,  her  car- 
riage noble,  and  her  drefs  elegant  and 
neat. 

Iris,  the  daughter  of  Thaumas  and  Elec- 

tra,  was  fervant  .rid  peculiar  mefTenger  of 

a  Juno, 


$6o 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Juno.  Becaufe  of  her  fwiftnefs,  fhe  is 
painted  with  wings,  fitting  on  a  rainbow. 
It  was  her  office  to  unloofe  the  fouls  of 
dying  women  from  the  chains  of  the 
body. 

6.  Apollo.  Apollo  is  defcribed  as  a 
Beardlefs  youth,  with  long  hair,  crowned 
with  laurel,  and  mining  in  an  embroidered 
veitment ;  holding  a  bow  and  arrows  in  his 
right  hand,  and  a  harp  in  the  left.  Some- 
times he  is  feen  with  a  ihield  in  the  one 
hand,  and  the  Graces  in  the  other.  The 
power  of  this  god  is  threefold  ;  in  hea- 
ven, where  he  is  called  Sol ;  in  earth, 
where  he  is  named  Liber  Pater ;  and  in 
hell,  where  he  is  ilyled  Apollo.  He  ge- 
nerally is  painted  with  a  harp,  fhield,  and 
arrows. 

He  was  the  fon  of  Jupiter  and  Latona. 
His  mother,  who  was  the  daughter  of 
Cffius  the  Titan,  conceived  twins  by  Ju- 
piter: at  which  Juno  being  incenfed,  fent 
the  ferpent  Python  againft  her ;  Latona, 
to  avoid  the  intended  miichief,  fled  into 
the  ifland  Delos,  where  fhe  brought  forth 
Apollo  and  Diana  at  the  fame  birth. 

By  the  invention  of  phyfic,  mufic,  poe- 
try, and  rhetoric,  he  defervedly  prelided 
over  the  Mufes.  He  alio  taught  the  arts 
of  foretelling  and  archery ;  by  which  he 
fo  much  obliged  mankind,  that  he  was  en- 
rolled in  the  number  of  the  gods. 

He  deilroyed  all  the  Cyclops,  the 
forgers  of  Jupiter's  thunderbolts,  with  his 
arrows,  to  revenge  the  death  of  his  fon 
xEfcdapius,  whom  Jupiter  had  killed  with 
his  thunder,  becaufe,  by  the  power  of  phy- 
fic, he  relloredthe  dead  to  life  again. 

He  fell  violently  in  love  with  the  virgin 
Daphne,  fo  famous  for  her  modeily.  When 
he  purfued  her  fhe  was  changed  into  a 
laurel,  the  moll  chafte  of  trees  ;  which  is 
never  corrupted  with  the  violence  of  heat 
or  cold,  but  remains  always  flourifhing, 
always  pure. 

Apollo  raifed  the  walls  of  the  city  of 
Troy  by  the  mufic  of  his  harp  alone  ;  and 
was  challenged  by  Marfyas,  a  proud  mu- 
sician ;  but  the  god  flayed  him  alive,  be- 
caufe he  prefumed  to  contend  with  him  in 
his  own  art,  and  afterwards  turned  him 
into  a  river.  Alfo  when  Midas,  king  of 
Pnrygia,  foolifhly  determined  the  victory 
to  the  god  Fan,  when  Apollo  and  he  fang 
together,  Apollo  ftretched  hi:;  ears  to  the 
length  and  ihape  ot  afies  ears. 

This  r^od  Lad  many    names.      He   is 


called  Cynthius,  from  the  mountain  Cyn- 
thus  in  the  ifland  of  Delos ;  from  whence 
Diana  is  alfo  called  Cynthia;  and  Delius, 
from  the  fame  ifland,  becaufe  he  was  born 
there. 

He  is  called  Delphicus,  from  the  city 
Delphi  in  Bceotia,  where  he  had  the  moil 
famous  temple  in  the  world.  They  fay, 
that  this  famous  oracle  became  dumb  at 
the  birth  of  our  Saviour  ;  and  when  Au- 
guftus  defired  to  know  the  reafon  of  its 
filence,  the  oracle  anfwered  him,  That,  in 
Judasa,  a  child  was  born,  who  was  the  Su- 
preme God,  and  had  commanded  him  to 
depart,  and  return  no  more  anfwers. 

He  is  called  Paean,  either  from  allaying 
forrovvs,  or  from  his  exadl  /kill  in  hunting, 
wherefore  he  is  armed  with  arrows. 

He  is  called  Phcebus,  from  the  fwiftnefs 
of  his  motion,  or  from  his  method  of  heal- 
ing by  purging. 

He  was  named  Pythius,  not  only  from 
the  ferpent  Python,  which  he  had  killed, 
but  like  wife  from  afking  and  confulting ; 
for  none  among  the  gods  delivered  more 
refponfes  than  he ;  efpecially  in  the  temple 
which  he  had  at  Delphi,  to  which  all  na- 
tions reforted,  fo  that  it  was  called  the 
oracle  of  all  the  earth.  Thefe  oracles 
were  given  out  by  a  young  virgin,  called 
Pythia  from  Pythius,  one  of  Apollo's 
names. 

7.  Sol.  Sol,  who  enlighteneth  the 
world,  is  eileemed  the  fame  as  Apollo. 
He  was  the  father  of  Phaeton  by  Clymene ; 
and,  as  a  proof  of  his  paternal  affection, 
promifed  to  grant  his  fon  whatever  he 
fhould  requeil.  The  raih  youth aiked  the 
guidance  of  his  chariot  for  one  day:  Sol 
in  vain  ufed  every  argument  to  diffuade 
him  from  the  enterprize ;  but  having 
iworn  by  the  river  Styx,  an  oath  it  was 
unlawful  for  the  gods  to  violate,  unwil- 
lingly granted  his  requeil,  and  gave  him 
the  neceflary  inftructions  for  his  beha- 
viour.  ■•■ 

Phaston,  tranfported  with  joy,  mounted 
the  chariot,  and  began  to  lalh  the  flaming 
fteeds ;  but  they  finding  the  ignorance  of 
their  new  driver,  ran  through  the  air,  and 
fet  both  heaven  and  earth  on  fire.  Jupiter, 
to  prevent  a  total  conflagration,  ftruck 
Phceton  with  thunder  from  his  chariot, 
and  plunged  him  into  the  river  Po.  His 
fillers,  Phanhufa,  Lampetia,  and  Phcebe, 
and  alfo  Cycnus  his  friend,  immoderately 
bewailed  his  death  on  the  banks  of  the 
t  river; 


BOOK    II.    CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


561 


river ;  and,  by  the  pity  of  the  gods,  his 
filters  were  changed  into  poplar  trees,  and 
his  friend  Gycnus  into  a  fwan. 

8.  Mercury.  Mercury,  fon  of  Ju- 
piter and  Maia,  daughter  of  Atlas,  was 
the  god  of  eloquence  and  merchandize, 
and  meffenger  of  the  gods. 

He  is  reprefented  a  young  man,  with  a 
cheerful  countenance,  an  honeft  look,  and 
lively  eyes;  fair  without  paint,  with  wing- 
ed fnoes  and  hat,  and  holding  in  his  hand 
a  winged  rod,  bound  about  with  two  fer- 
pents. 

He  had  many  remarkable  qualities,  on 
account  of  which  they  worlhipped  him  as 
a  god.  He  is  faid  to  have  invented  letters, 
and  the  ufe  of  them  :  it  is  evident,  that  he 
excelled  in  eloquence,  and  the  faculty  of 
fpeaking;  and  therefore  was  accounted  the 
god  of  rhetoric  and  oratory.  He  is  re- 
ported to  have  been  the  firft  inventor  of 
contracts,  weights,  and  meafures :  he  alfo 
taught  the  arts  of  buying,  felling,  and 
traffic;  and  thence  was  called  the  god  of 
merchants,  and  of  gain. 

In  the  art  of  thieving,  he  far  exceeded 
all  the  fharpers  that  ever  have  been,  and  is 
named  the  Prince  and  God  of  Tricking. 
The  very  day  in  which  he  was  born,  he 
Hole  away  the  cows  of  king  Admetus, 
though  attended  by  Apollo  himfelf ;  who, 
while  he  complained  of  the  theft,  and  bent 
his  bow  with  an  intent  of  revenge,  found 
himfelf  robbed  of  his  quiver  and  arrows 
alfo. 

He  was  a  wonderful  mailer  at  making 
peace ;  and  pacified  not  only  mortals,  but 
alfo  the  gods  themfelves,  when  they  quar- 
relled. This  faculty  is  fignified  by  the 
rod  which  he  holds  in  his  hand,  and  which 
formerly  he  got  from  Apollo,  to  whom  he 
had  before  given  a  harp. 

He  had  divers  offices :  the  chief  were, 
to  carry  the  commands  of  J  upiter ;  alfo  to 
attend  perions  dying,  to  unloofe  their  fouls 
from  the  chains  of  the  body,  and  carry 
them  down  to  hell:  likewife  to  revive, 
and  replace  into  new  bodies,  thofe  that 
had  already  compleated  their  time  in  the 
Elyfian  fields. 

9.  Mars.  Mars,  the  fon  of  Jupiter 
and  Juno,  or,  as  is  related  by  Ovid,  of 
Juno  only,  who  conceived  him  by  the 
touch  of  a  flower  fhewed  her  by  Flora. 

Mars  is  the  god  of  war,  fierce  in  afpeft, 
Hern  in  countenance,  and  terrible  in  drefs  : 
he  fits  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  two  horfes, 


which  are  driven  by  a  diftrafted  woman. 
He  is  covered  with  armour,  and  brandifhes 
a  fpear  in  his  right  hand.  Sometimes 
he  is  reprefented  fitting  on  horfeback, 
formidable  with  his  whip  and  fpear, 
with  a  cock  near  him,  the  emblem  of 
watchfulnefs. 

His  fervants  are  Fear  and  Terror.  Dif- 
cord  alfo  goes  before  in  a  tattered  gar- 
ment, and  Clamour  and  Anger  follow 
him. 

Bellona,  goddefs  of  war,  is  the  compa- 
nion of  Mars,  or,  according  to  others, 
his  fitter  or  wife.  She  prepares  for  him 
his  chariot  and  horfes,  when  he  goes  to 
battle. 

His  name,  Mars,  fets  forth  the  power 
and  influence  he  has  in  war,  where  he 
prefides  over  the  foldiers. 

He  is  called  Gradivus,  from  his  flate- 
linefs  in  marching,  or  from  his  vigour  in 
brandifhing  his  fpear. 

He  is  called  Quirinus  from  Quris,  or 
Quiris,  fignifying  a  fpear.  This  name  was 
afterwards  attributed  to  Romulus,  who, 
with  Remus,  was  eiteemed  the  fon  of  Mars; 
from  whom  the  Romans  were  called  Qui- 
rites. 

10.  Bacchus.  Bacchus  was  fon  of 
Jupiter  and  Semele,  and  is  faid  to  have 
been  nourifhed  by  Jupiter  in  his  thigh  on 
the  death  of  his  mother.  As  foon  as  he 
was  born,  he  was  committed  to  the  care 
of  Silenus  and  the  N.ymphs,  to  be  brought 
up;  and,  in  reward  for  their  fervice, 
the  Nymphs  were  received  into  heaven, 
and  there  changed  into  liars  called  the 
Hyades. 

Bacchus  is  a  filthy,  fhameful,  and  immo- 
deft  god;  with  a  body  naked,  red  face, 
lafcivious  look,  fwoln  cheeks  and  belly, 
difpirited  with  luxury,  and  intoxicated 
with  wine. 

He  is  crowned  with  ivy  and  vine-leaves, 
and  in  his  hand  holds  a  thyrfus  for  a  fcep- 
ter.  His  chariot  is  drawn  fometimes  by 
tygers  and  lions,  fometimes  by  lynxes 
and  panthers:  a  drunken  band  of  Satyrs, 
Demons,  and  Nymphs,  preflding  over  the 
wine-preffes,  fairies  of  the  fountains,  and 
prieileffes,  attend  him  as  his  guard,  and 
old  Silenus,  riding  on  an  afs,  brings  up 
the  rear. 

Bacchus  invented  fo  many  things  ufeful 
to  mankind,  either  in  finifhing  contro- 
versies, building  cities,  «nafting  laws,  or 
obtaining  victories,  that  for  this  reafon 
he  was  admitted  into  the  council  of  the 

O  o  gods, 


Elegant  extracts  in  prose. 


gods,  by  the  joint  fuffrages  of  the  whole 
world. 

He  fir  ft  planted  the  vine  and  drank  the 
juice  of  the  grape;  the  tillage  of  the 
ground,  and  making  honey,  are  attributed 
to  Bacchus :  when  he  was  king  of  Phoe- 
nicia, he  inftrucled  his  fubjects  in  trade 
and  navigation.  He  promoted  focitty 
amongli  men,  and  brought  them  over  to 
religion  and  the  knowledge  of  the  gods. 

He  fubdaed  the  Indians.,  and  many 
other  nations,  and  triumphed  in  a  chariot 
drawn  by  tygers.  Riding  on  an  elephant, 
he  travelled  /Egypt,  Syria,  Phrygia,  and 
all  the  Eaft,  gained  many  and  great  victo- 
ries, and  there  erected  pillars,  as  Hercules 
did  in,  the  Welt. 

He  had  various  names  :  he  was  called 
Bromius,  from  the  crackling  of  fire,  and 
noife  of  thunder,  that  was  heard  when  Ids 
mother  was  killed  in  the  embraces  of  Ju- 
piter. 

Bimater,  becaufe  he  had  two  mothers. 
Evius,  or  Evous;  for  in  the  war  with 
the  Giants,  when  Jupiter  did  not  fee 
Lacchus,  he  thought  that  he  was  killed ; 
and  cried  out,  Alas,  Son!  Or,  becaufe 
when  he  found  that  Bacchus  had  over- 
come the  Giants,  by  changing  himfelf 
into  a  lion,  he  cried  out  again,  Well  done, 
hen  ! 

Evan,  from  the  acclamations  of  the 
Bacchantes,  who  were  therefore  called 
Evar*tes. 

Eleleus  and  Eleus,  from  the  acclama- 
tion wherewith  they  animated  the  foldiers 
before  the  fight,  or  encouraged  them  in 
the  battle  itlelf.  The  fame  acclamation 
was  alfo  ufed  in  celebrating  the  Orgia, 
which  were  facrifices  offered  up  to  Bac- 
chus. 

lacchus    whs    alfo    one    of   the   names 
'  given  to   Bacchus,  from    the    noife   which 
men  when  drunk  make. 

Liber,  and  Liber  Pater,  from  libera,  as 
in  Greek  they  call  him  'LA-vu^o,-  [Eleutbe- 
rios]  the  Deliverer, 

Alfo    Lenasus,    and    Lyasus;   for   wine 
frees  the  mind  from  cares,  and  thofe  who 
have    drank   plentifully,   fpeak   too   often 
;  whatsoever  comes  into  their  minds. 

r i .  Minerva.  M inervai  or  Pallas, 
the  goddefs  of.  vvifdom,  war,  arts,  and 
fciences,  was  the  daughter  of  Jupiter; 
.who  finding  no  likelihood  of  having  chil- 
dren by  Juno,  it  is  faid  defired  Vulcan  to 
ftrike  Iris  forehead  with  his  hammer;  and, 
after  three  months,  he  brought  forth  Mi- 


nerva. She  was  called  Minerva,  as  fome 
fay,  from  the  threats  of  her  ftern  and: 
fierce  look.  Inftcad  of  a  woman's  drefs, 
fhe  is  arrayed  in  armour;  wears  a  golden 
head-piece,  and  on  it  glittering  crefts;  a 
brazen  coat  of  mail  covers  her  breaft ; 
fhe  brandilhes  a  lance  in  her  right  hand, 
and  in  her  left  holds  a  fhield,  whereon  is 
painted  the  grifly  head  of  Medufa,  one 
of  the  Gorgons,  rough  and  formidable 
with  fnakes. 

Upon  the  head  of  this  goddefs  there 
was  an  olive  crown,  which  is  the  fymbol 
of  peace ;  either  becaufe  war  is  oniv  made 
that  peace  may  follow;  or  becaufe  fhe 
taught  men  the  ufe  of  that  tree. 

There  were  five  Minervas ;  but  that 
one,  to  whom  the  reft  are  referred,  was 
defcended  of  Jnpiter.  For  he,  as  fome 
fay,  finding  that  his  wife  was  barren, 
through  grief  liruck  his  forehead,  and 
brought  forth  Minerva. 

This  goddefs,  like  Vefta  and  Diana» 
was  a  perpetual  virgin  ;  and  fo  great  a 
lover  of  chaftity,  that  fhe  deprived  Tire- 
fias  of  his  eyes,  becaufe  he  faw  her  bath- 
ing in  the  fountain  of  Helicon. 

Minerva  was  the  inventrefs  of  divers 
arts,  efpecially  of  fpinning;  and  therefore 
the  diftaft"  is  afcribed  to  her. 

The  Athenians  were  much  devoted  to 
her  worfhip ;  and  fhe  had  been  adored  bv 
that  people  before  Athens  itfelf  was  built. 
The  Rhodians  alfo  paid  great  honour  to 
this  goddefs.  She  was  extremely  jealous 
left  any  one  lhould  excel  her  in  any  art ; 
and  near  her  are  placed  divers  mathema- 
tical inftruments,  as  goddefs  of  arts  and 
fciences.  The  cock  and  the  owl  are  facred 
to  her;  the  firft  being  exprefiive  of  cou- 
rage and  watchfulnefs,  and  the  latter  the 
emblem  of  caution  and  fore  fight. 

Minerva  reprefents  wiidom,  that  is, 
uf'.'fiii  knowledge,  joined  with  difcreet 
practice;  and  comprehends  the  under - 
ftanding  of  the  mo  ft  noble  arts,  together 
with  all  the  virtues,  but  more  efpecially 
that  ofchaftity.  Her  birth  from  Jupiter's 
head,  is  molt  certainly  an  emblem,  that  all 
human  arts  and  fciences  are  the  produc- 
tion of  the  mind  of  man,  directed  by  iu- 
perior  wifdom. 

12.  Venus.  Venus  is  faid  to  be  the 
daughter  of  Jupiter  and  Dione.  She  is 
ilyled  the  goddefs  of  the  Graces,  Elo- 
quence, Beauty,  Neatnefs,  and  Chearful- 
neis  ;  in  her  countenance  many  charms 
abound, 

<:  I  i 


BOOK   II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.         563 


She  is  clothed  with  a  purple  mantle 
glittering  with  diamonds,  and  refulgent 
with  a  rofy  crown ;  me  breathes  pleafures, 
and  flows  in  foftnefs.  Two  Cupids  at- 
tend at  her  fides,  the  Graces  ftand  round 
her,  and  the  lovely  Adonis  follows  after, 
gently  holding  up  her  train.  Her  chariot 
is  of  ivory,  finely  carved,  _  beautifully 
painted  and  gilt,  faihioned  in  form  ot 
a  fhell,  and  drawn  by  fwans,  doves,  and 
fwallows,  or  fometimes  by  fparrows,  as  fhe 
directs,  when  fhe  pleafes  to  mount  it. 

She  is  faid  to  have  iprung  from 
the  froth  of  the  fea;  and,  being  laid 
in  a  fhell,  as  it  were  in  a  cradle,  to  have 
been  driven  by  Zephyrus  upon  the  ifland 
of  Cyprus,  where  the  Hora  received  her, 
cheriihed  her  in  their  bofoms,  educated, 
and  adorned  her;  and  when  fhe  was  grown 
up,  they  carried  her  into  heaven,  and  pre- 
fented  her  to  the  gods,  who,  being  taken 
with  her  beauty,  all  ilrove  to  marry  her ; 
but  at  lait  fhe  was  betrothed  to  Vulcan,  to 
whom  afterwards  fhe  was  given  in  wed- 
lock. 

The  firft  of  Venus's  companions    was 
Hymenasus,  the  god  of  marriage,  and  pro- 
tector of  virgins.     Maids  newly  married' 
offered  facrifices  to  him,  as  alfo  to  the  god- 
dels  Concordia. 

Cupid,  the  god  of  love,  was  the  next 
of  Venus's  companions.  She  alfo  paffion- 
ately  loved  Adonis,  a  beautiful  youth. 

The  poets  fpeak  of  two  Cupids;  one 
of  which  is  an  ingenious  youth,  the  fon  of 
Jupiter  and  Venus,  a  celefiial  deity;  the 
other  a  debauchee,  fon  of  Nox  and  Ere- 
bus, whole  companions  are  Drunkennefs, 
Sorrow,  Enmity,  Contention,  and  other 
plagues  of  that  kind. 

The  Graces,  called  Charities,  were,threa 
lifters,  daughters  of  Jupiter  and  Eurynome, 
or  Venus. — Thefewill  be  more  particularly 
mentioned  in  a  future  place, 

Venus  was  Worfhipped  under  various 
names  :  Cypris  and  Cypria,  Cytheris  and 
Cytherea,  from  the  itlands  of  Cyprus  and 
Cythera,  whither  fhe  was  firft  carried  in  a 
fea-ihel!. 

Erycina,  from  the  mountain  Eryx,  in 
the  ifland  of  Sicily  ;  upon  which  JEneas 
built  a  fplendid  and  famous  temple  to  her 
honour,  becaufe  fhe  was  his  mother. 

Idalia  and  Acidalia,  from  the  mountain 
Id  dus,  in  the  ifland  Cyprus,  and  the  foun- 
tain Acidalius,  in  Beeotia. 

Marina,  becaufe  fhe  was  born  of  the  fea, 
and  begotten  of  the  froth  of  the  waters. 

From  thence  fhe  is  called  Aphroditis  and 


Anadyomone,  that  is,  emerging  out  of  the 
waters,  as  Apelles  painted  her. 

She  is  called  Paphia,  from  the  city  Pa- 
phos  in  the  ifland  of  Cyprus,  where  they 
facrificed  flowers  and  frankincenfe  to  her : 
alfo  the  Lefbian  Queen,  from  Lefbos,  in 
the  fame  ifland. 

On  a  difpute  at  a  feafl  of  the  gods,  be- 
tween Juno,  Pallas,  and  Venus,  for  the 
pre-eminence  of  beauty,  Jupiter,  not  be- 
ing able  to  bring  them  to  an  agreement, 
referred  the  decifion  to  Paris,  a  fhepherd 
on  Mount  Ida,  with  direction  that  a'  gold- 
en apple  fhould  be  given  to  the  faireft. 
Paris"  determined  the  prize  in  fivour  of 
Venus,  and  afligned  to  her  the  golden  re- 
ward. Venus,  in  return  for  this  Angular 
regard  to  her,  promifed  Paris  Helena, 
the  faireft  beauty  in  the  world.  Paris 
failed  into  Greece  with  a  great  fleet,  and 
brought  away  Helen,  who  had.  been  be- 
trothed to  Menelaus,  king  of  Sparta ;  but 
he  being  then  abfent,  Paris  carried  her 
away  with  him  to  Troy,  which  brought  on 
the  famous  ficge.of  that  city,  as  is  related 
in  the  Grecian  Hiftory. 

[Thefe  were  the  principal,  or  firft  clafs 
of  Deities  in  the  Heathen  Mythology ; 
the  Dii  Majores,  to  whom  the  higheft  de- 
gree of  worfhip  was  paid;  as  it  was  uni- 
verfally  imagined,  that  thefe  deities  were 
more  eminently  employed  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  and  prefided  oyer  the 
immediate  concerns  of  mankind. 

Vulcan,  Neptune,  Pluto,  and  fome 
others,  are  alio  eileemed  principal  Dei- 
ties; but  mention  will  be  made  of  thefe 
as  they  occur  in  the  feveral  orders  or 
ranks  of  Terreltrial,  Marine,  and  Infer- 
nal Deities.] 

I.     Terrestrial. 

1.  Titan.  Titan,  the  elder  brother 
of  Saturn,  though  not  a  god,  claims  the 
firft  place,  being  the  elder  fon  of  Coelus 
and  Terra  ;  and,  on  an  agreement  with 
Jupiter  his  younger  brother,- he  yielded  to 
h'rm  his  birthright,  as  is  before  mentioned. 
His  fons  were  the  Giants,  called  from  him 
Titans. 

2.  Vesta.  Verb,  the  eldeft  of  all  the 
goddeffes,  the  mother  of  Saturn,  and  the 
wife  of  Ccelus,  is  reprefented  a  >  a  matron 
fitting  and  holding  a  drum.  She  is  not 
reckoned  among  the  Cel<  ftia!s,  ihe  being 
the    Earth   herfeif.     Vella    1,    her    name 

O  0  2  ifom. 


564 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


from  cloathing,  becaufe  the  earth  is  cloathed 
with  plants  and  fruits.  She  fits,  becaufe  the 
earth  being  immoveable,  refts  in  the  1  owe  ft 
part  of  the  world.  She  carries  a  drum, 
becaufe  the  earth  contains  the  boifterous 
winds  in  its  bofom. 

Her  head  is  alfo  furrounded  with  divers 
flowers  and  plants,  voluntarily  weaving 
themfelves  into  a  crown,  while  animals  of 
every  kind  play  about,  and  fawn  upon 
her.  By  reafon  the  earth  is  round,  Vefta's 
temple  at  Rome  was  built  round;  and  they 
fay,  that  her  image  was  orbicular  in  fome 
places. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  firft  oblations 
were  offered  to  her,  fince  all  the  facrifices 
fpring  from  the  earth;  and  the  Greeks 
both  began  and  concluded  all  facrifices 
with  this  goddefs. 

3.  Vulcan.  Vulcan,  the  hufband  of 
Venus,  was  fon  of  Jupiter  and  Juno  (fome 
fay  of  Juno  only);  but,  being  born  de- 
formed, he  was  call:  down  from  heaven  by 
Jupiter  as  foon  as  he  was  born,  and  in  the 
fall  broke  his  leg.  He  was  the  god  of  fub- 
terraneous  fires,  and  prefided  over  metals. 

He  firft  made  his  addreffes  to  Minerva, 
and  was  refufed  by  her:  he  afterwards 
married  Venus,  but  that  goddefs  difre- 
garded  him  for  his  deformity. 

Vulcan  made  the  chariot  of  the  fun,  and 
fapplied  Jupiter  with  thunder:  he  'fixed  his 
forges  on  Mount  iEtna,  but  chiefly  in  the 
ifland  Lemnos,  where  he  worked  for  the 
gods,  and  taught  the  natives  the  art  of 
working  iron  by  fire.  His  forgemen  were 
the  Cyclops,  who  were  reprefented  as  hav- 
ing only  one  eye,  in  the  middle  of  their 
foreheads.  Apollo,  it  is  laid,  flew  them 
all,  for  having  forged  the  thunder  with 
which  Jupiter  ftruck  ^Efculapius,  the  god 
of  phyfic.  The  principal  temple  of  Vul- 
can was  on  Mount  ./Etna;  and  he  is  paint- 
ed with  a  hat  of  blue  colour,  the  iymbol 
ef  fire. 

He  was  called  Mulciber,  or  Multifer, 
from  his  foftening  and  polifhing  iron. 

4.  Janus.  Janus  was  the  fon  of  Ccelus 
and  Hecate.  He  had  a  double  face  and 
forehead  in  one  and  the  fame  head  ;  hence 
he  was  called  the  two-faced  God;  and 
therefore  is  faid  to  fee  things  placed  be- 
hind his  back,  as  Well  as  before  his  face. 
In  his  right  hand  he  holds  a  key,  and  in 
his  left  a  rod ;  and  beneath  his  feet  are 
t..  -h  e  al 

He  had  feveral  temples  built  and  de- 


dicated to  him,  fome  of  which  had  double 
doors,  others  four  gates  ;  becaufe  he  was 
fometimes  reprefented  with  four  faces. 

It  was  a  cuftom  among  the  Romans, 
that,  in  his  temple,  the  confuls  were  in- 
augurated, and  from  thence  faid  to  open 
the  year  on  the  kalends  of  January,  when 
new  laurel  was  put  on  the  ftatue  of  the  god. 
The  temple  of  Janus  was  held  in  great 
veneration  by  the  Romans,  and  was  kept 
open  in  the  time  of  war,  and  fhut  in  the 
time  of  peace ;  and  it  is  remarkable,  that, 
within  the  fpace  of  feven  hundred  years, 
this  temple  was  fhut  only  thrice  :  once  by 
Numa ;  afterwards  by  the  confuls  Marcus 
Attilius  and  Titus  Manlius,  after  a  league 
ftruck  up  with  the  Carthagenians ;  and, 
laftly,  by  Auguftus,  after  die  viclory  of 
Aeliurn. 

5 .  L  a  t  o  n  a  .  Latona  was  the  daughter 
of  Phcebe,  aud  Cceus  the  Titan;  whom, 
for  her  great  beauty,  Jupiter  loved  and  de- 
flowered. 

When  Juno  perceived  her  with  child, 
fhe  caft  her  out  of  heaven  to  the  earth, 
having  firft  obliged  Terra  to  fwear,  that 
fhe  would  not  give  her  any  where  an  habi- 
tation to  bring  forth  her  young:  and  be- 
fides,  flie  fent  the  ferpent  Python  to  perfe- 
cute  the  harlot  ail  over  the  world.  But  in 
vain  ;  for  in  the  ifland  Delos,  under  a  palm 
or  an  olive-tree,  Latona  brought  forth 
Diana  and  Apollo. 

6.  Diana.  Diana,  goddefs  of  banting, 
was  the  daughter  of  Ceres  and  Jupiter,  and 
fifter  of  Apollo.  She  is  ufually  painted  in 
a  hunting  habit,  with  a  bow  in  her  hand,  a 
quiver  full  of  arrows  hanging  down  from 
her  fhoulders,  and  her  breaft  covered  with 
the  fkin  of  a  deer:  fhe  was  the  goddefs  of 
hunting  and  chaftity. 

She  has  three  different  names,  and  as 
many  offices :  in  the  heavens  fhe  is  called 
Luna  and  Phcebe,  on  the  earth  Diana,  and 
in  hell  Hecate.  In  the  heavens  fhe  enlight- 
ens all  things  by  her  rays;  on  the  earth  flie 
fubdues  all  the  wild  beafts  by  her  bow  and 
darts ;  and  in  hell  keeps  in  fubjectien  the 
ghoils  and  fpirits,  by  her  power  and  au- 
thority. 

Diana  was  expofed  by  her  mother  in  the 
ftreets,  and  was  nourifhed  by  fnepherds : 
for  which  reafon,  fhe  was  worihipped  in  the 
ftreets,  and  her  flatus  ufually  fet  before  the 
doors  of  ihe  houfes. 

Mai  y  temples  were  erected  to  this  god- 
defs, of  which,  that  of  Ephefus  was  the 

chief. 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


565 


chief.  The  woods,  groves,  and  forefts,  were 
alio  confecrated  to  her. 

A&seon,  grandfon  of  Cadmus,  a  famous 
hunter,  introducing  himfelf  into  the  pri- 
vacy of  Diana,  whillt  (he  was  bathing  in 
a  fountain,  the  goddefs  changed  him  into 
a  Hag,  and  he  was  devoured  by  his  dogs. 

7.  Aurora.  Aurora  was  the  daughter 
of  Terra  and  Titan,  the  filter  of  the  fun 
and  moon,  and  mother  of  all  the  ftars. 

She  fits  high  in  a  golden  chariot,  drawn 
by  white  horfes.  She  was  much  taken 
with  the  loveof  Cephalus,  a  very  beautiful 
youth ;  and  when  lhe  could  by  no  perfuaiion 
move  him  to  violate  his  faith,  plighted  to 
his  wife  Procris,  daughter  of  the  king  of 
Athens,  lhe  carried  him  up  into  heaven  by 
force. 

Aurora,  being  alfo  charmed  with  the 
Angular  beauty  of  Tithonus,  fon  of  La- 
omedon,  and  brother  of  Priamus,  carried 
him  up  into  heaven,  joined  him  to  herfelf 
in  wedlock,  and  from  the  Fates  ob- 
tained immortality  for  him  initead  of  a 
portion. 

Memnon  was  the  fon  of  this  marriage, 
who,  when  he  came  to  Troy,  to  bring  af- 
fillance  to  Priamus,  lighting  inafingle  com- 
bat with  Achilles,  was  iiain. 

8.  Ceres.  Ceres  is  reprefented  as  a 
lady,  tall  in  ftature,  venerable  with  majeity, 
beautified  with  yellow  hair,  and  crowned 
with  a  turban  compofed  of  the  ears  of  corn. 
She  holds  in  her  right  hand  a  burning  torch, 
and,  in  her  left,  a  handful  of  poppies  and 
ears  of  corn. 

She  was  daughter  of  Saturn  and  Ops, 
and  of  lb  great  beauty,  that  lhe  drew  ,the 
gods  into  the  love  and  admiration  of  her 
perfon. 

She  firft  invented  and  taught  the  art  of 
tilling  the  earth,  of  fowing  pulfe  and  corn, 
and  of  making  bread ;  whereas  before 
men  ate  only  acorns.  As  foon  as  agricul- 
ture was  introduced,  and  men  began  to 
contend  about  the  limits  of  thofe  fields, 
which  before  were  common  and  unculti- 
vated, me  enacled  laws,  and  determined 
the  rights  and  properties  of  each  perfon 
when  difputes  arofe. 

Ceres  is  beautiful,  becaufe  the  earth, 
which  fhe  refembles,  gives  a  very  delight 
ful  and  beautiful  fpedlacle  to  beholders  : 
efpecially  when  it  is  arrayed  with  plants, 
diverfified  with  trees,  adorned  with  flowers, 
enriched  with  fruits,  and  covered  with  green 
herbs ;  wheu  it  difplays  the  honours  of  the 


Spring,  and  pours  forth  the  gifts  of  Autumn 
with  a  bountiful  hand. 

She  holds  a  lighted  torch,  becaufe  when, 
Proferpine  was  itolen  away  by  Pluto,  lhe 
lighted  torches  with  the  flames  of  mount 
yEtna,  and  with  them  fought  her  daughter 
through  the  whole  world.  She  alfo  carries 
poppies,  becaufe  when  fpent  with  grief,  and 
could  not  obtain  the  leaft  reft  or  fleep,  Ju- 
piter gave  her  poppies  to  eat,  which  plant, 
they  fay,  has  a  power  of  creating  lleep  and 
forgetfulnefs. 

Among  various  nations,  the  firft  fruits 
of  the  earth  were  offered  to  Ceres,  as  god- 
defs of  corn  and  agriculture;  and  the  Ce- 
realia,  or  Myfteries  inftituted  in  honour  of 
Ceres,  both  in  Greece  and  Sicily,  were  of 
two  forts :  the  greater,  or  chief,  were  pe- 
culiar to  Ceres,  and  called  Eleufinia,  from 
Eleufis,  a  city  of  Attica;  and,  in  the  leffer, 
facrifices  were  made  alfo  to  Proferpine. 

In  thefe  feafts,  the  votaries  ran  through 
the  public  ftreets  with  great  noife  and  la- 
mentation, carrying  lighted  torches  in  their 
hands,  in  representation  of  the  fearch  made 
by  Ceres  after  her  daughter,  when  ftolen 
by  Pluto. 

II.     Marine    Deities. 

1.  Net-tune.  Neptune  was  the  fon  of 
Saturn  and  Ops,  and  brother  of  Jupiter  and 
Pluto.  His  mother  preferved  him  from 
the  devouring  jaws  of  his  father,  who  ate 
up  all  the  male  children,  and  conveyed  him 
to  (hepherds  to  be  brought  up  as  is  before 
mentioned.  In  the  divifion  of  his  father's 
dominions  by  Jupiter,  the  empire  of  the 
fea  was  allotted  to  Neptune. 

He  having  joined  with  Apollo  in  a  con- 
fpiracy  againft  Jupiter,  they  were  both 
driven  from  heaven;  and,  by  Jupiter's 
command,  forced  to  ferve  Laomedon  in 
building  the  walls  of  Troy.  Neptune,  not 
receiving  the  reward  of  his  fervice,  fent  a 
fea-moniler  on  the  coafts,  which  ravaged 
the  country. 

Neptune  afterwards  became  charmed 
with  the  beauty  of  Amphitrite,  and  long 
bore  her  difdain ;  at  laft,  by  the  afiiftance 
of  a  Dolphin,  and  the  power  of  flattery,  he 
drew  her  into  marriage.  Neptune,  as  an 
acknowledgment  for  this  kindnefs,  placed 
the  dolphin  among  the  ftars,  and  he  became 
a  conflellation. 

As  to  the  aclions  of  this  god;  the  poets 
fay,  that  in  a  difpute  with  Minerva,  who 
fhould  give  a  name  to  Athens,  the  capital 
city  of  Greece,  he  ftruck  the  ground  with 

O  o  3  hig 


506 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


his  trident,  and  produced  a horfe ;  for  which 
reafon  the  Athenians  facrificed  to  him  that 
animal.  Neptune  was  called  Pofeidon  by 
the  Greeks :  the  Romans  gave  him  alio  the 
name  of  Confus,  and  erected  an  altar  to 
him  in  the  circus  of  Rome.  The  Circenfian 
games,  or  horfe-races,  inftituted  in  honour 
of  him,  were,  from  this  name,  called  Con- 
fualia.  In  thefe  games,  which  were  cele- 
brated in  the  months  of  February  and 
July,  the  rape  of  the  Sabine  virgins  was 
reprefented. 

Neptune  is  efteemed  governor  of  the 
fea,  and  father  of  the  rivers  and  fountains. 
He  is  reprefented  riding  on  the  fea  in  a  car, 
in  the  form  of  a  fhe!!, drawn  by  fea-horfes, 
preceded  by  Tritons.  He  holds  a  trident 
in  his  hand,  as  an  emblem  of  his  fovcreign- 
ty,  and  is  attended  by  the  younger  Tritons, 
and  fea-nymphs. 

The  other  Deities  are, 

1.  Oceanus,  a  marine  deity,  defcended 
from  Ccelus  and  Vefta;  and  by  the  an- 
cients was  called,  not  only  the  father  of  ri- 
vers, but  alfo  of  animals,  and  of  the  gods 
themfelves. 

2.  Thetis,  goddefs  of  the  fea,  wife  of 
Oceanus,  by  whom  fhe  is  laid  to  have  had 
many  fons ;  the  chief  of  whom  was  Ne- 
reus,  who  dwelt  in  the  JEgean  fea,  and  by 
his  wife  Doris  had  fifty  daughters,  called 
from  him  Nereides.  Thetis  is  reprefented 
fitting  in  a  chariot,  in  the  foim  of  a  ihell, 
drawn  by  dolphins. 

3.  Jmphitrile,  daughter  of  Oceanus  and 
Deris,  goddels  of  the  lea,  and  wife  of  Nep- 
tune, bhe  is  by  the  poets  frequently  taken 
for  the  fea  itfelf;  and  by  feme  writers, 
Thetis  and  Amphitrite  are  laid  to  be  the 
fame  perlon. 

4.  '■Jntcn,  the  fori  of  Neptune  and  Am- 
phitiite,  was  alio  his  companion  and  trum- 
peter. In  the  upper  part  of  his  body  lie 
bears  the  refemblance  of  a  man,  and  of  a 
hfh  in  the  lower  part.  Moil  of  thefea-gods 
from  him  are  called  Tritons. 

5.  The  Syrens  were  inhabitants  of  the 
fea.  They  had  faces  of  women,  but  the 
bodies  of  flying  fifh.  Their  names  were 
Parthenop.e,  Ligxa,  and  Leucoiia.  Thefe 
dwelt  near  the  coail  of  Sicily,  and  drew  to 
tiiem  all  paffens  efsby  the  fweetnefs  of  their 
jinging,  and  then  devoured  them. 

III.     Infernal    Deities. 

I.  Pi  vi  o.  Pluto,  fon  of  Saturn  and 
Rhea,  arid  brother  of  Jupiter  and  Nep- 


tune. In  the  divifion  of  his  father's  king- 
dom, when  he  was  dethroned  by  Jupiter, 
Pluto  had  the  weftern  parts  afligned  to  him, 
which  gave  rife  to  the  poetical  fable,  that 
he  was  the  god  of  hell. 

Thefe  infernal  kingdoms  are  attributed 
to  him,  not  only  becaufe  the  weftern  part 
of  the  world  fell  to  him  by  lot ;  but  alfo 
becaufe  he  introduced  the  ufe  of  burying 
and  funeral  obfequies:  hence  he  is  be- 
lieved to  exercife  a  fovereignty  over  the 
dead.  He  fits  on  a  dark  throne,  holding 
a  key  inftead  of  a  fcepter,  and  wearing  a 
crown  of  ebony.  Sometimes  he  is  crowned 
with  a  diadem,  fometimes  with  cyprefs, 
and  fometimes  with  the  daffodil,  which 
flower  Proferpine  was  gathering  when  he 
ftole  her  away.  He  is  called  Dis  by  the 
Latins,  and  Hades  by  the  Greeks,  which 
laft  fignifies  dark  and  gloomy.  His  horfe s 
and  chariot  are  of  a  black  colour;  and 
himfelf  is  often  painted  with  a  rod  in  his 
hand  for  a  fcepter,  and  covered  with  a 
head-piece. 

2.  Proserpine.  Proferpine  is  queen 
of  hell,  the  infernal  Juno,  and  wife  of 
Pluto.  She  was  daughter  of  Jupiter  and 
Ceres. 

"When  none  of  the  goddeffes  would 
marry  Pluto,  becaufe  of  his  deformity,  the 
god  being  vexed  that  he  was  defpifed,  and 
forced  to  live  a  fingle  life,  in  a  rage  mount- 
ed his  chariot,  and  fuddenly  iprung  up 
from  a  den  in  Sicily  amongft  a  company 
of  very  beautiful  virgins,  who  were  ga- 
thering flowers  in  the  he'ds  ofEnna.  Pluto, 
inflamed  with  the  love  of  Proferpine,  car- 
ried her  off  with  him,  and  funk  into  the 
earth,  not  far  from  Syracufe,  where  fud- 
denly a  lake  aroie. 

rJ  he  nymphs,  her  companions,  being 
flruck  with  terror,  acquainted  her  mother 
with  the  lofs  of  her  daughter.  Ceres,  with 
lighted  torches  from  Mount  /Etna,  long 
fought  her  in  vain:  but  at  laft,  being  in- 
formed by  the  nymph  Arethuia,  that  fhe 
was  ftolen  by  Pluto,  fhe  went  down  into 
hell,  where  fhe  found  Proferpine  queen  of 
thofe  dark  dominions.  The  enraged  mo- 
ther complained  to  Jupiter  of  the  violence 
offered  to  her  daughter  by  his  brother  Plu- 
to. Jupiter  promifed  that  fhe  lhouid  re- 
turn to  the  earth,  provided  fhe  had  eat  no- 
thing in  hell:  hereupon  Ceres  went  down 
rejoicing ;  and  Proferpine  was  returning 
with  tranfport,  when  Afcalaphus  declared, 
that  he  law  Proferpine  cat  iome  grains  of 
a  pomegranate  \sluch  fhe  gathered  in  Plu- 
to's 


OOK   IT.      CLASSICAL    AND   HISTORICAL. 


567 


td*s  orchard:  by  this  difcovery  her  return 
w*is  flopped.  The  mother,  incenfed  at 
this  intelligence,  changed  Afcalaphus  into 
an  owl  ;  and,  by  her  importunate  intreaty, 
extorted  from  Jupiter,  that  Proferpine 
fhould  live  one  half  of  the  year  with  her, 
and  the  reft  of  the  time  with  her  hufband 
Pluto.  Proferpine  afterwards  fo  loved  this 
dilagreeable  hufband,  that  fhe  became  jea- 
lous of  him,  and  changed  his  miflrefs  Men- 
tha into  the  herb  named  Mint. 

The  other  Deities    are, 

1.  Pint  us,  either  from  the  affinity  of  the 
name,  or  that  both  were  gods  of  riches,  is 
frequently  joined  to  Pluto.  He  was  faid 
to  be  blind,  void  of  judgment,  and  fa  na- 
ture quite  timorous,  all  which  qualities  de- 
note fome  peculiar  property  of  this  god: 
blind,  and  void  of  judgment,  in  the  unequal 
diftribution  of  riches,  as  he  frequently 
pafl'es  by  good  men,  whilft  the  wicked  are 
loaded  with  wealth;  and  timorous,  by  rea- 
fon  the  rich  are  constantly  in  fear,  and 
watch  over  their  treafures  with  great  care 
and  anxiety. 

2.  Nox,  goddefs  of  darknefs,  is  the  moft 
ancient  of  all  the  goddefies.  She  married 
the  river  Erebus  in  hell,  by  whom  fhe  had 
many  daughters.  Nox  is  painted  in  black 
robes  befet  with  flars. 

3.  Charon,  the  fon  of  Erebus  and  Nox, 
is  the  ferryman  of  hell.  He  is  reprefented 
by  the  poets  as  a  terrible,  grim,  dirty  old 
fellow.  According  to  the  fable,  he  at- 
tended with  his  boat,  and,  for  a  fmall  piece 
of  money,  carried  over  the  river  Styx  the 
fouls  of  the  dead ;  yet  not  all  promifcu- 
oufly,  but  only  thole  whofe  bodies  were 
committed  to  the  grave;  for  the  unburied 
fnades  wandered  about  the  fliores  an  hun- 
dred years,  and  then  were  admitted  into  the 
boat,  aad  ferried  over  the  lake. 

4.  The  Giants  or  Titans  were  at  firfl: 
inhabitants  of  the  earth;  who,  trailing  to 
their  great  ftature  and  ltrengih,  waged  war 
againlt  Jupiter,  and  attempted  to  dethrone 
him  from  the. poflbfiion  of  heaven.  In  this 
battle,  they  heaped  up  mountains  upon 
mountains,  and  from  thence  darted  trees  of 
fire'  into  heaven.  They  hurled  alfo  prodi- 
gious ftones  and  folid  rocks,  which  falling 
again  upon  the  earth,  or  in  the  lea,  became 
mountains  oriflands:  but  beinp-unfucccfsful 

o 

m  their  attempt,  and  deftroyed  by  the  thun- 
der of  Jupiter,  with  the  aililtance  of  the 
other  gods,  they  were  driven  from  the  earth 
and  call  into  hell. 

5.  The  Fates  were   three  in   number, 


daughters  of  Erebus  and  Nox.  Thefe- 
were  faid  to  prefide  over  time  pad,  prefent, 
and  to  come.  Their  names  are  Clotho, 
Lachefis.,  and  Atropos.  Their  office  is  to 
fuperintend  the  thread  of  life;  Clotho  holds 
the  diltaff,  and  draws  the  thread,  Lachefis 
turns  the  fpindle,  and  Atropos  cuts  the 
thread  with  her  fciflars;  that  is,  the  firfl 
calls  us  into  life,  the  fecond  determines  our 
lot  and  condition,  and  the  third  iinifiVs  our 
life. 

6.  The  Furies,  or  Eumenides,  were 
daughters  of  Nox  and  Acheron.  They 
were  three,  namely,  Aleclo,  Mcga:ra,  Ti- 
fyphone:  their  abode  was  in  hell,  to  tor- 
ment the  wicked;  they  were  armed  with 
blazing  torches,and  furrounded  withfnakcs, 
and  other  inuruments  of  horror. 

The  Rivers  of  Hell  were, 

1.  Acheron,  Son  of  Sol  and  Terra.  He 
fupplied  the  Titans  with  water  when 
they  \vaged  war  againit  Jupiter;  who, 
for  this  reafon,  changed  him  into  a  ri- 
ver, and  call  him  into  hell.  The  wa- 
ters of  this  river  are  extremely  muddy 
and  bitter. 

2.  Styx,  the  principal  river  of  hell;  and 
held  in  fo  great  veneration  by  the  gods, 
that  whoever  broke  the  oath  he  had  once 
made  by  this  river,  was  deprived  of  his 
divinity  for  one  hundred  years. 

3.  Coeytus.  This  river  is  increafed  by 
the  tears  of  the  wicked ;  and  flows  with  a 
lamentable  noife,  imitating  the  damned. 

4.  Fhlegethon.  This  river  fwells  with, 
fiery  waves,  and  rolls  itrearns  of  fire.  The 
fouls  of  the  dead,  having  palled  over  thefe 
rivers,  are  carried  to  Pluto's  palace. 

5.  La  he  is  a  river  in  hell.  If  the 
ghofts  of  the  dead  drink  the  waters  of 
this  river,  they  are  faid  to  lofe  the  re- 
membrance of  all  that  had  palled  in  this 
world. 

.  [It  may  here  be  very  properly  obferved, 
that  thefe  infernal  regions,  the  refidence  of 
Pluto,  are  faid  to  be  a  fubterraneous  ca- 
vern, whither  the  lhades  or  fouls  of  mortals 
defcended,  and  were  judged  by  Minos, 
^acus,  and  Rhadamanthus,  appointed  by 
Pluto  judges  of  hell.  This  place  contained 
Tartarus,  the  abode  of  the  unhappv;  alfo 
Elyfium,  the  abode  of  thofe  that  had  lived 
well.  Cerberus,  a  dog  with  three  heads, 
was  door-keeper,  and  covered  with  fer- 
pents,  always  waited  at  the  infernal  gate, 
to  prevent  mortals  from  entering,  or  the, 
manes  or  fhades  from  going  out.  Charon, 
O  o  4  as 


568 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


as  is  faid  before,  was  ferryman  of  hell,  and 
conduced  the  departed  fouls  to  the  tri- 
bunal of  Minos.  The  Harpies,  or  birds 
of  prey,  were  alfo  inhabitants  of  hell. 
Thefe  were  indifferently  called  Furiae, 
Ocypete,  and  Lamia;;  and  were  inftru- 
mcnts  in  the  hands  of  the  gods  to  raife 
wars  in  the  world,  and  diiturb  the  peace 
of  mankind.] 

Fable  relates  two  remarkable  punish- 
ments in  hell.  i.  Ixion,  for  attempting  to 
feduce  Juno,  was  by  Jupiter  call  into  hell, 
and  condemned  to  be  chained  to  a  wheel, 
which:  continually  whirled  round.  2.  Sy- 
fiphus,  the  fon  of  /Eolus,  was  doomed  in 
hell  to  roll  a  huge  round  ltone  from  the 
bottom  to  the  top  of  a  mountain,  whence 
it  immediately  descended.  rI  Ids  punifh- 
mer.t  was  allotted  him,  becaufe  he  revealed 
the  fecrets  of  the  gods,  and  difcovered  to 
Afopus  the  place  where  Jupiter  had  con- 
cealed his  daughter  Mgina. 

Inferior    Deities. 

In  the  Heathen  Mythology,  there  are 
many  other  deities  or  geds  01  inferior 
note,  ftyled  Dii  Minores ;  and  as  thefe 
frequently  occur  in  the  writings  of  the 
poets,  it  is  neceflary  to  make  brief  men- 
tion of  them. 

The  Muses,  daughters  of  Jupiter  and 
Mnemof,  ne,  geddefs  of  memory,  were  the 
reputed  geddefles  of  the  feveral  arts  and 
fciences,  and  prefided  over  the  fealts  and 
folemnities  of  the  gods.  They  were  the 
companions  of  .Apollo,  and  inhabited  with 
him  chiefly  en  the  hills  of  Parnaflus,  Ple- 
licon,  and  Pindus.  Trie  Hippccrene,  and 
other  fountains  at  the  foot  of  Parnaflus, 
were  facred  to  them ;  as  were  alfo  the 
palm-tree  and  the  laurel.  They  are  re- 
prefer  t.d  ycung  and  very  handiome,  and 
are  nine  'n  number. 

1.  Clio  is  faid  to  be  the  chief  mufe.  She 
derives  her  name  from  glory  and  renown. 
She  prefided  ovej  hiftcry,  and  is  faid  to  be 
the  inventrefb  of  the  lute. 

2.  Calliope,  fo  called  from  the  fweetnefs 
of  her  voice.  She  prefided  over  eloquence 
and  heroic  poefy. 

3  Erato,  or  the  lovely.  She  prefided 
over  lytic  poetry. 

4.  khalia,  from  the  gaiety  and  plea- 
f .:  .:  of  her  fongs,  called  the  Flourifh- 
3  ;.  Maid.  She  invented  comedy  and  ge- 
0;.  ctry. 

5.  McJjo?nene  was  the  mufe  of  that  age. 


She  prefided  over  tragedy,  and  melancholy    , 
fubjecls. 

6.  Terpjichore,  or  the  Jovial.  She  pre- 
fided over  mufic  and  dancing. 

7.  Euterpe,  fo  called  becaufe  fhe  impart* 
joy.  She  invented  the  flute,  and  prefided 
over  mufic :  fhe  is  alfo  {aid  to  be  the  pa- 
tronefs  of  logic. 

8.  Polyhymnia,  fo  called  from  multipli- 
city of  fongs. .  She  is  faid  to  excel  in  me- 
mory, and  prefide  over  hiftory. 

9.  Urania,  or,  the  Celellial  Mufe.  She 
prefided  over  divine  poefy,  and  is  faid  to 
be  the  inventrefs  of  attronomy. 

The  Mufes  are  diftinguifhed  by  tr.afks, 
lyres,  garlands,  globes,  and  other  emblems, 
expreffive  of  their  different  offices  or  ac- 
cornplifhments. 

Pegasus,  the  famous  horfe  of  ancient 
fable,  was  an  attendant  on  Apollo  and  the 
Mules ;  he  inhabited  the  hills  of  Parnaflus,, 
Helicon,  and  other  mountains.  He  is  faid 
to  be  fprung  from  the  blood  of  Medusa* 
killed  by  Perfeus,  and  is  reprefentcd  by  the 
poets  with  wings  to  his  fides,  expreffive  of 
the  flights  and  elevation  of  the  mind  in 
poetry.  When  Perfeus  cut  off  the  head 
of  Medufa,  the  horfe  Pegafus  flruck  the 
ground  with  his  foot ;  upon  which,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  a  fountain  arofe  named 
Hi/pocrene.  This  fountain  was  facred  to 
Apoilo  and  the  Mufes. 

The  Graces,  called  alfo  Charities, 
were  three  filters,  daughters  of  Jupiter  and 
Eurynome,  or  Venus.  Thefirfl  was  named 
Aglaia  from  her  chearfulnefs;  the  fecond 
Thalia  frrm  her  perpetual  verdure;  and 
the  third  Euphrofyne,  from  delight.  They 
were  companions  of  the  Mufts  and  Mer- 
cury, and  attendants  en  Venus.  They  are 
reprefented  with  pleaiing  countenances  and 
naked,  to  denote  that  cur  actions  fhould  be 
free  and  candid,  not  covered  over  with 
diffimulation  or  deceit.  A  chain  binds 
their  arms  together,  to  exprefs  that  the 
link  of  love  and  harmony  fhould  be  united 
and  unbroken. 

Themis,  Astrea,  and  Nemesis, 
were  three  goddeffes:  the  firft  of  law  and 
peace ;  the  fecond  of  juftice ;  and  the  third, 
a  rewarder  of  virtue,  and  punifher  of 
vice. 

iEoLus,  god  of  the  winds,  and  fon  of 
Jupiter  and  Acefla. 

Mom  us,  fon  of  Nox  and  Somnus,  and 
god  of  banter  or  jelling. 

Pan,  fon  of  Mercury  and  Penelope, 
was  the  god  of  the  woods  and  fhepherds. 
He  is  reprefented  half  man,  and  half  goat, 

with 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL 

with  a  large  pair  of  horns  on  his  head,  a 
crook  in  one  hand,  a  pipe,  compofed  of 
reeds,  in  the  othc  ,  The  Arcadians  much 
admired  his  muiiek,  and  paid  him  divine 
honours.  The  Romans  alfo  built  a  temple 
to  Pan,  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Palatine,  and 
his  feafts  were  called  Lupercalia.  Sylvanus 
and  Faun  us  wee  alfo  gods  of  the  forefts, 
from  whom  were  defc ended  the  other  rural 
deities,  as  Satyrs,  Sylvans,  Fauns,  Nymphs, 
or  Dryades,  who  were  ail  inhabitants  of 
the  v/oods. 

Pales  is  the  goddefs  of  the  fhepherds 
and  pafiure,  and  by  fome  is  called  Magna 
Mater  and  Vefta,  They  offered  to  ner 
milk  and  wafers  of  millet  for  a  good  growth 
of  pafture.  Her  feafts,  Palilia,  were  cele- 
brated about  the  eleventh  or  twelfth  of  the 
kalends  of  May,  on  which  day  Romulus 
founded  the  city  of  Rome. 

Flora,  goddefs  of  the  fpring  and 
flowers,  and  wife  of  Zephyrus.  She  is  re- 
prefented adorned  with  garlands,  and 
near  her  is  a  bafket  of  flowers  Feronia 
is  alfo  counted  the  goddefs  of  groves  and 
Orchards. 

Pomona  was  goddefs  of  the  gardens, 
and  all  fruit-trees  and  plants.  She  was 
beloved  of  Vertumnus,  as  Ovid  relates. 

Priapus,  fon  of  Venus  and  Bacchus, 
an  obfeene  deity.  He  alfo  preftded  over 
gardens. 

Term:  x us  was  a  deitv  who  prefided 
over  the  boundaries  of  lands,  which  were 
held  fo  facred,  that  whoever  removed  a 
land-mark,  or  ploughed  them  up,  was  fub- 
jecT:  to  death.  On  the  laft  day  of  the  year, 
the  Romans  offered  facrifice  to  the  god 
Terminus;  and  thefe  feftivals  were  called 
Terminalia. 

Cupid,  god  of  love,  fon  of  Mars  and 
Venus,  is  reprefented  blind,  with  a  bow  in 
his  hand,  and  a  quiver  of  arrows  on  his 
moulders,  with  which  he  wounds  the  hearts 
pf  lovers. 

Hymens  us,  or  Hymen,  fon  of  Apollo 
and  Urania,  or,  as  fome  fay,  of  Bacchus  and 
Venus.  He  is  the  god  of  marriage;  and 
is  reprefented  under  the  figure  of  a  young 
man,  holding  a  torch  in  his  hand,  with  a 
crown  of  roles,  or  fweet  marjorum,  on  his 
head. 

The  Penates  and  Lares  were  alfo 
deemed  gods ;  the  firft  prefided  over  pro- 
vinces and  kingdoms,  and  the  latter  over 
houfes  and  particular  families.  The  Lares 
alfo  prefided  over  the  highways ;  and  they 
were  went  to  facrifice  to  thefe  houlhcld 
gods,  frankincenfe,  wine,  bread,  corn,  and 


AND    HISTORICAL.  569 

a  cock  ;  and,  according  to  fome  writers,  a 
iamb  and  a  hog. 

The  Genii  alfo  were  fpirits,  or  deities, 
that  prefided  over  all  perfons  and  places! 
And  indeed  fo  great  were  the  number 
of  thefe  inferior  gods,  that  the  ancient 
mythology  fu mimed  almoft  as  many  dei- 
ties as  there  are  things  in  nature ;  for  there- 
was  no  part  of  the  body,  or  aftion  of  life, 
but  had  a  peculiar  divinity,  by  whom  it 
was  faid  to  be  immediately  directed  or 
protected, 

iEscuLAp-ius,  fon  of  Apollo  and  the 
nymph  Coronis,  was  the  god  of  phyfic  :  he 
was  flain  by  Jupiter  with  a  thunderbolt 
forged  by  the  Cyclops,  on  the  complaint 
of  Pluto,  for  railing  the  dead,  or  rather  re- 
covering men,  by  his  fkill  in  medicine,  from, 
their  ficknefs.  He  was  worfhipped  under 
the  figure  of  a  ferpent ;  and  fometimes  he 
is  reprefented  feated  on  a  throne  of  gold 
and  ivory,  with  a  long  beard,  holding  jfrod 
environed  with  a  ferpent,  and  a  dog  at  his 
feet. 

The  Cyclops,  four  in  number,  were 
fons  of  Neptune  and  Amphitrite.  They 
were  fervants  to  Vulcan,  and  had  only  one 
eye,  placed  in  the  middle  of  their  fore- 
heads :  they  were  flain  by  Apollo,  in  re- 
venge for  forging-  the  thunderbolts  with 
which  Jupiter  killed  iEfculapius,  as  is  be- 
fore related.  They  inhabited  the  ifland 
of  Sicily;  and,  on  account  of  their  great 
ftrengch,  were  deemed  giants  by  the  poets. 

Silenus  was  the  foiter-father  of  Bac- 
chus. He  is  accounted  the  god  of  abftrufe 
mylteries  and  knowledge.  "He  is  repre- 
fented as  a  fat,  old,  drunken  fellow,  riding 
on  an  afs. 

^Egyptian  Deities. 

Osirus,  Apis,  and  Serapis,  are  differ- 
ent names  of  one  and  the  fame  deity,  fon 
of  Jupiter  by  Niobe,  and  hufband  to  Jo, 
daughter  of  Inachus  and  Ifmena.  Jupiter 
became  paffionately  in  love  with  Io;  and, 
in  order  to  purfue  his  unlawful  paihon, 
changed  her  into  a  cow.  Io,  to  avoid  the 
refentment  of  Juno,  fled  into  Egypt;  and 
Olirus,  after  he  had  reigned  many  years 
oyer  the  Argives  in  Peloponnefus,  left  his 
kingdom  to  his  brother  JEghlus,  and  failed 
into  Egypt  to  feek  new  dominions.  Hs 
there  married  Io,  who  was  alfo  named 
Ills ;  and,  obtaining  the  government,  they 
taught  the  Egyptians  hufoandry,  alfo  every 
other  ufeful  art  and  fcience,  and  o-overned 
with  great  wifdom  and  equity. 

Ofiris,  having  conferred    the   greatefl 

benefits 


?:» 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


benefits  on  his  own  fubjecrs,  committed 
the  regency  of  his  kingdom  to  Ifis;  and, 
with  a  large  body  of  forces,  fet  out  in 
order  to  civilize  the  red  of  mankind. 
This  he  performed  more  by  the  power  of 
perfuafion,  and  the  foothing  arts  of  mufic 
and  poetry,  than  by  the  terror  of  his  arms, 
He  marched  firft  into  ^Ethiopia,  thence  to 
Arabia  and  India  ;  and,  returning  to  Egypt, 
was  flain  by  his  brother  Typhon,  and 
buried  at  Memphis,  the  chief  city  of 
Egypt. 

"ifis  afterwards  vanquifhed  T)'phon, 
reigned  happily  in  Egypt  to  her  death, 
and  was  alio  buried  at  Memphis. 

Or  us,  fon  of  Ofiris  and  liis,  fucceeded 
to  the  government,  The  Egyptians  deem- 
ed him  the  protector  of  the  river  Nile,  the 
averter  of  e^  ils,  governor  of  the  world,  and 
the  author  of  plenty. 

Thefe  deities  of  the  Egyptians  were 
held  in  the  greater!  veneration.  Temples 
were  erected,  and  divine  honours  paid  to 
Oiiris  under  the  figure  of  an  ox  ;  and  the 
prieftefles  of  liis  faciiiiced  to  that  geddefs 
under  different  fhapes,  according  to  the 
purpefes  for  which  they  were  intended. 
And,  as  fable  is  faid  to  take  ils  origin 
from  the  Egyptians,  it  will  appear,  from 
their  intercourfe  with  the  Jews  long  re- 
sident in  Egypt,  that  a  mixture  of  true 
religion  and  error  increafed  that  falfewor- 
ihip,  which  firft  prevailed  in  that  count! y, 
and  afterwards  fpread  into  Rcpie,  and  the 
more  diftant  parts  of  the  world.  Theie 
gods  of  the  Egyptians  were  worshipped 
under  various  names  and  characters,  ac- 
cording to  the  prevailing  opinion  of  dif- 
ferent countries,  or  feme  other  incident. 
Thus,  according  to  Herodotus,  Oiiris  and 
Bacchus  are  the  fame  ;  according  to  Dio- 
dorus  the  hiftorian,  Ofiris  is  Sol,  Jupiter, 
&c.  and  Plutarch  fays,  Ofiris,  Serapis,  and 
Apis  of  the  Egyptians,  are  Pluto,  Ocea- 
ims,  &c.  in  the  Roman  mythology. 

J fis  is  faid  to  be  the  fame  with  the  Ro- 
man Cybele,  Ceres,  Minerva,  Luna,  ecc. 
and  was  called  the  mother  of  the  gods. 
Orus  alfo  was  the  fymbol  of  light,  and  was 
figured  as  a  winged  bov.  Pie  wao  named 
'the  Hermes  of  the  Greeks,  and  u.e  Apollo 
and  Cupid  of  the  Romans. 

Both  in  Egypt  and  Rome,  each  deity 
had  his  peculiar  temple,  where  the  molt 
folemn  Sacrifices  were  mad.e  to  the:;;, 
cording  to  the  prevailing  notion  of  their 
power  and  influence.  The  worfliip  of 
t  eds    fo   far    prevailed    among   the 

.Romans,  that  they  erected  to  their  honour 


a  public  edifice  named  the  Pantheon,  in 
which,  as  a  general  repofitory,  were  placed 
the  ftatues  of  their  feveral  deities,  with 
their  refpeclive  fymbols :  Jupiter  was  dif- 
tinguimed  by  a  thunderbolt:  Juno  by  a 
crown  ;  Mars  by  a  helmet  ;  Apollo,  or  the 
Sun,  by  its  beams ;  Diana,  or  the  Moon,  by 
acrefcent;  Ceres  by  a  cornucopia,  or  horn 
of  plcntv,  or  an  ear  of  corn;  Cupid  by  a 
bundle  of  arrows  ;  Mercury  by  wings  on 
his  feet,  and  a  caduceus,  or  wand,  in  his 
hand;  Bacchus  by  the  ivy;  Venus  by  the 
beauty  of  her  perfon;  and  the  reft  had  the 
like  diltinguifhing  characters  placed  above 
their  ftatues,  or  in  their  hands,  according 
to  the  received  opinion  of  the  people,  or 
the  ingenuity  of  the  artilt. 

Of  Oracles. 

The  Oracles  of  the  ancients  were 
deemed  the  predictions,  myiierious  decla- 
rations of  the  wall  of  the  gods ;  it  may, 
with  a  kind  of  certainty,  be  admitted,  that 
t'ne  natural  bent  of  the  mind  of  man  to 
fearch  into  futurity  gave  rife  to  this  infti-. 
tution. 

To  whatever  caufe,  however,  the  origin 
may  be  afcribed,  the  inititution  of  ora- 
cles became  general,  among  the  idola- 
trous nations,  and  increafed  over  the  face 
of  the  whole  earth.  Not  to  mention  other 
nations,  the  oracles  of  the  Egyptians  and 
Greeks  were  numerous  efpccially  of  the 
latter  people,  at  leak  we  have  a  more  full 
account  of  them.  The  oracle  of  Dodona, 
a  city  of  Epirus  in  Greece,  was  facred  to 
Jupiter;  the  or3c!e  of  Jupiter  Hammond 
was  alfo  of  ancient  date,  and  famous  in 
Lybia;  the  oracle  of  Apcllo  at  Heliopolis. 
was  of  great  note;  the  oracle  alio  of 
Apcllo  at  Delphi,  if  not  the  moft  ancient, 
was  the  moil  celebrated  of  all  Greece,  m- 
femuch  that  it  was  called  the  oracle  of  the 
"whole  earth.  And,  indeed,  fo  eltabiiiked 
was  the  credit  of  thefe  oracular  declara- 
tions, that  the  enacting  laws,  the  reforma- 
tion of  government,  alfo  peace  or  war, 
were  not  undertaken  by  fates  or  princes, 
but  even  in  the  more  common  concerns  of 
-  0  material  bufmefs  was  entered  upon 
without  the  fanction  of  the  oracle.  Each 
oracle  had  it  [  ielt,  or  prickets,  who  deli- 
vered out  the  anfwers  of  the  gods.  Thefe 
anfwers,  fur  the  moll  part,  were  in  verie, 
.  iuched  e  der  fuch  myiierious  terms, 
that  they  admitted  of  a  double  interpreta- 
tion ;  infomuc'h,  thai  whether  the  predic- 
!  s  completed,  or  the  cxpecia   ch   of 

the  fupplicant difappointed,  the  ciac'e  was 

clear 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.        57i 


dear  from  blame.  The  oracle  of  Apollo 
at  Delphos,  being  in  the  greateft  reputa- 
tion, was  reforted  to  from  all  parts.  The 
prieftefs  of  Apollo  was  named  Pythia,  from 
the  ferpent  Python,  killed  by  that  god,  as 
is  before  mentioned.  The  offerings  to  the 
gods  on  thefe  applications  were  liberal,  ac- 
cording to  the  ability,  or  the  importance  of 
the  anlwer  required  by  the  fupplicant ;  and, 
it  is  faid,  the  temple  and  city  of  Delphos 
efpecially,  was,  by  thefe  means,  filled  with 
immenfe  treafure. 

The  principal  oracle  of  the  Egyptians 
was  at  Memphis,  a  royal  city  of  Egypt, 
where  they  erected  an  altar,  and  worship- 
ped their  god  Apis,  under  the  figure  of  an 
ox.  His  wife  Ifis  had  alfo  worfhip,  and 
her  priefts  were  called  Ifiaci. 

The  Sybiliine  Oracles  were  cer- 
tain women,  whom  the  ancients  believed  to 
be  endued  with  the  gift  of prophecy.  They 
are  faid  to  be  ten  in  number,  and  were  fa- 
mous in  all  lands.  They  had  no  fixed  reii- 
dence,  but  travelled  into  different  countries, 
and  delivered  their  predictions  in  verfe  in 
the  Greek  tongue.  One  of  thefe  Sybils, 
named  Erythrasa,  or  Cumaea,  from  Cuma, 
a  city  in  the  Ionian  fea,  according  to  Vir- 
gil, came  into  Italy,  and  was  held  in  the 
higheft  efteem  by  the  Romans,  who  con- 
sulted the  oracle  of  the  Sybil  on  all  occa- 
fions  that  related  to  the  welfare  of  the 
republic. 

Augury,  or  the  art  of  divination  by 
birds,  the  meteors  of  the  heavens,  or  the 
entrails  of  beails,  was  held  in  the  higheit. 
veneration  by  the  idolatrous  nations.  The 
people  of  God,  the  Jews,  were  not  free 
from  idolatry  in  the  time  of  Mofes  ;  and 
we  read  alfo  in  holy  writ,  that  Saul,  being 
vexed  in  fpirit,  applied  to  the  feers,  or 
perfons  (killed  in  the  knowledge  of  futu- 
rity. But  not  to  go  fo  far  back,  Romulus 
and  Remus  confulted  the  Auguries  before 
they  built  Rome ;  and  the  foundation  of 
that  city  was  determined  by  the  flight  of 
birds.  Numa  eftablilhed  a  college  of  Au- 
gurs, and  confirmed  his  regulation  of  the 
Roman  flate  by  their  fandlion.  It  appears 
alfo,  in  the  hillory  of  that  people,  that 
no  national  concern  was  entered  upon, 
without  firft  confulting  the  Auguries; and, 
according  to  the  propitious  or  bad  omen, 
they  made  peace  or  war,  and  appointed 
magift rates.  Indeed  the  Augurs,  and  their, 
declarations,  were  held  in  io  high  regard 
hy  the  Romans,  that  whoever  contemned 
them  was  accounted    impious    and   pro- 


phane.  To  conclude,  divination,  or  the 
-  fpirit  of  prediction,  made  a  confiderable 
part  of  the  Pagan  theology,  efpecially 
among  the  Romans,  thofe  lords  of  the 
world,  who  fell  into  the  general  delufion. 
and  adopted  almoft  all  the  gods  of  every 
people  they  fubtlued. 

Conclusion.  Of  fabulous  Hiflory, 
Notwithstanding  the  origin  offible  feems 
uncertain,  and  to  be  loft  in  antiquity,  ic 
may  be  faid  to  take  its  rife  from  truth,  or 
facred  hillory.  And  in  the  foregoing  re- 
lation of  the  Heathen  deities,  it  is  evident, 
many  particulars  corxefpond  with  the  hif- 
tory  of  the  moll  early  tranfaclions,  as  they 
are  recorded  by  Mofes  in  holy  writ.  The 
golden  age  of  Saturn,  the  wars  of  the 
Giants,  the  deluge  of  Deucalion,  and  the 
repeopling  of  the  earth,  declare  their  ori- 
gin from  divine  truth,  as  received  and  de- 
livered down  by  the  patriaschs. 

On  the  confuiion  of  tongues  at  the  build- 
ing of  Babel,  and  the  diiperfion  of  man- 
kind, the  tradition  of  the  patriarchs  became 
fubject  to  variation  ;  and,  as  is  obferved  by 
the  learned  Rollin,  the  change  of  habi- 
tation, and  diverfity  of  language,  opened 
the  door  of  error,  and  introduced  an  al- 
teration in  worfhip,  agreeable  to  the  foil, 
or  rather  according  to  the  humour,  or 
fome  accidental  event  of  the  refpeclive  co- 
lonies. 

However  confufed  and  erroneous  the 
general  worfhip  of  man  became,  it  is  evi- 
dent, from  every  circumflance,  that,  in  the 
firft  ages  of  the  world,  mankind  knew  but 
one  Deity,  the  Supreme  God,  and  Cre- 
ator of  the  univerfe;  but  afterwards,  when 
men  abandoned  themfelves  to  vice,  and, 
as  is  faid  in  Scripture,  "  went  a  whoring 
"  after  their  own  inventions,"  and  departed 
from  the  purity  of  their  forefathers,  their 
ideas  of  the  Divinity  became  weakened, 
and  inftead  of  the  worfhip  of  the  only 
True  God,  they  fubftituted  other  deities, 
or  objects  of  worfhip,  more  agreeable  to 
the  compreheniion  of  their  own  depraved 
nature.  Tims,  by  a  mixture  of  truthand 
fable,  one  deity  became  productive  of  an- 
other, till  at  lail  the  inventive  fancy  gra- 
dually gave  life  to  every  vifible  obV'ot, 
both  in  the  heavens,  and  on  earth.  Tjius, 
"  having  changed  the  glory  of  the  uncor- 
"  ruptibie  God,  into  an  image  made  like 
"  corruptible  man,  and  to  birds,  andfjur- 
"  footed  beails,  and  creeping  things,  and 
"  fervingthe  creature  more  than  the  Cre- 
"  ator,"  not  only  Jupiter,  Mars, Venus, and 

oilier 


572  ELEGANT    EXTR 

other  falfe  deities,  but  ftars,  rivers,  and 
fountains,  animals,  reptiles,  and  plants, 
received  divine  adoration.  At  length, 
great  men  and  heroes,  who  excelled  in  any 
ufeful  fcience,  or  became  famous  by  con- 
quefts,  or  a  fuperior  conduct  of  life,  by  an 
eafy  tranntion  from  admiration  to  a  fuper- 
ftitious  refpect,  were  deenned  more  than 
human,  and.  had  divine  honours  paid  to 
them  alfo  under  different  names,  in  dif- 
ferent countries ;  or,  probably,  prompted 
by  ambition,  they  affumed  to  themfelves 
the  homage  and  adoration  that  was  due 
only  to  the  Divine  Creator*  the  Al- 
mighty Lord,  and  Governor  of  the 
world.  This  accounts  for  that  multitude  of 
deities,  both  in  heaven  and  on  earth,  which 
makes  the  marvellous  part  of  antient  fic- 
tion, and  became  the  object  of  Pagan 
divinity,  when  the  earth  was  overwhelmed 
with  darknefs,  and,  as  is  expreffed  in  holy 
writ,  "  the  hearts  of  men  went  after  their 
*f  idols." 

The  fertile  imagination  of  the  poets, 
who  celebrated  the  exploits  of  the  ancient 
heroes,  and  expreflfed  the  common  actions 
of  life  in  figurative  characters,  joined  to 
the  extravagance  pf  prieits  and  orators  in 
their  panegyrics  on  the  living  and  the 
dead,  greatly  forwarded  the  work  of  fable : 
ana  in  time,  learning  being  obliterated, 
their  writings  were  looked  upon  as  registers 
of  fads.  Thus  the  world,  grown  old  in 
error,  by  the  folly  and  credulity  of  man- 
kind, fiction  goc  admiffion  into  jiiftory,  and 
became  at  hit  a  neceffary  part  in  com- 
pofing  the  annals  of  the  early  ages  of  the 
world. 

For  this  caufe,  an  acquaintance  with 
fabulous  hiitory,  as  is  before  obierved,  is 
become  a  neceilary  part  of  polite  learning 
in  the  education  of  youth,  and  for  the  due 
underllanding  the  Greek  and  Roman  au- 
thors; alio  the  paintings,  fLtues  and  other 
monuments  of  antiquity.  By  this  know- 
ledge, the  tender  mind  will  moreover  be 
infpiied  with  an  early  abhorrence  of  the 
abfurd  ceremonies  and  impious  tenets  of 
the  Heathen  mythology ;  and,  at  the  fame 
time,  be  impreiled  with  the  deepest  fenfe 
and  veneration  for  the  Chriltian  religion, 
the  light  of  the  Gofpel  in  Christ  Jesus, 
who,  in  the  fulnefs  of  time,  through  the 
tender  mercies  of  God,  difpelled  thofe 
cloud  s  of  darknefs,  ignorance  and  folly, 
which  had  long  debated  human  nature, 
and  I pread  over  the  face  of  the  earth  the 
great  .-ft  and  moft  abfurd  fuperftitions,  as 
l  bej  .re  related,   and  will  farther  appear 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

from  many  incidents  in  the  hiftories  of 
Greece  and  Rome. 

§  237.  Concerning  the  Neglecl  of  Oratorical 
Numbers.— Objer  vat  ions  upon  Dr.  Tn,- 
lotson'j  Style. — The  Care  of  the  ancient 
Orators  •with  re/pecl  to  Numerous  Compoji- 
tjon,Jtated  and  recommended.     In  a  Letter. 

The  paffage  you  quote  is  entirely  in  my 
fentiments.  1  agree  with  that  celebrated 
author  and  yourfelf,  that  our  oratory  is  by 
no  means  in  a  ftate  of  perfection;  and, 
though  it  has  much  ftrength  and  folidity, 
that  it  may  yet  be  rendered  far  more  po- 
lifhed  and  affecting.  The  growth,  indeed, 
of  eloquence,  even  in  thofe  countries  where 
fhe  flourifhed  moll;,  has  ever  been  exceed- 
ingly flow.  Athens  had  been  in  poiiefhon 
of  all  the  other  polite  improvements,  long 
before  her  pretentions  to  the  periuative  arts 
were  in  any  degree  confiderable  ;  as  the 
earlieft  orator  of  note  among  the  Romans 
did  not  appear  fooner  than  about  a  century 
before  Tully. 

That  great  mailer  of  perfuafion,  taking 
notice  of  this  remarkable  circumitance, 
afligns  it  as  an  evidence  of  the  fuperior  dif- 
ficulty of  his  favourite  art.  Pofiibly  there 
may  be  fome  truth  in  the  obfervation  :  but 
whatever  the  caufe  be,  the  fact  I  believe, 
is  undeniable.  Accordingly  eloquence  has 
by  no  means  made  equal  advances,  in 
our  own  country,  with  her  fitter  arts ; 
and  though  we  have  ieen  fome  excellent 
'poets,  and  a  few  good  painters,  rife  up 
amongft  us,  yet  I  know  not  whether  our 
natien  can  fupply  us  with  a  tingle  orator 
Ot  deferved  eminence.  One  cannot  but  be 
furpriied  at  this,  when  it  is  confidered,  that 
we  have  a  profcllion  fet  apart  for  tl\e  pur- 
pofes  of  perfuafion,  and  which  not  only 
affords  the  molt  animating  and  interesting 
topics  of  rhetoric,  but  wherein  a  talent  of 
this  kind  would  prove  the  likelieft,  per- 
haps, of  any  other,  to  obtain  thofe  ambi- 
tious prizes  which  were  thought  to  contri- 
bute fo  much  to  the  fuccefsful  progreis  of 
ancient  eloquence. 

Among  the  principal  defects  of  our 
Engl ilh  orators,  their  general  difregard  of 
harmony  has,  I  think,  been  the  leaft  ob- 
ferved.  It  would  be  injullice  indeed  to 
deny  that  we  have  fome  performances  of 
this  kind  amongft  us  tolerably  mufical : 
but  it  mult  be  acknowledged  at  the  fame 
time,  that  it  is  more  the  effect  of  accident 
than  defign,  and  rather  a  proof  of  the 
power  of  our  language  than  of  the  art  of 
our  orators. 

Dr. 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


573 


Dr.  Tillotfon,  who  is  frequently  men- 
tioned as  having  carried  this  fpecies  of 
eloquence  to  its  highelt  perfection  ?  feems 
to  have  had  no  fort  of  notion  of  rhetorical 
numbers:  and  may  I  venture  to  add, 
without  hazarding  the  imputation  of  an 
affected  Angularity,  that  1  think  no  man 
had  ever  lefs  pretenfions  to  genuine  ora- 
tory than  this  celebrated  preachers?  Ifany 
thing  could  raife  a  flame  of  eloquence  in 
the  breaft  of  an  orator,  there  is  no  occafion 
upon  which  one  Ihould  imagine  it  would  be 
more  likely  to  break  out,  than  in  celebrat- 
ing departed  merit;  yet  the  two  fermons 
which  he  preached  on  the  death  of  Mr. 
Gouge  and  Dr.  Whichcote,  are  as  cold 
and  languid  performances  as  were  ever, 
perhaps,  produced  upon  fuch  an  animating 
iubject.  One  cannot  indeed  but  regret, 
that  he,  who  abounds  with  fuch  noble  and 
generous  fentiments,  Ihould  want  the  art 
of  fetting  them  off  with  all  the  advantage 
they  deferve ;  that  the  fublime  in  morals 
ihould  not  be  attended  with  a  fuitable  ele- 
vation of  language.  The  truth  however 
is,  his  words  are  frequently  ill-chofen,  and 
alrr.oft  always  ill-placed:  his  periods  are 
both  tedious  and  unharmonious;  as  his 
metaphors  are  generally  mean,  and  often 
ridiculous.  It  were  eafy  to  produce  num- 
beriefs  inftances  in  fupport  of  this  afler- 
tion.  Thus,  in  his  fermon  preached  before 
queen  Anne,  when  (he  was  princefs  of 
Denmark,  he  talks  of  fqueezing  a  parable, 
thruiting  religion  by,  driving  a  Ariel  bar- 
gain with  God,  (making  fluffs,  &c;  and, 
fpeaking  of  the  day  of  judgment,  he  de- 
fcribes  the  world  as  cracking  about  our  ears. 
I  cannot  however  but  acknowledge,  in  juf- 
tice  to  the  oratorical  character  of  this  molt 
valuable  prelate,  that  there  is  a  noble  fim- 
plicity,  in  fome  few  of  his  fermons ;  as  his 
excellent  difcourfe  on  fmcerity  deierves  to 
be  mentioned  with  particular  applaufe. 

But  to  Ihow  his  deficiency  in  the  article 
I  am  confidering  at  prefent,  the  following 
ftricture  will  be  fufficient,  among  many 
others  that  might  be  cited  to  the  fame 
purpofe.  "  One  might  be  apt,"  fays  he, 
"  to  think,  at  firlt  view,  that  this  parable 
"  was  over  done,  and  wanted  fomething 
"  of  a  due  decorum ;  it  being  hardly  cre- 
"  dible,  that  a  man,  after  he  had  been  fo 
•*  mercifully  and  generoufly  dealt  withal, 
«'  as  upon  his  humble  requeil  to  have  fo 
««  huge  a  debt  fo  freely  forgiven,  ihould, 
"  whillt  the  memory  of  fo  much  mercy 
"  was  frefh  upon  him,  even  in  the  very 
"  next  moment  handle  his  fellow-fervant, 


"  who  had  made  the  fame  humble  requeft 
•'  to  him  which  he  had  done  to  his  lord, 
"  with  fo  much  roughnefs  and  cruelty,  for 
"   fo  inconflderable  a  fum." 

This  whole  period  (not  to  mention  other 
objections  which  might  juitly  be  raifed 
againftit)  is  unmufical  throughout ;  but  the 
concluding  members,  which  ought  to  have 
been  particularly  flowing,  are  moft  mifera- 
bly  loofe  and  disjointed.  If  the  delicacy 
of  Tully's  ear  was  fo  exquifitely  refined, 
as  not  always  to  be  fatisfied  even  when  he 
read  Demoithenes ;  how  would  it  have  been 
offended  at  the  harlhnefs  and  diflbnance  of 
fo  unharmonious  a  fentence  ! 

Nothing,  perhaps,  throws  our  eloquence 
at  a  greater  diitance  from  that  of  the  an- 
cients, than  this  Gothic  arrangement ;  as 
thofe  wonderful  effects,  which  fometimes 
attended  their  elocution,  were  in  all  pro- 
bability, chiefly  owing  to  their  fkill  in 
mufical  concords.  It  was  by  the  charm  of 
numbers,  united  with  the  ftrength  of  rea- 
fon,  that  Tuily  confounded  the  audacious 
Catiline,  and  filenced  the  eloquent  Hor- 
tenfius.  It  was  this  that  deprived  Curio 
of  all  power  of  recollection,  when  he  role 
up  to  oppofe  that  great  mailer  of  enchantr- 
ing  rhetoric :  it  was  this,  in  a  word,  made 
even  Casfar  himfeif  tremble;  nay,  what  is 
yet  more  extraordinary,  made  Caefar  alter 
his  determined  purpofe,  and  acquit  the  man 
he  had  refolved  to  condemn. 

You  will  not  fufpect  that  I  attribute  too 
much  to  the  power  of  numerous  compo- 
fition,  when  you  recollect  the  inftance 
which  Tully  produces  of  its  wonderful  ef- 
fect. He  informs  us,  you  may  remember, 
in  one  of  his  rhetorical  treatifes,  that  he 
was  himfeif  a  witnefs  of  its  influence,  as 
Carbo  was  once  haranguing  to  the  people. 
When  that  orator  pronounced  the  follow- 
ing fentence,  Patris  ditlumfapiens,  temeritas, 
Jilii  comprobaijit,  it  was  affonifhing,  fays 
ne,  to  obferve  the  general  applaufe  which 
followed  that  harmonious  clofe.  A  modern 
ear,  perhaps,  would  not  be  much  affected 
upon  this  occafion  :  and,  indeed,  it  is  more 
than  probable,  that  we  are  ignorant  of  the 
art  of  pronouncing  that  period  with  its 
genuine  emphafis  and  cadence.  We  are 
certain,  however,  that  the  muftc  of  it  con- 
futed in  the  dichoree  with  which  it  is  ter- 
minated :  for  Cicero  himfeif  allures  us,  that 
if  the  final*  meafure  had  been  changed,  and 
the  words  placed  in  a  different  order,  their 
whole  effect  would  have  been  ablolutely 
deftroyed. 

This  art  was  firlt  introduced  among  the 
*  Greeks 


sn 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Greeks  by  Thrafymachus,  though  fome  of 
the  admirers  of  liberates  attributed  the  in- 
vention to  that  orator.  It  does  not  appear 
to  have  been  obferved  by  the  Romans  till 
near  the  time  of  Tully,  and  even  then  it 
was  by  no  means  univerfally  received. 
The  ancient  and  lefs  numerous  manner  of 
compofition  had  fiili  many  admirers,  who 
were  fuchenthufiafh  to  antiquity  as  to  adopt 
her  very  defects.  A  difpofition  of  the  fame 
kind  may,  perhaps,  prevent  its  being  re- 
ceived with  us ;  and  while  the  archbifhop 
(hail  maintain  his  authority  as  an  orator,  it 
is  not  to  be  expected  that  any  great  ad- 
vancement will  be  raade  in  this  ipecies  of 
eloquence.  That  ftrength  of  understand- 
ing likeu  ife,  and  folidity  of  reafon,  which 
•  is  fo  eminently  our  national  character iftic, 
may  add  ibmewhat  to  the  difficulty  of  re- 
conciling us  to  a  itudy  of  this  kind;  as  at 
fir  it  glance  it  may  feem  to  lead  an  orator 
from  his  grand  and  principal  aim,  and 
tempt  him  to  make  a  facriiice  of  fenfe  to 
found.  It  muit  be  acknowledged,  indeed, 
that  in  the  times  which  fucceeded  the  dif- 
iolution  of  the  Roman  republic,  this  art 
was  fo  perverted  from  its  true  end,  as  to 
become  the  fingle  ltudy  of  their  enervated 
orators.  Pliny  the  younger  often  complains 
of  this  contemptible  affectation  ;  and  the 
polite  author  of  that  elegant  dialogue 
which,  with  very  little  probability,  is  at- 
tributed either  to  Tacitus  or  Quinclilian, 
affures  us  it  was  the  ridiculous  boait  of  cer- 
tain orators,  in  the  time  of  the  declenfion 
of  genuine  eloquence,  that  their  harangues 
were  capable  of  being  fet  to  mufic,  and 
fung  upon  the  ftage.  But  it  muit  be  re- 
membered, that  the  true  end  of  this  art 
I  am  recommending,  is  to  aid,  not  to  fuper- 
fede  reafoa ;  that  it  is  fo  far  from  being 
neceilarily  effeminate,  that  it  not  only  adds 
grace  bui  itrength  to  the  powers  of  per- 
fuafion.  For  this  purpofe  Tully  and 
Quindtllian,  thofe  great  mailers  of  nume- 
rous compofition,  have  laid  it  down  as  a 
fixed  and  invariable  rule,  that  it  muft  never 
appear  the  effect  of  labour  in  the  orator  ; 
that  the  tuneful  flow  of  his  periods  muft 
always  feem  the  carnal  refult  of  their  dif- 
pofition  ;  and  that  it  is  the  higheit  offence 
againit  the  art,  to  weaken  the  expreiiion, 
in  order  to  give  a  moremufical  tone  to  the 
cadence.  In  ihort,  that  no  unmeaning 
words  are  to  be  thrown  in  merely  to  fill  up 
the  requifite  meafure ;  but  that  they  muit 
ftill  rife  in  fenfe  as  they  improve  in  found. 

Fitzojborne, 


§   238.       Upon   Grace   in    Writing.    In   a 
Letter. 

When  I  mentioned  Grace  as  effential  in 
conitituting  a  fine  writer,  I  rather  hoped 
to  have  found  my  fentiments  reflected  back 
with  a  clearer  light  by  yours,  than  ima^ 
gined  you  would  have  called  upon  me  to 
explain  in  form,  what  I  only  threw  out  by 
accident.  To  confefs  the  truth,  I  know 
not  whether,  after  all  that  can  be  faid  to 
illuftrate  this  uncommon  quality,  it  muft 
not  at  laft  be  reiblved  into  the  poet's  nequeo 
monjlrare  ct  fentio  tantum.  In  cafes  of  this 
kind,  where  language  does  not  fupply  us 
with  proper  words  to  exprefs  the  notions  of 
one's  mind,  we  can  only  convey  our  fenti- 
ments in  figurative  terms :  a  defect  which 
neceffarily  introduces  fome  obfeurity. 

I  will  not,  therefore,  undertake  to  mark 
out  with  any  fort  of  precifion,  that  idea 
which  I  would  exprefs  by  the  word  Grace: 
and,  perhaps,  it  can  no  more  be  clearly 
defcribed  than  juftly  defined.  To  give 
you,  however,  a  general  intimation  of 
what  I  mean  when  I  apply  that  term  to 
compoiitions  of  genius,  1  would  refemble 
it  to  that  eafy  air  which  fo  remarkably 
diftinguifhes  certain  perfons  of  a  genteel 
and  liberal  caft.  It  confiits  not  only  in  the 
particular  beauty  of  fingle  part?,  but  arifes 
from  the  general  fymmetry  and  construc- 
tion of  the  whole.  An  author  may  be  juil 
in  his  fentiments,  lively  in  his  figures,  and 
clear  in  his  expreiiion  ;  yet  may  have  no 
claim  to  be  admitted  into  the  rank  of 
finifned  writers.  Thofe  feveral  member's 
muft  be  fo  agreeably  united  as  mutually 
to  reflect  beauty  upon  each  other;  their 
arrangement  muit  be  fo  happily  difpofed  as 
not  to  admit  of  the  leait  tranfpofition,  with- 
out manifeft  prejudice  to  the  entire  piece. 
The  thoughts,  the  metaphors,  the  allufions, 
and  the  diction,  fnould  appear  eafy  and 
natural,  and  feem  to  ariie  like  fo  many 
fpontancous  productions,  rather  than  as  the 
effects  of  art  or  labour. 

Whatever,  therefore,  is  forced  or  affect- 
ed in  the  fentiments ;  whateve;  is  pompous 
or  pedantic  in  the  expreiiion,  is  the  very 
reverie  of  Grace.  Her  mien  is  neither 
that  of  a  prude  nor  a  coquet:  fhe  is  regular 
without  formality,  and  fprightly  without  be- 
ing fantaitical.  Grace,  in  ihort,  is  to  good 
writing  what  a  proper  light  is  to  a  fine  pic- 
ture ;  it  not  only  fhews  ail  the  figures  in  their 
feveral  proportions  and  relations,  but  fhews 
them  in  the  molt  advantageous  manner. 

As 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


As  gentility  (to  refume  my  former  illus- 
tration) appears  in  the  minuteft  action, and 
improves  the  moll  inconsiderable  gefture  ; 
fo  Grace  is  difcovered  in  the  placing  even 
a  fmgle  word,  or  the  turn  of  a  mere  exple- 
tive. Neither  is  this  inexpreffible  quality 
confined  to  one  fpecies  ofcompofition  only, 
but  extends  to  all  the  various  kinds ;  to  the 
humble  paitoral  as  well  as  to  the  lofty  epic ; 
from  the  flighteil  letter  to  the  moll:  lolemn 
difcourfe. 

I  know  not  whether  Sir  William  Tem- 
ple may  not  be  confidered  as  the  firil  of 
our  profe  authors,  who  introduced  a  grace- 
ful jnanner  into  cur  language.  At  lead 
that  quality  does  not  feem  to  have  appear- 
ed early,  or  fpread  far,  amongft  us.  Eut 
wherefoever  we  may  look  for  its  origin,  it 
is  certainly  to  be  found  in  its  higher!  per- 
fection in  the  eftays  of  a  gentleman  vvnofe 
writings  will  be  difUnguifhed  fo  long  as  po- 
liteneis  and  good-lenle  have  any  admirers. 
That  becoming  air  which  Tully  efteemed 
the  criterion  of  fine  compoiltion,  and  which 
every  reader,  he  fays,  imagines  fo  eafy  to 
be  imitated,  yet  will  find  lo  difficult  to  at- 
tain, is,  the  prevailing  characteriftic  of  all 
that  excellent  author's  moil  elegant  per- 
formances. In  a  word,  one  may  juiily  ap- 
ply to  him  what  Plato  in  his  allegorical 
language,  fays  of  Ariilophanes  ;  that  the 
Graces,  having  fearched  all  the  world  round 
for  a  temple  wherein  they  might  for  ever 
dwell,  fettled  at  lalt  in  the  bread;  of  Mr. 
Addiion.  Fitzojherne. 

§  239,  Concerning  the  Style  of  Horace, 
in  his  Moral  Writings!     In  a  Letter. 

Are  you  aware  how  far  I  may  miflead 
you,  when  you  are  willing  to  relign  your- 
ielf  to  my  guidance,  through  the  regions 
of  criticifm  ?  Remember,  however,  that  I 
take  the  lead  in  thefe  paths,  not  in  confi- 
dence of  my  own  fuperior  knowledge  of 
them,  but  in  compliance  with  a  requeft, 
which  I  never  yet  knew  how  to  refuie.  In 
fhort,  I  give  you  my  fentiments,  becaufeit 
is  my  fentiments  you  require  :  but  I  give 
them  at  the  fame  time  rather  as  doubts  than 
decifions. 

After  having  thus  acknowledged  my  in- 
fufficiency  for  the  office  you  have  afligned 
me,  I  will  venture  to  corjfefs,  that  the  poet 
who  has  gained  over  your  approbation,  has 
been  far  iefs  fuccefsful  with  mine.  I  have 
ever  thought,  with  a  very  celebrated  mo- 
dern writer,  that 

Le  versle  mienx  rempli,  la  plus  noble  penfe'e, 
Ne  peut  pLire  al'efprit  cjuaftd I'areille  eit  blefies. 

BoILEAU. 


575 

Thus,  though  I  admit  there  is  both  wit  in 
the  raillery,  and  ftrength  in  the  fentiments 
of  your  friend's  moral  epillle,  it  by  no 
means  falls  in  with  thofe  notions  I  have 
formed  to  myfelf,  concerning  the  effential 
requifites  in  compofitions  of  this  kind.  He 
feems,  indeed,  to  have  widely  deviated 
from  the  model  he  profefles  to  have  had  in 
view,  and  is  no  more  like  Horace,  than 
Hyperion  to  a  Satyr.  His  deficiency  in 
point  of  verfification,  not  to  mention  his 
want  of  elegance  in  the  general  manner  of 
his  poem,  is  fufiicient  to  deftroy  the  pre- 
tended refemblance.  Nothing,  in  truth, 
can  be  more  abfurd,  than  to  write  in  poeti- 
cal meafure,  and  yet  neglect  harmony;  as, 
of  all  the  kinds  of  falfe  ftyle,  that  which 
is  neither  profe  nor  verfe,  but  I  know  not 
what  inartificial  combination  of  powerlefs 
words  bordered  with  rhyme,  is  far,  furely, 
the  moll  infufferable. 

But  you  are  of  opinion,  I  perceive  (and 
it  is  an  opinion  in  which  you  are  not  lingu- 
lar) that  a  negligence  of  this  kind  may  be 
juilified  by  the  authority  of  the  Roman  fa- 
tirifr. :  yet  furely  thofc  who  entertain  that 
notion  have  not  thoroughly  attended  ei- 
ther to  the  precepts  or  the  practice-  of  Ho- 
race. He  has  attributed,  I  confefs,  his  fa- 
tirical  compofition  to  the  infpiration  (jfa 
certain  Mufe,  whom  he  diitinguilhes'  by 
the  title  of  the  mufa  pedejlris  :  and  it  is  this 
expreffion  which  ieems  to  have  milled  the 
generality  of  his  imitators.  But  though 
he  will  not  allow  her  to  fly,  he  by  no  means 
intends  fhe  fhould  creep:  on  the  contrary, 
it  may  be  faid  of  the  Mufe  of  Horace,  as 
of  the  Eve  of  Milton,  that 

— 2race  is  in  all  her  fteps. 

#  That  this  was  the  idea  which  Horace 
himfelf  had  of  her,  is  evident,  not  only 
from  the  general  air  which  prevails  in  his 
Satires  and  Epiftles,  but  from  feveral  ex- 
prefs  declarations,  which  he  lets  fall  in  his 
progrefs  through  them.  Even  when  he 
fpeaks  of  her  in  his  greater!  fits  of  mo- 
deity,  and  defcribes  her  as  exhibited  in  his 
own  morai  writings,  he  particularly  infills 
upon  the  eafe  and  harmony  of  her  motions. 
Though  he  humbly  difclaims,  indeed,  all 
preteniions  to  the  higher  poetry,  the  acer 
fpiritus  et  wis,  as  he  calls  it;  he  reprefents 
his  ftyle  as  being  governed  by  the  temper* 
certa  modofque,  as  flowing  with  a  certain 
regular  and  agreeable  cadence.  Accord- 
ingly, we  find  him  particularly  condemning 
his  predeceiior  Luciiius  for  the  diffonance 
of  his  numbers ;  and  he  profefles  to  have 
made  the  experiment,  whether  the  fame 
8  .        kind 


576 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


kind  of  moral  fubje&s  might  not  be  treat- 
ed in  more  foft  and  eafy  meafures : 

Quid  vetat  etnofmet  Lucili  fcripta  legentes, 
Qjaerere  num  illius,  num  rerum  dura  uegarit 
Verficulos  natura  magis  factos  et  euni.es 
Mollius  ? 

The  truth  is,  a  tuneful  cadence  is  the  fmgle 
prerogative  of  poetry,  which  he  pretends 
to  claim  to  his  writings  of  this  kind  ;  and 
fo  far  is  he  from  thinking  it  uneffential, 
that  he  acknowledges  it  as  the  only  repara- 
tion which  diftinguiihes  them  from  profe, 
If  that  were  once  to  be  broken  down,  and 
the  muiical  order  of  his  words  deltroyed, 
there  would  not,  he  tells  us,  be  the  lealt 
appearance  of  poetry  remaining. 

Non 

Invenias  etiam  disjeifti  membra  poetse. 

However,  when  he  delivers  himfelf  in  this 
humble  Grain,  he  is  not,  you  will  obferve, 
Sketching  out  a  plan  of  this  ipecies  of  poetry 
in  general;  but  fpeaking  merely  of  his  own 
performances  in  particular.  His  demands 
rife  much  higher,  when  he  informs  us 
what  he  expects  of  thofe  who  would  fuc- 
ceed  in  compofitions  of  this  moral  kind. 
He  then  not  only  requires  flowing  numbers 
but  an  expreffion  concife  and  unincumber- 
ed ;  wit  exerted  with  good-breeding,  and 
managed  with  referve  ;  as  upon  fome  oc- 
casions the  fentiments  may  be  enforced 
with  all  the  Strength  of  eloquence  and 
poetry:  and  though  in  fome  part:,  thepiece 
may  appear  with  a  more  ferious  and  fo- 
rerun cult  of  colouring,  yet,  upon  the 
whole,  he  tells  us  it  mult  be  lively  and 
riant.  This  1  take  to  be  his  meaning  in 
the  following  palTage : 

I'll  brevitate  opus,  ut  enrrat  fententia,  neu  fe 
Impediat  verbis  lalia£  onerantihus  ,iures; 
Et  lermone  opus  eft  modo  rhetoi  is  atque  poets; 
Interdum  uibani,  parceutis  viribus  atque 
Exteniiar.tis  eas  confulto. 

Such,  then,  was  the  notion  which  Horace 
had  of  this  kind  of  writing.  And  If  there 
is  any  propriety  in  tliefe  his  rules,  if  they 
are  founded  on  the  truth  of  tails  and  art ;  I 
fear  the  performance  in  queflion,  with 
numberlefs  others  of  the  fame  itamp  (which 
have  not  however  wanted  admirers)  mull 
inevitably  itand  condemned.  The  truth 
of  it  is,  moft  of  the  pieces  which  are 
ulually  produced  upon  this  plan,  rather 
give  one  an  image  of  Lucilius,  than  of 
Horace:  the  authors  of  them  feemto  mif- 
take  the  awkward  negligence  of  the  fa- 
vourite of  Scipio,  for  the  eafy  air  of  the 
friend  of  Maecenas. 


You  will  ftill  tell  me,  perhaps,  that  the 
example  of  Horace  himfe]  an  unanfwer- 
abie  objection  to  t he  n  n  I  have  em- 
braced; as  there  are  nun  berlefs  lines  in 
his  Satires  and  Epiftles,  where  the  verlifi- 
cation  is  evidently  neglected.  But  are  you 
fure,  Hortenfius,  that  thofe  lines  which 
found  fo  unharmonious  to  a  modern  ear, 
had  the  fame  effect  upon  a  Roman  one? 
For  myfelf,  at  leafl,  I  am  much  inclined  to 
believe  the  contrary:  and  it  feems  highly 
incredible,  that  he  who  had  ventured  to 
cenfure  Lucilius  for  the  uncouthnefs  of  his 
numbers,  mould  himfelf  be  notoriouily 
guilty  of  the  very  fault  againft  which  he 
fo  ftrongly  exclaims.  Moft  certain  it  is, 
that  the  delicacy  of  the  ancients  with  re- 
fpeft  to  numbers,  was  far  fuperior  to  any 
thing  that  modern  taite  can  pretend  to ; 
and  that  they  difcovered  differences  which 
are  to  us  abfolutely  imperceptible.  To 
mention  only  one  remarkable  inltance  ;  a 
very  ancient  writer  has  obferved  upon  the 
following  verfe  in  Virgil, 

Arma  virumque  cano,   Trojre  qui  primus  ah  oris. 

that  if  inltead  of  primus  we  were  to  pro- 
nounce it  primis  (is  being  long,  and  its 
fhort)  the  entire  harmony  of  the  line 
would  be  deitroyed. — But  wliofe  ear  is 
now  fo  exquifitely  feniible,  as  to  perceive 
the  diftinction  between  thofe  two  quanti- 
ties ?  Some  refinement  of  this  kind  might 
probably  give  mulic  to  thofe  lines  in  Ho- 
race, which  now  leem  fo  untuneable. 

In  fubjects  of  this  nature  it  is  not  poffible, 
perhaps,  to  exprefs  one's  ideas  in  any  very 
precife  and  determinate  manner.  I  will 
only  therefore  in  general  obferve,  with  re- 
fpecl  to  the  requihte  flyle  of  thefe  perform- 
ances, that  it  confifts  in  a  natural  eafe  of 
expreffion,  an  elegant  familiarity  of  phrafe, 
which  though  formed  of  the  moft  ufual 
terms  of  language,  has  yet  a  grace  and 
energy,  no  leis  linking  than  that  of  a  more 
elevated  diction.  There  is  a  certain  lively 
colouring  peculiar  to  compofitions  in  this 
way,  which,  without  being  fo  bright  and 
glowing  as  is  neceffary  for  the  higher  poe- 
try, is  neverthelefs  equally  removed  from 
whate  ver  appears  harih  and  dry.  B  ut  par- 
ticular initances  will,  perhaps,  better  iiluf- 
trate  my  meaning,  than  any  thing  I  can 
farther  fay  to  explain  it.  There  is  icarce 
a  line  in  the  Moral  Epiitles  of  Mr.  Pope, 
which  might  not  be  produced  for  this  pur- 
pofe.  1  chufe  however  to  lay  before  you 
the  following  verfes,  not  as  preferring  them 
to  many  oUers  which  might  be  quoted 

from, 


"BOOK  IL       CLASSICAL 

from  that  inimitable  fatirift  ;  but  as  they 
afford  me  an  opportunity  of  comparing 
them  with  a  verfion  of  the  fame  original 
lines,  of  which  they  are  an  imitation ;  and, 
by  that  means,  of  mewing  you  at  one  view 
what  I  conceive  is,  and  is  not,  in  the  true 
manner  of  Horace : 

Peace  is  my  deaf  delight — not  Fleury's  more; 
But  touch  me,  arid  no  minifter  fo  fore  : 
Whoe'er  offends,  at  fome  unlucky  time, 
Slides  into  verle,  and  hitches  in  a  rhyme  ; 
Sacred  to  ridicule  his  whole  life  long*. 
And  the  fad  burden  of  fome  merry  fong. 

I  will  refer  you  to  your  own  memory  for 
the  Latin  paffage,  from  whence  Mr.  Pope 
has  taken  the  general  hint  of  thefe  verfes; 
and  content  myfelf  with  adding  a  transla- 
tion of  the  lines  from  Horace  by  another 
hand : 

Behold  me  blamelefs  bard,  how  fond  of  peace  ! 
Bur  he  who  hurts  me  (nay,  I  will  be  heard) 
Had  better  take  a  lion  by  the  beard  ; 
His  eyes  fhall  weep  the  folly  of  his  tongue, 
By  laughing  crowds  in  rueful  ballad  fung. 

There  is  a  ftrength  and  fpirit  in  the  former 
of  thefe  paflages,  and  a  flatnefs  and  lan- 
guor in  the  latter,  which  cannot  fail  of  be- 
ing difcovered  by  every  reader  of  the  lead 
delicacy  of  difcernment;  and  yet  the  wcrds 
which  compofe  them  both  are  equally 
founding  and  iignif  cant.  The  rules  then, 
which  I  juft.  now  mentioned  from  Horace, 
will  point  out  the  real  caufe  of  the  different 
effects  which  thefe  two  paflages  produce  in 
our  minds;  as  the  paflages  themfelves  will 
ferve  to  confirm  the  truth  and  juftice  of 
the  rules.  In  the  lines  of  Mr.  Pope,  one 
of  the  principal  beauties  will  be  found  to 
con  hit  in  the  (hortnefs  of  the  expreiiion  ; 
u  hereas  the  fentiments  in  the.  other  are  too 
much  incumbered  with  words.  Thus  for 
initance, 

Peace  is  my  dear  delight, 
is  pleafing,  becaufe  it  is  concife;  as, 

Eeliold  me  blamelefs  bard,  how  fond  of  peace  i 
is,  in  comparifon  of  the  former,  the  -verba 
■laffas  oncraniia  aures.  Another  diltinguilh- 
ing  perfection  in  the  imitator  of  Horace,  is 
that  fpirit  of  gaiety  which  he  has  diffufed 
through  thefe  lines,  not  to  mention  thofe 
happy,  though  familiar,  images  of  Jliding 
into  verfe,  and  bitching  in  rhyme;  which 
can  never  be  fufficiently  admired.  But  the 
tranflator,  on  the  contrary,  has  cart  too  fe- 
rious  an  air  over  his  numbers,  and  appears 
with  an  emotion  and  earneftnefs  that  difap- 
points  the  force  of  his  fatire: 
Nay,  I  will  be  heard, 


AND    HISTORICAL.  577 

has  the  mien  of  a  man  in  a  paffion ;  and 

His  eyes  fhall  weep  the  folly  of  his  tongue, 
though  a  good  line  in  itfelf,  is  much  too 
folemn    and  tragical   for  the   undilturbad 
pleafantry  of  Horace. 

But  I  need  not  enter  more  minutely  into 
an  examination  of  thefe  paflages.  The  ge- 
neral hints  I  have  thrown  out  in  this  letter 
will  fuffice  to  ihew  you  wherein  I  imagine 
the  true  manner  of  Horace  confiits.  And 
after  all,  perhaps,  it  can  no  more  be  ex- 
plained, than  acquired,  by  rules  of  art.  It 
is  what  true  genius  can  only  execute,  and 
juft  tafte  alone  difcover.         Fitzojborns. 

§   240.     Concerning  the  Criterion  of  1"aJ}t» 
In  a  Letter. 

It  is  well,  my  friend,  that  the  age  of 
transformation  is  no  more:  otherwife  I 
lhould  tremble  for  your  fevere  attack  upon 
the  Mufes,  and  expect  to  fee  the  ftory  of 
your  metamorphofis  embellilh  the  poetical 
miracles  of  fome  modern  Ovid.  But  it  is 
long  fince  the  fate  of  the  Pierides  has 
gained  any  credit  in  the  world,  and  you 
may  now,  in  full  fecurity,  contemn  the  di- 
vinities of  Parnaflus,  and  fpeak  irreverent- 
ly of  the  daughters  of  Jove  himfelf.  You 
fee,  neverthelefs,  how  highly  the  Ancienta 
conceived  of  them,  when  they  thus  repre- 
fented  them  as  the  offspring  of  the  great 
father  of  gods  and  men.  You  reject,  I 
know,  this  article  of  the  heathen  creed : 
but  I  may  venture,  however,  to  affert,  that 
philofophy  will  confirm  what  fable  has  thus 
invented,  and  that  the  Mufes  are,  in  itricr. 
truth,  of  heavenly  extraction. 

The  charms  of  the  fine  arts  are,  indeed, 
literally  derived  from  the  Author  of  all  na- 
ture, and  founded  in  the  original  frame 
and  conftitution  of  the  human  mind.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  general  principles  of  tafte  are 
common  to  our  whole  fpecies,  and  arife 
from  that  internal  fenfe  of  beauty  which 
every  man,  in  fome  degree  at  leaft,  evi- 
dently pofleffes.  No  rational  mind  can  be 
fo  wholly  void  of  all  perceptions  of  this 
fort,  as  to  be  capable  of  contemplating  the 
various  objects  that  furround  him,  with  one 
equal  coldnefs  and  indifference.  There  are 
certain  forms  which  mutt  necelTarily  fill  the 
foul  with  agreeable  ideas }  and  ihe  is  in- 
Itantly  determined  in  her  approbation  of 
them,  previous  to  all  reafonings  concerning 
their  ufe  and  convenience.  It  is  upon  thele 
general  principles,  that  what  is  called  fine 
tafte  in  the  arts  is  founded ;  and  confe- 
qaently  is  by  no  means  io  precarious  and 
p  p  unfettkd 


57 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


unfettled  an  idea  as  you  choofe  to  defcribe 
it.  The  truth  is,  taite  is  nothing  more 
than  this  univerfal  fenfe  of  beauty,  render- 
ed more  exquifite  by  genius,  and  more  cor- 
rect by  cultivation  :  and  it  is  from  the  lim- 
ple  and  original  ideas  of  this  Sort,  that  the 
mind  learns  to  form  her  judgment  of  the 
higher  and  more  complex  kinds.  Accord- 
ingly, the  whole  circle  of  the  imitative  and 
oratorical  arts  is  governed  by  the  fame  ge- 
neral rules  of  criticifm  j  and  to  prove  the 
certainty  of  thefe  with  refpect  to  any  one 
of  them,  is  to  ellabliih  their  validity  with 
regard  to  all  the  reft.  I  will  therefore 
confider  the  Criterion  of  Talle  in  relation 
only  to  fine  writing. 

Each  fpecics  of  composition  has  its  dif- 
tinct  perfections :  and  it  would  require  a 
much  larger  compafs  than  a  letter  affords, 
to  prove  their  refpective  beauties  to  be  de- 
rived from  truth  and  nature ;  and  confe- 
quemlv  reducible  to  a  regular  and  precife 
flandard.  I  will  only  mention  therefore 
thofe  general  properties  which  are  elfential 
to  them  all,  and  without  which  they  mult 
neceflarily  be  defective  in  their  feveral 
kinds,  Thefe,  I  think,  may  be  comprehend- 
ed under  uniformity  in  the  defign,  variety 
and  refemblance  in  the  metaphors  and  Si- 
militudes, together  with  propriety  and  har- 
m  ny  in  the  diction.  Now,  fome  or  all  of 
thefe  qualities  conftantly  attend  our  ideas 
of  beauty,  and  neceflarily  raife  that  agree- 
able perception  of  the  mind,  in  what  ob- 
ject foever  they  appear.  The  charms  of 
fine  compofitiojn.then,  arc  fo  far  from  ex- 
isting only  in  the  heated  imagination  of 
an  entluiliaHic  admirer,  that  they  refult 
from  the  constitution  of  nature  herfelf. 
And  perhaps  the  principles  of  criticifm 
are  as  certain  and  indifputable,  even  as 
thofe  of  the  mathematics.  Thus,  for  in- 
stance, that  order  is  preferable  to  confu- 
fion,  that  harmony  is  more  pleafing  than 
diffonance,  with  fome  few  other  axioms 
Upon  which  the  Science  is  built;  are 
truths  which  Strike  at  once  upon  the  mind 
with  the  fame  force  of  conviction,  as  that 
the  whole  is  greater  than  any  of  its  parts, 
or,  that  if  from  equals  you  take  away 
*  quals  ,the  remainder  will  be  equal.  And 
in  both  cafes,  the  propositions  which  reft 
Upon  thefe  plain  and  obvious  maxims, 
feem  equally  capable  of  the  fame  evidence 
of  demonstration. 

But  as  every  intellectual,  as  well  as  ani- 
mal, faculty  is  improved  and  Strengthened 
by  exercife;  the  more  the  fou!  exerts  this 
her  ioi  rnal  fenfe  of  beauty  upon  any  par- 


ticular object,  the  more  fire  will  enlarge  and 
refine  her  reliih  for  that  peculiar  fpecies.  For 
this  reafon  the  works  of  thofe  great  maf- 
ters,  whofe  performances  have  been  long 
and  generally  admired,  fupply  a  farther 
criterion  of  Sine  tafte,  equally  fixed  and 
certain  as  that  which  is  immediately  de- 
rived from  Nature  Irerielf.  The  truth  is, 
fine  writing  is  only  the  art  of  railing 
agreeable  fenfations  of  the  intellectual 
kind ;  and,  therefore,  as  by  examining 
thoie  original  forms  which  are  adapted  to 
awaken  this  perception  in  the  mind,  we 
learn  what  thofe  qualities  are  which  con- 
stitute beauty  in  general ;  fo  by  obferving 
the  peculiar  construction  of  thofe  compo- 
sitions of  genius  which  have  always  pleaf- 
ed,  we  perfect  our  idea  of  fine  writing  in 
particular.  It  is  this  united  approbation, 
in  perfons  of  different  ages  and  of  various 
characters  and  languages,  that  Longinus 
has  made  the  teit  of  the  true  fublime ; 
and  he  might  with  equal  juitice  have  ex- 
tended the  fame  criterion  to  all  the  infe-' 
rior  excellencies  of  elegant  compofition. 
Thus  the  deference  paid  to  the  perform- 
ances of  the  great  mailers  of  antiquity,  is 
fixed  upon  juft  and  Solid  reafons  :  it  is 
not  becaufe  Aristotle  and  Horace  have 
given  us  the  rule  of  criticism,  that  we 
mult  Submit  to  their  authority  ;  it  is  becaufe 
thofe  rules  are  derived  from  works  which 
have  been  distinguished  by  the  uninter- 
rupted admiration  of  all  the  more  improv- 
ed part  of  mankind,  from  their  earlielt 
appearance  down  to  this  prefent  hour. 
For  whatever,  through  a  long  Series  of 
ages,  has  been  univerfally  eiteemed  as 
beautiful,  cannot  but  be  conformable  to 
our  juit  and  natural  ideas  of  beauty. 

The  oppofuion,  however,  which  fome- 
rimes  divides  the  opinions  of  thole  whole 
judgments  mav  be  fuppofed  equal  and 
perfect,  is  urged  as  a  powerful  objectioa 
againit  the  reality  of  a  fixed  canon  of 
criticifm  :  it  is  a  proof,  you  think,  that 
after  all  which  can  be  faid  of  line  talte,  it 
mult  ultimately  be  refolvcd  into  the  pecu- 
liar relifh  of  each  individual.  But  this 
diversity  of  fentiments  will  not,  of  itfeif, 
deitroy  the  evidence  of  the  criterion;  Since 
the  fame  effect  may  be  produced  by  num- 
berlefs  other  caufes.  A  thoufand  acci- 
dental circumstances  may  concur  in  coun- 
teracting the  force  of  the  rule,  even  allow- 
ing it  to  be  ever  So  fixed  and  invariable, 
when  left  in  its  free  and  uninfluenced  State. 
Not  to  mention  that  fa  He  bias  which  party 
or  perfonaJ  diflike  may  fix  upon  the  mind, 

the 


BOOK  II.       CLASSIC  A 

the  moft  unprejudiced  critic  will  find  it 
difficult  to  difengage  himfelf  entirely  from 
thofe  partial  affections  in  favour  of  parti- 
cular beauties,  to  which  either  the  general 
courfe  of  his  ftudies,or  the  peculiar  call  of 
his  temper,  may  have  rendered  him .  molt 
fenlible.  But  as  perfection  in  any  works  of 
genius  remits  from  the  united  beauty  and 
propriety  of  its  feveral  diitinct  parts,  and 
as  it  is  impoffible  that  any  human  compo- 
iition  fhould  poffefs  all  thofe  qualities  in 
their  higheft  and  molt  fovereign  degree; 
the  mind,  when  me  pronounces  judgment 
upon  any  piece  of  this  fort,  is  apt  to  de- 
cide of  its  merit,  as  thofe  circumftances 
which  fhe  molt  admires,  either  prevail  or 
are  deficient.  Thus,  for  inltance,  the  ex- 
cellency of  the  Roman  mailers  in  paint- 
ing, conflts  in  beauty  of  defign,  noblenefs 
of  attitude,  and  delicacy  of  expreffion;  but 
the  charms  of  good  colouring  are  want- 
ing. On  the  contrary,  the  Venetian 
fchool  is  faid  to  have  neglected  delicrn  a 
little  too  much ;  but  at  the  fame  time  has 
been  more  attentive  to  the  grace  and  har- 
mony of  well-difpofed  'lights  and  (hades. 
Now  it  will  be  admitted  by  all  admirers  of 
this  noble  art,  that  no  compofition  of  the 
pencil  can  be  perfect,  where  either  of  thefe 
qualities  are  abfent ;  yet  the  mod  accom- 
plished judge  maybefo  particularly  ftruck 
with  one  or  other  of  thefe  excellencies,  in 
preference  to  the  reft,  as  to  be  influenced 
in  his  cenfure  or  applaufe  of  the  whole  ta- 
blature,  by  the  predominancy  or  deficiency 
of  his  favourite  beauty.  Something  of 
this  kind  (where  the  meaner  prejudices 
do  not  operate)  is  ever,  I  am  perfuaded. 
the  occafion  of  that  diveriity  of  fentences 
which  we  occafionally  hear  pronounced  by 
the  moll  approved  judges  on  the  fame 
piece.  But  this  only  (hews  that  much  cau- 
tion is  necefiary,  to  give  a  fine  tafle  its  full 
and  unobltrufted  eft'eft ;  not  that  it  is  in 
itfelf  uncertain  and  precarious. 

Fiizojborne. 

§   241.     Rtfieftims  upon  feeing  Mr.  Pofe's 
Hoitfe  at  Binfield,     In  a  Letter. 

Your  letter  found  me  juft  upon  my  re- 
turn from  an  excurfion  into  Berkfhire, 
where  I  have  been  paying  a  vilit  to  a 
friend,  who  is  drinking  the  waters  at  Sun- 
ning-Hill.  In  one  of  my  morning  rides 
over  that  delightful  country,  I  accidentally 
paiTed  through  a  little  village,  which  af- 
forded me  much  agreeable  meditation  ;  as 
in  times  to  come,  perhaps,  it  will  be  viiit- 
ed  W  the  lovers  of  the  polite  arts,  with 


L     AND     HISTORICAL.         579 

as  much  veneration  as  Virgil's  tomb,  or 
any  other  celebrated  fpot  of  antiquity. 
The  place  I  mean  is  Binfield,  where  the 
Poet,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  (in  commoa 
with  every  reader  of  tafte)  for  lo  much 
exquifite  entertainment,  fpent  the  earliefl 
part  of  his  youth.  I  will  not  Icruple  to 
confefs,  that  I  looked  upon  the  fcene 
where  he  planned  fome  of  thofe  beautiful 
performances,  which  firlt  recommended 
him  to  the  notice  of  the  world,  with  a  de- 
gree of  enthufiafm ;  and  could  not  but 
confider  the  jrround  as  facred,  that  was 
impreft'ed  with  the  footfteps  of  a  genius 
that  undoubtedly  does  the  higheft  honour 
to  our  age  and  nation. 

The  fituation  of  mind  in  which  I  found 
myfelf  upon  this  occaiion,  iiiggelted  to  my 
remembrance  a  paftage  in  Tully,  which  I 
thought  I  never  fo  thoroughly  entered  inta 
the  fpirit  of  before.  That  noble  author, 
in  one  of  his  philofophical  converfation- 
pieces,  introduces  his  friend  Atficus  as 
obfervinrr  the  pleafing  effect  which  fcenen 
of  this  nature  are  wont  to  have  upon  one's 
mind  :  "  Movemur  enim,"  fays  that  po- 
lite Roman,  "  nefcio  quo  pacto,  locis  ipiis, 
«  in  quibus  eorum,  quos  diligirnus  autad- 
"  miramur,  adfunt  veitigia.  Me  quiderr. 
"  ipfe  illas  noltra:  Athens,  non  tarn  ope- 
"  ribus  magnificis  exquifitifque  antiquo- 
"  rum  artibus  delectant,  qua*n  recorda- 
"  tione  fummorum  virorum,  ubi  quifque 
"  habitare,  ubi  federe,  ubi  difputare  lit 
"  folitus." 

Thus,  you  fee,  I  could  defend  myfelf 
by  an  example  of  great  authority,  were  I 
in  danger  upon  this  occafion  of  being 
ridiculed  as  a  romantic  vitionary.  But  ] 
am  too  well  acquainted  with  the  refined 
fentiments  of  Orontes,  to  be  under  any 
appreheulion  he  will  condemn  the  impref- 
fions  I  have  here  acknowledged.  On  the 
contrary,  I  have  often  heard  youmention 
with  approbation,  a  circumftance  of  this 
kind  which  is  related  01  Silias  Itaiicus. 
The  annual  ceremonies  which  that  poet 
performed  at  Virgil's  fepulchre,  gave 
you  a  more  favourable  opinion  of  his 
tafte,  you  confefl'ed,  tiian  any  thing  in  his 
works  was  able  to  raife. 

It  is  certain,  that  fome  of  the  greateft 
names  of  antiquity  have  diftinguifhed 
themfelves,  by  the  high  reverence  they 
(hewed  to  the' poetical  character.  Scipio, 
you  may  remember,  defired  to  be  laid  in 
the  fame  tomb  with  Ennius ;  and  I  am  in- 
clined to  pardon  that  fuccefsful  madm 
lexandermanj  ofhisestravagaucie^forthe 
Pp7,  generdu* 


580 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROS 


generous  regard  he  paid  to  the  memory  of 
Pindar,  at  the  lacking  of  Thebes. 

There  feems,  indeed,  to  be  fomething 
in  poetry  that  raifes  the  profefibrs  of  that 
very  Angular  talent,  far  higher  in  the 
ellimation  of  the  world  in  general,  than 
thofe  who  excel  in  any  other  of  the  re- 
fined arts.  And  accordingly  we  rind  that 
poets  have  been  diilinguifhed  by  antiquity 
with  the  mofl  remarkable  honours.  Thus 
Homer,  we  are  told,  was  deified  at  Smyr- 
na; as  the  citizens  of  Mytilcne  (lamped 
the  image  of  Sappho  upon  their  public 
coin:  Anacreon  received  a  folemn  invita- 
tion to  fpend  his  days  at  Athens,  and  Hip- 
parchus,  the  fon  of  Pififlratus,  fitted  out 
a  fplendid  vefTel  in  order  to  tranfport  him 
thither:  and  when  Virgil  came  into  the 
theatre  at  Rome,  the  whole  audience  rofe 
up  and  faluted  him,  with  the  fame  refpecl: 
as  they  would  have  paid  to  Auguilus 
himfelf. 

Painting,  one  would  imagine,  has  the 
faired:  pretenfions  of  rivalling  her  filler 
art  in  the  number  of  admirers ;  and  yet, 
where  Apelles  is  mentioned  once,  Homer 
is  celebrated  a  thoufand  times.  Nor  can 
this  be  accounted  for  by  urging  that  the 
works  of  the  latter  are  Hill  extant,  while 
thofe  of  the  former  have  perilhed  long 
fince:  for  is  not  Milton's  Paradife  Loft 
more  univerlally  eileemed  than  Raphael's 
Cartoons  ? 

The  truth,  I  imagine,  is,  there  are 
more  who  are  natural  judges  of  the  har- 
mony of  numbers,  than  of  the  grace  of 
proportions.  One  meets  with  but  few 
who  have  not,  in  fome  degree  at  leall,  a 
tolerable  ear;  but  a  judicious  eye  is  a  far 
more  uncommon  poffeffion.  For  as  words 
are  the  unive.rfal  medium,  which  all  men 
employ  in  order  to  convey  their  fentiments 
to  each  other  ;  it  feems  a  juft  confequence, 
that  they  mould  be  more  generally  formed 
for  reliihing  and  judging  of  performances 
in  that  way:  whereas  the  art  of  repre- 
senting ideas  by  means  of  lines  and  co- 
lours, lies  more  out  of  the  road  of  common 
ufe,  and  is  therefore  lefs  adapted  to  the 
talle  of  the  general  run  of  mankind. 

I  hazard  this  obfervation,  in  the  hopes 
of  drawing  from  you  your  fentiments  upon 
a  tubjeft,  in  which  no  man  is  more  quali- 
fied to  decide ;  as  indeed  it  is  to  the  con- 
verfation  of  Orontes,  that  I  am  indebted 
for  the  difcovery  of  many  refined  delica- 
cies in  the  imitative  arts,  which,  without 
his  judicious  affiitance,   would   have  Iain 


concealed  to  me  with  other  common  ob- 
servers. Fitzcjborne. 

\  242.  Concerning  the  Ufe  of  the  Ancient 
Mythology  in  Modern  Poetry.  In  a  Let- 
ter. 

If  there  was  any  thing  in  any  former 
letter  inconfiflent   with  that  efleem  which 
is  juftly  due  to  the  ancients,  I  defire  to  re- 
tract it  in  this;  and  difavow  every  expreihon 
which  might  feem  to  give  precedency  to 
the  moderns  in  works  of  genius.    1  am  fo 
far  indeed    from    entertaining    the  fenti- 
ments   you    impute   to    me,    that  I    have 
often  endeavoured  to  account  for  that  Su- 
periority which  is  fo  vilible  in  the  compo- 
fitions  of  their  poets:  and  have  frequently 
alligned  their  religion  as  in  the  number  of 
thofe  caufes,  which  probably  concurred  to 
give  them  this  remarkable  pre-eminence. 
That    enthufiafm    which     is    fo    effential 
to  every  true  artift   in  the  poetical   way, 
was  confiderably  heightened  and  en  flamed 
by  the   whole  turn    of  their    facred   doc- 
trines ;  and  the  fancied  prefence  of  their 
Mules  had  almofl  as  wonderful  an  effect 
upon  their  thoughts  and  language,  as  if 
they  had  been  really  and  divinely  inlpired. 
Whilfl   all  nature  was  fuppofed  to  fwarm 
with  divinities,  and   every  oak  and  foun- 
tain was  believed  to  be  the  residence  of 
fome  prefiding  deity  ;  what  wonder  if  the 
poet  was  animated  by  the  imagined  influ- 
ence of  fuch  exalted  Society,  and   found 
himfelf  traniportcd    beyond    the  ordinary 
limits  of  feber  humanity  .?   The  mind  when 
attended  only  by  mere  mortals  oi  fupe- 
rior  powers,  is    obferved    to  rife  in  her 
ftrength  ;  and  her  faculties  open  and  en- 
large themfelves  when  fire  nets  in  the  view 
of  thofe,  for   whom  lhe  has  conceived    a 
more  than  common  reverence.     But  when 
the  force  of  fuperftition  moves  in  concert 
with  the  powers   of  imagination,  and  ge- 
nius is  enflamed  by  devotion,  poetry  mull 
lhine  out  in  all  her  brightefl  perfection  and 
fplendor. 

Whatever,  therefore,  the  philofopher 
might  think  of  the  religion  of  his  country  ; 
it  was  the  interell  of  the  poet  to  be  tho- 
roughly orthodox.  If  he  gave  up  his 
creed,  he  mull  renounce  his  numbers :  and 
there  could  be  no  infpiration,  where  there 
were  no  Mufes.  This  is  fo  true,  that  it  is 
in  compofitions  of  the  poetical  kind  alone 
that  the  ancients  feem  to  have  the  princi- 
pal advantage  over  the  moderns :  in  every 
other  fpecies  of  writing  one  might  venture 

per. 


BOOK    IT.       CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


5*1 


perhaps  to  affert,  that  thefe  latter  ages 
have,  at  leaft,  equalled'  them.  When  I 
fay  To,  I  do  not  confine  mylelf  to  the  pro- 
ductions of  our  own  nation,  but  compre- 
hend likewife  thofe  of  our  neighbours:  and 
with  that  extent  the  observation  will  porfii- 
biy  hold  true,  even  without  an  exception 
in  favour  of  hiftory  and  oratory. 

But  whatever  may  with  juftice  be  de- 
termined concerning  that  queftion,  it  is 
certain,  at  leaft,  that  the  practice  of  all 
fucceeding  poets  confirms  the  notion  for 
which  1  am  principally  contending. 
Though  the  altars  of  Paganifm  have 
many  ages  fince  been  thrown  down,  and 
groves  are  no  longer  facred;  yet  the  lan- 
guage of  the  poets  has  not  changed  with 
the  religion  of  the  times,  but  the  gods  of 
Greece  and  Rome  are  Mill  adored  in  mo- 
dern verfe.  Is  not  this  a  confeilion,  that 
fancy  is  enlivened  by  fuperftition,  and  that 
thcancient  bards  catched  theirrapture  from 
the  old  mythology  ?  I  will  own,  however, 
that  1  think  there  is  fomething  ridiculous 
in  this  unnatural  adoption,  and  that  a  mo- 
dern poet  makes  but  an  aukward  figure 
with  his  antiquated  gods.  When  the  Pa- 
gan fyftem  was  fmctioned  by  popular  be- 
lief a  piece  of  machinery  of  that  kind,  as 
it  had  the  air  of  probability,  afforded  a 
very  ftriking  manner  of  celebrating  any 
remarkable  circumftance,  or  railing  any 
common  one.  But  now  that  this  fuperfti- 
tion is  no  longer  fupported  by  vulgar  opi- 
nion, it  has  loft  its  principal  grace  and 
efficacy,  and  feems  to  be,  in  general,  the 
moft  cold  and  uninterefting  method  in 
which  a  poet  can  work  up  his  fentiments. 
What,  tor  initance,  can  be  more  unaffect- 
ing  and  fpiritlefs,  than  the  compliment 
which  Boileau  has  paid  to  Louis  the  XlVth 
on  his  famous  pafiage  over  the  Rhine  ? 
He  reprefe'nts  the  Naiads,  you  may  re- 
member, as  alarming  the  gcd  of  that  river 
with  an  account  of  the  march  of  the 
French  monarch ;  upon  which  the  river- 
god  afl'umes  the  appearance  of  an  old  ex- 
perienced commander,  and  flies  to  a 
Dutch  fort,  in  order  to  exhort  the  garrifon 
to  fally  out  and  difpute  the  intended  paf- 
fage.  Accordingly  they  range  themfelves 
in  form  of  battle,  'with  the  Rhine  at  their 
head;  who,  after  fome  vain  efforts,  ob- 
ferving  Mars  and  Bellona  on  the  fide  of 
the  enemy,  is  fo  terrified  with  the  view  of 
thofe  fuperior  divinities,  that  he  moft  gal- 
lantly runs  away,  and  leaves  the  hero  in 
quiet  poflefiion  of  his  banks.  I  know  not 
how  far  this  may  be  relifbed  by  critics,  or 


juftified  by  cuftom  ;  but  as  I  am  only  men- 
tioning my  particular  tafte,  I  will  acknow- 
ledge, that  it  appears  to  me  extremely  in- 
fipid  and  puerile. 

I  have  not,  however,  fo  much  of  the 
fpirit  of  Typhosus  in  me,  as  to  make  war 
upon  the  gods  without  reftriction,  and  at- 
tempt to  exclude  them  from  their  whole 
poetical  dominions.  To  reprefent  natural, 
moral,  or  intellectual  qualities  and  affec- 
tions as  perfons,  and  appropriate  to  them 
thofe  general  emblems  by  which  their 
powers  and  properties  are  ufually  typified 
in  Pagan  theology,  may  be  allowed  as  one 
of  the  moft  pleafing  and  graceful  figures 
of  poetical  rhetoric.  When  Dryden,  ad- 
dreffing  himfelf  to  the  month  of  May  as 
to  a  perfon,  fays, 

For  thee  the  Graces  lead  the  dancing  hours; 

one  may  conftder  him  as  fpeakinp-  only  in 
metaphor:  and  when  fuch  Shadowy  beings 
are  thus  juft  fhown  to  the  imagination,  and 
immediately  withdrawn  again,  they  cer- 
tainly have  a  very  powerful  effect.  But  I 
can  reliih  them  no  farther  than  as  figures 
only ;  when  they  are  extended  in  any  ferious 
compoiition  beyond  the  limits  of  metaphor, 
and  exhibited  under  all  the  various  actions 
of  realperfons,  I  cannot  but  coniider  them 
as  fo  many  abfurdities,  which  cultom  has 
unreafonably  patronized.  Thus  Spenfer, 
in  one  of  his  paftorals,  repreSents  the  god 
of  love  as  flying,  like  a  bird,  from  bough 
to  bough.  A  ihepherd,  who  hears  a  ruft- 
ling  among  the  buihes,  fuppofes  it  to  be 
fome  game,  and  accordingly  discharges  his 
bow.  Cupid  returns  the  ihot,  and  arter  Se- 
veral arrows  had  been  mutually  exchanged 
between  them,  the  unfortunate  fwain  dis- 
covers whom  it  is  he  is  contending  with: 
but  as  he  is  endeavouring  to  make  his 
efcape,  receives  a  defperate  wound  in  the 
heel.  This  fiction  makes  the  Subject  of  a 
very  pretty  idyllium  in  one  of  the  Greek 
poets  ;  yet  is  extremely  flat  and  difgufting 
as  it  is  adopted  by  our  Britifh  bard.  And 
the  reafon  of  the  difference  is  plain:  in  the 
former  it  is  fupported  by  a  popular  fuper- 
ftition ;  whereas  no  ftra.n  of  imagination 
can  give  it  the  leaft  air  of  probability,  as  it 
is  worked  up  by  the  latter, 

Q_nodcunque  mihi  oflendis  fie,  incredulus  odi. 

HOR. 

I  muft  confefs,  at  the  fame  time,  that 

the  inimitable  Prior   has   introduced  this 

fabulous    Scheme    with    fuch    uncommon 

grace,  and  has  paid  fo  many  genteel  com- 

P  p  3  pliments 


ztz 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


pliments  to  his  miftrefs  by  the  affiftance  of 

Venus  and  Cupid,  that  one  is  carried  off 
from  obferving  the  impropriety  of  this 
machinery,  by  the  pleafing  addrefs  with 
which  he  manages  it :  and  ]  never  read 
his  tender  poems  of  this  kind,  without  ap- 
plying to  him  what  Seneca  fomewhere  fays 
upoi  a  fimilar  cccauon  :  Major  ilk  efl  qui 
judicium  abjiidit,  quam  qui  meruit. 

To  fpeak  my  fentiments  in  one  word,  I 
would  leave  the  gods  in  full  poileffion  of 
allegorical  and  burlefque  poems:  in  all 
others  1  would  never  fuller  them  to  make 
their  appearance  in  perfon  and  as  agents, 
but  to  enter  only  in  fimile  or  allufion.  It 
is  thus  Waller,  of  all  our  poets,  has  moil 
happily  employed  them:  and  his  applica- 
tion of  the  flory  of  Daphne  and 'Apollo 
will  iciYz  as  an  instance,  in  what  manner 
the  ancient  mythology  may  be  adopted 
with  the  utmoit  propriety  and  beauty. 

Fitzojborne. 

§  243.  On  the  Delicacy  of  every  Author  of 
Genius,  with  refpeel  to  his  awn  perform- 
ances.     In  a  Li  tier. 

If  the  ingenious  piece  you  communi- 
cated to  me,  requires  any  farther  touches 
of  your  pencil,  1  mull  acknowledge  the 
truth  to  be,  what  you  are  inclined  to  fuf- 
pect,  that  my  friendfhip  has  impofed  upon 
my  judgment.  But  though  in  the  prefent 
initance  your  delicacy  feems  far  too  re- 
lined;  yet,  in  general,  I  muft  agree  with 
you,  that  works  of  the  moll  permanent 
kind,  are  not  the  effects  of  a  luckv  mo- 
ment, nor  llruck  out  at  a  fnigle  heat.  The 
befr  performances,  indeed,  have  generally 
coft  the  moil  labour:  and  that  eaie,  which 
is  fo  efiential  to  line  writing,  has  feldom 
been  attained  without  repeated  and  fevere 
corrections:  Ludentis  fpecicm  dabit  et  tor- 
quebitur,  is  a  motto  that  may  be  applied,  .1 
believe,  to  molt  fuccefsful  authors  of  genius. 
With  as  much  facility  as  the  numbers  of 
the  natural  Piior  fcem  to  have  flowed  from 
him,  they  were  the  remit  (if  1  am  not 
mifinformed)  of  much  application:  and  a 
friend  of  mine,  who  undertook  to  tran- 
fcribe  one  of  the  nobleft  performance:,  of 
the  fineit  genius  that  this,  or  perhaps  any 
age  can  boa!!,  has  often  aflured  me,  that 
there  is  not  a  fingle  line,  as  it  is  now  pub- 
I  ',.  .',  ivhi'  ;<  (lands  in  conformity  with 
iginal  manufcript.  The  truth  is, 
>,  ,  '  I  ntiment  has  its  peculiar  expreflion, 
every  word  its  precife  place,  which 
do  not  always  immediately  prefent  them- 
i  ;,andgi  neraily  demand  frequent  trials, 


before  they  can  be  properly  adjufted; 
not  to  mention  the  more  important  diffi- 
culties, which  neceharily  occur  in  fettling 
the  plan  and  regulating  the  higher  parts 
which  compofe  the  llruclure  of  a  imilhed 
work. 

Thofe,  indeed,  who  know  what  pangs 
it  colls  even  the  molt  fertile  genius  to  be 
delivered  of  a  jull  and  regular  production, 
might  be  inclined,  perhaps,  to  cry  out  with 
the  molt  ancient  of  authors,  Oh  !  that  mine 
ad-verjarv  had  nuritten  a  book'.  A  writer  of 
refined  tafte  has  the  continual  mortifica- 
tion to  find  himfelf  incapable  of  taking  en- 
tire poifeihon  of  that  ideal  beauty  which 
warms  and  fills  his  imagination.  His  con- 
ceptions Hill  rife  above  all  the  powers  of 
his  art,  and  he  can  but  faintly  copy  out 
thofe  images  of  perfection,  which  are  im- 
preiled  upon  his  mind.  Never  was  any 
thing,  fays  Tully,  more  beautiful  than  the 
Venus  of  Apelles,  or  the  Jove  of  Phidias; 
yet  were  they  by  no  means  equal  to  thofe 
high  notions  of  beauty  which  animated  the 
genuiios  of  thofe  wonderful  artifts.  In  the 
fame  manner,  he  obferves,  the  great  maf- 
ters  of  oratorv  imagined  to  themfelves  a 
certain  perfection  of  eloquence,  which  they 
could  only  contemplate  in  idea,  but  in 
vain  attempted  to  draw  out  in  expreflion. 
Perhaps  no  author  ever  perpetuated  his 
reputation,  who  could  write  up  to  the  full 
ftandard  of  his  own  judgment:  and  I  am 
perfuaded  that  he,  who  upon  a  furvey  of 
his  compolitions  can  with  entire  compla- 
cency pronounce  them  good,  will  hardly 
find  the  world  join  with  him  in  the  fame 
favourable  fentence. 

The  molt  judicious  of  all  poets,  the  in- 
imitable Virgil,  ufed  to  refemble  his  pro- 
ductions to  thofe  of  that  animal, who,agree- 
ably  to  the  notions  of  the  Ancients,  was 
fuppofed  to  bring  forth  her  young  into  the 
world,  a  mere  rude  and  ihapelefs  mafs  ;  he 
was  obliged  to  retouch  them  again  and 
again,  he  acknowledged,  before  they  ac- 
quired their  properform  and  beauty.  Ac- 
cordingly we  are  told,  that  after  having 
fpent  eleven  years  in  compofmg  his  TEncid, 
he  intended  to  have  let  apart  three  more 
lor  the  revifal  of  that  glorious  perform- 
ae  '.  Put  being  prevented  by  his  bill 
ficknefsfrom  giving  thofe  linilhing  touches, 
which  his  exquifite  judgment  conceived  to 
be  ttill  neceiiary,  lie  directed  his  friends 
Tucca  and  Varius  to  burn  the  noble, I 
poem  that  ever  appeared  in  the  Roman. 
language.  In  the  fame  fpirit  of  delicacy, 
Mr.  Dryden    toil     us,  that  had  he  take^ 

more 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AN©    HISTORICAL. 


5*i 


more  time  in  tranflating  this  author,  he 
might  poffibly  have  fucceeded  better :  but 
never,  he  aflures  us,  could  he  have  fucceed- 
ed fo  well  as  to  have  Satisfied  himfelf. 

In  a  word,  Hortenfius,  I  agree  with  you, 
that  there  is  nothing  more  difficult  than  to 
fill  up  the  character  of  an  author,  who 
propoies  to  raife  a  Jutland  lalling  admi- 
ration ;  who  is  not  contented  with  thole 
little  tranfient  flaihes  of  applaufe,  which 
attend  the  ordinary  race  of  writers,  but 
confiders  only  how  he  may  fhine  out  to 
poflerity ;  who  extends  his  views  beyond 
the  prefent  generation,  and  cultivates  thofe 
productions  which  are  to  flouriih  in  future 
ages.  Wfcat  Sir  Wiliiam Temple  obferves 
of  poetry,  may  be  applied  to  every  other 
work  where  talle  and  imagination  are  con- 
cerned :  "  It  requires  the  greatelt  con- 
"  traries  to  compoie  it;  a  genius  both 
'*  penetrating  and  folid ;  an  expreffion 
"  both  itrong  and  delicate.  There  mull 
"  be  a  great  agitation  of  mind  to  invent, 
"  a  great  calm  to  judge  and  cor  reel: :  there 
"  mull  be  upon  the  fame  tree,  and  at  the 
*  feme  time,  both  flower  and  fruit."  Eut 
though  I  know  you  would  not  value  your- 
self upon  any  performance,  wherein  thefe 
very  oppofite  and  very  fmgular  qualities 
were  not  confpicuous :  yet  I  mull  remind 
you  at  the  fame  time,  that  when  the  rile 
ceafes  to  polish,  it  mull  neceflarily  weaken. 
You  will  remember,  therefore,  that  there 
is  a  medium  between  the  immoderate  cau- 
tion of  that  orator,  who  was  three  Olym- 
piads in  writing  a  Angle  oration;  and  the 
extravagant  expedition  of  that  poet,  whole 
funeral  pile  was  compofed  of  his  own  num- 
berlefs  productions.  Fitzojborne. 

%   24.4.  Reflations  upon  Style.     In  a  Letter. 

The  beauties  of  Style  feem  to  be  gene- 
rally conlidered  as  below  the  attention  both 
of  an  author  and  a  reader.  I  know  not, 
therefore,  whether  I  may  venture  to  ac- 
knowledge, that  among  the  numberlefs 
graces  of  your  late  performance,  I  parti- 
cularly admired  that  llrength  and  elegance 
with  which  you  have  enforced  and  adorned 
the  nobleit  Sentiments, 

There  was  a  time,  however,  (and  it  wan 
a  period  of  the  truell  refinements)  when 
an  excellence  of  this  kind  was  eiteemed  in 
the  number  of  the  politeft  accomplish- 
ments ;  as  it  was  the  ambition  of  fome  of 
the  greatell  names  of  antiquity  to  diflin- 
guifh  therafelves  in  the  improvement  of 
their  native  tongue.  Julius  Caefar,  who 
was  .not  only    the  great  ell  hero,  but   the 


fined  gentleman  that  ever,  perhaps,  ap- 
peared in  the  world,  was  deiirous  of  adding 
this'talent  to  his  other  moil  fhining  endow- 
ments :  and  we  are  told  he  iludied  the 
language  of  his  country  with  much  appli- 
cation :  as  we  are  fure  he  poflefled  it  in 
its  highell  elegance.  What  a  lofs,  Eu- 
phronius,  is  it  to  the  literary  world,  that 
the  treatife  which  he  wrote  upon  this  Sub- 
ject, is  perifned  with  many  other  valuable 
works  of  that  age  1  But  though  we  are 
deprived  of  the  benefit  of  his  observations, 
we  are  happily  not  without  an  initance  of 
their  effects ;'  and  his  own  memoirs  will 
ever  remain  as  the  belt  and  brightell  ex- 
emplar, not  only  of  true  generalihip,  but 
of  fine  writing.  He  publilhed  them,  in- 
deed, only  as  materials  for  the  ufe  of  thofe 
who  fhould  be  difpofed  to  enlarge  upon  that 
remarkable  period  of  the  Roman  itory  ;  yet 
the  purity  and  gracefulnefs  of  his  llyle  were 
fuch,  that  no  judicious  writer  durlt  attempt 
to  touch  the  Subject  after  him. 

Having  produced  fo  iUultrious  an  in- 
fiance  in  favour  of  an  art,  for  which!  have 
ventured  to  admire  you  ;  it  would  be  im- 
pertinent to  add  a  Second,  were  I  to  citea 
lefs  authority  than  that  of  the  immortal 
Tally-  This  nobleauthor,  in  his  dialogue 
concerning:  the  celebrated  Roman  orators, 
frequently'mentions  it  as  a  very  high  en- 
comium, that  they  poflefled  the  elegance 
of  their  native  language  ;  and  introduces 
Brutus  as  declaring,  that  he  fhould  prefer 
the  honour  of  being  ellcemed  the  great 
mailer  and  improver  of  Roman  eloquence, 
even  to  the  glory  of  many  triumphs. 

But  to  add  rcafon  to  precedent,  and  to 
view  this  art  in  its  ufe  as  well  as  its  dig- 
nity;  will  it  not  be  allowed  of  fome  im- 
portance, when  it  is  conlidered,  that  clo- 
"quence  is  one  of  the  mofl  confiderable  auxU 
liaries  of  truth  ?  Nothing  indeed  contri- 
butes more  to  Subdue  the  mind  to  the  force 
of  realon,  than  her  being  Supported  by  the 
powerful  aflillance  of  mafculine  and  vigo- 
rous oratory.  As  on  the  contrary,  the  moil 
legitimate  arguments  may  be  disappointed 
of  that  fuccefs  they  dcierve,  by  being  at- 
tended with  a  SpiritleSs  and  enfeebled  ex- 
preffion.  Accordingly,  that  moil  elegant 
of  writers, the  inimitable  Mr.  Addifpn,  ob~ 
ferves,  in  one  of  his-eflays,  that  "  there 
"  is  as  much  difference  between  cpmpre J 
"  hending  a  thought  cjoathed  in  Cicero's 
"  language  and  that  of  an  ordinary  writer, 
"  as  between  feeing  an  object  by  the  light 
<r  of  a  caper  and  the  light  of  the  Sun." 
ir  is  furelv  th,'  -n  a  very  ftfarge, conceit 
'    >  4  ' 


5S4 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


of  the  celebrated  Malbranche,  who  feems 
to  think  the  pleafure  which  arifes  from 
perufing  a  well  written  piece,  is  cf  the 
criminal  kind,  and  has  its  fource  in  the 
wcaknefs  and  effeminacy  of  the  human 
heart.  A  man  mull  have  a  very  uncom- 
mon feverity  of  temper  indeed,'  who  can 
find  any  thing  to  condemn  in  adding 
charms  to  truth,  and  gaining  the  heart  by 
captivating  the  ear;  in  uniting  rofes  with 
the  thorns  of  fclencc,  and  joining  pleafure 
with  iuftruction. 

The  truth  is,  the  mind  is  delighted  with 
a  fine  ftyle,  upon  the  fame  principle  that 
it  prefers  regularity  to  confuiion,  and 
beauty  to  deformity.  A  tafte  of  this  fort 
is  indeed  fo  far  from  being  a  mark  of  any 
depravity  ,cf  cur  nature,  that  I  mould  ra- 
ther confider  it  as  an  evidence,  in  fome 
degree,  of  the  moral  rectitude  cf  its  consti- 
tution, as  it  is  a  proof  of  its  retaining  fome 
relifh  at  bail:  of  harmony  and  order. 

One  might  be  apt  indeed  to  fufpect,  that 
certain  writers  amongft  us  had  confidered 
all  beauties  of  this  fort  in  the  fame  gloomy 
•view  with  Malbranche  :  or,  a:  leait,  that 
ihsy  avoided  every  refinement  in  ftyle,  as 
unworthy  a  lover  of  truth  and  philofbphy. 
Their  fentiments  are  funk  by  the  loweft 
expreffions,  and  fe-em  condemned  to  the 
firft  curfe,  of  creeping  upon  the  ground 
all  the  days  of  their  lire.  Others,  on  the 
contrary,  miftake  pomp  for  dignity;  and, 
in  order  to  raife  their  expreffions  above 
vulgar  language,  lift  them  up  bey.  Qd 
common  apprehenfions,  efteeming  it.  (one 
(hould  imagine)  a  mark  of  their  genius, 
that  it  requires  fome  ingenuity  to  penetrate 
their  meaning.  But  how  few  writers,  like 
1  iphronius,  know  to  hit  thac  true  medium 
which  lies  between  thofe  diftant  extremes  ! 
How  feidom  do  we  meet  with  an  author^ 
whofe  expreffions,  like  thofe  of  my  friend' 
are  glowing  .but  not  glaring  whofe  meta- 
phors are  natural  but  not  common,  whofe 
periods  are  harmonious  but  not  poetical  ; 
in  a  word,  whofe  fentiments  are  well  let' 
and  Shewn  to  the  understanding  in  their 
t.uelt  and  moft  advantageous  luirre. 

Filxojlcrne. 

%    245.      On  Thinking.     In  a  Ut'.er. 

U  one  would  rate,  any  particular  merit 

according  to  its  true  valuation,  it  may  lie 

necefTary,  perhaps,  to  confider  how  far  it 

can  bejuftly  claimed  by  mankind  in  gene- 

'  am  fure,  at  leait,  when  I  read  the 

['':■    uncommon  fentiments    of  your  Jail 

:er,  1  found  their  judic  :us  author  rife 


in  my  efteem,  by  reflecting,  that  there  is 
not  a  more  angular  character  in  the  world, 
than  that  of  a  thinking  man.     Jt  is   not 
merely  having  a  fucceSfion  of  ideas,  which 
lightly  fkim  over  the  mind,  that  can  with 
any  propriety  be  itiled  by  that  denomina- 
tion.    It  is  observing  them  feparatelv  and 
distinctly,   and   ranging  them  under  their 
refpective  clafi.es  ;  it  is  calmly  and  Steadily 
viewing  our  opinions  on  every  fide,  and 
refblutely  tracing  them  through  all   their 
confequences  and  connections,  that  con'ii- 
tutes   the   man   of  reflection,    and    diitin- 
guifhes   reafon  from    fancy.     Providence, 
indeed,  does  not  feem  to  have  formed  any 
very  confiderable   number  of  our   fpecies 
for  an   extenfive  exerciie   of  this   higher 
faculty;  as  the  thoughts  of  the  far  greater 
part  of  mankind  are  necefiarily  restrained 
within    the    ordinary   purpofes   of  animal, 
life.     Eut  even  if  we  lock  up  to  thofe  who 
move   in  much  Superior  orbits,  and  who 
have  opportunities  to  improve,  as  well  as 
leifure  to  exercife,  their  understandings ;  we 
mall  find,  that  thinking  is  one  of  the  leafl 
exerted  privileges  of  cultivated  humanity. 
It  is,  indeed,  an  operation  of  the  mind 
which   meets  with    many    obstructions  to 
check  its  juSt  and  free  direction ;  but  there 
are  two  principles,  which  prevail  more  or 
Iefs  in  the  confiitutions  of  moil  men,  that 
particularly  contribute  to  keep  this  faculty' 
of  the  foul  mien-ployed  :  i  mean,  piide  ami 
indolence.     To  d<  icend  to  truth  through 
the  tedious    progreffion  of  well-examined 
deductions,  is  confidered  as  a  reproach  to 
the   quicknefs  of  understanding;;    as  it  is 
much    too  laborious  a  method  for  any  but 
thofe  who  are  poffeffed  of  a  vigorous  and 
refolute  activity  of  mind.     For  this  reafon, 
the  greater  part  of  our  fpecies  generally 
choofe  either  to  feize  upon  their  conclu- 
sions at  once,  or  to  take  them  by  rebound 
from  others,   as  bell  fuiting  with  their  va- 
nity  or  their  lazinefs.     Accordingly  Mr. 
Locke  obferves,  that  there  are  not  lo  many 
errors  and  wrong  opinions  in  the  world  as 
is  generally  imagined.     Not  that  he  thinks 
mankind  are    by   any   means    uniform  in 
embracing  truth; but  becaufe  the  majority 
of  them,  he  maintains,  have  no  thought  or 
opinion   at  ail  about  thofe  doctrines  con- 
cerning which  they  raife  the  greater!  cla- 
mour.    Xdke  the  common  foidiers  in  an 
army,  they  follow  where   their  leaders  di- 
rect, without  knowing,  or  even  enquiring, 
into  the  caufe  for  which  they  fo  warmly 
contend. 

This  will  account  for  the  flow  fteps  by 

which 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.  5Sj 


which  truth  has  advanced  in  the  world,  on 
one  fide;  and  for  thofe  abiurd  fyilems 
which,  at  different  periods,  have  had  an 
univerfal  currency,  on  the  other.  For  there 
is  a  ftrange  difp'ofition  in  human  nature, 
either  blindly  to  tread  the  fame  paths  that 
have  been  travelled  by  others,  or  to  ftrike 
out  into  the  moll  devious  extravagancies  : 
the  greater  part  of  the  world  will  either 
totally  renounce  their  reafon,  or  reafon  only 
from  the  wild  fu°-°eftions  of  an  heated 
imagination, 

From  the  fame  fource  may  be  derived 
thofe  divifions  and  animofities  which  break 
the  union  both  of  public  and  private  fo- 
cieties,  and  turn  the  peace  and  harmony 
of  human  intercourfe  into  difibnance  and 
contention.  For  while  men  judge  and  act 
by  fuch  meafures  as  have  not  been  proved 
by  the  flandard  of  difpaffionate  reafon,  they 
mufl  equally  be  miftaken  in  their  eftimates 
both  cf  their  own  conduct  and  that  of 
others. 

It  we  turn  our  view  from  active  to  con- 
templative life,  we  may  have  occafion, 
perhaps  to  remark,  that  thinking  is  no  lefs 
uncommon  in  the  literary  than  the  civil 
world.  The  number  of  thofe  writers  who 
can,  with  any  juftnefs  of  expreffion,  be 
termed  thinking  authors,  would  not  form 
a  very  copious  library,  though  one  were 
to  take  in  all  of  that  kind  which  both  an- 
cient and  modern  times  have  produced. 
Neceflarily,  I  imagine,  muft  one  exclude 
from  a  collection  of  this  fort,  all  critics, 
commentators,  tranflators,  and,  in  fhort, 
all  that  numerous  under-tribe  in  the  com- 
monwealth of  literature,  that  owe  their 
exigence  merely  to  the  thoughts  of  others. 
1  mould  reject,  for  the  fame  reafon,  fuch 
compilers  as  Valerius  Maximus  and  Aulus 
Gellius :  though  it  mull  be  owned,  indeed, 
their  works  have  acquired  an  accidental 
value,  as  they  preferve  to  us  feveral  curi- 
ous traces  of  antiquity,  which  time  would 
otherwife  have  entirely  worn  out.  Thofe 
teeming  genuifes  likewife,  who  have  pro- 
pagated the  fruits  of  their  fludies  through 
a  long  feries  of  tracts,  would  have  little 
pretence,  I  believe,  to  be  admitted  as  wri- 
ters of  reflection.  For  this  reafon  I  can- 
not regret  the  lofs  of  thofe  incredible 
numbers  of  compositions  which  fome  of  the 
Ancients  are  faid  to  have  produced  : 

Quale  fuit  C.iffi  rapido  fei  ventius  amni 
iijgeniurri  ;  capfis  qviem  fama  elt  effe,  Hbrifque 
Amluflum  propriis.  Hoy. 

Thus  Epicurus,  we  are  told,  left  behind 


him  three  hundred  volumes  of  his  own 
Works  wherein  he  had  not  inferted  a  fmgle 
quotation  ;  and  we  have  it  upon  the  autho- 
rity of  Varro's  own  words,  that  hehimfelf 
compofed  four  hundred  and  ninety  books. 
Seneca  allures  us,  that  Didymus  the 
Grammarian  wrote  no  lefs  than  four  thou- 
fand  ;  but  Origin,  it  feems,  was  yet  more 
prolific,  and  extended  his  performances 
even  to  fix  thoufand  treatifes.  It  is  obvi- 
ous to  imagine,  with  what  fort  of  materials 
the  productions  of  fuch  expeditious  work- 
men were  wrought  up  :  found  thought  and 
well-matured  reflections  could  have  no 
fhare,  we  may  be  fure,  in  thele  bally  per- 
formances. Thus  are  books  multiplied, 
whilft  authors  are  fcarce ;  and  fo  much 
eafier  is  it  to  write  than  to  think  !  But 
fliall  I  not  myfelf,  Pakmedes,  prove  anin- 
ftance  that  it  is  lb,  if  I  fufpend  any  longer 
your  own  more  important  reflections,  by 
interrupting  you  with  luch  as  mine? 

Fitzq/borne. 

§   246.     Reflexions   on  the   Advantages   cf 
Con<verfation. 

It  is  with  much  pleafure  I  look  back 
upon  that  philofophical  week  which  I  lately- 
enjoyed   at ;  as   there  is  no  part, 

perhaps,  cf  focial  life  which  affords  more 
real  fatisfaction  than  thofe  hours  which  one 
pafles  in  rational  and  unreferved  conver- 
sation. The  free  communication  of  fenti- 
ments  amongft  a  fet  of  ingenious  and  fpe- 
culative  friends,  fuch  as  thofe  you  gave  me 
the  opportunity  of  meeting,  throws  the 
mind  into  the  moft  advantageous  exercife, 
and  fhews  the  ftrength  or  weaknefs  of  its 
opinions,  with  greater  force  of  conviction 
than  any  other  method  we  can  employ. 

That  "  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be 
alone,"  is  true  in  more  views  of  our  fpecies 
than  one  ;  and  fociety  gives  ftrength  to  our, 
reafon,  as  well  as  poliih  to  our  manners. 
The  foul,  when  left  entirely  to  her  own 
folitary  contemplations,  is  infenfibly  drawn 
by  a  fort  of  conllitutionai  bias,  which  ge- 
nerally leads  her  opinions  to  the  fide  of 
her  inclinations.  Flence  it  is  that  fne  con- 
tracts thofe  peculiarities  of  reafoning,  and 
little  habits  of  thinking,  which  fo  often 
confirm  her  in  the  moft  fantaftical  errors. 
But  nothing  is  more  likely  to  recover  the 
mind  from  this  falfe  bent,  than  the  counter- 
warmth  of  impartial  debate.  Converfation 
opens  our  views,  and  gives  our  faculties  a 
more  vigorous  play  ;  it  puts  us  upon  turn- 
ing our  notions  on  every  fide,  and  holds 
them  up  to  a  light  that  riifcoveis  thofe  la- 
tent 


!86 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


tent  flaws  which  would  probably  have  lain 
concealed  in  the  gloom  of  unagitated  ab- 
gra&ion.  Accordingly,  one  may  remark, 
that  moil  of  thofe  wild  doctrines,  which 
Lave  been  let  loofe  upon  the  world,  have 
generally  owed  their  birth  to  perfons  whofe 
circumftances  or  difpofitions  have  given 
them  the  feweft  opportunities  of  canvaffing 
their  refpedtive  fyftems  in  the  way  of  free 
and  friendly  debate.  Had  the  authors  of 
many  an  extravagant  hypothecs  difcufled 
their  principles  in  private  circles,  ere  they 
had  given  vent  to  them  in  public,  the  ob- 
fervation  of  Varro  had  never,  perhaps,  been 
made,  (or  never,  at  leaft,  with  fo  much  juf- 
ttce)  that  "  there  is  no  opinion  fo  abfurd, 
"  bat  has  fome  philofopher  or  other  to 
«  produce  in  its  fupport." 

Upon  this  principle,  J  imagine,  it  is,  that 
fame  of  the  fineft  pieces  of  antiquity  are 
written  in  the  dialogue-manner.  Plato  and 
Tally,  it  fhouid  feem,  thought  truth  could 
lKjver  be  examined  with  more  advantage 
than  amidft  the  amicable  oppofition  of  well 
regulated  converfe.  It  is  probable,  indeed, 
that  fubjecis  of  aferious  and  philofophical 
iind  were  more  frequently  the  topics  of 
Greek  and  Roman  converiations  than  they 
■zee  of  ours;  as  the  circumftances  of  the 
world  had  not  yet  given  occafion  to  thofe 
prudential  reaions  which  may  now,  per- 
haps, reftrain  a  more  free  exchange  of  fen- 
timents  among  it  us.  There  was  fome- 
thin&,  Iikewiie,  in  the  very  fcenes  them- 
felves  where  they  ulually  aflembled,  that 
1  unavoidably  turned  the  ftream  uf 
- 1  r  converfations  into  this  ufeful  channel. 
Their  rooms  and  gardens  were  generally 
.!,  you  know,  with  the  ftatues  of  the 
eft  matters  of  reafon  that  had  then 
red  in  the  world  ;  and  while  Socrates 
or  Ariftotle  ftood  in  their  view,  it  is  no 
wonder  their  difcourfc  fell  upon  thofe  fub- 
jecis which  fuch  animating  reprefentations 
would  naturally  fuggeft.  It  is  probable, 
ire,  that  many  of  thofe  ancient  pieces 
which  are  drawn  up  in  ths  dialogue-man- 
ner, were  no  imaginary  converiations  in- 
vented by  their  authors  ;  but  i'.uthkd  tran- 
fcrip'.s  from  real  life.  And  it  is-  this  cir- 
cumftance,  perhaps,  as  much  as  any  other, 
which  contributes  to  give  them  that  re- 
markable advantage  over  the  generality 
vl  m0  |  .,,  eompofitions  which  have  been 
!  upon  the  fame  plan.  I  am  fare,  at 
,  -  r>uld  I  tree  name  more  than  t\;:c^ 
'■  of  this  Iqnd   chichi  i       ippeared 

in  our  fan    uage   worthy   of    none:.      My 
lord  Sh  tftefbury'     ••".'■  guc,  faitle^  "  The 


Moraliils;"  Mr.  Addifon's  upon  Ancient 
Coins ;  Mr.  Spence's  upon  the  Odyfley  ; 
together  with  thofe  of  my  very  ingenious 
friend,  Philemon  to  Hydafpes  ;  are,  almoft, 
the  onlv  productions  in  this  way  which  have 
hitherto  come  forth  amongft  us  with  ad- 
vantage. Thefe,  indeed,  are  all  mailer- 
pieces  of  the  kind,  and  written  in  the  true 
fpirit  of  learning  and  politenefs.  The  con- 
verfation  in  each  of  thefe  moil  elegant  per- 
formances is  conducted,  not  in  the  ufual 
abfurd  method  of  introducing  one  difputant 
to  be  tamely  filenced  by  the  other;  but  in 
the  more  lively  dramatic  manner,  where 
a  jure  contrail  of  characters  is  preferred 
throughout,  and  where  thefevcral  fpeakers 
fupport  their  respective  fentiments  with  all 
the  ftrength  and  fpirit  of  a  well-bred  op- 
pofition. Fitzofbome. 

§    247.      0,7  the  Great  Ilijhrical  Ages. 

Every  age  has  produced  heroes  and 
politicians ;  all  nations  have  experienced 
revolutions ;  and  all  hillories  are  nearly 
alike,  to  thofe  who  feek  only  to  furniih 
their  memories  with  facts  ;  but  whofoever 
thinks,  or,  what  is  ftill  mere  rare,  whofo- 
ever has  tafte,  will  find  but  four  ages  in  the 
hiftory  of  the  world.  Thefe  four  happy 
ages  are  thofe  in  which  the  arts  were  car- 
ried to  perfection  ;  and  which,  by  ferving 
as  the  asra  of  the  greatnefs  of  the  human 
mind,  are  examples  for  pollerity. 

The  iirll  of  thefe  ages  to  which  true 
glory  is  annexed,  is  that  of  Philip  and 
Alexander,  or  that  of  a  Pericles,  aDcmoib 
henes,  an  Ariilotle,  a  Plato,  an  Apelles,  a 
Phidias,  and  a  Praxiteles  ;  and  this  honour 
has  been  confined  within  the  limits  of  an- 
cient Greece  ;  the  reft  of  the  known  world 
was  then  in  a  ftate  of  barbarifm. 

The  fecund  age  is  that  of  Casfar  and 
Auguftus,  diftinguifhed  likewife  by  the 
names  of  Lucretius,  Cicero,  Titus,  Li- 
vius,  Virgil,  Horace,  Ovid,  Varro,  and 
Vitruvius. 

The  third  is  thai  which  followed  the 
taking  of  Conftantinople  by  Mahomet  U, 
Then  a  family  of  private  citizens  was  ken 
to  do  that  which  the  kings  ot  Europe  ought 
to  have  un.b-  1  '.  .  The  Mcdicis invited 
to  Florence  the  Learned,  who  had  been 
driven  out  oi  ■  re  ceby  the  Turks. — This, 
was  the  ■  ;  [taly's  glory.  The  polite 
arts  had  already  recovered  a  new  life  in 
that  country;  the  Italians  honoured  them 
with  ti  title  of  Virtu,  as  the  fir  ft  Greeks 
had  tiiftin:  l.tied  them  by  the  name  of 
v,  ...;'. ...;.   "  tiv  :*y    thing   tended   toward 

F\**S  -.'■    : 


BOOK  IL      CLASSICAL    AND   HISTORICAL.         587 


perfection;  a  Michael  Angelo,  a  Raphael, 
a  Titian,  a  Taflb,  and  an  Ariofto,  flou- 
rifhed.  The  art  of  engraving  was  invented  ; 
elegant  arciiiteclure  appeared  again,  as 
admirable  as  in  the  moll  triumphant  ages 
of  B.ome ;  and  the  Gothic  barbarifm,  which 
.had  disfigured  Europe  in  every  kind  of 
production,  was  driven  from  Italy,  to 
mak     way  for  good  taite. 

The  arts,  always  tranfplanted  from 
Greece  to  Italy,  found  themfelves  in  a 
fav  ^ble  foil,  where  they  inilantly  pro- 
duced fruit.  France,  England,  Germany, 
anc.  S]  lin,  aimed  in  their  turns  to  gather 
thei  t'ruits ;  but  either  they  could  not  live 
inthoi.  climates,  or  elfe  they  degenerated 
very  faft. 

Francis  I.  encouraged  learned  men,  but 
fuch  as  were  merely  learned  men  :  he  had 
architects ;  but  he  had  no  Michael  Angelo, 
nor  Palladio :  he  endeavoured  in  vain  to 
eflablilh  fchools  for  painting  ;  the  Italian 
mailers  whom  he  invited  to  France,  raifed 
no  pupils  there.  Some  epigrams  and  a 
few  loofe  tales,  made  the  whole  of  our  poe- 
try. Rabelais  was  the  only  profe-writer 
in  vogue  in  the  time  of  Henry  II. 

In  a  word,  the  Italians  alone  were  in 
pofTefiion  of  every  thing  that  was  beau- 
tiful, excepting  mufic,  which  was  then  but 
in  a  rude  Hate;  and  experimental  philo- 
sophy, which  was  every  where  equally  un- 
known. 

Laitly,  the  fourth  age  is  that  known  by 
the  name  of  the  age  of  Lewis  XIV.  and  is 
perhaps  that  which  approaches  the  neareil 
to  perfection  of  all  the  four;  enriched  by 
the  difcoveriesof  the  three  former  ones,  it 
has  done  greater  things  in  certain  kinds 
than  thofe  three  together.  All  the  arts, 
indeed,  were  net  carried  farther  than  un- 
der the  Medicis,  Auguilas,  and  Alexander ; 
but  human  reafenin  general  was  moreim- 
proved.  In  this  age  we  firil  became  ac- 
quainted with  found  philofcphy.  It  may 
truly  be  faid,  that  from  the  lafl  years  of 
Cardinal  Richelieu's  adminillration  till 
thofe  which  followed  the  death  of  Lewis 
XIV.  there  has  happened  fuch  a  general  re- 
volution in  our  arts, ourgenius,our  manners, 
and  even  in  our  government,  as  will  (etvc 
as  an  immortal  mark  to  the  true  glory  of 
our  country.  This  happy  influence  has  not 
been  confined  to  France  ;  it  has  communi- 
cated itfelfto  England,  where  it  has  flirred 
up  an  emulation  which  that  ingenious  and 
deeply-learned  nation  ilood  in  need  of  at 
that  time  ;  it  has  introduced  talle  into  Ger- 
many, and  the  fciences  into  Ruiliaj  it  has 


even  re-animated  Italy,  which  was  lan- 
guifhing ;  and  Europe  is  indebted  for  its 
politenefs  and  fpirit  of  fociety,  to  the  court 
of  Lewis  XIV. 

Before  this  time,  the  Italians  called  all 
the  people  on  this  fide  the  Alps  by  the 
name  of  Barbarians.  It  mull  be  owned 
that  the  French,  in  fome  degree,  deferved 
this  reproachful  epithet.  Our  forefathers 
joined  the  romantic  gallantry  of  the  Moors 
with  the  Gothic  rudenefs,  They  had  hard- 
ly any  of  the  agreeable  arts  amongll 
them ;  which  is  a  proof  that  the  ufeful  art* 
were  likewife  neglected  ;  for,  when  once 
the  things  of  ufe  are  carried  to  perfection, 
the  tranlition  is  quickly  made  to  the  ele- 
gant and  the  agreeable  ;  and  it  is  not  at 
all  aftonifhing,  that  painting,  fculpture, 
poetry,  eloquence,  and  philofophy,  lhould 
be  in  a  manner  unknown  to  a  nation,  who, 
though  pofiefled  of  harbours  on  the  Weft- 
ern  ocean  and  the  Mediterranean  fea, 
were  without  fhips;  and  who,  though 
fond  of  luxury  to  an  excefs,  were  hardly 
provided  with  the  moll  common  manufac- 
tures. 

The  Jews,  the  Genoefe,  the  Venetians, 
the  Portugticfe,  the  Flemilh,  the  Dutch, 
and  the  Englifh,  carried  on,  in  their  turns, 
the  trade  of  France,  which  was  ignorant 
even  of  the  firil  principles  of  commerce. 
Lewis  XIII.  at  his  acceihon  to  the  crown, 
had  not  a  Jingle  lhip ;  the  city  of  Paris 
contained  not  quite  four  hundred  thoufand 
men,  and  had  not  above  four  fine  public 
edifices;  the  other  cities  of  the  kingdom 
refembled  thofe  pitiful  villages  which  we 
fee  on  the  other  fide  of  the  Loire.  The  no- 
bility, who  were  all  llationed  in  the  country, 
in  dungeons  furrounded  with  deep  ditches, 
opprefied  the  peafiint  who  cultivated  the 
land.  The  high  roads  were  almoil  impail- 
able  ;  the  towns  were  dellitute  of  police  ; 
and  the  government  had  hardly  any  credit 
among  foreign  nations. 

We  mull  acknowledge,  that,  ever  fince 
the  decline  of  the  Carlovingian  family, 
France  had  languished  more  or  lefs  in  this 
infirm  frate,  merely  for  want  of  the  benefit 
of  a  good  adminillration. 

For  a  Hate  to  be  powerful,  the  peop!« 
mud  either  enjoy  a  liberty  founded  on  the 
laws,  or  the  royal  authority  mult  be  fixed 
beyond  all  oppofition.  In  France,  the  peo- 
ple were  Haves  till  the  reign  of  Philip  Au- 
gullus;  the  noblemen  were  tyrants  till  Lewis 
XL  ;  and  the  kings,  always  employed  in 
maintaining  their  authority  againft  their 
vaiiak,  had  neither  Ieifure  to  think  about 


;SS 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  happinefs   of  their  fubjects,   nor   the 
power  of  making  them  happy. 

Lewis  XI.  did  a  great  deal  for  the  regal 
power,  but  nothing  for  the  happinefs  or 
glory  of  the  nation.  Francis  I.  gave  birth 
to  trade,  navigation,  and  all  the  arts  :  but 
he  was  too  unfortunate  to  make  them  take 
root  in  the  nation  during  his  time,  fo  that 
they  all  perifhed  with  him.  Henry  the 
Great  was  on  tiie  point  of  raifmg  France 
from  the  calamities  and  barbarifms  in  which 
ihe  had  been  plunged  by  thirty  years  of 
difcord,  when  he  was  affaffiiiated  in  his  ca- 
pital, in  the  midll  of  a  people  whom  he  had 
begun  to  make  happy.  The  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu,  bufted  in  humbling  the  houfe  of 
Auftria,  the  Calvinifls,  and  the  Grandees, 
did  not  enjoy  a  power  fufficiently  undif- 
turbed  to  reform  the  nation;  but  he  had 
at  leall  the  honour  of  beginning  this  happy 
work. 

Thus,  for  the  fpace  of  900  years,  our 
genius  had  been  almoft  always  retrained 
under  a  Gothic  government,  in  the  midft 
of  diviiions  and  civil  wars ;  deftitute  of 
any  laws  or  fixed  cuftcms  ;  changing  every 
fecend  century  a  language  which  itiil  con- 
tinued rude  and  unformed.  The  nobles 
were  without  difeipiine,  and  ftrangers  to 
every  thing  but  war  and  idlenefs :  the  clergy 
lived  in  diford.er  and  ignorance;  and  the 
common  people  without  induitry,  and  ftu- 
pified  in  their  wre.tchednefs. 

The  French  had  no  {hare  either  in  the 
great  difcoveiies,  or  admirable  inventions 
©f  ether  nations  :  they  have  no  title  to  the 
difcoveries  of  printing,  gunpowder,  glaffes, 
teieicopes,  the  fector,  cempafs,  the  air- 
pump,  or  the  true  fyftem  of  the  univerfe : 
they  were  making  tournaments,  while  the 
Portuguefe  und  Spaniards  were  difcover- 
ing  and  conquering  new  countries  from  the 
call  to  the  well  of  the  known  world.  Charles 
V.  had  already  fcattered  the  treasures  of 
Mexico  over  Europe,  before  the  fubjects  of 
Francis  I.  hadr difcovered  the  uncultivated 
country  of  Canada  ;  but,  by  the  little  which 
the  French  did  in  the  beginning  of  the 
fixteenth  century,  we  may  lee  what  they 
are  capable  of  when  properly  conducted. 

Foil  aire. 

§  248.  On  the  Cotiftizution  of  Ex  gland. 
Jr.  every  government  there  are  three 
forts  of  power:  the  legiflative ;  the  exe- 
cutive, in  refpect  to  things  dependent  on 
tl  law  of  nations  ;  and  the  executive,  in 
■  ■  '.  .  i  ■  ■  that  depend  on  the  civil 
law. 


By  virtue  of  the  firft,  the  prince  or  ma- 
gin' i  ate  enacts  temporary  or  perpetual 
laws,  and  amends  or  abrogates  thofe  that 
have  been  already  enacted.  By  the  fecond, 
he  makes  peace  or  war,  fends  or  receives 
embaffies,  he  eltablilhes  the  public  fecurity, 
and  provides  againit  invalions.  By  the 
third,  he  puriiihes criminals,  or  determines 
the  difputes  that  arife  between  individuals. 
The  latter  we  (hall  call  the  judiciary  power, 
and  the  other  fimply  the  executive  power 
of  the  date. 

The  political  liberty  of  the  fubjeet  is  a 
tranquillity  of  mind,  arifing  from  the  opi- 
nion each  perfon  has  of  his  fafety.  In  order 
to  have  this  liberty,  it  is  requiiite  the  go- 
vernment be  fo  conftituted  as  one  man  need 
not  to  be  afraid  of  another. 

When  the  legiflative  and  executive  pow- 
ers are  united  in  the  fame  perfon,  or  in  the 
fame  body  of  mag  ill  rates,  there  can  be  no 
liberty  ;  becaute  apprehenfions  may  arife, 
left  the  fame  monarch  or  fenate  fhould  enact 
tyrannical  laws,  to  execute  them  in  a  ty- 
rannical manner. 

Again,  there  is  no  liberty,  if  the  power 
of  judgiug  be  not  feparated  from  the  le- 
giflative and  executive  powers.  Were  it 
joined  with  the  legiflative,  the  life  and 
liberty  of  the  fubjecl  would  be  expofed  to 
arbitrary  controul;  for  the  judge  would 
be  then  the  leghiator.  Were  it  joined 
to  the  executive  power,  the  judge  might 
behave  with  all  the  violence  of  an  op- 
preflbr. 

There  would  be  an  end  of  every  thing, 
were  the  lame  man,  or  the  iame  body,  whe- 
ther of  the  nobles,  or  of  the  people,  to  ex- 
ercife  thofe  three  powers,  that  of  enacting 
laws,  that  of  executing  the  public  refolu- 
tions,  and  that  of  judging  the  crimes  or 
differences  of  individuals. 

Moll  kingdoms  of  Europe  enjoy  a  mo- 
derate government,  becaufe  the  prince, 
\.  I10  is  inverted  with  the  two  firft  powers, 
leaves  the  third  to  his  fubjecis.  In  Turky, 
where  thefe  three  powers  are  united  in 
the  Sultan's  perfon,  the  fubjects  groan 
under  the  weight  of  a  mod:  frightful  op- 
preflion. 

In  the  republics  of  Italy,  where  thefe 
three  powers  are  united,  there  is  lefs  liberty 
than  in  our  monarchies.  Hence  their  go- 
vernment is  obliged  to  have  recourfe  to  as 
violent  methods  for  itsfupport,  as  even  that 
of  the  Turks;  witnefs  the  ftate  inquifitors 
at  Venice,  and  the  lion's  mouth,  into  which 
every  informer  may  at  all  hours  throw  his 
written  accufations. 

What 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


5*9 


What  a  fituation  muft  the  poor  fubject 
be  in  under  thofe  republics  !  The  lame 
body  of  magistrates  are  posTeffed,  as  exe- 
cutors of  the  law,  of  the  whole  power  they 
have  given  themfelves  in  quality  of  legis- 
lators. They  may  plunder  the  ftate  by 
their  general  determinations  ;  and,  as  they 
have  likewiie  the  judiciary  power  in  their 
hands,  every  private  citizen  may  be  ruined 
by  their  particular  deciiions. 

The  whole  power  is  here  united  in  one 
body ;  and  though  there  is  no  external 
pomp  that  indicates  a  defpotic  b.vay,  yet 
the  people  feel  the  effects  of  it  every  mo- 
ment. 

Hence  it  is  that  many  of  the  princes  of 
Europe,  whofe  aim  has  been  levelled  at 
arbitrary  power,  have  conltantly  let  out 
with  uniting  in  their  own  perfons  all  the 
branches  of  magiitracy,  and  all  the  great 
offices  of  ftate. 

I  allow,  indeed,  that  the  mere  heredi- 
tary ariftocracy  of  the  Italian  republics, 
does  not  anfvver  exactly  to  the  deipotic 
power  of  the  eaftern  princes.  The  num- 
ber of  magiitrates  fometimes  foftens  the 
power  of  the  magiitracy  ;  the  whole  body 
of  the  nobles  do  not  always  concur  in  the 
fame  dehgns ;  and  different  tribunals  are 
erected,  tnat  temper'  each  other.  Thus, 
at  Venice,  the  legiflative  power  is  in  the 
Council,  the  executive  in  the  Pregadi,  and 
the  judiciary  in  the  Quarantia  But  the 
mifchiefis,  that  thefc  different  tribunals 
yre  compofed  of  magiitrates  all  belonging 
to  the  fame  body,  which  coniiitutes  aim  oft 
.one  and  the  fame  power. 

The  judiciary  power  ought  not  to  be 
given  to  a  Handing  fenate;  it  fisould  be 
exercifed  by  perfons  taken  from  the  body 
of  the  people  (as  at  Athens)  at  certain 
times  of  the  year,  and  purfuant  to  a  form 
and  manner  prefcribed  by  law,  in  order 
to  erect  a  tribunal  that  fhould  laft  only  as 
long  as  neceflity  requires. 

By  this  means  the  power  of  judging,  a 
power  fo  terrible  to  mankind,  not  being 
annexed  to  any  particular  ftate  or  profef- 
hon,  becomes,  as  it  were,  invifible.  People 
have  not  then  the  judges  continually  pre- 
sent to  their  view  ;  they  fear  the  office,  but 
not  the  magistrate. 

In  accufations  of  a  deep  or  criminal  na- 
ture, it  is  proper  the  perfon  accufed  mould 
have  the  privilege  of  chuiing  in  fome 
meaiure  his  judges,  in  concurrence  with 
the  law;  or  at  leaft  he  fhould  have  a  right 
to  except  againit  fo  great  a  number,  that 
the  remainingpart  may  be  deemed  his  own 
choice. 


The  other  two  powers  may  be  given, 
rather  to  magiitrates  or  permanent  bodies, 
becaufe  they  are  not  exercifed  on  any  pri- 
vate fubject ;  one  being  no  more  than  the 
general  will  of  the  itate,  and  the  other  the 
execution  of  that  general  will. 

But  though  the  tribunals  ought  not  to 
be  fixed,  yet  the  judgments  ought,  and  to 
fuch  a  degree  as  to  be  always  conformable 
to  the  exact  letter  of  the  law.  Were  they 
to  be  the  private  opinion  of  the.  judge, 
people  would  then  live  in  fociety  without 
knowing  exactly  the  obligation  it  lays 
them  under. 

1  he  judges  ought  likewife  to  be  in  the 
fame  liation  as  the  accufed,  or  in  other 
words,  his  peers,  to  the  end  that  he  may 
not  imagine  he  is  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
per  Ions  inclined  to  treat  him  with -rigour. 
If  the  legiflature  leaves  the  executive 
power  in  pofleffion  of  a  right  to  imprifon 
thofe  fubjects  who  can  give  fecurity  for 
their  good  behaviour,  there  is  an  end  of 
liberty  ;  unlefs  they  are  taken  up,  in  order 
to  anfwer  without  delay  to  a  capital  crime  : 
in  this  cafe  they  are  really  free,  being  fub- 
jeft  only  to  the  power  of  the  law. 

But  lhould  the  legiflature  think  itfelf  in 
danger  by  fome  fecret  confpiracy  againfr. 
the  ftate,  or  by  a  correfpondence  with  a 
foreign  enemy,  it  might  authorife  the  exe- 
cutive power,  for  a  fhort  and  limited  time, 
to  imprifon  fufpected  perfons,  who  in  that 
cafe  would  lofe  their  liberty  only  for  a 
while,  to  preferve  it  for  ever. 

And  this  is  the  only  reafonable  method 
than  can  be  fubitituted  to  the  tyrannical 
magiitracy  of  the  Ephori,  and  to  the  ftate 
inquiiitors  of  Venice,  who  are  alfo  defpo- 
tical. 

As  in  a  free  ftate,  every  man  who  is 
fuppofed  a  free  agent,  ought  to  be  his  own 
governor;  fo  the  legiflative  power  lhould 
refide  in  the  whole  body  of  the  people. 
But  fince  this  is  impofiible  in  large  ftates, 
and  in  fmall  ones  is  fubject  to  many  incon- 
veniences, it  is  fit N  the  people  fhould  act 
by  their  representatives,  what  they  cannot 
aft  by  themfelves. 

The  inhabitants  of  a  particular  town  are 
much  better  acquainted  with  its  wants  and 
interefts,  than  with  thofe  of  other  places ; 
and  are  better  judges  of  the  capacity  of 
their  neighbours,  than  of  that  of  the  reft 
of  their  countrymen.  The  members  there- 
fore of  the  legiflature  fhould  not  be  chofen 
from  the  general  body  of  the  nation  ;  but 
it  is  proper,  that  in  every  confiderable 
place,  a  reprefentative  fhould  be  elected 
by  the  inhabitants. 


590 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE, 


The  great  advantage  of  reprefentatives 
is  their  "being  capable  of  difcuffmg  affairs. 
For  this  the  people  collectively  are  ex- 
tremely unfit,  which  is  one  of  the  greatefl 
inconveniences  of  a  democracy. 

It  is  not  at  all  necefTary  that  the  repre- 
fentatives, who  have  received  a  general  in- 
fraction from  their  electors,  mould  wait  to 
be  particularly  inftrudted  in  every  affair,  as 
is  praclifed  in  the  diets  of  Germany.  True 
it  is,  that  by  this  way  of  proceeding,  the 
fpeeches  of  thedeputiesjnight  with  greater 
propriety  be  called  the  voice  of  the  nation  ; 
but,  on  the  ether  hand,  this  would  throw 
them  into  infinite  delays,  would  give  each 
deputy  a  power  of  controlling  the  affem- 
bly  ;  and  on  the  moft  urgent  and  preffing 
occaiions,  the  fprings  of  the  nation  might 
be  ftopt  by  a  fingle  caprice. 

When  the  deputies,  as  Mr.  Sidney  well 
obferves,  reprefent  a  body  of  people,  as  in 
Hoi  land,  they  ought  to  be  accountable  to 
their  conftituents:  but  it  is  a  different  thing 
in  England,  where  they  are  deputed  by 
boroughs. 

AH  the  inhabitants  of  the  feveral  dif- 
tricts  ought  to  have  a  right  of  voting  at 
the  election  of  a  representative,  except 
fuch  as  are  in  fomean  a  fituation,  as  to  be 
deemed  to  have  no  wjll  of  their  own. 

One  great  fault  there  was  in  moil:  of  the 
ancient  republics ;  that  the  people  had  a 
right  to  active  reiblutions,  fuch  as  require 
fome  execution  ;  a  thing  of  which  they  are 
abfolutely  incapable.  They  ought  to  have 
no  hand  in  the  government,  but  for  the 
chufing  of  reprefentatives,  which  is  within 
their  reach.  For  though  few  can  tell  the 
exact  degree  of  men's  capacities,  yet  there 
are  none  but  are  capable  of  knowing,  in 
general,  whether  the  perfon  they  chufe  is 
better  qualified  than  molt  of  his  neigh- 
bours. 

Neither  ought  the  reprefentative  body 
to  be  chofen  for  active  reiblutions,  for  which 
it  is  not  fo  fit;  but  for  the  enacting  of 
law?,  or  to  fee  whether  the  laws  already 
enacted  be  duly  executed;  a  thing  they 
are  very  capable  of,  and  which  none  in- 
deed but  themfclvcs  can  properly  perform. 

In  a  ilate,  there  are  always  perfons 
diftinguifhed  by  their  birth,  riches,  or  ho- 
nours'; but  were  they  to  be  confounded 
with  the  common  people,  and  to  have  only 
the  weight  of  a  fingle  vote  like  the  reft, 
the  common  liberty  would  be  their  iia- 
yery,  and  they  would  have  no  intereft  in 
fupporting  it,  as  mod  of  the  popular  refo- 
lutions  would  be  againft  them.     The  (hare 


they  have,  therefore,  in  the  leg  filature, 
ought  to  be  proportioned  to  the  oth<  1- 
vancages  they  have  in  the  itate  ;  which, 
happens  only  when  they  form  a  body  that 
has  a  right  to  put  a  flop  to  the  enterprizes 
of  the  people,  as  the  people  have  a  right 
to  put  a  Hop  to  theirs. 

The  legiflative  power  is  therefore  com- 
mitted to  the  body  of  the  nobles,  and  to 
the  body  chofen  to  reprefent  the  people, 
which  have  each  their  affemblies  an  I 
liberations  apart,  each  their  feparate  views 
and  interefts. 

Of  the  three  powers  above-mentioned, 
the  judiciary  is  in  fome  meafure  next  to 
nothing.  There  remains  therefore  only 
two  ;  and  as  thofe  have  need  of  a  regulat- 
ing power  to  temper  them,  the  part  of  the 
legiflative  body,  compoled  of  the  nobility,  is 
extremely  proper  for  this  very  purpofe. 

The  body  of  the  nobility  ought  to  be 
hereditary.  In  the  firft  place  it  is  fo  ia 
its  own  nature  :  and  in  the  next,,  there 
muft  be  a  confiderable  intereft  to  prefervs 
its  privileges;  privileges  that  in themfelves 
are  obnoxious  to  popular  envy,  and  of 
courfe,  in  a  free  ftate,  are  always  in  dan- 
ger. 

But  as  an  hereditary  power  might  be 
tempted  to  purfue  its  own  particular  inte- 
refts, and  forget  thofe  of  the  people  ;  it  is 
proper  that,  where  they  may  reap  a  fingu- 
lar  advantage  from  being  corrupted,  as  in 
the  laws  relating  to  the  fupplies,  they 
Ihould  have  no  other  fhare  in  the  legilla- 
tion,  than  the  power  of  rejecting,  and  not 
that  of  refolving. 

JBy  the  power  of  refolving,  I  mean  the 
right  of  ordaining  by  their  own  authority, 
or  of  amending  what  has  been  ordained 
by  others.  By  the  power  of  rejecting,  I 
would  be  underftood  to  mean  the  right  of 
annulling  a  refolution  taken  by  another, 
which  was  the  power  of  the  tribunes  at 
Rome.  And  though  the  perfon  poficfied 
of  the  privilege  of  rejecting  may  likewife 
have  the  right  of  approving,  yet  this  ap- 
probation panes  for  no  more  than  a  decla- 
ration, that  he  intends  to  make  no  ufe  of 
his  privilege  of  rejecting,  and  is  derived 
from  that  very  privilege. 

The  executive  power  ought  to  be  in  the 
hands  of  a  monarch  :  becaufe  this  branch 
of  government,  which  has  always  need  of 
expedition,  is  better  adminiitered  by  one 
than  by  many:  whereas  whatever  depends 
on  the  legiflative  power,  is  oftentimes  bet- 
ter regulated  by  many  than  by  a  fingle 
perfon. 

But 


BOOK   IT.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL.        5$i 


But  if  there  was  no  monarch,  and  the 
executive  power  was  committed  to  a  cer- 
tain number  of  perfons  Selected  from  the 
legislative  body,  there  would  be  an  end 
then  of  liberty  ;  by  reafon  the  two  powers 
would  be  united,  as  the  fame  perfons 
would  actually  fometimes  have,  and  would 
moreover  be  always  able  to  have,  a  Share 
in  both. 

Were  the  legislative  body  to  be  a  con- 
siderable time  without  meeting,  this  would 
likewife  put  an  end  to  liberty.  For  one 
of  thefe  two  things  would  naturally  follow  ; 
either  that  there  would  be  no  longer  any 
legislative  refolutions,  and  then  the  Slate 
would  fall  into  anarchy  ;  or  that  thefe  re- 
folutions would  be  taken  by  the  executive 
power,  which  would  render  it  abfolute. 

It  would  be  needleis  for  the  legislative 
body  to  continue  always  aifembled.  This 
would  be  troublefome  to  the  representa- 
tives, and  moreover  would  cut  out  too 
much  work  for  the  executive  power,  fo  as 
to  take  oSf  its  attention  Srom  executing, 
and  oblige  it  to  think  only  of  defending  its 
own  prerogatives,  and  the  right  it  has  to 
execute. 

Again,  were  the  legislative  body  to  be 
always  aifembled,  it  might  happen  to  be 
kept  up  only  by  filling  the  places  of  the 
deceaied  members  with  new  reprefenta- 
tives ;  and  in  that  cafe,  if  the  legisla- 
tive body  was  once  corrupted,  the  evil 
would  be  pall:  all  remedy.  When  different 
legislative  bodies  fucceed  one  another, 
the  people,  who  have  a  bad  opinion  of 
that  which  is  actually  fitting,  may  reason- 
ably entertain  fome  hopes  of  the  next :  but 
were  it  to  be  always  the  Same  body,  the 
people,  upon  feeing  it  once  corrupted, 
would  no  longer  expect  any  good  from  its 
laws  ;  and  of  courfe  they  would  either  be- 
come defperate,  or  fall  into  a  State  of  in- 
dolence. 

The  legislative  body  Should  not  aSfemble 
of  itfelf  For  a  body  is  fuppoled  to  have 
no  will  but  when  it  is  affembled  :  and  be- 
fides,  were  it  not  to  aifemble  unanimously 
it  would  be  impollible  to  determine  which 
was  really  the  legislative  body,  the  part 
aSlembled  or  the  other.  And  if  it  had  a 
right  to  prorogue  itfelf,  it  might  happen 
never  to  be  prorogued ;  which  would  be 
extremely  dangerous  in  cafe  it  Should  ever 
attempt  to  encroach  On  the  executive 
power.  Befides,  there  are  feafons,  fome 
of  which  are  more  proper  than  others,  for 
allembling  the  legislative  body :  it  is  fit 
therefore  that  the  executive  power  Should 
regulate  the  time  of  convening  as  well  as 


the  duration  of  thofe  aSfemblies, according 
to  the  circumitances  and  exigencies  of  Stat* 
known  to  itfelf. 

Were  the  executive  power  not  to  have 
a  right  of  putting  a  Stop  to  the  incroach- 
ments  of  the  legislative  body,  the  latter 
would  become  defpotic  ;  for  as  it  might 
arrogate  to  itfelf  what  authority  it  pleated, 
it  would  foon  deftroy  all  the  other  powers.. 

But  it  is  not  proper,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  the  legislative  power  mould  have  a 
right  to  Stop  the  executive.  For  as  the 
executive  has  its  natural  limits,  it  is  ufelels 
to  confine  it;  befides,  the  executive  power 
is  generally  employed  in  momentary  ope- 
rations. The  power,  therefore,  of  the 
Roman  tribunes  was  faulty,  as  it  put  a  Stop 
not  only  to  the  legislation,  but  likewise  to 
the  execution  itfelf;  which  was  attended 
with  infinite  miSchiefs. 

But  if  the  legislative  power,  in  a  fs:<:c 
government,  ought  to  have  no  right  to 
Stop  the  executive,  it  has  a  right,  and  ought 
to  have  the  means  of  examining  in  what 
manner  its  laws  have  been  executed ;  an 
advantage  which  this  government  has  over 
that  of  Crete  and  Sparta,  where  the  Cofmi 
and  the  Ephori  gave  no  account  of  their 
administration. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  iffue  of  that 
examination,  the  legislative  body  ought: 
not  to  have  a  power  of  judging  the  per- 
son, nor  of  courfe  the  conduct,  of  him  who 
is  intrufted  with  the  executive  power. 
His  perion  Should  be  Sacred,  becaufe,  as  it 
is  neceSTary  for  the  good  of  the  State  to 
prevent  the  legislative  body  from  render- 
ing themSelves  arbitrary,  the  moment  he  is 
accuS'ed  or  tried,  there  is  an  end  of  libertv. 

In  this  cafe  the  State  would  be  no  longer 
a  monarchy,  but  a  kind  of  republican, 
though  not  a  free  government.  But  as 
the  perfon  intrufted  with  the  executive 
power  cannot  abufe  it  without  bad  coun- 
sellors, and  Such  as  hate  the  laws  as  mini- 
sters, though  the  laws  favour  them  as  Sub- 
jects ;  theSe  men  may  be  examined  and 
punished.  An  advantage  which  this  go- 
vernment has  over  that  of  Gnidus,  where 
the  law  allowed  of  no  fuch  thing  as  calling- 
the  Amymones  *  to  an  account,  even  after  . 
their  administration  f  ;  and  therefore  the 
people  could  never  obtain  any  Satisfaction 
for  the  injuries  done  them. 

*  Thefe  weFe  magistrates  cliofen  annually  by 
the  people.     See  S  ephen  of  Byzantium. 

-j-  It  was  Iaiviul  to  accuie  the  Roman  magi- 
ftratss  after  the  expii  ition  of  their  £  veral  om«.<rs. 
Sec  Dionyf-  Halica  a.  1.  9.  the  atfair  of  G'enuiius 
the  tribune 

Though 


■592 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


Though,  in  general,  the  judiciary  power 
ought  not  to  be  united  with  any  part  of  the 
legiilative,  yet  this  is  liable  to  three  excep- 
tions, founded  on  the  particular  interefl  of 
the  party  accufed. 

The  great  are  always  obnoxious  to  po- 
pular envy  ;  and  were  they  to  be  judged 
by  the  people,  they  might  be  in  danger 
from  their  judges,  and  would  moreover  be 
deprived  of  the  privilege  which  the  meariefr. 
fubject  is  polieiTed  of,  in  a  free  ilate,  of 
being  tried  by  their  peers.  The  nobility, 
for  this  reafon,  ought  not  to  be  cited  be- 
fore the  ordinary  courts  of  judicature,  but 
before  that  part  of  the  legiflature  which  is 
compofed  of  their  own  body. 

It  is  poffibie  that  the  law,  which  is  clear  - 
lighted  in  one  fenfe,  and  blind  in  another, 
insight  in  fome  cafes  be  too  fevere.  But  as 
we  have  already  obferved,  the  national 
judges  are  no  more  than  the  mouth  that 
pronounces  the  words  of  the  law,  merepaf- 
five beings,  incapable  of  moderating  either 
its  force  or  rigour.  That  part,  therefore,  of 
thelegiflative  body,  which  we  havejuft  now 
obferved  to  be  a  necefTary  tribunal  on  ano- 
ther occafion,  is  alio  a  necefTary  tribunal 
in  this ;  it  belongs  to  its  fupreme  authority 
to  moderate  the  law  in  favour  of  the  law 
itfelf,  by  mitigating  the  fentence. 

It  might  alio  happen,  that  a  fubject  m- 
trufted  with  the  adminiftration  of  public  af- 
fairs.might  infringe  the  rights  of  the  people, 
and  be  guilty  of  crimes  which  the  ordinary 
magiftrates  either  could  not,  or  would  not 
punilh.  But  in  general  the  legiilative  power 
cannotjudge;  and  much  lefs  can  it  be  a  judge 
in  this  particular  cafe,  where  it  reprefents 
the  party  concerned,  which  is  the  people. 
It  can  only  therefore  impeach  :  but  before 
what  court  fhallit  bring  its  impeachment  ? 
Mull  it  co  and  abafe  itfelf  before  the  or- 
dinary  tribunals,  which  are  its  inferiors, 
and  being  compofed  moreover  of  men  who 
are  chofen  from  the  people  as  well  as  it- 
felf, will  naturally  be  fwayed  by  the  autho- 
rity of  fo  powerful  an  accufer?  No:  in 
order  to  preferve  the  dignity  of  the 
people,  and  the  fecurity  of  the  fubject,  the 
legiilative  part  which  reprefents  the  people, 
mull  bring  in  its  charge  before  the  legiila- 
tive part  which  reprefents  the  nobility,  who 
have  neither  the  fame  interefts  nor  the 
fame  paflions. 

Here  is  an  advantage  which  this  go- 
vernment has  over  mod  of  the  ancient 
republics,  where  there  was  this  abafe,  that 
the  people  were  at  the  fame  time  bothjudge 
and  accufer. 


The  executive  power,  purfuant  to  what 
has  been  already  laid,  ought  to  have  a 
fhare  in  the  legiflature  by  the  power  of 
rejecting,  otherwife  it  wou'dfoon  be  (trip- 
ped of  its  prerogative.  But  mould  the 
legiilative  power  ufurp  a  fhare  of  the  exe- 
cutive, the  latter  would  be  equally  un- 
done. 

if  the  prince  were  to  have  a  fhare  in 
the  legiflature  by  the  power  of  reiblving, 
liberty  would  be  loll.  But  as  it  is  necei- 
fary  he  mould  have  a  fhare  in  the  legifla- 
ture, for  the  fupport  of  his  own  preroga- 
tive, this  fhare  mull  confift  in  the  power  of 
rejecting. 

The  change  of  government  at  Rome 
was  owing  to  this,  that  neither  the  fenate" 
who  had  one  part  of  the  executive  power, 
nor  the  magiftrates,  who  were  entrufted 
with  the  other,  had  the  right  of  rejecting, 
which  was  entirely  lodged  in  the  peo- 
ple. 

Here  then  is  the  fundamental  conftitu- 
tion  of  the  government  we  are  treating  of.. 
The  legiilative  body  being  compofed  of 
two  parts,  one  checks  the  other  by  the 
mutual  privilege  of  rejecting  :  they  are 
both  checked  by  the  executive  power,  as 
the  executive  is  by  the  legiilative. 

Thefe  three  powers  fhould  naturally 
form  a  ilate  ofrepofe  or  inaction.  But  as 
there  is  a  neceffity  for  movement  in  the 
courfe  of  human  affairs,  they  are  forced  to 
move,  but  ilill  to  move  in  concert. 

As  the  executive  power  has  no  other 
part  in  the  legiilative  than  the  privilege 
of  rejecting,  it  can  have  no  fhare  in  the 
public  debates.  It  is  not  even  necefTary 
that  it  fhould  propofe,  becaule,  as  it  may 
always  difapprove  of  the  refolutions  that 
(hall  be  taken,  it  may  likewife  reject  the 
deciiions  on  thofe  propofals  which  were 
made  againfl  its  will. 

In  fome  ancient  commonwealths,  where 
public  debates  were  carried  on  by  the 
people  in  a  body,  it  was  natural  for  the 
executive  power  to  propofe  and  debate 
with  the  people,  otherwife  their  refolutions 
mail  have  been  attended  with  a  flrange 
confufion. 

Were  the  executive  power  to  ordain  the 
railing  of  public  money,  otherwife  than  by 
giving  its  content,  liberty  would  be  at  an 
end  ;  becaufe  it  would  become  legiilative 
in  the  moil  important  point  of  legilla- 
tion. 

If  the  legiilative  power  was  to  fettle  the 
fubiklies,  not  from  year  to  year,  but  for 

ever, 


EOOK   II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


593 


ever,  it  would  run  the  rifk  of  lofing  its 
liberty,  becaufe  the  executive  power  would 
no  longer  be  dependent ;  and  when  once 
it  was  poffeffed  of  fuch  a  perpetual  right, 
It  would  he  a  matter  of  indifference,  whe- 
ther it  held  it  of  itfelf,  or  of  another.  The 
fame  may  be  faid,  if  it  mould  fix,  not  from 
year  to  year,  but  for  ever,  the  fea  and  land 
forces  with  which  it  is  to  intriiil  the  exe- 
cutive power. 

To  prevent  the  executive  power  from 
being  able  to  opprefs,  it  is  requifite  that 
the  armies  with  which  it  is  intruded  mould 
confilt  of  the  people,  and  have  the  fame 
fpirit  as  the  people ;  as  was  the  cafe  at 
Rome  till  the  time  of  Marius.  To  obtain 
this  end,  there  are  only  two  ways  ;  either 
that  the  perfons  employed  in  the  army 
mould  have  fufficient  property  to  anfwer 
for  their  conduct  to  their  fellow- fubj eels, 
and  be  enlifted  only  for  a  year,  as  was  cuf- 
tomary  at  Rome  :  or  if  there  fhould  be  a 
Handing  army,  compofed  chiefly  of  the 
mod  defpicable  part  of  the  nation,  the  le- 
gislative power  mould  have  a  right  to  dif- 
fiand  them  as  foon  a-s  it  pleafed ;  the  fol- 
diers  fhould  live  in  common  with  the  reft 
cf  the  people  ;  and  no  feparate  camp,  bar- 
jacks,  or  fortrefs,  fhould  be  fuffered. 

When  once  an  army  is  eftablifhed,  it 
o.ught  not  to  depend  immediately  on  the 
legiflative,  but  on  the  executive  power; 
and  this  from  the  very  nature  of  the  thing ; 
its  bufinefs  confliling  mere  in  acting  than 
in  deliberation. 

From  a  manner  of  thinking  that  pre- 
vails amongft  mankind,  they  let  a  higher 
value  upon  courage  than  timoroufnefs,  on 
activity  than  prudence,  on  ltrength  than 
counfel.  Hence  the  army  will  ever  de- 
fpife  a  fenate,  a/id  refpect  their  own  ofh- 
eers.  They  will  naturally  flight  the  orders 
fent  them  by  a  body  of  men,  whom  they 
look  upon  as  cowards,  and  therefore  un- 
worthy to  command  them.  So  that  as 
foon  as  the  army  depends  on  the  legifla- 
tive body,  the  government  becomes  a  mi- 
litary one ;  and  if  the  contrary  has  ever 
happened,  it  has  been  owing  to  fome  ex- 
traordinary circumftances.  It  is  becaufe 
the  army  has  always  kept  divided ;  it  is 
becaufe  it  was  compofed  of  feveral  bodies, 
that  depended  each  on  their  particular 
province :  it  is  becaufe  the  capital  towns 
were  ftrong  places,  defended  by  their  na- 
tural fituation,  and  not  garrifoned  with 
regular  troops.  Holland,  for  inftance,  is 
lull  fafer   than  Venice :  ihe  mi^ht  drown 


or  ftarve  the  revolted  troops ;  for  as  they 
are  not  quartered  in  towns  capable  of  fur- 
nifhing  them  with  neceffary  fubfiitence, 
this  fubfiftence  is  of  courfe  precarious. 

Whoever  fhall  read  the  admirable  trea- 
tife  of  Tacitus  on  the  manners  of  the  Ger- 
mans, will  find  that  it  is  from  them  the 
Englifh  have  borrowed  the  idea  of  their 
political  government.  This  beautiful  fyf- 
tem  was  invented  firft  in  the  woods. 

As  all  human  things  have  an  end,  the 
ftate  we  are  fpeaking  of  will  lofe  its  liberty, 
it  will  perilh.  Have  not  Rome,  Sparta,  and 
Carthage  perifhed  ?  It  will  perifh  when  the 
legiflative  power  fliall  be  more  corrupted 
than  the  executive. 

It  is  not  my  bufinefs  to  examine  whether 
the  Englifh  actually  enjoy  this  liberty,  or 
not.  It  is  fuiheient  for  my  purpofe  to  ob- 
ferve,  that  it  is  eftablifhed  by  their  laws ; 
and  I  enquire  no  further. 

Neither  do  1  pretend  by  this  to  under- 
value other  governments,  nor  to  fay  that 
this  extreme  political  liberty  ought  to  give 
uneafinefs  to  thofb  who  have  only  a  mo- 
derate fhare  of  it.  How  fhould  I  have  any 
fuch  deiign,  I,  who  think  that  even  the 
excefs  of  reafon  is  not  always  defirable» 
and  that  mankind  generally  find  their  ac- 
count better  in  mediums  than  in  ex- 
tremes ? 

Harrington,  in  his  Oceana,  has  alfo  in- 
quired into  the  higheft  point  of  liberty  to 
which  the  conltirution  of  a  ftate  may  be 
carried.  But  of  him  indeed  it  may  be  faid, 
that  for  want  of  knowing  the  nature  of 
real  liberty,  he  bufied  himfelf  in  purfuit 
of  an  imaginary  one  ;  and  that  he  built  a 
Chalcedon,  though  he  had  a  Byzantium, 
before  his  eyes.  Mcntcfquiin. 

§   249,      O/ColumbUs,  and  the    Drfco- 
<vay  of  Am  erica. 

It  is  to  the  difcoveries  of  the  Portu- 
guefe  in  the  o!d  world,  that  wc  are  indebt 
ed  for  the  new ;  if  we  may  call  the  conquefl 
of  America  an  obligation,  which  proved  fo 
fatal  to  its  inhabitants,  and  at  times  to  the 
conquerors  themfelves. 

This  was  doubtlefs  the  melt,  important 
event  that  ever  happened  on  our  globe, 
one  half  of  which  had  been  hitherto  Gran- 
gers to  the  other.  Whatever  had  been 
efteemed  moil:  great  or  noble  before, 
feemed  a'bforbed  in  this  kind  of  new  crea- 
tion. We  Hill  mention  with  *  refpectfui 
admiration,  the  names  of  the  Argonauts, 
Q_q  who 


594 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


who  did  not  perform  the  hundredth  part 
of  what  was  done  by  the  failors  under 
Gama  and  Albuquerque.  How  many 
altars  would  have  been  raifed  by  the 
ancients  to  a  Greek,  who  had  difcover- 
ed  America!  and  yet  Bartholomew  and 
Chriilopher  Columbus  were  not  thus  re- 
warded. 

Columbus,  ftruck  with  the  wonderful 
expeditions  of  the  Portuguefe,  imagined 
that  fomething  greater  might  be  done; 
and  from  a  bare  infpeclion  of  the  map  of 
our  world,  concluded  that  there  muft  be 
another,  which  might  be  found  by  failing 
always  weft.  He  had  courage  equal  to 
his  genius,  or  indeed  fuperior,  feeing  he 
had  to  druggie  with  the  prejudices  of  his 
contemporaries,  and  the  repulfes  of  feveral 
princes  to  whom  he  tendered  his  ferviccs. 
Genoa,  which  was  his  native  country, 
treated  his  fchemes  as  vifionary,  and  by 
that  means  loft  the  only  opportunity  that 
could  have  offered  of  aggrandizing  her 
power.  Henry  VII.  king  of  England,  who 
was  too  greedy  of  money  to  hazard  any 
on  this  noble  attempt,  would  not  liften  to 
the  propofals  made  by  Columbus's  bro- 
ther; and  Columbus  himfelf  was  rejected 
by  John  II.  of  Portugal,  whofe  attention 
was  wholly  employed  upon  the  coaft  of 
Africa.  He  had  no  profpeel  of  fuccefs  in 
applying  to  the  French,  whofe  marine  lay- 
totally  neglected,  and  their  affairs  more 
confufed  than  ever,  during  the  minority 
of  Charles  VIII.  The  emperor  Maximi- 
lian had  neither  ports  for  (hipping,  money 
to  fit  out  a  fleet,  nor  fufficient  courage  to 
engage  in  a  fcheme  of  this  nature.  The 
Venetian?,  indeed,  might  have  undertaken 
it;  but  whether  the  natural  averiion  of  the 
Genoeie  to  thefe  people  would  not  fuller 
Columbus  to  apply  to  the  rivals  of  hi:; 
'country,  or  that  the  Venetians  had  no  idea 
of  any  thing  more  important  than  the 
trade  they  carried  on  from  Alexandria  and 
in  the  Levant,  Columbus  at  leno-tb  fixed 
all  his  hopes  on  the  court  of  Spain. 

Ferdinand,  king  of  Arragon,  and  Isa- 
bella, queen  of  Caftile,  had  by  their  mar- 
riage united  all  Spain  under  one  dominion, 
•excepting  only  the  kingdom  of  Grenada, 
which  was  ltill  in  the  poTTeffion  of  the 
Moors*;;  but  which  Ferdinand  foon  after 
took  from  them.  The  union  of  thefe  two 
princes  had  prepared  the  way  for  the 
greatneA  of  Spain  :  which  was  afterwards 
begun  by  Columbus;  he  was  however 
ob  i^eu  to  undergo  eight  years  of  mediant 


application,  before  Ifabella's  court  wouju 
confent  to  accept  of  the  ineftimable  benefit 
this  great  man  offered  it.  The  bane  o* 
all  great  projects  is  the  want  of  money. 
The  Spanifh  court  was  poor ;  and  the 
prior,  Perez,  and  two  merchants,  named 
Pinzono,  were  obliged  to  advance  feven- 
teen  thoufand  ducats  towards  fitting  out 
the  armament.  Columbus  procured  a  pa- 
tent from  the  court,  and  at  length  fet  fail 
from  the  port  of  Palos  in  Andalufia,  wkh 
three  Ihips,  on  Auguft  23,  in  the  year 
1492.  m 

It  was  not  above  a  month  after  his  de- 
parture from  the  Canary  iflands,  where  he 
had  come  to  an  anchor  to  get  refrefh- 
ment.  when  Columbus  difcovered  the  firft: 
ifland  in  America;  and  during  this  fhort 
run,  he  fuftered  more  from  the  murmurings 
and  difcontent  of  the  people  of  his  fleet, 
than  he  had  done  even  from  the  refufals  of 
the  princes  he  had  applied  to.  This  ifland, 
which  he  difcovered,  and  named  St.  Sal- 
vador, lies  about  a  thoufand  leagues  from 
the  Canaries ;  prefently  after,  he  likevvife 
difcovered  the  Lucayan  iflands,  together 
with  thofe  of  Cuba  and  Hifpaniola,  now 
called  St.  Domingo. 

Ferdinand  and  Ifabella  were  in  the  ut- 
moit  furprize  to  fee  him  return,  at  the  end 
of  nine  months,  with  fome  of  the  American 
natives  of  Hifpaniola,  feveral  rarities  from 
that  country,  and  a  quantity  of  gold,  with 
which  he  presented  their  majefties. 

The  king  and  queen  made  him  fit  down 
in  their  prefence,  covered  like  a  grandee  of 
Spain,  and  created  him  high  admiral  and 
viceroy  of  the  new  world.  Columbus  was 
now  every  where  looked  upon  as  an  extra- 
ordinary perfon  fent  from  heaven.  Every 
one  was  vying;  who  fhould  be  foremoft  in 
aifiiling  him  in  his  undertakings,  and  em- 
barking under  his  command.  He  foon  fet 
fail  again,  with  a  fleet  of  feventeen  fhips. 
He  now  made  the  difcovery  of  feveral  other 
new  iflands,  particularly  the  Caribbees  and 
Jamaica.  Doubt  had  been  changed  into 
admiration  on  his  firft  voyage  ;  in  this,  ad- 
miration was  turned  into  envy. 

He  was  admiral  and  viceroy,  and  to  thefe 
titles  might  have  been  added  that  of  the 
benefaclor  of  Ferdinand  and  Ifabella. 
Neverthelefs,  he  was  brought  home  pri- 
foncr  to  Spain,  by  judges  who  had  been 
purpofely  fent  out  on  board  to  obferve  his 
conduft.  As  foon  as  it  was  known  that 
Columbus  was  arrived,  the  people  ran  in 
fhoals  to  meet  him,  as  the  guardian  genius 
6  "of 


BOOK    IL      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL. 


595 


©f  Spain.  Columbus  was  brought  from 
the  fhip,  and  appeared  on  ihore  chained 
hands  and  feet. 

He  had  been  thus  treated  by  the  orders 
of  Fonfeca,  bifhop  of  Burgos,  the  intendant 
of  the  expedition,  whofe  ingratitude  was  as 
great  as  the  other's  fervices.  Ifabella  was 
athamed  of  what  fhe  faw,  and  did  all  in 
her  power  to  make  Columbus  amends  for 
the  injuries  done  to  him  :  however,  he  was 
not  fuifered  to  depart  for  four  years,  either 
becaufe  they  feared  that  he  would  feize 
upon  what  he  had  difcovered  for  himfelf, 
•r  that  they  were  willing  to  have  time  to 
obferve  his  behaviour.  At  length  he  was 
fent  on  another  voyage  to  the  new  world  ; 
and  now  it  was,  that  he  difcovered  the 
continent,  at  fix  degrees  diitance  from  the 
equator,  and  faw  that  part  of  the  coalt  on 
which  Carthagena  has  been  fince  built. 

At  the  time  that  Columbus  firft  promifed 
a  new  hemifphere,  it  was  infilled  upon  that 
no  fuch  hemifphere  could  exift;  and  after 
he  had  made  the  actual  difcoverv  of  it,  it 
was  pretended  that  it  had  been  known  long 
before.  I  mall  not  mention  one  Martin 
Behem,  of  Nuremberg,  who,  it  is  laid, 
went  from  that  city  to  the  ilraits  of  Ma- 
gellan in  14.60,  with  a  patent  from  the 
Duchefs  of  Burgundy,  who,  as  me  was  not 
alive  at  that  time,  could  not  iffue  patents. 
Nor  fhall  I  take  notice  of  the  pretended 
charts  of  this  Martin  Behem,  which  are 
it  ill  fhewn;  nor  of  the  evident  contradic- 
tions which  difcredit  this  ftory  :  but,  in 
fhort,  it  was  not  pretended  that  Martin 
Behem  had  peopled  America  ;  the  honour 
was  given  to  the  Carthaginians,  and  a  book 
of  Ariitotle  was  quoted  on  the  occafion, 
which  he  never  wrote.  Some  found  out 
a  conformity  between  fome  words  in  the 
Caribbee  and  Hebrew  languages,  and  did 
not  fail  to  follow  fo  fine  an  opening. 
Others  were  pofitive  that  the  children  of 
Noah,  alter  fettling  in  Siberia,  paffedfrom 
thence  over  to  Canada  on  the  ice ;  and  that 
their  defcendants,  afterwards  born  in  Ca- 
nada, had  gone  and  peopled  Peru.  Ac- 
cording to  others  again,  the  Chinefe  and 
Japanefe  fent  colonies  into  America,  and 
carried  over  lions  with  them  for  their  di- 
verfion,  though  there  are  no  lions  either  in 
China  or  Japan.  In  this  manner  have  many 
learned  men  argued  upon  the  difcoyeries 
made  by  men  of  genius.  If  it  mould  be 
afked,  how  men  firlt  came  upon  the  conti- 
nent of  America  ?  is  it  not  eafily  anfwered, 
that  they  were  placed  there  by  the  fame 
Power  who  caujfes  trees  and  grafs  to  grow  ? 


The  reply  which  Columbus  made  to 
fome  of  thofe  who  envied  him  the  high 
reputation  he?  had  gained,  is  ftill  famous. 
Thefe  people  pretended  that  nothing  could 
be  more  eafy  than  the  difcoveries  he  had 
made ;  upon  which  he  propofed  to  them  to 
fet  an  egg  upright  on  one  of  its  ends ;  but 
when  they  had  tried  in  vain  to  do  it,  he 
broke  one  end  of  the  egg,  and  fet  it  up- 
right with  eafe.  They  told  him  any  one 
could  do  that:  How  comes  it  then,  replied 
Columbus,  that  not  one  among  you  thought 
of  it? — This  ftory  is  related  of  Brucellef- 
chi,  who  improved  architecture  at  Florence 
many  years  before  Columbus  was  born. 
Molt  bon  mots  are  only  the  repetition  of 
things  that  have  been  laid  before. 

The  alhes  of  Columbus  cannot  be  af- 
fected by  the  reputation  he  gained  while 
living,  in  having  doubled  for  us  the  works 
of  the  creation.  But  mankind  delight  to 
do  juftice  to  the  illuftrious  dead,  either  from 
a  vain  hope  that  they  enhance  thereby  the 
merit  of  the  living,  or  that  they  are  na- 
turally fond  of  truth.  Americo  Vefpucci, 
whom  we  call  Americus  Vefpufius,  a  mer- 
chant of  Florence,  had  the  honour  of  giv- 
ing his  name  to  this  new  half  of  the  globe, 
in  which  he  did  net  poffefs  one  acre  of 
land,  and  pretended  to  be  the  firlt  who  difU 
covered  the  continent.  But  fuppofing  it 
true,  that  he  was  the  frit  difcoverer,  the 
glory  was  certainly  due  to  him,  who  had 
the  penetration  and  courage  to  undertake 
and  perform  the  firft  voyage.  Honour,  as 
Newton  fays  in  his  difpute  with  Leibnitz, 
is  due  only  to  the  firft  inventor;  thofe  that 
follow  after  are  only  his  fcholars.  Colum- 
bus had  made  three  voyages,  as  admiral 
and  viceroy,  five  years  before  Americus 
Vefpufius  had  made  one  as  a  geographer, 
under  the  command  of  Admiral  Qjeda;  but  - 
this  latter  writing  to  his  friends  at  Florence, 
that  he  had  difcovered  a  new  world,  they 
believed  him  on  his  word  ;  and  the  citizens 
of  Florence  decreed,  that  a  grand  illumina- 
tion fhould  be  made  before  the  door  of  his 
houfe  every  three  years,  on  the  foaft  of  All 
Saints.  And  yet  could  this  man  be  faid  to 
defcrve  any  honours,  for  happening  to  be 
on  board  a  fleet  that,  in  1489,  failed  along 
the  coaft  of  Brazil,  when  Lo'umbus  had, 
five  years  before,  pointed  out  the  way  to 
the  reft  of  the  world  ? 

There  has  lately  appeared  at  Florence 
a  life  of  this  Americus  Vefpufius,  which 
feems  to  be  written  with  very  little  regard 
to  truch,  and  without  any  conclufive  rea- 
foning.  Several  French  author  are  there 
C^q  2  complained 


596 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


complained  of,  who  have  done  juflice  to 
Columbus's  merit ;  but  the  writer  ihould 
not  have  fallen  upon  the  French  authors, 
but  on  the  Spanish,  who  were  the  firft  that 
did  this  juftice.  This  writer  fays,  that  "  he 
"  will  confound  the  vanity  of  the  French 
"  nation,  who  have  always  attacked  with 
"  impunity  the  honour  and  fuccefs  of  the 
"  Italian  nation."  What  vanity  can  there 
be  in  faying,  that  it  was  a  Genoefe  who 
firft  difcovered  America  ?  or  how  is  the 
honour  of  the  Italian  nation  injured  in 
owning,  that  it  was  to  an  Italian,  born  in 
Genoa,  that  we  are  indebted  for  the  new 
world  ?  I  purpoiely  remark;  this  want  of 
equity,  good-breeding,  and  good-fenie,  as 
we  have  too  many  examples  of  it ;  and  I 
muft  fay,  that  the  good  French  writers 
have  in  general  been  the  leait  guilty  of  this 
infufferable  fault;  and  one  great  reafon  of 
their  being  fo  univerfally  read  throughout 
Europe,  is  their  doing  juftice  to  all  na- 
tions. 

The  inhabitants  of  thefe  iflands,  and  of 
the  continent,  were  a  new  race  of  men. 
They  were  all  without  beards,  and  were  as 
much  aftonifhed  at  the  faces  of  the  Spani- 
ards, as  they  were  at  their  mips  and  artil- 
lery :  they  at  firft  looked  upon  thefe  new 
viiitors  as  monfters  or  gods,  who  had  come 
out  of  die  Iky  or  the  fea.  Thefe  voyages, 
and  thofe  of  the  Portugucfe,had  now  taught 
us  how  inconfiderable  a  fpot  of  the  globe 
our  Europe  was,  and  what  an  aifonifhing 
variety  reigns  in  the  world.  Indoitan  was 
known  to  be  inhabited  by  a  race  of  men 
whofc  complexions  were  yellow.  In  Africa 
and  Alia,  at  feme  diftance  from  the  equa- 
tor, there  had  been  found  feveral  kinds  of 
.black  men  ;  and  after  travellers  had  pene- 
trated into  America  as  far  as  the  line.they 
.met  with  a  race  of  people  who  were  tolera- 
bly white.  The  natives  of  Brazil  are  of 
the  colour  .of  bronze.  The  Chinefe  ftill 
appear  to  differ  entirely  from  the  reft  of 
mankind,  in  the  make  of  their  eyes  and 
nofes.  But  what  is  ftill  to  be  remarked  is, 
that  into  whatfoever  regions  thefe  various 
races  are  tranfplanted,  their  complexions 
never  change,  unlefs  they  mingle  with  the 
natives  of  rhe  country.  The  mucous 
membrane  of  the  negroes,  which  is  known 
to  be  of  a  black  colour,  is  a  manifeft  proof 
that  there  is  a  differential  principle  in  each 
fpecies  of  men,  as  well  as  plants. 

Dependant  upon  this  principle,  nature 
has  formed  the  different  degrees  cf  genius, 
and  the  characters  of  nations,  which  are 
feldom  known  to  change.     Hence  the  ne- 


groes are  flaves  to  other  men,  and  are  put* 
chafed  on  the  coaft  of  Africa,  like  beafts, 
for  a  fum  of  money ;  and  the  vaft  multi- 
tudes of  negroes  tranfplanted  into  our 
American  colonies,  ferve  as  flaves  under  a 
very  inconfiderable  number  of  Europeans. 
Experience  has  likewife  taught  us  how 
great  a  fuperiority  the  Europeans  have 
over  the  Americans,  who  are  every  where 
eafily  overcome,  and  have  not  dared  to  at- 
tempt a  revolution,  though  a  thoufand  to 
one  fuperior  in  numbers. 

This  part  of  America  was  alfo  remark- 
able on  account  of  its  animals  and  plants, 
which  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  other  three 
parts  of  the  world,  and  which  are  of  fo 
great  ufe  to  us.  Horfes,  corn  of  all  kinds, 
and  iron,  were  not  wanting  in  Mexico  and 
Peru;  and  among  the  many  valuable  com- 
modities unknown  to  the  old  world,  cochi- 
neal was  the  principal,  and  was  brought  us 
from  this  country.  Its  ufe  in  dying  has 
now  made  us  forget  the  fcarlet,  which  for 
time  immemorial  had  been  the  only  thing 
known  for  giving  a  fine  red  colour. 

The  importation  of  cochineal  was  foon 
fuccecded  by  that  of  Indigo,  cacao,  vahille, 
and  thofe  woods  which  ferve  for  ornament 
and  medicinal  purpofes,  particularly  the 
quinquina,  or  jefuits  bark,  which  is  the  only 
fpecinc  againlt  intermitting  fevers.  Na- 
ture has  placed  this  remedy  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Peru,  whilft  fhe  had  difperfed  the 
difeafe  it  cured  through  all  the  reft  of  the 
world.  This  new  continent  likewife  fur- 
nifhed  pearls,  coloured  ftones,  and  dia- 
monds. 

It  is  certain,  that  America  at  prefent 
furnifhes  the  meaneft  citizen  of  Europe 
with  his  conveniencies  and  pleafures.  The 
gold  and  filver  mines,  at  their  firft  difco- 
very,  were  of  fervice  only  to  the  kings  of 
Spain  and  the  merchants ;  the  reft  ot  the 
world  was  impoverifhed  by  them,  for  the 
great  multitudes  who  did  not  follow  bufi- 
nefs,  found  themfelves  poffeffed  of  a  very 
fmall  quantity  of  fpecie,  in  comparifon  with 
the  imm'enfe  funis  accumulated  by  thofe, 
who  had  the  advantage  of  the  firft  difco- 
veries.  But  by  degxees,  the  great  quan- 
tity of  gold  and  filver  which  was  fent  from 
America,  was  difperfed  throughout  all  Eu- 
rope, and  by  palling  into  a  number  of 
hands,  the  diftribution  is  become  more 
equal.  The  price  of  commodities  is  like- 
wife  increafed  in  Europe,  in  proportion  to 
the  increafe  of  fpecie. 

To  comprehend  how  the  trcafures   of 
America  palled  from  the  poffeffion  of  the 

Spaniards 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


597 


Spaniards  into  that  of  other  nations,  it  will 
be  fufficient  to  confider  thefe  two  things : 
the  ufe  which  Charles  V.  and  Philip  II, 
made  of  their  money;  and  the  manner  in 
which  other  nations  acquired  a  fhare  in  the 
wealth  of  Peru. 

The  emperor  Charles  V.who  was  always 
travelling,  and  always  at  war,  neceffarily 
difperfed  a  great  quantity  of  that  fpecie 
which  he  received  from  Mexico  and  Peru, 
through  Germany  and  Italy.  When  he 
fent  his  fon  Philip  over  to  England,  to 
marry  queen  Mary,  and  take  upon  him 
the  title  of  King  of  England,  that  prince 
depoflted  in  the  tower  of  London  twenty- 
feven  large  chefts  of  filver  in  bars,  and  an 
hundred  horfe-loads  of  gold  and  filver 
coin.  The  troubles  in  Flanders,  and  the 
intrigues  of  the  league  in  prance,  coil  this 
Philip,  according  to  his  own  confeffion, 
above  three  thoufand  millions .  oflivres  of 
our  money. 

The  manner  in  which  the  gold  and  filver 
of  Peru  is  diftributed  amongft  all  the  peo- 
ple of  Europe,  and  from  thence  is  fent  to 
the  Eail-Indies,  is  a  furprifing,  though 
well  known  circum fiance.  By  a  ftrift  law 
enacted  by  Ferdinand  and  Ifabella,  and  af- 
terwards confirmed  by  Charles  V.  and  all 
the  kings  of  Spain,  all  other  nations  were 
not  on'y  excluded  the  entrance  into  any  of 
the  ports  in  Spanilh  America,  but  likewife 
from  having  the  leaft  (hare,  directly  or  in- 
di  ectly,  in  the  trade  of  that  part  of  the 
world.  One  would  have  imagined,  that 
this  law  would  have  enabled  the  Spaniards 
to  fubdue  all  Europe;  and  yet  Spain  fub- 
fifts  only  by  the  continual  violation  of  this 
very  law.  It  can  hardly  furnifh  exports 
for  America  to  the  value  of  four  millions; 
whereas  the  reft  of  Europe  fometimes  fend 
over  merchandise  to  the  amount  of  near 
fifty  millions.  This  prodigious  trade  of 
the  nations  at  enmity  or  in  alliance  with 
Spain,  is  carried  on  by  the  Spaniards  them- 
felves,  who  are  always  faithful  in  their 
dealings  with  individuals,  and  always 
cheating  their  king.  The  Spaniaids  gave 
no  fecurity  to  foreign  mercnants  for  the 
performance  of  their  contracts;  a  mutual 
credit,  without  which  there  never  could 
have  been  any  commerce,  fupplies  the  place 
of  ether  obligations. 

The  manner  in  which  the  Spaniards  for 
a  long  time  configned  the  gold  and  filver 
to  foreigners,  which  was  brought  home  by 
their  galleons,  was  ftill  more  furprifing. 
The  Spaniard,  who  at  Cadiz  is  properly 
factor  for  the  foreigner,  delivered  the  bul- 


lion he  received  to  the  care  of  certain  bra- 
voes,  called  Meteors :  thefe,  armed  with 
pillols  at  their  belt,  and  a  long  fword>  car- 
ried the  bullion  in  parcels  properly  mark- 
ed, to  the  ramparts,  and  flung  them  ever 
to  other  meteors,  who  waited  below,  and 
carried  them  to  the  boats  which  were  to  re- 
ceive them,  and  thefe  boats  carried  them, 
on  board  the  fliips  in  the  road.  Thefe  me- 
teors and  the  factors,  together  with  the 
commiffaries  and  the  guards,  who  never 
disturbed  them,  had  each  a  ftated  fee,  and 
the  foreign  merchants  was  never  cheated. 
The  king,  who  received  a  duty  upon  this 
money  at  the  arrival  of  the  galleons,  was 
likewife  a  gainer;  fo  that,  properly  fpcak- 
ing,  the  law  only  was  cheated  ;  a  law  which 
would  be  absolutely  uielefs  if  not  eluded, 
and  which,  neverthelefs,  cannot  yet  be 
abrogated,  becaufe  old  prejudices  are  al- 
ways the  molt  difficult  to  be  overcome 
amongft  men. 

The  greateft  inftance  of  the  violation  of 
this  law,  and  of  the  fidelity  of  the  Spani- 
ards, was  in  the  year  1684,  when  war  was 
declared  between  France  and  Spain.  His' 
catholic  majefty  endeavoured  to  feize  up- 
on the  effects  of  all  the  French  in  his 
'  kingdom  ;  but  he  in  vain  iffued  edicts  and 
admonitions,  inquiries  and  excommunica- 
tions; not  a  fingle  Spanifh  factor  would 
betray  his  French  correfpondent.  This 
fidelity,  which  does  fo  much  honour  to  the 
Spanifh  nation,  plainly  fhews,  that  men 
only  willingly  obey  thofe  laws,  which  they 
themfelves  have  made  for  the  good  of  fo- 
ciety,  and  that  thofe  which  are  the  mere 
effects  of  a  fovereign's  will,  always  meet 
with  oppofition. 

As  the  difcovery  of  America  was  at  firft 
the  fource  of  much  good  to  the  Spaniaids, 
it  afterwards  occafioned  them  many  and 
confiderable  evils.  One  has  been,  the  de- 
priving that  kingdom  of  its  fubjects,  by  the 
great  numbers  neceffarily  required  to  peo- 
ple the  colonies :  another  was,  the  infect- 
ing the  world  with  a  difeafe,  which  was  be- 
fore known  only  in  the  new  world,  and  par- 
ticularly in  the  ifland  of  Hifpaniola.  Se- 
veral of  the  companions  of  Chriftopher 
Columbus  returned  home  infected  with 
this  contagion,  which  afterwards  fpread 
over  Europe,  It  is  certain,  that  this  poi- 
fon,  which  taints  the  fp rings  of  life,  was 
peculiar  to  America,  as  the  plague  and  the 
imail-pox  were  diieafes  originally  ende- 
mial  to  the  fouthern  parts  of  Numidia. 
We  are  not  to  believe,  that  the  eating  of 
human  flefh,  pra&i^ed  by  fome  of  the 
Q^q  3  American 


593 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


American  favages,  occafioned  this  difor- 
der.  There  were  no  cannibals  on  the 
ifland  of  Hifpaniola,  where  it  was  mofi  fre- 
quent and  inveterate ;  neither  are  we  to 
fuppofe,  with  Come,  that  it  proceeded  from 
too  great  an  excels  of  ienfual  pleafures. 
Nature  had  never  punifhed  excefies  of  this 
kind  with  fuch  diforders  in  the  world ;  and 
even  to  this  day,  we  find  that  a  momentary 
indulgence,  which  has  been  palled  for  eight 
or  ten  years,  may  bring  this  cruel  and 
ftiameful  lcourge  upon  the  chafteft  union. 

Tire  great  Columbus,  after  having  built 
feveral  houfes  on  thefe  ifland?,  and  difco- 
vered  the  continent,  returned  to  Spain, 
where  he  enjoyed  a  reputation  unfullicd  by 
rapine  or  cruelty,  and  died  at  Valladolid 
in  1506.  But  the  governors  of  Cuba  and 
Hifpaniola,  who  fucceeded  him,  being  per- 
fuaded  that  thefe  provinces  furnifhed  gold, 
refolved  to  make  the  difcovery  at  the  price 
of  the  lives  of  the  inhabitants.  In  lhort, 
whether  they  thought  the  natives  had  con- 
ceived an  implacable  hatred  to  them  ;  or 
that  they  were  apprehenlive  of  their  fu- 
perior  numbers ;  or  that  the  rage  of  (laugh- 
ter, when  once  begun,  knows  no  bounds, 
they,  in  the  fpace  of  a  few  years,  entirely 
depopulated  Hifpaniola  and  Cuba,  the  for- 
-mer  f  which  contained  three  millions  of 
inhabitants,  and  the  latter  above  fix  hun- 
dred tnoufand. 

Bartholomew  de  la  Cafas,  bifhop  of 
Chiapa,  who  was  an  eye-witnefs  to  theie 
defolations,  relates,  that  they  hunted  down 
the  natives  with  dogs.  Thefe  wretched 
favaoes,  almoit  naked  and  without  arms, 
were  purfued  like  wild  beads  in  the  fo- 
relts,  devoured  alive  by  dogs,  fhot  to 
death,  or  furprifed  and  burnt  in  their  habi- 
tations. 

He  farther  declares,  from  ocular  tefti- 
mony,  that  they  frequently  caufed  a  num- 
ber of  thefe  miferable  wretches  to  be  fum- 
moned  by  a  prieft  to  come  in,  and  fubmit 
to  the  Chnftian  religion,  and  to  the  king 
of  Spain;  and  that  after  this  ceremony, 
which  was  only  an  additional  act  of  in- 
justice, they  put  them  to  death  without  the 
leaft  remorfe. — I  believe  that  De  la  Cafas 
has  exaggerated  in  many  parts  of  his  rela- 
tion; but,  allowing  him  to  have  faid  ten 
times  more  than  is  truth,  there  remains 
enough  to  make  us  lhudder  with  horror. 

.It  may  feem  furprifing,  that  this  maf- 
facre  of  a  whole  race  of  men  could  have 
been  carried  on  in  the  fight,  and  under 
the  adminiftration  of  fevcral  religious  of 
the  order  of  St.  Jerome;  xor  we  know  that 


Cardinal  Ximenes,  who  was  prime  mirtifie? 
of  Caftile  before  the  time  of  Charles  V. 
fent  over  four  monks  of  this  order,  in  qua- 
lity of  prefidents  of  the  royal  council  of 
the  ifland.  Doubtlefs  they  were  not  able 
to  refill;  the  torrent ;  and  the  hatred  of  the 
natives  to  their  new  mailers,  being  with 
juft  reafon  become  implacable,  rendered 
their  deflruclion  unhappily  neceffary. 

Voltaire. 

§    250.      The    Influence  of  the    Progrefs  nf 
Science  on    I  be  Mannas    and  Characters 


of  Men. 

The  progrefs  of  fcience,  and  the  culti- 
vation of  literature,  had  confiderabie  effect 
in  changing  the  manners  of  the  European 
nations,  and  introducing  that  civility  and 
refinement  by  which  they  are  now  diftin- 
guilhed.     At  the  time  when  their  empire 
was  overturned,  the  Romans,  though  they 
had  loft  that  correct  tafte  which  has  ren- 
dered the  productions  of  their  anceilors  the 
ftandards  of  excellence,    and    models  for 
imitation  to  fucceeding  ages,  ftill  preferved 
their  love  of  letters,  and  cultivated  the  arts 
M  ith  great  ardour.     But  rude   Barbarians 
were  fo  far  from  being  ftruck  with  any  ad- 
miration   of  thefe    unknown    accomplish- 
ments, that   they    defpifed   them.     They 
were  not  arrived  at  that  ftate  of  fociety,  in 
which  thofe  faculties  of  the  human  mind, 
that  have  beauty  and  elegance  for  their 
objects,  begin  to  unfold  themfelves.    They 
were  llrangers  to  all  thofe  wants  and  de- 
fires  winch  are  the  parents  of  ingenious  in- 
vention ;  and  as  they  did  not  comprehend 
either  the  merit  or  utility  of  the  Roman 
arts,    they    destroyed    the  monuments  of 
them,  with  induftry  not  inferior  to  that  with 
which  their  pofterity  lrave  fmce  ftudied  to 
preferve,  or   to  recover  them.     The  con- 
vulfions  occafioned  by  their  fettlement  in 
the  empire  ;  the  frequent  as  well  as  violent 
revolutions  in  every  kingdom  which  they 
eltablilhed;  together  vfrith  the  interior  de- 
fects in  the  form  of  government  which  they 
introduced,  baniihed  fecurity  and  leifure; 
prevented  the  growth  of  tafte  or  the  culture 
of  fcience;  and  kept  Europe,  during  fe- 
vered  centuries,  in    a   ftate  of  ignorance. 
But  as   foon  as  liberty  and  independence 
began  to  be  felt  by  every  part  of  tiie  com- 
munity, and  communicated  fome  tafte   of 
the    advantages    ariiiug    from  commerce, 
from  public  order,  and  from  perfcnal   fe- 
curity, the  human  mind  became  confeious 
of  powers  which  it  did  not  formerly  per- 
ceive, and  fond  of  occupations  or  purfuits 

of 


BOOK    IL      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


of  which  It  was  formerly  incapable.  To- 
wards the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury, we  difcern  the  firil  fymptoms  of  its 
awakening  from  that  lethargy  in  which  it 
had  long-  been  funk,  and  obferve  it  turning 
with  curioiity  and  attention  towards  new 
objects. 

The  firft  literary  efforts,  however,  of 
the  European  nations,  in  the  middle  ages, 
were  extremely  ill-directed.  Among  na- 
tions, as  well  as  individuals,  the  powers  of 
imagination  attain  fome  degree  of  vigour 
before  the  intellectual  faculties  are  much 
exerciled  in  fpeculative  or  abstract  difqui- 
iition.  Men  are  poets  before  they  are  phi- 
losophers. '  They  feel  with  fenfibility,  and 
delcribe  with  force,  when  they  have  made 
but  little  progrefs  in  investigation  or  rea- 
foning.  The  age  of  Homer  and  ofHefiod 
long  preceded  that  of  Thales,  or  of  So- 
crates. But  unhappily  for  literature,  our 
anecftors,  deviating  from  this  courfe  which 
nature  points  out,  piunged  at  once  into  the 
depths  of  abflrufe  and  metaphyseal  en- 
quiry. They  had  been  converted  to  the 
Christian  faith  foon  after  they  fettled  in 
their  new  conquests :  but  they  did  not  re- 
ceive it  pure.  The  prefumption  of  men 
had  added  to  the  ample  and  inftruttive 
doctrines  of  Christianity,  the  theories  of  a 
vain  philofophy,  that  attempted  to  pene- 
trate into  myiteries,  and  to  decide  queltions 
which  the  limited  faculties  of  the  human 
mind  are  unable  to  comprehend,  or  to  re- 
folve.  Thefeover  curious  Speculations  were 
incorporated  with  the  fyrtem  of  religion, 
and  came  to  be  confidered  as  the  molt  ef- 
fential  part  of  it.  As  foon,  then,  as  cu- 
riofity  prompted  men  to  inquire  and  to 
reafon,  thefe  were  the  fubjedts  which  firft 
prefented  themfelves,  and  engaged  their 
attention.  The  Scholastic  theology,  with 
its  infinite  train  of  bold  difquiiitions,  and 
fubtile  distinctions  concerning  points  which 
are  not  the  object  of  human  reafon,  was 
the  firit  production  of  the  fpirit  of  enquiry 
after  it  began  to  refume  fome  degree  of 
activity  and  vigour  in  Europe. 

It  was  not  this  circumftance  alone  that 
gave  luch  a  wrong  turn  to  the  minds  of 
men,  when  they  began  again  to  exercife 
talents  which  they  had  fo  long  neglected. 
Moft  of  the  perfons  who  attempted  to  re- 
vive literature  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries,  had  received  instruction,  or  de- 
rived their  principles  of  Science  from  the 
Greeks  in  the  eaftern  empire,  or  from  the 
Arabians  in  Spain  and  Africa.  Both  thefe 
people,  acute  and  inquifitive  to  excels,  cor- 


599 

rupted  thofe  fciences  which  they  cultivated. 
The  former  rendered  theology  a  fyftem  of 
fpeculative  refinement,  or  of  endlefs  con- 
troversy. The  latter  communicated  to 
philofophy  a  fpirit  of  metaphyseal  and  fri- 
volous fubtlety.  Milled  by  thefe  guides, 
the  perfons  who  firit  applied  to  fcience  were 
involved  in  a  maze  of  intricate  inquiries. 
Instead  of  allowing  their  fancy  to  take  its 
natural  range,  and  to  produce  fuch  works 
of  invention  as  might  have  improved  their 
talle,  and  refined  their  Sentiments;  inftead 
of"  cultivating  thofe  arts  which  embellifh 
human  life,  and  render  it  comfortable ; 
they  were  fettered  by  authority;  they  were 
led  aftray  by  example,  and  waited  the  whole 
force  of  their  genius  in  fpcculations  as  un- 
availing as  they  were  difficult. 

But  fruitleSs  and  ill-directed  as  thefe 
fpeculations  were,  their  novelty  roufed, 
and  their  boldnefs  interefted,  the  human 
mind.  The  ardour  with  which  men  pur- 
fued  thefe  uninviting  Studies. was  aftonifh- 
ing.  Genuine  philofophy  was  never  cul- 
tivated, in  any  enlightened  age, with  greater 
zeal.  Schools,  upon  the  model  of  thofe 
instituted  by  Charlemagne,  were  opened  in 
every  cathedral,  and  almoft  in  every  mo- 
nastery of  note.  Colleges  and  univerfities 
were  erected,  and  formed  into  communi- 
ties, or  corporations,  governed  by  their 
own  laws,  and  inverted  with  Separate  and 
extenfive  jurisdiction  over  their  own  mem- 
bers. A  regular  courfe  of  fludies  was 
planned.  Privileges  of  great  value  were 
conferred  on  matters  and  fcholars.  Aca- 
demical titles  and  honours  of  various  kinas 
were  invented,  as  a  i  ecompence  for  both. 
Nor  was  it  in  the  Schools  alone  that  lupe- 
riority  in  fcience  led  to  reputation  and  au- 
thority ;  it  became  the  objeel  of  refpeel  in 
life,  and  advanced  fuch  as  acquired  it  to  a 
rank  of  no  inconiiderable  eminence.  Al- 
lured by  all  thefe  advantages,  an  incredible 
number  of  Students  reforted  to  thefe  new 
feats  of  learning,  and  crowded  with  eager- 
nefs  into  that  new  path  which  was  open  to 
fame  and  distinction. 

But  how  considerable  foever  thefe  firft 
efforts  may  appear,  there  was  one  circum- 
ftance which  prevented  the  effects  of  them 
from  being  as  extenfive  as  they  ought  to  have 
been.  All  the  languages  in  curope,  during 
the  period  under  review  *,  were  barbarous, 
They  were  destitute  of  elegance,  of  force, 
and  even  of  perfpicuity.    No  attempt  had 

*  From  the  fubverfion  of  the  Roman  empire  to 
the  beginning  of  the  fixteenth -century. 

QLq  4  been 


6oo 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


been  hitherto  made  to  improve  or  to  polifh 
them.  The  Latin  tongue  was  confecrated 
by  the  church  to  religion.  Cuftom,  with 
authority  fcarce  lefs  facred,  had  appropri- 
ated it  to  literature.  All  the  fciences  cul- 
tivated in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  cen- 
turies were  taught  in  Latin.  All  the  books 
with  refpeel  to  them,  were  written  in  that 
language.  To  have  treated  of  any  im- 
portant fubjeft  in  a  modern  language,  would 
have  been  deemed  a  degradation  of  it. 
This  confined  fcience  within  a  very  nar- 
row circle.  The  learned  alone  were  ad- 
mitted into  the  temple  of  knowledge;  the 
gate  was  (hut  againit  all  others,  who  were 
allowed  to  remain  involved  in  their  former 
darknefs  and  ignorance. 

But  though  fcience  was  thus  prevented, 
during  feveral  ages,  from  diflufmg  itfelf 
through  fociety,  and  its  influence  was  cir- 
cumfciibed,  the  progrefs  of  it  may  be  men- 
tioned, neverthdefs,  among  the  great  caufes 
which  contributed  to  introduce  a  change 
of  manners  into  Europe.  That  ardent, 
though  ill  judged,  ipirk  of  inquiry,  which 
I  have  described,  occafioned  a  fermentation 
of  mind,  which  put  ingenuity  and  inven- 
tion in  motion,  and  gave  them  vigour,  it 
led  men  to  a  new  employment  of  their  fa- 
culties, wnich  they  found  to  be  agreeable, 
as  well  as  interefting.  It  accuftomed  them 
to  exercifes  and  occupations  which  tended 
to  foften  their  manners,  and  to  give  them 
fome  relifh  for  thofe  gentle  virtues  which 
ate  peculiar  to  nations  among  whom  fci- 
ence hath  been  cultivated  with  iuccefs. 

Robcrtfon. 

§  251.  On  the  refpsSl  paid  hy  the  Lace- 
RjEMOKians  and  At h en  1  a ns  to  aid 
Age. 

It  happened  at  Athens,  during  a  public 
reprefentation  of  fome  play  exhibited   in 
honour  of  the  commonwealth,  that  an  old 
gentleman  came  too   late  for  a  place  fuit- 
abie  to  his  age  and  quality.     Many  of  the 
young  gentlemen,  who  obferved  the  diffi- 
culty and  confufion  he  was  in,  made  figns 
to  him  that  they  would  accommodate  him 
if  he  came  where  they  fat:  the  good  man 
bullied    through    the   crowd    accordingly; 
but  when  h*   came  to  the  feats  to  which  he 
was  invited,  the  jell  was  to  fit  clofe  and 
expole  him  as  he  flood,  out  of  countenance, 
to   the  whole  audience.     The  frolic  went 
round  all  tire  Athenian  benches.     But  on 
thole  cccaiions,  there  were  alfo  particular 
places   afiigned  for  foreigners :  when  the 
good  man  fkulked  towards  the  boxes  ap- 


pointed for  the  Lacedemonians,  that  ho-  ■ 
neft  people,  more  virtuous  than  polite,  rofe 
up  all  to  a  man,  and,  with  the  greatelt  re- 
fpecl,  received  him  among  them.  The 
Athenians,  being  fuddenly  touched  with  a 
fenfe  of  the  Spartan  virtue,  and  their  own 
degeneracy,  gave  a  thunder  of  applaufe; 
and  the  old  man  cried  out,  "  The  Athe- 
"  nians  underftand  what  is  good,  but  the 
"  Lacedemonians  praclife  it." 

Spectator, 

§   252.     On  Ptktus  and  Arria. 
In  the   reign  of  Claudius,  the    Roman 
emperor,  Arria,  the  wife  of  Csecinna  Partus, 
was  an  illuflrious  pattern  of  magnanimity 
and  conjugal  affeclion. 

It  happened  that   her  hufband  and  her 
fon  were  both,  at  the  fame  time,  attacked 
with  a  dangerous  illnefs.     The  fon  died. 
He  was  a  youth  endowed  with  every  qua- 
lity of  mind  and  perfon  which  could  endear 
him   to  his  parents.       His  mother's  heart 
was  torn  with  all  the  anguifh  of  grief;  yet 
fhe  refolved  to  conceal  the  diftreffing  event 
from  her  hufband.    She  prepared  and  con- 
ducted his  funeral  {o  privately,  that  Pastus 
did  not  know  of  his  death.     Whenever  fhe 
came  into  her  hufband's  bed-chamber,  (lie 
pretended  her  fon  was  better  ;  and,  as  of- 
ten as  he  inquired  after  his  health,  would 
anfwer,    that  he  had  relied  well,    or  had 
eaten  with  an  appetite.     When  fhe   found 
that  fhe  could  no  longer  reftrain  her  grief* 
but  her  tears  were  gufhing  out,  fhe  would 
leave  the  room,  and,  having  given  vent  to 
her  pailion,  return   again  with    dry   eyes; 
and  a  ferene  countenance,  as  if  fhe  had  left 
her  forrow   behind  her  at  the  door  of  the 
chamber. 

Camillus  Scribcnianus,  the  governor  of 
Dalmatia,  having  taken  up  arms  againff. 
Claudius,  Psetus  joined  himfelf  to  his  party, 
and  was  foon  after  taken  prifoner,  and 
brought  to  Rome.  When  the  guards  were 
going  to  put  him  on  board  the  fhip,  Arria 
befought  them  that  fhe  might  be  permitted 
to  go  with  him.  "  Certainly,"  faid  fhe, 
"  you  cannot  refufe  a  man  of  confular  dig- 
"  nity,  as  he  is,  a  few  attendants  to  wait 
"  upon  him ;  but,  if  you  will  take  me,  I 
,e  alone  will  perform  their  office."  Thij 
favour,  however,  was  rcfufed;  upon  which 
fhe  hired  a  fmall  fifhing  veflel,  and  boldly 
ventured  to  follow  the  ihip. 

Returning  to  Rome,  Arria  met  the  wife 
of  Scriboriianus  in  the  emperor's  palace, 
who  preiTing  her  to  difcover  all  that  fhe 
knew  of  the  iiuurreftion,— .««  What !"  faid 

fhe 


BOOK    IT.      CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL. 


601 


me,  "  fhall  I  regard  thy  advice,  who  faw 
*«  thy  hufband  murdered  in  thy  very  arms, 
"  and  yet  furviveft  him  ?" 

Partus  being  condemned  to  die,  Arria 
formed  a  deliberate  refolution  to  mare  his 
fate,  and  made  no  fccret  of  her  intention. 
Thrafea,  who  married  her  daughter,  at- 
tempting to  diffuade  her  from  her  purpofe, 
among  other  arguments  which  he  ufed, 
faid  to  her,  "  Would  you  then,  if  my  life 
"  were  to  be  taken  from  me,  advife  your 
"  daughter  to  die  with  me  ?"  "  Moft  cer- 
"  tainly  I  would,"  fhe  replied,  "  if  me 
"  had  lived  as  long,  and  in  as  much 
*'  harmony  with  you,  as  I  have  lived  with 
"  Partus." 

Perfifting  in  her  determination,  fhe  found 
means  to  provide  herfelf  with  a  dagger : 
and  one  day,  when  (he  obferved  a  more 
than  ufual  gloom  on  the  countenance  of 
Pectus,  and  perceived  that  death  by  the 
hand  of  the  executioner  appeared  to  him 
more  terrible  than  in  the  field  of  glory — 
perhaps,  too,  fenfible  that  it  was  chiefly  for 
her  fake  that  he  wifhed  to  live — (lie  drew 
the  dagger  from  her  fide,  and  ftabbed  her- 
felf before  his  eyes.  Then  inftantly  pluck- 
ing the  weapon  from  her  breaft,  fhe  pre- 
fented  it  to  her  hufband,  faying,  "  My 
"  Partus,  it  is  not  painful  *."  Pliny. 

§  253.   Abdolonymus  raifed to  the   Go- 
vernment cf  S 1  D  0  n  . 

The  city  of  Sidon  having  furrendered 
to  Alexander,  he  ordered  Hephreflion  to 
beftow  the  crown  on  hirii  whom  the  Sido- 
nians  fhould  think  moft  worthy  of  that  ho- 
nour. Hephatftion  being  at  that  time  re- 
fide  nt  with  two  young  men  of  dillinciion, 
offered  them  the  kingdom  ;  but  they  re- 
futed it,  telling  him  that  it  was  contrary  to 
the  laws  of  their  country,  to  admit  any  one 
to  that  honour,  who  was  not  of  the  royal 
family.  He  then,  having  expreffed  his 
admiration  of  their  difinterefted  fpirit,  de- 
fired  them  to  name  one  of  the  royal  race, 
who  might  remember  that  he  received  the 
Crown  through  their  hands.  Overlooking 
many  who  would  have  been  ambitious  of 
this  high  honour,  they  made  choice  of  Ab- 
dolonymus, whofe  fingular  merit  had  ren- 

*  In  the  Tatler,  No.  72,  a  fancy  piece  is  drawn, 
founded  on  the  principal  fact  in  this  ftory,  but 
wholly  fictitious  in  the  circumftarces  of  the  tale. 
The  author,  miftaking  Csecinna  Paetus  for  Thra- 
fea Faetus,  has  accufed  even  Nero  nnjuftly  ;  charg- 
ing him  with  an  action  which  certainly  belonged 
to  Claudius.  See  Plinv's  Epiftles,  Book  hi.  lip. 
16.  Dion.  Camus,  Lib.  Is,  and  Tacitus,  Lib.  xvi. 
'§  35- 


dered  him  confpicuous  even  in  the  vale  of 
obfeurity.  Though  remotely  related  to  the 
royal  family,  a  leries  of  misfortunes  had 
reduced  him  to  the  neceflity  of  cultivating 
a  garden,  for  a  lmall  ftipend,  in  the  fuburbs 
of  the  city. 

While  Abdolonymus  was  bufily  employ- 
ed in  weeding  his  garden,  the  two  friends 
of  Hepha-'lion,  bearing  in  their  hands  the 
enfigns  of  royalty,  approached  him,  and 
faluted  him  king,  informing  him  that  Alex- 
ander had  appointed  him  to  that  office; 
and  requiring  him  immediately  to  exchange 
his  ruftic  garb,  and  utenfils  of  hufbandry, 
for  the  regal  robe  and  fceptre.  At  the 
fame  time,  they  urged  him,  when  he  fhould 
be  feated  on  the  throne,  and  have  a  na- 
tion in  his  power,  not  to  forget  the 
humble  condition  from  which  he  had  been 
raifed. 

All  this,  at  the  fir  ft,  appeared  to  Abdo- 
lonymus as  an  illufion  of  the  fancy,  or  an 
infult  offered  to  his  poverty.  He  requefted 
them  not  to  trouble  him  farther  with  their 
impertinent  jefts,  and  to  find  fome  other 
way  of  amufing  themfelves,  which  mi^ht 
leave  him  in  the  peaceable  enjoyment"  of 
his  obfeure  habitation  — At  length,  how- 
ever, they  convinced  him  that  they  were 
ferious  in  their  propofal,  and  prevailed  upon 
him  to  accept  the  regal  office,  and  accom- 
pany them  to  the  palace. 

No  fooner  was  he  in  poffefnon  of  the 
government,  than  pride  and  envy  created 
him  enemies,  who  whifpered  their  murmurs 
in  every  place,  till  at  laft  they  reached  the 
ear  of  Alexander;  who,  commanding  the 
new-elected  prince  to  be  fent  for,  required 
of  him,  with  what  temper  of  mind  he  had 
borne  his  poverty.  "  Would  to  Heaven," 
replied  Abdolonymus,  "  that  I  may  be  able 
"  to  bear  my  crown  with  equal  moderation : 
"  for  when  I  poffeffed  little,  I  wanted  no- 
"  thing:  thefe  hands  fupplied  me  with 
"  whatever  1  defired."  From  this  anfwer, 
Alexander  formed  fo  high  an  idea  of  his 
wifdom,  that  he  confirmed  the  choice  which 
had  been  made,  and  annexed  a  neighbour- 
ing province  to  the  government  ofSidon. 
£)uinfU5  Qilrtius. 

§    254.       The  Refignalicn    of  the    Emperor 
Charles  V. 

Charles  refolved  to  refign  his  kingdoms 
to  his  fon,  with  a  folemnity  fukable'fo  the 
importance  of  the  tranfacfion  ;  and  to  per- 
form this  laft  act  of  fovereignty  with  fuci 
formal  pomp,  as  might  leave  an  indelible 
impreffion  on  the  o^nds,  not  only  of  his 

fubj-ctS, 


&°z  Elegant  extr 

fubjefts,  but  of  his  fucceffor.  With  tliis 
view,  he  called  Philip  out  of  England, 
where  the  peevifh  temper  of  his  queen, 
which  increafed  with  herdefpair  of  having 
iilue,  rendered  him  extremely  unhappy; 
and  the  jealoufy  of  the  Englifh  left  him  no 
hopes  of  obtaining  the  direction  of  their 
affairs.  Having  affembled  the  Hates  of  the 
Low  Countries,  at  BrufTels,  on  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  October,  one  thoufand  five  hundred 
and  fifty-five,  Charles  feated  himfelf,  for 
the  laft  time,  in  the  chair  of  ftate;  on  one 
fide  of  which  was  placed  his  fon,  and  on  the 
other  his  filter,  the  queen  of  Hungary,  re- 
gent of  the  Netherlands ;  with  a  fplendid 
retinue  of  the  grandees  of  Spain,  and 
princes  of  the  empire,  Handing  behind  him. 
The  prefident  of  the  council  of  Flanders, 
by  his  command,  explained,  in  a  few  words, 
his  intention  in  calling  this  extraordinary 
meeting  of  the  ftates.  He  then  read  the 
instrument  of  resignation,  by  which  Charles 
furrendered  to  his  fon  Philip  all  his  terri- 
tories, jurisdiction,  and  authorityinthe  Low 
Countries;  abfolving  his  Subjects  there 
from  their  oath  of  allegiance  to  him,  which 
he  required  them  to  transfer  to  Philip,  his 
lawful  heir,  and  to  ferve  him  with  the  fume 
loyalty  and  zeal  which  they  had  manifeited, 
dining  fo  long  a  courfe  of  years,  in  fupport 
of  his  government. 

Charles  then  rofe  from  his  feat,  and 
leaning  on  the  fhoulder  of  the  prince  of 
Orange,  becaufe  he. was  unable  to  Hand 
without  fupport,  he  addreffed  himfelf  to  the 
audience,  and,  from  a  paper  which  lie  held 
in  his  hand,  in  order  to  affiit  his  memory, 
he  recounted  with  dignity,  but  without 
orientation,  all  the  great  things  which  he 
had  undertaken  and  performed  fince  the 
commencement  of  his  adminiftration.  He 
obfervcd,  that,  from  the  Seventeenth  year 
of  his  age,  he  had  dedicate  d  all  his  thoughts 
and  attention  to  public  objects;  refervino- 
no  portion  of  his  time  for  the  indulgence 
of  his  eafe,  and  very  little  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  private  pleafure  :  that,  either  in  a 
pacific  or  hoftile  manner,  he  had  vifked 
Germany  nine  times,  Spain  fix  times,  France 
four  times,  Italy  i'^ven  times, the  Low  Coun- 
tries ten  times,  England  twice,  Africa  as 
often,  and  had  made  eleven  voyages  by 
fea:  that,  while  his  health  permitted  him 
to  difcharge  his  duty,  and  the  vigour  of 
his  conftitution  was  equal,  in  any  degree, 
to  the  arduous  office  of  governing  fuch  cx- 
tenfive  dominions,  he  had  never  Shunned 
labour,    nor  repined  under  fatigue:    that 


ACTS     IN     PROSE. 

now,  when  his  health  was  broken,  and  his 
vigour  exhaulted  by  the  rage  of  an  incur- 
able diftemper,  Ids  growing  infirmities  ad- 
momfhed  him  to  retire ;  nor  was  he  fo  fond 
of  reigning,  as  to  retain  the  fceptre  in  an 
impotent  hand,  which  was  no  longer  able 
to  protect  his  Subjects,  or  to  render  them 
happy :  that,  initead  of  a  fovereign  worn 
out  with  difeafes,  and  fcarcely  half  alive, 
he  gave  them  one  in  the  prime  of  life,  ac- 
cuftomed  already  to  govern,  and  who  added 
to  the  vigour  of  youth,  all  the  attention  and 
fagacity  of  maturer  years :  that  if,  during 
the  courfe  of  a  long  adminiftration,  he  had 
committed  any  material  error  in  govern- 
ment; or  if,  under  the  prefTure  of  fo  many 
and  great  affairs,  and  amidft  the  attention 
which  he  had  been  obliged  to  give  to 
them,  he  had  either  neglected,  or  injured 
any  of  his  fubjefts,  he  now  implored  their 
forgivenefs:  that,  for  his  part,  he  mould 
ever  retain  a  grateful  fenfe  of  their  fidelity 
and  attachment,  and  would  carry  the  re- 
membrance of  it  along  with  him  to  the 
place  of  his  retreat,  as  his  fweetelt  confo- 
lation,  as  well  as  the  be  ft  reward  for  all 
his  ferviccs;  and,  in  his  hit  prayers  to  Al- 
mighty God,  would  pour  forth'  his  ardent 
vvifhes  for  their  welfare. 

Then,  turning  towards  Philip,  who  fell 
on  his  knees,  and  killed  his  father's  hand, 
"  If,"  fays  he,  "I  had  left  you  bv  my 
"  death,  this  rich  inheritance,  to  which  I 
"  have  made  fuch  large  additions,  fome 
"  regard  would  have  been  juftly  due  to  my 
"  memory  on  that  account:  but  now,  when 
"  1  voluntarily  refign  to  you  what  1  mi^ht 
"  itill  have  retained,  J  'may  well  expeft 
"  the  warmeft  expreifions  of  thanks  on 
"  your  part.  With  thefe,  however,  I  dif- 
"  penfe  ;  and  fhall  confider  your  concern 
"  for  the  welfare  of  your  fubjecls,  and  your 
"  love  of  them,  as  the  belt  and  moil  ac- 
"  ceptable  teftimony  of  your  gratitude  to 
"  me.  It  is  in  your  power,  by  a  wife  and 
"  virtuous  adminiftration,  to  juitify  the  ex- 
"  traordinary  proof  which  I  this  day  give 
"  of  my  paternal  affeftion ;  and  to  de- 
"  monffrate,  that  you  are  worthv  of  the 
"  confidence  which  I  repofe  in  you  Pre- 
"  ferye  an  inviolable  regard  for  religion ; 
"  maintain  the  Catholic  faith  in  its  purity; 
"  let  the  laws  of  your  country  be  Sacred  in 
"  your  eyes  ;  encroach  not  on  the  rights 
"  and  privileges  of  your  people  :  and,  if 
"  the  time  fhall  ever'come,  when  you  fhall 
"  wiSh  to  enjoy  the  tranquillity  of  private 
"  hie,  may  you  have  a  fon  endowed  with 

"  fuch 


BOOK    II.      CLASSICAL    AND     HISTORICAL. 


603 


ft  fuch  qualities,  that  you  can  refign  your 
*'  fceptre  to  him  with  as  much  fatisfaction 
ft  as  I  give  up  mine  to  you!" 

As  foon  as  Charles  had  finifhed  this  long 
addrefs  to  his  iubjects,  and  to  their  new  fo- 
vereign,  he  funk  into  the  chair,  exhaufled, 
and  ready  to  faint  with  the  fatigue  of  fuch 
an  extraordinary  effort.  During  his  dif- 
cou  fe,  the  whole  audience  melted  into 
tears ;  fome,  from  admiration  of  his  mag- 
nanimity; others,  foftened  by  the  expref- 
fions  of  tendernefs  towards  his  fon,  and  of 
love  to  his  people ;  and  all  were  affected 
with  the  deepeil  forrow,  at  lofing  a  fove- 
reign,  who  had  diilinguifhed  the  Nether- 
la  ds,  his1  native  country,  with  particular 
marks  of  his  regard  and  attachment. 

A  few  weeks  afterwards,  Charles,  in  an 
aftembly  no  lefs  fplendid,  and  with  a  cere- 
monial equally  pompous,  reiigned  to  his 
fon  the  croons  of  Spain,  with  all  the  ter- 
ritories depending  on  them,  both  in  the 
Old  and  in  the  New  World.  Of  all  theie 
vail:  pofieffions  he  referved  nothing  to 
himfelf,  but  an  annual  penfion  of  a  hun- 
dred thoufand  crowns,  to  defray  the  char- 
ges of  his  family,  and  to  afford  him  a 
imall  fum  for  acts  of  beneficence  and  cha- 
rity. 

The  place  he  had  chofen  for  his  retreat, 
was  the  monaitery  of  St.  Juftus,  in  the 
province  of  Eflramadura.  It  was  feated 
in  a  vale  of  no  great  extent,  watered  by 
a  fmall  brook,  and  furrounded  by  rifing 
grounds,  covered  with  lofty  trees.  From 
the  nature  of  the  foil,  as  well  as  the  tem- 
perature of  the  climate,  it  was  efteemed 
the  moll  healthful  and  delicious  fituation 
in  Spain.  Some  months  before  his  re- 
fignation,  he  had  fent  an  architect  thither, 
to  add  a  new  apartment  to  the  monailery, 
for  his  accommodation  ;  but  he  gave  ftrift 
orders,  that  the  flyle  of  the  building  fhould 
be  fuch  as  faited  his  prefent  fituation  ra- 
ther than  his  former  dignity.  It  confitied 
only  of  fix  rooms;  four  of  them  in  the 
form  of  friars'  cells,  with  naked  walls ; 
the  other  two,  each  twenty  feet  fquare, 
were  hung  with  brown  cloth,  and  furnifhed 
in  the  moil  fimple  manner.  They  were 
all  on  a  level  with  tlje  ground ;  with  a 
door  on  one  fide,  into  a  garden,  of  which 
Charles  himfelf  had  given  the  plan,  and 
which  he  had  filled  with  various  plants, 
intending  to  cultivate  them  with  his  own 
hands.  On  the  other  fide,  they  commu- 
nicated with  the  chapel  of  the  monallery, 
in  which  he  was  to  perform  his  devotions. 
In  this  humble  retreat,   hardly  futricient 


for  the  comfortable  accommodation  of  a 
private  gentleman,  did  Charles  enter,  with 
twelve  domellics  only.  He  buried  there, 
in  folitude  and  filence,  his  grandeur,  his 
ambition,  together  with  all  thofe  vail  pro- 
jects which,  during  half  a  century,  had 
alarmed  and  agitated  Europe,  filling  every 
kingdom  in  it,  by  turns,  with  the  terror 
of  his  arms,  and  the  dread  of  being  fubject- 
ed  to  his  power.  Robert/on. 

§   255.  An  Atcount  of 'Muly  Moluc. 

When  Don  Seballian,  king  of  Portugal, 
had  invaded  the  territories  of  Muly  Mo- 
luc, emperor  of  Morocco,  in  order  to  de- 
throne him,  and  fethis  crown  upon  the  head 
of  his  nephew,  Moluc  was  wearing  away 
with  a  diftemper  which  he  himfelf  knew 
was  incurable.  However,  he  prepared  for 
the  reception  of  fo  formidable  an  enemy. 
He  was  indeed  fo  far  fpent  with  his  fick- 
nefs,  that  he  did  not  expect  to  live  out  the 
whole  day,  when  the  lall  decifive  battle 
was  given ;  but  knowing  the  fatal  confe- 
quences  that  would  happen  to  his  children 
and  people,  in  cafe  he  mould  die  before  he 
put  an  end  to  that  war,  he  commanded  his 
principal  officers,  that  if  he  died  dsrinp- 
the  engagement,  they  mould  conceal  his 
death  from  the  army,  and  that  they  fhould 
ride  up  to  the  litter  in  which  his  corpfe 
was  carried,  under  pretence  of  receiving 
orders  from  him  as  ufual.  Before  the 
battle  begun,  he  was  carried  through  all 
the  ranks  of  his  army  in  an  open  litter,  as 
they  flood  drawn  up  in  array,  encouraging 
them  to  fight  valiantly  in  defence  of  their 
religion  and  country.  Finding  afterwards 
the  battle  to  go  againil  him,  though  he 
was  very  near  his  lafl  agonies,  he  threw 
himfelf  out  of  his  litter,  rallied  his  army, 
and  led  them  on  to  the  charge  ;  which 
afterwards  ended  in  a  complete  victory  on 
the  fide  of  the  Moors.  He  had  no  fooner 
brought  his  men  to  the  engagement,  but 
finding  himfelf  utterly  fpent,  he  was  again 
replaced  in  his  litter,  where  laying  his 
finger  on  his  mouth,  to  enjoin  fecrecy  to 
his  officers,  who  flood  about  him,  he  died 
a  few  moments  after  in  that  poilure. 

Spectator. 

%    256.     An  Account  of  Va  l  e  n  t  i  n  e   and 

Unkion. 

At  the  fiege  of  Namur  by  the  allies, 
there  were  in  die  ranks  of  the  company 
commanded  by  captain  Pincent,  in  colonel 
Frederic  Hamilton's  regiment,  one  Un- 
nion,  a  corporal,  and  one  Valentine,  a  pri- 
vate 


604. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


rate  centinel :  there  happened  between 
thefe  two  men  a  difpute  about  an  affair 
of  love,  which,  upon  Tome  aggravations, 
grew  to  an  irreconcileabie  hatred.  Un- 
nion  being  the  officer  of  Valentine,  took 
all  opportunities  even  to  ftrike  his  rival, 
and  profefs  the  fpite  and  revenge  which 
moved  him  to  it.  The  centinal  bore  it 
without  refinance  ;  but  frequently  faid,  he 
would  die  to  be  revenged  of  that  tyrant. 
They  had  fpent  whole  months  in  this 
manner,  the  one  injuring,  the  other  com- 
plaining ;  when,  in  the  midit  of  this  rage 
towards  each  other,  they  were  commanded 
upon  the  attack  of  the  caftlc,  where  the 
corporal  received  a  fhot  in  the  thigh,  and 
fell;  the  French  preiTing  on,  and  he  ex- 
pecting to  be  trampled  to  death,  called 
cut  to  his  enemy,  "  Ah,  Valentine  !  can 
you  leave  me  here?"  Valentine  imme- 
diately ran  back,  and  in  the  midft  of  a 
thick  fire  of  the  French,  took  the  corporal 
upon  his  back,  and  brought  him  through 
all  that  danger  as  far  as  the  abbey  of  Sal- 
fine,  where  a  cannon  ball  took  off  his  head  : 
liis  body  fell  under  his  enemy  whom  he 
was  carrying  off.  Unnion  immediately 
forgot  his  wound,  rofe  up,  tearing  his  hair, 
and  then  threw  himielf  upon  the  bleeding 
carcafe,  crying,  "  Ah,  Valentine  !  \\  as  it 
for  me,  who* have  fo  barbaroufly  ufed  thee, 
that  thou  haft  died?  I  will  not  live  after 
thee."  He  was  not  by  any  means  to  be 
forced  from  the  body,  but  was  removed 
with  it  bleeding  in  his  arms,  and  attended 
with  tears  by  all  their  comrades  who  knew 
their  enmity.  When  he  was  brought  to  a 
tent,  his  wounds  were  dreffed  by  force ; 
but  the  next  day,  ftiil  calling  upon  Valen- 
tine, and  lamenting  his  cruelties  to  him,  he 
died  in  the  pangs  of  remorfe,         'Taller. 

§    257.     An  Example  of  Hi/for teal   'Narra- 
tion from  S  a  L  L  u  s  t  . 

The  Trojans  (if  we  may  believe  tradi- 
tion) were  the  firft  foun  lers  of  the  Roman 
commonwealth;  who,  under  the  conduct 
of  ./Eneas,  having  made  their  efcape  from 
their  own  ruined  country,  got  to  Italy,  and 
there  for  fome  time  lived  a  rambling  and 
unfettled  life,  withont  any  fixed  place  of 
abode,  among  the  natives,  an  uncultivated 
people,  who  had  neither  law  nor  regular 
government,  but  were  wholly  free  from  all 
rule  or  refrraint.  This  mixed  multitude, 
however,  crowding  together  into  one  city, 
though  originally  different  in  extraction, 
language,  and  cuftoms,  united  into  one 
b  >dy,  in  a  furprifingly  fhort  fpace  of  time. 


And  as  their  little  ftate  came  to  be  im-. 
proved  by  additional  numbers,  by  policv, 
and  by  extent  of  territory,  and  feemed 
likely  to  make  a  figdre  among  the  nations, 
according  to  the  common  cotirfe  of  things, 
the  appearance  of  profperity  drew  upon 
them  the  envy  of  the  neighbouring  ftates ; 
fo  that  the  princes  and  people  who  bor- 
dered upon  them,  begun  to  leek  occafions 
of  quarelling  with  them.  The  alliances 
they  could  form  were  but  few  :  for  moll 
of  the  neighbouring  Itates  avoided  em- 
broiling themfelves  On  their  account.  The 
Romans,  feeing  that  they  had  nothing  to 
truit  to  but  their  own  conduct,  found  it 
neceffary  to  be  11  i r  themfelves  with  great 
diligence,  to  make  vigorous  preparations, 
to  excite  one  another  to  face  their  enemies 
in  the  field,  to  hazard  their  lives  in  de- 
fence of  their  liberty,  their  country,  and 
their  families.  And  when,  by  their  va- 
lour, they  repulfed  the  enemy,  they  gave 
affiftance  to  their  allies,  and  gained  friend- 
fhips  by  often  giving,  and  feldom  de- 
manding, favours  of  that  fort.  They  had, 
by  this  time,  eftabliihed  a  regular  form 
of  government,  to  wit,  the  monarchical. 
And  a  fenate,  confiiting  of  men  ad- 
vanced in  years,  and  grown  wife  by  ex- 
perience, though  infirm  of  body,  con- 
sulted with  their  kings  upon  all  important 
matters,  and,  on  account  of  their  age, 
and  care  of  their  country,  were  called  fa- 
thers. Afterwards,  when  kingly  power, 
which  was  originally  eftabliihed  for  the 
prefervation  of  liberty,  and  the  advantage 
of  the  ftate,.  came  to  degenerate  into  law- 
iefs  tyranny,  they  found  it  neceffary  to 
alter  the  form  of  government,  and  to  pu$ 
the  fupseme  power  into  the  hands  of  two 
chief  magiitrates,  to  be  held  for  one  year 
only  ;  hoping,  by  this  contrivance,  to  pre- 
vent the  bad  effects  naturally  arifing  from 
the  exorbitant  licenti,ouhv:is  of  princes, 
and  the  indefealible  tenure  by  which  they 
generally  imagine  they  hold  their  fove- 
reignty,  <S;c.  Sail.  Bell.  Catilinar. 

§   258.     The    Story   cf  Damon    and 
Pythias. 

Damon  and  Pythias,  of  the  Pythago- 
rean feet  in  philcfophy,  lived  in  the  time 
of  Dionyfius,  the  tyrant  of  Sicily.  Their 
mutual  fiiendfhip  was  (o  ilrong,  that  they 
were  ready  to  die  for  one  another.  One 
of  the  two  (for  it  is  not  known  which) 
being  condemned  to  death  by  the  tyrant, 
obtained  leave  to  go  into  his  own  country, 
to  fettle  his  affairs,  on  condition  that  the 

other 


BOOK  II.    CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL. 


605 


•ether  fhould  confent  to  be  imprifoned  in 
his  Head,  and  put  to  death  for  him,  if  he 
did  not  return  before  the  day  of  execution. 
The  attention  of  every  one,  and  efpecially 
of  the  tyrant  himfelf,  was  excited  to  the 
higheit  pitch  ;  as  every  body  was  curious 
to  fee  what  fhould  be  the  event  of  fo 
ftrange  an  affair.  When  the  time  wasal- 
•moft  elapfed,  and  he  who  was  gone  did 
not  appear,  the  rafhnefs  of  the  other,  whole 
fanguine  friendship  had  put  him  upon  run- 
ning fo  feemingly  defperate  a  hazard,  was 
univerfally  blamed.  But  he  ftill  declared, 
that  he  had  not  the  leaft  lhadow  of  doubt 
in  his  mind  of  his  friends's  fidelity.  The 
event  (hewed  how  well  he  knew  him.  He 
came  in  due  time,  and  furrendered  himfelf 
to  that  fate,  which  he  had  no  reafon  to 
think  he  lhould  efcape  ;  and  which  he  did 
not  defire  to  efcape  by  leaving  his  friend 
to  fuffer  it  in  his  place.  Such  fidelity  fof- 
tened  even  the  favage  heart  ofDionyfius 
himfelf.  He  pardoned  the  condemned. 
He  gave  the  two  friends  to  one  another; 
and  begged  that  they  would  take  himfelf 
in  for  a  third.  Val.  Max.  Cic. 

§   259.     The   Story  o/*Dionysius    the 
tyrant. 

Dionyfius,  the  tyrant  of  Sicily,  fhewed 
how  far  he  was  from  being  happy,  even 
whilif.  he  had  abounded  in  riches,  and  all  the 
pleafures  which  riches  can  procure.  Da- 
mocles, one  of  his  flatterers,  was  compli- 
menting him  upon  his  power,  his  treafures, 
and  the  magnificence  of  his  royal  Jfate, 
and  affirming,  that  no  monarch  ever  was 
greater  or  happier  than  he.  "  Have  you 
"  a  mind,  Damocles,"  fays  the  king,  "  to 
'*  tafte  this  happinefs,  and  know,  by  ex- 
"  perience,  what  my  enjoyments  are,  of 
"  which  you  have  fo  high  an  idea  ?" 
Damocles  gladly  accepted  the  offer.  Up- 
on which  the  king  ordered,  that  a  royal 
banquet  fhould  be  prepared,  and  a  gilded 
couch  placed  for  him,  covered  with  rich 
embroidery,  and  fideboards  loaded  with 
gold  and  filver  plate  of  immenfe  value. 
Pages  of  extraordinary  beauty  were  or- 
dered to  wait  on  him  at  table ;  and  to 
obey  his  commands  wjth  the  greateft  rea- 
dinefs,  and  the  molt  profound  fubmiffion. 
Neither  ointments,  chaplets  of  flowers, 
nor  rich  perfumes  were  wanting.  The 
table  was  loaded  with  the  moll:  cxquifite 
delicacies  of  every  kind.  Damocles  fan- 
cied himfelf  amongft  the  gods.  In  the 
midif.  of  all  his  happinefs,  he  fees,  let 
down  from  the  roof  exadtly  over  his  neck 


as  he  lay  indulging  himfelf  in  ftate,  a  glit- 
tering fword  hung  by  a  fingle  hair.  The 
fight  of  deitruclion'  thus  threatening  him 
from  on  high,  foon  put  a  flop  to  his  joy 
and  revelling.  The  pomp  of  his  attend- 
ance, and  the  glitter  of  the  carved  plate, 
gave  him  no  longer  any  pleafure.  He 
dreads  to  ftretch  forth  his  hand  to  the 
table.  He  throws  off  the  chaplet  of  rofes. 
He  haftens  to  remove  from  his  dangerous 
fituation,  and  at  lafl  begs  the  king  to  re- 
iiore  him  to  his  former  humble  condition, 
having  no  defire  to  enjoy  any  longer  fuch, 
a  dreadful  kind  of  happinefs. 

Cic.  %ufc.  Queft. 

§   260.     A    remarkable    Injlance    of  filial 
Duty. 

The  prator  had  given  up  to  the  trium- 
vir a  woman  of  fome  rank,  condemned, 
for  a  capital  crime,  to  be  executed  in  the 
prifon.  He  who  had  charge  of  the  exe- 
cution, in  confideration  of  her  birth,  did' 
not  immediately  put  her  to  death.  He 
even  ventured  to  let  her  daughter  have 
accefs  to  her  in  prifon ;  carefully  fearch- 
ing  her,  however,  as  lhe  went  in,  leit  ihe 
fiiould  carry  with  her  any  fuftenance  ; 
concluding,  that  in  a  few  days  the  mother 
mull  of  courfe  periih  for  want,  and  that 
the  feverity  of  putting  a  woman  of  family 
to  a  violent  death,  by  the  hand  of  the 
executioner,  might  thus  be  avoided.  Some 
days  palling  in  this  manner,  the  triumvir 
began  to  wonder  that  the  daughter  itili 
came  to  vilit  her  mother,  and  could  by  no 
means  comprehend,  how  the  latter  fhould 
live  fo  long.  Watching,  therefore,  care- 
fully, what  palled  in  the  interview  between 
them,  he  found,  to  his  great  altonilhment, 
that  the  life  of  the  mother  had  been,  all 
this  while,  fupported  bv  the  milk  of  the 
daughter,  who  came  to  the  prifon  every 
day,  to  give  her  mother  her  breafts  to  fuck. 
The  ftrange  contrivance  between  them  was 
reprefented  to  the  judges,  and  procured  a 
pardon  for  the  mother.  Nor  was  it  thought 
iufficient  to  give  to  fo  dutiful  a  daughter 
the  forfeited  life  of  her  condemned  mo- 
ther, but  they  were  both  maintained  after- 
wards by  a  penfion  fettled  on  them  for  life. 
And  the  ground  upon  which  the  prifon 
flood  was  confecrated,  and  a  temple  to  filial 
piety  built  upon  it. 

What  will  not  filial  duty  contrive,  or 
what  hazards  will  it  not  run,  if  it  will  put 
a  daughter  upon  venturing,  at  the  peril  of 
her  own  life,  to  maintain  her  imprifoned 
and  condemned  mother   in  fo  unufual  a 

manner  I 


6o6 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


manner  !  For  what  was  ever  heard  of 
more  ftrange,  than  a  mother  fucking  the 
breails  of  her  own  daughter?  It  might 
even  feem  lb  unnatural  as  to  render  it 
doubtful  whether  it  might  not  be,  in  fome 
fort,  wrong,  if  it  were  not  that  duty  to 
parents  is  the  firft  law  of  nature. 

Fal.  Max.  Plin. 

§  261.     %he   Continence  of  S c  t  p  I o  Af  r  i- 

C  A  N  U  S . 

The  foldiers,  after  the  taking  of  New 
Carthage,  brought  before  Scipio  a  young 
lady  of  fuch  diftinguifned  beauty,  that 
ihe  attracted  the  eyes  of  all  wherever  fhe 
went.  Scipio,  by  enquiring  concerning 
her  country  and  parents,  among  other 
things  learned,  that  lhe  was  betrothed  to 
Allucius,  prince  of  the  Celtiberians.  He 
immediately  ordered  her  parents  and  bride- 
groom to  be  lent  for.  In  the  mean  time 
he  was  informed,  that  the  young  prince 
was  fo  exceilively  enamoured  of  his  bride, 
that  he  could  not  furvive  the  lofs  of  her. 
For  this  reafon,  as  foon  as  he  appeared, 
and  before  he  fpoke  to  her  parents, 
he  took  great  care  to  talk  with  him.  "  As 
'•'  you  and  I  are  both  young,"  laid  he, 
"  we  can  converfe  together  with  greater 
"  freedom,  When  your  bride,  who  had 
Ci  fallen  into  the  hands  of  my  foldiers, 
"  was  brought  before  me,  I  was  informed 
*f  that  you  loved  her  paffionately ;  and,  in 
"  truth,  her  perfect  beauty  left  me  no 
"  room  to  doubt  of  it.  If  I  were  at  liber- 
"  ty  to  indulge  a  youthful  paffion,  I 
"  mean  honourable  and  lawful  wedlock, 
4i  and  were  not  folely  engrofibd  by  the 
"  affairs  of  my  republic,  1  might  have 
"  hoped  to  have  been  pardoned  my  ex- 
<!  ceffive  love  for  fo  charming  a  mirtrefs. 
"  But  as  I  am  lituated,  and  have  it  in  my 
"  power,  with  pleafure  I  promote  your 
<c  happinefs.  Your  future  ipoufe  has  met 
"'■  with  as  civil  and  modeft  treatment  from 
"  me,  as  if  die  had  been  amongft  her  own 
**  parents,  who  are  foon  to  be  yours  too. 
<•'  1  have  kept  her  pure,  in  order  to  have 
"  it  in  my  power  to  make  you  a  prefent 
<•  worthy  of  you  and  of  me.  The1  only 
(i  return  I  afk  of  you  for  this  favour  is, 
'*  that  you  will  be  a  friend  to  the  Roman 
"  people;  and  that  if  you  believe  me  to 
'•  be  a  man  of  worth,  as  the  ftates  of 
*l  Spain  formerly  experienced  my  father 
"  and  uncle  to  be,  you  may  know  there 
"  are  many  in  Rome  who  relemble  us ; 
**  and    there   arc     not   a    people   in  the 


"  univerfe,  whom  you  ought  lefs  to  defire 
"  to  be  an  enemy,  or  more  a  friend,  to 
"  you  or  yours."  The  youth,  covered 
with  blufhes,  and  full  of  joy,  embraced 
Scipio's  hands,  praying  the  immortal  gods 
to  reward  him,  as  he  himfelf  was  not 
capable  to  do  it  in  the  degree  he  himfelf 
dclired,  or  he  deferved.  Then  the  pa- 
rents and  relations  of  the  virgin  were 
called.  They  had  brought  a  great  fum 
of  money  to  ranfom  her.  But  feeing  her 
reitored  without  it,  they  began  to  beg 
Scipio  to  accept  that  fum  as  a  prefent; 
protefKng  they  would  acknowledge  it  as  a 
favour,  as  much  as  they  did  the  reltoring 
the  virgin  without  injury  offered  to  her. 
Scipio,  unable  to  refill,  their  importunate 
folicitations,  told  them,  he  accepted  it ; 
and  ordering  it  to  be  laid  at  his  feet,  thus 
addreffed  Allucius :  "  To  the  portion  you 
"  are  to  receive  from  your  father-in-laws 
"  I  add  this,  and  beg  you  would  accept  it 
''  as  a  nuptial  prefent."  So  he  deiired 
him  to  take  up  the  gold,  and  keep  it  for 
himfelf.  Traniported  with  joy  at  the  pre  - 
fents  and  honours  conferred  on  him,  he 
returned  home,  and  expatiated  to  his  coun- 
trymen on  the  merits  of  Scipio.  "There 
"  is  come  amongft  us,"  faid  he, "  a  young 
"  hero,  like  the  gods,  who  conquers  all 
"  things  as  well  by  generofity  and  bene- 
«  ficence,  as  by  arms."  For  this  reafon, 
having  railed  troops  among  -his  own  fub- 
jects,  he  returned  a  few  days  after  to  Scipio 
with  a  body  of  1400  horfe.  Livy. 

§  262.     The  private  Life  of  jEmilius 
Scipio. 

The  taking  of  Numantia,  which  termi- 
nated a  war  that  difgraced  the  Roman 
name,  completed  Scipio's  military  exploits. 
But,  in  order  to  have  a  more  perfect  idea 
of  his  merit  and  character,  it  feems  that, 
after  having  ken  him  at  the  head  of  ar- 
mies, in  the  tumult  of  battles,  and  in  tho 
pomp  of  triumphs,  it  will  not  be  loit  labour 
to  confider  him  in  the  repofe  of  a  private 
life,  in  the  midll  of  his  friends,  family,  and 
houfehold.  The  truly  great  man  ought  to 
be  fo  in  all  things.  The  magillrate,  gene- 
ral, and  prince,  may  conitrain  themfelves, 
whillt  they  are  in  a  manner  exhibiting 
themfelves  as  fpeftacles  to  the  public,  and 
appear  quite  different  from  what  they 
really  are.  But  reduced  to  themfelves, 
and  without  the  witnefl'es  who  force  them 
to  wear  the  male,  all  their  luitre,  like  ths 
pomp  of  the  theatre,  often  abandons  taem, 

and 


BOOK   II.    CLASSICAL     AND     HISTORICAL. 


60? 


trnd  leaves  little  more  to  be  Teen  in 
them  than  meannefs  and  narrownefs  of 
mind. 

Sciplo  did  nnt   depart  from   himfelf  in 
any  refpedL     He   was    not    like    certain 
paintings,  that  are  to  be  feen   only  at  a 
diftance  :    he    could  not    but   gain   by  a 
nearer  view.       The    excellent  education 
which  he  had  had,  through  the  care  of  his 
father  Paulus  ^Emilius,  who  had  provided 
him  with  the  moil  learned  mailers  of  thofe 
times,  as   well  in    polite    learning  as  the 
fciences ;  and  the   inrlruclions   he  had  re- 
ceived from  Polybius,  enabled  him  to  fdl 
up  the   vacant  hours    he  had  from  public 
affairs  profitably,  and   to  fupport  the  lei- 
fure  of  a  private  life,  with   pleafure  and 
dignity.     This  is  the   glorious   teilimony 
given  of  him  by  an  hiftoriau  :  "  Nobody 
*'  knew  better  how  to  mingle  leifure  and 
"  adion,  nor  to   ufe   the   intervals  of  reit 
"  from  public  bufinefs  with  more  elegance 
"  and  tafle.     Divided  between  arms    and 
"  books,  between  the  military  labours  of 
"  the  camp,  and  the  peaceful  occupations 
*'  oftheclofet,  he  either  exercifed  his  body 
"  in  the  dangers  and  fatigues  of  war,  or 
"  his  mind  in  theftudy  of  the  fciences  *." 
The  firil  Scipio  Africanus  ufed  to  fay, 
That  he  was  never  lefs  idle,  than  when  at 
leifure,  or  lefs  alone,  than    when  alone. 
A  fine  faring,  cries  Cicero,  and  well  wor- 
thy of  that  great  man.  And  it  fhews  that, 
even  when   inactive,  he  was  always  em- 
ployed;  and  that  when  alone,  he   knew 
how  to   converfe   with  himfelf.     A  very 
extraordinary  difpofkion    in  perfons  ac- 
cuilomed  to  motion  and  agitation,  whom 
leifure  and  lolitude,  when  they  are  reduced 
to  them,  plunge  into  a  difgult  for  every 
thing,  and    fill  with  melancholy  ;  fo   that 
they  are   difpleafed  in  every   thing  with 
themfelves,  and  fink  under  the  heavy  bur- 
den of  having  nothing  to  do.     This  fay- 
ing of  the  firil  Scipio  Teems  to  me  to  fuit 
1  the  fecond  ftill  better,  who  having  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  other  by  being  educated  in 
a  tafle  for  polite  learning  and  the  fciences, 
found  in  that  a  great  refource  againit  the 
inconvenience  of  which    we    have  been 
fpeaking.     Befides  which,  having  ufually 
Polybius  and  Panaetius  with  him,  even  in 
the  field,  it  is  eafy  to  judge  that  his  houfe 
was  open,  in  times  of  peace,  to  all  the 
learned,      Every  body    knows,  that  the 
comedies   of  Terence,  the  moil  accom- 
plished work  of  that  kind  Rome  ever  pro- 

*  Vellcius  Paterculus. 


duced,  for  natural  elegance  and  beauties, 
are  afcribed  to  him  and  Laelius,  of  whom 
we  fhall  foon  fpeak.  It  was  publicly 
enough  reported,  that  they  affiiled  that 
poet  in  the  compofition  of  his  pieces;  and 
Terence  himfelf  makes  it  an  honour  to 
him  in  the  prologue  to  the  Adelphi.  I 
fhall  undoubtedly  not  advife  any  body,  and 
leail  of  all  perfons  of  Scipio's  rank,  tc» 
write  comedies.  But  on  this  occaiion,  let 
us  only  confider  tafle  in  general  for  let- 
ters. Is  there  a  more  ingenuous,  a  more 
affecHng  pleafure,  and  one  more  worth)" 
of  a  wife  and  virtuous  man,  I  might  per- 
haps add,  or  one  more  neceflary  to  a  mi- 
litary perfon,  than  that  which  refults  from 
reading  works  of  wit,  and  from  the  con- 
verfation  of  the  learned  ?  Providence1 
thought  fit,  according  to  the  obfervation 
of  a  Pagan,  that  he  fhould  be  above  thofe 
trivial  pleafure s,  to  which  perfons  without  - 
letters,  knowledge,  curiofity,  and  tafle  for 
reading,  are  obliged  to  give  themfelves 
up. 

Another  kind  of  pleafure,  ftill  more  fen- 
fible,  more  warm,  more  natural,  and  more 
implanted  in  the  heart  of  man,  conflituted 
the  greateit  felicity  of  Scipio's  life;  this 
was  that  of  friend fliip  ;  a  pleafure  feldom 
known  by  great  perfons  or  princes,  be  - 
caufe.  generally  loving  only  themfelves, 
they  do  not  deferve  to  have  friends.  How- 
ever, this  is  the  moil  grateful  tie  of  human 
fociety  ;  fo  that  the  poet  Ennius  fays  wiah 
great  reafon,  that  to  live  without  friends 
is  not  to  live.  Scipio  had  undoubtedly  a 
great  number  of  them,  and  thofe  very 
illuftrious  :  but  I  fhall  fpeak  here  only  of 
Ladius,  whofe  probity  and  prudence  ac- 
quired him  the  furname  of  the  Wife. 

Never,  perhaps,  were  two  friends  bet- 
ter fuited  to  each  other  than  thofe  great 
men.  They  were  almoil  of  the  fame  age, 
and  had  the  fame  inclination,  benevolence 
of  mind,  taile  for  learning  of  all  kind-, 
principles  of  government,  and  zeal  for  the 
public  good.  Scipio,  no  doubt,  took  place 
in  point  of  military  glory  ;  but  Ladius  did 
not  want  merit  of  that  kind  ;  and  Cicero 
tells  us,  that  he  fignalized  himfelf  very 
much  in  the  war  with  Viriathus.  As  t.j 
the  talents  of  the  mind,  the  fuperiority,  in 
re fp eel  of  eloquence,  feems  to  have  been 
given  to  Ladius ;  though  Cicero  does  not 
agree  that  it  was  due  to  him,  and  fays, 
that  Ladius's  flyie  favoured  more  of  the 
ancient  manner,  and  had  fomething  lefs 
agreeable  in  if  than  that  of  Scipio. 

Let  us  hear  Ladius  himfelf  (that  is  tLe 

words- 


6o8 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


vords  Cicero  puts  into  his  mooth)  upon 
the  flricl  union  which  fubfifted  between 
Scipio  and  him.  "  As  for  me,"  fays  Lse- 
lius,  "  of  all  the  gifts  of  nature  or  fortune, 
"  there  are  none,  I  think,  comparable  to 
"  the  happinefs  of  having  Scipio  for  my 
"  friend.  I  found  in  our  friendlhip  a  per- 
**  feci:  conformity  of  fentiments  in  refpecl 
"  to  public  affairs ;  an  inexhauftible  fund 
"  of  counfels  and  fupports  in  private  life  ; 
*c  with  a  tranquillity  and  delight  not  to  be 
"  expreffed.  I  never  gave  Scipio  the 
"  leaft  offence,  to  my  knowledge,  nor 
*'  ever  heard  a  word  efcape  him  that  did 
•**  not  pleafe  me.  We  had  but  one  houfe, 
"  and  one  table  at  our  common  expence, 
"  the  frugality  of  which  was  equally  the 
"  tafte  of  both.  In  war,  in  travelling,  in 
**  the  country,  we  were  always  together. 
"  I  do  not  mention  our  ftudies,  and  the 
"  attention  of  us  both  always  to  learn 
*  iomething  ;  this  was  the  employment  of 
"  all  our  leifure  hours,  removed  from  the 
"  fight  and  commerce  of  the  world." 

Is  there  any  thing  comparable  to  a 
friendlhip  like  that  which  Ladius  halt  juft 
described  ?  What  a  confolation  is  it  to 
have  a  fecond  felf,  to  whom  we  have  no- 
thing fecret,  and  in  whofe  heart  we  may 
pour  out  our  own  with  perfect  effufion  ! 
Could  we  tafte  profperity  fo  fenfibiy,  if  we 
had  no  one  to  fhare  in  our  joy  with  us  r 
And  what  a  relief  is  it  in  adverfity,  and 
the  accidents  of  life,  to  have  a  friend  ftill 
more  affected  with  them  than  ourfelves  ! 
What  highly  exalts  the  value  of  the  friend- 
lhip we  fpeak  of,  was  its  not  being  found- 
ed at  all  upon  intereft,  but  folely  upon 
efteem  for  each  other's  virtues.  "  What 
«*  occafion,"  fays  Ladius,  "  could  Scipio 
«*  have  of  me  ?  Undoubtedly  none  ;  nor  I 
*f  of  him.  But  my  attachment  to  him  was 
"  the  effect  of  my  high  efteem  and  admi- 
"  ration  of  his  virtues ;  and  his  to  me  arofe 
"  from  the  favourable  idea  of  my  character 
"  and  manners.  The  friendlhip  increafed 
"  afterwards  upon  both  fides,  by  habit  and 
"  commerce.  We  both,  indeed,  derived 
"  great  advantages  from  it ;  but  thofe 
"  were  not  our  view,  when  we  began  to 
"  love  each  other." 

I  cannot  place  the  famous  embaffy  of 
Scipio  Africanus  into  the  Eaft  and  Egypt, 
better  than  here  ;  we  ihall  fee  the  iame 
tafte  of  fimplicity  and  modefty,  as  we  have 
jure  been  representing  in  his  private  life, 
ihine  out  in  it.  It  was  a  maxim  with  the 
Romans,  frequently'  to  fend  ambaffadors 
to  their  allies^  to  take  cognizance  of  their 


affairs,  and  to  accommodate  their  differ- 
ences. It  was  with  this  view  that  three 
illuftrious  perfons,  P.  Scipio  Africanus, 
Sp.  Mummius,  and  L.  Metellus,  were  fent 
into  Egypt,  where  Ptolemy  Phyfon  then 
reigned,  the  moll  cruel  tyrant  mentioned 
in  hiftory.  They  had  orders  to  go  from 
thence  to  Syria,  which  the  indolence,  and 
afterwards  the  captivity  of  Demetrius  Ni- 
canor  amongft  the  Parthians,  made  a  prey 
to  troubles,  factions,  and  revolts.  They 
were  next  to  vifit  Afia  Minor,  and  Greece; 
to  infpect  into  the  affairs  of  thofe  countries; 
to  inquire  into  what  manner  the  treaties 
made  with  the  Romans  were  obferved  j 
and  to  remedy,  as  far  as  poflible,  all  the 
diforders  that  fhould  come  to  their  know-* 
ledge.  They  acquitted  themfelves  with 
fo  much  equity,  wifdom,  and  ability,  and 
did  fuch  great  fervioes  to  thofe  to  whom 
they  were  fent,  in  re-eftablilhing  order 
amongft  them,  and  in  accommodating 
their  differences,  that,  when  they  return- 
ed to  Rome,  ambaffadors  arrived  there 
from  all  the  parts  in  which  they  had  been, 
to  thank  the  fenate  for  having  fent  perfons 
of  fuch  great  merit  to  them,  whofe  wifdom 
and  goodnefs  they  could  not  fufnciently 
commend. 

The  firft  place  to  which  they  went,  ac- 
cording to  their  inftructions,  was  Alexan- 
dria. The  king  received  them  with  great 
magnificence.  As  for  them,  they  affected 
it  fo  little,  that  at  their  entry,  Scipio,  who 
was  the  richeft  and  moll  powerful  perfoa 
of  Rome,  had  only  one  friend,  thephilofo- 
pher  Pansetius,  with  him,  and  five  domef- 
tics.  His  victories,  fays  an  ancient  writer, 
and  not  his  attendants,  were  confidered ; 
and  his  perfonal  virtues  and  qualities  were 
efteemed  in  him,  and  not  the  glitter  of  gold 
and  filver, 

Though,  during  their  whole  flay  in 
Egypt,  the  king  caufed  their  table  to  be 
covered  with  the  mod  exquifite  provifions 
of  every  kind,  they  never  touched  any  but 
the  moll  fimple  and  common,  defpifmg  all 
the  reft,  which  only  ferve  to  fotten  the 
mind  and  enervate  the  body.— But,  on 
fuch  occafions,  ought  not  the  ambaffadors 
of  fo  powerful  a  ftate  as  Rome  to  have 
fuftained  its  reputation  of  majefty  in  a 
foreign  nation,  by  appearing  in  public 
with  a  numerous  train  and  magnificent 
equipages  ?  This  was  not  the  tafte  of  the 
Romans,  that  is,  of  the  people  that, 
among  all  nations  of  the  earth,  thought 
the  moll  juftly  of  true  greatnefs  and  folid 
glory,  Rfllin. 

§   263, 


BOOK  II.      CLASSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL* 


6og 


§   263.     On  PunBuation. 

Punctuation  is  the  art  of  marking  in 
writing  the  feveral  paufes,  or  refts,  be- 
tween fentences  and  the  parts  of  fentences, 
according  to  their  proper  quantity  or  pro- 
portion, as  they  are  expreffed  in  a  juft  and 
accurate  pronunciation. 

As  the  feveral  articulate  founds,  the  fyl- 
lables  and  words,  of  which  fentences  con- 
fift,  are  marked  by  letters;  fo  the  refts  and 
paufes,  between  fentences  and  their  parts, 
are  marked  by  Points. 

But,  though  the  feveral  articulate  founds 
are  pretty  fully  and  exactly  marked  by 
letters  of  known  and  determinate  power ; 
yet  the  feveral  paufes,  which  are  ufed  in  a 
juft  pronunciation  of  difcourfe,  are  very 
imperfectly  expreffed  by  Points. 

For  the  different  degrees  of  connexion 
between  the  feveral  parts  of  fentences, 
and  the  different  paufes  in  a  juft  pronun- 
ciation, which  exprefs  thofe  degrees  of 
connexion  according  to  their  proper  value, 
admit  of  great  variety ;  but  the  whole 
number  of  Points,  which  we  have  to  ex- 
prefs this  variety,  amounts  only  to  four. 

Hence  it  is,  that  we  are  under  a  necef- 
fity  of  expreffing  paufes  of  the  fame  quan- 
tity, on  different  occasions,  by  different 
Points;  and  more  frequently,  of  expreffing 
paufes  of  different  quantity  by  the  fame 
Points. 

So  that  the  doctrine  of  Punctuation 
muft  needs  be  very  imperfect:  few  precife 
rules  can  be  given  which  will  hold  with- 
out exception  in  all  cafes ;  but  much  muft 
be  left  to  the  judgment  and  tafte  of  the 
writer. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  a  greater  number 
of  marks  were  invented  to  exprefs  all  the 
poffible  different  paufes  of  pronunciation; 
the  doctrine  of  them  would  be  very  per- 
plexed and  difficult,  and  the  ufe  of  them 
would  rather  embarrafs  than  affift  the  rea- 
der. 

It  remains,  therefore,  that  we  be  content 
with  the  rules  of  Punctuation,  laid  down 
with  as  much  exadtnefs  as  the  nature  of 
the  fubject  will  admit :  fuch  as  may  ferve 
for  a  general  direction,  to  be  accommo- 
dated to  different  occafions ;  and  to  be 
fupplied,  where  deficient,  by  the  writer's 
judgment. 

The  feveral  degrees  of  connexion  be- 
tween fentences,  and  between  their  prin- 
cipal conftructive  parts,  Rhetoricians  have 
confidered  under  the  following  diltinctions. 


as  the  moft  obvious  and  remarkable:  the 
Period,   Colon,    Semicolon,    and     Com- 


ineuiih:  as  follows : 
>is  thus  marked < 

"  l: 


The  Period  is  the  whole  fentence,  com- 
plete in  itfelf,  wanting  nothing  to  make  a. 
full  and  perfect  fenfe,  and  not  connected  in 
conflruction  with  a  fubfequent  fentence. 

The  Colon,  or  Member,  is  a  chief  con* 
ftructive  part,  or  greater  divifion,  of  a  fen- 
tence. 

The  Semicolon,  or  Half-member,  is  a 
lefs  conftructive  part,  or  fubdivifion,  of  a 
fentence  or  member. 

A  fentence  or  member  is  again  fubdi- 
vided  into  Commas,  or  Segments;  which 
are  the  leaft  conftructive  parts  of  a  fentence 
or  member,  in  this  way  of  coniidering  it; 
for  the  next  fubdivifion  would  be  the  refo- 
lution  of  it  into  phrafes  and  words. 

The   Grammarians  have  followed  this 
divifion  of  the  Rhetoricians,  and  have  ap- 
propriated to  each  of  thefe  di (Unctions  its 
mark,  or  point;  which    takes    its    name 
from  the  part  of  the  fentence  which  it  is 
employed  to  diftinguifh:  as  follows 
The  Period 
The  Colon 
The  Semicolo 
The  Comma 

The  proportional  quantity,  or  time,  of 
the  points,  with  refpect  to  one  another,  is 
determined  by  the  following  general  rule : 
The  Period  is  a  paufe  in  quantity  or  dura- 
tion double  of  the  Colon :  the  Colon  is 
double  of  the  Semicolon ;  and  the  Semi- 
colon is  double  of  the  Comma.  So  that 
they  are  in  the  fame  proportion  to  one 
another,  as  the  Semibref,  the  Minim,  the 
Crotchet,  and  the  Quaver,  in  mufic.  The 
precife  quantity,  or  duration,  of  each  paufe 
or  note  cannot  be  defined;  for  that  varies 
with  the  time :  and  both  in  difcourfe  and 
mufic  the  fame  compofition  may  be  re- 
hearfed  in  a  quicker  or  a  flower  time :  but 
in  mufic  the  proportion  between  the  notes 
remains  ever  the  fame;  and  in  difcourfe, 
if  the  doctrine  of  Punctuation  were  exact, 
the  proportion  between  the  paufes  would 
be  ever  invariable. 

The  Points  then  being  defigned  to  ex- 
prefs the  paufes,  which  depend  on  the  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  connexion  between  fen- 
tences,and  between  their  principalconftruc- 
tive  parts ;  in  order  to  underftand  the  mean- 
ing of  the  Points,  and  to  know  how  to  apply 
them  properly,  we  muft  confider  the  nature 
of  a  fentence,  as  divided  into  its  principal 
conftructive  parts,  and  the  degiees  of  con-- 
R  r  nexion 


6io 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


nexion  between  thofe  parts  upon  which 
fuch  divifion  of  it  depends. 

To  begin  with  the  leaft  of  thefe  princi- 
pal contractive  parts,  the  Comma.  In 
order  the  more  clearly  to  determine  the 
proper  application  of  the  Point  which 
marks  it,  we  muft  diftinguifh  between  an 
imperfect  phrafe,  a  fimple  fentence,  and  a 
compounded  fentence. 

An  imperfect  phrafe  contains  no  afler- 
tion,  or  does  not  amount  to  a  proportion 
or  fentence. 

A  fimple  fentence  has  but  one  fubject, 
and  one  finite  verb. 

A  compounded  fentence  has  more  than 
one  fubjecl:,  or  one  finite  verb,  either  ex- 
preiTed  or  underftood  :  or  it  confifts  of  two 
or  more  fimple  fentences  connected  to- 
gether. 

In  a  fentence,  the  fubjecl:  and  the  verb 
may  be  each  of  them  accompanied  uith 
feveral  adjuncts;  as  the  object,  the  end, 
the  circumftances  of  time,  place,  manner, 
and  the  like;  and  the  fubjecl  or  verb  may 
be  either  immediately  connected  with  them, 
or  mediately  ;  that  is,  by  being  connected 
with  fome  thing,  which  is  connected  with 
feme  other ;  and  fo  on. 

if  the  feveral  adjuncts  affect  the  fubjecl 
or  the  verb  in  a  different  manner,  they  are 
only  fo  many  imperfect  phrafes ;  and  the 
fentence  is  fimple. 

A  fimple  fentence  admits  of  no  point, 
by  which  it  may  be  divided,  or  diftinguifh- 
ed  into  parts. 

If  the  feveral  adjuncts  affect  the  fubject 
cr  the  verb  in  the  fame  manner,  they  may 
be  refolved  into  fo  many  fimple  fentences  ; 
the  fentence  then  becomes  compounded, 
and  it  muft  be  divided  into  its  pans  by 
Pi  ints. 

For,if  there  are  feveral  fubjects  belong- 
in  g  in  the  fame  manner  to  one  verb5  or  fe- 
veral verbs  belonging  in  the  fame  manner 
to  one  fubject,  the  fubjects  and  verbs  are 
itili  to  be  accounted  equal  in  number :  for 
every  verb  mult  have  its  fubject,  and  every 
fubject  its  verb;  and  every  one  of  the  fub- 
jects, or  verbs,  fhould  or  may  have  its 
point  or  distinction. 

Examples : 
"  The  paffion  for  praife  produces  excel- 
lent effects  in  women  of  fenfe."  Aduiion, 
bpect.  N°  73.  In  this  fentence pajpon  is 
- 1  i  fubject,  and  produces  the  verb :  each  of 
•which  is  accompanied  and  connected  with 
its  adjuncts.  The  fubjeci  is  nol  paffion  in 
general,    but  a  particular  paj&on  deter- 


mined by  its  adjunct  of  fpecification,  as  we 
may  call  it ;  the  paffion  for  praife.  So 
likewife  the  verb  is  immediately  connected 
with  its  object,  excellent  effects;  and  medi- 
ately, that  is,  by  the  intervention  of  the 
word  effects,  with  women,  the  fubject  in 
which  thefe  effects  are  produced;  which 
again  is  connected  with  its  adjunct  of  fpe- 
cification ;  for  it  is  not  meaned  of  women 
in  general,  but  of  women  of  fenfe  only. 
Lattly,  it  is  to  be  obferved,  that  the  verb 
is  connected  with  each  of  thefe  feveral  ad- 
juncts in  a  different  manner ;  namely,  with 
effects,  as  the  object;  with  women,  as  the 
fubject  of  them;  with  fenfe,  as  the  quality 
or  characteriitic  of  thofe  wemen.  The  ad- 
juncts therefore  are  only  fo  many  imper- 
fect phrafes ;  the  fentence  is  a  fimple  fen- 
tence, and  admits  of  no  point,  by  which 
it  may  be  diftinguiihed  into  parts. 

"  The  paffion  for  praife,  which  is  fo 
very  vehement  in  the  fair  fex,  produces  ex- 
cellent effects  in  women  of  fenfe."  Here 
a  new  verb  is  introduced, accompanied  with 
adjuncts  of  its  own;  and  the  fubject  is  re- 
peated by  the  relative  pronoun  <whicb.  It 
now  becomes  a  compounded  fentence, 
made  up  of  two  fimple  fentences,  one  of 
which  is  inferted  in  the  middle  of  the 
other;  it  muft  therefore  be  diltinguifhed 
into  its  component  parts  by  a  point  placed 
on  each  fide  of  the  additional  fentence. 

"  How  many  inftances  have  we  [in  the 
fair  fex]  of  chaftity,  fidelity,  devotion  ! 
How  many  ladies  diitinguifh  themfelves  bv 
the  education  of  their  children,  care  of 
their  families,  and  love  of  their  hufbands  • 
which  are  the  great  qualities  and  atchieve- 
ments  of  women-kind:  as  the  making  of 
war,  the  carrying  on  of  traffic,  the  ad- 
miniftration  of  juftice,  are  thofe  by  which 
men  grow  famous,  and  get  themfelves  a 
name !"     Ibid. 

In  the  firft  of  thefe  two  fentences,  the 
adjuncts  chaflity, fidelity,  devotion,  are  con- 
nected with  the  verb  by  the  word  inftances 
in  the  fame  manner,  and  in  effect  make  {o 
many  diftinct  fentences:  "  how  many  in- 
ftances have  we  of  chaftity  !  how  many 
inftances  have  we  of  fidelity  !  how  many 
inftances  have  we  of  devotion  !"  They 
muft  therefore  be  feparated  from  one  ano- 
ther by  a  point.  The  fame  may  be  faid  of 
the  adjuncts,  "  education  of  their  children, 
&c."  in  the  former  part  of  the  next  fen- 
tence :  as  likewife  of  the  feveral  fubjefts, 
"  the  making  of  war,  &c."  in  the  latter 
part ;  which  have  in  effect  each  their  verb ; 


OOK    II.      CLASSICAL     AND    HISTORICAL.         6u 


for  each  of  thefe  "  is  an  atchievement  by 
which  men  grow  famous." 

As  fentences  themfelves  are  divided  into 
fimple  and  compounded,  fo  the  members 
of  fentences  may  be  divided  likewife  into 
iimple  and  compounded  members:  for  whole 
fentences,  whether  fimple  or  compounded, 
may  become  members  of  other  fentences 
by  means  of  fome  additional  connexion. 

Simple  members  of  fentences  clofely 
connected  together  in  one  compounded 
member,  or  fentence,  are  diflinguifhed  or 
feparated  by  a  Comma :  as  in  the  fore- 
going examples. 

So  likewife,  the  cafe  abfolute  ;  nouns  in 
oppoiition,  when  confiding  of  many  terms ; 
the  participle  with  fome  thing  depending  on 
it;  are  to  be  diflinguifhed  by  the  Comma: 
for  they  may  be  reiolved  into  fimple  mem- 
bers. 

When  an  addrefs  is  made  to  a  perfon, 
the  noun,  anfwering  to  the  vocative  cafe 
in  Latin,  is  diflinguifhed  by  a  Comma. 

Examples : 

(s  This  faid,  He  form'd  thee,  Adam ;  thee.O  man, 
Duft  of  the  ground." 

"  Now  morn,  her  rofy  fteps  in  th'  eaftern  clime 
Advancing,  fovv'd  the  earth  with  orient  pearl." 

Milton. 

Two  nouns,  or  two  adjectives,  con- 
nected by  a  fingle  Copulative  or  Dif- 
junctive,  are  not  feparated  by  a  point :  but 
when  there  are  more  than  two,  or  where 
the  conjunction  is  underitood,  they  mult 
be  diflingufhed  by  a  Comma. 

Simple  members  connected  by  relatives, 
and  comparatives,  are  for  the  moll  part 
difiinguiihed  by  a  Comma :  but  when  the 
members  are  fhort  in  comparative  fen- 
tences ;  and  when  two  members  are  clofely 
connected  by  a  relative,  reitraining  the  ge- 
neral notion  of  the  antecedent  to  a  particu- 
lar fenfe ;  the  paufe  becomes  almoll  infen- 
fible,  and  the  Comma  is  better  omitted. 

Examples: 

"  Raptures,  tranfports,  and  extafies,  are 
the  rewards  which  they  confer :  fighs  and 
tears,  prayers  and  broken  hearts,  are  the 
offerings  which  are  paid  to  them." 

Addifon,  ibid. 

*'  Gods  partial,  changeful,  paffionate,  unjuft, 
Whofc  attribute!  were  rage,  revenge,  or  luft." 


"  What  is  fweeter  than  honey?  and  what 
is  ftronger than  a  lion?" 

A  circumftance  of  importance,  though 
no  more  than  an  imperfect  phrafe,  may  be 
fet  ofF  with  a  Comma  on  each  fide,  to  give 
it  greater  force  and  diitinction. 

Example : 
**  The  principle  may    be  defective  or 
faulty;  but  the  confequerces  it  produces 
are  Co  good,  that,  for  the  benefit  of  man- 
kind, it  ought  not  to  be  exthguiihed." 
Add'fon,  ibid. 

A  member  of  a  fentence,  whether  fim- 
ple or  compounded,  that  requires  a  greater 
paufe  than  a  Comma,  yet  does  not  of  itfelf 
make  a  complete  fentence,  but  is  followed 
I  y  Something  clofely  depending  on  it,  may 
be  diitinguifhed  by  a  Semicolon. 

Example : 

"  But  as  this  pafhon  for  admiration, 
when  it  works  according  to  reafon,  im- 
proves the  beautiful  part  of  our  fpeci.es  in 
every  thing  that  is  laudable  ;  fo  nothing  is 
more  deltrudtive  to  them,  when  it  is 
verned  hy  vanity  and  folly." 

AdJ.ifcn,   ibid. 

Here  the  whole  fentence  is  divided  into 
two  parts  by  the  Semicolon;  each  of  Which 
parts  is  a  compounded  member,  divided 
into  its  fimple  members  by  the  Comma. 

A  member  of  a  fentence,  whether  fimple 
or  compounded , which  of  itfelf  would  make 
a  complete  fentence,  and  fo  requires  a 
greater  paufe  than  a  Semicolon,  yet  is  fol- 
lowed by  an  additional  part  making  a  more 
full  and  perfect  fenfe,  may  be  difiinguiih- 
ed by  a  Colon. 

Example : 

*<  Were  all  books  reduced  to  their 
quintefTence,  many  a  bulky  author  would 
make  his  appearance  in  a  penny  paper: 
there  would  be  fcarce  any  fuch  thing  in 
-nature  as  a  folio  :  the  works  of  an  age 
would  be  contained  en  a  few  fhelves :  not 
to  mention  millions  of  volumes  that  would 
be  utterly  annihilated."  Addifon,  Sped. 
N°  124. 

Here  the  whole  fentence  is  divided  into 
four  parts  by  Colons :  the  firft  and  lall  of 
which  are  compounded  members,  each  di- 
vided by  a  Comma ;  the  fecond  and  third 
are  fimple  members. 

When  a  Semicolon  has  preceded,  and  a 

greater  paufe  is  Hill  neceflaryj  a  Colon 

R  r  2  may 


6l2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


may  be  employed,  though  the  fentence  be 
incomplete. 

The  Colon  is  alfo  commonly  ufed,  when 
an  example,  or  a  fpeech,  is  introduced. 

When  a  fentence  is  fo  far  perfectly  nnifli- 
ed,  as  not  to  be  connected  in  conftruftion 
with  the  following  fentence,  it  is  marked 
with  a  Period. 

In  all  cafes,  the  proportion  of  the  feve- 
ral  points  in  refpec~t  to  one  another  is  rather 
to  be  regarded,  than  their  fuppofed  pre- 
cife  quantity,  or  proper  office,  when  taken 
feparately. 

Befides  the  points  which  mark  the  paufes 
in  difcourfe,  there  are  others  which  denote 
a.  different  modulation  of  the  voice  in  cor- 
refpondence  with  the  fenfe.    Thefe  are 


'7  ^s  rj 

'*  C   marked    I    * 


The  Interrogation  point 
The  Exclamation  point 
The  Parenthefis, 

The  Interrogation  and  Exclamation 
Points  are  fufficiently  explained  by  their 
names :  they  are  indeterminate  as  to  their 
quantity  or  time,  and  may  be  equivalent 
in  that  refpect  to  a  Semicolon,  a  Colon,  or 
a  Period,  as  the  fenfe  requires.  They 
mark  an  elevation  of  the  voice. 

The  Parenthefis  inclofes  in  the  body  of 
a  fentence  a  member  inferted  into  it,  which 
is  neither  neceffary  to  the  fenfe,  nor  at  all 
affects  the  conftru&ion.  It  marks  a  mo- 
derate depreffion  of  the  voice,  with  a  paufe 
greater  than  a  Comma.  Lo<wtb, 


END 


OP     THl      SECOND      BOOKj 


ELEGANT 


v    x  ^    X,     /C  ^N  ^ -\  <^V --VV /-N    /^PV^ 


OR 


/■ 


\w 


S  .   \  ' 


<  ' 


* < 


ihiJh^r&taHf. 


Book  ThrrcL&  Fourth. 


Trinited  for    C  .  3j>  !  X.  I-  ^5,  uwinscnZjaufrfCte 

I  /,y/,„///.^.A  Tuilisfcd  as  the  J<,     >>   <  *  -v  ■  fijB.y^. 


ELEGANT       EXTRACTS. 


BOOK    THE      THIRD. 


ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS, 


§  I .  The  frji  Oration  againji  Philip  : 
pronounced  in  the  Archonjhip  of  Arifio- 
demus,  in  the  fir  ft  year  of  the  Hundred 
and  Seventh  Olympiad,  and  the  ninth  of 
Philip's  Reign. 

INTRODUCTION. 

WE  have  feen  Philip  oppofed  in  his 
defign  of  paffing  into  Greece, 
through  Thermopylae;  and  obliged 
to  retire.  The  danger  they  had  thus 
efcaped  deeply  affected  the  Athenians. 
So  daring  an  attempt,  which  was,  in 
effecT:,  declaring  his  purpofes,  filled 
them  with  ailonifhment :  and  the  view 
of  a  power,  which  every  day  received 
new  acceffions,  drove  them  even  to 
defpair.  Yet  their  averfion  to  public 
bufmefs  was  dill  predominant.  They 
forgot  that  Philip  might  renew  his 
attempt ;  and  thought  they  had  pro- 
vided furhciently  for  their  fecurity,  by 
polling  a  body  of  troops  at  the  en- 
trance of  Attica,  under  the  command 
of  Menelaus,  a  foreigner.  They  then 
proceeded  to  convene  an  afTembly  of 
the  people,  in  order  to  confider  what 
meafures  were  to  be  taken  to  check 
the  progrefs  of  Philip.  On  which 
occaflon  Demoflhenes,  for  the  firil 
time,  appeared  againft  that  prince  ; 
and  displayed  thofe  abilities,  which 
proved  the  greatefl  obftacle  to  his 
defigns. 
Ac  Athens,  the  whole  power  and  ma- 
nagement of  affairs  were  placed  in 
the  people.     It  was  their    rerogative 


to  receire  appeals  from  the  courts  of 
juflice,  to  abrogate  and  enact  laws, 
to  make  what  alterations  in  the  flate 
they  judged  convenient ;  in  fhort,  all 
matters,  public  or  private,  foreign  or 
domeflic,  civil,  military,  or  religious, 
were  determined  by  them. 
Whenever  there  was  occafion  to  deli- 
berate, the  people  aflembled  early  in 
the  morning,  fometimes  in  the  forum 
or  public  place,  fometimes  in  a  place 
called  Pnyx,  but  moll  frequently  in 
the  theatre  of  Bacchus.  A  few  days 
before  each  afTembly  there  was  a 
n^oyga^/xa  or  Placart  fixed  ©n  the 
flatues  of  fome  illuflrious  men  erected 
in  the  city,  to  give  notice  of  the  fub- 
jedt  to  be  debated.  As  they  refufed 
admittance  into  the  afTembly  to  all 
perfons  who  had  not  attained  the  ne- 
ceffaryage,  fo  they  obliged  all  others 
to  attend.  The  Lexiarchs  flretched 
out  a  cord  dyed  with  fcarlet,  and  by 
it  pufhed  the  people  towards  the  place 
of  meeting.  Such  as  received  the 
flain  were  fined ;  the  more  diligent 
had  a  fmall  pecuniary  reward.  Theie 
Lexiarchs  were  the  keepers  of  the 
regiller,  in  which  were  inrolled  the 
names  of  fuch  citizens  as  had  a  right 
of  voting.  And  all  had  this  right 
who  were  of  age,  and  not  excluded 
by  a  perfonal  fault.  Undutiful  chil- 
dren, cowards, brutal  debauchees,  pro- 
digals, debtors  to  the  public,  were  all 
excluded.  Until  the  time  of  Cecrops, 
women  had  a  right  of  fuffrage,  which 
R  r  3  they 


614 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


they  were  faid  to  have  loll,  on  account 
of  their  partiality  to  Minerva,  in  her 
difputewith  Neptune,  about  giving  a 
name  to  the  city. 

In  ordinary  cafes,  all  matters  were  firfl 
deliberated  in  the  fenate  of  jive  hun- 
dred, compofed  of  fifty  fenators  chofen 
out  of  each  of  the  ten  tribes  Each 
tribe  had  its  turn  of  presiding,  and 
the  fifty  fenators  in  office  were  called 
Prytanes.  And,  according  to  the  num- 
ber of  the  tribes,  the  Attic  year  was 
divided  into  ten  parts,  the  four  firll 
containing  thirty-fix,  the  other  thirty- 
live  days ;  in  order  to  make  the  Lu- 
nar year  complete,  which,  according 
to  their  calculation,  contained  one 
hundred  and  fifty- four  days.  During 
each  of  thefe  divifions,  ten  of  the  fifty 
Prytanes  governed  for  a  week,  and 
were  called  Proedri:  and,  of  thefe,  - 
he  who  in  the  courfe  of  the  week 
prefided  for  one  day,  was  called  the 
Epiftate  :  three  of  the  Proedri  being 
excluded  from  this  office. 

The  Prytanes  affexnbled  the  people  :  the 
proedri  declare  the  occafion  ;  and  the 
Epiftatae  demand  their  voices.  This 
was  the  cafe  in  the  ordinary  affem- 
blies :  the  extraordinary  were  con- 
vened as  well  by  the  generals  as  the 
Prytanes;  and  fometimes  the  people 
metof  their  own  accord,  without  wait- 
ing the  formalities. 

The  affembiy  was  opened  by  a  facrifice  ; 
and  the  place  was  fprinkled  with  the 
blood  of  the  victim.  Then  an  im- 
precation was  pronounced,  conceived 
in  thefe  terms  :  "  May  the  gods  pur- 
"  fue  that  man  to  deilruftion,  with 
"  all  his  race,  who  ihall  aft,  fpeak, 
*'  or  contrive,  any  thing  againft  this 
"  ftate!"  This  ceremony  beinp- 
finifhed,  the  Proedri  declared  the  oc- 
cafion of  the  affembiy,  and  reported 
the  opinion  of  the  fenate.  If  any 
doubt  aroie,  an  herald,  by  commiificn 
from  the  Epiftatae,  with  a  loud  voice, 
invited  any  citizen,  firft  of  thofe  above 
the  age  of  fir  y,  to  fpeak  his  opinion  : 
and  then  the  reft  according  to  their 
ages.  This  right  of  precedence  had 
been  granted  by  a  law  of  Solon,  and 
the  order  of  fpeaking determined  in- 
tirely.by  the  difference  of  years.  In 
the  time  of  Demofthenes,  this  law  was 
not  in  force.  It  is  faid  to  have  been 
repealed  ;  boat  fifty  years  before  the 
<vite  t  f  thisorition.     Yet  the  tUitom 


ftill  continued,  out  of  refpect  to  the 
reafonable  and  decent  purpofe  for 
which  the  law  was  originally  enafted. 
When  a  fpeaker  has  delivered  his 
fentiments,  he  generally  called  on  an 
officer,  appointed  for  that  purpofe,  to 
read  his  motion,  and  propound  it  in 
form.  He  then  fat  down,  or  refumed 
his  difcourfe,  and  enforced  his  mo- 
tion by  additional  arguments :  and 
fometimes  the  fpeech  was  introduced 
by  his  motion  thus  propounded.  When 
all  the  fpeakers  had  ended,  the  people 
gave  their  opinion,  by  firetching  out 
their  hands  to  him  whole  propofid. 
pleafed  them  moll.  And  Xenophon 
reports,  that,  night  having  come  on 
when  the  people  were  engaged  in  an 
important  debate,  they  were  obliged 
to  defer  their  determination  till  next 
day,  for  fear  of  confufion,  when  their 
hands  were  to  be  railed. 

Porrexerunt  mams,  faith  Cicero  (pro 
Flacco)  cif  P/ephifma  natum  eft.  And, 
to  conftitute  this  Pfephifma  or  decree, 
fix  thoufand  citizens  at  leaft  were-  re- 
quired. When  it  was  drawn  up,  the 
name  of  its  author,  or  that  perfon 
whofe  opinion  has  prevailed,  was  pre- 
fixed :  whence,  in  fpeaking  of  it,  they 
call  it  his  decree.  The  date  of  it 
contained  the  name  of  the  Archon, 
that  of  the  day  and  month,  and  that 
of  the  tribe  then  prefiding.  The  bu-. 
finefs  being  over,  the  Prytanes  dif- 
mified  the  aifembly. 

The  reader  who  chufes  to  be  more  mi- 
nutely informed  in  the  cuftoms*,  and 
manner  of  procedure  in  the  public 
afiemblies  of  Athens,  may  confult  the 
Archaelogia  of  Archbilhop  Potter,  Si- 
gonins  or  the  Concionatrices  of  Arif- 
tophanes. 

HAD  we  been  convened,  Athenians! 
on  fome  new  fubjecl  of  debate,  I  had  wait- 
ed, until  moll:  of  the  ufual  perfons  had  de- 
clared their  opinions.  If  I  had  approved 
of  any  thing  propofed  by  them,  I  fhould 
have  continued  filent:  If  not,  I  had  then 
attempted  to  fpeak  my  fentiments.  But 
fince  thofe  very  points  on  which  thefe  fpeak- 
ers have  oftentimes  been  heard  already  are, 
at  this  time,  to  be  confidered;  though  I  have 
arifen  firft,  I  prefume  I  may  expect  your 
pardon;  for  if  they  on  former  occafions  had 
adviied  the  ncceflary  meafures,  ye  would 
not  have  found  it  needful  to  confult  at  pre- 
fent. 

Firft 


BOOK    ITL      ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        615 


Firft  then,  Athenians  !  thefe  our  affairs 
muft  not  be  thought  defperate  ;  no,  though 
their  fituation  feems  intirely  deplorable. 
For  the  moft  (hocking  circumftance  of  all 
our  pad  conduct  is  really  the  moft  favour- 
able to  our  future  expectations.  And 
what  is  this  ?  That  our  own  total  indo- 
lence hath  been  the  caufe  of  all  our  pre- 
fent  difficulties.  For  were  we  thus  dif- 
trefTed,  in  fpite  of  every  vigorous  effort 
which  the  honour  of  our  ftate  demanded, 
there  were  then  no  hope  of  a  recovery. 

In  the  next  place,  reflect  (you  who  have 
been  informed  by  others,  and  you  who  can 
yourfelves  remember)  how  great  a  power 
the  Lacedemonians  not  long  iince  pof- 
fefled;  and  with  what  refolution,  with  what 
dignity  you  difdained  to  aft  unworthy  of 
the  ftate,  but  maintained  the  war  againft 
them  for  the  rights  of  Greece.  Why  do  I 
mention  thefe  things?  That  ye  may  know, 
that  ye  may  fee,  Athenians !  that  if  duly 
vigilant,  ye  cannot  have  any  thing  to  fear; 
that  if  once  remifs,  not  any  thing  can  hap- 
pen agreeable  to  your  defires :  witnefs  the 
then  powerful  arms  of  Lacedemon,  which 
a  juft  attention  to  your  iriterefts  enabled 
you  to  vanquifh  :  and  this  man's  late  in- 
folent  attempt,  which  our  infenfibility  to 
all  our  great  concerns  hath  made  the 
caufe  of  this  confufion, 

If  there  be  a  man  in  this  aflembly  who 
thinks  that  we  muft  find  a  formidable 
enemy  in  Philip,  while  he  views,  on  one 
hand,  the  numerous  armies  which  attend 
him  ;  and,  on  the  other,  the  weaknefs  of 
the  ftate  thus  defpoiied  of  its  dominions ; 
he  thinks  juftly.  Yet  let  him  refieft  en 
this  :  there  was  a  time,  Athenians !  when 
we  pofTeifedPydna,  andPotidaea.and  Me- 
thane, and  all  that  country  round :  when 
many  of  thofe  ftates  now  fubjefted  to  him 
were  free  and  independent ;  and  more  in- 
clined to  our  alliance  than  to  his.  Had 
then  Philip  realbned  in  the  fame  manner, 
"  How  (hall  I  due  to  attack  the  Atheni- 
te  ans,  whofe  garrifons  command  my  ter- 
"  ritory,  while  I  am  deftitute  of  all  af- 
*'  flftance  !"  He  would  not  have  engaged 
in  thofe  enterprizes  which  are  now  crown- 
ed with  fuccefs ;  nor  could  he  have  raifed 
himfelfto  this  pitch  ofgreatnefs.  No, 
Athenians !  he  knew  this  well,  that  all 
thefe  places  are  but  prizes  laid  between 
the  combatants,  and  ready  for  the  con- 
queror :  that  the  dominions  of  the  abfent 
devolve  naturally  to  thofe  who  are  in  th^ 
field ;  the  poflellions  of  the  fupine  t©  the 
aftive  and  intrepid.     Animated  by  thefe 


fentiments,  he  overturns  whole  countries; 
he  holds  all  people  in  fubjedtion:  fome,  as 
by  the  right  of  conqueft ;  others,  under 
the  title  of  allies  and  confederates :  for 
all  are  willing  to  confederate  with  thofe 
whom  they  fee  prepared  and  refolved  to 
exert  themfelves  as  they  ought. 

And  if  you  (my  countrymen!)  will  now 
at  length  be  perfuaded  to  entertain  the  like 
fentiments;  if  each  of  you,  renouncing  all 
evafions,  will  be  ready  to  approve  himfelf 
an  ufefal  citizen,  to  the  utmoft  that  his 
ftation  and  abilities  demand ;  if  the  rich 
will  be  ready  to  contribute,  and  the  young 
to  take  the  field ;  in  one  word,  if  you  will 
be  yourfelves,  and  banifh  thofe  vain  hopes 
which  every  fingle  perfon  entertains,  that 
while  fo  many  others  are  engaged  in  pub- 
lic bufinefs,  his  fervice  will  not  be  re- 
quired;  you  then  (if  Heaven  fo  pleafes) 
fhall  regain  your  dominions,  recall  thofe 
opportunities  your  fupinenefs  hath  neg- 
lecfed,  and  chaftife  the  infolence  of  this 
man.  For  you  are  not  to  imagine,  that, 
like  a  god,  he  is  to  enjoy  his  prefent 
greatnefs  for  ever  fixed  and  unchangeable. 
No,  Athenians !  there  are,  who  hate  him, 
who  fear  him,  who  envy  him,  even  among 
thofe  feemingly  the  moft  attached  to  his 
caufe.  Thefe  are  paffions  common  to  man- 
kind :  nor  muft  we  think  that  his  friends 
only  are  exempted  from  them.  It  is  true 
they  lie  concealed  at  prefent,  as  our  indo- 
lence deprives  them  of  all  refource.  But 
let  us  (hake  off  this  indolence  !  for  you 
fee  how  we  are  fituated  ;  you  fee  the  out- 
rageous arrogance  of  this  man,  who  does 
not  leave  it  to  your  choice  whether  you 
fhall  act,  or  remain  quiet;  but  braves  you 
with  his  menaces ;  and  talks  (as  we  are 
informed)  in  a  ftrain  of  the  higheft  ex- 
travagance :  and  is  not  able  to  reft  fatisfied 
with  his  prefent  acquifitions,  but  is  ever  in 
purfuit  of  further  conquefts ;  and  while  we 
fit  down,  inactive  and  irrefolute,  inclofes 
us  on  all  fides  with  his  toils. 

When,  therefore,  O  my  countrymen  ! 
when  will  you  exert  your  vigour  ?     When 
roufed  by  fome  event?  When  forced   by 
fome    neceffity  ?     What  then  are  we   to 
think  of  our  prefent  condition  ?  To  free- 
men, the  difgrace  attending  onmifconducl 
is,  in  my  opinion,  the  moft  urgent  necef- 
fity.    Or,  fay,  is  it  your  fole  ambition  to 
wander  through  the  public  places,  each  en- 
quiring of  the  other,"  What  new  advices  ?'* 
Can  any  thing  be  more   n^w,  than  that  a 
man  of  Macedon  ihould  conquer  the  Athe- 
nians, and  give  law  to  Greece?  "Is  Philip 
R  r  4  «'deadY 


6i6 


ELEGANT.    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


*r  dead  ?  No,  but  in  great  danger."  How 
are  you  concerned  in  thofe  rumours  ?  Sup- 
pofe  he  fhould  meet  fome  fatal  ftroke  :  you 
would  foon  raife  up  another  Philip,  ifyour 
interefts  are  thus  regarded.  For  it  is  not 
to  his  own  ftrength  that  he  fo  much  owes 
his  elevation,  as  to  our  fnpinenefs.  And 
fnould  fome  accident  affect  him ;  mould 
fortune,  who  hath  ever  been  more  care- 
ful of  the  ftate  than  we  ourfelves,  now  re- 
peat her  favours  (and  may  fhe  thus  crown 
them  !)  be  allured  of  this,  that  by  being 
on  the  ipot,  ready  to  take  advantage  of  the 
confufion,  you  will  every  where  be  abfo- 
lute  mailers;  but  in  your  prefer.t  difpofi- 
tion,  even  if  a  favourable  juncture  fliould 
prefent  you  with  Amphipolis,  you  could 
not  take  pofieifion  of  it,  while  this  fufpence 
prevails  in  yourdefigns  and  in  your  coun- 
cils. 

And  now,  as  to  the  neceffity  of  a  ge- 
neral vigour  and  alacrity;  of  this  you  muft 
be  fully  perfuaded  :  this  point  therefore 
I  mall  urge  no  further.  But  the  nature 
of  the  armament,  which,  I  think,  will  ex- 
tricate you  from  the  prefent  difficulties, 
the  numbers  to  be  raifed,  the  fubfidies  re- 
quired for  their  fuppqrt,  and  all  the  other 
necefiaries;  how  they  may  (in  my  opinion) 
be  beft  and  mo  ft  exp^ditiouflv  provided; 
thefe  things  I  fhall  endeavour  to  explain. 
But  here  I  make  this  requeft,  Athenians  ! 
that  you  would  not  be  precipitate,  but 
fufpend  your  judgment  till  you  have  heard 
me  fully.  And  if,  at  firft,  I  feem  to  pro- 
pofe  anew  kind  of  armament,  let  it  not  be 
thought  that  I  am  delaying  your  affairs. 
For  it  is  not  they  who  cry  but ««  hiftantly  I" 
"  This  moment  !"  whofe  counfels  fuit  the 
prefent  juncture  (as  it  is  not  poffible  to 
repel  violences  already  committed  by  any 
occafional  detachment)  but  he  who  will 
fhew  you  of  what  kind  that  armament  mull: 
be,  how  great,  and  how  fupported,  which 
may  fublift  until  we  yield  to  peace,  or  till 
our  enemies  fink  beneath  our  arms;  for 
thus  onlv  can  we  be  fecured  from  future 
dangers.  Thefe  things,  I  think,  I  can  point 
out;  not  that  I  would  prevent  an)' other 
perfon  frpm  declaring  his  opinion :  thus 
far  am  I  engaged.  How  I  can  acquit 
myfelf,  will  immediately  appear  :  to  your 
judgments  f  appeal. 

Firft  then,  Athenians !  I  fay  that  you 
fhould  fit  out  fifty  mips  of  war;  and  then 
refolve-,  that  on  the  firft  emergency  you 
will  embark  yourfelves.  To  thefe  I  infift 
that  you  muft  add  fanfport,  and  other  ne- 
geiury  veflels  fu-Hcient  for  half  our  horfe, 


Thus  far  we  fliould  be  provided  againft 
thole  fudden  ftxeuriions  from  his  own  king- 
dom to  Thermopylae,  to  the  Cherfonefus, 
to  Olynthus,  to  whatever  places  he  thinks 
proper.  For  of  this  he  fhould  necefl'arily 
be  perfuaded,  that  poffibly  you  may  break 
out  from  this  immoderate  indolence,  and 
fly  to  fome  fcene  of  action  :  as  you  did  to 
Euboea,  and  formerly,  as  we  are  told,  to 
Haliartus,  and,  but  now,  to  Thermopylae. 
But  although  we  fhould  not  aft  with  all 
this  vigour,  (which  yet  I  muft  regard  as 
our  indifpenfable  duty)  ftill  the  meafures 
I  propofe  will  have  their  ufe :  as  his  fears 
may  keep  him  quiet,  when  he  knows  we 
are  prepared  (and  this  he  will  know,  for 
there  are  too  too  many  among  ourfelves 
who  inform  him  of  every  thing)  :  or,  if  he 
fhculd  defpife  our  armament,  his  fecurity 
may  prove  fatal  to  him  ;  as  it  will  be  ab- 
folutely  in  our  power,  at  the  firft  favour- 
able juncture,  to  make  a  defcent  upon  his 
own  coafts. 

Thefe  then  are  the  refolutions  I  pro- 
pofe ;  thefe  the  provilions  it  will  become 
you  to  make,  And  I  pronounce  it  ftill 
farther  neceflary  to  raife  fome  other  forces 
which  may  harrafs  him  with  perpetual  in- 
curfions.  Talk  not  of  your  ten  thoufands, 
or  twenty  thoufands  of  foreigners;  of  thofe 
armies  which  appear  fo  magnificent  on 
paper ;  but  let  them  be  the  natural  forces 
of  the  if  ate  :  and  if  you  chufe  a  Angle  per- 
fon, if  a  number,  if  this  particular  man,  or 
whomever  you  appoint  as  general,  let  them 
be  entirely  under  his  guidance  and  autho- 
rity. I  alfo  move  you  that  fubfiftence  be 
provided  for  them.  But  as  to  the  quality, 
the  numbers,  the  maintenance  of  this  body : 
how  are  thefe  points  to  be  fettled  ?  I  now 
proceed  to  fpeak  of  each  of  them  diftinctly. 

The  body  of  infantry  therefore — But 
here  give  me  leave  to  warn  you  of  an  error 
which  hath  often  proved  injurious  to  you. 
Think  not  that  your  preparations  never 
can  be  too  magnificent :  great  and  terrible 
in  your  decrees;  in  execution  weak  and 
contemptible.  Let  your  preparations,  let 
your  fuoplies  at  firft  be  moderate,  and  add 
to  thefe  if  you  rind  them  not  fufficient.  I 
fay  then  that  the  whole  body  of  infantry 
fhould  be  two  thcufand  ;  of  thefe,  that  five 
hundred  fliould  be  Athenians,  of  fuch  an 
age  as  you  fhall  think  proper  ;  and  with  a, 
ftated  time  for  fervice,  not  long,  but  fuch 
as  that  others  may  have,  their  turn  of  duty. 
Let  the  reft  be  formed  of  foreigners.  To 
thefe  you  are  to  add  two  hundred  horfe., 
fifty  of  thein  at  Ieafl  Athenians,  to  ferve 

in, 


BOOK    III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.      617 


in  the  fame  manner  as  the  foot.  For  thefe 
you  are  to  provide  tranfports.  And  now, 
what  farther  preparations  ?  Ten  light  gal- 
lies.  For  as  he  hath  a  naval  power,  we 
mull  be  provided  with  light  veffels,  that 
our  troops  may  have  a  fecure  convoy. 

But  whence  are  thefe  forces  to  be  fub- 
fifted  f  This  I  fhall  explain,  when  I  have 
firft  given  my  reafons  why  I  think  fuch 
numbers  fufficient,  and  why  I  have  ad- 
vifed  that  we  mould  ferve  in  perfon.  As 
to  the  numbers,  Athenians  !  my  reafon  is 
this :  it  is  not  at  prefent  in  our  power  to 
provide  a  force  able  to  meet  him  in  the 
open  field  ;  but  we  muft  harrafs  him  by 
depredations :  thus  the  war  mud  be  car- 
ried on  at  firft.  We  therefore  cannot 
think  of  raifing  a  prodigious  army  (for 
fuch  we  have  neither  pay  nor  provisions), 
nor  muft  our  forces  be  abfolutely  mean. 
And  I  have  propofed,  that  citizens  lhould 
join  in  the  fervice,  and  help  to  man  our 
fleet;  becaufe  I  am  informed,  that  fome 
time  fince,  the  ftate  maintained  a  body  of 
auxiliaries  at  Corinth,  which  Polyftratus 
commanded,  and  Iphicrates,  and  Chabrias, 
and  fome  others ;  that  you  yourfelves  ferved 
with  them  ;  and  that  the  united  efforts  of 
thefe  auxiliary  and  domeltic  forces  gained 
a  confiderable  victory  over  the  Lacedemo- 
nians. But,  ever  fince  our  armies  have 
been  formed  of  foreigners  .alone,  their  vic- 
tories have  been  over  our  allies  and  con- 
federates, while  our  enemies  have  arifen 
to  an  extravagance  of  power.  And  thefe 
armies,  with  fcarcely  the  flighteft  attention 
to  the  fervice  of  the  ftate,  fail  off  to  fight 
for  Artabazus,  or  any  other  perfon ;  and 
their  general  follows  them  :  nor  fhould  we 
wonder  at  it;  for  he  cannot  command,  who 
cannot  pay  his  foldiers.  What  then  do  I 
recommend  ?  That  you  mould  take  away 
all  pretences  both  from  generals  and  from 
foldiers,  by  a  regular  payment  of  the  army, 
and  by  incorporating  domeftic  forces  with 
the  auxiliaries,  to  be  as  it  were  infpectors 
into  the  conduct  of  the  commanders.  For 
at  prefent  our  manner  of  acting  is  even 
ridiculous.  If  a  man  mould  afk,  "  Are 
"  you  at  peace,  Athenians?"  the  anfwer 
would  immediately  be,  "  By  no  means  ! 
"  we  are  at  war  with  Philip.  Have  not 
"  we  chofen  the  ufual  generals  and  officers 
"  both  of  horfe  and  foot  i"  And  of  what; 
ufe  are  all  thefe,  except  the  fingle  perfon 
whom  you  fend  to  the  field  ?  The  reft  at- 
tend your  priefts  in  their  proceffions,  So 
that,  as  it  you  formed  fo  many  men  of 
clay,  you  make  your  officers  for  fhewj  and 


not  for  fervice.  My  countrymen  !  fhould 
not  all  thefe  generals  have  been  chofen 
from  your  own  body;  all  thefe  feveral 
officers  from  your  own  body,  that  our 
force  might  be  really  Athenian  ?  And  yet, 
for  an  expedition  in  favour  of  Lemnos, 
the  general  muft  be  a  citizen,  while  troops, 
engaged  in  defence  of  our  own  territories, 
are  commanded  by  Menelaus.  I  fay  not 
this  to  detract  from  his  merit;  but  to 
whomfoever  this  command  hath  been  in- 
trufted,  furely  he  fhould  have  derived  ir, 
from  your  voices. 

Perhaps  you  are  fully  fenfible  of  thefe 
truths ;  but  would  rather  hear  me  upon 
another  point ;  that  of  the  fupplies  ;  what 
we  are  to  raife,  and  from  what  funds.  To 
this  I  now  proceed. — The  fum  therefore 
neceffary  for  the  maintenance  of  thefe 
forces,  that  the  foldiers  may  be  fupplied 
with  grain,  is  fomewhat  above  ninety  ta- 
lents. To  the  ten  gallies,  forty  talents, 
that  each  veffel  may  have  a  monthly  al- 
lowance of  twenty  minse.  To  the  two 
thoufand  foot  the  fame  fum,  that  each  fol- 
dier  may  receive  ten  drachmas  a  month 
for  corn.  To  the  two  hundred  horfe,  for 
a  monthly  allowance  of  thirty  drachma; 
each,  twelve  talents.  And  let  it  not  be 
thought  a  fmall  convenience,  that  the  fol- 
diers are  fupplied  with  grain:  for  I  am 
clearly  fatisfied,  that  if  fuch  a  provifion 
be  made,  the  war  itfelf  will  fupply  them 
with  every  thing  elfe,  fo  as  to  complete 
their  appointment,  and  this  without  an  in- 
jury to  the  Greeks  or  allies  :  and  I  myfelf 
am  ready  to  fail  with  them,  and  to  anfwer 
for  the  confequence  with  my  life,  fhould  it 
prove  otherwife.  From  what  funds  the 
fum  which  I  propofe  may  be  fupplied,  fhall 
now  be  explained.  *   *   *  *  * 

[Here  the  fecretary  of  the  affembly 
reads  a  fcheme  for  raifing  the  fup- 
plies, and  propofes  it  to  the  people 
inform,  in  the  name  of  the  orator.] 

Thefe  are  the  fupplies,  Athenians  !  in 
our  power  to  raife.  And,  when  you  come 
to  give  your  voices,  determine  upon  fome 
effectual  provifion,  that  you  may  oppofe 
Philip,  not  by  decrees  and  letters  only, 
but  by  actions.  And,  in  my  opinion,  your 
plan  of  operation,  and  every  thing  relat- 
ing to  your  armament,  will  be  much  more 
happily  adjufted,  if  the  fituation  of  the 
country,  which  is  to  be  the  fcene  of  action, 
be  taken  into  the  account ;  and  if  you  re- 
flect, that  the  winds  and  feafons  have 
greatly  contributed  to  the  rapidity  of  Phi  • 
lip's  conquefts }  that  he  watches  the  blow- 
ing 


6i& 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


ingofthe  Etefian?,  and  the  fc verity  of  the 
winter,  and  forms  his  fieges  when  it  is  im- 
poffiblefor  us  to  bring  up  our  forces.     It 
is  your  part  then  to  confider  this,  and  not 
to  carry  on  the  war  by  occafional  detach- 
ments,  (they  wili  ever  arrive  too  late)  but 
by  a  regular  army  conllantly  kept  up.  And 
for    winter-quarters    you  may    command 
Lemnos,  and  Thaflus,  and  Sciathus,  and 
the  adjacent  iflands ;  in   which  there  are 
ports  and  proviiions,  and  all  things  necef- 
iaryfor  the  foldiery  in  abundance.     As  to 
the  feafon   of  the  year,  in  which  we  may 
land  our  forces  with  the  greateft  eafe,  and 
be  in  no  danger  from  the  winds,  either  up- 
on the  coail  to  which  we  are  bound,  or  at 
the  entrance  of  thofe  harbours  where  we 
may  put  in  for  proviiions — this  will  be  ea- 
sily difcovered.     In  what  manner,  and  at 
what  time  our  forces  are  to  act,  their  gene- 
ral will  determine,  according  to  the  junc- 
tures of  affairs,  What  you  are  to  perform, 
on  your  part,  is  contained  in  the  decree  I 
have  now  propofed.     And  if  you  will  be 
perfuaded,  Athenians  !   mil,  to  raife  thefe 
fuppiies  which  I  have  recommended,  then, 
to  proceed  to  your  other  preparations,your 
infantry,  navy,  and  cavalry  ;  and,  laftiy,  to 
confine  your  forces,  by  a  law,  to  that  fcr- 
vice  which  is  appointed  to  them  ;  referving 
the  care  and  distribution  of  thejr  money  to 
yourfelves,  and  ftricily  examining  into  the 
conduct    of  the  general ;  then,  your   time 
will  be  no  longer  wafted  in  continual    deT 
bates  upon  the  fame  fubject,  and  fcarcely 
to   any  purpofe;  then,    you  will  deprive 
him  of  the  molt  confiderable  of  his  reve- 
nues.    For  his  arms   are    now  fupported, 
by  feizing  and  making  prizes  of  thofe  who 
pah  the  ieas.~-But  is  this  all  ?— No. — You 
lhall  alio  be  fecure  from  his  attempts  :  not 
as  when  feme  time  fince  he  fell   on  Lem- 
nos   and  Inferos,  and   carried   away  your 
citizens  in  chains  :  not   as  when   he   fur- 
prized  your  vefiels  at  Geraftus,  and  (poiled 
them  of  an  unfpeakable  quantity  "of  riches  : 
not  as  when  lately  he  made  a  defcent  on 
the  coaft  of  Marathon,  and  carried  off  our 
facred  galley  :  while  you  could  neither  cp- 
pofe  thefe  infults,  nor  detach  your  forces 
at  fuch  junctures  as  were  thought  conve- 
nient. 

And  now,  Athenians !  what  is  the  reafon 
(think  ye)  that  the  public  fefti\  ais  in  ho- 
nour of  Minerva  and  of  Bacchus  are  al- 
vv.iys  celebrated  at  the  appointed  time,  whe- 
ther the  direction  of  them  falls  to  the  lot 
of  n  of  eminence,  or  of  perfons  lefs  di- 
lifl    u . :  (feftivals  which  coft  more  trea- 


fure  than  is  ufually  expended  upon  a  whole 
navy ;  and  more  numbers  and  greater  pre- 
parations, than  any  one  perhaps  ever  colt) 
while  your  expeditions  have   been  all  too 
late,  as  that  to  Methone,  that  to  Pegafa?, 
that  to  Potidaea.  The  reafon  is  this :  every 
thing  relating  to  the  former  is  afcertained 
by  law;  and  every  one  of  you  knows  long 
before,   who  is  to   conduct  the  feveral  en- 
tertainments in  each  tribe ;  what  he  is   to 
receive,  when,  and  from  whom,  and  what 
to  perform.     Not  one  ofthefe  things  is  left 
uncertain,  not  one  undetermined.     But  in 
affairs  of  war,  and  warlike    preparations, 
there  is  no  order,  no  certainty,  no  regu- 
lation.    So  that,  when  any  accident  alarms 
us,  firlr,  we  appoint  our  trierarchs;  then 
we  allow  them    the   exchange ;  then    the 
fuppiies  are  confidered.   Thefe  points  once 
fettled,  we  refolve  to  man  our  fleet  with 
ftrangers  and  foreigners ;  then  find  it  ne- 
ceflary  to  fupply  their  place  ourfelves.    la 
the  midft  of  thefe  delays,  what  we  are  fail, 
ing  to  defend,  the  enemy  is  already  mailer 
of:  for  the  time  of  action  we  fpend  in  pre-. 
paring  :  and  the  junctures  of  affairs  will  not 
wait  our    flow    and    irrefolute    meafures. 
Thefe  forces  too,  which  we  think  may  be 
depended   on,    until    the    new  levies    are 
raifed,  when  put  to  the  proof  plainly  dif- 
cover  their  infufficiency.     By  thefe  means 
hath  he  arrived  at  fuch  a  pitch  of  infolence, 
as  to  fend  a  letter  to    the  Eubceaus,  con-v 
ceived  in  fuch  terms  as  thefe  ; 

*   *   *   The  L5TTER   is  read. 

What  hath  now  been  read,  is  for  the 
molt  part  true,  Athenians  !  too  true  !  but 
perhaps  not  very  agreeable  in  the  recital. 
But  if,  by  fuppreffing  things  ungrateful  to 
the  ear,  the  things  themfelves  could  be  pre- 
vented, then  the  fole  concern  of  a  public 
fpeaker  fhould  be  to  pleafe.  If,  on  the  con^ 
nary,  thefe  unfeafonably  pleafmg  fpeeches 
be  really  injurious,  it  is  ihametul,  Athe? 
nians,  to  deceive  yourfelves,  and,  by  de-t 
ferring  the  conhderation  of  every  thing 
difagreeable,  never  once  to  move  until  it 
be  too  late;  and  not  to  apprehend  that 
they  who  conduct  a  war  with  prudence, 
are  not  to  follow,  but  to  direct  events  ; 
to  direct  them  with  the  fame  abfolute  au- 
thority, with  which  a  general  leads  on  his 
forces:  that  the  courfe  of  affairs  may  be 
determined  by  them,  and  not  determine 
their  meafures.  But  you,  Athenians,  al- 
though poffeffed  of  the  greatelt  power  of 
ail    kinds,    fhips,    infantry,   cavalry,  and 

treafure ; 


BOOK  III.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,   AND  LETTERS.  619 

treafure ;  yet,  to  this  day,  have  never  em-  tors ;  we  cannot  expect,  no,  not  the  leafl. 

ployed    any  of  them  feafonably,  but   are  fuccefs,  in  any  one  particular.  Wherever  a 

ever  laft  in  the  field.     Juft  as  baibarians  part  or  our  city  is  detached,  although  the 

engage  at  boxing,  fo  you  make  war  with  whole  be  not  prefent,  the  favour  of  the 

Philip  :  for,  when  one  of  them  receives  a  gods  and  the  kindnefs  of  fortune  attend  to 

blow,   that   blow  engages  him:  if  ftruck  fight  upon  our  fide;  but  when  we  fend  out 

in  another  part,  to  that  part  his  hands  are  a  general,  and  an  infignificant  decree,  and 

fhifted:  but  to  wajtl  off  the  blow,  or  to  the  hopes  of  our  fpeakers,  misfortune  and 

watch  his  antagonist for  this,   he  hath  difappointment  muft  enfue.     Such  expedi- 

neither  fkill  nor  fpirit.      *'  ven   fo,  ;f  you  tions  are  to  our  enemies  a  fport,  but  ftrike 

hear  that  Philip  is  in  the  Cherfonefus,  you  our  allies  with  deadly  apprehenfions.     For 

refolve  to  fend  forces  thither;  if  in  Ther-  it  is  not,  it  is  not  poffible  for  any  one  man 

mopyls,   thither;    if  in  any  other  place,  to  perform  every  thing  you  defire.  He  may 

you  hurry  up  and  down,  you  follow  his  promife,  and  harangue,  and  accufe  this  or 

ftandard.     But  no  uieful  fcheme  for  car-  that  perfon :  but  to  fuch  proceedings  we 

rying  on  the  war,  no  wife  provinons  are  owe  the  ruin  of  cur  affairs.     For,  when  a 

ever  thought  of,  until  you  hear  of  fome  genera!  who  commanded  a  wretched  col- 

enterprifein  execution,  or  already  crowned  lection  of  unpaid  foreigner,  hath  been  de- 

with  fuccefs.     This  might  have  formerly  feated;  when  there  are  perfons  here,  who 

in  arraigning  his  conduct,  dare  to  advance 
falfehoods,  and  when  you  lightly  en  page 
in  any  determination,  juft  from  their  iuo-- 
geftions;  what  mull  be  the  confequence  ? 

divinity,  who,  from  a  r  gard  to  Athens,  How  then  fhall  thefe  abufes  be  removed  f 

looks  down  upon  our  conduct  with  indig-  —By  offering  yourfelves,    Athenians,   to 

nation,  hath  inipired  Philip  with  this  reft-  execute  the  commands  of  your  o-eneral,  to 

lefs  ambition.     For  were  he  to  fit  down  be  wkneiTes  of  his   conduct  in  the  field 

in  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  his  cpnquefts  and   his  judges  at  your  return  :  fo  as  not: 

and  acquisitions,  without  proceeding  to  any  only  to  hear  how  your  affairs  are  tranfatted 

new  attempts,  there  are  men  among  you,  but  to  infpect  them.  But  now,  fo  fliame- 
who,  I  think,  would  be  unmoved  at  thofe 
tranfadiojas,  which  have  branded  our  ftate 
with  the  odious  marks  of  infamy,  cow- 
ardice, and  all  that  is  bafe.  But  as  he 
itill  purlues  his  conquefts,  as  he  is  ftill 
extending  his  ambitious  views,  poilibly,  he 

may  at  laft  call  y.u  forth,  uniels  you  have  rather  than  to  fall  as  becomes  them, 

renounced  the  name  of  Athenians.    Tome  malefactors   fhould  die  by  the  fenten 


been  pardonable,  but  now  is  the  very  cri 
tical  moment,  when  it  can  by  no  means  be 
admitted. 

It  feems  to   me,  Athenians,   that  feme 


fully  are  we  degenerated,  that  each  of  our 
commanders  is  twice  or  thrice  called  be- 
fore you  to  anfvver  for  his  life,  though 
not  one  of  them  dared  to  hazard  that  life, 
by  once  engaging  his  enemy.  No  ;  they 
chufe  the  death  of  robbers  and  pilferers, 

Such 
ce  of 


it    is   aftoniihi.ig,  that  none  of  you  look  the  law.     Generals  fhould  meet  their  fate 

back  to  the   beginning  of  this  war,  and  bravely  in  the  field. 

confider  that  we  engaged  in  it  to  chaftife         Then,  as  to  jour  own  conduEl fome 

the  infolence  of  Philip;  but  that  now  it  wander  about,  crying,  Philip  hath  joined 

is  become  a  defenfive  war,  to  fecure  us  with  the  Lacedemonians,  and  they  are  con- 

from  his  attempts.     A*nd  that  he  will  ever  certing   the    deftru&ion    of  Thebes,    and 

be  repeating  thefe  attempts  is  manifeft,  un-  the  diifolution  of  fome  free  ftates.     Others 

lefs  fome  power  rifes  to  pppofe  him.     But,  affure  us  he  hath  fent  an  embaffy  to  the 

if  we   wait  in   expectation  of  this,  if  we  king;  others,  that  he  is  fortifying  places 

fend  out  armaments  scompofed  of  empty  in  Jllyria.     Thus  we  all  go  about  framing 

gallies,  and  thofe  hopes  with  which  iome  our   feveral  tales.     I  do  believe  indeed] 

fpeaker  may  have  flattered  you;  can  you  Athenians!    he    is    intoxicated   with    his 


then  think  your  interefts  well  fecured?  fhall 
we  not  embark  ?  fhall  we  not  fail,  with  at 
leaft  a  part  of  our  domeftic  force,  now, 
fmce  we  have  not  hitherto?— But  where 
fhall  we  make   our  defcent? — Let  us  but 


greatnefs,  and  does  entertain  his  imagina- 
tion with  many  fuch  vifionary  profpects, 
as  he  fees  no  power  riling  to  oppofe  him, 
and  is  elated  with  his  fuccefs.  But  1  can- 
not be  perfuaded  that  he  hath  fo  taken  his 


engage  in  the  enterprife,  and  the  war  itfelf,  meafures,  that  the  weakeft  among  us  know 
Athenians,  will  fhew  us  where  he  is  weakeft.  what  he  is  next  to  do :  (for  it  is  the  weakeft 
But  if  we  fit  at  home,  liftening  to  the  mu-  among  us  who  fpread  thefe  rumours)— Let 
tual  invectives  and  accufations  of  our  ora-     us  dilregard  them:  let  us  be  perfuaded  of 

this, 


Gzo 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


tins,  that  he  is  our  enemy,  that  he  hath 
ipoiied  us  of  our  dominions,  that  we  have 
long  been  fubjeft  to  his  infolence,  that 
whatever  we  expefted  to  be  done  for  us  by 
ethers,  hath  proved  againft  us,  that  all  the 
refource  left  is  in  ourfelves,  that,  if  we 
are  not  inclined  to  carry  our  arms  abroad, 
we  maybe  forced  to  engage  here — let  us  be 
perfuaded  of  this,  and  then  we  fhall  come 
to  a  proper  determination,  then  fhall  we  be 
freed  from  thofe  idle  tales.  For  we  are  not 
to  be  felicitous  to  know  what  particular 
events  will  happen  ;  we  need  but  be  con- 
vinced nothing  good  can  happen,  unlefs 
you  grant  the  due  attention  to  affairs,  and 
be  ready  to  aft  as  becomes  Athenians. 

I,  on  my  part,  have  never  upon  any  oc- 
cafion  chofen  to  court  your  favour,  by  fpeak- 
ing  any  thing  but  what  I  was  convinced 
would  ferve  you.  And,  on  this  occaiion,  I 
have  freely  declared  my  fentiments,  with- 
out art,  and  without  referve.  It  would  have 
pleafed  me  indeed,  that,  as  it  is  for  your  ad- 
vantage to  have  your  true  intereft  laid  be- 
fore you,  fo  I  might  be  allured  that  he  who 
layeth  it  before  you,  would  fhare  the  ad- 
vantages :  for  then  I  had  fpoken  with  greater 
alacrity.  However,  uncertain  as  is  the  con- 
sequence with  refpeft  to  me,  I  yet  deter- 
mined to  fpeak,  becaufe  I  was  convinced 
that  thefe  meafures,  if  purfued,  muft  have 
their  ufe.  And,  of  all  thofe  opinions  which 
are  offered  to  your  acceptance,  may  that  be 
chofen,  which  will  beit  advance  the  general 
weal  !  Le/and. 

§  2.  Thefirft  Olynihiac  Drat  ion  :  pronounced 
four  Years  after  the firjl  Philippic,  in  the 
Archonjbip  of  Callimachus,  the  fourth  Tear 
of  the  Hundred  and  Seventh  Oly?npiad,  and 
the  t-uuslfrh  of  Philip's  Reign. 

INTRODUCTION. 

The  former  Oration  doth  not  appear 
to  have  had  any  confiderable  effect. 
Philip  had  his  creatures  in  the  Athe- 
nian afiembly,  who  probably  recom- 
mended lefs  vigorous  meafures,  and 
were  but  too  favourably  heard.  In 
The  mean  time,  this  prince  purfued 
his  ambitious  dengns.  When  he 
found  himfelf  fhut  out  of  Greece,  he 
turned  his  arms  to  fuch  remote  parts, 
as  he  might  reduce  without  alarming 
the  ftates  of  Greece.  And,  at  the 
fame  time,  he  revenged  himfelf  upon 
the  Athenians,  by  making  himfelf 
mailer  of  fome  places  which  they  laid 
claim  to.  At  length  his  fucceis.  em- 
boldened him  to  declare  thofe  inten- 


tions which  he  had  long  entertalnei 
fecretly  againft  the  Olynthians. 

Olynthius  (a  city  of  Thrace  poffefTed  by 
Greeks  originally  from  Chalcis, — a 
town  of  Eubcea  and  colony  of  Athens) 
commanded  a  large  traft  called  the 
Chalcidian  region,  in  which  there 
were  thirty-two  cities.  It  had  arifen 
by  degrees  to  fuch  a  pitch  of  gran- 
deur, as  to  have  frequent  and  re- 
markable contefts  both  with  Athens 
and  Lacedemon.  Nor  did  the  Olyn- 
thians fhew  great  regard  to  the 
friendfnip  of  Philip  when  he  firft  came 
to  the  throne,  and  was  taking  all 
meafures  to  fecure  the  poflefTion  of  it. 
For  they  did  not  fcruple  to  receive 
two  of  his  brothers  by  another  mar- 
riage, who  had  fled  to  avoid  the  ef- 
fects of  his  jealoufy;  and  endea- 
voured to  conclude  an  alliance  v.  ith. 
Athens,  againft  him,  which  he,  by 
fecret  practices,  found  means  to 
defeat.  But  as  he  was  yet  fcarcely 
fecure  upon  his  throne,  inftead  of  ex- 
prefling  his  refentment,  he  courted, 
or  rather  perchafed,  the  alliance  of 
the  Olynthians,  by  the  ceffion  of  An- 
themus,  a  city  which  the  kings  of 
Macedon  had  long  difputed  with 
them,  and  afterwards,  by  that  of 
Pydna  and  Potida?a ;  which  their 
joint  forces  had  befieged  and  taken 
from  the  Athenians.  But  the  Olyn- 
thians could  not  be  influenced  by  gra- 
titude towards  fuch  a  benefaftor.  The 
rapid  progrefs  of  his  arms,  and  his 
glaring  acts  of  perfidy,  alarmed  them 
exceedingly.  He  had  already  made 
fome  inroads  on  their  territories,  and 
now  began  to  aft  againft  them  with 
lefs  relerve.  They  therefore  dif- 
patched  ambaffadors  to  Athens  to 
propofe  an  alliance,  and  requeft  af- 
fiftance  againft  a  power  which  they 
were  equally  concerned  to  oppofe. 

Philip  affefted  the  higheft  refentment 
at  this  ftep ;  alledged  their  mutual 
engagements  to  adhere  to  each  other 
in  war  and  peace ;  inveighed  againft 
their  harbouring  his  brothers,  whom 
he  called  the  confpirators ;  and,  under 
pretence  of  punifhing  their  infrac- 
tions, purfued  his  hoftilitics  with  dou- 
ble vigour,  made  himfelf  mafter  of 
fome  of  their  cities,  and  threatened 
the  capital  with  a  ficge. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Olynthians  pref- 
i;d  the  Athenians  for  immediate  fuc- 

cour?4 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        621 


Cours.  Their  ambafiadors  opened 
their  commiffion  in  an  affembly  of 
the  people,  who  had  the  right  either 
to  agree  to,  or  to  reject  their  de- 
mand. As  the  importance  of  the  oc- 
cafion  increafedthe  number  of  fpeak- 
ers,  the  elder  orators  had  debated  the 
affair  before  Demofthenes  arofe.  In 
the  following  oration  therefore  he 
fpeaks  as  to  a  people  already  inform- 
ed, urges  the  neceflity  of  joining  with 
the  Olynthians, and  confirms  his  opi- 
nion by  powerful  arguments ;  lays 
open  the  defigns  and  practices  of 
Philip,  and  labours  to  remove  their 
dreadful  apprehenfions  of  his  power. 
He  concludes  with  recommending  to 
them  to  reform  abufes,  to  reftore  an- 
cient difcipline,  and  to  put  an  end  to 
all  domeftic  diffenfions. 

IN  many  inftances  (Athenians !)  have 
tie  gods,  in  my  opinion,  manifeftly  de- 
clared their  favour  to  this  ftate  :  nor  is  it 
leaft  obfervable  in  this  prefent  juncture. 
For  that  an  enemy  mould  arife  againft 
Philip,  on  the  very  confines  of  his  king- 
dom, of  no  inconfiderable  power,  and, 
what  is  of  moft  importance,  fo  determined 
upon  the  war,  that  they  confider  any  ac- 
commodation with  him,  firft,  as  infidious, 
next,  as  the  downfal  of  their  country  : 
this  feems  no  lefs  than  the  gracious  inter- 
pofition  of  Heaven  itfelf.  It  mull,  there- 
fore, be  our  care  ( Athenians ! )  that  we 
ourfelves  may  not  fruftrate  this  goodnefs. 
For  it  muft  reflect  difgrace,  nay,  the 
fouleft  infamy  upon  us,  if  we  appear  to 
have  thrown  away  not  thofe  ftates  and 
territories  only  which  we  once  commanded, 
but  thofe  alliances  and  favourable  inci- 
dents, which  fortune  hath  provided  for  us. 

To  begin  on  this  occafionwitha  difplay 
of  Philip's  power,  or  to  prefs  you  to  exert 
your  vigour,  by  motives  drawn  from  hence, 
is,  in  my  opinion,  quite  improper.  And 
why  i  Becaufe  whatever  may  be  offered 
upon  fuch  a  fubjeet,  fets  him  in  an  ho- 
nourable view,  but  feems  to  me,  as  a  re- 
proach to  our  conduct.  For  the  higher 
his  exploits  have  arifen  above  his  former 
eftimation,  the  more  muft  the  world  ad- 
mire him :  while  your  difgrace  hath  been 
the  greater,  the  more  your  conduct  hath 
proved  unworthy  of  your  ftate.  Thefe 
things  therefore  I  fhall  pafs  over.  He  in- 
deed, who  examines  juftly,  muft  find  the 
fource  ofallhis  greatnefshere,  notin  him- 
fslf.     But  the  fervices  he  hath  here  re- 


ceived, from  thofe  whofe  public  admi- 
niftration  hath  been  devoted  to  his  in- 
tereft;  thofe  fervices  which  you  muft 
punifh,  I  do  not  think  it  feafonable  to  dif- 
play. There  are  other  points  of  more  mo- 
ment for  you  all  to  hear;  and  which  muft 
excise  the  greateft  abhorrence  of  him,  in 
every  reafonable  mind.— Thefe  I  fhall  lay 
before  you. 

And  now,  fhould  I  call  him  perjured 
and  perfidious,  and  not  point  out  the  in- 
ftances  of  this  his  guilt,  it  might  be  deem- 
ed the  mere  virulence  of  malice,  and  with 
juftice.  Nor  will  it  engage  too  much  of 
your  attention  to  hear  him  fully  and  clearly 
convicted,  from  a  full  and  clear  detail  of 
all  his  actions.  And  this  I  think  ufeful 
upon  two  accounts :  firft,  that  he  may  ap- 
pear, as  he  really  is,  treacherous  and  falfe ; 
and  then,  that  they  who  are  ftruck  with 
terror,  as  if  Philip  was  fomething  more 
than  human,  may  fee  that  he  hath  ex- 
haufted  all  thofe  artifices  to  which  he  owes 
his  prefent  elevation  ;  and  that  his  affairs 
are  now  ready  to  decline.  For  I  myfelf 
(Athenians  !)  fhould  think  Philip  really 
to  be  dreaded  and  admired,  if  I  faw  him 
raifed  by  honourable  means.  But  I  find, 
upon  reflection,  that  at  the  time  when  cer- 
tain perfons  drove  out  the  Olynthians  from 
this  affembly,  when  defirous  of  conferring 
with  you,  he  began  with  abufing  our  fim- 
plicity  by  his  promife  of  furrendering  Am- 
phipolis,  and  executing  the  fecret  article 
of  his  treaty,  then  fo  much  fpoken  of: 
that,  after  this,  he  courted  the  friendfhip 
of  the  Olynthians  by  feizing  Potidaea, 
where  we  were  rightful  fovereigns,  de- 
fpoiling  us  his  former  allies,  and  giving 
them  poffeflion  :  that,  but  juft  now,  he 
gained  the  Theffalians,  by  promifing  to 
give  up  Magnefia;  and,  for  their  eafe,  to 
take  the  whole  conduct  of  the  Phocianwar 
upon  himfelf.  In  a  word,  there  are  no 
people  who  ever  made  the  leaft  ufe  of  him, 
but  have  futfercd  by  his  fubtlety  :  his  pre- 
fent greatnefs  being  wholly  owing  to  his 
deceiving  thofe  who  were  unacquainted 
with  him,  and  making  them  the  inftru- 
ments  of  his  fuccefs.  As  thefe  ftates  there- 
fore raifed  him,  while  each  imagined  he 
was  promoting  fome  intereft  of  theirs  ; 
thefe  ftates  muft  alfo  reduce  him  to  his 
former  meannefs,  as  it  now  appears  that 
his  own  private  intereft  was  the  end  of*  all 
his  actions. 

Thus  then,  Athenians  !  is  Philip  cir- 
cumftanced.  If  not,  let  the  man  ftand 
forth,  who  can  prove  to  me,  I  ihouldjiave- 

fa  id. 


622 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


faid  to  this  ailembly,  that  I  have  afferted 
thefe  things  falfely;  or  that  they  whom  he 
hath  deceived  in  former  instances,  will 
confide  in  him  for  the  future ;  or  that  the 
Theffalians,  who  have  been  fo  bafely,  fo 
undefervedly  enflaved,  would  not  gladly 
embrace  their  freedom. — If  there  be  any 
one  among  you,  who  acknowledges  all 
this,  yet  thinks  that  Philip  will  fupport 
his  power,  as  he  hath  fecured  places  of 
flrength,  convenient  ports,  and  other  like 
advantages ;  he  is  deceived.  For  when 
forces  join  in  harmony  and  affection,  and 
one  common  intereft  unites  the  confede- 
rating powers,  then  they  {hare  the  toils 
with  alacrity,  they  endure  the  diflreffes, 
they  perfevere.  But  < .  hen  extravagant  am- 
bition, and  lawlefs  power  (as  in  his  cafe) 
have  aggrandifed  a  fingle  perfon  ;  the  firit 
pretence,  the  flighteft  accident,  overthrows 
him,  and  all  his  greatnefs  is  darned  at  once 
to  the  ground.  For  it  is  not,  no,  Atheni- 
ans !  it  is  not  poliib'e  to  found  a  lafling 
power  upon  injuilice,  perjury,  and  trea- 
chery. Thefe  may  perhaps  fucceed  for 
once ;  and  borrow  for  a  while,  from 
hope,  a  gay  and  flourifhing  appearance. 
But  time  betrays  their  weaknefs ;  and  they 
fail  into  ruin  of  themfelves.  For,  as  in 
ftructures  of  every  kind,  the  lower  parts 
fhould  have  the  greateft  flrmnefs,  fo  the 
grounds  a'ld  principles  of  actions  fhouid  be 
juft  and  true.  But  thefe  advantages  are 
not  found  in  the  actions  of  Philip. 

I  fay  then,  that  you  fhouid  diipitch  fuc- 
cours  to  the  Olynthians:  (and  the  more 
honourably  and  expeditiouily  this  is  pro- 
pofed  to  be  done,  tiie  more  agreeably  to 
my  fentiments)  and  fend  an  embafTy  to 
the  Theffalians,  to  inform  fome,  and  to  en- 
liven that  fpirit  already  raifed  in  others : 
(for  it  hath  actually  been  refolved  to  de- 
mand the  reftiiution  of  Pagafae,  and  to 
affert  their  claim  to  Magnefia.)  And  let  it 
be  your  care,  Athenians,  that  our  ambaf- 
fadors  may  not  depend  only  upon  words, 
but  give  them  fome  action  to  difplay,  by 
taking  the  field  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
the  itate,  and  engaging  in  the  war  with 
vigour.  For  words,  if  r.ot  accompanied 
by  actions,  mufl  everapp':r  vain  and  con- 
temptible; and  particularly  when  they 
come  from  us,  whofe  prompt  abilities,  and 
well-known  eminence  in  fpeaking,  make 
us  to  he  always  heard  with  the  greater  fuf- 
picion. 

Would  you  indeed  regain  attention  and 
confidence,  your  meafures  mufl  be  greatly 
changed,    your  oonduct  totally  reformed  ; 


your  fortunes,  your  perfons,  mufl  appear 
devoted  to  the  common  caufe;  your  ut- 
moil  efforts  mufl  be  exerted.  If  you  will 
act.  thus,  as  your  honour  and  your  intereft 
require;  then,  Athenians!  you  will  net 
only  difcover  the  weaknefs  and  infincerity 
of  the  confederates  of  Philip,  but  the  ru- 
inous condition  of  his  own  kingdom  will 
alio  b~  laid  open.  The  power  and  fove- 
reignty  of  Macedon  may  have  fome  weight 
indeed,  when  joined  with  others.  Thus, 
when  you  marched  againit  the  Olynthians, 
under  tie  conduct  of  Timotheus,  it  proved 
an  ufet.  i  ally;  when  united  with  the  Olyn- 
thiaos  againfl  Potidasa,  it  added  fomething 
to  their  force;  juil  row,  when  the  Thef- 
falians were  in  the  midil  of  diforder,  fe- 
dition,  and  confulion,  it  aided  them  againfl 
the  family  of  their  tyrants :  (and  in  every 
ca'e,  any,  e»'enafmall  acceifionof  flrength, 
is,  in  my  opinion,  of  '.opftderable  effect.) 
But  of  itfelf,  unfupport,  d,  it  is  infirm,  it 
is  totally  diftempered :  for  by  all  thofe 
glaring  exploits,  which  have  given  him 
this  apparent  gveamts,  1  is  wars,  his  ex- 
peditions, he  hath  rendered  it  yet  weaker 
than  it  was  Laturally.  For  you  are  not  to 
imagine  that  the  inclinations  of  his  fub- 
jects  are  the  fame  witli  thofe  of  Philip. 
He  thirfts  for  glory  :  this  is  his  object,  this 
he  eagerly  purfue?,  through  toils  and  dan- 
ger of  every  kind;  defpihng  iafety  and 
life,  when  compared  with  the  honour  of 
atchieving  fuch  actions  as  no  other  prince 
of  Macedon  cculd  ever  boail  of.  But 
his  fubjeefs  have  no  part  in  this  ambi- 
tion. Harrafied  by  thofe  various  excur- 
fions  he  is  ever  making,  they  groan  under 
perpetual  calamity ;  torn  from  their  bufi- 
nefs,  and  their  families,  and  without  op- 
portunity to  difpofe  of  that  pittance  which 
their  toils  have  earned ;  as  all  commerce  is 
fhut  out  from  the  coail  of  Macedon  by  the 
war. 

Hence  one  may  perceive  how  his  fub- 
j.cts  in  general  are  affected  to  Philip. 
But  then  his  auxiliaries,  and  the  foldiers  of 
his  phalanx,  have  the  character  of  wonder- 
ful forces,  trained  compleatly  to  war.  And 
yet  I  can  affirm,  upon  the  credit  of  a  per- 
fon from  that  country,  incapable  of  falfe- 
hood,  that  they  have  no  fuch  fuperiority. 
For,  as  he  aifures  me,  if  any  man  of  ex- 
perience in  military  affairs  fhouid  be  found 
among  them,  he  difmiffes  all  fuch,  from 
an  ambition  of  having  every  great  action 
afcribed  wholly  to  himfelf :  (for,  befides  his 
other  paffions,  the  man  hath  this  ambition 
in  the  highefl  degree.)     And  if  any  per- 

Jon, 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        623 


fon,  from  a  fenfe  of  decency,  or  other  vir- 
tuous principle,  betrays  a  diflike  of  his 
daily  intemperance,  and  riotings,  and  ob- 
fcenities,  he  lofes  all  favour  and  regard; 
fo  that  none  are  left  about  him,  but 
wretches,  who  fubfift  on  rapine  and  flat- 
tery, and  who,  when  heated  with  wine,  do 
not  fcruple  to  defcend  to  fuch  inftances 
of  revelry,  as  it  would  (hock  you  to  re- 
peat. Nor  carl  the  truth  of  this  be  doubt- 
ed :  for  they  whom  we  all  confpired  to 
drive  from  hence,  as  infamous  and  aban- 
doned, Callias  the  public  fervant,  and 
others  of  the  fame  ftamp  ;  buffoons,  cora- 
pofers  of  lewd  fongs,  in  which  they  ridi- 
cule their  companions :  thefe  are  the  per- 
sons whom  he  entertains  and  careffes.  And 
thefe  tilings,  Athenians,  trifling  as  they 
may  appear  to  fome,  are  to  men  of  juft 
dilcernment  great  indications  of  the  weak- 
nefs  both  of  his  mind  and  fortune.  At 
prefent,  his  fuccefles  call  a  fliade  over 
them ;  for  profperity  hath  great  power  to 
veil  fuch  bafenefs  from  obfervation.  But 
let  his  arms  meet  with  the  leaft  difgrace, 
and  all  his  actions  will  be  expofed.  This 
is  a  truth,  of  which  he  himfelf,  Athenians! 
will,  in  my  opinion,  foon  convince  you,  if 
the  gods  favour  us,  and  you  exert  your 
vigour.  For  as  in  our  bodies,  while  a  man 
is  in  health,  he  feels  no  effect  of  any  in- 
ward weaknefs  ;  but,  when  difeafe  attacks 
him,  every  thing  becomes  fenfible,  in  the 
veifels,  in  the  joints,  or  in  whatever  other 
part  his  frame  may  be  difordered ;  fo  in 
ftates  and  monarchies,  while  they  carry  on 
a  war  abroad,  their  defects  efcape  the  ge- 
neral eye :  but  when  once  it  approaches 
their  own  territory,  then  they  are  all  de- 
tected. 

It'  there  be  any  one  among  you  who, 
from  Philip's  good  fortune,  concludes  that 
he  muff,  prove  a  formidable  enemy;  fuch 
reafoning  is  not  unworthy  a  man  of  pru- 
dence. Fortune  hath  great  influence,  nay, 
t  le  whole  influence,  in  all  human  affairs ; 
but  then,  were  I  tc  chufe,  I  fhould  prefer 
the  fortune  of  Athens  (if  you  yourfelves 
will  afTert  your  own  caufe,  with  the  leaft 
degree  of  vigour)  to  this  man's  fortune. 
For  we  have  many  better  reafons  to  de- 
pend upon  the  favour  of  Heaven,  than  this 
man.  But  our  prefent  ftate  is,  in  my  opi- 
nion, a  ftate  of  total  inactivity;  and  he 
who  will  not  exert  his  own  ftrength,  can- 
not apply  for  aid,  either  to  his  friends  or 
to  the  gods.  It  is  not  then  furprifing,  that 
he  who  is  himfelf  ever  amidft  the  dangers 
and  labours  of  the  field;  who  is  every- 


where ;  whom  no  opportunity  efcapes ;  to 
whom  no  feafon  is  unfavourable;  fhould 
be  fupericr  to  you,  who  are  wholly  en- 
gaged, in  contriving  delays,  and  framing 
decrees,  and  enquiring  after  news.  I  am 
not  furprifed  at  this,  for  the  contrary  muft 
have  been  furprifing :  if  we,  who  never 
act  in  any  fingle  inflance,  as  becomes  a 
ftate  engaged  in  war,  fhould  conquer  him, 
who,  in  every  inflance,  acts  with  an  inde- 
fitigable  vigilance.  This  indeed  furprifes 
me;  that  you,  who  fought  the  caufe  of 
Greece  againftLacedemon,  and  generoufly 
declined  all  the  many  favourable  opportu- 
nities of  aggrandizing  yourfelves  ;  who, 
to  fecure  their  property  to  others,  parted 
with  your  own,  by  your  contributions ;  and 
bravely  expofed  yourfelves  in  battle ;  fhould 
now  decline  the  fervice  of  the  field,  and 
delay  the  neceflary  fupplies,  when  called  to 
the  defence  of  your  own  rights  :  that  you, 
in  whom  Greece  in  general,  and  each  par- 
ticular ftate,  hath  often  found  protection, 
fhould  fit  down  quiet  fpectators  of  your 
own  private  wrongs.  This  I  fay  furprifes 
me  :  and  one  thing  more  ;  that  not  a  man 
among  you  can  reflect  how  long  a  time 
we  have  been  at  war  with  Philip,  and  in 
what  meafures,  this  time  hath  all  been 
wafted.  Ycu  are  not  to  be  informed,  that, 
in  delaying,  in  hoping  that  others  would 
afTert  our  caufe,  in  accufing  each  other, 
in  impeaching,  then  again  entertaining 
hopes,  in  fuch  meafures  as  are  now  pur- 
fued,  that  time  hath  been  intirely  wafted. 
And  are  you  fo  devoid  of  apprehenfion,  as 
to  imagine,  when  our  ftate  hath  been  re- 
duced from  greatnefs  to  wretche  Jnefs,  that 
the  very  fame  conduct  will  raife  us  from 
wrctchednefs  to  greatnefs  ?  No  !  this  is 
not  realbnable,  it  is  not  natural ;  for  it  is 
much  eafier  to  defend,  than  to  acquire 
dominions.  But,  now,  the  war  hath  left 
us  nothing  to  defend:  we  muft  acquire. 
And  to  this  work  you  yourfelves  alone  are 
equal. 

This,  then,  is  my  opinion,  You  fhould 
raife  fupplies;  you  fhould  take  the  field 
with  alacrity.  Profecutions  fhould  be  all 
fufpended  until  you  have  recovered  your 
affairs;  let  each  man's  fentence  be  deter- 
mined by  his  actions :  honour  thofe  who 
have  deferved  applaufe  ;  let  the  iniquitous 
meet  their  punifhment :  let  there  be  no 
pretences,  no  deficiencies  on  your  part ; 
for  you  cannot  bring  the  actions  of  others 
to  a  fevere  fcrutiny,  unlefs  you  have  firft 
been  careful  of  your  own  duty.  What  in- 
deed can  be  the  reafon,  think  ye,    that 

every 


62JL 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


every  man  whom  ye  have  fent  out  at  the 
head  of  an  army,  hath  deferted  your  fer- 
vice, and  fought  out  fome  private  expe- 
dition ?   (if  we  mult  fpeak  ingenuoufly  of 
thefe  our  generals  alio,)  the  reafon  is  this : 
when  engaged  in  the  fervice  of  the  flate, 
the  prize  for  which   they  fight  is   yours. 
Thus,  mould  Amphipolis  be  now  taken, 
you  inltantly  poiiefs  yourfelves  of  it :  the 
commanders  have  all  the  danger,  the  re- 
wards they  do  not  fhare.     But,  in  their 
private  enterprifes,  the  dangers  are  lefs  ; 
the  acquisitions  are  all  (hared  by  the  ge- 
nerals  and   foldicrs;  as  were  Lampfacus, 
Sigaeum,  and  thofe  veflels  which  they  plun- 
dered.    Thus  are  they  all  determined  by 
their  private  interest.   And,  when  you  turn 
your  eyes  to  the  wretched   Hate  of  your 
affairs,  you  bring  your  generals  to  a  trial; 
you  grant  them  leave  to  fpeak  ;  you  hear 
the    neceflities  they  plead ;  and  then   ac- 
quit them.     Nothing  then  remains  for  us, 
but  to  be  diltracled  with  endlefs  contefls 
and  divisions :   (fome  urging  thefe,  fome 
thofe  meafures)  and  to  feel  the  public  ca- 
lamity.    For  in  former  times,  Athenians, 
you  divided  into  clafles,  to  raife  fupplies. 
Now  the  bufinefs  of  thefe  claffes  is  to  go- 
vern;   each  hath  an  orator  at  its    head, 
and  a  general,  who  is  his  creature ;  the 
three  hundred  are  afiillants  to  thefe, 
and  the  reil  of  you  divide,  fome  to  this, 
fome  to  that  party.    You  mull  rectify  thefe 
diforders :  you   mull    appear    yourfelves: 
you  mufl  leave  the  power  of  fpeaking,  of 
advifing,  and  of  acting,  open  to  every  citi- 
zen.    But  if  you  fufFer  fome  perfons  to 
liTue  out  their   mandates,  as  with  a  royal 
authority;  if  one  fet  of  men  be  forced  to 
fit  out  Ihips,  to  raife  fupplies,  to  take  np 
arms ;  while  others  are  only  to  make  de- 
crees  againfl  them,  without  any  charge, 
any  employment  befides  ;  it  is  not  poffible 
that  any  thing  can  be  effected  feafonably 
and  fuccefsfully  :  for  the  injured  party  ever 
will  defert  you;  and  then  your  fole  rcfource 
will  be  to  make  them  feel  your  refentment 
instead  of  your  enemies. 

To  fum  up  all,  my  fentiments  are  thefe: 
— That  every  man  mould  contribute  in 
proportion  to  his  fortune  ;  that  all  mould 
take  the  field  in  their  turns,  until  ail  have 
ferved;  that  whoever  appears  in  this  place, 
mould  be  allowed  to  fpeak :  and  that,  when 
you  give  ycur  voices,  your  true  interest 
only  mould  determine  you,  not  the  au- 
thority of  this  or  the  other  fpeaker.  Pur- 
fue  this  courfe,  and  then  your  applaufe 
will  not  be  lavifhed  on  fonft  orator,  the 


moment  he  concludes ;  you  yourfelves  will 
fhare  it  hereafter,  when  you  find  how 
greatly  you  have  advanced  the  interefls  of 
your  flate.  Leland. 

§   J .     The  fe:ond  Olynthiac    Oration  :  pro- 
nounced in  the  fame  Tear, 

INTRODUCTION. 

To  remove  the  impreffion  made  on  the 
minds  of  the  Athenians  by  the  pre- 
ceding oration,  Demades   and  other 
popular  leaders    in  the  interefls  of 
Philip  rofe  up,  and  oppofed  the  pro- 
positions   of  Demoflhenes,  with    all 
their  eloquence.     Their  opposition, 
however,  proved  ineffectual  :  for  the 
affembly  decreed,  that  relief  fhould 
be  fent  to  the  Olynthians :  and  thirty 
gallies  and  two  thoufand  forces  were 
accordingly    difpatched,     under    the 
command  of  Chares.     But  thefe  fuc- 
cours,  consisting  entirely  of  merce- 
naries, and  commanded  by  a  general 
of  no  great  reputation,  could  not  be 
of  considerable   fervice :    and  were 
befides  fufpecled,   and  fcarcely  lefs 
dreaded  by  the  Olynthians  than  the 
Macedonians  themfelves.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  progrefs  of  Philip's  arms 
could  meet  with  little  interruption. 
He  reduced  feveral  places  in  the  re- 
gion of  Chalcis,  razed  the  fortrefs 
of  Zeira,  and,  having  twice  defeated 
the  Olynthians   in  the    field,  at  laft 
fhut  them  up  in  their   city.     In  this 
emergency,  they  again  applied  to  the 
Athenians,  and  preffed  for  frefh  and 
effectual  fuccours.     In  the  following 
oration,  Demosthenes  endeavours  to 
fupport  this  petition ;  and   to  prove 
that  both  the  honour  and  the  intereil 
of  the  Athenians  demanded  their  im- 
mediate compliance.    As  the  expence 
of  the  armament  was  the  great  point 
of  difficulty,  he  recommends  the  abro- 
gation of  fuch  laws,  as  prevented  the 
proper  fettlement    of  the  funds   ne- 
ceffary  for  carrying  on  a  war  of  fuch 
importance.     The  nature    of  thefe 
laws  will  come  immediately  to  be  ex- 
plained. 
It  appears,  from  the  beginning  of  this 
oration,  that  othei  fpeakers  had  arifen 
before  Demoflhenes,  and   inveighed 
loudly   againfl  Philip.     Full  of  the 
national  prejudices,  or  difpofed  to  flat- 
ter the  Athenians  in  their  notions  of 
the  dignity  rind  importance  of  their 

flate, 


BOOK  III.      ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.         625 


ftate,  they  breathed  nothing  but  in- 
dignation againft  the  enemy,  and 
poffibly,  with  fome  contempt  of  his 
prefent  enterprifes,  propofed  to  the 
Athenians  to  correct  his  arrogance, 
by  an  invafion  of  his  own  kingdom. 
Demofthenes,  on  the  contrary,  infills 
on  the  neceffity  of  felf-defence ;  en- 
deavours to  roufe  his  hearers  from 
their  fecurity,  by  the  terror  of  im- 
pending danger;  and  affects  to  con- 
sider the  defence  of  Olynthus,  as  the 
laft  and  only  means  of  preferving  the 
very  being  of  Athens. 

I  AM  by  no  means  affected  in  the 
fame  manner,  Athenians !  when  I  review 
the  Hate  of  our  affairs,  and  when  I  attend 
to  thofe  fpeakers,  who  have  now  declared 
their  fentiments.  They  infill,  that  we 
fhould  punifh  Philip  :  but  our  affairs,  fitu- 
ated  as  they  now  appear,  warn  us  to  guard 
againft  the  dangers  with  which  we  our- 
felves  are  threatened.  Thus  far  therefore 
I  muft  differ  from  thefe  fpeakers,  that  I 
apprehend  they  have  not  propofed  the  pro- 
per object  of  your  attention.  There  was 
a  time  indee:',  I  know  it  well,  when  the 
Hate  could  have  poffefTed  her  own  do- 
minions in  fecurity,  and  fent  out  her  ar- 
mies to  inflict  chaftifement  on  Philip.  I 
myfelf  have  feen  that  time  when  we  en- 
joyed fuch  power.  But,  now,  I  am  per- 
fuaded  we  fhould  confine  ourfelves  to  the 
protection  of  our  allies.  When  this  is  once 
effected,  then  we  may  confider  the  punifh- 
ment  his  outrages  have  merited.  But,  till 
the  fir  it  great  point  be  well  fecured,  it  is 
weaknefs  to  debate  about  our  more  remote 
concernments. 

And  now,  Athenians,  if  ever  we  flood 
in  need  of  mature  deliberation  and  coun- 
fel,  the  prefent  juncture  calls  loudly  for 
them.  To  point  out  the  courfe  to  be  pur- 
fued  on  this  emergency,  I  do  not  think 
the  greatefl  difficulty:  but  I  am  in  doubt 
an  what  manner  to  propoie  my  fenti- 
ments ;  for  all  that  I  have  obferved,  and 
all  that  1  have  heard,  convinces  me,  that 
moil  of  your  misfortunes  have  proceeded 
from  a  want  of  inclination  to  purfue  the 
neceffary  meafures,  not  from  ignorance  of 
them. — Let  me  intreat  you,  that,  if  I 
now  fpeak  with  an  unufual  boldnefs,  ye 
may  bear  it :  conudering  only,  whether  I 
fpeak  truth,  and  with  a  fincere  intention  to 
advance  your  future  interetts  :  for  you  now 
fee,  that  by  fome  orators,  who  iludy  but 


to  gain  your  favour,  our  affairs  have  been 
reduced  to  the  extremity  of  diilrefs. 

I  think  it  neceffary,  in  the  firfl  place,  to 
recal  fome  late  tranfactions  to  your  thoughts. 
You  may  remember,  Athenians,  that, 
about  three  or  four  years  fince,  you  re- 
ceived advice  that  Philip  was  in  Thrace, 
and  had  laid  fiege  to  the  fortrefs  of  Heiasa. 
It  was  then  the  month  of  November  Great 
commotions  and  debates  arofe.  It  was 
refolved  to  fend  out  forty  gallies ;  that  all 
citizens,  under  the  age  of  five-and-forty, 
fhould  themfelves  embark  ;  and  that  fixty 
talents  fhould  be  raifed.  Thus  it  was 
agreed  ;  that  year  paffed  away  ;  then  came 
in  the  months  July,  Augufl,  September. 
In  this  laft  month,  with  great  difficulty, 
when  the  myfteries  had  firfl  been  cele- 
brated, you  fent  out  Charidemus,  with  jufl 
ten  veflels  unmanned,  and  five  talents  of 
filver.  For  when  reports  came  of  the  fick- 
nefs,  and  the  death  of  Philip,  (both  of 
thefe  were  affirmed)  you  laid  afide  your 
intended  armament,  imagining,  that  at 
fuch  a  juncture,  there  was  no  need  of  fuc- 
cours.  And  yet  this  was  the  very  critical 
moment;  for,  had  they  been  difpatched 
with  the  fame  alacrity  with  which  they 
were  granted,  Philip  would  not  have  thea 
efcaped,  to  become  that  formidable  enemy 
he  now  appears. 

But  what  was  then  done,  cannot  be 
amended.  Now  we  have  the  opportunity 
of  another  war:  that  war  I  mean,  which 
hath  induced  me  to  bring  thefe  tranfactions 
into  view,  that  you  may  not  once  more 
fall  into  the  fame  errors.  How  then  fhall 
we  improve  this  opportunity  ?  This  is  the 
only  quejiicn.  For,  if  you  are  not  refolved 
to  a  (lift  with  all  the  force  you  can  com- 
mand, you  are  really  ferving  under  Philip, 
you  are  fighting  on  his  fide.  The  Oiyn- 
thians  are  a  people,  whofe  power  was 
thought  coiifiderable.  Thus  were  the  cir- 
cum fiances  cf  affairs :  Philip  could  not 
confide  in  them  ;  they  looked  with  equal 
fufpicion  upon  Philip.  We  and  they  then 
entered  into  mutual  engagements  of  peace 
and  alliance  :  this  was  a  grievous  embar- 
rafiment  to  Philip,  that  we  fhould  have  a 
powerful  ftate  confederated  with  us,  fpies 
upon  the  incidents  of  his  fortune.  It  was 
agreed,  that  we  fhould,  by  all  means,  en- 
gage this  people  in  a  war  with  him :  and 
now,  what  we  all  fo  earneitly  defired,  is 
efredted;  the  manner  is  of  no  moment. 
What  then  remains  for  us,  Athenians,  hut 
to  fend  immediate  and  effectual  fucccurs, 

S  s  I  cannot 


€z6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


J  cannot  fee.  For  befides  the  difgrace 
that  muft  attend  us,  if  any  of  our  interefts 
are  fupinely  difregarded,  1  have  no  fmall 
apprehensions  of  the  confequcnce,  (fheThe- 
bans  affected  as  they  are  towards  us,  and 
the  Phoeians  exhaufted  of  their  treafures) 
if  Philip  be  left  at  full  liberty  to  lead  his 
armies  into  thefe  territories,  when  his  pre- 
fent  enterprifes  are  accomplished,  if  any- 
one among  you  can  be  io  far  immerfed  in 
indolence  as  tofuffer  this,  he  mull  chufe  to 
be  witnefs  of  the  mifery  of  his  own  coun- 
try, rather  than  to  hear  of  that  which 
ftrangers  fuffer;  and  to  feek  aflillants  for 
himfelf,  when  it  is  now  in  his  power  to 
grant  affiitance  to  others.  That  this  mull 
be  the  confiequcnce,  if  we  do  not  exert 
ourfelves  on  the  prefent  occafion,  there 
can  fcarcely  remain  the  leall  doubt  among 
us. 

But,  as  to  the  necefiity  offending  fuc- 
cours,  this,  it  may  be  faid,  we  are  agreed 
in;  this  is  our  refolution.  But  how  inall 
•we  be  enabled?  that  is  the  point  to  be 
explained.  Be  not  furprifed,  Athenians, 
if  my  fentimcnts  on  this  occafion  feem  re- 
pugnant to  the  general  fenfe  of  this  aflem- 
b!y.  Appoint  magillrates  for  the  infpec- 
tion  of  your  laws:  not  in  order  to  enact 
any  new  laws ;  you  have  already  a  fuffi- 
cient number;  but  to  repeal  thofe,  whole 
ill  effects  you  now  experience.  I  mean  the 
laws  relating  to  the  theatrical  funds  (thus 
openly  I  declare  it)  and  fome  about  the 
foldiery.  By  the'firft,  the  foldier's  pay  goes 
as  theatrical  expences  to  the  ufelefs  and 
inactive ;  the  others  fcreen  thofe  from 
jullice,  who  decline  the  fervice  of  the  field, 
and  thus  damp  the  ardour  of  thofe  difpofed 
to  ferve  us.  When  you  have  repealed 
thefe,  and  rendered  it  confident  with  fafe- 
ty  to  advife  you  juilly,  then  feek  for  fome 
perfon  to  propoie  that  decree,  which  you 
all  are  fenfible  the  common  good  requires. 
Em,  till  this  be  done,  expect  not  that  any 
man  will  urge  your  true  interelt,  when,  for 
urging  your  true  intereft,  you  repay  him 
with  deikuction.  Ye  will  never  find 
fuch  zeal;  efp  cially  fince  the.  confequence 
can  be  only  this;  he  who  offers  his  opi- 
nion, and  moves  for  your  concurrence,  fuf- 
fers  iome  unmerited  calamity;  but  your 
affairs  are  not  in  the  leafl  advanced:  nav, 
this  additional  inconvenience  mull  arile, 
that  for  the  future  it  will  appear  more  dan- 
ge:ous  to  advife  you,  ti  an  even  at  prefent. 
And  toe  authors  of  theie  laws  lhould  alfo 
be  the  authors  of  their  repeal.  For  .t  is 
not  ju^.  mat  the  public  favour  fhould  be 


bellowed  on  them  who,  in  framing  thefe 
laws,  have  greatlv  injured  the  community ; 
and  that  the  odium  fhould  fall  on  him, 
whofc  freedom  and  fmceritv  are  of  im- 
portant fervice  to  us  all.  Until  thefe  re- 
gulations be  made,  you  are  not  to  think 
any  man  fo  great  that  he  may  violate  thefe 
laws  with  impunity;  or  fo  devoid  ofreafon, 
as  to  plunge  himfelf  into  open  and  forefecn 
deftruction. 

And  be  not  ignorant  of  this,  Athenians, 
that  a  decree  is  of  no  fignificar.ee,  unlefs 
attended  with  refolution  and  alacritv  to 
execute  it.  For  were  decrees  of  them- 
felves  fufficient  to  engage  you  to  perform 
your  duty,  could  they  even  execute  the 
things  which  they  enact;  fo  manv  would 
not  have  been  made  to  fo  little,  or  rather 
to  no  good  purpofe;  nor  would  the  info- 
lence  of  Philip  have  had  fo  long  a  date. 
For,  if  decrees  can  punifh,  he  hath  long 
fince  felt  all  their  fury.  But  they  have  no 
fuch  power:  for,  though  propofing  and  re- 
folving  be  fir  ft  in  order,  yet,  in  force  and 
efficacy,  action  is  fuperior.  Let  this  then 
be  your  principal  concern;  the  others  you 
cannot  want;  for  you  have  men  among 
you  capable  of  advifing,  and  you  are  of 
all  people  moll  acute  in  apprehending  ; 
now,  let  your  intereft  direct  you,  and  it 
will  be  in  your  power  to  be  as  remarkable 
for  acting.  What  feafon  indeed,  what  op- 
portunity do  you  wait  for,  more  favourable 
than  the  prefent?  Or  when  will  you  exert 
vour  vigour,  if  not  now,  my  countrymen? 
Hath  not  this  man  feized  all  thofe  places 
that  were  ours  ?  Should  he  become  mailer 
of  this  country  too,  mull  we  not  fink  into 
the  lowell  llate  of  infamy?  Are  not  they 
whom  we  have  promifed  to  affift,  when- 
ever they  are  engaged  in  war,  now  attack- 
ed themfelves  ?  Is  he  not  our  enemy?  Is 
he  not  in  poiiefiion  of  our  dominions?  Is 
he  not  a  barbarian?  Is  he  not  every  bafe 
thing  words  can  exprefs  ?  If  we  are  in- 
fenfiblc  to  all  this,  if  we  almoll  aid  his  de- 
figns;  heavens !  can  we  then  afk  to  whom 
the  confequences  are  owing?  Yes,  I  know 
full  well,  we  never  will  impute  them  to 
ourfelves.  Juft  as  in  the  dangers  of  the 
field:  not  one  of  thofe  who  fly  will  accufe 
himfelf;  he  will  rather  blame  the  general, 
or  his  fellow-lbldiers :  yet  every  lingle 
man  that  fled  was  acceffary  to  the  defeat. 
He  who  blames  others  might  have  main- 
tained bis  own  poll;  and,  had  every  man 
maintained  his,  fuccefs  muft  have  enfued. 
Thus  then,  in  the  prefent  cafe,  is  there  a 
man  whofe  counfel  feems  liable  to  objec- 
tion i 


BOOK  III.      ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.         627 


lion?  Let  the  next  rife,  and  not  inveigh 
agaihft  him,  but  declare  his  own  opinion. 
.Doth  another  offer  fome  more  falutary 
counfel?  Purfue  it,  in  the  name  of  Heaven. 
fC  But  then  it  is  not  pleafmg."  This  is 
not  the  fault  of  the  fpeaker,  unleis  in  that 
he  hath  neglett'ed  to  exprefs  his  affection 
in  prayers  and  wifhes.  To  pray  is  eafy, 
Athenians;  and  in  one  petition  may  be 
collected  as  many  inftantes  of  good  for- 
tune as  we  pleale.  To  determine  juftly, 
When  affairs  are  to  be  confidered,  is  not  fo 
eafy,  ..But  what  is  moll  ufeful  fhould  ever 
be  preferred  to  that  which  is  agreeable, 
where  both  cannot  be  obtained. 

But  if  there  be  a  man  who  will  leave  us 
the  the;  ;ical  funds,  and  propole  other  fub- 
fidies  for  the  fervice  of  the  war,  are  v\e  not 
rather  to  attend  to  him?  I  grant  it,  Athe- 
nians !  if  that  man  can  be  found.  But  I 
fhould  account  it  wonderful,  if  it  ever  did, 
if  it  ever- can  happen  to  any  man  on  earth, 
that  while  he  lavifhe's  his  prefent  pofief- 
fions  on  unneceffary  occafions,  forr.e  future 
funds  fhbuld  be  procured  to  fupply  his 
real  neceffuies.  But  fuch.  proposals  find 
a  powerful  advocate  in  the  brcaft  of  every 
hearer.  So  that  nothing  is  fo  eafy  as  to 
deceive  one's  felf;  for  what  we  wiih,  that 
We  readily  believe ;  but  fuch  expectations 
are  oftentimes  inconfiftent  with  pur  affairs. 
On  this  occafion,  therefore,  let  your  af- 
fairs direct  you;  then  will  you  be  enabled 
to  take  the  field;  then  you' will  have  your 
Full  pay.  And  men,  whofe  judgments  are 
well  directed,  and  whofe  fouls  are  great, 
could  not  fupport  the  infamy  which  muft 
attend  them,  if  obliged  to  defert  any  of 
the  operations  of  a  war,  from  the  want  of 
money.  They  could  not,  after  matching 
up  their  arms,  and  marching  againft  the 
Corinthians  and  Mega-reans/fuffer  Philip 
to  inflave  the  ftates  of  Greece,  through  the 
Want  of  prbvifiohs  for  their  forces.  I  fay  ' 
hct  this  wantonly,  to  raife  the  refentment 
bf  fome  among  you.  No;  I  am  not  fo 
unhappily  perverfe  as  to  fludy  to  be  hat'e'd*, 
when  no  good  purpofecan  be  anfwerfed  by- 
it  :  but  it  is  my  opinion,  that  every  honeft 
fpeakfer  mould  prefer  the  intereft  of  the 
Sate  to  the  favour  of  his  hearers.  This 
(I  am  affured,  and  perhaps  you  need  not 
be  informed)  was  the  principle  which  ac- 
tuated the  public  conduct  of  thofe  of  our 
anceilors  who  fpoke  in  this  affembly  (men, 
whom  the  prefent  fet  of  orators  are  ever 
ready  to  applaud,  but  whofe  example  they 
by  no  means  imitate)  :  fuch  were  Ariltides, 
Nicias,  the  former  Demofihenes,  and  Pe- 


ricles. But  fince  we  have  had  fpeakcrs, 
who,  before  their  public  appearance,  afk 
you,  "  What  Jo  you  defire  ?  What  {hall  i 
"  propofe  ?  How  can  1  oblige  you  '?"  The 
intereft  of  eurtountry  hath  been  facrificed 
to  momenta//  pleafure,  and  popular  fa- 
vour. Thus  have  we  been  diftreffed ; 
thus  have  thefe  men  rifen  to  greatnefs,  and 
you  funk  into  difgrace. 

And  here  let  me  intreat  your  attention 
to  a  funrmary  account  of  the  conduct  of 
your  anceilors,  ami  of  your  own.  I  (halt 
mention  but  a  few  things,  and  thefe  well 
known,  (for,  if  you  would  purfue  the  way 
to  happineis,  you  need  not  look  abroad 
for  leaders)  our  own  countrymen  point 
it  ouc.  Fhefe  our  anceilors,  thereforc> 
whom,  the  orators  never  courted,  never 
treated  with  that  indulgence  with  which 
you  are  flattered,  held  the  fovereignty  of 
Greece  with  general  confent,  fiveand-forty 
years ;  depoiited  above  ten  thoufand  ta- 
lents in  cur  public  treafury;  kept  the  king 
of  this  country  in  that  fubjection,  which 
a  barbaiian  owes  to  Greeks;  erected  mo- 
numents of  many  and  illuflrious  actions, 
which  they  themfelves  atchieved  by  land 
and  fea;  in  a  word*  are  the  only  perfons 
who  have  tranfmittedtopofterity  fuch  glory 
as  is  fnperior  to*  envy.  Thus  great  do  they 
appear  in  the  affairs  of  Greece.  Let  us 
now  view  them  within  the  city,  both  in 
their  public  and  private  conduct.  And, 
firft}  the  edifices  which  their  adminiftra- 
tions  have  given  us,  their  decorations  of 
our  temples-,  and  the  offerings  depofitcd 
by  them,  are  fo  numerous  and  fo  magni- 
ficent, that  ali  the  efforts  of  pofterity  can- 
not exceed  them.  Then,  in  private  life, 
fo  exemplary  was  their  moderation,  their 
adherence  to  the  ancient  manners  fo  (cru- 
puloufiy  exact,  that  if  any  of  you  ever  dis- 
covered the  houfe  of  Arillides,  or  Miltiadcs, 
or  any  of  the  illuflrious  men  of  thofe  times, 
he  muft  know  that  it  was  not  diftinguifhed 
by  the  leaf!  extraordinary  fplendor.  For 
they  did  not  fo  conduct  the  public  bufmefs. 
as  to  aggrandife  themfelves ;  their  fole 
great  object  was  to  exalt  the  ftate.  And 
thus,  by  their  faithful  attachment  to  Greece, 
by  their  piety  to  the  gods,  and  by  that 
equality  which  they  maintained  among 
themfelves,  they  were  railed  (and  no  won- 
der) to  the  fummit  of  prosperity. 

Such  was  the  ftate  of  Athens  at  that 
time,  when  the  men  I  have  mentioned  were 
in  power.  But  what  is  your  condition 
under  thefe  indulgent  minifters  who  rev 
direct  us"?  Is  it  the  fame,orneaily  thefarr.t  ? 

S  .  >,  Other 


«s8 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Other  things  I  lhall  pafs  over,  though 
I  might  expatiate  on  them.  Let  it  only 
be  obferved,  that  we  are  now,  as  you  all 
fee,  left  without  competitors;  the  Lace- 
demonians loft;  the  Thebans  engaged  at 
home  ;  and  not  one  of  all  the  other  ftates 
of  co'-fequence  fufficient  to  difpute  the  fo- 
vereignty  with  us.  Yet,  at  a  time  when 
we  might  have  enjoyed  our  own  dominions 
in  fecurity,  and  been  the  umpires  in  all 
difputes  abroad;  our  territories  have  been 
wrefted  from  us;  we  have  expended  above 
one  thoufand  five  hundred  talents  to  no 
purpofe  ;  the  allies  which  we  gained  in  war 
have  been  loft  in  time  of  peace ;  and  to 
this  degree  of  power  have  we  raifed  an 
enemy  againft  ourfelves.  (For  let  the 
man  Hand  forth  who  cm  mew,  whence 
Philip  hath  derived  his  greatnefs,  if  not 
from  us.) 

"  Well !  if  thefe  affairs  have  but  an  nn- 
"  favourable  afpedl,  yet  thofe  within  the 
'c  city  are  much  more  flourifhing  than 
"  ever."  Where  are  the  proofs  of  this? 
The  walls  which  have  been  whitened? 
the  ways  we  have  repaired  ?  the  fupplies 
of  water,  and  fuch  trifles?  Turn  vour  eves 
to  the  men,  of  whole  adminiftrations  thefe 
are  the  fruits.  Some  of  whom,  from  the 
loweft  ftate  of  poverty,  have  arifen  fud- 
cienly  to  affluence;  fome  from  meannefs  to 
renown:  others  have  made  their  own  pri- 
vate houfes  much  more  magnificent  than 
the  public  edifices.  Juft  as  the  ftate  hath 
fallen,  their  private  fortunes  have  been 
railed. 

And  what  caufe  can  we  affign  for  this  ? 
How  is  it  that  our  affairs  were  once  i'o 
flourifhing,  and  now  in  fuch  diforder?  Be- 
caufe  formerly,  the  people  dared  to  Like 
up  arms  themfelves ;  were  themfelves 
matters  of  thofe  in  employment,  difpofers 
themfelves  of  all  emoluments :  fo  that  every 
citizen  thought  himfelf  happy  to  derive 
honours  and  authority,  and  all  advantages 
whatever  from  the  people.  But  now,  "on 
the  contrary,  favours  arc  all  difpenfed, 
affairs  all  tranfafted  by  the  minifters  ; 
while  you,  quite  enervated,  robbed  of  your 
riches,  your  allies,  ftand  in  the  mean  rank 
of  fervants  and  affiftants:  happy  if  thefe 
men  grant  you  the  theatrical  appoint- 
ments, and  fend  you  fcraps  of  the  public 
meal.  And,  what  is  of  all  moft  fordid, 
you  hold  yourfelves  obliged  to  them  for 
that  which  is  your  own,  while  they  con- 
fine you  within  thefe  walls,  lead  you  on 
gently  to  their  purpofes,  and  foothe  and 
lame  you  to  obedience.     Nor  is  Li  pofiiblc, 


that  they  who  are  engaged  in  low  and  gf»» 
veiling  purfuits,  can  entertain  great  and 
generous  fentiments.  No  !  fuch  as  their 
employments  are,  fo  muft  their  difpontions 
prove. — And  now  I  call  Heaven  to  wit- 
nefs,  that  it  will  not  furpriie  me,  if  I  fuf- 
fer  more  by  mentioning  this  your  condi- 
tion, than  they  who  have  involved  you  in 
it  !  Freedom  of  fpeech  you  do  not  allow 
on  all  occafions;  and  that  you  have  now 
admitted  it,  excites  my  wonder. 

But  if  you  will  at  length  be  prevailed 
on  to  change  your  conduct ;  if  you  will 
take  the  field,  and  aft  worthy  of  Athe- 
nians; if  thefe  redundant  funis  which  you 
receive  at  home  be  applied  to  ihs  advance- 
ment of  your  affairs  abroad;  perhaps,  my 
countrymen  I  perhaps  fome  inftance  of 
consummate  good  fortune  may  attend  you, 
and  ye  may  become  fo  happy  as  to  de- 
fpife  thofe  pittances,  which  are  like  the 
morfels  that  a  phyfician  allows  his  patient. 
For  thefe  do  not  reftore  his  vigour,  but 
juft  keep  him  from  dying.  So,  your  diftri- 
butions  cannot  ferve  any  valuable  purpofe, 
but  are  juft  fufficient  to  divert  your  atten- 
tion from  all  other  things,  and  thus  in- 
creafe  the  indolence  of  evu-y  one  among 
you. 

But  I  mall  be  afked,  "  What  then  !  is 
"  it  your  opinion  that  thefe  furns  mould 
"  pay  our  army?" — And.befides  this,  that 
the  ftate  fhould  be  regulated  ia  fuch  a 
manner,  that  every  one  may  have  hisfhare 
of  public  bufmefs,  and  approve  himfelf  an 
ufeful  citizen,  on  what  occaiion  foever  his 
aid  may  be  required.  Is  it  in  his  power- 
to  live  in  peace  ?  He  will  live  here  with 
greater  dignity,  while  thefe  fupplies  pre- 
vent him  from  being  tempted  by  indigence 
to  any  thing  difhonourable.  Is  he  called 
forth  by  an  emergency  like  the  prefent  ? 
Let  him  difcharge  that  facred  duty  which 
he  owes  to  his  country,  by  applying  thefe 
funis  to  his  fupport  in  the  field.  Is  there 
a  man  among  you  paft  the  age  of  fervice? 
Let  him,  by  infpecKng  and  conducing  the 
public  bufmefs,  regularly  merit  his  lhare 
of  the  distributions  which  he  now  receives, 
without  any  duty  enjoined,  or  any  return 
made  to  the  community.  And  thus,  with 
fcarccly  any  alteration,  either  of  abolish- 
ing or  innovating,  all  irregularities  are  re- 
moved, ami  the  ftate  completely  fettled ; 
by  appointing  one  general  regulation, 
which  mall  entitle  our  citizens  to  receive, 
and  at  the  fame  time  oblige  them  t*>  take 
arms,  to  adminiftei*  juftice,  to  acl  in  all 
cafes  as  their  time  of  life,  and  our  affairs 

require. 


BOOK    III.      ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.       629 


require.  But  it  never  hath,  nor  could  it 
have  been  moved  by  me,  that  the  rewards 
of  the  diligent  and  active  mould  be  be-* 
mowed  on  the  ufelefs  citizen  :  or  that  you 
mould  fit  here,  fupine,  languid,  and  irre- 
Iblute, liflening  to  the  exploits  of  fome  ge- 
neral's foreign  troops  (for  thus  it  is  at  pre- 
sent)— r.ot  that  I  would  reflect  on  him 
who  ferves  you  in  any  inltance.  But  you 
yourfelvef,  Athenians,  mould  perform  thofe 
iervices,  for  which  you  heap  honours  upon 
others,  and  not  recede  from  that  illu'tri- 
ous  rank  of  virtue,  the  price  of  all  the 
glorious  toils  of  your  ancellors,  and  by 
them  bequeathed  to  you 


as  fheweth,  that  his  former  remon- 
firances  had  not  the  dehred  effed. 

I  AM  perfuaded,  Athenians  !  that  you 
would  account  it  lefs  valuable  to  poffeis 
the  g'reateft  riches,  than  to  have  the  true 
intereil  of  the  Hate  on  this  emergency 
clearly  laid  before  you.  J  t  is  your  part, 
therefore,  readily  and  chearfully  to  at- 
tend to  all  who  are  difpofed  to  offer  th.?ir 
opinions.  For  your  regards  need  not  be 
confined  to  thofe,  whole  counfels  are  the 
efFccl  of  premeditation  :  it  is  your  good 
fortune  to  have  men  among  you,  who  can 
at  once  iuggeft  many  points   of  moment. 


points  in  which  I  think  ycu  interefled.  It 
js  your  part  to  embrace  that  opinion, 
winch  the  welfare  of  the  ftate  in  general, 
and  that  of  every  fingle  member,  recom- 
mends to  your  acceptance.  Iceland, 


§    4.      The    third  Olyr.thiac  Oration 
nounced  in  the  fame  year. 


t>rO' 


Thus  have    I  laid  before  you  the  chief     From  opinions,  therefore,  of  every  kind, 

you  may  eafily  chafe  that  moil:  conducive 
to  your  intereil. 

And  now,  Athenians,  the  prefent  junc- 
ture calls  upon  us ;  we  almoft  hear  its 
voice, declaring  loudly,  that  you  yourielves 
mult  engage  in  ihefe  attain,  if  you  have 
the  leaft  attention  to  your  own  fecurity. 
Vou  entertain  I  know  not  what  ientiments, 
on  this,  occafjon:  my  opinion  is,  that  the 
reinforcements  mould  be  inflantly  decreed; 
that  they  fhould  be  raited  with  all  poffible 
expedition  ;  that  10  our  fuccours  may  be 
fent  from  this  city,  and  all  former  incon- 
veniencies  be  avoided;  and  t. -.at  you  mould 
fend  ambaffadors  to  notify  theie  things, 
and  to  fecure  our  interelts  by  their  pre- 
tence. For  as  he  is  a  man  of  confummate 
policy,  complete  in  the  art  of  turning 
every   incident    to  his     own   advantage; 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  preceding  oration  had  no  further 
effect  upon  the  Athenians,  than  to 
prevail  on  them  to  fend  orders  to 
Charidemus,  who  commanded  for 
them  at  the  Hellefpont,  to  make  an 
attempt  to  relieve  Olynthus,  He  ac- 
cordingly led  fome  forces  into  Chal- 
cis,  which,  in  conjunction  with  the 
forces  of  Olynthus,  ravaged  Pallene, 
3.  peninfula  of  Macedon,  towards 
Thrace  and  Bottia,  a  country  on  the 
confines  of  Chalcis,  which  among 
other  towns  contained  Peila,  the  ca- 
pital of  Macedon. 

jlut  thete  attempts  could  not  divert 
Philip  from  his  refolution  of  reducing 
Olynthus,  which  he  had  now  public- 
ly avowed.  The  Olynthians,  there- 
fore, found  it  neceffary  to  have  once 
more  recourfe  to  Athens :  and  to  re- 
queft,  that  they  would  fend  troops, 
compofed  of  citizens,  animated  with 
a  fmcere  ardor  for  their  interelt,  their 
own  glory,  and  the  common  caule. 

•Demofthencs,  in  the  following  oration, 
infills  on  the  importance  of  faving 
Olynthus ;  alarms  his  hearers  with 
the  apprehenfion  of  the  war,  which 
actually  threatened  Attica,  and  even 
the  capital ;  urges  the  necefiity  of 
perfonal  fervice;  and  returns  to  his 
charge  of  the  mifapplication  of  the 
public  money ;  but  in  fuch  a  manner, 


there  is  the  utmoft  reafon  to  fear,  that 
partly  by  conceffions,  where  they  may  be 
teafonable ;  partly  by  menaces,  (and  his 
menaces  may  be  believed)  and  partly 
by  rendering  us  and  our  abfence  fufpeft- 
ed  ;  he  may  tear  from  us  iomething  of  the 
laft  importance,  and  force  it  into  his  own 
fervice. 

Thofe    very     circumibnees,    however, 
which  contribute  to   the   power  ofPHilip, 
are  happily  the  moil  favourable  to  us.  For 
that  uncontrolled  command,  with  which  he 
governs  all  tran factions  public  and  iecret ; 
his  intire    direction  of  hjs  army,  as  their 
leader,  their  fovereign,  and  their  treafurer; 
and  his  diligence,  in   giving  life  to  every 
part  of  it,  by  his   pretence;    thei 
greatly  contribute    to   carrying  on  a  war 
with  expedition  and  fuccei 
e.-ful    obfUcles    to    t 
which    he    won!  I    glad!) 
Okynthians.      For     the  ke 

plainly,  that  they  do    not  now    fig] 
olorv,  or  for  part  of  their  territory,  but  t<s 


b  s  3 


deten* 


6jq  ELEQA^T    EXT 

defend  their  ftate  from  diffolution  and 
liavery.  They  know  how  he  rewarded 
thofe  traitors  of  Amphipolis,  who  made 
him  mafterpfthat  city  ;  and  thofe  of  Pyd- 
!;<3,  wiio  opened  their  gates  to  him.  In  a 
word,  free  hates,  I  think,  mud  ever  look 
with  iuipiciua  on  an  abfolute  monarchy  : 
hut  a  neighbouring  monarchy  mull  double 
tiieir  appreheniions. 

_  Convinced  of  what  hath  now  been  offer- 
ed, and  poflefled  with  every  other  juil  and 
worthy  fentiment ;  you  mull  be  re'folved, 
Athenians!  you  muft  exert  your  fpiritj  you 
mult  apply  to  the  war,  now,  if  ever;  your 
fortunes,  your p.erfons,  your  whole  powers, 
are  now  demanded.  There  is  no  excufe, 
no  pretence  left,  for  declining  the  perform- 
ance of  your  duty.  For  that  which  you 
were  all  ever  urging  loudly,  that  the  Olyn- 
thmris  mould  be  engaged  in  a  war  with 
Pnilip,  hath  now  happened  of  itff If ;  and 
this  m  a  iruwuer  molt  agreeable  to  our  in- 
tereft.     For,  if  they  had  entered  into  this 

c  our  perfuafion,  they  mull:  have  been 

precarious  allies,  without  lleadinefs  or  re- 
solution: but,  as  their  private  injuries  have 
made  them  enemies  to  Philip,  it  is  proba- 
ble that  enmity  will  be  kiting,  both  on  ac- 
count of  v,  hat  they  fear,  and  what  they  have 
already  fuffered.  My  countrymen  !  let  not 
io  favourable  an  opportunity  efcape  you  : 
do  not  repeat  that  error  which  hath  been 
fo  often  fatal  to  you.  For  when,  at  our 
return  from  aifiiting  the  Euboeans,  Hierax, 
and  Stratccles,  citizens  of  Amphipolis, 
mounted  this  gallery,  and  preffed  you  to 
leivl  out  your  navy,  and  to  take  their  city 
under  your  protection  ;  had  we  difcovered 
that  refolution  in  our  o'wri  caufe,  which  we 
exerted  for  the  fafety  of  Eu'bcea  ;  then  had 
Amphipolis  been  yours;  and  all  thofe  diffi- 
culties had  beenavoided,  in  which  you  have 
been  fince  involved.  Again,  when  we  re- 
c  lived  advice  of  the  fieges  of  Pvdna,  Poti- 
d;ea,  Methor.e,  Pegafe,  and  other  places, 
(for  I  would  not  detain  you  with  a  parti- 
cular recital)  had  we  ourfeives  marched 
with  a  due  fpirit  and  alacrity  to  the  relief 
of  the  fh-ft  of  thefe  cities,  we  mould  now 
find  much  more  compliance,  much  more 
humility  in  Philip.  Bat  by  hill  neglecting 
t;u  prefent,  and  imagining  our  future  in- 
rtdll  i  6l  demand  our  care:  we  have 
:  andi/ed  our  enemy,  we  have  railed 
hjm  to  a  degree  of  eminence,  greater  than 
•'•7  ^:::v'  r>f  Macedon  hath  ever  yet  en- 
'  --Now   we  have    another  opportu- 

'  •'•    '  "     w    '  '■-  the  Olynthians/ofthem- 
pr    em  to    the   date  :  one  no  lefs 
ierablethan  any  of  die  former.  '  ' 


RACT5    INPROS  E. 

And,  in  my  opinion,  Athenians  !  if  a 
man  were  to  bring  the  dealing's  of  the  gods 
towards  us  to  a  fair  account,  though  many 
things  might  appear  not  quite  agreeable  to 
our  wifhes,  yet  he  would  acknowledge  that 
we  had  been  highly  favoured  by  them  ;  and 
with  great  reafon :  for  that  many  places 
have  been  loll  inthecourfe  of  war,  is  truly 
to  be  charged  to  our  o;vn  weak  conduct. 
But  that  the  difficulties,  arifen  from  hence, 
have  not  long  affected  us ;  and  that  an  al- 
liance now  prefents  itlelf  to  remove  them, 
ii  we  are  dilpofed  to  make  the  juit  ufe  of  it; 
this  1  cannot  but  afcribe  to  the  divine 
goodnefs.  But  the  fame  thing  happens  in 
this  cafe,  as  in  the  ufe  of  riches.  If  a  man 
be  careful  to  fave  thofe  he  hath  acquired, 
lie  readily  acknowledges  the  kindnefs  of 
fortune:  but  if  by  his  imprudence  they  be 
once  loll ;  with  them  he  alio  lofes  the  fenfe 
of  gratitude.  So  in  political  affairs,  they 
who  neglect  to  improve  their  opportuni- 
ties, forget  the  favours  which  the  gods  have 
beii  owed;  for  it  is  the  ultimate  event  which 
generally  determines  mens  judgmentof  eve- 
ry thing  precedent.  And.  therefore,  all  af- 
fairs hereafter  mould  engage  your  ltrictcit. 
care  ;  that,  by  correcting  our  errors,  we  may 
wipe  off  the  inglorious  itain  of  pad  actions. 
But  mould  we  be  deaf  to  thefe  men  too, 
and  mould  he  be  fuffered  to  fubvert  Olyn- 
thus  ;  fay,  what  can  prevent  him  from 
marching  his  forces  into  whatever  territo- 
ry he  pleafes. 

Is  there  not  a  man  among  you,  Athe- 
nians !  who  reflects  by  what  Heps,  Philip, 
from  a  beginning  io  inconfiderable,  hath 
mounted  to  this  height  of  power  ?  Firft, 
he  took  Amphipolis:  then  he  became  maf- 
terof  Pydna  ;  then  Potidrca  fell;  tnen  Me- 
thone  :  then  came  his  inroad  imo  Theffalv  : 
after  this,  having  difpofed  affaii's  at'Phene, 
at  Pegafe,  at  Magneha,  intirely  as  he 
pleafed,  he  marched  into  Thrace.  Here, 
while  engaged  in  expelling  5ame,  andefta- 
blifhing  other  princes,  he  fell  fick.  Again, 
recovering,  he  never  turned  a  moment 
from  his  courfe  to  ea!e  or  indulgence,  but 
infrantly  attacked  the  Olynthians.  His  ex- 
peditions again!!  the  Illyrians,  the  Baco- 
nians, againll  Arymbas,  i  pais  all  over. — 
Jjut  I  may  be  afked,  why  this  recital,  now? 
That  you  may  know  and  fee  your  own 
error,  in  ever  ncglefting  fome  part  of  your 
affairs,  as  if  beneath  your  regard  :  and  that 
aclive  fpirit  with  which  Philip  purfueth 
his  defigns :  which  ever  fires  him;  and 
which  never  can  permit  him  to  reit  fatis- 
fied    with    thofe  things   he    hath   already 

acccm- 


BOOK    III.      ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.      631 


accomplifhed.  If  then  he  determines  firmly 
and  invariably  to  purfue  hisconquefts  :  and 
if  we  are  obllinatelv  refolvedagainlt  every 
vigorous  and  effectual  meafure :  think,  what 
confequences  may  we  expect!  In  the  name 
of  Heaven,  can  any  man  be  fo  weak,  as  not 
to  know,  that  by  neglecting  this  war,  we  are 
transferring  it  from  that  country  to  our 
own!  And  lhould  this  happen,  I  fear,  Athe- 
nians, .that  as  they  who  inconfiderably  bor- 
row money  upon  high  intereft,afterafhort- 
lived  affluence  are  deprived  of  their  own 
fortunes ;  fo  we,  by  this  continued  indo- 
lence, by  confuting  only  our  eafe  and  plea- 
fure,  maybe  reduced  to  the  grievous  necef- 
fity  of  engaging  in  affairs  the  molt  mocking 
and difagreeable,  and  of  expofmg  ourfelves 
in  the  defence  of  this  our  native  territory. 

To  cenfure,  fome  one  may  tell  me,  is 
eafy,  and  in  the  power  of  every  man  :  but 
the  true  counfellor  lhould  point  out  that 
conduct  which  the  prefent  exigence  de- 
mands.— Seniible  as  I  am,  Athenians,  that 
when  your  expectations  have  in  any  in- 
ftance  been  difappointed,  your  refentment 
frequently  falls  not  on  thofe  who  merit  itj 
but  on  him  who  hath  fpoken  lait;  yet  I 
cannot,  from  a  regard  to  my  own  fafety, 
fupprefs  what  I  deem  of  moment  to  lay 
before  you.  I  (ay  then,  this  occafion  calls 
for  a  twofold  armament.  Firlt,  we  are  to 
defend  the  cities  of  the  Olynthians,  and 
for  this  purpofe  to  detach  a  body  of  for- 
ces :  in  the  next  place,  in  order  to  infeit 
his  kingdom,  we  are  to  fend  out  our  navy 
manned  with  other  levies.  If  you  negledt 
either  of  thefe,  I  fear  your  expedition  will 
be  fruitlefs.  For,  if  you  content  your- 
felves  with  infeiting  his  dominions,  this  he 
will  endure,  until  he  is  malter  of  Olyn- 
thus,  and  then  he  can  with  cafe  repel  the 
invafion  ;  or,  if  you  only  fend  fuccours  to 
the  Olynthians,  when  he  fees  his  own  king- 
dom free  from  danger,  he  will  apply  with 
conflancy  and  vigilance  to  the  war,  and 
at  length  weary  out  the  befieged  to  a  fub- 
miffion.  Your  levies  therefore  mult  be 
coniiderable  enough  to  fcrve  both  pur- 
pofes. — -Thefe  are  my  fentiments  with  re- 
fpect  to  our  armament. 

And  now,  as  to  the  expence  of  thefe  pre- 
parations. You  are  already  provided  for 
the  payment  of  your  forces  better  than  any 
other  people.  This  provifion  is  diitributed 
among  yourfelves  in  the  manner  moil  agree- 
able ;  but  if  you  reltore  it  to  the  army,  the 
lupplies  will  be  complete  wjthout  any  ad- 
dition; if  not,  an  addition  will  be  necef- 
(ary,  or  the  whole,  rather,  will  remain  to 


be  raifed.  "  How  then  (I  may  be  afkeJ) 
"  do  you  move  for  a  decree  to  apply  thofe 
"  funds  to  the  military  fervice  ?"  By  no 
means !  it  is  my  opinion  indeed,  that  an 
army  mult  be  raifed;  that  this  money 
really  belongs  to  the  army  ;  and  that  the 
fame  regulation  which  entitles  our  citizens 
to  receive,  fhould  oblige  them  alfo  to  act. 
At  prefent  you  expend  thefe  fums  on  en- 
tertainments, without  regard  to  your  af- 
fairs. It  remains  then  that  a  general  con- 
tribution be  raifed  :  a  great  one,  if  a  great 
one  be  required:  a  fmall  one,  if  fuch  may 
befurTicient.  Money  mult  be  found  : 
without  it  nothing  can  be  effected  :  vari- 
ous fchcm.es  are  propofed  by  various  per- 
fons :  do  you  make  that  choice  which 
you  think  molt  advantageous;  and,  while 
you  have  an  opportunity,  exert  yourfelves 
in  the  care  of  your  interelts. 

It  is  worthy  your  attention  to  confider, 
how  the  affairs  of  Philip  are  at  this  time 
circumltanced.  For  they  are  by  no  means 
fo  well  difpofed,  fo  very  flourifhing,  as  an 
inattentive  oblerver  would  pronounce.  Nor 
would  he  have  engaged  in  this  war  at  all, 
had  he  thought  he  lhould  have  been  oblig- 
ed to  maintain  it.  He  hoped  that,  the  mo- 
ment he  appeared,  all  things  would  fall  be- 
fore him.  But  thefe  hopes  were  vain.  And 
this  difappointment,  in  the  firlt  place,  trou- 
bles and  difpii  its  him.  Then  the  Theffa- 
lians  alarm  him  ;  a  people  remarkable  for 
their  perfidy  on  all  occaiions,  and  to  all 
perfons.  And  juft  as  they  have  ever  proved, 
even  fo  he  finds  them  now.  For  they  have 
refolved  in  council  to  demand  the  reilitu- 
tion  of  Pegafie,  and  have  oppofed  his  at- 
tempt to  fortify  Magnefia :  and  I  am  in- 
formed, that  for  the  future  he  is  to  be  ex- 
cluded from  their  ports  and  markets,  as 
thefe  conveniencies  belong  to  the  ftates  of 
Theffaly,  and  are  not  to  be  intercepted  by 
Philip.  And,  lhould  he  be  deprived  of 
fuch  a  fund  of  wealth,  he  muft  be  greatly 
ftreightened  to  fupport  his  foreign  troops. 
Befides  this,  we  muit  fuppofe  that  the  Pa;o- 
nian  and  the  Ulyrian,  and  all  the  others, 
would  prefer  freedom  and  independence  to 
a  Mate  of  flavery.  They  are  not  accuitomed 
to  fubjection,  and  the  infolence  of  this  man, 
it  is  faid,  knows  no  bounds  ;  nor  is  this  im- 
probable :  for  great  and  unexpected  fuc- 
cefs  is  apt  to  hurry  weak  minds  into  extra- 
vagancies. Hence  it  often  proves  much  more 
difficult  to  maintain  acquintions,  than  to 
acquire.  It  is  your  part,  therefore,  to  re- 
gard the  time  of  his  diitrefs  as  your  moil 
favourable  opportunity  :  improve  it  to  the 
5  s  4  utmolt; 


632 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROS  I*. 


utmoft;  fend  out  your  embaflies ;  take  the 
Jield  yourfelves,  and  excite  a  general  ar- 
dor abroad  ;  ever  confidering  how  readily 
Philip  would  attack  us,  if  he  were  favoured 
by  any  incident  like  this,  if  a  war  had 
broken  out  on  our  borders.  And  would 
it  not  be  fhameful  to  want  the  refolution 
to  bring  that  diftrefs  on  him,  which,  had  it 
been  equally  in  his  power,  he  certainly 
would  have  made  you  feel  ? 

This  too  demands  your  attention,  Athe- 
nians !  that  you  are  now  to  determine  whe- 
ther it  be  moll  expedient  to  carry  the  war 
into  his  country,  or  to  fight  him  here.  If 
Olynthus  be  defended,  Macedon  will  be 
tie  feat  of  war:  you  may  harafs  his  king- 
dom, and  enjoy  your  own  territories  free 
from  apprehenfions.  But,  mould  that  na- 
tion be  fubdued  by  Philip,  who  will  op. 
pofe  his  marching  hither  ?  will  the  The- 
bans  ?  let  it  not  be  thought  fevere  when  I 
afHrm,  that  they  will  join  readily  in  the 
invafion.  Will  the  Phocians  ?  a  people 
fcarcely  able  to  defend  their  own  country, 
without  your  affiltance.  Will  any  others  ? 
— "  But,  Sir,"  cries  fome  one,  "  he  would 
*«  make  no  fuch  attempt.'' — This  would 
be  the  greater!  of  abfurdities  ;  not  to  exe- 
cute thofe  threats, when  he  hath  full  power, 
which,  now  when  they  appear  ib  idle  and 
extravagant,  he  yet  dares  to  utter.  And  I 
think  you  are  not  yet  to  learn  how  great 
would  be  the  difference  between  our  en- 
gaging him  here,  and  there.  Were  we  to 
be  only  thirty  days  abroad,  and  to  draw  all 
the  neceflaries  of  the  camp  from  our  own 
lands,  even  were  there  no  enemy  to  rav.iga 
them,  the  damage  would,  in  my  opinion, 
amount  to  more  than  the  whole  expence 
of  the  late  war.  Add  then  the  pretence  of 
an  enemy,  and  how  greatly  mult  the  cala- 
mity be  increafed  :  but,  further,  add  the 
infamy;  and  to  thofe  who  judge  rightly, 
nodiftrefscan  be  more  grievous  than  the 
fcandal  of  mifconduft. 

It  is  incumbent  therefore,  upon  us  all, 
(juftly  influenced  by  thefe  confederations) 
to  unite  yigoroufly  in  the  common  caufe, 
and  repel  the  danger  that  threatens  this 
territory.  Let  the  rich  exert  thmfekves  on 
this  occafion ;  that,  by  contributing  a  fmall 
portion  of  their  affluence,  they  may  fecure 
the  peaceful  pofleflion  of  the  reft.  Let 
thofe  who  are  of  the  age  for  military  duty  ; 
that,  by  learning  the  art  of  war  in  Phi- 
lip's dominion";,  they  maybcome  formi- 
dable defenders  of tiuir  native  land.  Let 
our  orators,  that  they  may  fafeiy  fubmit 
their  conduct  to  the  public  infpe&pn,    Por 


your  judgment  of  their  adminlftraticns 
will  ever  be  determined  by  the  event  of 
things.  And  may  we  all  contribute  to 
render  that  favourable  !  Leland. 


§  5- 


Oration  againji  Catiline. 


THE       ARGUMENT. 

L.  Sergius  Catiline  was  of  Patrician  ex-< 
traftion,  and  had  fided  with  Sylla, 
during  the  civil  wars  between  him 
and  Marius,  Upon  the  expiration  of 
his  pra:torfhip,  he  was  fent  to  the 
government  of  Africa;  and  after  his 
return,  was  accufed  of mal-adminiftra- 
tion  by  P.  Clodius,  under  the  conful- 
fhip  of  M.  Lmilius  Lepidus,  and  L. 
Volcatius  Tullus.  It  is  commonly 
believed,  that  the  defign  of  the  co»- 
fpiracy  was  formed  about  this  time, 
three  years  before  the  oration  Cicero 
here  pronounces  again  ft  it.  Catiline, 
after  his  return  from  Africa,  had  fued 
for  the  confulihip,  but  was  rejected. 
The  two  following  years  he  likewife 
flood  candidate,  but  ftill  met  with 
the  fame  fate.  It  appears  that  he 
made  a  fourth  attempt  under  thecon- 
fulfnip  of  Cicero,  who  made  ufe  of  all 
his  credit  and  authority  to  exclude 
him,  in  which  he*  fucceeded  to  his 
wifh.  After  the  piclure  Salluit  has 
drawn  of  Catiline,  it  were  needlefs  to 
attempt  his  character  here;  befides 
that  the  four  following  orations  will 
make  the  reader  fufBciently  acquaint- 
ed with  it.  This  fir  ft  fpeech  was  pro-, 
nounced  in  the  fenate,  convened  in  the 
temple  of  Jupiter  Stator,  on  the  eighth, 
of  November,  in  the  fix  hundred  and 
ninth  year  of  the  city,  and  forty-fourth 
of  Cicero's  age.  The  occafion  of  it 
was  as  follows :  Catiline,  and  the  other 
confpirators,  had  met  together  in  the 
houle  of  one  Marcus  Lecca;  where 
it  was  refolved,  that  a  general  infur- 
re£tion  fhculd  be  railed  through  Italy, 
the  different  parts  of  which  were  af- 
figned  to  different  leaders  ;  that  Ca- 
tiline mould  put  himfelf  at  the  head 
of  the  troops  in  Etruria ;  that  Rome 
fuould  be  fired  in  many  places  at  oncc3 
and  a  mafTacre  begun  at  the  fame 
time  of  the  whole  fenate  and  alj  their 
enemies,  of  whom  none  were  to  be 
fpared  except  the  fens  of  Pompey, 
who  were  to  be  kept  as  hoftages  of 
their  peace  and  reconciliation  with. 
their  father ;  that  in  the  confirmation 


SOOK  III. 


ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        633 


of  the  fire  and  mafiacre,  Catiline 
Should  be  ready  with  his  Tufcan  army 
to  take  the  benefit  of  the  public  con- 
fufion,  and  make  himfelf  mailer  of 
the  city;  where Lentulus  in  the  mean 
while,  as  firll  in  dignity,  was  to  pre- 
fide  in  their  general  councils ;  Caifius 
to  manage  the  affair  of  firing  it ;  Ce- 
thegus  to  direct  the  mafiacre.  But 
the  vigilance  of  Cicero  being  the 
chief  obitacle  to  all  their  hopes,  Ca- 
tiline was  very  defirous  to  fee  hira 
taken  off  before  he  left  Rome;  upon 
which  two  knights  of  the  company 
undertook  to  kill  him  the  next  morn- 
ing in  his  bed,  in  an  early  vifit  on 
pretence  of  bufinefs.  They  were  both 
of  his  acquaintance,  and  ufed  to  fre- 
quent his  houfe  ;  and  knowing  his 
cuflom  of  giving  free  accefs  to  all, 
made  no  doubt  of  being  readily  ad- 
mitted, as  C.  Cornelius,  one  of  the 
two,  afterwards  confeffed.  The  meet- 
ing was  no  fooner  over,  than  Cicero 
had  information  of  all  that  pafl'ed  in 
it:  for  by  the  intrigues  of  a  woman 
named  Fulvia,  he  had  gained  over 
Curius  her  gallant,  one  of  the  con- 
fpirators  of  fenatorian  rank,  to  fend 
him  a  punctual  account  of  all  their 
deliberations.  He  prefently  imparted 
his  intelligence  to  fome  of  the  chiefs 
of  the  city,  who  were  aflembled  that 
evening,  as  ufual,  at  his  houfe,  in- 
forming them  not  only  of  the  defign, 
but  naming  the  men  who  were  to  exe- 
cute it,  and  the  very  hour  when  they 
would  be  at  his  gate  :  all  which  fell 
out  exactly  as  he  foretold  ;  for  the 
two  knights  came  before  break  of 
day,  but  had  the  mortification  to  find 
the  houfe  well  guarded,  and  all  ad- 
mittance refufed  to  them.  Next  day 
Cicero  fummoned  the  fenate  to  the 
temple  of  Jupiter  in  the  capitol,  where 
it  was  not  ufually  held  but  in  times 
of  public  alarm.  There  had  been 
feyeral  debates  before  this  on  the  fame 
iubjeel  of  Cataline's  treafons,  and  his 
defign  of  killing  the  conful ;  and  a 
decree  had  paired  at  the  motion  of 
Cicero,  to  offer  a  public  reward  to 
the  firii  difcoverer  of  the  plot;  if  a 
flave,  his  liberty,  and  eight  hundred 
pounds;  if  a  citizen,  his  pardon,  and 
fixteen  hundred.  Yet  Cataline,  by  a 
profound  difiimulation,  and  the  con- 
stant profeflions  of  his  innocence,  frill 
Received  many  of  all  ranks  j  renre- 
6 


fenting  the  whole  as  the  fiction  of  his 
enemy  Cicero,  and  offering  to  give 
fecurity  for  his  behaviour,  and  to  de- 
liver himfelf  to  the  cuftody  of  any 
whom  the  fenate  would  name  ;  of  M. 
Lepidus,  of  the  praetor  Metellus,  or 
of  Cicero  himfelf:  but  none  of  them 
would  receive  him ;  and  Cicero  plain- 
ly told  him,  that  he  fhould  never  think 
himfelf  fafe  in  the  fame  houfe,  when 
he  was  in  danger  by  living  in  the 
fame  city  with  him.  Yet  he  frill  kept 
on  the  mafk,  and  had  the  confidence 
to  come  to  this  very  meeting  in  the 
capitol ;  which  fo  fhocked  the  whole 
affembly,  that  none  even  of  his  ac- 
quaintance durlt  venture  to  falute 
him  ;  and  the  confular  fenators  quitted 
that  part  of  the  houfe  in  which  he 
fat,  and  left  the  whole  bench  clear  to 
him.  Cicero  was  fo  provoked  by  his 
impudence,  that  inflead  of  entering 
upon  any  bufinefs,  as  he  defigned,  ad- 
dreifing  himfelf  directly  to  Catiline., 
he  broke  out  into  the  prefent  mod  fe  - 
vere  invective  againft  him  ;  and  with 
all  the  fire  and  force  of  an  incenfed 
eloquence,  laid  open  the  whole  courfe 
of  his  villainies,  and  the  notoriety  of 
his  treafons. 

HOW  far,  O  Catiline,  wilt  thou  abufe 
our  patience  ?  How  long  mall  thy  frantic 
rage  baffle  the  efforts  of  juirice?  To 
what  height  meanefl  thou  to  carry  thy  dar- 
ing infolence?  Art  thou  nothing  daunted 
by  the  nocturnal  watch  polled  to  fecure 
the  Palatium?  nothing  by  the  city  guards? 
nothing  by  the  conilemation  of  the  peo- 
ple? nothing  by  the  union  of  all  the  wife 
and  worthy  citizens  ?  nothing  by  the  fe- 
nate's  affembling  in  this  place  of  ilrength  ? 
nothing  by  the  looks  and  countenances  of 
all  here  prefent?  Seen:  thou  not  that  all 
thy  defigns  are  brought  to  light  ?  that  the 
fenators  are  thoroughly  apprized  of  thy 
confpiracy  ?  that  they  are  acquainted  with 
thy  lait  night's  practices ;  with  the  prac- 
tices of  the  night  before;  with  the  place 
of  meeting,  the  company  fummoned  toge- 
ther, and  the  meafures  concerted?  Alas 
for  our  degeneracy  !  alas  for  the  depra- 
vity of  the  times  !  the  fenate  is  apprized 
of  all  this,  the  conful  beholds  it;  yet  the 
traitor  lives.  Lives !  did  I  fay,  he  even 
comes  into  the  fenate ;  he  ihares  in  the 
public  deliberations ;  he  marks  us  out 
with  his  eye  for  deilrudtion.  While  Ave, 
bold  in  our  country's  caufe,  think  we  have 

frffigi. 


6?4 


LEG  A  NT     EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


fofficieritly  dlfcharged  our  duty  to  the  ftate, 
if  we  can  but  cicape  his  rage  and  deadly- 
darts.  Long  iincc,  O  Catiline,  ought  the 
ponful  to  have  ordered  thee  for  execution  ; 
raid  pointed  upon  thy  own  head  that  ruin 
thou  haft  been  long  meditating  againft  us 
alt.  Could  that  illuftrious  citizen  Publius 
Scipio,  fovereign  pontiff, but  inverted  with 
no  public  magiftracy,  kill  Tiberius  Grac- 
chus for  raifing  fome  flight  commotions  in 
the  commonwealth;  and  mall  we  confuls 
fuffer  Catiline  to  live,  who  aims  at  laying 
y.-afte  the  world  with  fire  and  fword  ?  I 
omit,  as  too  remote,  the  example  of  Q^ 
Servilius  Ahala,  who  with  his  own  hand 
flew  Spurius  Melius,  for  plotting  a  revo- 
lution in  the  ftate.  Such,  fuch  was  the 
virtue  of  this  republic  in  former  times, 
that  her  brave  fons  punifhed  more  feverely 
a  factious  citizen,  than  the  raoft  inveterate 
public  enemy.  We  have  a  weighty  and 
vigorous  decree  of  the  feriate  againft  you, 
Catiline":  the  commonwealth  wants  not 
wifdom,  nor  this  houfe  authority  :  but  we, 
the  confuls,  I  {peak  it  openly,  are  wanting 
in  our  duty. 

A  decree  once  paffed  in  the  fenate,  en- 
joining the  conml  L.  Opimius  to  take  care 
'that  the  commonwealth  received  no  detri- 
ment. The  very  fame  day  Caius  Grac- 
chus was  killed  for  fome  flight  fufpicions 
of  creafon,  though  defcended  of  a  father, 
grandfather,  and  ancellors,  all  eminent  for 
their  fervices  to  the  ftate.  Marcus  Ful- 
vius  too,  a  man  of  con  fular  dignity,  with 
his  children,  underwent  the  fame  fate".  By 
a  like  decree  of  the  fenate,  the  care  of  the 
commonwealth  was  committed  to  the  con-  • 
fuls  C.  Marius  and  L.  Valerius.  W-as  a 
fjngle  day  permitted  to  pafs,  before  L. 
Saturninus,  tribune  of -the  people,  and  C. 
S  :rvilius  the  praetor,  fatisfied  by  their  death 
thejufticeof  their  country,  But  we,  for 
th.'ie  twenty  days,  have  fuffered  the  au- 
thority of  the  fenate  to  languifh  in  our 
hands.  For  we  too  have  a  like  decree, 
but  it  rolls  among  our  records  like  a  fword 
in  the  fcabbard  ;  a  decree,  O  Catiline,  by 
which  you  ought  to  have  fuffered  imme- 
diate ieath.  Yet  ftill  you  live;  nay  more, 
you  live,  not  to  lay  aiidc,  but  to  harden 
yourfetf  in  your  audacious  guilt.  I  could 
wifh,  confeript  fathers,  to  be  merciful ;  I 
could  with  ioo  not  to  appear  remifs  when 
my  country  is  threatened  with  danger;  but 
J  now  begin  to  reproach  myfelf  with  neg- 
ligence and  want  of  courage.  A  camp  is 
formed  in  Italy,  -upon  the  very  borders  of 
Etruria,  againft  the  commonwealth,     The 


enemy  increafe  daily  in  number.  At  the 
fame  time  we  behold  their  general  and 
leader  within  our  walls;  nay,  in  the  fenate- 
houfe  itfelf,  plotting  daily  fome  inteftine 
mifchief  againft  the  ilate.  Should  I  order 
you,  Catiline,  to  be  inftantly  feized  and 
put  to  death:  I  have  reafon  to  believe, 
good  men  would  rather  reproach  me  with 
flownefs  than  cruelty.  But  at  prefent  cer- 
tain reafons  reftrain  me  from  this  ftep, 
which  indeed  ought  to  have  been  taken 
long  ago.  Thou  flialt  then  fuffer  death, 
when  not  a  man  is  to  be  found,  fo  wicked, 
fo  defperate,  fo  like  thyfelf,  as  not  to  own 
it  was  done  juftly.  As  long  as  there  is 
one  who  dares  to  defend  thee,  thou  fhalt 
live;  and  live  fo  as  thou  now  doft,  fur- 
rounded  by  the  numerous  and  powerful 
guards  which  I  have  placed  about  thee, 
i'o  as  not  to  fuffer  thee  to  ftir  a  foot 
againft  the  republic;  whilil  the  eyes  and 
ears  of  many  fhall  watch  thee,  as  they  have 
hitherto  done,  when  thou  little  thoughteft 
of  it. 

But  what  is  it,  Catiline,  thou  canft  now 
have  in  view,  if  neither  the  obfeurity  of 
night  can  conceal  thy  traiterous  affem- 
blies,  nor  the  walls  of  a  private  houfe  pre- 
vent the  voice  of  thy  trcafon  from  reach-i 
ing  our  ears?  If  all  thy  projects  are  dis- 
covered, and  burft  into  public  view?  Quit 
then  your  deteftable  purpofe,  and  think 
no  more  of  maffacrcs  and  conflagrations. 
You  are  befet  on  all  hands;  your  molt 
fecret  counfels  are  clear  as  noon-day;  a* 
you  may  eafily  gather,  from  the  detail  I 
am  now  to  give  you.  You  may  remem- 
ber that  on  the  nineteenth  of  Odober  laft, 
I  (aid  publicly  in  the  fenate,  that  before 
the  twenty-fifth  of  the  fame  month,  C. 
Manlius,  the  confederate  and  creature  of 
your  guilt,  would  appear  in  arms.  Was  I 
deceived,  Catiline,  I  fay  not  as  to  this 
enormous',  this  deteftable,  this  improbable 
attempt ;  but,  which  is  ftill  more  furpriz- 
ing,  as  to  the  very  day  on  which  it  hap- 
pened? I  laid  likewife,  in  the  fenate,  that 
you  had  fixed  the  twenty-fixth  of  the  lame 
month  for  the  mafiacrc  of  our  nobles, 
which  induced  many  citizens  of  the  firft 
rank  to  retire  from  Rome,  not  fo  much  on 
account  of  their  own  prefetvation,  as  with 
a  view  to  baffle  your  dcfigns.  Can  you 
deny,  that  on  that  very  fame  day  you  was 
fo  befet  by  mv  vigilance,  and  the  guards 
I  placed  about  you,  that  you  found  it  im- 
poffible  to  attempt  any  thing  againft  the 
ftate;  though  you  had  given  out,  after 
the  departure  of  the  reft,  that  you  would 

never- 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        63$ 


neverthelefs  content  yourfelf  with  the 
blood  of  thofe  who  remained  ?  Nay,  when 
on  the  firft  of  November,  you  confi- 
dently hoped  to  fin-prize  Pramefle  by  night; 
did  you  not  find  that  colony  fecured'by 
my  order,  and  the  guards,  officers,  and 
garrifon  1  had  appointed?  There  is  nothing 
you  either  think,  contrive,  or  attempt,  but 
what  I  both  hear,  fee,  and  plainly  under- 
stand. 

Call  to  mind  only  in  conjunction  with 
me,  the  tranfaclions  of  lafl  night.  You 
will  foon  perceive,  that  I  am  much  more 
active  in  watching  over  the  prefervation, 
than  you  in  plotting  the  deiiruciion  of  the 
Hate.  I  fay  then,  and  fay  it  openly,  that 
kit  night  you  went  to  the  houfe  of  M. 
Lecca,  in  the  flreet  called  the  Gladiators : 
that  vou  was  met  there  by  numbers  of 
your  allbciates  in  guilt  and  madnels.  Dare 
vou  deny  this?  Why  are  you  filent?  If 
you  difown  the  charge,  I  will  prove  it: 
for  I  fee  fome  in  this  very  aflembly,  who 
were  of  your  confederacy.  Immortal 
gods !  what  country  do  we  inhabit  ?  what 
city  do  we  belong  to  ?  what  government 
do  we  live  under?  Here,  here,  confeript 
fathers,  within  thefe  walls,  and  in  this 
aifembly,  the  mofc  awful  and  venerable 
upon  earth,  there  are  men  who  meditate 
my  ruin  and  yours,  the  deiiruciion  of  this 
city,  and  confequently  of  the  world  itfclf. 
Myfelf,  your  conful,  behold  thefe  men, 
and  a/k  their  opinions  on  public  affairs; 
and  inllead  of  dooming  them  to  immedi- 
ate execution,  do  not  To  much  as  wound 
them  with  my  tongue.  You  went  then 
that  night,  Catiline,  to  the  houfe  of  Lec- 
ca ;  you  cantoned  out  all  Italy;  you  ap- 
pointed the  place  to  which  every  one  was 
to  repair;  you  fingled  out  thofe  who  were 
to  be  left  at  Rome,  and  thofe  who  were 
to  accompany  you  in  perfon;  you  marked 
out  the  parts  of  the  city  dehined  to  con- 
flagration ;  you  declared  your  purpofe  of 
leaving  it  foon,  and  iaid  you  only  waited 
a  little  to  fee  me  taken  off.  Two  Ro- 
man knights  undertook  to  eafe  you  of  that 
care,  and  affafiinate  me  the  fame  night  in 
bed  before  day-break.  Scarce  was  your 
aifembly  difmified,  when  I  was  informed 
of  all  this:  I  ordered  an  additional  guard 
to  attend,  to  fecure  my  houfe  from  affault; 
I  refufed  admittance  to  thofe  whom  you 
fent  to  compliment  me  in  the  morning;  and 
declared  to  many  worthy  perfons  before- 
hand who  they  were,  and  at  what  time  I 
expected  them. 


Since  then,  Catiline,  fuch  is  the  ftate  of 
your  affairs,  finilh  what  you   have  be<?un; 
quit  the  city;  the  gates  are  open;  nobody 
oppofes  your  retreat.     The  troops  in  Man- 
lius's  camp  long  to  put  thcmfelves    under 
your  command.     Carry  with  you  all  your 
confederates;   if  not    all,  at  lead  as  many 
as  poffible.     Purge  the  city.     It  will  take 
greatly  from  my  fears,  to  be  divided  from 
you   by   a  wall.     You  cannot  pretend   to 
(lay  any   longer  with  us :  1  will  not  bear, 
will  not  fuffer,  will  not  allow  of  it.     Great 
thanks  are  due  to  the  immortal  gods,  and 
chiefly  to  thee  Jupiter  Stator,  the  ancient 
protector  of  this  city,  for  having  already 
io  often   preferved    us  from   this   danger- 
ous, this  deftructive,  this  peftilent  fcourge 
of  his  country.     The  fupreme  fafety  of  the 
commonwealth  ought  not  to  be  again  and 
again  expofed   to  danger  for  the  fake  of 
a  iingle  man.     While  I   was  onlv  conful 
elect,  Catiline,    I    contented   myfelf  with 
guarding  a^ainil  your  many  plots,  not  by 
a  public  guard,  but  by  my   private  vigi- 
lance.    When  at  the  lafl  election  of  con- 
fuls,    you   had   refolved   to  affaffinate  me, 
and  your  competitors,  in  the  field  of  Mars, 
I  defeated  your  wicked  purpofe  by  the  aid 
of  my  friends,  without  diflurbing  the  pub- 
lic peace.     In  a  word,  as  often  as  you  at- 
tempted  my    life,   I  fmgly  oppofed   your 
fury;  though  I   well  faw,  that    my  death 
would  neceflarily  be  attended  with  many 
fignal  calamities    to  the   ftate.      But  now 
you  openly  ftrike  at  the  very  being  of  the 
republic.      The  temples  of  the  immortal 
gods,  the  manfions  of  Rome,  the    lives  of 
her  citizens,  and  all  the  provinces  of  Italy, 
are  doomed   to   flaughter  and  de  variation. 
Since  therefore  I  dare    not    purfue    that 
courle,  which  is  moll  agreeable  to  ancient 
di'cipbne,   and  the  genius  of  the  common- 
walth,  I  will   follow  another,  lefs   feveie 
indeed   as  to   the  criminal,  but  more  ufe- 
ful  in  its  confequences  to  the  public.     For 
fhould  I  order  you  to  be  immediately  put 
to   death,  the    commonwealth   would'  Hill 
harbour  in  its    bofom   the  other  confpira- 
tors ;  but  by  driving  you  from  the  city,  I 
ihall  clear  Rome  at  once  of  the  whole  baneful 
tribe  of  thy  accomplices.     How,  Catiline! 
Do  you  hefltate  to  do  at  my  command,  what 
you  was  fo  lately  about  to  do  of  your  own 
accord?  The   conful  orders  a  public  ene- 
my to  depart  the  city.     You  afk  whether 
this   be  a  real    banifhmer.t  ?  I  fay  not  ex- 
prefsly  fo :  but  was  I  to  advife  in  the  cafe, 
it  is  the  bell  courfe  you  can  take. 

For 


6&  ELEGANT    EXTR 

_  For  what  is  there,  Catiline,  that  can  now 
give  you  pleafure  in  this  city?  wherein, 
if  we  except  the  profligate  crew  of  your 
accomplices,  there  is  not  a  man  but  dreads 
and  abhors  you  ?  Is  there  a  domeftic  ftain 
from  which  your  character  is  exempted  ? 
Have  you  not  rendered  yourfelf  infamous 
fey  every  vice  that  can  brand  private  life? 
WJsflt  fcenes  of  luft  have  not  your  eyes 
beheld  ?  What  guilt  has  not  ftain*  d  your 
lands  ?  What  pollution  has  not  defiled 
your  whole  body:  What  youth,  entangled 
fey  thee  in  the  allurements  of  debauchery, 
i*aft  thou  not  prompted  by  arms  to  deeds 
of  violence,  or  feduced  by  incentives  into 
the  ihares  of  fenfuality  ?  And  lately,  when 
fey  procuring  the  death  of  your  former 
wife,  you  had  made  room  in  your  houfe 
for  another,  did  you  not  add  to  the  enor- 
jnity  of  that  crime,  by  a  new  and  unpa- 
ralleled meafure  of  guilt?  But  I  pafs 
over  this,  and  chufe  to  let  it  remain  in 
filence,  that  the  memory  jof  fo  monftious 
a  piece  ol"  wickednefs,  or  at  leaft  of  its 
having  been  committed  with  impunity,  may 
not  defcend  to  poiterity.  I  pafs  over  too 
the  entire  ruin  of  your  fortunes,  which  you 
are  fenfible  muft  befal  you  the  very  next 
month;  and  {hall  proceed  to  the  mention 
of  fueh  particulars  as  regard  not  the  in- 
famy of  your  private  character,  nor  the 
dil'refll's  and  turpitude  of  your  domeftic 
life;  but  luch  as  concern  tne  very  being 
of  the  republic,  and  the  lives  and  fafety 
of  us  all.  Can  the  light  of  life,  or  the 
air  you  breathe,  be  grateful  to  you,  Ca- 
tiline; when  you  ate  confeious  there  is 
not  a  man  here  pre  lent  but  knows,  that  on 
the  laft  of  December,  in  the  conliilihip  of 
Lepidus  and  Tullus,  you  appeared  in  the 
Comitium  with  a  dagger?  That  you  had 
got  together  a  band  of  ruffians,  to  affaffi- 
nate  the  confuls,  and  the  moft  considerable 
men  in  Rome:  and  that  this  execrable  and 
frantic  defign  was  defeated,  not  by  any 
awe  or  remorfe  in  you,  but  by  the  pre- 
vailing good  fortune  of  the  people  of 
Rome.  But  I  pafs  over  thofc  things,  as 
being  already  well  known:  there  are  others 
of  a  later  date.  How  many  attempts  have 
you  made  upon  my  life,  fincc  I  was  no- 
minated conful,  and  fince  I  entered  upon 
the  actual  execution  of  that  office  ?  How 
many  thrufts  of  thine,  fo  well  aimed  that 
they  feemed  unavoidable,  have  I  parried 
by  an  artful  evafion,  and,  as  they  term  it, 
a  gentle  deflection  of  body  ?  You  attempt, 
ycu  contrive,  you  fet  on  foot  nothing,  of 
which    1   have    not    timely    information. 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

Yet  you  ceafe  not  to  concert,  and  enter* 
prize.  How  often  has  that  dagger  been 
wrefted  out  of  thy  hands?  How  often,  by 
fome  accident,  has  it  dropped  before  the 
moment  of  execution  ?  yet  you  cannot  re- 
folve  to  lay  it  allele.  How,  or  with  what 
rices  you  lave  confecrated  it,  is  ha-d  to 
fay,  t.iat  you  think  yourfelf  thus  obliged 
to  lodge  it  in  the  bofom  of  a  conful  ! 

What  are  we  to  think  of  your  prefent 
fituation  and  conduct?  For  I  will  now  ad- 
drefs  you,  not  with  the  deteftation  your 
actions  deferve,  but  with  a  cbmpaffion  to 
which  you  have  no  juft  claim.  You  came 
fome  time  ago  into  the  fenate.  Did  a 
fing'e  perfon  of  this  numerous  aiTemblv, 
not  excepting  your  moft  intimate  relations 
and  friends,  deign  to  falute  you  ?  If  there 
be  no  inltance  of  this  kind  in  the  memory 
of  man,  do  you  expect  that  I  fhould  em- 
bitter with  reproaches,  a  doom  confirmed 
by  the  filent  deteftation  of  all  prefent? 
Were  not  the  benches  where  you  fit  for- 
faken,  as  foon  as  you  was  obferved  to  ap- 
proach them?  Did  not  all  the  confular  fe- 
nators,  whofe  deftruction  you  have  fo  often 
plotted,  quit  immediately  the  part  of  the 
houfe  where  you  thought  proper  to  place 
yourfelf?  How  are  you  able"  to  bear  all 
this  treatment  ?  For  my  own  part,  were 
my  Haves  to  difcover  fuch  a  dread  of  me, 
as  your  fellow-citizens  exprefs  of  you,  I 
fhould  think  it  neceflary  to  abandon  my 
own  houfe :  and  do  you  hefitate  about 
leaving  the  city?  Was  I  even  wrongfully 
fufpected,  and  th»reby  rendered  obnoxious 
to  my  countrymen,  I  would  fooner  with- 
draw myfelf  from  public  view,  than  be  be- 
held with  looks  full  of  reproach  and  indig- 
nation. And  do  you,  whofe  conference 
tells  you  that  you  are  the  object  of  an  uni- 
verfal,  a  juft,  and  a  long-merited  hatred, 
delay  a  moment  to  efcape. from  the  looks 
and  prefence  of  a  people,  whofe  eyes  and 
fenfes  can  no  longer  endure  you  among 
them  ?  Should  your  parents  dread  and 
hate  you,  and  be  obftinate  to  all  your  en- 
deavours to  appeafe  them,  you  would 
doubtlefs  withdraw  fomewhere  from  their 
fight.  But  now  your  country,  the  com- 
mon parent  of  us  all,  hates  and  dreads  you, 
and  has  long  regarded  you  as  a  parricide, 
intent  upon  the  defign  of  deftroying  her. 
And  wiil  you  neither  refpect  her  authority, 
fubmit  to  her  advice,  nor  ftand  in  awe  of 
her  power?  Thus  does  fhe  reafon  with  you, 
Catiline  ;  and  thus  does  fhe,  in  fome  mea- 
fure, addrefs  you  by  her  filence  :  not  an 
enormity  has  happened  thefe  many  years, 

but 


SOOK  III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.         637 


tot  has  had  thee  for  its  author:  not  a 
•crime  has  been  perpetrated  without  thee : 
the  murder  of  fo  many  of  our  citizens,  the 
oppreffion  and  plunder  of  our  allies,  has 
through  thee  alone  efcaped  punilhment, 
and  been  exercifed  with  unreltrained  vio- 
lence :  thou  hail  found  means  not  only  to 
trample  upon  law  and  juftice,  but  even  to 
iubvert  and  deitroy   them.     Though  this 


ment.  Obferve  now,  Catiline;  mark  the 
filcnce  and  compofure  of  the  afiembly. 
Does  a  fmgle  fenator  remonftrate,  or  fo 
much  as  offer  to  fpeak?  Is  it  needful 
they  fhould  confirm  by  their  voice,  what 
they  fo  exprefsly  declare  by  their  filence  ? 
But  had  I  addreffed  myfelf  in  this  man- 
ner to  that  excellent  youth  P.  Sextius,  ol 
to    the   brave    M.    Marcellus,    the  fenate 


pail  behaviour  of  thine  was  beyond  all  pa-  would  ere  now  have  nfen    up  againft  me, 

tience,  vet  have  1  borne  with  it  as  I  could,  and   laid   violent  hands  upon  their  confu! 

Bat  now,  to  be  in  continual  apprehenfion  in  this  very  temple;  and  juftly  too.     But 

from  thee  alone ;  on  every  alarm  to  tremble  with  regard  to  you,  Catiline,  their  filence 

at  the  name  of  Catiline;  to  fee  no  defigns  declares  their  approbation,  their  acquief- 

formed  againft  me  that  fpeak  not  thee  "for  cence  amounts  to  a  decree,  and  by  faying 

their  author,  is  altogether   infupportable.  nothing  they  proclaim  their  confent.    Nor 

Be  gone   then,  and  rid  me  of  my  prefent  is   this  true  of  the   fenators  alone,  whofe 

terror;  that   if  juft,  I    may  avoid    ruin;  authority   you  affect  to  prize,  while  you 


if  groundlefs,    I  may  at  length  ceaie  to 
fear. 

Should  your  country,  as  I  faid,  addrefs 
you  in  thefe  terms,  ought  ihe  not  to  find 
obedience,  even  fuppofing  her  unable  to 
compel  you  to  fuch  a  ftep  ?  But  did  you 
not  even  offer  to  become  a  prifoner  ?  Did 
you  not  fay,  that,  to  avoid  fufpicion,  you 
would  fubmit  to  be  confined  in  the  houfe 
of  M.  Lepiius  ?  When  he  declined  re- 
ceiving you,  vou  had  the  affurance  to  come 


make  no  account  of  their  lives;  but  of 
thefe  brave  and  worthy  Roman  knights, 
and  other  illuitrious  citizens,  who  guard 
the  avenues  of  the  fenate;  whofe  numbers- 
you  might  have  feen,  whofe  fentiments  you 
might  have  known,  whofe  voices  a  little 
while  ago  you  might  have  heard ;  and 
whofe  fwords  and  hands  I  have  for  fome 
time  with  difficulty  reltrained  from  your 
perfon :  yet  all  thefe  will  1  eafily  engage 
to  attend  you  to  the  very  gates,  if  you  but 


to  me.  and  requeft  vou  mio-ht  be  fecured     confent  to  leave  this  city,  which  you  have 

„      * „   '      t   ,-,         t         .1  /-_  ; J t~  i  ,.„    J_ii_„n:__ 


at  my  houfe.  When  I  likewife  told  you, 
that  I  could  never  think  myfelf  fafe  in  the 
fame  houfe,  when  i  judged  it  even  dan- 
gerous to  be  in  the  fame  city  with  you, 
you  applied  to  Q^  Metellus  the  prretor. 
Being  repulfed  here  too,  you  went  to  the 


fo  long  devoted  to  deiirudion. 

But  why  do  I  talk,  as  if  your  refolution 
was  to  be  fhaken,  or  there  was  any  room 
to  hope  you  would  reform  !  Can  we  ex- 
pect you  will  ever  think  of  flight,  or  en- 
tertain t"he  defign  of  goifig    into  banifh- 


excellent  M.  Marcellus,  your  companion;  merit?  May  the  immortal  gods  infpire 
who,  no  doubt,  you  imagined  would  be  you  with  that  refolution  !  Though  I  clear- 
very  watchful  in  confining  you,  very  quick  ly  perceive,  mould  my  threats  frighten 
in  difcerning  your  fecret  practices,  and  very  you  into  exile,  what  a  {form  of  envy  will 
refolute  in  bringing  yeu  to  juftice.  How  light  upon  my  own  head;  if  not  at  pre- 
juftly  may  we  pronounce  him  worthy  of  lent*  whilft  the  memory  of  thy  crimes  is 
irons  and  a  jail,  whofe  own  confeience  con-  frefh,  yet  furely  in  future  times.  But  I 
dernns  him  to  reitraint  ?     If  it  be  fo  then,  little  regard  that    thought,  provided    the 


Catiline,  and  you  cannot  fubmit  to  the 
thought  of  dying  here,  do  you  hefitate  to 
retire  to  fome  other  country,  and  commit 
to  flight  and  folitude  a  life,  fo  often  and 
fo  jultly  forfeited  to  thy  country?  But, 
fay  you,  put  the  queftion  to  the  fenate,  (for 
fo  you  affect  to  talk)  and  if  it  be  their 
pleafure  that  I  go  into  banilhment,  I  am 
ready  to  obey.  I  will  put  no  fuch  quef- 
tion ;  it  is  contrary  to  my  temper:  yet 
will  I  give  you  an  opportunity  of  know- 
ing the  fentiments  of  the  fenate  with  re- 
gard to  you.  Leave  the  city,  Catiline; 
deliver  the  republic  from  its  fsars ;  go,  if 
yon  wait  only  for  that  word,  into  banifiv 


calamity  falls  on  myfelf  alone,  and  is  not 
attended  with  any  danger  to  my  country. 
But  to  feel. the  flings  of  remoffe,  to  dread 
the  rigour  of  the  laws,  to  yield  to  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  flate,  are  things  not  to  be 
expected  from  thee.  Thou,  O  Catiline, 
art  none  of  thofe,  whom  fhame  reclaims 
from  difhonourable  purfuits,  fear  from 
danger,  or  reafon  from  madnefs.  Be  gone 
then,  as  I  have  already  of  en  faid:  and  if 
you  would  fwell  the  meafure  of  popular 
odium  againft  me,  for  being,  as  you  give 
out,  your  enemy,  depart  directly  into  ba- 
nilhment. By  this  ftep  you  will  bring 
upon  me  an  infupportable  load  of  cenfure; 

nof 


h* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


nor  ihall  I  be  able  to  fuftain  the  weight  of 
the  public  indignation,  fhouldil  thou,  by 
Order  of  the  cbnful,  retire  into  exile.  But 
it  you  mean  to  advance  my  reputation  and 
glory,  march  off  with  your  abandoned 
crew  of  ruffians;  repair  to  Manlius;  rouze 
every  defperate  citizen  to  rebel ;  feparate 
yourfelf  from  the  worthy;  declare  war 
againft  your  country ;  triumph  in  your  im- 
pious depredations;  that  it  may  appear 
you  was  not  forced  by  me  into  a  foreign 
treafon,  but  voluntarily  joined  your  a  (To- 


ner as  a  conful ;  and  your  impious  treafon 
will  be  deemed  the  efforts,  not  of  an  ene- 
my, but  of  a  robber. 

And  now,  confeript  fathers,  that  I  may- 
obviate  and  remove  a  complaint,  which 
my  country  might  with  feme  appearance 
of  juiHce  urge  againft  me;  attend  dili- 
gently to  what  I  am  about  to  fay;  and  trea- 
iure  it  up  in  your  minds  and  hearts.  For 
fhould  my  country,  which  is  to  me  much 
dearer  than  life,  fhould  all  July,  mould 
the  whole  (late  thus  accoft  me,   What  are 


ciates.    but  why  fhould  I  urge  you  to  this     you  about,  Marcus  Tullius  ?   Will  you  fuf- 

ftep,  when  I  know  you  have  already  lent     fer  a  man  to  efcape  out  of  Rome^  whom 

forward  a  body  of  armed  men,  to  wait  you 

at  the  Forum   Aurelium  ?     When  1  know 

you  have  concerted  and  fixed  a   day  with 

Manlius  ?  When  1  know  you  have  fent  off' 

the  filver  eagle,  that    domeffic    fhrine  of 

your   impieties,  which   1  doubt    not  will 

bring;  ruin   upon    you    and  your  accom- 


you  have  difcovered  to  be  a  public  enemy? 
whom  you  fee  ready  to  enter  upon  a  war 
againft  the  ftatc  ?  whofe  arrival  the  con- 
fpirators  wait  with  impatience;  that  they 
may  put  themielves  under  his  conducl  ? 
the  prime  author  of  the  treafon  ;  the  con- 
triver and  manager  of  the  revolt;  the  man 


plices?     Can  you  abfent  yourfelf  longer     who  enlifts  all  the  flaves  and  ruined  citizens 
from  an  idol  to  which  you  had  recourfe  in     he  can  find  ?  will  you  fuffer  him,  I  fay,  td 
every  bloody  attempt  ?      And  from  whofe     efcape;  and   appear    as    one    rather  fent 
altars    that  impious    right-hand  was  fre- 
quently transferred  to  the  murder  of  your 
countrymen  ? 

Thus  will  you  at  length  repair,  whither 
your  frantic  and  unbridled  rage  has  long 
been  hurrying  you.  Nor  does  this  iftue 
of  thy  plots  give  thee  pain;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  fills  thee  with  inexpreffible  de- 
light. Nature  has  formed  you,  inclina- 
tion trained  you,  and  fate  referved  you, 
for  this  defperate  enterprize,  Yop  never 
took  delight  either  in  peace  or  war,  unlefs 
When  they  were  flagitious  and  deifnictive. 
You  have  got  together  a  band  of  ruffians 
and  profligates,  not  only  utterly  abandon- 
ed of  fortune,  but  even  without  hope. 
With  what  pleafure  will  you  enjoy  your- 
felf: how  will  you  exult;  "how'  will 
you  triumph?  when  amongft  fo  great  a 
number  of  your  aflbciates,  you  (hall  nei- 
ther hear  nor  fee  an  honeft  man  ?  To  at- 
tain the  enjoyment  of  fuch  a  life,  have  you 
exercifed  yourfelf  in  all  thofe  toils,  which 
are  emphatically  (bled  yours:  your  lying 
on  the  ground,  not  only  in  purfuit  of  lewd 
amours,  but  of  bold  and  hardy  enterprises : 
your  treacherous  watchfulneis,  not  only  to 
take  advantage  of  the  hufba'nd's  (lumber, 
but  to  fpcil  the  murdered  citizen.  Here 
may  you  exert  all  that  boafled  patience  of 
hunger,  coid,  and  want,  by  which  how- 
ever you  will  fhortly  find  yourfelf  undone. 
So  much  have  J  gained  by  excluding  you 
rrom  the  confulfhip,  that  you  can  only  at- 
tack ycur  country  as  an  exile,  not  opprefs 


againft  the  city,  than  driven- from  it?  will 
you  not  oiclcr  him  to  be  put  in  irons,  to  be 
dragged  to  execution,  and  to  atone  for  his 
guilt  by  the  mo  ft  rigorous  punifhment? 
what  reftrains  you  on  this  occafion  ?  is  it  the 
cuftom  of  our  anceftors  ?  But  it  is  well 
known  in  this  commonwealth, that  even  per- 
(ons  in  a  private  ftation  have  often  put  pef- 
tilent  citizens  to  death.  Do  the  laws  relat- 
ing to  the  punifhment  of  Roman  citizens 
hold  you  in  awe  ?  Certainly  traitors  agrinft 
their  country  can  have  no  claim  to  the. 
privileges  of  citizens.  Are  you  afraid  of 
the  reproaches  of  pofte'rity?  A  noble 
proof  indeed,  of  your  gratitude  to  the 
Roman  people,  that  you,  a  new  man,  whd 
without  any  recommendation  from  your 
anceftors,  have  been  railed  by  them  through 
all  the  degrees  of  honour  to  fovereign  dig- 
nity, fhould,  for  the  fake  of  any  danger  to 
yourfelf,  neglect  the  care  of  the  public  fafe- 
ty.  But  if  cenfure  be  that  whereof  you  are 
afraid,  think  which  is  to  be  molt  appre- 
hended, lire  cenfure  incurred  for  having 
acted  with  firmnefs  and  coUragc,  or  that 
(or  having  acted  with  (loth  and  pufillani- 
mity?  When  Italy  (hall  be  laid  defolate 
with  war,  her  cities  plundered,  her  dwel- 
lings on  (ire;  can  you  then  hope  to  elcape 
the  (lames  of  public  indignation  ? 

To  this  moft  facred  voice  of  my  coun- 
try, and  to  all  thofe  who  blame  me  after 
the  fame  manner,  I  fhall  make  this  fliort 
reply;  That  if  I  had  thought  it  the  moft 
advlfabie    to    put    Catiline    to    death,    I 

would 


BOOK  lit.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        6# 


would  not  have  allowed  that  gladiator  the 
ufe  of  one  moment's  life.  For  if,  in  for- 
mer days,  our  greateft  men',  and  moft  il- 
luftrious  citizens,  inftead  of  fu'llying,  have 
done  honour  to  their  memories,  by  the  de- 
ftruclion  of  Saturninus,  the  Gracchi,  Flac- 
cus.  and  many  others;  there  is  no  ground 
to  fear,  that  by  killing  this  parricide,  any 
envy  would  lie  upon  me  with  pofterity. 
Yet  if  the  greateft  was  lure  to  befal  me, 
it  was  always  my  perfuafion,  that  envy  ac- 
quired by  virtue  was  really  glory,  not  envy. 
But  there  are  fomc  of  this  very  order, 
who  do  not  either  fee  the  dangers  which 
hang  over  us,  or  elfe  diffemble  what  they 
fee;  who,  by  the  foftnefs  of  their  votes, 
cheriih  Catiline's  hopes,  and  add  flrength 
to  the  confpiracy  by  not  believing  it; 
whofe  authority  influences  many,  not  only 
of  the  wicked,  but  the  weak  ;  who,  if  I 
had  puniihed  this  man  as  he  deferved, 
would  not  have  failed  to  charge  me  with 
acting  cruelly  and  tyrannically.  Now  I  am 
perfuaded,  that  when  he  is  once  gone  into 
Manlius's  camp,  whither  he  actually  rie- 
iigns  to  go,  none  can  be  fo  fillv,  as  not  to 
fee  that  there  is  a  plot;  none  fo  wicked, 
as  not  to  acknowledge  it:  whereas  by 
taking  off  him  alone,  though  this  peftilence 
would  be  fomewhat  checked,  it  could  not 
be  fupprefied :  but  when  he  has  thrown  - 
himfelf  into  rebellion,  and  carried  out  his 
friends  along  with  him,  and  drawn  toge- 
ther the  profligate  and  defperate  from  all 
parts  of  the  empire,  not  only  this  ripened 
plague  of  the  republic,  but  the  very  root 
and  feed  of  all  our  eviis,  will  be  extirpated 
with  him  at  once. 

It  is  now  a  long  time,  confeript  fathers, 
that  we  have  trod  amidlt  the  dangers  and 
machinations  of  this  confpiracy :  but  I 
know  not  how  it  comes  to  pais,  the  full  ma- 
turity of  all  thefe  crimes,  and  of  this  long 
ripening  rr>ge  and  infolence,  has  now  broke 
out  during  the  period  of  my  confulihip. 
Should  he  alone  be  removed  from  this 
powerful  band  of  traitors,  it  may  abate, 
perhaps,  cur  fears  and  anxieties  for  a 
while  ;  but  the  danger  will  tl ill  remain,  aad 
continue  lurking  in  the  veins  and  vitals  of 
the  republic.  For  as  men,  oppreiTed  with 
a  fevere  fit  of  illnefs,  ana  labouring  under 
the  raging  heat  of  a  fever,  are  often  at 
firft  feemingly  relieved  by  a  draught  of 
cold  water,  but  afterwards  find  the  dif- 
ea;e  return  upon  them  with  redoubled  fu- 
ry; in  li  e  manne  this  diite'mpei  which 
has  fe  zed  the  commonwealth,  eafed  a  lit- 
tle by  the  punifhmeat  of  this  traitor,  will 


from  his  furviving  affociates  foon  afiume 
new  force.  Wherefore,  confeript  fathers,  let 
the  wicked  retire,  let  them  feparate  them- 
felves  from  the  honeft,  let  them  rendezvous 
in  one  place.  In  fine,  as  I  have  often  laid, 
let  a  wall  be  between  them  and  us :  let 
them  ceafe  to  lav  fnares  for  the  conful  in 
his  own  houfe,  to  befet  the  tribunal  of  the 
city  praotor,  to  invert,  the  fenate-houfe  with 
armed  ruifians,  and  to  prepare  fire-balls 
and  torches  for  burning  the  city  :  in  fhort, 
let  every  man's  fentiments  with  regard  to 
the  public  be  inferibed  on  his  forehead. 
This  I  engage  for  and  promife,  confeript 
fathers,  that  by  the  diligence  of  the  con- 
luls,  the  weight  of  your  authority,  the  cou- 
rage and  firmnefs  of  the  R.oman  knights, 
and  the  unanimity  of  all  the  honeft,  Cati- 
line being  driven  from  the  city,  you  mall 
behold  all  his  treafons  detected,  expofed, 
crufhed,  and  punifhed.  With  thefe  omens, 
Catiline,  of  all  profperity  to  the  republic, 
but  of  deftrucHon  to  thyfelf,  and  all  thofe 
who  have  joined  themfelves  with  thee  in 
all  kinds  of  parricide,  go  thy  way  then  to 
this  impious  and  abominable  war :  whi  ft 
thou,  Jupiter,  whofe  religion  was  eftabliih- 
ed  with  the  foundation  of  this  city,  whom 
we  truly  call  Stator,  the  ftay  and  prop  of 
this  empire,  will  drive  this  man  and  his 
accomplices  from  thy  altars  and  temple?,. 
from  the  houfes  and  wails  of  the  cjty,  from 
the  lives  and  fortunes  of  us  al! ;  and  wiit 
deilroy  with  eternal  punishments,  both 
living  and  dead,  all  the  haters  of  good 
men,  the  enemies  of  their  country,  the 
plunderers  of  Italy,  now  confederated  in 
this  deteftable  league  and  partnership  of 
villainy. 

Whit^wortb'' 's  Cicero, 

§  6.      Oration  againji  Catiline, 

THE        ARGUMENT. 

Catiline,  aftoniihed  by  the  thunder  of 
the  laft  fpee'ch,  had  little  to  fay  for 
himfelf  in  anfwer  to  it;  yet  wish 
downcaft  looks,  and  fuppliant  voice, 
he  begged  of  the  fathers,  not  to  be- 
lieve too  haftily  what  was  laid  againft 
him  by  an  enemy  ;  that  his  birth  and 
paid  life  offered  every  thing  to  him 
that  was  hopeful;  and  it  was  not  xo 
be  imagined,  that  a  man  of  patrician 
family,  whofe  anCeftors,  as  well  as 
himfelf,  had  given  many  proofs  of 
their  affection  to  the  Roman  people, 
fhould  want  to  overturn  the  govern- 
ment ;  while  Cicero,  a   ilranger,  and 


fiior 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


late  inhabitant  of  Rome,  was  To  zea- 
lous to  preferve  it.  But  as  he  was 
going  on  to  give  foul  language,  the  fe- 
nate  interrupted  him  by  a  general  out- 
cry, calling  him  traitor  and  parricide : 
upon  which,  being  furious  and  de- 
fperate,  he  declared  again  aloud  what 
he  had  faid  before  to  Cato,  that  fince 
he  was  circumvented  and  driven  head- 
long by  his  enemies,  he  would  quench 
the  flame  which  was  raifed  about  him 
by  the  common  ruin  ;  and  fo  ruihed 
out  of  the  affembly.  As  foon  as  he 
was  come  to  his  houfe,  and  began 
to  reflect  on  what  had  palled,  per- 
ceiving it  in  vain  to  diffemble  any 
longer,  he  refolved  to  enter  into  ac- 
tion immediately,  before  the  troops 
of  the  republic  were  increafed,  or 
any  new  levies  made  :  {o  that  after  a 
ihort  conference  with  Lentulus,  Cc- 
thegus,  and  the  reft,  about  what  had 
been  concerted  in  the  laft  meeting, 
having  given  frefh  orders  and  aflu- 
ranccs  of  his  fpeedy  return  at  the 
head  of  a  ftrong  army,  he  left  Rome 
that  very  night  with  a  fmall  retinue, 
to  make  the  be  ft  of  his  way  towards 
Eutruria.  He  no  fconer  disappeared, 
than  his  friends  gave  out  that  he  was 
gone  into  a  voluntary  exile  at  Mar- 
feilles,  which  was  induftrioufly  fpread 
through  the  city  the  next  morning, 
to  raiie  an  odium  upon  Cicero,  for 
driving  an  innocent  man  into  banifh- 
ment,  without  any  previous  trial  or 
proof  of  his  guilt.  But  Cicera  was 
too  well  informed  of  his  motions,  to 
entertain  any  doubt  about  his  going 
to  Manlias's  camp,  and  into  actual 
rebellion.  He  knew  that  he  had  lent 
thither  already  a  great  quantity  of 
arms,  and  all  the  enfigns  of  military 
command,  with  that  filver  eagle, 
which  he  ufed  to  keep  with  ^reat 
fuperftition  in  his  houfe,  for  its  hav- 
ing belonged  to  C.  Marius,  in  his  ex- 
pedition againft  the  Cimbri.  But, 
left  the  ftory  mould  make  an  ill  im- 
prefiion  on  the  city,  he  called  the 
people  together  into  the  forum,  to 
give  them  an  account  of  what  patted 
in  the  fenate  the  day  before,,  and  of 
Catiline's  leaving  Rome  upon  it. 
And  this  makes  the  fiihject  of  the 
oration  now  before  us. 

AT  length,  Romans,  have  we  driven, 
difcarded,  aud  rujrfued   with  the  keer.eft 


reproaches  to  the  very  gates  of  Rome,  L* 
Catiline,  intoxicated  with  fury,  breathing 
mifchief,  impioufly  plotting  the  deftruction 
of  his  country,  and  threatening  to  lay  wafte 
this  city  with  fire  and  (word.  He  is  gone, 
he  is  fled,  he  has  efcaped,  he  has  broke 
away.  No  longer  fhall  that  monfter,  that 
prodigy  of  mifchief,  plot  the  ruin  of  this 
city  within  her  very  walls.  We  have  gained 
a  clear  conqucft  over  this  chief  and  ring- 
leader of  domeftic  broils.  His  threaten- 
ing dagger  is  no  longer  pointed  at  our 
breafts,  nor  fhall  we  now  any  more  trem- 
ble in  the  field  of  Mars,  the  forum,  the 
fenate-houfe,  or  within  our  domeftic  walls. 
In  d  iving  him  from  the  city,  we  have 
forced  nis  moft  advantageous  poft.  We 
fhall  now,  without  oppofition,  carry  on  a 
juft  war  againft  an  open  enemy.  We  have 
effectually  ruined  the  man,  and  gained  a 
glorious  victory,  by  driving  him  f  om  his 
fecret  plots  into  open  rebellion.  But  how 
do  you  think  he  is  overwhelmed  and  crufn- 
ed  with  regret,  at  carrying  away  his  dag- 
ger unbathed  in  blood,  at  leaving  the  city 
before  he  had  effected  my  death,  at  fee- 
ing the  weapons  prepared  for  cur  de- 
ftruction wrefted  out  of  his  hands :  in  a 
word,  that  Rome  is  ftill  ftanding,  and  her 
citizens  fafe.  He  is  now  quite  over- 
thrown, Romans,  and  perceives  himfelf 
impotent  and  defpifed,  often  catling  back 
his  eyes  upon  this  city,  which  he  fees,  with 
regret,  refcued  from  his  deftructive  jaws  j 
and  which  feems  to  me  to  rejoice  for  hav- 
ing difgorged  and  rid  herfelf  of  fo  peftileni 
a  citizen. 

But  if  there  be  any  here,  who  blame  me 
for  what  I  am  bo?.fting  of,  as  you  all  in- 
deed juftly  may,  that  I  did  not  rather  feize 
than  fend  away  fo  capital  an  enemy  :  that 
is  not  my  fault,  citizens,  but  the  fault  of 
the  times.  Catiline  ought  long  ago  to 
have  fuffered  the  laft  puniihment;  the 
cuilom  of  our  anceftors,  the  difcipline  of 
the  empire,  and  the  republic  itfelf  required 
it :  but  how  many  would  there  have  been, 
who  would  not  have  believed  what  I 
charged  him  with  ?  How  many,  who, 
through  weaknefs,  would  never  have  ima- 
ginetf  it  ?  how  many,  who  would  even  hav.e 
defended  him  ?  how  many,  who,  through 
wickednefs,  would  have  efpoufed  his  cauie  ? 
But  had  I  judged  that  his  death  would 
have  put  a  final  period  to  all  your  dan- 
gers, I  would  long  ago  have  ordered  him 
to  execution,  at  the  hazard  net  only  of 
public  cenfure,  but  even  of  my  life.  But 
when  I  faw,  that  by  femencing  him  to  the. 

death. 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.       641 


death  he  deferved,  and  before  you  were 
all  fully  convinced  of  his  guilt,  I  fhould 
have  drawn  upon  myfelf  fuch  an  odium, 
as  would  have  rendered  me  unable  to  pro- 
fecute  his  accomplices ;  I  brought  the  mat- 
ter to  this  point,  that  you  might  then 
openly  and  vigoroufly  attack.  Catiline,  when 
he  was  apparently  become  a  public  ene- 
my. What  kind  of  an  enemy  I  judge 
him  to  be,  and  how  formidable  in  his  at- 
tempt, you  may  learn  from  hence,  citi- 
zens, that  I  am  only  forry  he  went  off  with 
fo  few  to  attend  him.  I  wifh  he  had  taken 
his  whole  forces  along  with  him.  He  has 
carried  off  Tongillus  indeed,  the  object  of 
his  criminal  paffion  when  a  youth;  he 
has  likewife  carried  off  Publicius  and  IVlu- 
natius,  whofe  tavern  debts  would  never 
have  occafioned  any  commotions  in  the 
Hate.  But  how  important  are  the  men  he 
has  left  behind  him  ?  how  opprefiled  with 
debt,  how  powerful,  how  illuftrious  by  their 
defcent  ? 

When  therefore  I  think  of  our  Gallic 
legions,  and  the  levies  made  by  Metellus 
in  Ficenum  and  Lombardy,  together  with 
thofe  troops  we  are  daily  railing;  I  hold 
in  utter  contempt  that  army  of  his,  com- 
pofed  of  wretched  old  men,  of  debauchees 
from  the  country,  of  ruftic  vagabonds,  of 
fuch  as  have  fled  from  their  bail  to  take 
fheker    in    his    camp:  men  ready  to  run 
away  not  only  at  the  fight  of  an  army,  but 
of  the  praetor's  edict.    I  could  wifh  he  had 
likewife  carried  with  him  thofe  whom  I  fee 
fluttering  in  the  forum,  fauntering   about 
the  courts  of  juftice,  and  even  taking  their 
places  in  the  fenate ;  men  fleek  with  per- 
fumes, and   mining  in  purple.       If  thele 
ftill    remain  here,    mark  what  I  fay,  the 
deferters  from  the  army  are  more  to  be 
dreaded    than    the    army    itfelf;    and  the 
more  fo,  becaufe  they  know  me  to  be  in- 
formed of  all  their  deligns,  yet  are  not  in 
the  Ieaft  moved  by  it.     i  behold  the  per- 
fon  to  whom  Apulia  is   allotted,  to  whom 
Etruria,    to  whom    the  territory  of  Fice- 
num, to  whom  Cifalpine  Gaul.     I  fee  the 
man   who  demanded    the    talk  of  fetting 
fire  to  the  city,  and  filling  it  with  {laugh- 
ter. They  know  that  I  am  acquainted  with 
all  the  fecrets  of  their  la-it  nocturnal  meet- 
ing :  I   laid  them  open  yefterday  in  the 
fenate  :   Catiline  himfelf  was  difheartened 
and    fled:    what    then    can    thefe    others 
mean?     They  are  much  miftaken  if  they 
imagine  I  fhall  always    ufe  the  fame  le- 
nity. 

I  have  at  lafl  gained  what  I  have  hi- 


therto been  waiting  for,  to  make  you   all 
feniible  that  a  conipiracy  is  openly  formed 
againft  the  irate :   unlefs  there  be  any  one 
who  imagines,  that  fuch  as  refemble  Ca- 
tiline may  yet  refufe  to  enter  into  his  de- 
figns.     There  is  now  therefore  no  more 
room    for    clemency,    the    cafe  itfelf  re- 
quires feverity.  Yet  I  will  llill  grant  them 
one  thing;    let    them    quit   the  city,  let 
them  follow  Catiline,  nor  fuffer  their  mi- 
ferable  leader  to  languilh  in  their  abfence. 
Nay,  I  will  even  tell  them  the  way;  it  is 
the    Aurelian   road :    if  they  make  hafte, 
they  may  overtake  him   before  night.    O 
happy  ftate,  were  it  but  once   drained  of 
this  fink  of  wickednefs  !     To  me  the  ab- 
fence of  Catiline  alone  feems  to  have  re- 
ftored  frefh  beauty  and  vigour  to  the  com- 
monwealth,    What  villainy,  what  mifchief 
can  be  devifed  or  imagined,  that  has  not 
entered  into  his  thoughts  i    What  prifoner 
is  to  be  found  in  all  Italy,  what  gladiator, 
what  robber,  what  aflaffin,  what  parricide, 
what  forger  of  wills,  what  lharper,  what 
debauchee,    what  fquanderer,  what   adul- 
terer, what  harlot,  what  corrupter  of  youth, 
what  corrupted  wretch,  what  abandoned 
criminal,   who  will  not  own  an  intimate 
familiarity  with  Catiline?   What  murder 
has  been  perpetrated  of  late  years  with- 
out him  ?      What  adl  of  levvdnefs  (peaks 
not  him  for  its  author  ?     Was  ever  man 
poffeffed    of  fuch    talents    for  corrupting 
youth?     To   fome  he    prollituted  himfelf 
unnaturally  ;  for  others  he  indulged  a  cri- 
minal paffion.     Many  were  allured  by  the 
proipect  of  unbounded  enjoyment,  many 
by  the  promife  of  their  parents  death  ;  to 
which  he  not  onlv  incited  them,  but  even 
contributed  his  affiftance.     What  a  prodi- 
gious  number  of  profligate  wretches  has 
he  juft  now  drawn  together,  not  only  from 
the  city,  but  alfo  from  the  country  ?  There 
is  not  a  perfon  oppfefied  with  debt,  I  will 
not  fay  in  Rome,  but  in  the  remote!*  cor- 
ner of  all   Italy,  whom   he   has  not  en- 
gaged in  this  unparalleled  confederacy  of 
guilt.  . 

But  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the 
variety  of  his  talents,  in  all  the  different 
kinds  of  vice ;  there  is  not  a  gladiator  in 
any  of  our  public  fchools,  remarkable  for 
being  audacious  in  mifchief,  who  does  not 
own  an  intimacy  with  Catiline;  not  a  player 
of  diftinguifhed  impudence  and  guilt,  but 
openly  boafts  of  having  been  his  compa- 
nion. Yet  this  man,  trained  up  in  the 
continual  exercife  of  lewdnefs  and  villainy, 
while  he  was  wafting  in  riot  and  debau- 
T  t  chery 


'642 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


cherv  the  means  of  virtue,  and  fupplies  of 
induftry,  was  extolled  by  thefe  his  aflbci- 
ates  for  his  fortitude  and  patience  in  fup- 
porting  cold,  hunger,  third,  and  watch- 
ings.  Would  his  companions  bat  follow 
him,  would  this  profligate  crew  of  defpe- 
rate  men  but  leave  the  city ;  how  happy 
would  it  be  for  us,  how  fortunate  for  the 
commonwealth,  how  glorious  for  my  con- 
fulihip  ?  It  is  not  a  moderate  degree  of 
depravity,  a  natural  or  fupportable  mea- 
fure  of  guilt  that  now  prevails.  Nothing 
lefs  than  murders,  rapines,  and  conflagra- 
tions employ  their  thoughts.  They  have 
iquandered  away  their  patrimonies,  they 
have  wailed  their  fortunes  in  debauchery ; 
they  have  long  been  without  money,  and 
now  their  credit  begins  to  fail  them  ;  yet 
flill  they  retain  the  fame  defires,  though 
deprived  of  the  means  of  enjoyment.  Did 
they,  amidit  their  revels  and  gaming,  af- 
fed  no  other  plcafures  than  thofe  of  iewd- 
nefs  and  feailing,  however  defperate  their 
cafe  mull  appear,  it  might  Hill  notwith- 
ftanding  be  borne  with.  .But  it  is  alto- 
gether infufferable,  that  the  cowardly 
ihould  pretend  to  plot  againft  the  brave, 
the  foolilh  againft  the  prudent,  the  drunken 
againft  the  fober,  the  drowfy  againil  the 
vigilant;  who  lolling  at  feafts,  embracing 
miilreffes,  llaggering  with  wine,  fluffed 
with  victuals,  crowned  with  garlands,  daub- 
ed with  perfumes,  wailed  with  intempe- 
rance, belch  in  their  converfations  of  maf- 
facring  the  hunefl,  and  firing  the  city. 
Over  iiich,  I  trull,  fome  dreadful  fatality 
now  hangs ;  and  that  the  vengeance  fo 
long  due  to  their  villainy,  bafenefs,  guilt, 
*nd  crimes,  is  either  juit  breaking,  or  juil 
ready  to  break  upon  their  heads.  If  my 
confullhip,  flnce  it  cannot  cure,  ihould  cut 
off  all  thefe,  it  would  add  no  fmall  period 
to  the  duration  of  the  republic.  For  there 
is  no  nation,  which  we  have  reafon  to  fear; 
no  king,  who  can  make  war  upon  the  Ro- 
man people.  All  diilurbances  abroad,  both 
by  land  and  fea,  are  quelled  by  the  virtue 
of  one  man.  But  a  domeilic  war  ftill  re- 
mains :  the  treafon,  the  danger,  the  ene- 
my is  within.  We  are  to  combat  with 
luxury,  with  madnefs,  with  villainy.  In 
this  war  I  profefs  myfelf  your  leader, 
and  take  upon  myfelf  all  the  animofity 
of  the  defperate.  Whatever  can  pofli- 
bly  be  healed,  I.  will  heal;  but  what 
ought  to  be  cut  off,  I  will  never  fuffer  to 
{pread  to  the  ruin  of  the  city.  Let  them 
therefore  depart,  or  be  at  reft ;  but  if 
tkey  are  reibived  both  tp  retnain  in  the 


city,  and  continue  their  wonted  practices, 
let  them  look  for  the  puniihment  they  de- 
ferve. 

but  fome  there  are,  R.oman?,  who  af- 
fert,  that  1  have  driven  Catiline  into  ba- 
niihment.  And  indeed,  could  words  com- 
pafs  it,  1  would  not  fcruple  to  drive  them 
into  exile  too.  Catiline,  to  be  fure,  was 
fo  very  timorous  and  modeil,  that  he  could 
not  ftand  the  words  of  the  conful ;  but 
being  ordered  into  banifliment,  immedi- 
ately acquiefced  and  obeyed.  Yeilerday, 
when  I  ran  fo  great  a  hazard  of  being 
murdered  in  my  own  houfc,  I  affembled 
the  fenate  in  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Stator, 
and  laid  the  whole  affair  before  the  con- 
fcript  fathers.  When  Catiline  came  thi- 
ther, did  fo  much  as  one  ienator  accoft  or 
falute  him  ?  In  fine,  did  they  regard  him 
only  as  a  defperate  citizen,  and  nor  rather 
as  an  outrageous  enemy:  Nay,  the  con- 
fular  fenators  quitted  that  part  of  the  houfe 
where  he  far,  and  left  the  whole  bench 
clear  to  him.  Here  1,  that  violent  conful, 
who  by  a  Angle  word  drive  citizens  intor 
baniih  ment,  demanded  of  Catiline,  whether 
he  had  not  been  at  the  nocturnal  meeting 
in  the  houfe  of  M.  Lecca.  And  when  he, 
the  moil  audacious  of  men,  ftruck  dumb 
by  felf-conviclion,  returned  no  anfwer,  I 
laid  open  the  whole  to  the  fenate;  ac- 
quainting them  with  the  tranfaclions  of 
that  night ;  where  he  had  been,  what  was 
referved  for  the  next,  and  how  he  had 
fettled  the  whole  plan  of  the  war.  As  h« 
appeared  diiconcerted  and  fpeechlefs,  I 
aiked  what  hindered  his  gcing  upon  an  ex- 
pedition, which  he  had  io  long  prepared 
for ;  when  1  knew  that  he  had  already  fent 
before  him  arms,  axes,  rods,  trumpets, 
military  enflgns,  and  that  filver  eagle,  to 
which  he  had  raffed  an  impious  altar  in  his 
own  houfe.  Can  I  be  laid  to  have  driven 
into  banifliment  a  man  who  had  already 
commenced  hoftilities  againft  his  country  ? 
Or  is  it  credible  that  Manlius,  an  obfeure 
centurion,  who  has  pitched  his  camp  upon, 
the  plains  of  Fefulas,  would  declare  war 
againil  the  Roman  people  in  his  own 
name :  that  the  forces  under  him  do  not 
now  expect  Catiline  for  their  general :  or 
that  he,  fubmitting  to  a  voluntary  banifh- 
ment,  has,  as  fome  pretend,  repaired  to 
Marfeilies,  and  not  to  the  before-men- 
tioned camp  ? 

O  wretched  condition  !  not  only  of  go- 
verning, but  even  of  preferving  the  ftate. 
For  ihould  Catiline,  difcouraged  and  dii- 
concerted by  my  counlcls,  vigilance,  and 

ftrenuowe 


BOOK    III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.    643 


ftrenuoas  care  of  the  republic,  be  feized 
with  a  fudden  dread,  change  his  refolution, 
defert  his  party,  quit  his  holtile  defigns, 
and  alter  his  courfe  of  war  and  guilt,  into 
that  of  flight  and  baniihment;  it  will  not 
then  be  faid,  that  I  have  wrefted  out  of  his 
hands  the  weapons  of  infolence,  that  [ 
have  aftonifhed  and  confounded  him  by 
my  diligence,  and  that  I  have  driven  him 
from  all  his  hopes  and  fchemes:  but  he 
will  be  considered  as  a  man  innocent  and 
uncondemned,  who  has  been  forced  into 


geance,  than  to  reclaim  them,  if  poffible, 
from  their  errors,  and  reconcile  them  to 
the  republic.  Nor  do  I  perceive  any  dif- 
ficulty in  the  undertaking,  if  they  will  but 
liften  to  my  advice.  For  firft  I  will  mew 
you,  citizens,  of  what  different  forts  of 
men  their  forces  cemfift,  and  then  apply  to 
each,  as  far  as  I  am  able,  the  moll  pow- 
erful remedies  of  perfuafion  and  eloquence. 
The  firft  fort  confifts  of  thofe,  who  hav- 
ing great,  debts,  but    ftill  greater  pcfl'e 


fions,  are  fo  paffionately  fond  of  the  latter, 
banifhment  by  the  threats  and  violence  of  that  they  cannot  bear  the  thought  or  in- 
the  conful.     Nay  there  are,  who  in   this     fringing    them.     This,    in  appearance,  is 


iy 

cent,  would  think  him  not  wicked,  but 
unhappy  ;  and  me  not  a  vigilant  conful, 
but  a  cruel  tyrant.  But  I  little  regard 
this  ftorm  of  bitter  and  undeferved  cen- 
fure,  provided  I  can  fcreen  you  from  the 
danger  of  this  dreadful  and  impious  war. 
Let  him  only  go  into  baniihment,  and  I 
am  content  it  be  afcribed  to  my  threats. 
But  believe  me,  he  has  no  defigh  to  go. 
My  defire  of  avoiding  public  envy,  Ro- 
mans, ftia.ll  never  induce  me  to  wifh  you 
may  hear  of  Catiline's  b  ing  at  the  head 
of  an  arm/,  and  traverfing,  in  a  hoilile 
manner,  the  territories  of  the  republic.  But 
afturedly  you  will  hear  it  in  three  days ; 
and  I  have  much  greater  reafon  to  fear 
being  cenfured  for  letting  him  efcape,  than 
that  1  forced  him  to  quit  the  city.  But 
if  men  are  fo  perverfe  as  to  complain  of 
his  being  driven  away,  what  would  they 
have  iaid  if  he  had  been,  put  to  death  ? 
Yet  there  is  not  one  of  thofe  who  talk  of 
his  going  to  Marfeilles,  but  would  be  forry 
for  it  if  it  was  true ;  and  with  all  the  con- 
cern they  exprefs  for  him,  they  had  much 
rather  hear  of  his  being  in  Manlius's 
camp.  As  for  himfelf,  had  he  never  be- 
fore thought  of  the  project  he  is  new  en 


the  moil  honourable'  clafs,  for  they  are 
rich  :  but  their  intention  and  aim  is  the, 
molt  infamous  of  all.  Art  thou  diftin- 
guiihed  by  the  pofieffion  of  an  eftate,  homes, 
money,  (laves,  and  all  the  conveniences 
and  Superfluities  of  life;  and  doft  thou 
fcruple  to  take  from  thy  pofTeffions,  in 
order  to  add  to  thy  credit  ?  For  what  is 
it  thou  expecleit?  is  it  war?  and  doll: 
thou  hope  thy  poffeffions  will  remain  un- 
violated,  amidft  an  univerfal  invafion  of 
pro '.city?  Is  it  new  regulations  about 
debts,  thou  haft  in  view  ?  5Tis  an  error 
to  expect  this  from  Catiline.  New  regu- 
lations fhall  indeed  be  proffered  by  my 
means,  but  attended  with  public  auctions, 
w.iich  is  the  only  method  to  preferve  thofe 
who  have  eftates  from  ruin.  _  And  had 
they  confented  to  this  expedient  fconer, 
nor  fcolilhly  run  out  their  eftates  in_  mort- 
gages, they  would  have  been  at  this  day 
both  richer  men,  and  better  citizens.  But 
I  have  no  great  dread  of  this  clafs  of  men, 
asbtlieving  they  may  be  eafily  difengaged 
from  the  confpiracy ;  or,  fhcu'.d  they  per- 
fift,  they  feem'more  likely  to  have  recourfe 
to  imprecations  than  arms. 

The    next  clafs    confifts  of  thofe,  who 


gaged  in,  yet  fuch  is  his  particular  turn  of    though  oppreffed  with  debt,  yet  hope  for 


mind,  that  he  would  rather  fail  as  a  rob 
ber,  than  live  as  an  exile.  But  now,  as 
nothing  has  happened  contrary  to  his  ex- 
pectation and  defire,  except  that  I  was  left 
alive  when  he  quirted  Rome;  let  us  lather 
wifh  he  may  go  into  banifhment,  than  com- 
plain of  it. 

But  why  do  I  fpeak  fo  much  about  one 
enemy  ?  An  enemy  too,  who  has  openly 
proclaimed  himfelf  fuch ;  and  whom  I  no 
longer  dread,  fince,  as  I  always  wifhed, 
there  is  now  a  wall  between  us.  Shall  [ 
fay  nothing  of  thofe  who  difL-mble  their 
treafon,  who  continue  at  Rome,  and  min- 
gle in  our  aflfemblies  ?  With  regard  to 
thefe,  indeed,  I  am  lefs  intent  upon  ven- 


power,  and  afpke  at  the  chief  manage- 
ment of  public  affairs ;  imagining  they 
fhall  obtain  thofe  honours  by  throwing  the 
ftate  into  confufion,  which  they  defpair  of 
during  its  tranquillity.  To  thefe  I  fhalJ 
give  the  fame  advice  as  to  the  reft,  which 
is,  to  quit  all  hope  of  fucceeding  in  their 
attempts.  For  firft,  I  myfelf  am  watch- 
ful, active,  and  attentive  to  the  intereft  of 
the  republic :  then  there  is  on  the  fide  of 
the  honeft  party,  great  courage,  _  great 
unanimity,  a  vaft  multitude  of  citizens, 
and  very  numerous  forces:  in  fine,  the 
immortal  gods  themfelves  will  not  fail  to 
interpofe  in  behalf  of  this  unconquered 
people,  this  illuftrious  empire,  this  fair 
Tta  cit.v> 


644 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


city,  againft  the  daring  attempts  of  guilty 
violence.  And  even  fuppofing  them  to 
accompli fh  what  they  with  fo  much  frantic 
rage  defire,  do  they  hope  to  fpring  up 
coniuls,  dictators,  or  kings,  from  the  afhes 
of  a  city,  and  blood  of  her  citizens,  which 
with  fo  much  treachery  and  facrilege  they 
have  confpired  to  fpill  ?  They  are  igno- 
rant of  the  tendency  of  their  own  defires, 
and  that,  in  cafe  of  fuccefs,  they  mult 
themfelves  fall  a  prey  to  fome  fugitive  or 
gladiator.  The  third  clafs  confiits  of  men 
of  advanced  age,  but  hardened  in  all  the 
cxercifes  of  war.  Of  this  fort  is  Man- 
lius,  whom  Catiline  nsxv  fucceeds.  Thefe 
come  moftly  from  the  colonies  planted  by 
Sylla  at  Fefuke;  which,  I  am  ready  to 
allow,  confiit  of  the  bell:  citizens,  and  the 
braveil  men :  but  coming  many  of  them 
to  the  fudden  and  unexpected  poifeffion  of 
great  wealth,  they  ran  into  all  the  exceiles 
of  luxury  and  profulion.  Thefe,  by  build- 
ing fine  houfes,  by  affluent  living,  fplendid 
equipages,  numerous  attendants,  and  fump- 
tuous  entertainments,  have  plunged  them- 
felves fo  deeply  in  debt,  that,  in  order  to 
retrieve  their  affairs,  they  mult  recal  Sylla 
from  his  tomb.  I  fay  nothing  of  thofe 
needy  indigent  rullics,  whom  they  have 
gained  over  to  their  party,  by  the  hopes 
ef  feeing  the  fcheme  of  rapine  renewed  : 
for  I  confider  both  in  the  fame  light  of 
r&bbers,  and  plunderers.  But  I  advife 
them  to  drop  their  frantic  ambition,  and 
think  no  more  of  dictatorfhips  and  pro- 
scriptions. For  fo  deep  an  impreffion  have 
the  calamities  of  thole  times  made  upon 
the  (bate,  that  not  only  men,  but  the  very 
bealts  would  not  bear  a  repetition  of  fuch 
outrages. 

The  fourth  is  a  mixt,  rr.otly,  mutinous 
tribe,  who  have  been  long  ruined  beyond 
hopes  of  recovery ;  and,  partly  through 
indolence,  partly  through  ill  management, 
partly  too  through  extravagance,  droop 
beneath  a  load  or  ancient  debt :  who,  per- 
secuted with  arrefts,  judgments,  and  con- 
fifcations,  are  faid  to  rcfort  in  great  num- 
bers, both  from  city  and  country,  to  the 
enemy's  camp.  Thefe  I  confider,  not  as 
brave  foldiers,  but  difpirised  bankrupts. 
If  they  cannot  fupport  themfelves,  let  them 
even  fall:  yet  fo,  that  neither  the  city  nor 
neighbourhood  may  receive  any  fhock. 
For  I  am  unable  to  perceive  why,  if  they 
cannot  live  with  honour,  they  fhould  chufe 
to  die  with  infamy  :  or  why  they  fhould 
fancy  it  lefs  painful  to  die  in  company  with 
ethers,  than  to  pcriih  by  tiiemfeive*.     The 


fifth  fort  is  a  collection  of  parricides,  af- 
faffins,  and  ruffians  of  all  kinds;  whom  I 
afk  not  to  abandon  Catiline,  as  knowing- 
them  to  be  infeparable.  Let  thefe  evert 
perifh  in  their  robberies,  fince  their  num- 
ber is  fo  great,  that  no  prifon  could  be 
found  large  enough  to  contain  them.  The 
laft  clafs,  not  only  in  this  enumeration,  but 
likewife  in  character  and  morals,  are  Ca- 
tiline's peculiar  affociates,  his  choice  com- 
panions, and  bofom  friends;  fuch  as  you 
fee  with  curled  locks,  neat  array,  beard- 
lefs,  or  with  beards  nicely  trimmed;  in, 
full  drefs,  in  flowing  robes,  and  wearing 
mantles  inftead  of  gowns ;  whofe  whole  1% 
bour  of  life,  and  induftry  in  watching,  are 
exhausted  upon  midnight  entertainments. 
Under  this  clafs  we  may  rank  all  game- 
fters,  whoreinafters,  and  the  lewd  and  luft- 
ful  of  every  denomination.  Thefe  Aim 
delicate  youths,  practifed  in  all  the  arts  of 
railing  and  allaying  the  amorous  fire,  not 
only  know  to  fing  and  dance,  but  on  oc- 
cafion  can  aim  the  murdering  dagger,  and 
adminilter  the  pcifonous  draught.  Un- 
lefs  thefe  depart,  imlefs  thefe  perilh,  know, 
that  was  even  Catiline  himfelf  to  fall,  we 
fhall  ftill  have  a  narfery  of  Catilines  in  tht 
Hate.  But  what  can  this  miferable  race 
have  in  view  ?  Do  they  propofe  to  carry 
their  wenches  along  with  them  to  the 
camp?  Indeed,  how  can  they  be  without 
them  thefe  coid  winter  nights  ?  But  have 
they  confidered  of  the  Appennine  frofts 
and  fnows  ?  or  do  they  imagine  they  will 
be  the  ab'er  to  endure  the  rigours  o 
winter,  for  having  learned  to  dance  naked 
at  revels :  O  formidable  and  tremen- 
dous v/jr !  where  Catiline's  praetorian 
guard  conihls  of  luch  a  Jiffolute  effemi- 
nate CI£\V. 

Agzm.it  thefe  gallant  troops  of  your  ad- 
verfarv,  prepare,  O  Romans,  your  garri- 
fons  and  aimies:  and  fir  ft,  to  that  battered 
and  maimed  gladiator,  oppofb  your  con- 
fuls  and  generals :  next,  againft  that  out- 
cait  miferable  crew,  lead  forth  the  flower 
and  ftrength  of  all  Italy.  The  walls  cf 
our  colonies  and  tree  towns  will  eafily  re- 
fill the  efforts  of  Catiline's  ruftic  troops. 
But  I  ought  not  to  run  tho  parallel  farther, 
or  compare  your  other  refources,  prepa- 
rations, and  defences,  to  the  indigence 
and  nakednefs  of  that  robber.  But  if 
omitting  all  thofe  advantages  of  which  we 
are  provided,  and  he  deftitute,  as  the  fe- 
nate,  the  Roman,  knights,  the  people,  the 
city,  the  treafury,  the  public  revenues,  all 
Italy,  all  the  provinces,  foreigfc  ftat.es  :  I 

fay, 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS. 


645 


fay,  if  omitting  all  thefe,  we  only  com- 
pare the  contending  parties  between  them- 
selves, it  will  foon  appear  how  very  low 
our  enemies  are  reduced.  On  the  one  fide 
modelty  contends,  on  the  other  petulance : 
here  chaiKty,  there  pollution:  here  inte- 
grity, there  treachery:  here  piety,  there 
profanenefs:  here  relblution,  there  rage: 
here  honour,  there  bafenefs :  here  mode- 
ration, there  unbridled  licentioufnefs :  in 
abort,  equity,  temperance,  fortitude,  pru- 
dence, ftruggle  with  iniquity,  luxury,  cow- 
ardice, ralhnefs ;  every  virtue  with  every 
vice.  Lartly,  the  conteft  lies  between  wealth 
and  indigence,  found  and  depraved  reafon, 
flrength  of  underftanding  and  frenzy ;  in 
fine,  between  well-grounded  hope,  and  the 
moll:  abfolute  defpair.  In  fuch  a  conflict 
and  ftruggle  as  this,  was  even  human  aid 
to  fail,  will  not  the  immortal  gods  enable 
fuch  illuftrious  virtue  to  triumph  over  fuch 
complicated  vice  ? 

Such,  Romans,  being  our  prefent  fitu- 
ation,  do  you,  as  I  have  before  adviled, 
watch  and  keep  guard  in  your  private 
houfes :  for  as  to  what  concerns  the  public 
tranquillity,  and  the  defence  of  the  city, 
i  have  taken  care  to  fecure  that,  without 
tumult  or  alarm.  The  colonies  and  mu- 
nicipal to\yns,  having  received  notice  from 
me  of  Catiline's  nocturnal  retreat,  will  be 
upon  their  guard  againft  him.  The  band 
of  gladiators,  whom  Catiline  always  de- 
pended upon,  as  his  belt  and  fureft  fupport, 
though  in  truth  they  are  better  aifected 
than  fome  part  of  the  patricians,  are  ne- 
verthelefs  taken  care  of  in  fuch  a  manner, 
as  to  be  in  the  power  of  the  republic.  Q^ 
Metellus  thepranor,  whom,  forefeeing  Ca- 
tiline's flight,  I  fent  into  Gaul  and  the 
diilricvtof  Picenum,  will  either  wholly  cruih 
the  traitor,  or  baffle  all  his  motions  and 
attempts.  And  to  fettle,  ripen,  and  bring 
all  other  matters  to  a  conclufion,  I  am 
juft  going  to  lay  them,  before  the  fenate, 
which  you  fee  now  afiembling.  As  for 
thole  therefore  who  continue  in  the  city, 
and  were  left  behind  by  Catiline,  for  the 
destruction  of  it  and  us  all;  though  they 
are  enemies,  yet  as  by  birth  they  are  like- 
wife  fellow-citizens,  1  again  and  again  ad- 
monilh  them,  that  my  lenity,  which  to  fome 
may  have  rather  appeared  remiilhefs,  has 
been  waiting  only  for  an  opportunity  of 
demonftr.ating  the  certainty  of  the  plot. 
As  for  the  reft,  I  fhall  never  forget  that 
this  is  my  country,  that  I  am  its  conful, 
and  that  I  think  it  my  duty  either  to  live 
with  my   countrymen,  or  die   for   them. 


There  is  no  guard  upon  the  gates,  none 
to  watch  the  roads;  if  any  one  has  a  mind 
to  withdraw  himfelf,  he  may  go  wherever 
he  pleafes.  But  whoever  makes  the  leaft 
ftir  within  the  city,  fo  as  to  be  caught  not 
only  in  any  overt  aft,  but  even  in  any  plot 
or  attempt  againft  the  republic;  he  fhall 
know,  that  there  are  in  it  vigilant  confuls, 
excellent  magistrates,  and  a  refolute  fenate ; 
that  there  are  arms,  and  a  prifon,  which 
our  anceftors  provided  as  the  avenger  of 
manifeft  and  atrocious  crimes. 

And  all  this  fhall  be  tranfafted  in  fuch 
a  manner,  citizens,  that  the  greateft  dis- 
orders mail  be  quelled  without  the  leaft 
hurry ;  the  greateft  dangers  without  any 
tumult;  a  domeftic  and  interline  war,  the 
molt  cruel  and  defperate  of  any  in  our 
memorv,  by  me,  your  only  leader  and  ge- 
neral, in  my  gown;  which  I  will  manage 
{c,  that,  as  far  as  it  is  poflible,  not  one 
even  of  the  guilty  fhall  fufter  punifhment 
in  the  city:  but  if  their  audacioufnefs  and 
my  countrv's  danger  fhould  necefiarily 
drive  me  from  this  mild  refolution;  yet  I 
will  efFe£t,  what  in  fo  cruel  and  treacherous 
a  war  could  hardly  be  hoped  for,  that  not 
one  honeft  man  fhall  fall,  but  all  of  you 
be  fafe  by  the  punifliment  of  a  few.  This 
I  promife,  citizens,  not  from  any  confi- 
dence in  my  own  prudence,  or  from  any 
human  counfels,  but  from  the  many  evi- 
dent declarations  of  the  gods,  by  whofe 
impulfe  I  am  led  into  this  perfuafion ;  who 
affift  us,  not  as  they  ufed  to  do,  at  a  dif- 
tance,  againft  foreign  and  remote  enemies, 
but  by  their  prefent  help  and  protection 
defend  their  temples  and  our  houfes.  It  is 
your  part,  therefore,  citizens,  to  worfhip, 
implore,  and  pray  to  them,  that  fince  all 
our  enemies  are  now  fubducd  both  by  land 
and  fea,  they  would  continue  to  preferve 
this  city,  which  was  defigned  by  them  for 
the  molt  beautiful,  the  molt  flourifhing  and 
rnoft  powerful  on  earth,  from  the  detefts- 
ble  treafens  of  its  own  defperate  citizens. 
Whitnvorth's  Cicero. 

§   7.      Oration  againft    Catiline. 
THE       ARGUMENT. 

Catiline,  as  we  have  feen,  being  forced 
to  leave  Rome,  Lentulus,  and  the 
reft  who  remained  in  the  city,  be- 
gan to  prepare  all  things  for  the  exe- 
cution of  their  grand  defign.  They 
Solicited  men  of  all  ranks,  who  Seem- 
ed likely  to  favour  their  cauSe,  or  to 


Tt 


b* 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


be  of  any  ufe  to  it;  and  among  the 
reft,  agreed  to  make  an  attempt  on 
the  ambafladors  of  the  Allobrogians, 
a  warlke,  mutinous,  faithlefs  people, 
inhabitng  the  countries  now  called 
Savoy  and  Dauphiny,  greatly  difaf- 
fedieu  to  the  Roman  power,  and  al- 
ready ripe  for  rebellion.  Theie  am- 
rjafiadors,  who  were  prepadng  to  re- 
turn home,  much  cut  of  humour  with 
the  fenate,  and  without  any  redrefs 
of  the  grievances  which  they  were 
fent  to  complain  of,  received  the  pro- 
pofal  at  firft  very  greedi'y,  and  pro- 
mifed  to  engage  their  nation  to  a f lift 
the  confpirators  with  what  they  prin- 
cipally wanted,  a  good  body  of  horfe, 
whenever  they  mould  begin  the  war  : 
but  reflecting  afterwards,  in  their 
cooler  thoughts,  on  the  difficulty  of 
the  enterprize,  and  the  danger  of 
involving  themielves  and  their  coun- 
try in  fo  defperate  a  caufe,  they  re- 
folved  to  difcover  what  they  knew  to 
Q._  Fabius  Sanga,  the  patron  of  their 
city,  who  immediately  gave  intelli- 
gence of  it  to  the  conful.  Cicero's 
inftruclions  upon  it  were,  that  the 
ambafladors  mould  continue  to  feign 
the  fame  zeal  which  they  had  hither- 
to ihewn,  and  promife  every  thing 
which  was  required  of  them,  till 
they  had  got  a  full  in  fight  into  the 
extent  of  the  plot,  with  diftinct  proofs 
againft  the  particular  actors  in  it : 
upon  which,  at  their  next  conference 
with  the  confpirators,  they  infilled 
on  having  fome  credentials  from  them 
to  fhevv  to  their  people  at  home,  with- 
out which  they  would  never  be  in- 
duced to  enter  into  an  engagement 
fo  hazardous.  This  was  thought  rea- 
fonable,  and  prefently  complied  with, 
and  Vulturcius  was  appointed  to  go 
along  with  the  ambaffadors,  and  in- 
troduce them  to  Catiline  en  their 
road,  in  order  to  confirm  the  agree- 
ment, and  exchange  afiurances  alio 
with  him  ;  to  whom  Lentulus  fent  at 
the  fame  lime  a  particular  letter  un- 
der his  own  hand  and  leal,  though 
without  his  name.  Cicero  being 
punctually  informed  of  all  thefe  facts, 
concerted  privately  with  the  ambaf- 
fadors the  time  and  manner  of  their 
leaving  Rome  in  the  night,  and  that 
on  the  Milvian  bridge,  about  a  mile 
from  the  city,  they  fhould  be  arrefted 
with  tjjeir  papers  and  letters  about 


them,  by  two  of  the  praetors,  L.  Flae- 
cus  and  C.  Fontinius,  whom  he  had 
infhucted  lor  that  purpofe,  and  or- 
dered to  lie  in  ambulh  near  the  place, 
with  a  iirong  guard  of  friends  and 
foldiers  :  all  which  was  fuccefsfully 
executed,  and  the  whole  company 
brought  prifoners  to  Cicero's  houfe 
by  break  of  day.  The  rumour  of 
this  accident  prefently  drew  a  refort 
of  Cicero's  principal  friends  about 
him,  who  advifed  him  to  open  the 
letters  before  he  produced  them  in  the 
fenate,  left,  if  nothing  of  moment 
were  found  in  them,  it  might  be 
thought  rain  and  imprudent  to  raife 
an  unneceftary  terror  and  alarm 
through  the  city.  But  he  was  too 
well  informed  of  the  contents,  to  fear 
any  confute  of  that  kind;  and  de- 
clared, that  in  a  cafe  of  public  dan- 
ger, he  thought  it  his  duty  to  lay  the 
matter  entire  before  the  public  coun- 
cil. Fie  fummened  the  fenate  there- 
fore to  meet  immediately,  and  fent 
at  the  fame  time  for  Gabinius,  Stati- 
lius,  Ccthegus,  and  Lentulus,  who 
all  came  prefently  to  his  houfe,  fuf- 
pecling  nothing  of  the  diicovery ; 
and  being  informed  alfo  of  a  quantity 
of  arms  provided  by  Ccthegus  for  the 
ufe  of  the  confpiracy,  he  ordered  C. 
Sulpicius,  another  of  the  praetors,  to 
go  andfearchhis  houfe,  where  he  found 
a  great  number  of  fwords  and  dagger.-, 
with  other  arms,  all  newly  cleaned,  and 
ready  for  prefent  fervice.  Willi  this 
preparation  he  fet  cut  to  meet  the  fe- 
nate in  the  temple  of  Concord,  with 
a  numerous  guard  of  citizens,  carry- 
ing the  ambafladors  and  the  confpi- 
rators with  him  in  cuftocly  :  and  after 
he  had  given  the  afTemblyan  account 
of  the  whole  affair,  the  feveral  par- 
ties were  called  in  and  examined,  and 
an  ample  diicovery  made  of  the  whole 
progrefs  of  the  plot.  After  the  cri- 
minals and  witneffes  were  with- 
drawn, the  fenate  went  into  a  debate 
upon  the  ftate  of  the  republic,  and 
came  unanimoufly  to  the  following 
resolutions :  That  public  thanks  fhould 
be  decreed  to  Cicero  in  the  ampieft 
manner,  by  whofe  virtue,  counfel, 
and  providence,  the  republic  was  de- 
livered from  the  greateft  dangers : 
that  Flaccus  and  Fontinius  the  prae- 
tors, mould  be  thanked  likewife,  for 
their  vigorous  ?nd  punctual  execu« 
6  tion 


BOCK  III 

tion  of  Cicero's  orders:  that  Anto- 
nius,  the  other  conful,  fhould  be 
praifed,  for  having  removed  from  his 
counfels  all  thofe  who  were  concern- 
ed in  the  confpiracy  :  that  Lentulus, 
after  having  abdicated  thepraetorihip, 
and  divefled  himSelf  of  his  robes;  and 
Cethegus,  Statilius,  and  Gabinius, 
with  "their  other  accomplices  alfo 
when  taken,  Caflius,  Caeparius,  Furius, 
Chilo,  and  Umbrenus,  ihould  be  com- 
mitted to  fafe  cullody  ;  and  that  a 
public  thankfglving  fhould  be  ap- 
pointed in  Cicero's  name,  for  his  hav- 
ing preferved  the  city  from  a  confla- 
gration, the  citizens  from  a  maffacre, 
and  Italy  from  a  war.  The  fenate 
being  diirniiTed,  Cicero  went  directly 
into-" the  Roftra;  and,  in  the  follow- 
ing fpeech,  gave  the  people  an  ac- 
count of  the  difeovery  that  had  been 
made,  with  the  refclutior.s  of  the  le- 
nate  conSequent  thereupon. 

TO-Day,  Romans,  you  behold  the 
•commonwealth,  your  lives,  eftates,  for- 
tunes, your  wives  and  children,  the  auguft 
feat  of  this  renowned  empire,  this  fair  and 
flourifhing  city,  preferved  and  reftored  to 
you,  refcued  from  fire  and  Sword,  and  al- 
moft  fnatched  from  the  jaws  of  fate,  by 
the  diftinguifhed  love  of  the  immortal  gods 
towards  you,  and  by  means  of  rny  toils, 
counfels  and  dangers.  And  if  the  days  in 
which  we  are  preferved  from  ruin,  be  no 
lefs  joyous  and  memorable  than  thofe  of 
our  birth;  LecauSe  the  pleafure  of  deli- 
verance is  certain,  the  condition  to  which 
we  are  born  uncertain;  and  becaufe  we 
enter  upon  life  without  confeioufnefs,  but 
are  always  fenfible  to  the  joys  of  prefer- 
vation  :  furely,  Since  our  gratitude  and 
cfteem  for  Romulus,  the  founder  of  this 
city,  has  induced  us  to  rank  him  amengft 
the  immortal  gods;  he  cannot  but  merit 
honour  with  you  and  poiterity,  who  has 
preferved  the  fame  city,  with  all  its  accef- 
iions  of  Strength  and  grandeur.  For  we 
have  extinguished  the  flames  that  were 
difperfed  on  all  fides,  and  julr.  ready  to 
feize  the  temples,  Sancluaries,  dwellings, 
and  walls  of  this  city;  we  have  blunted 
-the  fwords  that  were  drawn  againft  the 
fiate ;  and  turned  afide  the  daggers  that 
were  pointed  at  your  throats.  And  as 
all  thefe  particulars  have  been  already  ex- 
plained, cleared,  and  fully  proved  by  me 
in  the  fenate ;  I  fhall  now,  Romans, 
lay  them  briefly  before  you,  that  fuch 
as  are  Grangers   to  what  has  happened, 


ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS. 


647 


and  wait  with  impatience  to  be  informed, 
may  underltand  what  a  terrible  and  mani- 
feft  deft  ruction  hung  over  them,  how  it 
was  traced  out,  and  in  what  manner  dis- 
covered. And  firft,  ever  fince  Catiline,  a 
few  days  ago,  fled  from  Rome;  as  he  left 
behind  him  the  partners  of  his  treaSon, 
and  the  boldeft  champions  of  this  execra- . 
ble  war,  I  have  always  been  upon  the 
watch,  Romans,  and  ftudying  how  to  Se- 
cure you  amidft  fuch  dark  and  compli- 
cated dangers. 

For  at  that  time,  when  I  drove  Catiline 
from  Rome  (for  1  now  dread  no  reproach 
from  that  word,  but  rather  the  cenfure  of 
having  Suffered  him  to  efcape  alive)  I 
fav,  when  I  forced  him  to  quit  Rome,  I. 
naturally  concluded,  that  the  reft  of  his. 
accomplices  would  either  follow  him,  or, 
beinp-  deprived  of  his  affiftance,  would  pro- 
ceed with  lefs  vigour  and  firmnefs.  But 
when  I  found  that  the  moil  daring  and 
forward  of  the  confpirators  ftill  conti- 
nued with  us,  and  remained  in  the  city, 
I  employed  myfelf  night  and  day  to  un- 
ravel and  fathom  all  their  proceedings  and 
defigns  ;  that  fince  my  words  found  lefs 
credit  with  you,  becaufe  of  the  incon- 
ceivable enormity  of  the  treafon,  I  might 
lay  the  whole  fo  clearly  before  you,  as  to 
compel  ycu  at  length  to  take  meafures 
for  your  own  SaSety,  when  you  could  no 
longer  avoid  feeing  the  danger  that  threat- 
ened you.  Accordingly,  when  I  found, 
that  the  ambafTadors  of  the  Allobrogians 
had  been  iolicited  by  P.  Lentulus  to  kin- 
dle a  war  beyond  the  Alps,  and  raiie  .com- 
motions in  Hither  Gaul;  that  they  had 
been  fent  to  engage  their  State  in  the  con^ 
fpiracy,  with  orders  to  confer  with  Cati- 
line by  the  way,  to  whom  they  had  letters 
and  inflructions ;  and  that  Vulturcius  was 
appointed  to  accompany  them,  who  was 
likewife  entrufted  with  letters  to  Catiline  ; 
I  thought  a  fair  opportunity  offered,  not 
only  of  fatisfying  myfelf  with  regard  to 
the' confpiracy,  but  likewife  of  clearing  :t 
up  to  the  fenate  and  you,  which  had  always 
appeared  a.  matter  of  the  greateft  diffi- 
culty, and  been  the  conftant  fubjedt  of 
my  pravers  to  the  immortal  gods.  Yef- 
terday,'  therefore,  I  fent  to  the  praetors 
L.  Flaccus,  and  C.  Pontinus,  men  of 
known  courage,  and  diftinguifhed  zeal 
for  the  republic.  I  laid  the  whole  matter 
before  them,  and  made  them  acquainted 
with  what  I  defigned.  They,  full  of  the 
nobleft  and  mod  generous  Sentiments  with 
recard  to  their  country,  undertook  the-bu- 
SineSs  without  delay  or  helitation ;  and  ■ 
T  t  4  upo» 


64§  ELEGANT    EXTR 

Upon  the  approach  of  night,  privately  re- 
paired to  the  Milvian  bridge,  where  they 
difpofed  themfelves  in  fuch  manner  in  the 
neighbouring  villages,  that  they  formed 
two  bodies,  with  the  river  and  bridges  be- 
tween them.  They  likewife  carried  along 
with  them  a  great  number  of  brave  fol- 
diers,  without  the  Icait  fufpicion  ;  and  I 
difpatched  from  the  prefecture  of  P.eate 
feveral  chofen  youths  well  armed,  whole 
affiflance  I  had  frequently  ufed  in  the  de- 
fence of  the  commonwealth.  In  the  mean 
time,  towards  the  clofe  of  the  third  watch, 
as  the  deputies  of  the  Aiiobrogians,  accom- 
panied by  Vulturcius,  began  to  pafs  the 
bridge  with  a  great  retinue,  our  men  came 
out  againit  them,  and  fwords  were  drawn 
on  both  fides.  The  aiFair  was  known  to 
the  praetors  alone,  none  elfe  being  admit- 
ted into  the  fccret. 

Upon  the  coming  up  of  Pontinus  and 
Flaccus,  the  conflict  ceafed ;  all  the  let- 
ters they  carried  with  them  were  delivered 
fealed  to  the  praetors ;  and  the  deputies, 
with  their  whole  retinue  being  fcized,  were 
brought  before  me  towards  the  dawn  of  day. 
1  then  fent  for  Gabinius  Cimber,  the  con- 
triver of  all  theie  dcteitable  treafons,  who 
fufpected  nothing  of  what  had  paiTed:  L. 
Statilius  was  fummoned  next,  and  then 
Cethegus:  Lentulus  came  the  lait  of  all, 
probably  becaufe,  contrary  to  cuitom,  he 
had  been  up  the  greater!  part  of  the  night 
before,  making  out  the  difpatches.  Many 
of  the  greateit  and  moft  illuftrious  men  in 
Rome,  hearing  what  had  paffed,  crowded 
to  my  houfe  in  the  morning,  and  advifed 
me  to  open  the  letters  before  I  communi- 
cated them  to  the  fenate,  left,  if  nothing 
material  was  found  in  them,  I  fhould  be 
blamed  for  raihly  occafioning  fo  great  an 
alarm  in  the  city.  But  I  refufed  to  com- 
ply, that  an  affair  which  threatened  public 
danger,  might  come  entire  before  the  pub- 
lic council  of  the  hate.  For,  citizens, 
had  the  informations  given  me  appeared 
to  be  without  foundation,  I  had  yet  little 
reafon  to  apprehend,  that  any  cenfure 
would  befal  me  for  my  over-diligence  in 
fo  dangerous  an  afpect  of  things,  t  im- 
mediately aifembled,  as  you  law,  a  ver? 
full  fenate  ;  and  at  the  fame  time,  in  con- 
ference of  a  hint  from  the  Alibbrogian 
deputies,  difpatched  C.  Sulpicius  the  pne- 
.  a  man  of  known  courage,  to  fearch 
the  houfe  of  Cethegus,  where  he  found  a 
great  number  of  fwords  and  daggers. 

I  introduced  Vulturcius  without  the  Gal- 
Ik  deputies;  and  by  order  of  the  houfe, 


ACTS    IN     PROSE. 

offered  him  a  free  pardon  in  the  name  oi 
the  public,  if  he  would  faithfully  difcover 
all  that  he  knew  :  upon  which,  after  fome 
hesitation,  he  confefled,  that  he  had  letters 
and  inftrudtions  from  Lentulus  to  Catiline, 
to  prefs  him  to  accept  the  affiitance  of  the 
flaves,  and  to  lead  his  army  with  all  ex- 
pedition towards  Rome,  to  the  intent  that 
when,  according  to  the  fcheme  previoufly 
fettledand  concerted  among  them,  it  fhould 
be  let  on  lire  in  different  places,  and  the 
general  maifacre  begun,  he  might  be  at 
hand  to  intercept  thofe  who  efcaped,  and 
join  with  his  friends  in  the  city.  The 
ambaffadors  were  next  brought  in,  who. 
declared,  that  an  oath  of  fecrecy  had  been 
exafted  from  them,  and  that  they  had 
received  letters  to  their  nation  from  Len- 
tulus, Cethegus,  and  Statilius;  that  thefa 
three,  and  L.  Caffius  alfo,  required  them 
to  fend  a  body  of  horfe  as  foon  as  poflible 
into  Italy,  declaring,  that  they  had  no  oc- 
cafion  for  any  foot.:  that  Lentulus  had 
allured  them  from  the  Sibylline  books,  and 
the  anfwers  of  foothfayers,  that  he  was  the 
third  Cornelius,  who  was  deftined  to  em- 
pire, and  the  fovereignty  of  Rome,  which 
China  and  Sylla  had  enjoyed  before  him; 
and  that  this  was  the  fatal  year  marked 
for  the  deilruction  of  the  city  and  empire, 
being  the  tenth  from  the  acquittal  of  the 
veital  virgins,  and  the  twentieth  from  the 
burning  of  the  capitol :  that  there  was  fome 
difpute  between  Cethegus  and  the  reft 
about  the  time  of  firing  the  city;  becaufe, 
while  Lentulus  and  the  other  confpirators 
were  for  fixing  it  on  the  feaft  of  Saturn, 
Cethegus  thought  that  day  too  remote  and 
dilatory. 

But  not  to  be  tedious,  Romans,  I  at  laft 
ordered  the  letters  to  be  produced,  which 
were  faid  to  be  fent  by  the  different  parties. 
I  firit  fhewed  Cethegus  his  leal;  which  he 
owning,  I  opened  and  read  the  letter.  It 
was  written  with  his  own  hand,  and  ad- 
dreifed  to  the  fenate  and  people  of  the  Ai- 
iobrogians, fignifying  that  he  would  make 
good  what  he  had  promifed  to  their  am- 
baffadors, and  entreating  them  alfo  to  per- 
form what  the  ambaffadors  had  under- 
taken for  them.  Then  Cethegus,  who  a 
little  before,  being  interrogated  about  the 
arms  that  were  found  at  his  houfe,  had  an- 
fwered  that  he  was  always  particularly 
fond  of  neat  arms ;  upon  hearing  his  letter 
read,  was  fo  dejected,  confounded,  and 
feif- convicted,  that  he  could  not  utter  a 
word  in  his  own  defence.  Statilius  was 
then,  brought  in,  and  acknowledged  his 
'    '  hand 


BOOK    IN,      ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.     649 

hand  and  feal ;  and  when  his  letter  was  The   proofs  being    thus  laid  open  and 

read,  to  the  fame  purpofe  with  that,  of  Ce-  cleared,  I   confulted    the  fenate  upon  the 

thegus,  he  confefled  it  to  be  his  own.  Then  meafures  proper  to  be  taken  for  the  public 

Lentulus's  letter  was   produced.     I  afked  fafety.      The  moit  fevere  and  vigorous  re- 

if  he  knew  the  feal :   he  owned  he  did.     It  foiutions  werepropofed  by  the  leadingmen, 

is  indeed,  (aid   I,  a  well  known  feal;  the  to  which   the    fenate   agreed  without  the 

head   of  your  illuftrious   grandfather,  fo  leait  eppofitioti.     And  as  the  decree  is  not 

diftingu.ifh.ed  for  his  love  to  his  country  and  yet  put  into  writing,  I  mail,  as  far  as  my 

fellow-citizens,  that  it  is  amazing  the  very  memory  fervcs,  give  you  an   account   of 

fight  of  it  was  not  fofhcient  to  rcitrain  you  the  whole  proceeding.     Firft  of  all,  public 

from  fo  black  a  treafon.     His  letter,  di-  thanks  were  decreed  to  me  in  the  amplell 

reeled  to  the  fenate  and  people  of  the  Alio-  manner,  for  having  by  my  courage,  coun- 

broges,  was  of  the    fame  import  with  the  fel,  and   fcrcfight,  delivered   the  republic 

other  two  :  but  having  leave  to  fpeak  for  from  the  greateft  dangers :  then   the  prae- 

himfejf,  he  atnrft  denied  the  wholecharge,  tors  L.  Flaccus,  andC.  Pontinus  werelike- 

and  began  to  queilion  the  ambaffadors  and  wife  thanked,  for  their  vigorous  and  punc- 

Yulturcius,  what    bitfinefs  they  ever  had  tual  execution    of    my  orders.     My  col- 

with  him,  and  on  what  occaiion  they  came  league,  the  brave  Antonius  was  praifed, 

to  hishoufe  ;  to  which  they  gave  clear  and  for  having  removed  from  his  own  and  the 

dilUnct  anfwers  ;  fignifying  by  whom,  and  coujifels  of  the  republic,  all  thofe  who  were 

how  often  they  had   been    introduced  to  concerned  in  the  confpiracy.     They  then 

him;    and  then  afked  him    in  their  turn,  came  to    a    refolution,  that  P.   Lentulus, 

whether  he  had  never  mentioned  any  thing  alter    having    abdicated    the    praetorfhip, 

to  them  about  the  Sibylline  oracles;  upon  mould  be  committed  to  fafe  cuftody;  that 

which    being   confounded,  or    infatuated  C.  Cethegus,L.  Statilius,  P.  Gabinius,  all 

rather  by  the  fenfe  of  his  guilt,  he  gave  a  three  then  prefent,  fhould  likewife  remain 

remarkable    proof  of  the    great  foice   of  in  confinement;    and  that    the  fame   fen- 

conicience  :  for  not  only  his  ufual  parts  and  tence  mould  be  extended  to  L.  Caifius,  who 

eloquence,  but  his  impudence  too,  in  which  had  offered  himfelfto  the  tafk  of  firing  the 

he   outdid    all  men,  quite  failed   him;  fo  city;    to  M.  Ceparius,  to  whom,  as  ap« 

that  he  confeffed  his  crime,  to  the  furprife  peared,  Apulia  had  been  ailignedfor  raif- 

ofthe  whole  affembly.     Then  Vulturcius  ing  the  fhepherds ;  to  P.  Furius,  who  be- 

defired,  that  the  letter  to  Catiline,  which  longed  to  the  colonies  fettled   by  Sylla  at 

Lentulushad  fent  by  him,  might  be  open-  Fefulae  ;  to  Q.  A'lagius  Chilo,  who  had  al- 

ed  ;  where  Lentulus  again,  though  greatly  ways  feconded  this  Furius,  in   his  applica- 

difordered,    acknowledged    his  hand  and  tion  to   the  deputies  of  the  Allobrogians ; 

feal.     It  was  written   without  anv   name,  and  to  P.  Umbrenus,  the  fon  of  a  freed- 

but  to  this  effect:  "  You  will  know  who  I  man,  who  was  proved  to  have  firft  intro- 

"  am,  from  him  whom  1  have  fent  to  you.  duced  the  Gauls  to  Gabinius.     The  fenate 

"  Take  care  to  fhew  yourfelf  a  man,  and  chofe  to  proceed  with  this  lenity,  Romans, 

«?  recoiled;  in  what  fitii:ition,you  are,  and  from  a   perfuafion    that  though  the   con- 

"  confider  what  is  new  neceffary  for  you.  fpiracy  was  indeed  formidable,    and   the 

V  Before  to  make  ufe  of  the  affiftance  of  ltrength  and  number  ofourdorneftic  ene- 

V  all,  even  of  the  loweft."  Gabinius  tnies  very  great;  yet  by  the  punifhment 
was  then  introduced,  and  behaved  impu-  of  nine  of  the  moit  defperate,  they  fhould 
dently  for  a  while  ;  but  at  laft  denied  no-  be  able  to  preferve  the  ftate,  and  reclaim 
thing'  of  what  the  ambaffadors  charged  all  the  reft.  At  the  fame  time,  a  public 
him  with.  And  indeed,  Romans,  though  thankfgiving  was  decreed  in  my  name  to 
their  letters,  feals,  hands,  and  laftly  their  the  immortal  gods,  for  their  fio-rial  care  of 
feveral  voluntary  confeffions,  were  ftrong  the  commonwealth;  the  firft,  Romans, 
and  convincing  evidences  of  their  guilt;  fince  the  building  of  Rome,  that  was  ever 
yet  had  I  ftill  clearer  proofs  of  it  from  their  decreed  to  any  man  in  the  gown.  It  was 
looks,  change  of  colour,  countenances,  and  conceived  in  thefc  words :  "  Becaufel  had 
filence.  For  fuch  was  their  amazement,  "  preferved  the  city  from  a  conflagration, 
fuch  their  downcaft  looks,  fuch  their  ftolen  "  the  citizens  from  a  maffacre,  and  Italy- 
glances  one  at  another,  that  they  feemed  "from  a  war."  A  thankfgiving,  my 
not  fo  much  convicted  by  the  information  countrymen,  which,  if  compared  with  others 
ofothersj,  as  detected  by  the  confeioufnefs  of  the  fame  kind,  will  be  found  to  differ 
of  their  own  guilt,  from  them   in  this;  that  all  others  were 

appointed 


€$d 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     I'N     PROSE, 


appointed  for  fome  particular  fervices  to 
the  republic,  this  alone  for  laving  it.  What 
required  our  firic  care  was  firft  executed 
and  difpatchcd.  For  P.  Lemuius,  though 
in  confequer.ee  of  the  evidence  brought 
againft  him,  and  his  own  cor.fefiion,  the 
fenate  had  adjudged  him  to  have  forfeited 
not  only  the  prsetorihip,  but  tie  privileges 
of  a  Roman  citizen,  divehea  hirr.fcif  of  his 
magiftracy  :  that  the  confideration  of  a 
public  character,  which  yet  had  no  weight 
with  the  illuftrious  C.  Marius,  when  he  put 
to  death  the  prstor  C.  Glaucia,  againft 
whom  nothing  had  been  exprefsly  decreed, 
might  not  occafion  any  fcruple  to  us  in 
pur.ifhing  P.Lentulus,  now  reduced  to  the 
condition  of  a  private  man. 

And  now,  Romans,  as  the  deteftable 
leaders  of  this  impious  and  unnatural  re- 
bellion are  feized  and  in  cullody,  you 
may  juftly  conclude,  that  Catiline's  whole 
ftrength,  power,  and  hopes  are  broken, 
and  the  dangers  that  threatened  the  city 
difpelled.  For  when  I  was  driving  him 
out  of  the  city,  P.omans,  I  clearly  fore- 
faw,  that  if  he  was  once  removed,  there 
would  be  nothing  to  apprehend  from 
the  drowfinefs  of  Lentulus,  the  fat  of 
Caihus,  or  the  rafnnefs  of  Cethegus.  He 
was  the  alone  formidable  perfon  of  the 
whole  number,  yet  no  longer  fo,  than 
while  he  remained  within  the  walls  of  the 
city.  Fie  knew  every  thing  ;  he  had  ac- 
cefs  in  ail  places ;  he  wanted  neither  abili- 
ties nor  boldnefs  to  addrefs,  to  tempt,  to 
folicit.  He  had  a  head  to  contrive,  a  tongue 
to  explain,  and  a  hand  to  execute  any  un- 
dertaking. He  had  feledt  and  pi-oper 
agents  to  be  employed  in  every  particular 
enterprize  ;  and  never  took  a  thing  to  be 
done,  becaufe  he  had  ordered  it ;  but  al- 
ways purfued,  urged,  attended,  and  faw 
it  done  himfelf ;  declining  neither  hunger, 
cold,  nor  thirft.  Had  1  not  driven  this 
man,  fo  keen,  fo  refolute,  fo  daring,  fo 
crafty,  fo  alert  in  mifchief,  fo  active  in 
defperate  deiigns,  from  his  fecret  plots 
within  the  city,  into  open  rebellion  in  the 
fields,  I  could  never  fo  eafily,  to  fpeak 
my  real  thoughts,  Romans,  have  deliver- 
ed the  republic  from  its  dangers.  He 
would  not  have  fixed  upon  the  feaft  of 
Saturn,  nor  name  the  fatal  day  for  our 
deiiruction  fo  long  before-hand,  nor  fuf- 
fered  his  hand  and  feal  to  be  brought 
againft  him,  as  manifeft  proofs  of  his 
guilt.  Yet  all  this  has  been  fo  managed 
in  hi-,  abfence,  that  no  theft  in  any  private 
houfe  was  ever  more  clearly  detected  than 
this  whole   confpiracy.      But  if  Catiline 


had  remained  in  the  city  till  this  day : 
though  to  the  utmoft  I  would  have  ob- 
flructed  and  oppoled  all  his  defigns ;  yet, 
to  fay  the  lealt,  we  mult  have  come  at 
lair,  to  open  force ;  nor  would  we  have 
found  it  poffible,  while  that  traitor  was  in 
the  city,  to  have  delivered  the  common- 
wealih  from  fuch  threatening  dangers 
with  fo  much  eafe,  quiet,  and  tranquil- 
lity. 

Yet  all  thefe  tranfaclions,  Romans, 
have  been  fo  managed  by  me,  as  if  the 
whole  was  the  pure  effect  of  a  divine  in- 
fluence and  forehght.  This  we  may  con- 
jecture, not  only  from  the  events  them- 
felves  being  above  the  reach  of  human 
counfel,  but  becaufe  the  gods  have  fo  re- 
markably interpofed  in  them,  as  to  (hew 
thenfelves  almoft  viiibly.  For  not  to 
mention  the  nightly  ftreams  of  light  from 
the  weitern  fky,  the  blazing  of  the  hea- 
vens, the  thunders,  the  earthquakes,  with 
the  other  many  prodigies  which  have  hap- 
pened in  ray  confulfhip,  that  feem  like 
the  voice  of  the  gods  predicting  thefe 
events ;  finely,  Romans,  what  1  am  now 
about  to  fay,  ought  neither  to  be  omitted, 
nor  pafs  without  notice.  For  doubtlefs, 
you  mult  remember,  that  under  the  conful- 
fhip of  Cotta  and  Torquatus,  feveral 
turrets  of  the  capitol  were  ftruck  down 
with  lightning  :  that  the  images  of  the  im- 
mortal gods  were  likewife  overthrown,  the 
ftatues  of  ancient  heroes  difplaced,  and 
the  brazen  tables  of  the  laws  melted 
down  :  that  even  Romulus,  the  founder  of 
this  city,  efcaped  not  unhurt ;  whole  gilt 
ftatue,  reprefenting  him  as  an  infant,  fuck- 
ing a  wolf,  you  may  remember  to  have 
feen  in  the  capitol.  At  that  time  the 
foothfayers,  being  called  together  from 
all  Etruria,  declared,  that  fire,  daughter, 
the  overthrow  of  the  laws,  civil  war,  and 
the  ruin  of  the  city  and  empire  were  por- 
tended, unlefs  the  gods,  appealed  by  ail 
forts  of  means,  could  be  prevailed  with  to 
interpofe,  and  bend  in  fome  meaiure  the 
deftinies  themfelves.  In  confequence  of 
this  anfwer,  folemn  games  were  celebrated 
for  ten  days,  nor  was  any  method  of  paci- 
fying the  gods  omitted.  The  fame  footh- 
fayers likewife  ordered  a  larger  ftatue  of 
Jupiter  to  be  made,  and  placed  on  high, 
in  a  pofition  corwrary  to  that  of  the  former 
image,  with  its  face  turned  towards  the 
eaft ;  intimating,  that  if  his  ftatue,  which 
you  now  behold,  looked  towards  the  riling 
fun,  the  forum,  and  the  fenate-houfe ; 
then  ail  fecret  machinations  againft  the 
city  and    empire   would    be  detected  fo 

evidently, 


BOOK   III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.       651 


evidently,  as  to  be  clearly  Seen  by  the  fe- 
nate  and  people  of  Rome.  Accordingly 
the  confuls  of  that  year  ordered  the  ftatue 
to  be  placed  in  the  manner  directed  :  but 
from  -the  flow  progrefa  of  the  work,  nei- 
ther they,  nor  their  fucceflbrs,  nor  I  my- 
felf,  could  get  it  firiifhed  till  that  very 
day. 

Can  any  man  after  this  be  fuch  an  ene- 
my to  truth,  {o  raih,  fo  mad,  as  to  deny, 
that  all  things  which  we  fee,  and  above  all, 
that  this  city  is  governed  by  the  power 
and  providence  of  the  gods  ?  For  when 
the  foothfayers  declared,  that  maffacres, 
conflagrations,  and  me  entire  ruin  of  the 
Hate  were  then  deviling  ;  crimes  !  the 
enormity  of  whofe  giilt  rendered  the  pre- 
diction to  fome  incredible  :  yet  are  you 
now  fenfible,  that  all  this  has  been  by 
wicked  citizens  not  only  devifed,  but  even 
attempted.  Can  it  then  be  imputed  to 
any  thing  but  the  immediate  interpofition 
of  the  great  Jupiter,  that  this  morning, 
while  the  confnirators  and  witneffes  were 
by  my  order  carried  through  the  forum  to 
the  temple  of  Concord,  in  that  very  mo- 
ment the  ftatue  was  fixed  in  its  place  ? 
And  being  fixed,  and  turned  to  look  upon 
you  and  the  fenate,  both  you  and  the  fe- 
nate  faw  ail  the  treafonable  defigns  againft 
the  public  fafety,  clearly  detected  and  ex- 
poied.  The  conlpirators,  therefore,  juitly 
merit  the  greater  punifhment  and  detesta- 
tion, for  endeavouring  to  involve  in  impious 
flames,  not  only  your  houies  and  habitations, 
but  the  dwelling?  and  temples  of  the  gods 
themfelvcs :  ncr  can  I,  without  intolera- 
ble vanity  and  prefumption,  lay  claim  to 
the  merit  of  having  defeated  their  at- 
tempts. It  was  he,  it  was  Jupiter  him- 
felf,  who  oppofed  them  :  to  hire  the  Capi- 
tol, to  him  the  temp.es,  to  him  this  city, 
to  him  are  you  all  indebted  for  your  pre- 
fervation,  It  was  from  the  immortal 
gods,  Romans,  that  I  derived  my  refolu- 
tion  and  forefight ;  and  by  their  provi- 
dence, that  I  was  enabled  to  make  fuch 
important  difcoveries.  The  attempt  to 
engage  the  Aiioorogians  in  the  confpiracy, 
and  the  infatuation  of  Lentulus  and  his 
afibciates,  in  trufting  affairs  and  letters  of 
fuch  moment  to  men  barbarous  and  un- 
known to  them,  can  never  furely  be  ac- 
counted for,  but  by  fuppofing  the  gods 
to  have  confounded  their  underftandings. 
And  that  the  ambafTadors  of  the  Gaule,  a 
nation  fo  difaffected,  and  the  only  one  at 
prefent  that  feems  both  able  and  willing 
tQ  make,  war  upon  the  Roman  people, 


fhould  flight  the  hopes  of  empire  and  do- 
minion, and  the  advantageous  offers  of 
men  of  patrician  rank,  and  prefer  your 
fafety  to  their  own  inters!!,  muff:  needs  be 
the  effect  of  a  divine  interpofition;  efpe- 
cialiy  when  they  might  have  gained  their 
ends,  not  by  fighting,  but  by  holding 
their  tongues. 

Wherefore,  Romans,  fince  a  thankf- 
giving  has  been  decreed  at  all  the  fhrines 
of  the  pods,  celebrate  the  fame  relirdouily 
with  your  wives  and  children.  Many  are 
the  proofs  of  gratitude  you  have  juitly 
paid  to  the  gods  on  former  occafiom,  but 
never  furely  were  more  apparently  due  than 
at  prefent.  You  have  been  matched  from  a 
molt  cruel  and  deplorable  fate  ;  and  that 
too  without  (laughter,  without  bleed,  with- 
out an  army,  without  fighting.  In  the 
habit  of  citizens,  and  under  me  your  only 
leader  and  conductor  in  the  robe  of  peace, 
you  have  obtained  the  victory.  For  do 
but  call  to  mind,  Romans,  all  the  civil  dif- 
fenfions  in  which  we  have  been  involved  ; 
not  thofe  only  you  may  have  heard  of,  but 
thofe  too  within  your  own  memory  and 
knowledge.  L.  SyHa  deftroyed  P.  Sulpi- 
cius  ;  drove  Marius,  the  guardian  of  this 
empire,  from  Rome;  and  partly  banimed, 
partly  Slaughtered,  a  great  number  of  the 
moft  defervi".g  citizens.  Cn.  Odtavius, 
when  conful,  expelled  his  coiieague  by 
force  of  arms,  from  the  city.  The  forum 
was  filled  with  carcafes,  and  flowed  with 
tne  blood  of  the  citizens.  Cinna  after- 
wards, in  conjunction  with  Marius,  pre- 
vailed :  and  then  it  was  that  the  very 
lights  of  our  country  were  extinguished  by 
the  Daughter  of  her  molt  illultnous  men. 
Sylla  avenged  this  cruel  victory ;  with 
what  maffacre  of  the  citizens,  with  what 
calamity  to  the  ftate,  it  is  needlefs  to  re- 
late. ,  M.  Lepidus  had  a  difference  with 
Q.  Catulus,  a  man  of  the  moft  difrinp-uifh- 
ed  reputation  and  merit.  The  rum  brought 
upon  the  former  was  not  fo  afflicting  to 
the  republic,  as  that  of  the  reit  who  perifiv 
ed  upon  the  fame  occalion.  Yet  all  thefe 
diffenlions,  Romans,  were  of  fuch  a  nature* 
as  tended  only  to  a  change  in  the  govern- 
ment, not  a  total  destruction  of  the  ftate. 
It  was  not  the  aim  of  the  perfons  concern- 
ed, to  extinguifh  the  commonwealth,  but  ■ 
to  be  leading  men  in  it ;  they  defired  not  to 
fee  Rome  in  flames,  but  to  rule  in  Rome. 
And  yet  all  thefe  civil  differences,  none  of 
which  tended  to  the  overthrow  of  tne  ltate, 
were  fo  obftinateiy  kept  up,  that  they 
never  ended  in  a  reconciliation  of  the  par- 
ties, 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


ties,  but  in  amaffacre  of  the  citizens.  But 
in  this  war,  a  war  the  fierce!!  and  moll:  im- 
placable ever  known,  and  not  to  be  paral- 
leled in  the  hiilory  of  the  molt  barbarous 
nations ;  a  war  in  which  Lentulus,  Cati- 
line, Cailius  and  Cethegus  laid  it  down  as 
a  principle,  to  confider  all  as  enemies  who 
had  any  intereft  in  the  well  being  of  the 
itate ;  I  have  conducted  myfelf  in  fuch  a 
manner,  Romans,  as  to  preferve  you  all. 
And  though  your  enemies  imagined  that 
no  more  citizens  would  remain,  than  what 
efcaped  endlefs  malTacre  ;  nor  any  more  of 
Rome  be  left  {landing,  than  was  matched 
from  a  devouring  conflagration  ;  yet  have 
T  preferred  both  city  and  citizens  from 
harm. 

For  all  thefe  important  fervices,  Romans, 
I  defire  no  other  reward  of  my  zeal,  no 
other  mark  of  honour,  no  other  monument 
of  praife,but  the  perpetual  remembranceof 
this  day.  It  is  in  your  breaits  alone,  that 
I  would  have  all  my  triumphs,  all  my 
titles  of  honour,  all  the  monuments  of  my 
glory,  all  the  trophies  of  my  renown,  re- 
corded and  preferved.  Lifelefs  ftatues, 
fiient  teflimonies  of  lame;  in  fine,  what- 
ever can  be  comparted  by  men  of  inferior 
merit,  has  no  charms  for  me.  In  your 
remembrance,  Romans,  fhall  my  actions 
be  cheriihed,  from  your  praifes  fhall  they 
derive  growth  and  nourishment,  and  in 
your  annals  fhall  they  ripen  and  be  im- 
mortalized :  nor  will  this  day,  I  flatter 
myfelf,  ever  ceafe  to  be  propagated,  to 
the  fafety  of  the  city,  and  the  honour  of 
my  confuifhip  :  but  it  fhall  eternally  re- 
main upon  record,  that  there  were  two 
citizens  living  at  the  fame  time  in  the  re- 
public, the  one  of  whom  was  terminating 
the  extent  of  the  empire  by  the  bounds  of 
the  horizon  itfelf;  the  other  preferving 
the  feat  and  capital  of  that  empire. 

But  as  the  fortune  and  circumftances  of 
my  actions  are  different  from  thofe  of 
your  generals  abroad,  in  as  much  as  I 
mult  live  with  thofe  whom  I  have  con- 
quered and  fubdued,  whereas  they  leave 
Uieir  enemies  either  dead  or  enthralled  ;  it 
i<-  your  part,  Romans,  to  take  care,  that 
.  i  e  eood  actions  of  others  are  beneficial 
to  them,  mine  prove  not  detrimental  to 
r:  :.  1  have  baffled  the  wicked  and 
bloo  lv  purpefes  formed  againft  you  by 
the  moit  daring  offenders;  it  belongs  to 
you  to  baffle  their  attempts  againft  me; 
though  as  to  myfelf,  I  have  in  reality  ro 
caufe  to  fear  any  thing,  fmcc  I  fhall  be 
protected  by  the  guard  of  ail  honeit  men, 


whofe  friendlhip  I  have  for  ever  fecured 
by  the  dignity  of  the  republic  itfelf,  which 
will  never  ceafe  to  be  my  fiient  defender; 
and  by  the  power  of  confeience,  which  all 
thofe  mull  needs  violate,  who  fhall  at- 
tempt to  injure  me.  Such  too  is  my  fpi- 
rit,  Romans,  that  I  will  never  yield  to  the 
audacioufnefs  of  any,  but  even  provoke 
and  attack  all  the  wicked  and  the  profli- 
gate :  yet  if  all  the  rage  of  our  domeitic 
enemies,  when  repelled  from  the  people, 
ihall  at  Iall  turn  fingly  upon  me,  you  will 
do  well  to  confider,  Romans,  what  effect 
this  may  afterwards  have  upon  thofe,  who 
are  bound  to  expofe  themfelves  to  envy 
and  danger  for  your  fafety.  As  to  my- 
felf in  particular,  what  have  I  farther  to 
wifh  for  in  life,  fmce  both  with  regard  to 
the  honours  you  confer,  and  the  reputa- 
tion flowing  from  virtue,  I  have  already 
reached  the  highell  point  of  my  ambition. 
This  however  1  exprefsly  engage  for,  Ro- 
mans, always  to  fupport  and  defend  in 
ray  private  condition,  what  I  have  acted 
in  my  confuifhip  ;  that  if  any  envy  be 
flirred  up  againft  me  for  preferving  the 
ftate,  it  may  hurt  the  envious,  but  ad- 
vance my  glory.  In  fhort,  I  fhall  fo  be- 
have in  the  republic,  as  ever  to  be  mind- 
ful oT  my  paft  actions,  and  fhew  that  what 
I  did  was  not  the  effect:  of  chance,  but  of 
virtue.  Do  you,  Romans,  fmce  it  is  now 
night,  repair  to  your  feveral  dwellings, 
and  pray  to  Jupiter,  the  guardian  of  this 
city,  and  of  vour  lives  :  and  though  the 
danger  be  now  over,  keep  the  fame  watch 
in  your  houfes  as  before.  I  fhall  take 
care  to  put  a  fpeedy  period  to  the  necef- 
fity  of  thefe  precautions,  and  to  fecure 
you  for  the  future  in  uninterrupted  peace. 
Whiti  vorth '  /  Cicero* 


§   8. 


Oration  againft  Catiline. 


THE       ARGUMENT. 

Though  the  defign  of  the  confpiracy 
was  in  a  great  meafure  defeated,  by 
the  commitment  of  the  moft  confi- 
derable  of  thofe  concerned  in  it,  yet 
as  they  had  many  fecret  favourers 
and  well-wifhers  within  the  city,  the 
people  were  alarmed  with  the  rumor 
of  frefh  plots,  formed  by  the  flaves 
and  dependants  of  Lentulus  and  Ce- 
thegus  for  the  refcue  of  their  ma- 
fters,  which  obliged  Cicero  to  rein- 
force his  guards ;  and  for  the  preven- 
tion of  all  fuch  attempts,  to  put  an 
end  to  the  whole  affair,  by  bringing 

the 


BOOK   III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.         653 


the  queftion  of  their  punifhment, 
without  farther  delay,  before  the  fe- 
nate; which  he  accordingly  fummon- 
ed  for  that  purpoie.  The  debate 
was  of  great  delicacy  and  impor- 
tance ;  to  decide  upon  the  lives  of 
citizens  of  the  firil  rank.  Capital 
punilhments  were  rare,  and  ever 
odious  in  Rome,  whole  laws  were  of 
all  others  the  leaft  fanguinary  ;  ba- 
niihment,  with  confifcation  of  goods, 
being  the  ordinary  puniihment  for 
the  greateft  crimes.  The  fenate  in- 
deed, as  has  been  faid  above,  in 
cafes  of  fudden  and  dangerous  tumults, 
claimed  the  prerogative  of  puniih- 
ing  the  leaders  with  death,  by  the 
authority  of  their  own  decrees.  But 
this  was  looked  upon  as  a  it  retch  of 
power,  and  an  infringement  of  the 
rights  of  the  people,  .vhich  nothing 
could  excufe  bv  the  neceffity  of 
times,  and  the  extremity  of  danger. 
For  there  was  an  old  law  of  Porcius 
Lasca,  a  tribune,  which  granted  all 
criminals  capitally  condemned,  an  ap- 
peal to  the  people  ;  and  a  later  ona 
of  C.  Gracchus,  to  prohibit  the 
taking  away  the  life  of  any  citizen, 
without  a  formal  hearing  before  the 
people :  fo  that  fome  fenators,  who 
had  concurred  in  all  the  previous  de- 
bates, withdrew  themfelves  from  this, 
to  ihew  their  dillike  of  what  they  ex- 
peeled  to  be  the  iifue  of  it,  and  to 
have  no  hand  in  putting  Roman  citi- 
zens to  death  by  a  vote  of  the  fenate. 
Here  then  was  greund  enough  for 
Cicero's  enemies  to  acl  upon,  if  ex- 
treme methods  were  purfued :  he 
himfelf  was  aware  of  it,  and  law,  that 
the  public  intereft  called  for  the  fe- 
vereft  puniihment,  his  private  interelt; 
the  gentled :  yet  he  came  refolved  to 
facrilice  all  regards  for  his  own  quiet, 
to  the  confideration  of  the  public 
lafety.  As  foon  therefore  as  he  had 
moved  the  queltion,  What  was  to  be 
done  with  the  confpirators  ?  Silanus, 
the  conful  elect,  being  called  upon  to 
fpeak  the  firft,  advifed,  that  thofe 
who  were  then  in  cuitody,  with  the 
reft  who  mould  afterwards  be  taken, 
fhould  all  be  put  to  death.  To  this 
all  who  {poke  after  him  readily  af- 
fented,  till  it  came  to  Julius  Caviar, 
then  praetor  elect,  who  in  an  elegant 
and  elaborate  fpeech,  treated  that 
opinion,  not  as  cruel,  fmce  death,  he 


faid,  was  not  a  punifhment,  but  re- 
lief to  the  miferable,  and  left  no  fenfe 
either  of  good  or  ill  beyond  it ;  but  as 
new  and  illegal,  and  contrary  to  the 
conllitution  of  the  republic  :  and 
though  the  heinoufnefs  of  the  crime 
would  julHfy  any  feverity,  yet  the 
example  was  dangerous  in  a  free 
ihite  ;  and  the  falutary  ufe  of  arbi- 
trary power  in  good  hands,  had  been 
the  caufe  of  fatal  mifchiefs  when  it 
fell  into  bad  ;  of  which  he  produ- 
ced feveral  initances,  both  in  other 
cities  and  their  own ;  and  though  no 
danger  could  be  apprehended  from 
thefe  times,  or  fuch  a  conful  as  Ci- 
cero; yet  in  other  times,  and  under 
another  coniul,  when  the  fword  was 
once  drawn  by  a  decree  of  the  fenate, 
no  man  could  promife  what  mif- 
thief  it  might  not  do  before  it  was 
fheathed  again  :  his  opinion  there- 
fore was,  that  the  eilates  of  the  con- 
fpirators fhould  be  confifcated,  and 
their  perfons  ciofely  confined  in  the 
itrong  towns  of  Italy;  and  that  it 
fhould  be  criminal  for  any  one  to  move 
the  fenate  or  the  people  for  any  favour 
towards  them.  Thefe  two  contrary 
opinions  being  propofed,  the  next 
queltion  was,  which  of  them  fhould 
take  place:  Csfar'Si  had  made  a 
great  impreffion  on  the  afTembly,  and 
Itaggered  even  Silanus,  who  began 
to  excufe  and  mitigate  the  feverity 
of  Iris  vote;  and.  Cicero's  friends 
were  going  forwardly  into  it,  as 
likely  to  create  the  leaft  trouble  t« 
Cicero  himfelf,  for  whole  future  peace 
and  fafety  they  began  to  be  folici- 
tous:  when  Cicero,  obferving  the  in- 
clination of  the  houfe,  and  rifing  up 
to  put  ttje  queftion,  made  this  fourth 
fpeech  on  the  fubjecl  of  the  confpi- 
racy  ;  in  which  he  delivers  his  fenti- 
ments  with  all  the  fk.il!  both  of  the 
orator  and  ftatefman  ;  and  while  he 
feems  to  ihew  a  perfect  neutrality, 
and  to  give  equal  commendation  to 
both  the  opinions,  artfully  labours  all 
the  while  to  turn  the  fcale  in  favour  of 
Silanus's,  which  he  confidered  as  a 
necefiary  example  of  feverity  in  the 
prefent  circurnftances  of  the  repub- 
lic. 

I  PERCEIVE,  coirfcript   fathers,  that 

every  look,  that  every  eye  is  fixed   upon 

me.     1  fee  you  foiiciious  not  only  for  your 

z  own 


654 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


own  and  your  country's  danger,  but  was 
that  repelled,  for  mine  alio.  This  proof 
of  your  affection  is  grateful  to  me  in  for- 
row,  and  pleafing  in  diibeis :  but  by  the 
immortal  gods  I  conjure  you  '  lay  it  all 
afide ;  and  without  any  regard  to  my  fafety, 
think  only  of  yourfelves,  and  of  your  fa- 
milies. For  mould  the  condition  of  my 
confulfhip  be  fuch  as  to  fubject  me  to  all 
manner  of  pains,  hard  (hips,  and  fuffer- 
ings;  I  will  bear  them  not  only  resolute- 
ly but  chearfully,  if  by  my  labours  I  can 
fecure  year  dignity  and  fafety,  with  that 
of  the  people  of  Rome.  Such,  confeript 
fathers,  has  been  the  fortune  of  my  con- 
fulfhip, that  neither  the  forum,  that  centre 
of  ail  equity,  nor  the  field  of  Mars,  con- 
fecrated  by  com'blar  aufpices,  nor  the  fe«> 
nate-houle,  the  principal  refuge  of  all 
nations,  nor  demeitic  walls,  the  common 
afylum  of  ail  men  ;  nor  the  bed,  deflined 
to  repofe ;  nay,  nor  even  this  honourable 
feat,  this  chair  of  Rate,  have  been  free 
from  perils  and  the  fnares  of  death.  Many 
things  have  I  diffembled,  many  have  I 
buffered,  many  have  1  yielded  to,  and  many 
fcruggled  with  in  filen.ee,  for  your  quiet. 
But  if  the  immortal  gods  would  grant  that 
iffiie  to  my  confulfhip,  of  laving  you, 
confe/ipt  fathers,  and  the  people  of  Rome, 
from  a  mafiacre;  your  wives,  your  chil- 
dren, and  the  veital  virgins,  from  the  bit- 
terer! perfecution  ;  the  temples  and  altars 
of  the  gods,  with  this  cur  fair  country, 
from  facrilegious  flames ;  and  all  Italy 
from  war  and  defolation  ;  let  what  fate 
foever  attend  mc,  I  will  be  content  with  it. 
For  if  P.  Lentulus,  upon  the  report  of 
foothfayers,  thought  his  name  portended 
the  ruin  of  the  Ib.te ;  why  fhould  not  I 
rejoice,  that  my  confulfhip  has  been  as  it 
were  referved  by  fate  for  its  preierva- 
tion. 

Wherefore,  confeript  fathers,  think  of 
vour  own  fafety.  turn  your  whole  caie 
upon  the  ftate,  fecure  yourfelves,  your 
wives,  your  children,  ycur  fortunes  ;  guard 
the  lives  and  dignity  of  the  people  of  Rome, 
and  ceafe  your  concern  and  anxiety  for  me. 
For  firfr,  I  have  rcafon  to  hope,  that  all 
the  gods,  the  protectors  of  this  city,  k  ill 
reward  me  according  to  my  ticierts. 
Then,  fhould  any  thing  extraordinary 
happen,  1  am  prepared  to  die  with  an 
even  and  conusant  mind.  For  death  can 
r.cvcr  be  di (honourable  to  the  brave,  nor 
premature  to  one  who  has  reached  the 
dignity  of  confu!,  nor  afflicting  to  the 
wife.  '  Not  that  1  am  fo   hardened  aeainft 


all  the  imprefhons  of  humanity,  as  to  re- 
main indifferent  to  the  grief  of  a  dear  and 
affectionate  brother  here  prefent,  and  the 
tears  of  all  thofe  by  whom  you  fee  me 
furrourtded.  Nor  can  I  forbear  to  own, 
that  an  afflicted  wife,  a  daughter  difpirit- 
ed  with  fear,  an  infant  fon,  whom  my 
country  feerns  to  embrace  as  the  pledge 
of  my  confulfhip,  and  a  fon-in-law,  whom 
I  behold  waiting  with  anxiety  the  iffue  of 
this  day,  often  recal  my  thoughts  home- 
wards. All  thefe  objects  affect  me,  yet 
in  fuch  a  manner,  that  I  am  chiefly  con- 
cerned for  their  preservation  and  yours, 
and  fcruple  not  to  expofe  myfelf  to  any 
haza;  d,  rather  than  that  they  and  all  of 
us  fhould  be  involved  in  one  general  ruin. 
Wherefore,  confeript  fathers,  apply  your- 
felves wholly  to  the  fafety  of  the  ftate, 
guard  againft  the  llorms  that  threaten  us 
on  every  fide,  and  which  it  will  require 
your  utmoii  circumfpecllon  to  avert.  It 
is  not  a  Tiberius  Gracchus,  caballing  for 
a  fecond  tribunefhip ;  nor  a  Caius  Grac- 
chus, ftirring  up  the  people  in  favour  of 
his  Agrarian  law  ;  nor  a  Lucius  Saturni- 
nus,  the  murderer  of  Caius  Memmius, 
who  is  now  in  judgment  before  vou,  and 
expofed  to  the  fevei ity  of  the  law;  but 
traitors,  who  remained  at  Rome  to  fire 
the  city,  to  mafiacre  the  fenate,  and  to 
receive  Catiline.  Their  letters,  their 
feals,  their  hands;  in  fhort,  their  feveral 
confeffions,  are  in  your  cufiody ;  and 
clearly  convict  them  of  foliciting  the  Ai~ 
lobrogians,  fpiriting  up  the  flaves,  and 
fending  for  Catiline.  The  fcheme  pro- 
pofed  was,  to  put  all,  without  exception, 
to  the  fword,  that  not  a  foul  might  re- 
main to  lament  the  fate  of  the  common- 
wealth, and  the  ovei  throw  of  fo  mighty  an 
empire. 

All  this  has  been  proved  by  witneffes, 
the  criminals  themfelves  have  ccntefied, 
and  you  have  already  condemned  them  by 
feveral  previous  acls.  Firfr,  by  returning 
thanks  to  me  in  the  molt  honourable  terms, 
and  declaring  that  by  my  virtue  and  vigi- 
lance, a  conipiracy  of  defperate  men  has 
been  laid  open.  Next,  by  depofing  Len- 
tulus from  the  prtetorfhip,  and  committing 
him,  with  the  reft  of  the  confpirators,  to 
cuftcdy.  But  chiefly,  by  decreeing  a 
thankfgiving  in  my  name,  an  honour  which 
was  neve  r  before  conferred  upon  any  man 
in  the  gown.  Laftly,  you  yeiterday  voted 
ample  rewards  to  the  deputies  of  the  Al- 
lobrogians,  and  Titus  Vukurcius;  all  which 
proceedings  are  of  fuch  a  nature,  as  plainly 

t© 


SOOK  III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        o$j 


to  make  it  appear,  that  you  already  with- 
out icruple  condemn  thofe,  whom  you  have 
by  name  ordered  into  cuftody.  But  I  have 
refoived,  conicript  fathers,  to  propofe  to 
you  anew  the  queftion  both  of  the  fact  and 
punilhment,  having  frit  premifed  what  I 
think  proper  to  fay  as  coniul.  I  have  long 
obferved  a  fpirit  of  diforder  working  in 
the  ftate,  new  projects  devifmg,  and  per- 
nicious fchemes  fet  on  foot:  but  never 
could  I  imagine,  that  a  confpiracy  fo  dread- 
ful and  deftructive,  had  entered  into  the 
minds  of  citizens.  Now  whatever  you  do, 
or  which  ever  way  ycur  thoughts  and 
voices  mall  incline,  you  mull  come  to  a 
refolution  before  night.  You  fee  the  hei- 
nous nature  of  the  crime  laid  before  you ; 
and  if  you  think  that  but  few  are  con- 
cerned in  it,  you  are  greatly  miftaken. 
The  mifchief  is  fpread  wider  than  molt, 
people  imagine,  and  has  not  only  infected 
Italy,  but  croffed  the  Alps,  and,  imper- 
ceptibly creeping  along,  feized  many  pro- 
vinces. You  can  never  hope  to  fuppiefs  it 
by  delay  and  irrefoiution.  Whatever  courfe 
you  take,  you  mult  proceed  with  vigour 
and  expedition. 

There  are  two  opinions  now  before  you ; 
the  firft,  of  D.  Silanus,  who  thinks  the 
projectors  of  fo  deftruftive  a  confpiracy 
worthy  of  death;  the  fecond  of  C.  C?efar, 
who,  excepting  death,  is  for  everv  ether 
the  molt  rigorous  method  of  puniihing. 
Each,  agreeably  to  his  dignity,  and  the 
importance  of  the  caufe,  is  for  treating 
them  with  the  laft  feverity.  The  one 
thinks,  that  thofe  who  have  attempted  to 
deprive  us  and  the  Roman  people  of  life, 
to  abolifh  this  empire,  and  extinguifh  the 
very  name  of  Rome,  ought  not  to  enjoy 
a  moment's  life,  or  breathe  this  vital  air: 
and  hath  fhewed  withal,  that  this  punilh- 
ment has  often  been  inflicted  by  this  ftate 
on  feditious  citizens.  The  other  main- 
tains, that*  death  was  not  defigned  by  the 
immortal  gods  as  a  punilhment,  but  either 
as  a  neceflary  law  of  our  nature,  or  a  cef- 
fation  of  our  toils  and  miferies;  fo  that 
the  wife  never  fuffer  it  unwillingly,  the 
brave  often  feek  it  voluntarily  :  that  bonds 
and  imprifonment,  efpecially  if  perpetual, 
are  contrived  for  the  punilhment  of  de- 
teftable  crimes:  that  therefore  the  crimi- 
nals fhould  be  diltributed  among  the  mu- 
nicipal towns.  In  this  propofal,  there  feems 
•  to  be  fome  injultice,  if  you  impofe  it  upon 
the  towns;  or  fome  difficulty,  if  you  only 
defire  it.  Yet  decree  fo,  if  you  think  fit. 
I  will  endeavour,  and  I  hope  I  fhall  be  able 


to  find  thofe,  who  will  not  think  it  uniuit" 
able  to  their  dignity,  to  comply  with  what- 
ever you  fhall  judge  .neceffary  for  the  com- 
mon fafe.ty.  He  adds  a  heavy  penalty  on 
the  municipal  towns,  if  any  of  the  crimi- 
nals fhould  efcape ;  he  invefts  the.m  with 
formidable  guards ;  and,  as  the  enormity 
of  their  guilt  deferves,  forbids,  under  fe- 
vere  penalties,  all  application  to  the  fenate 
or  people,  for  a  mitigation  of  their  punifh- 
meats.  He  even  deprives  them  of  hope, 
the  only  comfort  of  unhappy  mortals.  He 
orders  their  eitates  alio  to  be  confifcated, 
and  leaves  them  nothing  but  life;  which, 
if  he  had  taken  away,  he  v.  ould  by  one 
momentary  pang  have  eafed  them  of  much 
anguifh  both  of  mind  and  body,  and  all  the 
fufferings  due  to  their  crimes,  for  it  was 
on  this  account  that  the  ancients,  invented 
thofe  infernal  punifhments  of  the  dead  ;  to 
keep  the  wicked  under  fome  awe  in  this 
life,  who  without  them  would  have  no  dread 
of  death  itfeif. 

Now,  confeript  fathers,  I  fee  how  much 
myintereft  is  concerned  in  the  prefent  de- 
bate. If  you  follow  the  opinion  of  C 
Caefar,  who  has  always  purfued  thofe  inea- 
fures  in  the  Hate,  which  favour  molt  of 
popularity;  I  fhall  perhaps  be  lefs  ex- 
pofed  to  the  arrows  of  public  hatred,  when 
he  is  known  for  the  author  and  adviler  of 
this  vote.  But  if  you  fall  in  with  the  mo- 
tion of  D.  Silanus,  I  know  not  what  dim* 
c  nines  it  may  bring  me  under.  However, 
let  the  fervice  of  the  commonwealth  fu- 
perfede  all  confiderations  of  my.  danger. 
Ccefar,  agreeably  to  his  own  dignity,  and 
the  merits  of  his  illuftrious  anedtors,  has 
by  this  propofal  given  us  a  perpetual 
pledge  of  his  affection  to  the  ftate,  and 
fhewed  the  difference  between  the  affected 
lenity  of  bufy  Reclaimers,  and  a  mind  truly 
popular,  which  feeks  nothing  but  the  real 
good  of  the  people.  I  obferve  that  one 
of  thofe,  who  affe&s  the  character  of  po- 
pularity, has  abfented  himfelf  from  this 
day's  debate,  that  he  may  net  give  a  vote 
upon  the  life  of  a  Roman  citizen.  Yet 
but  the  other  day  he  concurred  in  fending 
the  criminals  to  prifon,  voted  me.  a  thankf- 
giving,  and  yelferday  decreed  ample  re- 
wards to  the  informers.  Now  no  one  can 
doubt  what  his  fentiments  are  on  the  me- 
rits of  the:  caufe,  who  votes  imprifonment 
to  the  accufed,  thanks  to  the  difcoverer  of 
the  confpiracy,  .  and  rewards  to  the  in- 
formers. But  C.  Casfar  urges  the  Sem- 
pronian  law,  forbidding  to  put  Roman  ci- 
tizens to  death.     Yet  here  it  ought  to  be 

fern  em- 


6^6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


remembered,  that  thofe  who  are  adjudged 
enemies  to  the  ilate,  can  no  lenger  be  con- 
fidered  as  citizens ;  and  that  the  author  of 
that  law  himfelf  fuffered  death  by  the  order 
of  the  people.  Neither  does  Casfar  think 
that  the  profufe  and  prodigal  Lentulus, 
who  has  concerted  fo  many  cruel  and 
bloody  fchemes  for  the  deitruction  of  the 
Roman  people,  and  the  ruin  of  the  city, 
can  be  called  a  popular  man.  Accord- 
ingly this  mild  and  merciful  fenator  makes 
no  fcruple  of  condemning  P.  Lentulus 
to  perpetual  bonds  and  imprifonment ; 
and  provides  that  no  one  fhall  hencefor- 
ward have  it  in  his  power  to  boair.  of  hav- 
ing procured  a  mitigation  of  this  punifh- 
ment,  or  made  himfelf  popular  by  a  Hep 
fo  deitru&ive  to  the  quiet  of  his  fellow- 
citizens.  He  likewife  adds  the  confifca- 
tion  of  their  goods,  that  want  and  beg- 
gary may  attend  every  torment  of  mind 
and  body. 

If  therefore  you  decree  according  to 
this  opinion,  you  will  give  me  a  partner 
and  companion  to  the  afiembly,  who  is  dear 
and  agreeable  to  the  Roman  people.  Or, 
if  you  prefer  that  of  Silanus,  it  will  be 
eafy  ftill  to  defend  both  you  and  myfelf 
from  any  imputation  of  cruelty;  nay,  and 
to  make  appear,  that  it  is  much  the  gentler 
punifhment  of  the  two.  And  yet,  con- 
fcript  fathers,  what  cruelty  can  be  com- 
mitted in  the  punifhment  of  fo  enormous 
a  crime?  I  fpeak  according  to  my  real 
fenfe  of  the  matter.  For  may  I  never 
•njoy,  in  conjunction  with  you,  the  benefit 
of  my  country's  fafety,  if  the  eagernefs 
which  I  mew  in  this  caui'e  proceeds  from 
any  feverity  of  temper,  (for  no  man  has 
jels  of  it)  but  from  pure  humanity  and 
clemency.  For  I  feem  to  behold  this  city, 
the  light  of  the  univcrfe,  and  the  citadel 
of  all  nations,  fuddenly  involved  in  flames. 
I  figure  to  myfelf  my  country  in  ruins,  and 
the  miferable  bodies  of  flaughtered  citi- 
zens, lying  in  heaps  without  burial.  The 
image  of  Cethegus,  furioufly  revelling  in 
your  blood,  is  now  before  my  eyes.  But 
when  I  reprefent  to  my  imagination  Len- 
tulus on  the  throne,  as  he  owns  the  fates 
encouraged  him  to  hope;  Gabinius  cloath- 
ed  in  purple ;  and  Catiline  approaching 
with  an  army;  then  ami  ftruck  with  hor- 
ror at  the  fhrieks  of  mothers,  the  flight 
of  children,  and  the  violation  of  the  vellal 
virgins.  And  becaufe  thefe  calamities  ap- 
pear to  me  in  the  higheft  degree  deplorable 
and  dreadful,  therefore  am  I  fevere  and 
unrelenting  towards  thofe  who  endeavoured 


to  bring  them  Upon  us.  For  let  me  afk* 
ihould  a  mailer  of  a  family,  finding"  his 
children  butchered,  his  wife  murdered,  and 
his  houfe  burnt  by  a  Have,  inflift  upon  the 
offender  a  punifhment  that  fell  fnort  of 
the  higheft  degree  of  vigour ;  would  he 
be  accounted  mild  and  merciful,  or  inhu- 
man and  cruel  ?  For  my  own  part,  I 
fhould  look  upon  him  as  hard-hearted  and 
infenfible,  if  he  did  not  endeavour  to  allay 
his  own  anguifh  and  torment,  by  the  tor- 
ment and  anguifh  of  the  guilty  caufe.  It 
is  the  fame  with  us  in  refpeft  of  thofe  men 
who  intended  to  murder  us  with  our  vyffces 
and  children  ;  who  endeavoured  to  deftroy 
our  ieveral  dwellings,  and  this  city,  the 
general  feat  of  the  commonwealth  ;  who 
confpired  to  fettle  the  Allobrogians  upon 
the  ruins  of  this  Hate,  and  raife  them  from 
the  allies  of  our  empire.  If  we  puniih 
them  with  the  utmoft  feverity,  we  fhall 
be  accounted  companionate;  but  if  we  are 
remifs  in  the  execution  of  juilice,  we  may 
defervedly  be  charged  with  the  greater! 
cruelty,  in  expofing  the  republic  and  our 
fellow  citizens  to  ruin.  Unlefs  any  one 
will  pretend  to  fay,  that  L.  Csefar,  a  brave 
man,  and  zealous  for  the  interefl  of  his 
country,  acted  a  cruel  part  the  other  day, 
when  he  declared,  that  the  hufband  of  his 
filter,  a  lady  of  diltinguifhed  merit,  and 
that  too  in  his  own  prefence  and  hearing, 
deferved  to  fuffer  death ;  alledging  the 
example  of  his  grandfather,  flaia  by  order 
of  the  conful;  who  likewife  commanded 
his  fon,  a  mere  youth,  to  be  executed  in 
prifon,  for  bringing  him  a  meffage-  from 
his  father.  And  yet,  what  was  their  crime 
compared  with  that  now  before  us?  had 
they  formed  any  confpiracy  to  deflroy  their 
country  ?  A  partition  of  lands  was  then 
indeed  propofed,  and  a  fpirit  of  faction 
began  to  prevail  in  the  itate  :  at  which 
time  t-ke  grandfather  of  this  very  Lentu- 
lus, an  illuilrious  patriot,  attacked  Grac- 
chus in  arms;  and  in  defence  of  the  ho- 
nour and  dignity  of  the  commonwealth, 
received  a  cruel  wound.  This  his  unwor- 
thy defcendant,  to  overthrow  the  very 
foundations  of  the  ftate,  fends  for  the 
Gauls,  ilirs  up  the  flavcs,  invites  Catiline, 
afiigns  the  murdering  of  the  fenators  to 
Cethegus,  the  mafTacre  of  the  refl  of  the 
citizens  to  Gabinius,  the  care  of  letting 
the  city  on  fire  to  Caflius,  and  the  de- 
valuation and  plunder  of  Italy  to  Catiline. 
Is  it  poflible  you  fhould  be  afraid  of  being 
thought  too  fevere  in  the  punifhment  of  fo 
unnatural  and  monftrous  a  treafon  ?  when 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.      657 


111  reality  you  have  much  more  caufe  to 
dread  the  charge  of  cruelty  to  your  coun- 
try for  your  too  great  lenity,  than  the  im- 
putation of  feverity  for  proceeding  in  an 
exemplary  manner  againft  fuch  implacable 
enemies. 

But  I  cannot,  confcrlpt  father?,  conceal 
what  I  hear.  Reports  are  fpread  through 
the  city,  and  have  reached  my  ears,  tend- 
ing to  infinuate,  that  we  have  not  a  fuffi- 
cient  force  to  fupport  and  execute  what    fpeak  of  men,  whom  private  intereft,  whom. 


and  this  parent  foil,  are  not  both  dear  and 
delightful. 

And  here,  confcrlpt  fathers,  let  me  re- 
commend to  your  notice  the  zeal  of  thofe 
freedmen,  who,  having  by  their  merit  ob- 
tained the  privilege  of  citizens,  confider 
this  as  their  real  country:  whereas  fome 
born  within  the  city,  and  born  too  of  an 
illuftrious  race,  treat  it  not  as  a  mother- 
foil,  but  as  a  hoftile  city.     But  why  do  I 


you    mall    this   day  decree.     But  be  af- 
fured,  confcrlpt  fathers,  that  every  thing 
is  concerted,  regulated,  and  fettled,  partly 
through  my  extreme  care  and  diligence; 
but  ftill  more  by  the  indefatigable  zeal  of 
the  Roman  people,  to  fupport  themfelves 
in  the  poffeffion  of  empire,  and  preferve 
their  common  fortunes.     The  whole  body 
of  the  people  is    aifembled  for  your  de- 
fence: the  forum,  the  temples  round  the 
forum,  and  all  the  avenues  of  the  fenate 
are  poffeffed  by  your  friends.     This,  in- 
deed, is  the  only  caufe  fince  the  building 
of   Rome,    in    which  all  men  have  been 
unanimous,  thofe  only  excepted,  who,  find- 
ing their  own  ruin  unavoidable,  chofe  ra- 
ther to  perifh  in  the  general  wreck  of  their 
country,   than  fail  by  themfelves.     Thefe 
I  willingly  except,  and  feparate  from  the 
'  reft;  for  I  confider  them  not  fo  much  in 
the  light  of  bad  citizens,  as  of  implacable 
enemies.     But  then  as  to  the  reft,  immor- 
tal gods  !  in  what  crowds,  with  what  zeal, 
and  with  what  courage   do  they  all  unite 
in  defence  of  the  public  welfare  and  dig- 
nity ?  What  occahon  is  there  to  fpeak  here 
of  the  Roman  knights?    who  without  dif- 
puting  your  precedency  in  rank,  and  the 
adminiftration  of  affairs,  vie  with  you  in 
their  zeal  for   the    republic :  whom,  after 
a  diffenfion  of  many  years,  this  day's  caufe 
has    entirely    reconciled  and  united  with 
you.     And  if  this  union,  which  my  con- 
iulihip    has  confirmed,    be  preferved  and 
perpetuated,  I  am  confident,  that  no  civil 
or  domeftic    evil    can  ever  again  difturb 
this  ftate.     The  like  zeal  for  the  common 
caufe  appears   among  the  tribunes  of  the 
exchequer,    and  the    whole    body    of  the 
icribes  :  who  happening  to  affemble  this 
day  at  the  treafury,  have  dropt  all  con- 
fideration    of  their   private    affairs,    and 
turned  their  whole  attention  upon  the  pub- 
lic fafety.     The  whole  body  of  free-born 
citizens,  even  the  meaneft,  offer  us  their 
affiftance.  For  where  is  the  man,  to  whom 
thefe  temples,  the  face  of  the  city,  the  pof- 
feffion of  liberty  ;  in  faon,  this  very  light, 


the  good  of  the  public,  whom,  in  fine,  the 
love  of  liberty,  that  deareft  of  all  human 
bleffings,  have  rouzed  to  the  defence   of 
their  country  ?  There  is  not  a  {lave  in  any 
tolerable  condition  of  life,  who  does  not 
look  with  horror  on  this  daring  attempt 
of  profligate  citizens,  who  is  not  anxious 
for  the  prefervation  of  the  ftate  ;  in  fine, 
who  does  not  contribute  all  in  his  power 
to  promote  the  common  fafety.     If  any  of 
you,  therefore,  are  mocked  by  the  report 
of  Lentulus's  agents  running  up  and  down 
the  ftreets,  and  foliciting  the  needy  and 
thoughtiefs  to  make    fome  effort  for' his 
refcue;  the  fact  indeed  is  true,  and  the 
thing  has  been  attempted :  but  not  a  man. 
was  found-fo  defperate  in  his  fortune,  fo 
abandoned  in  his  inclinations,  who  did  not 
prefer  the  fhed  in  which  he  worked  and 
earned  his  daily  bread,  his  little  hut  and 
bed  in  which  he  flept,  and  the  eafy  peace- 
ful courfe  of  life  he  enjoyed,  to  all  the 
proposals  made    by  thefe  enemies  of  the 
irate.     For  the  gre'ateft  part  of  thofe  who 
live  in  {hops,  or  to  fpeak  indeed  more  truly 
all  of  them,  are  of  nothing  (0  fond  as  peace: 
for  their  whole  flock,  their  whole  induftry 
and   fubfifcence,  depends  upon  the  peace 
and  fulnefs  of  the  city ;  and  if  their  gain 
would  be  interrupted  by  friuftirig  up  their 
mops,  how  much  more  would  it  be  fo,  by 
burning  them?     Since  then,  confcrlpt  fa- 
thers, the  Roman  people  are  not  wanting 
in  their  zeal  and  duty  towards  you,  it  is 
your  part  not  to  be  wanting  to  the  Roman 
people. 

You  have  a  conful  {hatched  from  vanour 
fnares  and  dangers,  and  the  jaws  of  death, 
not  for  the  prefervation  of  his  own  life, 
but  for  your  fecurity.  All  orders  unite  in. 
opinion,  inclination,  zeal,  courage,  and  a 
profeffed  concern  to  fecure"  the  common- 
wealth. Your  common  country,  befet  with 
the  brands  and  weapons  of  an  impious  con- 
fpiracy,  ftretches  out  her  fuppliant  hands 
to  you  for  relief,  recommends  herfelf  to 
your  care,  and  befeeches  you  to  take  un- 
der your  protection  the  lives  of  the  citi- 
W  -u  aeasj 


6s3 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


zens,  the  citadel,  the  capitol,  the  altar?  of 
domeftic  worfhip,  the  everlafting  fire  of 
Vefta,  the  ihrines  and  temples  of  the  gods, 
the  walls  of  the  city,  and  the  houfes  of 
the  citizens.  Confider  likewife,  that  you 
are  this  day  to  pais  judgment  on  your  own 
lives,  on  thofe  of  your  wives  and  children, 
on  the  fortunes  of  all  the  citizens,  on  your 
houfes  and  properties.  You  have  a  leader, 
Such  as  you  will  not  always  have,  watch- 
ful for  you,  regardlefs  of  himfelf.  You 
have  likewife,  what  was  never  known  be- 
fore in  a  cafe  of  this  kind,  all  orders,  all 
ranks  of  men,  the  whole  body  of  the  Ro- 
man people,  of  one  and  the  fame  mind. 
Reflect  how  this  mighty  empire,  reared 
with  fo  much  toil,  this  liberty  eitablilhed 
with  fo  much  bravery,  and  this  profufion 
of  wealth  improved  and  heightened  by 
Such  favour  and  kindnefs  of  the  gods,  were 
like  in  one  night  to  have  been  for  ever 
deftroyed.  You  are  this  day  to  provide, 
that  the  fame  thing  not  only  ihall  never  be 
attempted,  but  not  fo  much  as  thought 
of  again  by  any  citizen.  All  this  I  have 
laid,  not  with  a  view  to  animate  your  zeal, 
in  which  you  almoft  furpafs  me ;  but  that 
nay  voice,  which  ought  to  lead  in  what  re- 
lates to  the  commonwealth,  may  not  fall 
Short  of  my  duty  as  conful. 

But  before  I  declare  my  fentiments  far- 
ther, confeript  fathers,  Suffer  me  to  drop  a 
word  with  regard  to  myfelf.     I  am  fenfible 
I  have  drawn  upon  myfelf  as  many  enemies, 
as  there  are  perfons  concerned  in  the  con- 
spiracy, whoSe  number  you  fee  to  be  very 
great :  but  I  look  upon  them  as  a  bale,  ab- 
ject, impotent,  contemptible  faction.     But 
if,  through  the  madnefs  of  any,    it  (hall 
rife  again,  fo  as  to  prevail  againft  the  fe- 
nate  and  the  republic;  yet  never,  confeript 
fathers,  Ihall  I  repent  of  my  prefent  con- 
duct and  counfels.     For  death,  with  which 
perhaps  they  will  threaten  me,  is  prepared 
for  all  men;  but   none  ever  acquired  that 
glory  of  life,  which  you   have  conferred 
.upon  me  by  your  decrees.     For   to  others 
you  have  decreed  thanks  for  ferving  the 
lublic  fucccfsfully  ;  to  me  alone,  for  hav- 
ing Saved  it.     Let  Scipio  be  celebrated,  by 
v  hole   conduct  and  valour  Hannibal  was 
forced  to   abandon  Italy,  and  return  into 
Africa  :  let  the  other  Africanus.be  crowned 
with  the  higheft  praife,  who  deftroyed  Car- 
t'.  ..  iia,  two  cities  at  irrecon- 

ci     •  •         Rome:  for  ever  re- 

no>  aulus    who  e  chariot  was 

•  ty  of  P  a  ( 

id    Lliuftrious    monarch;  im- 


mortal honour  be  the  lot  of  Marius,  who 
twice  delivered  Italy  from  invaiion,  and 
the  dread  of  Servitude :  above  all  others, 
let  Pompey's  name  be  renowned,  whofe 
great  actions  and  virtues  know  no  other 
limits  than  thofe  that  regulate  the  courfe 
of  the  fun.  Yet,  furely,  among  fo  many 
heroes,  feme  place  will  be  left  for  my 
praife  ;  unlefs  it  be  thought  a  greater  me- 
rit to  open  a  way  into  new  provinces, 
whence  we  may  retire  at  pleafure,  than  to 
take  care  that  our  conquerors  may  have 
a  home  to  return  to.  In  one  circumflance, 
indeed,  the  condition  of  a  foreign  victory 
is  better  than  that  of  a  domeftic  one;  be- 
caufe  a  foreign  enemy,  when  conquered, 
is  either  quite  crufheci  and  reduced  to  Ha- 
ve ry,  or,  obtaining  favourable  terms,  be- 
comes a  friend  :  but  when  profligate  ci- 
tizens once  turn  rebels,  and  are  baffled  in 
their  plots,  you  can  neither  keep  them 
quiet  by  force,  nor  oblige  them  by  favours. 
I  therefore  fee  myfelf  engaged  in  an  eter- 
nal war  with  all  traiterous  citizens ;  but 
am  confident  I  mall  eafily  repel  it  from  ma 
and  mine,  through  your's  and  every  worthy 
man's  affiftance,  joined  to  the  remem- 
brance of  the  mighty  dangers  we  have 
efcaped;  a  remembrance  that  will  not  on- 
ly fubiift  among  the  people  delivered  from 
them,  but  which  muft  for  ever  cleave  ta 
the  minds  and  tongues  of  all  nations. 
Nor,  I  truft,  will  any  force  be  found  ftrong 
enough,  to  overpower  or  weaken  the  pre- 
fent  union  between  you  and  the  Roman 
"knights,  and  this  general  confederacy  of 
all  good  citizens. 

Therefore,  confeript  fathers,  inftead  of 
the  command  of  armies  and  provinces, 
which  I  have  declined;  inftead  of  a  tri- 
umph, and  other  diftinctions  of  honour, 
which,  for  your  prefervation,  and  that  of 
this  city,  I  have  rejected  ;  inftead  of  at- 
tachments and  dependencies  in  the  pro- 
vinces, which,  by  means  of  my  authority 
and  credit  in  the  city,  I  labour  no  lefs  to 
Support  than  acquire;  for  all  theie  Ser- 
vices, I  fry,  joined  to  my  lingular  zeal  far 
your  intereft,  and  that  unwearied  diligence 
you  fee  me  exert  to  preferve  the  ftate ;  I 
require  nothing  more  of  you  than  the  per- 
petual remembrance  of  this  juncture,  and 
of  my  whole  confulfhip.  While  that  con- 
tinues fixed  in  your  minds,  I  ihall  think 
myfelf  Surrounded  with  an  impregnable 
wall.  But  ihould  the  violence  of  the  fac- 
tious ever  disappoint  an  \  get  the  better  of 
m)  .  pes  x,  u  ti  rid  to  you  my  infant 
foiij  and  truft  that  it  will  be  a  Sufficient 

guard. 


BOOK    III.      ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.      659 


guard,  nor  only  of  his  fafety,  but  of  his 
dignity,  to  have  it  remembered,  that  he  is 
the  fori  of  or.e  who,  at  the  hazard  of  his 
own  life,  preferved  you  all.  Therefore, 
confcript  fathers,  let  me  exhort  you  to 
proceed  with  vigour  and  refolution  in  an 
affair  that  regards  your  very  being,  and 
that  of  the  people  of  Rome;  your  wives, 
and  children;  your  religion,  and  proper- 
ties;  your  altars,  and  temples  5  the  houfes, 
and  dwellings  of  this  city  ;  your  empire  ; 
your  liberty  ;  the  fafety  of  Italy  ;  and  the 
whole  fyftem  of  che  commonwealth.  For 
you  have  a  conful,  who  will  not  only  obey 
your  decrees  without  hesitation,  but  "while 
he  lives,  will  fupport  and  execute  in  per- 
fon  whatever  you  lhail  order. 

Wbit-vjortb' 's  Cicero. 

§    9,      Oration  for  the  Post  Archias. 

THE        A  R  G  U  M  E   K  T. 

A.  Licinius  Archias  was  a  native  of  An- 
tioch,  and  a  very  celebrated  poet. 
He  came  to  Rome  when  Cicero  was 
about  five  years  old,  and  was  courted 
by  men  of  the  greateft  eminence  in 
it,  on  account  of  his  learning,  genius, 
and  politenefs.  Among  others,  Lu- 
cuiius  was  very  fond  of  him,  took  him 
into  his  family,  and  gave  him  the 
liberty  of  opening  a  fchool  in  it,  to 
which  many  of  the  young  nobility 
and  gentry  of  Rome  were  fent  for 
their  education.  In  the  confulfhip 
of  M.  Pupius  Pifo  and  M.  Valerius 
Meffala,  one  Gracchus,  a  perfon  of 
obfcure  birth,  accufed  Archias  upon 
the  law,  by  which  thofe  who  were 
made  free  of  any  of  the  confederated 
cities,  and  at  the  time  of  palling  the 
law  dwelt  in  Italy,  were  obliged  to 
claim  their  privilege  before  the  prae- 
tor within  fixty  days.  Cicero,  in  his 
oration,  endeavours  to  prove,  that 
Archias  was  a  Roman  citizen  in  the 
fenfe  of  that  law; 'but  dwells  chiefly 
on  the  praifes  of  poetry  in  general, 
and  the  talents  and  genius  of  the  de- 
fendant, which  he  difplays  with  great 
beauty,  elegance,  and  fpirit.  The 
oration  was  made  in  the  forty-fixth 
year  of  Cicero's  age,  and  the  fix 
hundred  and  ninety-fecond  of  Rome. 

I F,  my  lords,  I  have  any  abilities,  and 
I  am  fenfible  they  are  but  final! ;  if,  by 
fpeaking  often,  I  have  acquired  any  merit 


as  a  fpeaker;  if  I  have  derived  any  know- 
ledge from  the  ftudy  of  the  liberal  arts, 
which  have  ever  been  my  delight,  A.  Lici- 
nius may  juftly  claim  the  fruit  of  all.  For 
looking  back  upon  paft  fcenes,  and  calling 
to  remembrance  the  earlieft  part  of  my 
life,  I  find  it  was  he  who  prompted  me  .full 
to  engage  in  a  courfe  of  frudyj  and  direct- 
ed me  in  it.  If  my  tongue,  then  formed 
and  animated  by  him,  has  ever  been  the 
means  of  laving  any,  1  am  certainly  bound 
by  ail  the  ties  of  gratitude  to  employ  it  in 
the  defence  of  him,  who  has  taught  it  to 
afiift  and  defend  others.  And  though  his 
genius  and  courfe  of  ftudy  are  very  differ- 
ent from  mine,  let  no  one  be  furprifed  at 
what  i  advance  :  for  I  have  not  bellowed 
the  whole  of  my  time  on  the  ftudy  of  elo- 
quence, and  beiides,  all  the  liberal  arts  are 
nearly  allied  to  each  other,  and  have,  as 
it  were,  one  common  bond  of  union. 

But  left  it  mould  appear  ftrange,  that, 
in  a  legal  proceeding,  and  a  public  caufe, 
before  an  excellent  praetor,  the  moll  im- 
partial judges,  and  fo  crowded  an  affem- 
bly,  I  lay  afide  the  ufual  ftile  of  trials,  and 
introduce  one  very  different  from  that  of 
the  bar;  I  muft  beg  to  be  indulged  in  this 
liberty,  which,  I  hope,  will  not  be  difagree- 
able  to  you,  and  which  feems  indeed  to 
be  due  to  the  defendant:  that  whilft  I  am 
pleading  for  an  excellent  poet,  and  a  man 
of  great  erudition,  before  fo  learned  an 
audience,  fuch  diftinguifhed  patrons  of  the 
liberal  arts,  and  fo  eminent  a  praetor,  you 
would  allow  me  to  enlarge  with  fome 
freedom  on  learning  and  liberal  ftudies ; 
and  to  employ  an  almoft  unprecedented 
language  for  one,  who,  by  reafon  of  a  ftu- 
dious  and  unaclive  life,  has  been  little  con- 
verfant  in  dangers  and  public  trials.  If 
this,  my  lords,  is  granted  me^  I  lhall  not 
oniy  prove  that  A.  Licinius  ought  not, 
as  he  is  a  citizen,  to  be  deprived  of  his 
privileges,  but  that,  if  he  were  not,  he 
ought  to  be  admitted. 

For  no  fooner  had  Archias  got  beyond 
the  years  of  childhood,  and  applied  him- 
felf  to  poetry,  after  finiihing  thofe  ftudies 
bv  which  the  minds  of  youth  are  ufuaiiy 
formed  to  a  tafte  fqr  polite  learning,  than 
his  genius  (hewed  itfelf  fuperior  t:>  anyat 
Antioch,  the  place  where  he  was  born,  of 
a  noble  family ;  once  indeed  a  rich  and 
renowned  city,  but  ftiil  famous  for  Liberal 
arts,  and  fertile  in  learned  men.  He  was 
afterwards  received  with  fuch  applaufe  in, 
the  other  cities  of  Aha,  and  all  over  Greece, 
that  though  they  expe&ed  more  than  fame 
U  u  z  had 


66o 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


had  promifed  concerning  him,  even  thefe 
expectations  were  exceeded,  and  their  ad- 
miration of  him  greatly  increafed.  Italy 
was,  at  that  time,  full  of  the  arts  and 
fciences  of  Greece,  which  were  then  cul- 
tivated with  more  care  among  the  Latins 
than  now  they  are,  and  were  not  even 
negle&ed  at  Rome,  the  public  tranquillity 
being  favourable  to  them.  Accordingly, 
the  inhabitants  of  Tarentum,  Rhegium  and 
Naples,  made  him  free  of  their  refpe&ive 
cities,  and  conferred  other  honours  upon 
him ;  and  all  thofe  who  had  any  tafte, 
reckoned  him  worthy  of  their  acquaintance 
and  friendmip.  being  thus  known  by 
fame  to  thofe  who  Mere  ftrangers  to  his 
perfon,  he  came  to  Rome  in  the  confulihip 
of  Marius  and  Catulus ;  the  firft  of  whom 
had,  by  his  glorious  deeds,  furnifhed  out 
a  noble  fubjecc  for  a  poet ;  and  the  other, 
beiides  his  memorable  actions,  was  both  a 
judge  and  a  lover  of  poetry.  Though  he 
had  not  yet  reached  his  leventeenth  year, 
yet  no  fooner  was  he  arrived  than  the  Lu- 
culli  took  him  into  their  family;  which, 
as  it  was  the  firft  that  received  him  in  his 
youth,  lb  it  afforded  h;m  freedom  cf  ac- 
cefs  even  in  eld  age  ;  nor  was  this  owing 
to  his  great  genius  and  learning  alone, 
but  likewife  to  his  amiable  temper  and 
virtuous  difpofition.  At  that  time  too, 
Q^Metellus  Numidicus,  and  his  ion  Pius, 
were  delighted  with  his  converfation  ;  M. 
Amilius  was  one  of  his  hearers;  Q^Ca- 
tulus,  both  the  elder  and  younger,  ho- 
noured him  with  their  intimacy  ;  L.  Craf- 
fus  courted  him;  and  being  united  by  the 
greateft  familiarity  to  the  Luculli,  Dru- 
fns,  the  Odtavii,  Cato,  and  the  whole  Hor- 
tenfian  family,  it  was  no  fmall  honour  to 
him  to  receive  marks  of  the  higheft  re- 
gard, not  only  from  thole  who  were  really 
titfirous  of  hearing  him,  and  of  being  in- 
ftrucled  by  him,  but  even  from  thofe  who 
affected  to  be  io. 

A  confiderable  time  after,  he  went  with 
L.  Lucullus  into  Sicily,  and  leaving  that 
province  in  company  with  the  fame  Lu- 
cullus, came  to  Heraclea,  which  being 
joined  with  Rome  by  the  clofeft  bonds  of 
alliance,  he  was  defirous  of  being  made 
free  of  it;  and  obtained  his  requcft,  both 
on  account  of  his  own  merit,  and  the  in- 
/tereft  and  authority  of  Lucullus.  Stran- 
gers were  admitted  to  the  freedom  of 
Rome,  according  to  the  law  of  Silvanus 
and  Carbo,  upon  the  following  conditions : 
(f  t^ey  were  em  oiled  by  free  cities  ;  if  tkey 
mad  a  dwelling  in  Italy,  ivi;t  the  law  fuj- 


fed ;  and  if  they  declared  their  enrollment  be-> 
fore  the  prater  within  the  /pace  offtxty  days. 
Agreeable  to  this  law,  Archias,  who  had 
refided  at  Rome  for  many  years,  made  his 
declaration  before  the  prartor  Q^Metellus, 
v  ho  was  his  intimate  friend.  If  the  right 
of  citizenfhip  and  the  law  is  all  I  hare  to 
prove,  I  have  done  ;  the  caufe  is  ended. 
For  which  of  thefe  things,  Gracchus,  can 
you  deny  ?  Will  you  fay  that  he  was  not 
made  a  citizen  of  Heraclea  at  that  time  ? 
"Why,  here  is  Lucullus,  a  man  of  the  great- 
eft  credit,  honour,  and  integrity,  who  af- 
firms it;  and  that  not  as  a  thing  he  be- 
lieves, but  as  what  he  knows ;  not  as  what 
he  heard  of,  but  as  what  he  law ;  not  as 
what  he  was  prefent  at,  but  as  what  he 
tranfafted.  Here  are  likewife  deputies 
from  Heraclea,  who  affirm  the  fame;  men 
of  the  greateft  quality,  come  hither  on  pur- 
pofe  to  give  public  tcftimony  in  this  caufe. 
But  here  you'll  defire  to  fee  the  public  re- 
gifter  of  Heraclea,  which  we  all  know  was 
burnt  in  the  Italian  war,  together  with  the 
cilice  wherein  it  was  kept.  Now,  is  it  not 
ridiculous  to  fay  nothing  to  the  evidences 
which  we  have,  and  to  defire  thofe  which 
we  cannot  have ;  to  be  fdent  as  to  the 
teftimonv  of  men,  and  to  demand  the 
teftimony  of  regifters;  to  pay  no  regard 
to  what  is  affirmed  by  a  perfon  of  great 
dignity,  nor  to  the  oath  and  integrity  of  a 
free  city  of  the  ihicteft  honour,  evidences 
which  are  incapable  of  being  corrupted, 
and  to  require  thofe  of  regifters  which  you 
allow  to  be  frequently  vitiated.  But  he 
did  not  refide  at  Rome  :  what  he,  who  for 
fo  many  years  before  Silvanus's  law  made 
Rome  the  feat  of  all  his  hopes  and  for- 
tune. But  he  d?d  not  declare ;  fo  far  is 
this  from  being  true,  that  his  declaration 
is  to  be  feen  in  that  regiiler,  which,  by  that 
very  act,  and  its  being  in  the  cultody  of 
the  college  of  praitors,  is  the  only  authen- 
tic one. 

For  the  negligence  of  Appius,  the  cor- 
ruption of  Gabinius  before  his  condem- 
nation., and  his  difgraee  after,  having  de- 
ftroyed  the  credit  of  public  records;  Me- 
tellus,  a  man  of  the  greateft  honour  and 
moderly,  was  fo  very  exact,  that  he  came 
before  Lentulus  the  pra:tor  and  the  other 
judges,  and  declared  that  he  was  uneafy 
at  the  erazure  of  a  fmgle  name.  The 
name  of  A.  Licinius  therefore  is  ftiil  to  be 
feen  ;  and  as  this  is  the  cafe,  whv  fhould 
you  doubt  of  his  being  a  citizen  of  Rome, 
efpecially  as  he  was  enrolled  likewife  in 
other  free  cities  i  For  when  Greece  be- 
llowed 


BOOK  III. 


ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS. 


66 1 


dolence,  feduced  by  pleafure,  nor  diverted 
by  ileep,  from  doing  good  offices  to  others  ? 
Who  then  can  cenfure  me,  or  in  jullice  be 
angry  with  me,  if  thofe  hours  which  others 
employ  in  bufinefs,  in  pleafures,  in  cele- 
brating public  folemnities,  in  refrefhing 
the  body  and  unbending  the  mind;  if  the 
time  which  is  fpent  by  fome  in  midnight 
banqueting*,  in  diverlions,  and  in  gaming* 
I  employ  in  reviewing  thefe  ftudies?  And 
this  application  is  the  more  excufable,  as 
I  derive  no  fmall  advantages  from  it  in 
my  profeffion,  in  which,  whatever  abilities 
I  poffefs,  they  have  always  been  employed 
when  the  dangers  of  my  friends  called  for 
their  affiftance.  If  they  ihould  appear  to 
any  to  be  but  fmall,  there  are  ftill  other 
advantages  of  a  much  higher  nature,  and 
I  am  very  fenfible  whence  I  derive  them. 
For  had  I  not  been  convinced  from  my 
youth,  by  much  inftruftion  and  much  ftudy, 
that  nothing  is  greatly  defirable  in  life  but 
glory  and  virtue,  and  that,  in  the  purfuit 
of  thefe,  all  bodily  tortures,  and  the  perils 
of  death  and  exile,  are  to  be  flighted  and 
defpifed,  never  fhould  I  have  expofed  my- 
felf"  to  fo  many  and  fo  great  conflicts  for 
your  prefervation,  nor  to  the  daily  rage 
and  violence  of  the  mod  worthless  of  men. 
But  on  this  head  books  are  full,  the  voice 
of  the  wife  is  full,  antiquity  is  full;  all 
which,  were  it  not  for  the  lamp  of  learn- 
ing, would  be  involved  in  thick  obfeurity. 
How  many  pictures  of  the  braveft  of  men 
have  the  Greek  and  Latin  writers  left  us, 
not  only  to  contemplate,  but  likewife  to 
imitate  ?  Thefe  illuftrious  models  1  always 
fer  before  me  in  the  government  of  the 
Hate,  and  formed  my  conduct,  by  contem- 
plating their  virtues. 

But  were  thole  great  men,  it  will  be 
afked,  who  are  celebrated  in  hiftory,  diftin- 
guifhed  for  that  kind  of  learning,  which 
you  extol  fo  highly  ?  It  were  difficult  in- 
deed, to  prove  this  of  them  all ;  but  what 
I  lhall  anfv/er  is,  however,  very  certain. 
I  own  then  that  there  have  been  many 
men  of  excellent  difpofitions  and  diilin- 
guifhed  virtue,  who,  without  learning,  and 
by  the  almoft  divine  force  of  nature  her- 
felf,  have  been  wife  and  moderate ;  nay, 
farther,  that  nature  without  learning  is  of 
learning.  I  am  fond  of  thefe  ftudies,  I  greater  efficacy  towards  he_a  tamment  of 
own:  let  thofe  be  afhamed  who  have  bu-  glory  and  virtue,  than  learning^ ^W 
Tied  themfelves  in  learning  fo  as  to  be  of  nature  ;  but  then,  1  *ffirm  that  when  to 
noufe  tofociety,  nor  able  to  produce  any  an  excellent  natural  difpoht  on  the  ern- 
thing  to  public  view;  but  why  ihould  I  be lliihments  of  learn  ng  ^  added  there 
beaihamed,  who  for  fo  many  years,  my  remits  from  this  ^/^f^S™ 
lords,  have  never  been  prevented  by  in-    and  extraordinary,     iuch  was  th.t  divine 


flowed  the  freedom  of  its  cities,  without 
the  recommendation  of  merit,  upon  per- 
fons  of  little  confideration,  and  thofe  who 
had  either  no  employment  at  all,  or  very 
mean  ones,  is  it  to  be  imagined  that  the 
inhabitants  of  Rhegium,  Locris,  Naples, 
or  Tarentum,  would  deny  to  a  man  fo 
highly  celebrated  for  his  genius,  what 
they  'conferred  even  upon  comedians  ? 
When  others,  not  only  after  Silanus's 
law,  but  even  after  the  Papian  law,  lhall 
have  found  means  to  creep  into  the  regi- 
fters  of  the  municipal  cities,  fhall  he  be 
rejected,  who,  becaufe  he  was  always  de- 
firous  of  paffing  for  an  Heraclean,  never 
availed  himlelf  of  his  being  enrolled  in 
other  cities  ?  But  you  defire  to  fee  the  en- 
rolment of  our  eftate;  as  if  it  were  not 
well  known,  that  under  the  laft  cenforfhip 
the  defendant  was  with  the  army  com- 
manded by  that  renowned  general  _  L. 
Lucullus;  that  under  the  cenforfhip  im- 
mediately preceding,  he  was  with  the 
fame  Lucullus  then  quaeftor  in  Aha;  and 
that,  when  Julius  and  Craffus  were  cen- 
fors,  there  was  no  enrollment  made  ?  But, 
as  an  enrollment  in  the  cenfors  books  does 
not  confirm  the  right  of  citizenfhip,  and 
only  fhews  that  the  perfon  enrolled  alhiined 
the  character  of  a  citizen,  1  muft  tell  you 
that  Archias  made  a  will  according  to  our 
laws,  fucceeded  to  the  eftates  of  Roman 
citizens,  and  was  recommended  to  the  trea- 
fury  by  L.  Lucullus,  both  when  propter  and 
conful,  as  one  who  deferved  well  of  the 
Hate,  at  the  very  time  when  you  alledge 
that,  by  his  own  confeffion,  he  had  no 
right  to  the  freedom  of  R.ome. 

Find  out  whatever  arguments  you  can, 
Archias  will  never  be  convicted  for  his 
own  conducl,  nor  that  of  his  friends.  But 
you'll  no  doubt  afk  the  reafon,  Gracchus, 
of  my  being  fo  highly  delighted  with  this 
man .?  Why,  it  is  becaufe  he  fumifhes 
me  with  what  relieves  my  mind,  and  charms 
my  ears,  after  the  fatigue  and  noife  of  the 
forum.  Do  you  imagine  that  I  could  pof- 
fibly  plead  every  day  on  fuch  a  variety 
of  fubjects,  if  my  mind  was  not  cultivated 
with  fcience  ;  or  that  it  could  bear  being 
ftretched  to  fuch  a  degree,  if  it  were  not 
fometimes   unbent  by  the  amufements  of 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


66 2 

man  Africantis,  whom  our  fathers  faw; 
fuch  were  C.  Laelius  and  L.  Furius,  per- 
sons of  the  greater!:  temperance  and  mo- 
deration ;  fuch  was  old  Cato,  a  man  of 
great  bravery,  and,  for  the  times,  of  great 
learning;  who,  lureiy,  would  never  have 
applied  to  the  ftudy  of  learning,  had  they 
thought  it  of  no  fervice  towards  the  ac- 
quisition and  improvement  of  virtue.  But 
were  pleamre  only  to  he  derived  from 
learning  without  the  advantages  we  have 
mentioned,  you  mull  {till,  I  imagine,  al- 
low it  to  be  a  very  liberal  and  polite  amufe- 
ment.  For  other  Studies  are  not  Anted  to 
every  time,  to  every  age,  and  to  every 
place;  but  thefe  give  Strength  in  youth, 
and  joy  in  old  age:  adorn  profperity,  and 
are  the  fupport  and  confblation  of  adver- 
fity;  at  home  they  are  delightful,  and 
abroad  they  are  eafy ;  at  nighc  they  are 
company  to  us ;  when  we  travel  they  at- 
tend us;  and,  in  our  rural  retirements 
they  do  rot  forfake  us.  Though  we 
ourfelves  were  incapable  of  them,  and 
had  no  reliih  for  their  charms,  hill  we 
fnould  admire  them  when  we  fee  them  in 
others. 

Was  there  any  of  us  fo  void  of  tafle, 
and  of  fo  unfeeling  a  temper,  as  not  tc  be 
affected  lately  with  the  death  of  Rofcius  ? 
For  though  he  died  in  an  advanced  age, 
yet  fuch  was  the  excellence  and  inimitable 
beauty  of  his  art,  that  we  thought  him 
worthy  of  living  for  ever.  Was  he  then 
fo  great  a  favourite  with  us  all  on  account 
of  the  graceful  motions  of  his  body  ;  and 
fli all  we  be  infenfible  to  the  furprifing 
energy  of  the  mind,  and  the  fprightly  tal- 
lies of  genius  I  How  often  have  1  feen  this 
Archias,  my  lords,  (for  I  will  prefumg  en 
your  goodnefs,  as  you  are  pleaied  to  fa- 
vour me  with  fo  much  attention  in  this 
unufual  manner  of  pleading)  how  often,  I 
fay,  have  I  feen  him,  without  ufing  his  pen, 
and  without  any  labour  or  ftudy,  make  a 
great  number  of  excellent  ver'fes  on  oc- 
casional fubjeds  ?  flow  often,  when  a  fub- 
ject  was  relumed,  have  I  heard  him  give 
it  a  different  turn  of  thought  and  expref- 
fion,  whilft  thofe  compositions  which  he 
fhvifhed  with  care  and  exact  nefs  were  as 
highly  approved  as  the  moil  celebrated 
writings  of  antiquity.  And  fhall  ndt  I 
love  this  man?  Shall  I  not  admire  him? 
Shall  1  not  defend  him  to  the  utmoit  of 
my  power  ?  For  men  of  the  great,  it  emi- 
nence and  learning  have  taught  us,  that 
other  branches  of  Science  require  educa- 
tion, art,  and  precept;  but  that  a  poet  is 


formed  by  the  plaftic  hand  of  nature  her- 
ielf  is  quickened  by  the  native  fire  of 
genius,  and  animated  as  it  were  by  a  kind 
of  divine  enthuiiafm.  It  is  with  juftice 
therefore  that  our  Ennius  beftows  upon 
poets  the  epithet  of  venerable,  becaufe  they 
feem  to  have  feme  peculiar  gifts  of  the 
gods  to  recommend  them  to  us.  Let  the 
name  cf  poet  then,  which  the  molt  bar- 
barous rations  have  never  prophaned,  be 
revered  by  you,  my  lords,  who  are  fo  g,eat 
admirers  of  polite  learning.  Rocks  and 
defarts  re-echo  founds ;  favage  beafts  are 
often  foothed  by  rnuf-c,  ancTliften  to  its 
charms ;  and  fhall  we,  with  all  the  advan- 
tages of  the  belt  education,  be  unaffected 
with  the  voice  of  poetry  ?  The  Calopho- 
nians  give  out  that  Homer  is  their  country- 
man, the  Chians  declare  that  he  is  theirs, 
the  Salaminians  lay  claim  to  him,  the  peo- 
ple of  Smyrna  affirm  that  Smyrna  gave  him 
breath,  and  have  accordingly  dedicated  a 
temple  to  him  in  their  city:  befides  thefe, 
many  other  nations  contend  warmly  for  this 
honour. 

Do  they  then  lay  claim  to  a  fa-anger 
even  after  his  death,  on  account  of  his 
being  a  poet;  and  fhall  we  reject  this  liv- 
ing poet,  who  is  a  Reman  both  by  inclina- 
tion and  the  laws  of  Rome;  especially  a$ 
he  has  employed  the  utmoit  efforts  of  his 
genius  to  celebrate  the  glory  and  grandeur 
of  the  Roman  people?  "For,  in  his  youth, 
he  fung  the  triumphs  of  C.  Marks  over 
the  Cimbri,  and  even  pleafed  that  great 
general,  who  had  but  little  reliih  for  the 
charms  of  poetry.  Nor  is  there  any  per- 
fon  fo  great  an  enemy  to  the  Mules,  as 
not  readily  to  allow  the  poet  to  blazon  his 
fame,  and  confecrate  his  actions  to  im- 
mortality. Themiftocles,  that  celebrated 
Athenian,  upon  being  aiked  what  mufic, 
or  whole  voice  was  molt  agreeable  to  him, 
is  reported  to  have  anfwered,  that  man's, 
who  could  beft  celebrate  his  virtues.  The 
fame  Marks  too  had  a  very  high  regard 
for  L.  Plotius,  whole  genius,  lie  thought, 
was  capable  of  doing  justice  to  his  actions. 
Eut  Archias  has  defcribed  the  whole 
Mithridatic  war;  a  war  of  fuch  danger 
and  importance,  and  fo  very  memorable 
for  the  great  variety  of  its  events  both  by 
tea  and  land.  Nor  does  his  poem  reflect: 
honour  only  on  L.  Luculius,  that  very 
brave  and  renowned  man,  but  likewife 
adds  luitre  to  the  Roman  name.  For, 
under  Luculius,  the  Roman  people  pene- 
trated into  Pontus,  impregnable  till  then 
by  means  of  its  Amador." and    the  arms 

of 


BOOK    III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.      663 


ef  its  monarchs ;  under  him,  the  Romans, 
with  no  very  confiderable  force,  routed 
the  numberlefs  troops  of  the  Armenians; 
under  his  conduct  too,  Rome  has  the  glory 
of  delivering-  Cyzicum,  the  city  of  our 
faithful  allies,  from  the  rage  of  a  monarch, 
and  refcuing  it  from  the  devouring  jaws 
of  a  mighty  war.  The  praifes  of  our  fleet 
flia.ll  ever  be  recorded  and  celebrated,  for 
the  wonders  performed  at  Tenedos,  where 
the  enemy's  fhips  were  funk,  and  their 
commanders  (lain  :  fuch  are  our  trophies, 
fuch  our  monuments,  fuch  our  triumphs. 
Thofe,  therefore,  whole  genius  defcribes 
thefe  exploits,  celebrate likewife  the  praifes 
of  the  Roman  name  Our  Ennius  was 
greatly  beloved  by  the  elder  Africanus, 
and  accordingly  he  is  thought  to  have  a 
marble  ifatue  amongft  the  monuments  of 
the  Scipio's.  But  thofe  praifes  are  not 
appropriated  to  the  immediate  fubje&s  of 
them ;  the  whole  Roman  people  have  a 
fhare  in  them.  Cato,  the  anceftor  of  the 
judge  here  prefent,  is  highly  celebrated  f:r 
his  virtues,  and  from  this  the  Romans 
themfelves  derive  great  honour :  in  a  word, 
the  Maximi,  the  Marceili,  the  Fulvii,  can- 
not be  praifed  without  praifing  every  Ro- 
man. 

Did  our  ancefiors  then  confer  the  free- 
dom of  Rome  on  him  who  fung  the  praifes 
©f  her  heroes,  on  a  native  of  Rudia» ;  and 
ihall  we  thrult  this  Heraclean  out  of  Rome, 
who  has  been  courted  by  many  cities,  and 
whom  our  laws  have  made  a  Roman  ?  For 
if  any  one  imagines  that  lefs  glory  is  de- 
rived from  the  Greek,  than  from  the  Latin 
poet,  he  is  greatly  miftaken  ;  the  Greek 
language  is  underftood  in  almoft  every  na- 
tion, whereas  the  Latin  is  confined  to  Latin 
territories,  territories  extremely  narrow. 
If  our  exploits,  therefore,  have  reached 
the  utmoft  limits  of  the  earth,  we  ought 
to  be  defirous  that  our  glory  and  fame 
fhould  extend  as  far  as  our  arms :  for  as 
thefe  operate  powerfully  on  the  people 
whofe  aclions  are  recorded;  fo  to  thofe 
who  expofe  their  lives  for  the  fake  of  glory, 
they  are  the  grand  motives  to  toils  and 
dangers.  How  many  perfons  is  Alexander 
the  Great  reported  to  have  carried  along 
with  him,  to  write  his  hiftory  !  And  yet, 
when  he  flood  by  the  tomb  of  Achilles  at 
Sigajum,  "  Happy  youth,"  he  cried,  "  who 
"  could  find  a  Homer  to  blazon  thy  fame  !" 
And  what  he  faid,  was  true;  for  had  it 
not  been  for  the  Iliad,  his  afhes  and  fame 
had  been  buried  in  the  fame  tomb.  Did 
not  Pompey  the  Great,  whofe  virtues  were 


equal  to  his  fortune,  confer  the  freedom 
of  Rome,  in  the  prefence  of  a  military 
aflembly,  upon  Theophanes  of  Mitylene, 
who  fung  his  triumphs?  And  thefe  Ro- 
mans of  ours,  men  brave  indeed,  but  un- 
polilhed  and  mere  foldiers,  moved  with  the 
charms  of  glory,  gave  fhouts  of  applaufe, 
as  if  they  had  fhared  in  the  honour  of 
their  leader.  Is  it  to  be  fuppofed  then, 
that  Archias,  if  our  laws  had  not  made 
him  a  citizen  of  Rome,  could  not  have 
obtained  his  freedom  from  fome  general  ? 
Would  Sylla,  who  conferred  the  rights  of 
citizenfhip  on  Gauls  and  Spaniards,  have 
refufed  the  fuit  of  Archias  ?  That  Sylla, 
whom  we  faw  in  an  aflembly,  when  a  bad 
poet,  of  obfcure  birth,  prefented  him  a 
petition  upon  the  merit  of  having  written 
an  epigram  in  his  praife  of  unequal  hob- 
bling verfes,  order  him  to  be  inftantly  re- 
warded out  of  an  ellate  he  was  felling  at 
the  time,  on  condition  he  fhould  write  no 
more  verfes.  Would  he,  who  even  thought 
the  induftry  of  a  bad  poet  worthy  of  fome 
reward,  not  have  been  fond  of  the  genius, 
the  fpirit,  and  eloquence  of  Archias  ? 
Could  our  poet,  neither  by  his  own  in- 
tereft,  nor  that  of  the  Luculli,  have  ob- 
tained from  his  intimate  friend  Q^_  Metel- 
lus  Pius  the  freedom  of  Rome,  which  he 
bellowed  fo  frequently  upon  others  ?  Efpe- 
cially  as  Metellus  was  lb-very  defirous  of 
having  his  acfions  celebrated,  that  he  was 
even  iomewhat  pleafed  with  the  dull  and 
barbarous  verfes  of  the  poets  born  at  Cor- 
duba. 

Nor  ought  we  to  diflemble  this  truth, 
which  cannot  be  concealed,  but  declare  it 
openly :  we  are  all  influenced  by  the  love 
of  praife,  and  the  greateft  minds  have  the 
greateft  pafiion  for  glory.  The  philofo- 
phers  themfelves  prefix  their  names  to 
thofe  books  which  they  write  upon  the 
contempt  of  glory  ;  by  which  they  fhevv 
that  they  are  defirous  of  praife  and  fame, 
while  they  affett  to  defpife  them.  Deci- 
mus  Brutus,  that  great  commander  and 
excellent  man,  adorned  the  monuments  of 
his  family,  and  the  gates  of  his  temples, 
with  the  verfes  of  his  intimate  friend  At- 
tius  :  and  Fulvius,  who  made  war  with  the 
iEtolians  attended  by  Ennius,  did  not  fcru- 
ple  to  confecrate  the  fpoils  of  Mars  to  the 
Mufes.  In  that  city  therefore,  where  ge- 
nerals, with  their  arms  almoft  in  their 
hands,  have  reverenced  the  fhrines  of  the 
mufes  and  the  name  of  poets,  furely  ma- 
gifl*-dtes  in  their  robes,  and  in  times  of 
peaee,  ought  not  to  be  averie  to  honour-, 
U  u  4  ing 


664 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


ing  the  one,  or  protecting  the  other.  And 
to  engage  you  the  more  readily  to  this, 
my  lords,  I  will  lay  open  the  very  fenti- 
ments  of  my  heart  before  you,  and  freely 
confefs  my  paflion  for  glory,  which,  though 
too  keen  perhaps,  is  however  virtuous.  For 
what  I  did  in  conjunction  with  you  during 
my  confulfhip,  for  the  fafety  of  this  city 
and  empire,  for  the  lives  of  my  fellow- 
citizens,  and  for  the  interefts  of  the  ftate, 
Aichias  intends  to  celebrate  in  verfe,  and 
has  actually  begun  his  poem.  \]r>?:\  read- 
ing what  he  lias  wrote,  it  appeared  to  me 
io  fublime,  and  gave  me  fo  much  pleafure, 
that  I  encouraged  him  to  go  on  with  it. 
For  virtue  defires  no  other  reward  for  her 
toils  and  dangers,  but  praife  and 
take  but  this  away,  my  lords,  and  \vh  :;  is 
there  left  in  this  lhort,  this  fcanty  career 
of  human  life,  that  can  tempt  us  to  en- 
gage in  fo  many  and  fo  great  labours? 
Surely,  if  the  mind  had  no  thought  of  fu- 
turity, if  (he  confined  ail  her  views  within 
thofe  limits  which  bound  our  prefent  ex- 
igence, the  would  neither  wafle  her  ftrength 
in  fo  great  toils,  nor  harafs  herfelf  with 
fo  many  cares  and  watchings,  nor  ftrug- 
gle  fo  often  for  life  itfelf:  but  there  is  a 
certain  principle  in  the  breaft  of  every 
good  man,  which  both  day  and  night 
quickens  him  to  the  purfuit  of  glory,  and 
puts  him  in  mind  that  his  fame  is  not  to 
be  meafured  by  the  extent  of  his  prefent 
life,  but  that  it  runs  parallel  with  the  line 
of  pofterity. 

Can  we,  who  are  engaged  in  the  affairs 
of  the  ftate,  and  in  fo  many  tods  and  dan- 
gers, think  fo  meanly  as  to  imagine  that, 
after  a  life  of  uninterrupted  care  and  trou- 
ble, nothing  ihall  remain  of  us  after  death  ? 
If  many  of  the  greateft  men  have  been 
careful  to  leave  their  ftatues  and  pictures, 
thefe  reprefentations  not  of  their  minds 
but  of  their  bodies;  ought  not  we  to  be 
much  more  defirous  of  leaving  the  por- 
traits of  c  ur  enterprizes  and  virtues  drawn 
and  finifhed  by  the  i.ient 

As  forme,  I  have  always  i; '.. 
J  was  eng;  .     .  in  -     im     •..  .  te     r  I  have 
done,  th  it     [     v,  is    fj  ,  :  idinj     i  \y   actions 
over  the  whole  earth,  an  1  that  thei      ould 
be    held    in    <  tenia]        .  ,   ..  •    .     but 

wheth      I  i      ..  my  confcioufr.efs  of 

this  i  t  de;  l  !i,  or  .. '  hi  r,  -  the  i  ; 
men  have  t  t  lhall  retain  is 

at  prefent  the  thou  .  d  li  ;ht  me,  .  [my 
mind  is  filled  v,  id  pleafmg  1  opes.  Do 
not  then  deprive  us,  my  Ic  fo,  of  a  man, 
ivhom  mod    :  •'■■•;  ■  :      ■       ,  engag  - 


ing  behaviour,  and  the  affections  of  his 
friends,  fo  Itrongly  recommend  ;  the  great- 
nefs  of  whole  genius  may  be  eftimated 
from  this,  that  he  is  courted  by  the  moft 
eminent  men  of  Rome  ;  and  whofe  plea  is 
fuch,  that  it  has  the  law  in  its  favour,  the 
authoiity  of  a  municipal  town,  the  tefti- 
mony  of  Lucullus,  and  the  regifter  of  Me- 
tellus.  This  being  the  cafe,  we  beg  of 
you,  my  lords,  fmce  in  matters  of  fuch 
importance,  not  only  the  interceffion  of 
men  but  of  gods  is  neceffary,  that  the 
man,  who  has  always  celebrated  your  vir- 
tues, thofe  of  your  generals,  and  the  victo- 
ries of  the  Roman  people  ;  who  declares 
that  he  will  raife  eternal  monuments  to 
your  praife  and  mine  for  our  conduct  in 
our  late  domeftic  dangers:  and  who  is  of 
the  number  of  thofe  that  have  ever  been 
accounted  and  pronounced  divine,  may  be 
fo  protected  by  you,  as  to  have  greater 
reafon  to  applaud  your  genercfity,  than  to 
complain  of  your  rigour.  What  1  have 
faid,  my  lords,  concerning  this  caufe,  with 
my  ufual  brevity  and  fimplicity,  is,  I  am 
confident,  approved  by  all  :  what  I  have 
advanced  upon  poetry  in  general,  and  the 
genius  of  the  defendant,  contrary  to  the 
ufage  of  the  forum  and  the  bar,  will,  I 
hope,  be  taken  in  good  part  by  you;  by 
him  who  pre  fides  upon  the  bench,  1  am 
convinced  it  will. 

li  'hit<yjorth 's  Cicero. 

§    I  o.      Oration  for  T.  Junius  Milo, 

THE        ARGUMENT. 

This  beautiful  oration  was  made  in  the 
55th  year  of  Cicero's  age,  upon  the 
following  occafion.  In  the  year  of 
Rome  701,  T.  Annius  Milo,  Q_Me- 
tellus  Scipio,  and  P.  Platitius  Hyp- 
freus,  flood  candidates  for  the  conful- 
fhip ;  and,  according  to  Plutarch, 
puihed  on  their  feveral  interefts  with 
fuch  open  violence  and  bribery,  as  if 
it  had  been  to  be  carried  only  by 
money  or  arms.  P.  Clodius,  Milo's 
I  ofeffed  enemy,  flood  at  the  fame 
time  for  the  prEetorfhip,  and  ufed  all 
his  intereft  to  difappoint  Milo,  by 
v  hofe  obtaining  the  confulfhip  he  was 
r:  e  to  be  controuled  in  the  exercife 
of  his  magiftracy.  The  fenate  and 
tl  e  better  fort  were  generally  in 
Milo's  intereft;  and  Cicero,  in  par- 
ticular, ferved  him  with  diftinguifbed 
zeal :  three  of  the  tribunes  were  vio- 
.■  it  p.gainfs  him,  the  other  feven  were 

hia 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS, 


66$ 


his  faft  friends ;  above  all  M.  Ccelius, 
who,  out  of  regard  to  Cicero,  was 
very  active  in  his  fervice.  But  whilft 
matters  were  proceeding  in  a  very 
favourable  train  for  him,  and  nothing 
feemed  wanting  to  crown  his  fuccefs, 
but  to  bring  on  the  election,  which 
his  adverfaries,  for  that  reafon,  en- 
deavoured to  keep  back  ;  all  his  hopes 
and  fortunes  were  blafted  at  once  by 
an  unhappy  rencounter  with  Clodius, 
in  which  Clodius  was  killed  by  his 
fervants,  and  by  his  command.  His 
body  was  left  in  the  Appian  road, 
where  it  fell,  but  was  taken  up  foon 
after  by  Tedius,  a  fenator,  who  hap- 
pened to  come  by,  and  brought  to 
Rome  ;  where  it  was  expofed,  all  co- 
vered with  blood  and  wounds,  to  the 
view  of  the  populace,  who  flocked 
about  in  crowds  to  lament  the  mife- 
rable  fate  of  their  leader.  The  next 
day,  Sextus  Clodius,  a  kinfmanofthe 
deceafed,  and  one  of  his  chief  incen- 
diaries, together  with  the  three  tri- 
bunes Miio's  enemies,  employed  all 
the  arts  of  party  and  faction  to  in- 
flame the  mob,  which  they  did  to 
fuch  a  height  of  fury,  that  (hatching 
up  the  body,  they  ran  away  with  it 
into  the  fenate-houfe,  and  tearing  up 
the  benches,  tables,  and  every  thing 
combuftible,  drelTed  up  a  funeral  pile 
upon  the  fpot;  and,  together  with  the 
body,  burnt  the  houfe  itfelf,  with  a 
bajilica  or  public  hall  adjoining.  Se- 
veral other  outrages  were  committed, 
fo  that  the  fenate  were  obliged  to  pafs 
a  decree,  that  the  inier-rex,  ajjijied  by 
the  tribunes  and  Pompey,  jhould  take 
care  that  the  republic  received  no  de- 
triment ;  and  that  Pcmpey,  in  parti- 
cm  ar,  Jhould  raife  a  body  of  troops  for 
the  common  fccurity,  which  he  pre- 
fently  drew  together  from  all  parts  of 
Italy.  Amidft  this  confuiion,  the  ru- 
mour of  a  dictator  being  induitrioufly 
ipread,  and  alarming  the  fenate,  they 
refolved  prefently  to  create  Pompey 
the  iingle  conful,  whole  election  was 
accordingly  declared  by  the  inter-rex, 
after  an  inter-reguum  of  near  two 
months.  Pompey  applied  himfelf 
immediately  to  quiet  the  public  dif- 
orders,  and  published  feveral  new 
laws,  prepared  by  him  for  that  pur- 
poie;  one  of  them  was,  to  appoint  a 
fpecial  commiffion  to  enquire  into 
(plodius's  death,  &c.  and  to  appoint 


an  extraordinary  judge,  of  confular 
rank,  to  prefide  in  it.  He  attended 
Miio's  trial  himfelf  with  a  ftrong 
guard,  to  preferve  peace.  Thcac- 
cufers  were  young  Appius,  the  nephew 
of  Clodius,  M.  Antonius,  and  P.  Va- 
lerius. Cicero  was  the  only  advocate 
on  Miio's  fide;  but  as  foon  as  he  role 
up  to  fpeak,  he  was  received  with  fo 
rude  a  clamour  by  the  Clodians,  that 
he  was  much  difcompofed  and  daunted 
at  his  firft  fetting  out :  he  recovered 
fpirit  enough,  however,  to  go  through 
his  fpeech,  which  was  taken  down  in 
writing,  and  publifhed  as  it  was  de- 
livered ;  though  the  copy  of  it  now 
extant  is  fuppofed  to  have  been  re- 
touched, and  corrected  by  him  after- 
wards, for  a  prefent  to  Milo,  who  was 
condemned,  and  went  into  exile  at 
Marfeilles,  a  few  days  after  his  con- 
demnation. 

THOUGH  I  am  apprehenfive,  my 
lords,  it  may  feem  a  reflection  on  a  per- 
fon's  character  to  difcover  any  figns  of 
fear,  when  he  is  entering  on  the  defence 
of  lb  brave  a  man,  and  particularly  un- 
becoming in  me,  that  when  T.  Annius 
Milo  himfelf  is  more  concerned  for  the 
fafety  of  the  ftate  than  his  own,  I  mould 
not  be  able  to  maintain  an  equal  greatnefs 
of  mind  in  pleading  his  caufe;  yet  I  mull 
own,  the  unufual  manner  in  which  this 
new  kind  of  trial  is  conducted,  ftrikes  me 
with  a  kind  of  terror,  while  I  am  looking 
around  me,  in  vain,  for  the  ancient  ufages 
of  the  forum,  and  the  forms  that  have  been 
hitherto  obferved  in  our  courts  of  judica- 
ture. Your  bench  is  not  furrounded  with 
the  ufual  circle  ;  nor  is  the  crowd  fuch  as 
ufed  to  throng  us.  For  thofe  guards  vou 
fee  planted  before  all  the  temples,  however 
intended  to  prevent  all  violence,  yet  ftrike 
the  orator  with  terror;  fo  that  even  in  the 
forum  and  during  a  trial,  though  attended 
with  an  ufeful  and  neceffary  guard,  I  can- 
not help  being  under  fome  apprehenfions, 
at  the  fame  time  I  am  fenfible  they  are 
without  foundation.  Indeed,  if  I  imagined 
it  was  flationed  there  in  oppofition  to 
Milo,  I  mould  give  way,  my  lords,  to  the 
times ;  and  conclude  there  was  no  room 
for  an  orator  in  the  mid  ft  of  fuch  an  armed 
force.  But  the  prudence  of  Pompey,  a 
man  of  fuch  diftinguifhed  wifdom  and 
equity,  bothchears  and  relieves  me  ;  whole 
juftice  will  never  fuffer  him  to  leave  a 
perfon  expofed  to  the  rage  of  the  foldiery, 

whom 


66& 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN   PROSE. 


v/hom  he  has  delivered  up  to  a  legal  trial; 
r.or  hL>  wifdom,   to  give   the   fandlion  of 

public  authority  to  the  outrages  of  a  fu- 
rious mob.  Wherefore  thofe  arms,  thofe 
centurions  and  cohorts,  are  fo  far  from 
;cning  me  with  danger,  that  they 
amtre  me  of  protection  ;  they  not  only 
banilh  my  fears,  but  infpire  me  with  cou- 
rage; and  promiie  that  I  fhall  be  heard 
not  merely  with  fafety,  but  with  filence 
and  attention.  As  to  the  reft  of  the  affem- 
t-Iy,  thofe,  at  leait,  that  are  Roman  citi- 
zens, they  are  all  on  our  fide;  nor  is  there 
a  fingle  perfon  of  all  that  multitude  of 
{pecxators,  whom  you  fee  on  all  fides  of 
cs,  as  far  as  any  part  of  the  forum  can  be 
diftinguifhed,  waiting  the  event  of  the 
trial,  who,  while  he  favours  Milo,  docs 
not  think  his  own  fate,  that  of  his  pofte- 
rity,  his  country,  and  his  property,  like- 
wife  at  ilake. 

There  is  indeed  one  fet  of  men  our  in- 
veterate enemies ;  they  are  thofe  whom 
the  madnefs  of  P.  Clodius  has  trained  up, 
and  fupported  by  plunder,  firing  of  houies, 
and  every  fpecies  of  public  miichief ;  who 
were  fpirited  up  by  the  fpeeches  of  yefter- 
day,  to  dictate  to  you  what  fentence  you 
mould  pafs.  If  thefe  fhould  chance  to 
raife  any  clamour,  it  will  only  make  you 
cautious  how  you  part  with  a  citizen  who 
always  defpifed  that  crew,  and  their  louder! 
threatenings,  where  your  fafety  was  con- 
cerned. Act.  with  fpirit  then,  my  lords, 
and  if  you  ever  entertained  any  fears,  dil- 
miis  them  all.  For  if  ever  you  had  it  in 
your  power  to  determine  in  favour  of  brave 
and  worthy  men,  or  of  deferving  citizens ; 
in  a  v\  ord,  if  ever  any  occafioa  was  prefent- 
ed  to  a  number  of  perfons  feledted  from 
the  moll  illuftrious  orders,  of  declaring-, 
by  their  adtions  and  their  votes,  that  re- 
gard for  the  brave  and  virtuous,  which 
they  had  often  expreffed  by  their  looks  and 
words ;  now  is  the  time  for  you  to  exert 
this  power  in  determining  whether  we, 
who  have  ever  been  devoted  to  your  au- 
thority, fhall  fpend  the  remainder  of  our 
days  in  grief  and  mifery,  or  after  having 
been  fo  long  infulted  by  the  molt  aban- 
doned citizens,  fhall  at  lalt  through  your 
means,  by  your  fidelity,  virtue  and  wifdom, 
recover  our  wonted  life  and  vigour.  For 
what,  my  lords,  can  be  mentioned  or  con- 
ceived more  grievous  to  us  both  ;  what 
more  vexatious  or  trying,  than  that  we 
who  entered  into  the  fervice  of  our  coun- 
try from  the  hopes  of  the  highefl  honours, 
%annot  even  be  free   from  the  apprehen- 


fions  of  the  fevereft  punifliments?  For  mv 
own  part,  I  always  took  it  for  granted, 
that  the  other  ftorms  and  tempefts  which 
are  ufually  railed  in  popular  tumults  would 
beat  upon  Milo,  becaufe  he  has  conftantly 
approved  him  (elf  the  friend  of  good  men 
in  oppofition  to  the  bad ;  but  in  a  public 
trial,  where  the  molt  illuftrious  perfons  of 
all  the  orders  of  the  ftate  were  to  fit  as 
judges,  I  never  imagined  that  Milo's  ene- 
mies could  have  entertained  the  leaf!  hope 
not  only  of  deftroying  his  fafety,  while 
fuch  perfons  were  upon  the  bench,  but  even 
of  giving  the  leaft  llain  to  his  honour.  In 
this  caufe,  my  lords,  I  fhall  take  no  ad- 
vantage of  Annius's  tribunefhip,  nor  of  his 
important  fervices  to  the  ftate  during  the 
whole  of  his  life,  in  order  to  make  out 
his  defence,  unlefs  you  fhall  fee  that  Clo- 
dius himfelf  actually  lay  in  wait  for  him; 
nor  fhall  I  intreat  you  to  grant  a  pardon 
for  one  rafh  action,  in  confideration  of  the 
many  glorious  things  he  has  performed  for 
his  country  ;  nor  require,  that  if  Clodius's 
death  prove  a  blefling  to  you,  you  fhould 
afcribe  it  rather  to  Milo's  virtue,  than  the 
fortune  of  Rome :  but  if  it  fhould  appear 
clearer  than  the  day,  that  Clodius  did  really 
lie  in  wait,  then  1  mult  befeech  and  ad- 
jure you,  my  lords,  that  if  we  have  loft 
every  thing  elfe,  we  may  at  leaft  be  al- 
lowed, without  fear  of  puniihment,  to  de- 
fend our  lives  againft  the  infolent  attacks 
of  our  enemies. 

Cut  before  I  enter  upon  that  which  is 
the  proper  fubjeft  of  our  prefent  enquiryr, 
it  will  be  neceffary  to  confute  thofe  notions 
which  have  been  often  advanced  by  our 
enemies  in  the  fenate,  often  by  a  fet  of 
woithlefs  fellows,  and  even  lately  by  our 
accruers  before  an  afiembly,  that  having 
thus  removed  all  ground  of  miftake,  you 
may  have  a  clearer  view  of  the  matter 
that  is  to  come  before  you.  They  fay, 
that  a  man  who  confelles  he  has  killed 
another,  ought  not  to  be  iuftered  to  live. 
But  where,  pray,  do  thefe  ftupid  people 
uie  this  argument  ?  Why  truly,  in  that 
very  city  where  the  firft  perfon  that  was 
ever  tried  for  a  capital  crime  was  the  brave 
M.  Horatius ;  who  before  the  ftate  was  in 
poifeflion  of  its  liberty,  was  acquitted  by 
the  com  tia  of  the  Roman  people,  though 
he  confeffed  he  had  killed  his  filler  with 
his  own  hand.  Can  any  one  be  fo  igno- 
rant as  not  to  know,  that  in  cafes  of  blood- 
fhed  the  fact  is  either  abfolately  denied, 
or  maintained  to  be  juft  and  lawful  i  Were 
it  not  fo,  P.  Africanus  muft  be  reckoned 

out 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS. 


66f 


out  of  his  fenfes,  who,  when  he  was  afked 
in  a  feditious  manner  by  the  tribune  Carbo 
before  ail  the  people,  what  he  thought  of 
Gracchus's  death?  faid,  that  he  deferved 
to  die.  Nor  can  Ahala  Scrvilius,  P.  Nafi- 
ca,  L.  Opimius,  C.  Marius,  or  the  fenate 
itfelf,  during  my  confulate,  be  acquitted 
of  the  moft  enormous  guilt,  if  it  be  a 
crime  to  put  wicked  citizens  to  death.  It 
is  not  without  reafon  therefore,  my  lords, 
that  learned  men  have  informed  us,  though 
in  a  fabulous  manner,  how  that,  when  a 
difference  arofe  in  regard  to  the  man  who 
had  killed  his  mother  in  revenge  for  his 
father's  death,  he  was  acquitted  by  a  di- 
vine decree,  nay,  by  a  decree  of  the  god- 
defs  of  Wifdom  hcrfelf.  And  if  the  twelve 
tables  allow  a  man,  without  fear  of  punifh- 
ment,  to  take  away  the  life  of  a  thief  in 
the  night,  in  whatever  fituation  he  finds 
him;  and,,  in  the  day-time,  it  he  ufes  a 
weapon  in  his  defence ;  who  can  imagine 
that  a  perfon  mult  univerfally  deferve  pu- 
nilLment  for  killing  another,  when  he  can- 
not but  fee  that  the  laws  themfelves,  in 
fome  cafes,  put  a  fword  into  our  hands  for 
this  very  purpofe  ? 

But  if  any  circumftance  can  be  alledged, 
and  undoubtedly  there  are  many  fuel),  in 
which  the  putting  a  man  to  death  can  be 
vindicated,  that  in  which  a  perfon  has 
acted  upon  the  principle  of  felf-defence, 
muff  certainly  be  allowed  fufficient  to  ren- 
der the  action  not  only  jufl,  but  necelTary. 
When  a  military  tribune,  a  relation  of  C. 
Marius,  made  an  unnatural  attempt  upon 
the  body  of  a  foldier  in  that  general's  army, 
he  was  killed  by  the  man  to  whom  he  of- 
fered violence ;  for  the  virtuous  youth 
•  chofe  rather  to  expofe  his  life  to  hazard, 
than  fubmit  to  fuch  dlihonourable  treat- 
ment ;  and  he  was  acquitted  by  that  great 
man,  and  delivered  from  all  appreheniions 
of  danger.  But  what  death  can  be  deem- 
ed unjuu,  that  is  inflicted  on  one  who  lies 
in  wait  for  another,  on  one  who  is  a  pub- 
lic robber  ?  To  what  purpofe  have  we  a 
train  of  attendants  ?  or  why  are  they  fur- 
nilhed  with  arms;  It  would  certainly  be 
unlawful  to  wear  them  at  all,  if  the  ufe  of 
them  was  abfolutely  forbiu:  for  this,  my 
lords,  is  not  a  written,  but  an  innate  law. 
We  have  not  been  taught  it  by  the  learned, 
we  have  not  received  it  from  our  anceftors, 
we  have  not  taken  it  from  books;  but  it 
is  derived  from,  it  is  forced  upon  us  by 
nature,  and  itamped  in  indelible  charac- 
ters upon  our  very  frame :  it  was  not  con- 
veyed to  us  by  inir*u£tion,  but  wrought 


into  cur  conflitution  ;  it  is  the  dictate,  not 
of  education,  but  infHnct,  that  if  our  lives 
mould  be  at  anytime  in  danger  from  con- 
cealed or  more  open  afiaults  of  robbers  er 
private  enemies,  every  honourable  method 
ihould  be  taken  for  our  fecurity.  Lav/;:, 
my  lords,  are  filent  amidft  arms ;  nor  do 
they  require  us  to  wait  their  decifions, 
when  by  fuch  a  delay  one  mull  fuffer  aa, 
undeferved  punifhment  himfelf,  rather  thaa 
inflict  it  juitly  on  another.  Even  the  law 
itfelf,  very  wifely,  and  in  fome  meafure 
tacitly,  allows  of  felf-defence,  as  it  does 
not  forbid  the  killing  of  a  man,  but  ths 
carrying  a  weapon  in  order  to  kill  him; 
fince  then  the  ftrefs  is  laid  not  upon  the 
weapon  but  the  end  for  which  it  was  car- 
ried, he  that  makes  ufe  of  a  weapon  only 
to  defend  himfelf,  can  never  be  condemned 
as  wearing  it  with  an  intention  to  take 
away  a  man's  life.  Therefore,  my  lords, 
let  this  principle  be  laid  down  as  the  foun- 
dation of  our  plea  :  for  I  don't  doubt  but 
I  lhall  make  out  my  defence  to  your  fatif. 
faclion,  if  you  only  keep  in  mind  what  I 
think  it  is  impoffible  for  you  to  forget, 
that  a  man  who  lies  in  wait  for  another 
may  be  lawfully  killed. 

I  come  now  to  confider  what  is  frequent- 
ly iniifted  upon  by  Milo's  enemies;  that 
the  killing  of  P.  Clodius  has  been  declared 
by  the  fenate  a  dangerous  attack  upon  the 
Mate.  But  the  fenate  has  declared  their 
approbation  of  it,  not  only  by  their  fuf- 
frages,  but  by  the  warmer!  teitimonies  i* 
favour  of  Milo.  For  how  often  have  I 
pleaded  that  very  caufe  before  them? 
How  great  was  the  fatisfaction  of  the  whole 
order  1  How  loudly,  how  publicly  did  they 
applaud  me  !  Jn  the  fuller!  houfe,  when 
were  there  found  four,  at  moll  five,  who 
did  not  approve  of  Milo's  conduct  ?  This 
appears  plainly  from  the  lifelefs  harangues 
of  that  ringed  tribune,  in  which  he  was 
continually  inveighing  againft  my  power, 
and  alledging  that  the  fenate,  in  their  de- 
cree, did  not  follow  their  own  judgment, 
but  were  merely  under  my  direction  and 
influence.  Which,  if  it  mult  be  called 
power,  rather  than  a  moderate  fhare  of 
authority  in  jufl  and  lawful  cafes,  to  which 
one  may  be  entitled  by  fervices  to  his 
country ;  or  fome  degree  of  intereft  with 
the  worthy  part  of  mankind,  on  account  of 
my  readinefs  to  exert  myfelf  in  defence 
of  the  innocent;  let  it  be  called  fo,  pro- 
vided it  is  employed  for  the  protection  of 
the  virtuous  againft  the  fury  of  ruffians. 
Bvit  as  for  this  extraordinary  trial,  thougk 

Id* 


658 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


J  do  not  blame  it,  vet  the  fenate  never 
thought  of  granting  it ;  becaufe  we  had 
laws  and  precedents  already,  but  in  re- 
gard to  murder  and  violence:  nor  did 
Clodius's  death  give  them  fo  much  con- 
cern as  to  occafion  an  extraordinary  com- 
miffion. For  if  the  fenate  was  deprived 
of  the  power  of  palling  fentence  upon  him 
for  an  inceftuous  debauch,  who  can  ima- 
gine they  would  think  it  neceiiary  to  grant 
any  extraordinary  trial  for  enquiring  into 
his  death  !  Why  then  did  the  fenate  de- 
cree that  burning  the  court,  the  aiTault 
upon  M.  Lepidus's  houfe,  and  even  the 
death  of  this  man,  were  actions  injurious 
to  the  republic?  becaufe  every  act  of  vio- 
lence committed  in  a  free  'bate  by  one 
citizen  againft  another,  is  an  aft  againft.  the 
ftate.  For  even  force  in  one's  own  de- 
fence is  never  deferable,  though  it  is  iome- 
times  neceiiary ;  unlefs  indeed  it  be  pre- 
tended that  no  wound  was  given  the  fate, 
on  the  day  when  the  Gracchi  were  fhin, 
and  the  armed  force  of  Saturninus  crush- 
ed. 

When  it  appeared,  therefore,  that  a 
man  had  been  killed  upon  the  Appian  way, 
?  was  of  opinion  that  the  party  who  acted 
in  his  own  defence  ihould  not  be  deemed 
an  enemy  to  the  ftate;  but  as  both  contri- 
vance and  force  had  been  employed  in 
the  affair,  I  referred  the  merits  of  the 
caufe  to  a  trial,  and  admitted  of  the  fact. 
And  if  that  frantic  tribune  would  have  per- 
mitted the  fenate  to  follow  their  own  judg- 
ment, we  ihould  at  this  time  have  had  no 
new  commiffion  for  a  trial :  tor  the  fenate 
was  coming  to  a  refolution,  that  the  caufe 
Ihould  be  tried  upon  the  old  laws,  only  not 
according  to  the  ufual  forms.  A  divifion 
was  made  in  the  vote,  at  whofe  requeil  i 
know  not;  for  it  is  not  neceiiary  to  ex- 
pofe  the  crimes  of  every  one.  Thus  the 
remainder  of  the  fenate's  authority  was 
deitroyed  by  a  mercenary  interpofition. 
But,  it  is  laid,  that  Pompey,  by  the  bill 
which  he  brought  in,  decided  both  upon 
the  nature  of  the  fact  in  general,  and  the 
merits  of  this  caufe  in  particular,  for  he 
publifhed  a  law  concerning  this  encounter 
in  the  Appian  way,  in  which  P.  Clodius 
was  killed!  But  what  was  the  law  ?  why, 
that  enquiry  fhould  be  made  into  it.  And 
what  was  to  be  enquired  into?  whether 
the  fact  was  committed  ?  But  that  is  not 
difputed.  By  whom?  that'  too  is  clear. 
For  Pompev  faw,  though  the  fact  was  con- 
fefled,  '  :!  ■  ju.ftice  of  it  might  be  d  • 
fended.     If  he  had  not  fecn  that  a  poflqn 


might  be  acquitted,  after  making  his  con- 
feffion,  he  would  never  have  directed  any 
enquiry  to  be  made,  nor  have  put  into 
your  hands,  my  lords,  an  acquitting  as 
well  as  a  favourable  letter.  But  Cn. 
Pompey  feems  to  me  not  only  to  have  de- 
termined nothing  fevere  againft  Milo,  but 
even  to  have  pointed  out  what  you  are  to 
have  in  view  in  the  courfe  of  the  trial.  For 
he  who  did  not  punifh  the  confelfion  of  the 
fact,  but  allowed  of  a  defence,  was  furelv 
of  opinion  that  the  caufe  of  the  bloodihed 
was  to  be  enquired  into,  and  not  the  facf 
itfelf.  I  refer  it  to  Pompey  himfelf,  whe- 
ther the  part  he  acted  in  this  affair  pro- 
ceeded from  his  regard  to  the  memory  of 
P.  Clodius,  or  from  his  regard  to  the 
times. 

M.  Drufus,  a  man  of  the  higheft  qua- 
lity, the  defender,  and  in  thofe  times  at- 
moft  the  patron,  of  the  fenate,  uncle  to 
that  brave  man  M.  Cato,  now  upon  the 
bench,  and  tribune  of  the  people,  was  kill- 
ed in  his  own  houfe.  And  yet  the  people 
were  not  confulted  upon  his  death,  nor 
was  any  commiffion  for  a  trial  granted  by 
the  fenate  on  account  of  it.  What  deep 
diftrefs  is  faid  to  have  fpread  over  the 
whole  city,  when  P.  Africanus  was  alTaffi- 
nated  in  the  night-time  as  he  lay  on  his 
own  bed  ?  What  breaft  did  not  then  figh, 
what  heart  was  not  pierced  with  grief, 
that  a  perfon,  on  whom  the  wiihes  of  all 
men  would  have  conferred  immortality, 
could  wiihes  have  done  it,  ihould  be  cut 
off  by  fo  early  a  fate?  was  no  decree 
made  then  for  an  enquiry  into  Africanus's 
death;  None.  And  why?  Becaufe  the 
crime  is  the  fame,  whether  the  character  of 
the  perfons  that  fuffer  be  illuftrious  or  ob- 
fcure.  Grant  that  there  is  a  difference,  as 
to  the  dignity  of  their  lives,  yet  their 
deaths,  when  they  are  the  effect  of  vil- 
lainy,  are  judged  by  the  fame  laws,  and 
attended  by  the  fame  punifhments  :  unlefs 
it  be  a  more  heinous  parricide  for  a  mar, 
to  kill  his  father  if  he  be  of  a  confular  dig- 
nity, than  if  he  were  in  a  private  it.at.ion  j 
or  the  guilt  of  Clodius's  death  be  aggra- 
vated by  has  being  killed  amongft  the  mo- 
numents of  his  anceftors ;  for  that  too  has 
been  urged;  as  if  the  great  Appius  Caxus 
had  paved  that  road,  not  for  the  conveni- 
ence of  his  country,  but  that  his  pofterity 
mi  '  t  have  the  privilege  of  committing 
acts  of  violence  with  impunity.  And  ac- 
cordingly  when  ?.  Clodius  had  killed  M. 
Papirius,  a  moll:  accomplished  perfon  of 
the  Equelliian  pf«ler,  or.  this  Appian  . 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.        669 


his  crime  mull  pafs  unpunished;  for  a  no- 
bleman had  only  .killed  a  Roman  knight 
amongft  the  monuments  of  his  own  family. 
Now  the  very  name  of  this  Appian  way 
whataflir  does  it  make?  what  was  never 
mentioned  while  it  was  ftained  with  the 
blood  of  a  worthy  and  innocent  man,  is  in 
every  one's  mouth,  now  it  is  dyed  with 
that  of  a  robber  and  a  murderer.  But 
why  do  I  mention  thefe  things r  one  of 
Clodius's  flaves  was  feiacd  in  the  temple 
of  Cailor,  where  he  was  placed  by  his 
mailer,  on  purpofe  to  aflaffinate  Pompey  : 
he  confefTed  it,  as  they  were  wrefting  the 
dagger  out  of  his  hands.  Pompey  abfent- 
ed  from  the  forum  upon  it,  he  abfented 
from  the  fenate,  he  abfented  from  the  pub- 
lic. He  had  recourfe,  for  his  fecurity,  to 
the  gates  and  walls  of  his  own  houle,  and 
not  to  the  authority  of  laws,  or  courts  of 
judicature.  Was  any  law  palled  at  that 
time?  was  any  extraordinary  commifiion 
granted?  And  yet,  if  any  circuniilance, 
if  any  perfon,  if  any  juncture,  ever  merited 
fuch  a  diilinction,  it  was  certainly  upon 
this  occafion.  An  aiiaflm  was  placed  in 
the  forum,  and  in  the  very  porch  of  the 
fenate-houfe,  with  a  defign  to  murder  the 
man,  on  whofe  life  depended  the  fafety  of 
the  ftate;  and  at  lb  critical  a  junclure  of  the 
republic,  that  if  he  had  fallen,  not  this 
city  alone,  but  the  whole  empire  mult  have 
fallen  with  him.  But  pofsibly  you  may 
imagine  he  ought  not  to  be  punilhed,  be- 
caufe  his  defign  did  not  fucceed  ;  as  if  the 
fuccefs  of  a  crime,  and  not  the  intention  of 
the  criminal,  was  cognizable  by  the  laws. 
There  was  lefs  reafon  indeed  for  grief,  as 
the  attempt  did  not  fucceed;  but  certain- 
ly not  at  all  the  lefs  for  punifnment.  How 
often,  my  lords,  have  I  myfelf  efcaped  the 
threatening  dagger,  and  bloody  hands  of 
Clodius  ?  From  which,  if  neither  my  own 
good  fortune,  nor  that  of  the  republic  had 
prefer ved  me,  who  would  ever  have  pro- 
cured an  extraordinary  trial  upon  my 
death  ? 

But  it  is  weak  in  one  to  prefume  to 
compare  Drums,  Africanus,  Pompey.,  or 
myfelf,  with  Clodius.  Their  lives  could 
be  difpenfed  with;  but  as  to  the  death  of 
P.  Clodius,  no  one  can  hear  it  with  any 
degree  of  patience.  The  fenate  mourns, 
the  Equeflrian  order  is  filled  with  diftrefs, 
the  whole  city  is  in  the  deepeft  affliction, 
the  corporate  towns  are  all  in  mourning, 
the  colonies  are  overwhelmed  with  forrow; 
in  a  word,  even  the  fields  themfelvcf-  la- 
ment the  lofs  of  fo  generous,  fo  nfefuL  and 


fo  humane  a  citizen.  But  this,  my  lords*: 
is  by  no  means  the  reafon  why  Pompey 
thought  himlelf  obliged  to  appoint  a  com- 
million  tor  a  trial;  being  a  man  of  great 
wifdom,  of  deep  and  alrnoft  divine  pene- 
tration, he  took  a  great  variety  of  things 
into  his  view.  Pie  confidered  that  Clodius 
had  been  his  enemy,  that  Milo  was  his 
intimate  friend,  and  was  afraid  that,  if  he 
took  his  part  in  the  general  joy,  it  would 
render  the  fmcerity  of  his  reconciliation 
iu  (peeled.  Many  other  things  he  faws 
and  particularly  this,  that  though  he  had 
made  a  fevere  law,  you  would  aft  with 
becoming  refolution on  the  trial.  And  ac- 
cordingly, in  appointing  judges,  he  felect- 
ed  the  greateft  ornaments  of  the  moil  illu^ 
ftrious  orders  of  the  ftate;  nor  in  making 
his  choice,  did  he,  as  iome  have  gretended, 
let  allde  my  friends.  For  neither  had  this 
perfon,  fo  eminent  for  his  juflice,  any  fuch 
delign,  nor  was  it  noflible  for  him  to  have 
made  fuch  a  diilinction,  if  only  worthy 
men  were  chofen,  even  if  he  had  been  de- 
firous  of  doing  it.  My  influence  is  not 
confined  to  my  particular  friends,  mi- 
lords, the  number  of  whom  cannot  be  very 
large,  becaufe  the  intimacies  of  friendlhip 
can  extend  but  to  a  few.  If  I  have  any 
intereil,  it  is  owing  to  this,  that  the  affairs 
of  the  ilate  have  connected  me  with  the 
virtuous  and  worthy  members  of  it;  out 
of  whom  when  he  chofe  the- molt  deferr- 
ing, to  which  he  would  think  himlelf 
bound  in  honour,  he  could  not  fail  of  no- 
minating thofe  who  had  an  affection  for 
me.  But  in  fixing  upon  you,  L.  Domitius, 
to  prcfide  at  this  trial,  he  had  no  other 
motive  than  a  regard  to  juftice,  difintereft- 
ednefs,  humanity  and  honour*  He  enact- 
ed that  the  prefident  fhould  be  of  confular 
rank;  becaufe,  T  fuppofe,  he  was  of  opi- 
nion that  men  of  diilinction'  ought  to  be 
proof  againll  the  levity  of  the  populace, 
and  the  rafhnefs  of  the  abandoned;  and 
he  gave  you  the  preference  to  all  others 
of  the  fame  rank,  becaufe  you  had,  from 
your  youth,  given  the  ftrongeil  proofs  of 
your*contempt  of  popular  rage. 

Therefore,  my  lords,  to  come  at  lall  to 
the  caufe  itfeii,  and  the  accufation  brought 
againfl  us ;  if  it  be  net  unufual  in  fome  cafes 
to  confefs  the  fact ;  if  rhe  fenate  has  de- 
creed nothing  with  relation  to  our  caufe, 
but  what  we  ourfelves  could  have  wifhed; 
if  he  who  enacted  the  law,  though  there 
was  no  difpute  about  the  matter  of  fact, 
■was  willing  that  the  lawfulnefs  ©f  it  fhould 
be  debased;  if  a  number  of  judges  have 

been 


67© 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


been  chofen,  and  a  perfon  appointed  to 
prefide  at  the  trial,  who  might  canvafs  the 
affair  with  wifdom  and  equity ;  the  only 
remaining  fubjeft  of  your  enquiry  is, 
which  of  thefe  two  parties  way-laid  the 
other.  And  that  you  may  be  able  the 
mere  eafily  to  determine  this  point,  I 
fhall  beg  the  favour  of  an  attentive  hear- 
ing, while,  in  a  few  words,  1  lay  open  the 
•whole  affair  before  you.  P.  Clodius  being 
determined,  when  created  praetor,  to  harafs 
his  country  with  every  fpecies  of  op- 
preflion,  and  finding  the  comitia  had  been 
delayed  fo  long  the  year  before,  that  he 
Could  not  hold  his  office  many  months; 
not  regarding,  like  the  reft,  the  dignity 
of  the  itation,  but  being  folicitous  both  to 
avoid  having  L.  Paulus,  a  man  of  exem- 
plary virtue,  for  his  colleague,  and  to 
obtain  a  whole  year  for  opprefiing  the 
Cite;  all  on  a  fudden  threw  up  his  own 
year,  and  referved  himfelf  to  the  next; 
not  from  any  religious  fcruple,  but  that 
lie  might  have,  as  he  (aid  himfelf,  a 
full,  entire  year,  for  exereiiing  his  pra:tor- 
£bip ;  that  is,  for  overturning  the  com- 
monwealth. He  was  fenlible  he  mult  be 
controuled  and  cramped  in  the  exercife  of 
his  praetorian  authority  under  Milo,  who, 
he  plainly  law,  would  be  cholen  conful  by 
the  unanimous  content  of  the  Roman  peo- 
ple. Accordingly,  he  joined  the  candi- 
dates that  oppoied  Milo,  but  in  fuch  a 
manner  that  he  over-ruled  them  in  every 
thing,  had  the  fole  management  of  the 
eieftion,  and  as  he  ufed  often  to  boaft, 
bore  all  the  comitia  upon  his  own  moul- 
ders. He  afiembled  the  tribes ;  he  thruft 
himfelf  into  their  counfels,  and  formed  a 
new  Collinian  tribe  of  the  molt  abandoned 
of  the  citizens.  The  more  confufion  and 
disturbance  he  made,  the  more  Milo  pre- 
vailed. When  this  wretch,  who  was  bent 
upon  all  manner  of  wickednefs,  faw  that 
to  brave  a  man,  and  his  molt  inveterate 
enemy,  would  certainly  be  conful ;  when 
he  perceived  this,  not  only  by  the  dif- 
courfes,  but  by  the  votes  of  the  Roman 
people,  he  began  to  throw  off  all  difguife, 
and  to  declare  openly  that  Milo  mult 
be  killed.  He  fent  for  that  rude  and  bar- 
barous crew  of  flaves  from  the  Appen- 
nines,  whom  you  have  feen,  with  whom 
he  ufed  to  ravage  the  public  forefts,  and 
harafs  Etruria.  The  thing  was  not  in 
the  leaft  a  fecret;  for  he  ufed  openly  to 
fay,  that  though  Milo  could  not  be  de- 
prived of  the  confulate,  he  might  of  his 
life.     He  oftun  intimated  this  in  the  fe* 


nate,  and  declared  it  exprefsly  before  the 
people;  infomuch  that  when  Favonius, 
that  brave  man,  afked  him  what  profpedt 
he  could  have  of  carrying  on  his  furious 
defigns,  while  Milo  was  alive ;  he  replied, 
that  in  three  or  four  days  at  molt  he 
fhould  be  taken  out  of  the  way  :  which  re- 
ply Favonius  immediately  communicated 
to  M.  Cato. 

In  the  mean  time,  as  foon  as  Clodius 
knew,  (nor  indeed  was  there  any  difficulty 
to  come  at  the  intelligence)  that  Milo  was 
obliged  by  the  eighteenth  of  January  to 
be  at  Lanuvium,  where  he  was  dictator, 
in  order  to  nominate  a  prieft,  a  duty  which 
the  laws  rendered  neceffarv  to  be  per- 
formed every  year;  he  went  fuddenly  from 
Rome  the  day  before,  in  order,  as  appears 
by  the  event,  to  way-lay  Milo,  in  his 
own  grounds ;  and  this  at  a  time  when  he 
was  obliged  to  leave  a  tumultuous  alfem- 
bly,  which  he  had  fummoned  that  very 
day,  where  his  prefence  was  necefiary  to 
carry  on  his  mad  defigns;  a  thing  he 
never  would  have  done,  if  he  had  not  been 
defirous  to  take  the  advantage  of  that  par- 
ticular time  and  place  for  perpetrating  his 
villainy.  But  Milo,  after  having  ftaid  in 
the  fenate  that  day  till  the  houfe  was  broke 
up,  went  home,  changed  his  fhoes  and 
cloaths,  waited  awhile,  as  ufual,  till  his 
wife  had  got  ready  to  attend  him,  and 
then  let  forward  about  the  time  that  Clo- 
dius, if  he  had  propefed  to  come  back  to 
Rome  that  day,  might  have  returned. 
Clodius  meets  him,  equipped  for  an  en- 
gagement, on  horfeback,  without  either 
chariot  or  baggage,  without  his  Grecian 
fervants ;  and,  what  was  more  extraordi- 
nary, without  his  wife.  While  this  lier- 
in-wait,  who  had  contrived  the  journey 
on  purpofe  for  an  aifaffi  nation,  was  in  a 
chariot  with  his  wife,  muffled  up  in  his 
cloak,  encumbered  with  a  crowd  of  fer- 
vants,  and  with  a  feeble  and  timid  train 
of  women  and  boys;  he  meets  Clodius 
near  his  own  eitate,  a  little  before  fun-fet, 
and  is  immediately  attacked  by  a  body  of 
men,  who  throw  their  darts  at  him  from 
an  eminence,  and  kill  his  coachman.  Upon 
which  he  threw  off  his  cloak,  leaped  from 
his  chariot,  and  defended  himfelf  with 
great  bravery.  In  the  mean  time  Clo- 
dius's  attendants  drawing  their  fwords, 
f'ome  of  them  ran  back  to  the  chariot  in 
order  to  attack  Milo  in  the  rear,  whilff. 
others,  thinking  that  he  was  already  killed, 
fell  upon  his  iervants  who  were  behind; 
thefe,  being  refolute  and  faithful  to  their 

majtes> 


BOOK    III.     ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  AND  LETTERS.      67t 


matter,  were,  feme  of  them,  flain ;  whilft 
the  reft,  feeing  a  warm  engagement  near 
the  chariot,  being  prevented  from  going 
to  their  mailer's  aftiifance,  hearing  befides 
from  Clodius  himfelfthat  Milo  was  killed, 
and  believing  it  to  be  fact,  acted  upon  this 
occafion  (I  mention  it  not  with  a  view  to 
elude  the  accufation,  but  becaufe  it  was 
the  true  ftate  of  the  cafe)  without  the  or- 
ders, without  the  knoAvledge,  without  the 
prefence  of  their  maiter,  as  every  man 
would  wifh  his  own  fervants  ihould  act  in 
the  like  circumftances. 

This,  my  lords,  is  a  faithful  account 
©f  the  matter  of  fail :  the  perfon  who 
lay  in  wait  was  himfelf  overcome,  and 
force  fubdued  by  force,  or  rather,  au- 
dacioufnefs  chaitifed  by  true  valour. 
1  fay  nothing  of  the  advantage  which  ac- 
crues to  the  ftate  in  general,  to  yourfelves 
in  particular,  and  to  all  good  men;  I  am 
content  to  wave  the  argument  I  might 
draw  from  hence  in  favour  of  my  client, 
whofe  deftiny  was  fo  peculiar,  that  he 
could  not  fecure  his  own  fafety,  without 
fecuring  yours  and  that  of  the  republic 
at  the  fame  time.  If  he  could  not  do  it 
lawfully,  there  is  no  room  for  attempting 
his  defence.  But  if  reafon  teaches  the 
learned,  necefiity  the  barbarian,  common 
cuftom  all  nations  in  general,  and  even 
nature  itfelf  inftructs  the  brutes  to  defend 
their  bodies,  limbs,  and  lives,  when  at- 
tacked, by  all  poiTible  methods,  you  can- 
not pronounce  this  action  criminal,  with- 
out determining  at  the  fame  time  that 
whoever  falls  into  the  hands  of  a  high- 
wayman, muft  of  neceffity  perifh  either 
by  the  f.vord  or  your  decisions.  *  Kad 
JViilo  been  of  this  opinion,  he  would  cer- 
tainly have  chofen  to  have  fallen  by  the 
hand  of  Clodius,  who  had  more  than  once 
before  this  made  an  attempt  upon  his  life, 
rather  than  be  executed  by  your  order,  be- 
caufe he  had  not  tamely  yielded  himfelf  a 
victim  to  his  rage.  But  if  none  of  you 
are  of  this  opinion,  the  proper  queftion  is, 
not  whether  Clodius  was  killed;  for  that 
we  grant;  but  whether  juftly  or  unjuftly, 
an  enquiry  of  which  many  precedents  are 
to  be  found.  That  a  plot  was  laid  is  very 
evident ;  and  this  is  what  the  fenate  de- 
creed to  be  injurious  to  the  ftate  :  but  by 
which  of  them  laid,  is  uncertain.  This 
then  is  the  point  which  the  law  directs  us  to 
enquire  into.  Thus,  what  the  fenate  de- 
creed, related  to  the  aftion,  not  the  man; 
•  and  Pompey  enacted  not  upon  the  matter 
of  faft  but  of  law. 


Is  nothing  elfe  therefore  to  be  deter- 
mined but  this  fingle  queftion,  which  of 
them  way-laid  the  other  ?  Nothing,  cer- 
tainly. If  it  appear  that  Milo  was  the 
aggreflbr,  we  afk  no  favour ;  but  if  Clodius, 
you  will  then  acquit  us  of  the  crime  that 
has  been  laid  to  our  charge.  What  me- 
thod then  can  we  take  to  prove  that  Clo- 
dius lay  in  wait  for  Milo  ?  It  is  fuiHcient, 
confidering  what  an  audacious  abandoned 
wretch  he  was,  to  lhew  that  he  lav  under 
a  ftrong  temptation  to  it,  that  he  formed 
great  hopes,  and  propofed  to  himfelf  great 
advantages  from  Milo's  death.  Let  that 
queftion  of  Caffius  therefore,  <whofe  intereft 
tvas  it  ?  be  applied  to  the  prefent  cafe. 
For  though  no  confideration  can  prevail 
upon  a  good  man  to  be  guilty  of  a  bafe 
action,  yet  to  a  bad  man  the  leaft  profpeft 
of  advantage  will  often  be  fufficient.  By 
Milo's  death,  Clodius  not  only  gained  his 
point  of  being  prsetor,  without  that  re- 
straint which  his  adverfary's  power  as 
conful  would  have  laid  upon  his  wicked 
defigns,  but  likewife  that  of  being  praetor 
under  thofe  confuls,  by  whofe  connivance 
at  leaft,  if  not  a&ftance,  he  hoped  he 
ihould  be  able  to  betray  the  ftate  into  th» 
mad  fchemes  he  had  been  forming;  par- 
fuading  himfelf,  that  as  they  thought 
themfelves  under  fo  great  an  obligation  to 
him,  they  would  have  no  inclination  to  op- 
pofe  any  of  his  attempts,  even  if  they  mould- 
have  it  in  their  power;  and  that  if  they 
were  inclined  to  do  it,  they  would  perhaps 
be  fcarce  able  to  controul  the  moil  profli- 
gate of  all  men,  who  had  been  confirmed 
and  hardened  in  his  audacioufnefs  by  a  long 
feries  of  villanies.  Are  you  thea,  my 
lords,  alone  ignorant?  are  you  ftranger:  ia 
this  city  ?  Has  the  report,  which  fo  gene- 
rally obtains  in  the  town,  of  thofe  la  ■/& 
(if  they  are  to  be  called  laws,  and  m 
ther  the  fcourges  of  the  city  and  the 
plagues  cf  the  republic)  which  he  intended 
to  have  impofed  and  fixed  as  a  brand  of 
infamy  upon  us  all,  never  reached  your 
ears?  Shew  us,  I  beg  of  you,  Sextas 
Clodius,  fhew  us,  that  regifter  of  your 
laws ;  which,  they  fay,  you  refcued  out  of 
his  houfe,  and  carried  off  like  another 
Palladium,  in  the  midfi  of  an  armed 
force  and  a  midnight  mob  ;  that  you  might 
have  an  honourable  legacy,  and  ample  in- 
ftructions  for  fome  future  tribune,  who 
Ihould  hold  his  office  under  your  djrectiosi, 
if  fuch  a  tribune  you  could  find.  Now 
he  cafts  a  look  at  me,  like  thai  he   uk  J 

2  ;c 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


672 

to  affume  when  he  threatened  univerfal 
ruin.  I  am  indeed  ftruck  with  that  light 
pf  the  fen  ate. 

What,  Sextus,  do  you  imagine  I  am  an- 
gry with  you,  who  have  treated  my  great- 
eft  enemy  with  more  fe verity  than  the  hu- 
manity of  my  temper  could  have  allowed 
me  to  have  required?  You  threw  the 
bloody  body  of  P.  Clodius  out  of  his  houfe, 
you  expofed  it  to  public  view  in  the  ftreets, 
you  left  it  by  night  a  prey  to  the  dogs, 
half  confumed  with  unhallowed  wood,ltript 
©f  its  images,  and  deprived  of  the  ufual 
encomiums  and  funeral  pomp.  This, 
though  it  is  true  you  did  it  out  of  mere 
necelhty,  I  cannot  commend :  yet  as  my 
enemv  was  the  object  of  your  cruelty,  I 
ought  not  certainly  to  be  angry  with  you. 
You  faw  there  was  the  greateft  reafon  to 
dread  a  revolution  in  the  Hate  from  the 
prxtoifhip  of  Clodius,  unlefs  the  man, 
who  had  both  courage  and  power  to 
controul  him,  were  chofen  conful.  When 
all  the  Pvoman  people  were  convinced  that 
Milo  was  the  man,  what  citizen  could  have 
hefitated  a  moment  about  giving  him 
his  vote,  when  by  that  vote  he  at 
once  relieved  his  own  fears,  and  delivered 
the  republic  from  the  utmoft  danger?  But 
now  Clodius  is  taken  off",  it  requires  ex- 
traordinary efforts  in  Milo  to  fupport  his 
dignity.  That  fingular  honour  by  which 
he  was  diltinguifhed,  and  which  daily  in- 
creafed  by  his  repreffing  the  outrages  of 
the  Clodian  faction,  vanifhed  with  the 
death  of  Clodius.  You  have  gained  this 
advantage,  that  there  is  now  no  citizen 
you  have  to  fear;  while  Milo  has  loft  a 
fine  field  for  difplaying  his  valour,  the  in- 
tereft  that  fupported  his  election,  and  a 
perpetual  fource  of  glory.  Accordingly, 
Milo's  election  to  the  confulate,  which 
could  never  have  been  hurt  while  Clodius 
was  living,  begins  now  upon  his  death  to 
be  di'puted.  Milo,  therefore,  is  fo  far 
from  receiving  any  benefit  from  Clodius's 
death,  that  he  is  really  a  fufferer  by  it. 
But  it  may  be  faid  that  hatred  prevailed, 
that  anc-er  and  refentment  ureed  him  on, 
that  he  avenged  his  own  wrongs,  and  re- 
drefTed  his  own  grievances.  Now  if  all 
thefe  particulars  may  be  applied  not 
merely  with  greater  propriety  to  Clodius 
than  to  Milo,  but  with  the  utmoft  propri- 
ety to  the  one,  and  not  the  leaf!  to  the 
other  ;  what  more  can  you  defire  ?  For  why 
mould  Milo  bear  any  other  hatred  to  Clo- 
dius, who  furnished  him  with  fuch  a  rich 


harveft  of  glory,  but  that  which  every  pa- 
triot muft  bear  to  all  bad  men  ?  As  to 
Clodius,  he  had  motives  enough  for  bear- 
ing ill-will  to  Milo  ;  hrft,  as  my  protector 
and  guardian  ;  then  as  the  oppofer  of  his 
mad  fchemes,  and  the  controuler  of  his 
armed  force  ;  and,  la  illy,  as  his  accufer. 
For  while  he  lived,  he  was  liable  to  be 
convicted  by  Milo  upon  the  Plotian  law. 
With  what  patience,  do  you  imagine,  fuch 
an  imperious  fpirit  could  bear  this  ?  How 
high  muft  his  refentment  have  rifen,  and 
with  what  juftice  too,  in  fo  great  an  enemy 
to  juftice  ? 

It  remains  now  to  confider  what  argu- 
ments their  natural  temper  and  behaviour 
will  furniftt  out  in  defence  of  the  one,  and 
for  the  conviction  of  the  other.  Clodius 
never  made  ufe  of  any  violence,  Milo 
never  carried  any  point  without  it.  What 
then,  my  lords,  when  I  retired  from  this 
city,  leaving  you  in  tears  for  my  depar- 
ture, did  i  fear  ftanding  a  trial :  and  not 
rather  the  infill ts  of  Clodius's  flaves,  the 
force  of  arms,  and  open  violence?  What 
reafon  could  there  be  for  reftoring  me,  if 
he  was  not  guilty  of  injuftice  in  banifhing 
me?  He  had  fummoned  me,  I  know  he 
had,  to  appear  upon  my  trial;  had  let 
a  hne  upon  me,  had  brought  an  action  of 
treafon  againft  me,  and  I  had  reafon  to 
rear  the  event  of  a  trial  in  a  caufe  that 
was  neither  glorious  for  you,  nor  very  ho- 
nourable for  myfelf.  No,  my  lords,  this 
was  not  the  cafe  ;  I  was  unwilling  to  expole 
my  countrymen,  whom  I  had  faved  by  my 
counfels  and  at  the  hazard  of  my  life,  to 
the  fuords  of  flaves,  indigent  citizens, 
and  a  crew  of  ruffians.  For  I  law,  yes, 
I  myfelf  beheld  this  very  Q^Hortenfius, 
the  light  and  ornament  of  the  republic, 
aim  oil  murdered  by  the  hands  of  flaves, 
while  he  waited  on  me  :  and  it  was  in  the 
fame  tumult,  that  C.  Vibienus,  a  fenator 
of  great  worth,  who  was  in  his  company, 
was  handled  fo  roughly,  that  it  cell:  him 
his  life.  When,  therefore,  has  that  dag- 
ger, which  Clodius  received  from  Catiline, 
relied  in  its  iheath?  it  has  been  aimed  at 
me;  but  I  would  not  fuffer  you  to  expo'le: 
yourfelves  to  its  rage  on  my  account ;  with 
it  he  by  in  wait  for  Pompey,  and  ftained 
the  Appian  way,  that  monument  of  the 
Clodian  family,  with  the  blood  of  Papi- 
rius.  The  fame,  the  very  fame  weapon 
was,  after  a  long  diftance  of  time,  again 
turned  againft  me ;  and  you  know  how 
narrowly  I  efcaped  being  deftroyed  by  it 
f  lately 


•BOOK   III.      ORATION 

Intely  at  the  palace.  What  now  of  this 
kind  can  be  laid  to  Milo's  charge?  whofe 
force  has  only  been  employed  to  fave  the 
ftate  from  the  violence  of  Clodius,  when 
he  could  not  be  brought  to  a  trial.  Had 
he  been  inclined  to  kill  him,  how  often  had 
he  the  faireft  opportunities  of  doing  it  ? 
Might  he  not  legally  have  revenged  him- 
felf  upon  him,  when  he  was  defending  his 
houfe  and  houfehold  gods  again  ft  his  affault? 
Might  he  not,  when  that  excellent  citizen, 
and  brave  man,  P.  Scxtus,  his  colleague, 
was  wounded  ?  might  he  not,  when  Q^ 
Fabricius,  that  worthy  man,  was  abufed, 
and  a  moft  barbarous  (laughter  made  in 
the  forum,  upon  his  propoiing  the  law  for 
my  reftoration  ?  might  he  not,  when  the 
houfe  of  L.  Cxcilius,  that  upright  and 
brave  praetor  was  attacked  ?  might  he  not, 
on  that  day  when  the  law  pailed  in  rela- 
tion to  me  r  when  a  vaft  concourfe  of  peo- 
ple from  all  parts  of  Italy,  animated  with 
a  concern  for  my  fafety,  would,  with  joy- 
ful voice,  have  celebrated  the  glory  of  the 
action,  and  the  whole  city  have  claimed 
the  honour  f>of  what  was  performed  by 
Milo  alone  ? 

At  that  time  P.  Lentulus,  a  man  of  dif- 
tinguifhed  worth  and  bravery,  was  conful ; 
the  profefled  enemy  cf  Clodius,  the  aven- 
ger of"  his  crimes,  the  guardian  of  the  ie- 
nate,  the  defender  of  your  decrees,  the 
lupporter  of  that  public  union,  and  the 
reltorer  of  my  fafety :  there  were  feven 
praetors,  and  eight  tribunes  of  the  people 
in  my  intereft,  in  oppofition  to  him.  Pom- 
pey,  the  firft  mover  and  patron  of  my 
return,  was  his  enemy;  whofe  important 
and  illuftrious  decree  for  my  reftoration 
was  feconded  by  the  whole  fenate ;  who 
encouraged  the  Roman  people,  and  when 
he  pafled  a  decree  in  my  favour  at  Capua, 
gave  the  fignal  to  all  Italy,  folicitous  for 
my  fafety,  and  imploring  his  afliftance  in 
my  behalf,  to  repair  in  a  body  to  Rome 
to  have  my  fentence  reverfed.  In  a  word, 
the  citizens  were  then  fo  inflamed  with 
rage  againft  him  from  their  affection  to  me, 
that  had  he  been  killed  at  that  juncture, 
they  would  not  have  thought  fo  much  of 
acquitting  as  of  rewarding  the  perfon  by 
whofe  hand  he  fell.  And  yet  Milo  fo  far 
governed  his  temper,  that  though  he  pro- 
fccuted  him  twice  in  a  court  of  judica- 
ture, he  never  had  recourfe  to  violent 
meafures  againft  him.  But  what  do  I 
fay  ?  while  Milo  was  a  private  perfon, 
and  flood  accufed  by  Clodius  before  the 
people,  when  Pempey  Was  afiaulted  yi  the 


S,    CHARACTERS,    fee,        67j 

midft  of  a  fpeech  he  was  making  in  Milo's 
favour,  what  a  fair  opportunity,  and  I 
will  even  add,  fufneient  reafon  was  thera 
for  difpatching  him  ?  Again,  when  Mark 
Antony  had,  on  a  late  occafion,  raifed  in 
the  minds  of  all  good  men  the  moft  lively 
hopes  of  feeing  the  ftate  in  a  happisr  con- 
dition ;  when  that  noble  youth  had  bravely 
undertaken  the  defence  of  his  cot  ntry  in 
a  moft  dangerous  quarter,  and  had  ac- 
tually fecured  that  wild  beaft  in  the  toils 
of  juftice,  which  he  endeavoured  to  avoid: 
Immortal  gods  !  how  favourable  was-  thfi 
time  and  place  for  deftroying  him  ?  "When 
Clodius  concea'ed  himfelf  beneath  a  dark 
flair-cafe,  how  eafily  could  Milo  have  de- 
ft roved  that  plague  of  his  country,  and 
thus  have  heightened  the  glory  of  Antony, 
without  incurring  the  hatred  of  any  ?  Hoiv 
often  was  it  in  his  power}  while  the  co- 
mitia  were  held  in  the  field  of  Mars  ? 
when  Clodius  had  forced  his  way  within 
the  inclofure,  and  his  party  began,  by  his 
direction,  to  draw  their  fwords  and  thro\T 
ftones ;  and  then  on  a  fudden,  being  ft;  uck 
with  terror  at  the  fight  of  Milo,  fled  to 
the  Tiber,  how  earneilly  did  you  arid  every 
good  man  wifh  that  Milo  had  then  dif- 
played  his  valour  ? 

Can  you  imagine  then  that  Milo  would 
chufeto  incur  the  ill-will  of  any,  by  an  action 
which  he  forbore  when  it  would  have 
gained  him  the  applaufe  of  all  ?  Would 
he  make  no  fcruple  of  killing  him  at  the 
hazard  of  his  own  life,  without  any  pro- 
vocation, at  the  moft  improper  time  and 
place,  whem  he  did  not  venture  to  attack 
when  he  had  jiiftiee  on  his  fide,  had  fo 
convenient  an  opportunity,  and  would  have 
run  no  rifque?  especially,  my  lords,  when 
his  ftruegle  for  the  fupreme  office  in  the 
ftate,  and  the  day  of  his  election  was  at 
hand;  at  which  critical  feafon  (for  I  know 
by  experience  how  timorous  ambition  is, 
and  what  a  folicitous  concern  there  is  about 
the  confulate)  we  dread  not  only  the  charges 
that  may  openly  be  brought  againft 
us,  but  even  the  moft  fecret  whifpers  and 
hidden  furmifes ;  when  we  tremble  at  every 
rumour,  every  falfe,  forged,  and  frivolous 
ftory;  when  we  explore  the  features,  and 
watch  the  looks  of  every  one  we  meet. 
For  nothing  is  fo  changeable,  fo  ticklifh, 
fo  frail  and  fo  flexible,  as  the  inclinations 
and  fentiments.  of  our  fellow-citizens  upon 
fuch  occaiions ;  they  are  not  only  dif- 
pleafed  with  the  difhonourable  conduct  cf 
a  candidate,  but  are  often  difgufted  with 
his  moft  worthy  actions.  Shall  Milo  then 
X  x  be 


6;4 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


be  fuppofed,  on  the  very  day  of  election,  Milo  would  be  on  the  road  that  day,  Mifo 

a  day  which  he  had  long  wiflied  for  and  could  not  lb  much  as   fufpect  the  fame  or 

impatiently  expected,  to   prtfent  himielf  Clodius  ?     Firft  then,  I  afk  which  way  he 

before  that  auguft  afTembly  of  the  centu-  could  come  at   the  knowledge  of  it  ?     A 

ries,  having  his  hands  Rained  with  blood,  quetlion  which  you  cannot  put,  with  refpect 

publicly  acknowledging  and  proclaiming  to    Clodius.     For  had  he  applied  to  no 

his  guilt?     Who  can  believe  this  of  the  body  elfe,  T.  Patinas,  his  intimate  friend, 

man?  yet  who  can  doubt,  but  that  Clo-  could  have  informed  him,  that  Milo,  as 

dius   imagined    he   mould    reign   without  being  dictator  of  Lanuvium,  was  obliged 

controul,  were   Milo  murdered  ?      What  to  create  a  prieft  there  on   that  very  day. 

fhall  we  fay,  my  lords,  to  that  which  is  Befides,  there  were  many  other  perfons,  all 

the  fource  of  all  audacioufnefki.  Does  not  the  inhabitants  of  Lanuvium  indeed,  from 

every  one  know,  that  the  hope  of  impu-  whom  he  might  have  very  eafdy  had  this 

nity  is  the  grand  temptation  to  the  com-  piece  of  intelligence.     But  of  whom  did 

minion  of  crimes  ?     Now  which  of  thefe  Milo  enquire  or  Clodius's  return  ?  I  fhall 

two  was  the  moft  expofed  to  this  ?    Milo,  allow,  however,  that  he  did  enquire  ;  nay, 

who  is   now   upon  his  trial   for  an  action  I  fhall  grant  farther,  with  my  friend  Ar- 

which  mult  be  deemed  at  lean:   necedary,  rL;s,  fo    liberal  am  I    in  my   conceflions, 

if  not  glorious ;   or  Clodius,  who  had  i'o  that  he  corrupted  a  (lave.  Read  the  evi- 

thorough  a  contempt  for  the   authority  of  dence  that  is  before  you  :  C.  Caffinius  of 

the  magiftrate,  and  for  penalties,  that  he  Juteramna,  furnamed  Scola,  an    intimate 

took  delight  in   nothing  that  was    either  friend  and  companion   of  P.  Clodins,  who 

Agreeable  to  nature  or  confident  with  law  ?  fwore  on  a  former  occaiion  that  Clodius 

But  why  mould  I  labour  this  point  fo  much,  was  at    Interamna   and  at    Rome   at  the 

why  d.fpute  any  longer  ?. I  appeal  to  you,  fame  hour,  tells  you  that  P.  Clodius- in- 

C^_  Peti'ius,  who  are  a  moll  worthy  and  tended  to  have  fpent  that  day  at  his  feat 

excellent  citizen  ;  I  call  you,  Marcus  Cato,  near  Alba,  but  that  hearing  very  unex- 

to    vvitneis ;    both  of  you  placed  on   that  pectedly  of  the  death  of  Cyrus  the  archi- 

tribunal  by  akindoffupernatural  direction,  ted,  he  determined  immediately  to  return 

You  were  told  by  M.  Favonius,  that  Clo-  to  Rome.     The  fame  evidence  is  given  in 

dius  declared  to  him,  and  you  were  told  it  by   C.   Clodius,  another  companion  of  P. 

in   Clodius's  life- time,  that   Milo    fhould  Clodius. 


rot  live  three  days  longer.  In  three  days 
time  he  attempted  what  he  had  threat- 
ened :  if  he  then  made  no  fcruple  of  pub- 
liihing  his  defign,  can  you  entertain  any 
doubt  of  it  when  it  was  actually  carried 
into  execution  ? 

But  how  could  Clcdius  be  certain  as  to 


Obferve,  my  lords,  how  much  this  evi- 
dence makes  for  us.  Jn  the  firft  place  it 
plainlv  appears,  that  Milo  did  not  under- 
take his  journey  with  a  defign  to  way-lay 
Clodius,  as  he  could  not  have  the  leaft 
profpect  of  meeting  him.  In  the  next 
place,    (for  1   fee  no  reafon  why  I  mould 


E 


the  day  ?     This  I  have  already  accounted  rot  likewife  fpeak  for  myfelf)  you  know, 

for.     1  here  was  no  dilhculty  in  knowing  my  lords,  there  were  perfons  who  in  their 

When  the^  dictator  of  Lanuvium   was   to  zeal  for  carrying  on   this  profecution   did 

erform  his  {tared  facrinees.     He  faw  tint  net  fcruple  to  fay,  that  though  the  murder 

tfilo  was  obliged  to  let  out  for  Lanuvium  was  committed  by  the  hand  of  Milo,  the 

on  that  very  day .^    Accordingly  he  was  plot  was  laid  by  a  more  eminent  perfon. 

before-hand  with  him.    But  on  what  day  ?  In  a  word,  thofe  worthlefs  and  abandoned 

that  day,  on  which,  as  ]  mentioned  before,  wretches  reprefented  me  as  a  robber  and 

a  mad  aflembiy  was  held  by  his  mercenary  ailaffin.      But   this   cah'mny    is    confuted 

tribune ;  which  day,  which  aflembiy,  which  by  their  own  witnefles,  who  deny  that  Clo- 

tumult,  he  would  never  have  left,  if  he  had  dius  would  have  returned  to  Rome   that 

not  been  eager  to  execute  his    meditated  day,  if  he  had  not  heard  of  the  death  of 

villainy.    So  that  he  had  not  the  lead:  pre-  Cyrus.     Thus  I  recover  my  fpirits ;  I  am 

tence  ior  undertaking  the  journey,  but  a  acquitted,  and  am  under  no  apprchenfions, 

ftrong  reafon  for  Haying  at  home:  while  left  I  fhould  feer-  to  have  contrived  what 

Milo,  on  the  contrary,  could  not  pofubly  I    could  not  (o  much  as  have  fufpefted. 

nay,  and  had   not  on  y  a  fullicient   reafoii  Proceed  1  now  to   their  other  objections; 

for    leaving   the   city,   but  was   under  an  Clodius,  fay  they,  had  not  the  leaft* thought 

abfolute  neceftity  of  doing  it.     Now  what  of  way-laying   Milo,  becaufe  he  was    to 

U  it. appear  that,.as  Clodius  certainly  knew  have    remained    at  Albanum,    and  would 

..  4                             never 


BOOK  III.   ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  &c". 


67$ 


never  have  gone  from  his  country-feat  to 
commit  a  murder.  But  I  plainly  perceive 
that  the  perfon,  who  is  pretended  to  have 
informed  him  of  Cyrus's  death,  only  in- 
formed him  of  Milo's  approach.  For 
why  inform  him  of  the  death  of  Cyrus, 
whom  Clodius,  when  he  went  from  Rome, 
left  expiring  ?  I  was  with  him,  and  fealed 
up  his  will  along  with  Clodius ;  for  he  had 
publicly  made  his  will,  and  appointed  Clo- 
dius and  me  his  heirs.  Was  a  meffenger 
fent  him  then  by  four  o'clock  the  next  day 
to  acquaint  him  with  the  death  of  a  per- 
fon, whom  but  the  day  before,  about  nine 
in  the  morning,  he  had  left  breathing  his 
laft? 

Allowing  it  however  to  be  fo,  what  rea- 
fon  was  there  for  hurrying  back  to  Rome  ? 
Fer  what  did  he  travel  in  the  night-time  ? 
what  occafioned  all  this  difpatch?  was  it 
becaufe  he  was  the  heir?  In  the  firft 
place  this  required  no  hurry;  and,  in  the 
next,  if  it  had,  what  could  he  have  got 
that  night,  which  he  muft  have  loft,  had 
he  come  to  Rome  only  next  morning? 
And  as  a  journey  to  town  in  the  night  was 
rather  to  be  avoided  than  defired  by  Clo- 
dius, fo  if  Milo  had  formed  any  plot  againft 
his  enemy,  and  had  known  that  he  was 
to  return  to  town  that  evening,  he  would 
have  ftopped  and  waited  for  him.  He 
might  have  killed  him  by  night  in  a  fuf- 
picious  place,  infefted  with  robbers.  No- 
body could  have  difbelieved  him  if  he  had 
denied  the  faft,  fince  even  after  he  has 
confeffed  it,  every  one  is  concerned  for 
his  fafety.  Firft  of  all,  the  place  itfelf 
would  have  been  charged  with  it,  being  a 
haunt  and  retreat  for  robbers ;  while  the 
filent  folitude  and  fhades  of  night  muft 
have  concealed  Milo:  and  then  as  fuch 
numbers  have  been  aflaulted  and  plundered 
by  Clodius,  and  fo  many  others  were  ap- 
prehenfive  of  the  like  treatment,  the  fuf- 
picion  muft  naturally  have  fallen  upon 
them ;  and,  in  Ihort,  all  Etruria  might 
have  been  profecuted.  But  it  is  certain 
that  Clodius,  in  his  return  that  day  from 
Aricia,  called  at  Albanum.  Now  though 
Milo  had  known  that  Clodius  had  left 
Aricia,  yet  he  had  reafon  to  fufpect  that 
he  would  call  at  his  feat  which  lies  upon 
the  road,  even  though  he. was  that  day  to 
return  to  Rome.  Why  then  did  he  not 
either  meet  him  fooner  and  prevent  his 
reaching  it,  or  poft  hiihfelf  where  he  was 
fure^ Clodius  was  to  pafs  in  the  night-time? 
Thus  far,  my  lords,  every  circumftance 
«oncurs  to  prove  that  it  was  for  Milo's 


intereft  Clodius  mould  live ;  that,  on  the 
contrary,  Milo's  death  was  a  moft:  defir-. 
able  event  for  anfwfering  the  purpofes  of 
Clodius;  that  on  one  fide  there  was  a 
moft  implacable  hatred,  on  the  other  not 
the  leaft ;  that  the  one  had  been  continu- 
ally employing  himfelf  in  acts  of  violence, 
the  other  only  in  oppofing  them;  that  the 
life  of  Milo  was  threatened}  and  his  death 
publicly  foretold  by  Clodius,  whereas 
nothing  of  that  kind  was  ever  heard  from 
Milo;  that  the  day  fixed  for  Milo's  jour- 
ney was  well  known  to  his  adverfary,whils 
Milo  knew  nothing  when  Clodius  was  to 
return ;  that  Milo's  journey  was  neceffary, 
but  that  of  Clodius  rather  the  contrary; 
that  the  one  openly  declared  his  intention 
of  leaving  Rome  that  day,  while  the  other 
concealed  his  intention  of  returning;  that 
Milo  made  no  alteration  in  his  meafures, 
but  that  Clodius  feigned  an  excufe  for  al- 
tering his ;  that  if  Milo  had  defigned  to 
way-lay  Clodius,  he  would  have  waited  for 
him  near  the  city  till  it  was  dark,  but 
that  Clodius,  even  if  he  had  been  under 
no  apprehenfions  from  Milo,  ought  to  hav« 
been  afraid  of  coming  to  town  fo  late  at 
night. 

Let  Us  how  confider  the  principal  point, 
whether  the  place  where  they  encountered 
was  moft  favourable  to  Milo,  or  to  Clo- 
dius. But  can  there,  my  lords,  be  any 
room  for  doubt,  or  for  any  farther  delibe- 
ration upon  that?  It  was  near  the  eftate 
of  Clodius,  where  at  leaft  a  thoufand  able- 
bodied  men  were  employed  in  his  mad 
fchemes  of  building.  Did  Milo  think  he 
fhould  have  an  advantage  by  attacking 
him  from  an  eminence,  and  did  he  for 
this  reafon  pitch  upon  that  fpot  for  the 
engagement?  or  was  he  not  rather  ex- 
petted  in  that  place  by  his  adverfary,  who 
hoped  »the  fituation  would  favour  his  af- 
fault?  The  thing,  my  lords,  fpeaks  for 
itfelf,  which  muft  be  allowed  to  be  of 
the  greateft  importance  in  determining  a 
queftion.  Were  the  affair  to  be  repre- 
sented only  by  painting,  inftead  of  being 
exprefled  by  words,  it  would  even  then 
clearly  appear  which  was  the  traitor,  and 
which  was  free  from  all  mifchievous  de- 
figns ;  when  the  one  was  fitting  in  his 
chariot  muffled  op  in  his  cloak,  and  his 
wife  along  with  him.  Which  of  ihefe  cir- 
eumftances  wa3  not  a  very  great  incum- 
brance ?  the  drefs,  the  chariot,  or  the 
companion?  How  could  he  be  worfe 
equipped  for  an  engagement,  when  he  was 
wrapt  up  in  a  cloak,  euibarraffed  with  a 

X  x  2  *ha*iot, 


ft-6 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


chariot,  and  almoft  fettered  by  his  wife  ? 
Obferve  the  other  now,  in  the  firft  place, 
fellying  out  on  a  fudden  from  his  feat; 
for  what  reafon  ?  in  the  evening;  what 
-,  urged  him  late  ;  to  what  purpofe,  efpe- 
cially  at  that  feafon  ?  He  calls  at  Pom- 
pey's  feat ;  with  what  view  ?  To  fee  Pom- 
pey  ?  He  knew  he  was  at  Alfium.  To 
iee  his  houfe  ?  He  had  been  in  it  a  thou- 
sand times.  What  then  could  be  the  rea- 
fon of  this  loitering  and  Ihifting  about  ? 
He  wanted  to  be  upon  the  fpot  when  Milo 
came  up. 

Now  pleafe  to  compare  the  travelling 
equipage  of  a  determined  robber  with  that 
of  Milo.  Clodius,  before  that  day,  al- 
ways travelled  with  his  wife  ;  he  was  then 
without  her  :  he  never  ufed  to  travel  but 
in  his  chariot;  he  was  then  on  horfeback: 
he  was  attended  with  Greeks  wherever  he 
went,  even  when  he  was  hurrying  to  the 
Tuican  camp;  at  that  time  he  had  nothing 
infignificant  in  his  retinue.  Milo,  con* 
trary  to  his  ufual  manner,  happened  then 
to  take  with  him  his  wife's  fingers,  and  a 
whole  train  of  her  women  :  Clodius  who 
never  failed  to  carry  his  whores,  his  Cata- 
mites, and  his  bawds  along  with  him,  was 
then  attended  by  none  but  thofe  who  feem- 
ed  to  be  picked  out  by  one  another.  How 
came  he  then  to  be  overcome?  Becaufe 
the  traveller  is  not  always  killed  by  the 
robber,  but  fometimes  the  robber  by  the 
traveller;  becaufe,  though  Clodius  was 
prepared,  and  fell  upon  thofe  who  were 
•nprcpared.yet  Clodius  was  but  a  woman, 
and  they  were  men.  Nor  indeed  was  Milo 
ever  fo  little  unprepared,  as  not  to  be  a 
match  for  him  almoft  at  any  time.  He 
Was  always  fenfible  how  much  it  was  Clo- 
dius s  intereft  to  get  rid  of  him,  what  an 
inveterate  hatred  he  bore  to  him,  and  what 
audacious  attempts  he  was  capable  of;  and 
inert, ore  as  he  knew  that  a  price  was  fet 
•pon  his  life  and  that  it  was  in  a  manner 
devoted  to  deftruclion,  he  never  expofed 
fo  ?k-anV£ng?r  With0ut  a  Suard-  Add 
rftue  of  all  combats,  and  the  common 
chance  of  war,  which  often  turns  againlt 
the  vidor,  even  when  ready  to  plunder 

ST  ^TP,h  °rer  the  vanquilhed:  Add 
the  un&ilfttlncfi  of  a  gluttonous,  drunken, 
itupid  leader,  who  when  he  had  furrounded 
his  adversary,  never  thought  of  his  at- 
tendants that  were  behind;  from  whom, 
a  vvKh  rage,  and  defpairin?  of  their 
nailer  s  hfe,  he  funded  the  punimmment 
«**&  thofe  fjuth/ul  Have*  inlawed  in  re- 


venge  for  their  mailer's  death.  Why  then 
did  he  give  them  their  freedom  ?  He  was 
afraid,  i  fuppofe,  left  they  fhould  betray 
him,  left  they  fhould  not  be  able  to  endure 
pain,  left  the  torture  fticuld  oblige  them, 
to  confefs  that  P.  Clodius  was  killed  by 
Milo's  fervants  on  the  Appian  way.  But 
what  occafion  for  torture  ?  what  was  vou 
to  extort?  If  Clodius  was  killed?  he  was: 
but  whether  lawfully  or  unlawfully,  can 
never  be  determined  by  torture.  When 
the  quefticn  relates  to  the  matter  of  fa<ft, 
we  may  have  recourfe  to  the  executioner  J 
but  when  to  a  point  of  equity,  the  judge 
mall  decide. 

Let  us  then  here  examine  into  what  is 
to  be  the  fubjedft  of  enquiry  in  the  prefect 
cafe;  for  as  to  what  you  would  extort  by 
torture,  we  confefs  it  all.  But  if  you  afk 
why  he  gave  them  their  freedom,  rather 
than  why  he  beitpwcd  fo  fmall  a  reward 
upon  them,  it  fhews  that  you  do  not  even 
know  how  to  find  fauk  with  this  aclion  of 
your  adverfary.  For  M.  Cato,  who  fits 
on  this  bench,  and  who  always  fpeaks  with 
the  utmoft  resolution  and  fteadinefs,  faid, 
and  faid  it  in  a  tumultuous  afl'embly,  which 
however  was  quelled  by  his  authority, 
that  thofe  who  had  defended  their  matter's 
life,  well  deferved  not  only  their  liberty, 
but  the  higheft  rewards.  For  what  re- 
ward can  be  great  enough  for  fuch  affec- 
tionate, fuch  worthy  and  faithful  fervants, 
to  whom  their  mailer  is  indebted  for  his 
life?  And  which  is  yet  a  higher  obliga- 
tion, to  whom  he  owes  it,  that  his  moil  in- 
veterate enemy  has  not  fvailed  his  eyes, 
and  fatiated  his  wiihes,  with  the  fight  of 
his  mangled  bloody  corfe.  Who,  if  they 
had  not  been  made  free,  thefe  deliverers 
of  their  mafter,  thefe  avengers  of  guilt, 
thefe  defenders  of  innocent  blood,  mult 
have  been  put  to  the  torture.  It  is  mat- 
ter, however,  of  no  fmall  fatisfaflion  to 
him,  under  his  prefent  misfortunes,  to  re- 
flect, that  whatever  becomes  of  himfelf, 
he  has  had  it  in  his  power  to  reward  them 
as  they  deferved.  But  the  torture  that  is 
now  infli&ing  in  the  porch  of  the  temple 
of  Liberty,  bears  hard  upon  Milo.  Upon 
whole  Haves  is  it  inflicled?  do  you  aflc? 
9n  thofe  of  P.  Clodius.  Who  demanded 
them  ?  Appius.  Who  produced  them  ? 
Appius.  From  whence  came  they  ?  from 
Appius.  Good  gods',  can  any  thing  be 
more  fevere?  Servants  aie  never  examined 
againft  their  mailers  but  in  cafes  of  inceft, 
as  in  the  inftance  of  Clod  us,  who  now  ap- 
proaches Rearer  the  gods,  than  when  he 

made 


BOOKIH.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    k.        677 


stade  his  way  into  their  very  prefence; 
for  the  fame  enquiry  is  made  into  his  death, 
as  if  their  facred  myfteries  had  been  vio- 
lated. But  our  ancestors  would  not  allow 
a  Have  to  be  put  to  the  torture  for  what 
affected  his  mafter,  not  becaufe  the  truth 
could  not  thus  be  difcovered,  but  becaufe 
their  mailers  thought  it  dilhonourablc  and 
worfe  than  death  ltfelf.  Can  the  truth  be 
difcovered  when  the  flaves  of  the  proiecu- 
tor  are  brought  as  witneffes  againft  the 
perfon  accufed  ?  Let  us  hear  now  what 
kind  of  an  examination  this  was.  Call  in 
Rofcio,  call  in  Cafca.  Did  Clodius  way- 
lay Milo?  He  did.  Drag  them  inftantly 
to  execution  :  he  did  not.  Let  them  have 
their  liberty,  What  can  be  more  fatisfac- 
tory  than  this  method  of  examination  ? 
They  are  hurried  away  on  a  fudden  to  the 
rack,  but  are  confined  feparately,  and 
thrown  into  dungeons,  that  no  perfon  may 
have  an  opportunity  of  fpeaking  to  them  : 
At  laft,  after  having  been,  for  a  hundred 
days,  in  the  hands  of  the  profeeutor,  he 
himfelf  produces  them.  What  can  be 
more  fair  and  impartial  than  fuch  an  exa- 
mination? 

But  if,  my  lords,  ycu  are  not  yet  con- 
vinced, though  the  thing  fhines  out  with 
fuch  ftrong  and  full  evidence,  that  Milo 
returned  to  Rome  with  an  innocent  mind, 
unftained  with  guilt,  undiiturbed  by  fear, 
and  free  from  the  accufations  of  con- 
science; call  to  mind,  I  befeech  you  by 
the  immortal  gods,  the  expedition  with 
which  he  came  back,  his  entrance  into  the 
forum  while  the  fenate -houfe  was  in  flames, 
the  greatnefs  of  foul  he  difcovered,  the 
look  he  affumed,  the  fpeech  he  made  on 
the  occafion.  He  delivered  himfelf  up, 
not  only  to  the  people,  but  even  to  the 
fenate  ;  nor  to  the  fenate  alone,  but  even 
to  guards  appointed  for  the  public  fecu- 
rity  ;  nor  merely  to  them,  but  even  to  the 
authority  of  him  whom  the  fenate  had  in- 
trufted  with  the  care  of  the  whole  repub- 
lic, all  the  youth  of  Italy,  and  all  the  mi- 
litary force  of  Rome :  to  whom  he  would 
never  have  delivered  himfelf,  if  he  had 
not  been  confident  of  the  goodnefs  of  his 
caufe  ;  efpecially  as  that  perfon  heard  every 
report,  was  appreheniive  of  very  great 
danger,  had  many  fufpicions,  and  gave  cre- 
dit to  force  ftories.  Great,  my  lords,  is 
the  force  of  confeience  ;  great  both  in  the 
innocent  and  the  guilty ;  the  firft  have  no 
fears,  while  the  other  imagine  their  pu- 
nishment is  continually  before  their  eyes. 
Nor  indeed  is  it  without  good  reafon  that 


Milo's  caufe  has  ever  been  approved  by 
the  fenate;  for  thofe  wife  men  perceived 
the  juftice  of  his  caufe,  his  prefence  ot 
mind,  and  the  refolution  with  which  he 
made  his  defence.  Have  you  forgot,  my 
lords,  when  the  news  of  Clodius's  death 
had  reached  u.s,  what  were  the  reports  arid 
opinions  that  prevailed,  not  only  amongft 
the  enemies  of  Milo,  but  even  amongft 
fome  other  weak  perfons,  who  affirmed 
that  Milo  would  not  return  to  Rome? 
For  if  he  committed  the  fact  in  the  heat 
ofpaffion,  from  a  principle  of  refentment, 
they  imagined  he  would  look  upon  the  death 
of  P.  Clodius  as  of  fuch  confequence,  that 
he  could  be  content  to  go  into  banifhment, 
after  having  fatiated  his  revenge  with  the 
blood  of  his  enemy  ;  or  if  he  put  him  to 
death  with  a  view  to  the  fafety  of  his  coun- 
try, they  were  of  opinion  that  the  fame 
brave  man,  after  he  had  faved  the  ftate  by 
expofing  his  own  life  to  danger,  would 
chearfully  fubmit  to  the  laws,  and  leaving 
us  to  enjoy  the  blefhngs  he  had  preferved, 
be  fatisfied  himfelf  with  immortal  glory. 
Others  talked  in  a  more  frightful  manner, 
and  called  him  a  Catiline;  he  will  break 
out,  faid  they,  he  will  feize  fome  ftrong 
place,  he  will  make  war  upon  his  country. 
How  wretched  is  often  the  fate  of  thofe 
citizens  who  have  done  the  moft  important 
fervices  to  their  country  !  their  nobleft 
actions  are  not  only  forgot,  but  they  are 
even  fufpected  of  the  moft  impious.  Thefe 
fu??eftions  therefore  were  groundlefs: 
yeVthey  muft  have  proved  too  well  found- 
ed, had  Milo  done  any  thing  that  could 
not  be  defended  with  truth  and  juftice.  % 

Why  fhould  I  mention  the  calumnies 
that  were  afterwards  heaped  upon  him? 
And  though  they  were  fuch  as  would  have 
filled  any  breaft' with  terror  that  had  the 
leaft  confeioufnefs  of  guilt,  yet  how  he 
bore  them!  Immortal  gods!  bore  them, 
did  I  fay  ?  Nay,  how  he  defpifed  and  fet 
them  at  nought  !  Though  a  guilty  per- 
fon even  of  the  greateft  courage,  nor  an 
innocent  perfon,  unlels  endued  with  the 
greateft  fortitude,  could  never  have  ne- 
glected them.  It  was  whifpered  about, 
that  a  valt  number  of  fhields,  fwords, 
bridles,  darts,  and  javelins  might  be  found; 
that  there  was  not  a  ftreet  nor  lane  in  the 
city,  where  Milo  had  not  hired  a  houfe  ; 
that  arms  were  conveyed  down  the  Tiber 
to  his  feat  at  Ocriculum  ;  that  his  houfe  on 
the  Capitoline  hill  was  filled  with  fhields ; 
and  that  every  other  place  was  full  of 
hand-granades'  for  firing  the  city,  Thcie 
X  x  3  ft01'ie* 


678 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


ftories  were  not  only  reported,  but  almoft 
believed ;  nor  were  they  looked  upon  as 
groundlefs  till  after  a  fearch  was  made.    I 
could  not  indeed  but  applaud  the  wonder- 
ful diligence  of  Pompey  upon  the  occa- 
sion: but  to  tell  ypu  freely,  my  lords,  what 
I  think  :  thofe  who  are  charged  with   the 
care  of  the  whole  republic,  are  obliged  to 
hear  too  many  ftories ;  nor  indeed  is  it  in 
their  power  to  avoid  it.    He  could  not  re- 
fute an  audience  to  a  paultry  fellow  of  a 
prieft,  Licinius  I  think  he  is  called,  who 
gave  information  that  Milo's  Haves,  hav- 
ing got  drunk  at  his  houfe,  confeffed  to 
him    a  plot  they  had  formed  to    murder 
Pompey,  and  that  afterwards  one  of  them 
had  ftabbed  him,  to  prevent  his  discover- 
ing it.     Pompey  received  this  intelligence 
at  his  gardens.     I  was  fent  for  immedi- 
ately ;  and  by  the  advice  of  his  friends 
the  affair  was  laid  before  the    fenate.     I 
could  not  help  being  in  the  greater!  con- 
fternation,  to  fee  the  guardian  both  of  me 
and  my  country  under  fo  great  an  appre- 
henfion  ;  yet  I  could  not  help  wondering, 
that  fuch  credit  was  given  to  a  butcher ; 
that  the  confefilons  of  a  parcel  of  drunken 
fiaves  mould  be  read ;  and  that  a  wound  in 
the  fide,  which  feemed  to   be  the  prick 
only  of  a  needle,  lhould  be  taken  for  the 
thruft  of  a  gladiator.     But,  as  I  under- 
hand, Pompey  was  (hewing  his  caution, 
rather  than  his  fear ;  and  was  difpofed  to 
be  fufpicious  of   every    thing,    that    you 
might  have  reafon  to  fear  nothing.    There 
wab  a  rumour  alfo,  that  the   hcufe  of  C. 
Ca-far,  fo  eminent  for  his  rank  and  cou- 
rage, was  attacked  for  feveral  hours  in  the 
night.     No  holy  heard,  no  body  perceiv- 
ed any  thing  of  it,   though  the  place  was 
fo  public  ;  yet  the  affair  was  thought  fit  to 
be  enqui  ed   into.     I  could  never  fufptft 
a  man  ef  Pompcy's  diftinguifhed  valour, 
of  being    timorous  ;    nor   yet   think   any 
caution  too  great  in  one,  who  has  taken 
upon  himfelf  the  defence  of  the  whole  re- 
public.    A   fenator  too,   in   a   full  houfe, 
aihrmed  lately  in  the  capitol,  that   Mi!o 
had  a  dagger  under  hi,  gown  at  that  very 
time  :  upon  which  he  lcript  himfelf  in  that 
moil  facred  temple,  that,  lince  his  life  and 
manne  s  could   not  gain  him   credit,  the 
thing  itlelf  might  fpeak  for  him. 

Thefe  ftories  were  all  difcovered  to  be 
falfe  malicious  forgeries  :  but  if,  after  all, 
Milo  mail  ftiU  be  feared;  it  is  no  longer 
the  affair  cf  Clodius,  but  your  lufpicions, 
Pcmpey,  w  ich  we  dread  :  your,  your  fu- 
fpicions,  I   fay,  and  fpeak  it  fo,  that  you 


may  hear  me.     If  you  are  afraid  of  Mile, 
if  you  imagine  that  he  is  either  now  form- 
ing, or  has  ever    before    contrived,   any 
wicked   defign  againft  your  life ;    if  the 
forces  of  Italy,  as  fome  of  your  agents  al- 
ledge,  if  this  armed  force,  if  the  Capitoline 
troops,  if  thefe  centries  and  guards,  if  the 
chofen  band  of  young  men  that  guard  your 
perfon  and  your  houfe,  are  armed  againft 
the  affaults  of  Milo ;  if  all  thefe  precau- 
tions are  taken  and  pointed  againft  him, 
great  undoubtedly  mull    be  his  ftrength, 
and   incredible   his  valour,  far  furpafling 
the  forces  and  power  of  aiingle  man,  fince 
the  moft  eminent  of  all  our  generals  is 
fixed  upon,  and  the  whole  republic  armed 
to  refift  him.     But  who  does  not  know, 
that  all  the  infirm  and  feeble  parts  of  the 
ftate  are  committed  to  your  care,  to  be 
reftored  and  ftrengthened  by  this  armed 
force  ?  C«uld  Milo  have  found  an  oppor- 
tunity, he  would  immediately  have  con- 
vinced you,  that  no  man  ever  had  a  ftronger 
affection  for  another  than  he  has  for  you  ; 
that  he  never  declined  any  danger,  where 
your  dignity  was  concerned  ;  that,  to  raile 
your  glory,  he  often  encountered  that  mon- 
fter  Clodius ;  that  his  tribunate  was  em- 
ployed, under  your  direction,  in  fecuring 
my  fafety,  which  you  had  then  fo  much  at 
heart ;  that  you  afterwards  protected  him, 
when  his  life  was  in  danger,  and  ufed  your 
intereft  for  him,  when    he  ftood   for  the 
pranorlhip;  that  there  were  two  perfons 
whofe    warmeft    fiiendfhip    he  hoped   he 
might  always  depend  upon ;  yourfelf,  on 
account  of  the  obligations   you  laid  him 
under,  and  me  on  account  of  the  favours 
I  received  from  him.     If  he  had  failed 
in  the   proof  of  all   this;    if  your   fufpb. 
cions  had  been  fo  deeply  rooted  as  not  to 
be   removed;    if  Italy,  in   a  word,  mull 
never  have  been  free    from  new   levies, 
nor  the  city  from  arms,  without  Milo's  de^ 
ftru&ion,  he  would  not  have  fcrupled,  fuch 
is  his  nature  and  principles,  to  bid  adieu 
to  his  country;    but  firft  he  would  have 
called  upon  thee,  O  thou  great  one,  as  he 
now  does. 

Confider  how  uncertain  and  variable  the 
condition  cf  life  is,  how  unfettled  and  in- 
conllant  a  thing  fortune  ;  what  unfaithful- 
nefs  is  to  be  found  amongft  friends ;  what 
difguifes  fuitcd  to  times  and  circumftances ; 
what  defertion,  what  cowardice  in  our  dan- 
gers, even  of  thofe  who  are  dearcft  to  us. 
There  will,  there  will,  I  fay,  be  a  time, 
and  the  day  will  certainly  come,  when  you, 
with  fafety  ilill,  I  hope,  to  your  fortune?, 

though 


BOOK  in.  ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  &c. 


679 


though  changed  perhaps  by  fome  turn  of 
the  common  times,  which,  as  experience 
(hews,  will  often  happen  to  us  all,  may 
want  the  affection  of  the  friendliefl,  the 
fidelity  of  the  worthier!,  and  the  courage  of 
the  bravefl  man  living.  Though  who  can 
believe  that  Pompey,  fo  well  /killed  in  the 
laws  of  Rome,  in  ancient  ufages,  and  the 
constitution  of  his  country,  when  the  fenate- 
had  given  it  him  in  charge,  to  fee  tint 
the  republic  received  no  detriment ;  a  fen- 
tence  always  fufficient  for  arming  the  con- 
fuls  without  affigning  them  an  armed  force  ; 
that  he,  I  fay,  when  an  army  and  a  choicn 
band  of  foldiers  were  affigned  him,  lhould 
wait  the  event  of  this  trial,  and  defend 
the  conduct  of  the  man  who  wanted  to 
abolifh  trials  ?  It  was  fufficient  that  Pom- 
pey cleared  Milo  from  thofe  charges  that 
were  advanced  againft  him,  by  enacting  a 
law,  according  to  which,  in  my  opinion, 
Milo  ought,  and  by  the  confeffion  of  all, 
night  lawfully  be  acquitted.  But  by  fit- 
ting in  that  place,  attended  by  a  numerous 
guard  affigned  him  by  public  authority, 
he  fufficiently  declares  his  intention  is  not 
to  overawe,  (for  what  can  be  more  un- 
worthy a  man  of  his  character,  than  to 
oblige  you  to  condemn  a  perfon,  whom, 
from  numerous  precedents,  and  by  virtue 
of  his  own  authority,  he  might  have  pu- 
nifhed  himfelf)  but  to  protect  ycu  :  he 
means  only  to  convince  you  that,  notwith- 
ftanding  yeflerday's  riotous  affembly,  you 
are  at  full  liberty  to  pafs  fentence  accord- 
ing to  your  own  judgments. 

But,  my  lords,  the  Clodian  accufation 
gives  me  no  concern  ;  for  1  am  not  fo  ftu- 
pid,  fo  void  of  all  experience,  or  fo  igno- 
rant of  your  fentiments,  as  not  to  know 
your  opinion  in  relation  to  the  death  of 
Clodius.  And  though  I  had  not  refuted 
the.  charge,  as  I  have  'done,  yet  Miio 
might,  with  fafety,  have  made  the  follow- 
ing glorious  declaration  in  public,  though 
a  falfe  one;  1  have  flain,  I  have  flain, 
not  a  Sp.  Madius,  who  was  fufpected  of 
aiming  at  the  regal  power,  becaufe  lie 
courted  the  favour  of  the  people  by  lower- 
ing the  price  of  corn,  and  bellowing  ex- 
travagant prefents  to  the  ruin  of  his" own 
ellate;  not  a  Tiberius  Gracchus,  who  fe- 
ditioufly  depofed  his  colleague  from  his 
magiftraoy;  though  even  their  deltroyers 
have  filled  the  world  with  the  glory  of 
their  exploits :  but  i  have  flain  the  man 
(for  he  had  a  right  to  life  this  language, 
who-  had  fayed  his  country  at  the  hazard 
Oi  his  own  life)  whole  abominable  adul- 


teries our  nobleft  matrons  difcovcred  cv:n 
in  the  molt  faered  receffes  of  the  iramoml 
gods  :  the  man,  by  whole  punilhment  the 
fen  ate  frequently  determined  to  atone  for 
the  violation  of  our  religious  rites:    the 
man  whole  inceit  with  his  own  filler,  Lu- 
cullus  Iwore  he    had  dilcovered,  by  due 
examination  :  the  man  who,  by  the  violence 
of  his  flaves,  expelled  a  perfon  eileemed 
by  the  fenate,    the    people,    and    all  na- 
tions, as  the  preferver  of  the  citv  and  the 
lives  of  the  citizens:  the  man,  who  gave 
and  took  away  kingdoms,  and  parcelled 
out   the  world  to  whom  he   plea  fed  :  the 
man  who,  after  having  commuted  feveral 
murders  in  the   forum,  by  force   of  arms 
obliged  a  citizen  of  illullrious  virtue  and 
character    to   confine  himfelf  within    the 
walls   of  his  own    hcufe :    the  man,  who 
thought    no  inllance    of  villainy    or   3 nil 
unlawful :  the  man,  who  fired  the   table 
of  the  Nymphs,  in  order  to  deflroy  the 
public  regilter,  which  contained  the  cen- 
fure  of  his  crimes ;  in  a  word,  the  man, 
who  governed  himfelf  by  no  law,  difre- 
garded  all  civil  inftitutions,  and  obferved 
no  bounds  in  the  divi'fion  of  property  ;  who 
never   attempted    to    feize    the   efcate    of 
another  by  quirks  of  low,  fuborned  evi- 
dence, or  falfe  oath?,  but  employed    the 
more  effectual  means    of   regular  troops, 
encampments,  and  ltandards;  who  by  his 
armed  forces  endeavoured  to  drive  from 
their  poffeffions,  not  only  the  Tufcans  (for 
them  he  utterly  defpifed)  but  Q^  Varius, 
one  of  our  judges,  that  brave  man  and 
worthy  citizen  ;  who  with  his  architects 
and  meafures  traverfed  the  eflates  and  gar- 
dens of  a  great  many  citizens,  and  grained 
in  his  own  imagination  ail  that   lies  be- 
tween Janiculum  and  the  Alps  ;  who  when 
he  could  not  perfuade  Titus  Pecavius,  an 
illullrious  and  brave  Roman  knight,  to  fell 
an  ifland  upon  the   Pretian  lake,  immedi- 
ately conveyed  timber,  flone,  mortar  and 
fand,  into   the  ifland  in  boats,  and  made 
no  fcruple  of  building  a  houfe  on  another 
perfon's  ellate,  even  while  the  proprietor 
was  viewing  him  from  the  oppolite  bank  ; 
who  had  the  impudence,  immortal  gods. I 
to  declare  to  fuch  a  man  as  Titus  'Furfa- 
nius  (for  I  mall  omit  the  affair  relating  to 
the  widow  Scantia,  and  the  young  Apro- 
nius,  both   of  whom    he  threatened  With 
death,  if  they   did   not  yield  to  hitu  the 
poiTeffion  of  their  gardens)  ;  who  had  the 
impudence,  I  fay,  to  declare  to  Titus  Fur- 
fanius,  that  if  he  did   not   give  him  the 
fum  of  money  he  demanded,    he  would 
X  x  4.  onvey 


6So 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


convey  a  dead  body  into  his  houfe,  in 
order  to  expofe  fo  eminent  a  man  to  the 
public  odium;  whodifpolTeiTcd  his  brother 
Appius  of  his  eftate  in  his  abfence,  a  man 
united  to  me  in  the  clofeft  friendfhip  ; 
who  attempted  to  run  a  wall  through  a 
C  ourt-yard  belonging  to  his  filler,  and  to 
build  it  in  fuch  a  manner  as  not  only  to 
render  the  court-yard  ufelefs,  but  to  de- 
prive he r  of  all  entrance  and  accefs  to  her 
houfe. 

Yet  all  thefe  violences  were  tolerated, 
though  committed  no  lefs  againft  the  com- 
monwealth than  againft  private  perfens, 
againft  the  remoteft  as  well  as  the  nearer!, 
iirangers  as  well  as  relations ;  but  the 
amazing  patience  of  Rome  was  become,  I 
know  not  how,  perfectly  hardened  and  cal- 
lous. Yet  by  what  means  could  you  have 
warded  off  thofe  dangers  that  were  more 
immediate  and  threatening,  cr  how  could 
you  have  fubmitted  to  his  government,  if 
he  had  obtained  it?  I  pafs  by  our  allies, 
foreign  nation:;,  kings  and  princes  ;  for  it 
was  your  ardent  prayer  that  he  would  turn 
hiaiiclf  loofe  upon  thofe  rather  than  upon 
your  ellates,  your  houfes,  and  your  mo- 
ney, Your  money  did  I  fay  ?  By  heavens, 
he  had  never  retrained  his  unbridled  lull 
from  violating  your  wives  and  children. 
Do  you  imagine  that  thefe  things  are  mere 
fictions ?  are  they  not  evident?  not  pub- 
licly known  ?  not  remembered  by  all  ?  Is 
it  not  notorious  that  he  attempted  to  raife 
an  army  of  ikves,  ftrong  enough  to  make 
him  mailer  of  the  whole  republic,  and  of 
the  property  of  every  Roman  ?  Wherefore 
if  Milo,  holding  the  bloody  dagger  in  his 
hand,  had  cried  alpud,  Citizens,  I  befeech 
you  draw  near  and  attend  :  I  have  killed 
Publius  Clodius :  with  this  right-hand,  with 
ihi>  dagger,  I  have  faved  your  lives  from 
that  fary,  which  no  laws,  no  government 
could  rcftrain  :  to  pie  alone  it  is  owing, 
that  juftice,  equity,  laws,  liberty,  modeily. 
and  decency,  have  yet  a  being  in  Rome  : 
could  there  be  any  room  for  Ivlilo  to  fear 
how  his  country  would  take  it  ?  Who  is 
there  now  that  does  not  approve  and  ap- 
plaud if  ?  Where(  is  the  man  that  dots  not 
think  and  declare  it  as  hjs  opinion,  that 
Milo  h^s  done  the  greateft  pcihble  fervice 
to  his  country  ;  that  he  ha.*  fpread  joy 
amongft  the  inhabitants  of  Rome,  cf  all 
Italy,  and  the  whole  world  ?  I  cannot  in- 
deed icermir.e  hpw  high  the  tranfports 
cf  the  Roman  people  may  have  rifen  in 
former  .imes,  this  prefent  age  however 
Hai  vfen  witnefs  to  many  frn  al  victories 


of  the  braveft  generals  ;  but  none  of  them 
ever  occasioned  fuch  real  and  lafting  joy. 
Commit  this,  my  lords,  to  your  memo- 
ries. J  hope  that  you  and  your  children 
will  enjoy  many  bleffingS  in  the  republic, 
and  that  each  of  them  will  be  attended 
with  this  reflection,  that  if  P.  Clodius 
had  lived,  you  would  have  enjoyed  none 
cf  them.  We  now  entertain  the  highelt, 
and,  I  truit,  the  beft-grounded  hopes, 
that  fo  excellent  a  perfon  being  conful, 
the  licentioufnefs  of  men  being  curbed, 
their  fchemes  broke,  law  and  jullice  efta- 
blifhed,  the  prefent  will  be  a  mod  fortu- 
nate year  to  Rome.  But  who  is  fo  ftupid 
as  to  imagine  this  would  have  been  the 
cafe  had  Clod'us  lived  ?  How  could  you 
poiiibly  have  been  fecure  in  the  pofleflion 
of  what  belongs  to  you,  of  your  own  pri- 
vate property,  under  the  tyranny  of  fuch  a 
fury  ? 

1  am  not  afraid,  my  lords,  that  I  ihould 
feem  to  let  my  rcfentment  for  perfonal  in- 
juries rife  fo  high,  as  to  charge  theie  things 
upon  him  with  more  freedom  than  truth. 
For  though  it  might  be  expected  this  ihould 
be  the  principal  motive,  yet  fo  common  an 
enemy  was  he  to  all  mankind,  that  my 
averfion  to  him  was  fcarccly  greater  than 
that  of  the  whole  world.  It  is  impoffible 
to  exprefs,  or  indeed  to  imagine,  what  a 
villain,  what  a  pernicious  monfter  he  was. 
But,  my  lords,  attend  to  this ;  the  prefent 
trial  relates  to  the  death  of  Clodius  :  form 
now  in  your  minds  (for  our  thoughts  are 
free,  and  reprefent  what  they  pleafe  juft 
in  the  fame  manner  as  we  perceive  what 
we  fee)  form,  I  fay,  in  your  minds  the 
picture  of  what  I  Pnall  now  defcribe.  Sup- 
pofe  I  could  perfuade  you  to  acquit  Milo, 
on  condition  that  Clodius  fhould  revive. 
Why  do  your  countenances  betray  thofe 
marks  of  fear  ?  how  would  he  affect  you 
when  living,  if  the  bare  imagination  of 
him,  though  he  is  dead,  fo  powerfully 
(hikes  you  ?  what  1  if  Pompey  himfelf,  a 
man  poffeffed  of  that  merit  and  fortune 
which  enable  him  to  effect  what  no  one 
belides  can  ;  if  he,  I  fay,  had  it  in  his 
power  either  to  appoint  Clodius's  death  to 
be  enquired  into,  or  to  raife  him  from  the 
dead,  which  do  you  think  he  would  chufe  ? 
Though  from  a  principle  of  friendfhip  he 
might  be  inclined  to  raife  him  from  the 
dead,  yet  a  regard  to  his  country  would 
prevent  him.  You  therefore  fit  as  the 
avengers  of  that  man's  death,  whom  you 
would  not  recall  to  life  if  you  were  able; 
and  enquiry  is  made  into  his  death  by  a 


BOOK  III.   ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  &c. 


6St 


taw  which  would  not  have  puffed  if  it 
could  have  brought  him  to  life.  If  his 
dellroyer  then  mould  confefs  the  fact,  need 
he  fear  to  be  punifhed  by  thofe  whom  he 
has  delivered  ?  The  Greeks  render  divide 
honours  to  thofe  who  put  tyrants  to  death. 
What  have  I  feen  at  Athens  ?  what  in 
other  citiet.  of  Greece  ?  what  ceremonies 
were  ini'tituted  for  fuch  heroes  ?  what 
hymns  ?  what  longs  ?  The  honours  paid 
them  were  almoit  equal  to  thofe  paid  to 
the  immortal  gods.  And  will  you  not 
only  refufe  to  pay  any  honours  to  the  pre- 
ferver  of  fo  great  a  people,  and  the  aven- 
ger of  fuch  execrable  villainies,  but  even 
fuffer  him  to  be  dragged  to  punifhment  ? 
He  would  have  confeffed,  I  fay,  had  he 
done  the  aclion ;  he  would  have  bravely 
and  freely  confeffed  that  he  did  it  for  the 
common  good;  and, indeed,  he  ought  not 
only  to  have  confeffed,  but  to  have  pro- 
claimed it. 

For  if  he  does  not  deny  an  action  for 
which  he  defires  nothing  but  pardon,  is  it 
likely  that  he  would  fcruple  to  confefs 
what  he  might  hope  to  be  rewarded  for  r 
unlefs  he  thinks  it  is  more  agreeable  to 
you,  that  he  mould  defend  his  own  life, 
than  the  lives  of  your  order ;  efpecially, 
as  by  fuch  a  confeilion,  if  you  were  in- 
clined to  be  grateful,  he  might  expect  to 
obtain  the  nobleft  honours.  But  if  you 
had  not  approved  of  the  action  (though 
how  is  it  poffible  that  a  perfon  can  difap- 
prove  of  his  own  fafety  !)  if  the  courage 
of  the  braveft  man  alive  had  not  been 
agreeable  to  his  countrymen ;  he  would 
have  departed  with  ileadinefs  and  refolu- 
tion  from  fo  ungrateful  a  city.  For  what 
can  fhew  greater  ingratitude,  than  that  all 
fnould  rejoice,  while  he  alone  remained 
difconfolate,  who  was  the  caufe  of  ail  the 
joy  ?  Yet,  in  deftroying  the  enemies  of 
our  country,  this  has  been  our  conltant 
perfuafion,  that  as  the  glory  would  be  our?, 
fo  we  Ihould  expect  our  fhare  pf  odium 
and  danger.  For  what  praife  had  been 
due  to  me,  when  in  my  confulate  I  made 
fo  many  hazardous  attempts  for  you  and 
your  poflerity,  if  I  couid  have  propofed 
to  carry  my  cefigns  into  execution  without 
the  greater:  ilruggles  and  difficulties  ?  what 
woman  would  not  dare  to  kill  the  moll 
villainous  and  outrageous  citizen,  if  fhe 
had  no  danger  to  fear  ?  But  the  man  who 
bravely  defends  his  country  with  the  pro- 
.fpedt  of  public  odium,  danger,  and  death, 
is  a  man  indeed.  It  is  the  duty  of  a 
grateful  people  to  beftew  diftinguifhed  ho- 


nours upon  diflinguifhed  patriots;  and  it 
is  the  part  of  a  brave  man,  not  to  be  in- 
duced by  the  grcateit  fufferings  to  repent 
of  having  boldly  difcharged  his  duty.  Milo 
therefore  might  have  made  the  confeffiori 
which  Ahala,  Naficay  Opimius,  Marius, 
and  I  myfelf,  formerly  made.  And  had 
his  country  been  grateful,  he  might  have 
rejoiced  ;  if  ungrateful,  his  confeience  mull 
fti!l  have  fupported  him  under  ingratitude. 
But  that  gratitude  is  due  to  him  for  this 
favour,  my  lords,  the  fortune  of  Rome, 
your  own  preiervation,  and  the  immortal 
gods,  all  declare.  Nor  is  it  poffible  that 
any  man  can  think  othenvife,  but  he  who 
denies  the  exillence  of  an  over-ruling 
power  or  divine  providence ;  who  is  uri- 
affected  by  the  majeily  of  your  empire, 
the  fun  itfelf,  the  revolutions  of  the  hea- 
venly bodies,  the  changes  and  laws  of  na- 
ture, and,  above  all,  the  wifdom  of  our 
anceflors,  who  religioufly  obferved  the 
facred  rites,  ceremonies,  and  aufpices,  and 
carefully  tranfmitred  them  to  their  pofle- 
rity. 

There  is,  there  certainly  is  fuch  a  Power; 
nor  can  this  grand  and  beautiful  fabric  of 
nature  be  without  an  animating  principle, 
when  thefe  bodies  and  feeble  frames  of 
ours  are  endowed  with  life  and  perception. 
Unlefs  perhaps  men  think  otherwife,  be- 
caufe  it  is  not  immediately  difcerned  by 
them  ;  as  if  we  could  difcern  that  princi- 
ple of  wifdom  and  forefight  by  which  we 
act  and  fpeak,  or  even  could  difcover  the 
manner  and  place  of  its  exillence.  This, 
this  is  the  very  power  which  has  often,  in. 
a  wonderful  manner,  crowned  Rome  with 
glory  and  profperity  ;  which  has  deftroyed 
and  removed  this  plague ;  which  infpired 
him  with  prefumption  to  irritate  by  vio- 
lence, and  provoke  by  the  fword,  the 
braveft  of  men,  in  order  to  be  conquered 
by  him  ;  a  victory  over  whom  would  have 
procured  him  eternal  impunity,  and  fu!I 
fcope  to  his  audacioufnefs.  This,  my 
lords,  was  not  effected  by  human  prudence, 
nor  even  by  the  common  care  of  the  im- 
mortal gods.  Our  facred  places  them- 
felves,  by  heavens,  which  faw  this  monfler 
fall,  feemed  to  be  interefled  in  his  fate, 
and  to  vindicate  their  rights  in  his  de- 
flrudlion.  For  you,  ye  Alban  mounts  and 
groves,  1  implore  and  attefr,  ye  demo- 
lifhed  altars  of  the  Albans,  the  companions 
and  partners  of  the  Roman  rites,  which 
his  fury,  after  having  demolifhed  the  fa- 
cred groves,  buried  under  the  extravagant 
piles  of  his  building,     Upon  his  fall,  your 

alters 


6*2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


altars,  your  rites,  flourished,  your  power 
prevailed,  whieh  he  had  defiled  with  all 
,  manner  of  villainy.  And  you,  O  venera- 
ble Jupiter  !  from  your  lofty  Latian 
mount,  whofe  lakes,  whole  woods  and  bor- 
ders, he  polluted  with  the  moll:  abomina- 
ble lull,  and. every  fpecies  of  guilt,  at  lafl 
opened  your  eyes  to  behold  his  deftruc- 
tion  :  to  you,  and  in  your  prefence,  was 
the  late,  but  juft  and  deferved  penalty 
paid.  For  ilirely  it  can  never  be  alledged 
that,  in  his  encounter  with  Milo  before  the 
chapel  of  the  Bma  Dea,  which  Hands  upon 
the  ellate  of  that  worthy  and  accomplilhed 
youth,  P.  Sextius  Gal'us,  it  was  by  chance 
lie  received  that  iirll  wound,  which  deli- 
vered him  up  to  a  fhameful  death,  I  may 
fay  under  the  eye  of  the  goddefs  herfelf : 
no;  it. was  that  he  might  appear  not  ac- 
quitted by  the  infamous  decree,  but  re- 
ierved  only  for  this  fignalpuniihment. 

Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  the  anger  of 
the  gods  inspired  his  followers  with  fuch 
jnadnefs,  as  to  commit  to  the  flames  his 
expo-led  body,  without  pageants,  without 
tinging,  without  ihew?,  without  pomp, 
without  lamentations,  without  any  oration 
in  his  praife,  without  the  rites  or'  burial, 
befmeared  with  gore  and  dirt,  and  depriv- 
ed of  that  funeral  folemnity  which  is  al- 
ways granted  even  to  enemies.  It  was 
incontinent  with  piety,  I  imagine,  that  the 
images  of  fuch  illuftrious  pcribns  ihould 
grace  lo  monftrous  a  parricide:  nor  could 
he  be  torn  by  the  dog?,  when  dead,  in  a 
more  proper  place  than. that  where  he  had 
been  lb  often  condemned  while  alive. 
Truly,  the  fortune  of  the  .Roman  people 
ieemed  to  me  hard  and  cruel,  which  law 
and  fullered  him  to  inlulfthe  flats  for  fo 
inany  years.  He  defiled  with  lull  our 
moil  facrcd  rites ;  violated  the  moil  lolcmn 
decrees  of  the  fenate;  openly  corrupted  his 
judges  ;  haraffed  the  fenate  in  his  tri- 
bu.iefhip-  aboliihed  thofe  acts  which  were 
palled  with  the  concurrence  of  every  order 
for  the  faf-ty  of  the  Hate  ;  drove  me  from 
my  country  ;  plundered  my  goods  ;  fired 
sr.y  houfe  ;  periecuted  my  wife  and  chil- 
dren ;  declared  an  execrable  war  again fl 
Pompeyj  atiaffinateJ  magiilrates  and  ci- 
tizens; burnt  rny  brother's  houfe ;  laid 
Tufcany  walle;  drove  many  from  their 
h  ibitatipns  and  eflafes  ;  was  very  eager 
and  furious  ;  neither  Rome,  Italy,  provin- 
ce nor  kingdoms,  cquld  cenfine  his  frenzy. 
In  his  houfe,  laws  were  hatched,  which 
were  to  fubject  us  to  our  own  Haves  ;  there 
■  ■■  ■'. .  nothing  belonging  to  any  one,  which 


he  coveted,  that  this  year  he  did  not  think 
would  be  his  own.  None  but  Milo  op- 
pofed  his  deiigns ;  he  looked  upon  Pom  - 
pey,  the  man  who  was  bell  able  to  oppofe 
him,  as  firmly  attached  to  his  interelt,  by 
their  late  reconciliation.  The  power  of 
Casfar  he  called  his  own ;  and  my  fall 
had  taught  him  to  defpife  the  fentiments 
of  all  good  men;  Milo  alone  refilled 
him. 

In  this  tituation,  the  immortal  gods,  as 
I  before  obferved,  infpired  that  furious 
mifcreant  with  a  defign  to  way-lay  Milo. 
No  otherwife  could  the  monfter  have  been 
deilroyed ;  the  Hate  could  never  have 
avenged  its  own  caufe.  Is  it  to  be  imagin- 
ed, that  the  fenate  could  have  retrained 
him  when  he  was  prstor,  after  having  ef- 
fected nothing  while  he  was  only  in  a  pri- 
vate ltation  ?  Could  the  confuls  have  been 
llrong  enough  to  check  their  praetor  ?  In 
the  h;  It  place,  had  Milo  been  killed,  the 
two  confuls  mull  have  been  of  his  faction  ; 
in  the  next  place,  what  conful  would  have 
had  courage  to  oppofe  him  when  praetor, 
whom  he  remembered,  while  tribune,  to 
have  grievoufly  harailed  a  perfon  of  con- 
fular  dignity .?  He  might  have  opprelled, 
feized,  and  obtained  every  thing :  by  a 
new  law  which  was  found  among  the  other 
CJodian  laws,  he  would  have  made  our 
flaves  his  freed-men.  In  fhort,  had.  not 
the  immortal  gods  infpired  him,  effemi- 
nate as  he  was,  with  the  frantic  refolution 
of  attempting  to  kill  the  bravefl  of  men, 
you  would  this  day  have  had  no  republic. 
Had  he- been  pra;tOF,  had  he  been  conful» 
if  indeed  wc  can  fuppofe  that  thefe  tem- 
ples and  thefe  walls  could  have  flood  till 
hisconfullhip  ;  in  fhort,  had  he  been  alive, 
would  he  have  committed  no  mifchief; 
who,  when  dead,  by  the  direction  of  Sex- 
tus  Clodius,  one  of  his  dependants,  fet  the 
fenate-houfe  on  fire  ?  Was  ever  fight  more 
dreadful,  more  ihocking,  and  more  mise- 
rable ?  That  the  temple  of  holinefs,  dig- 
nity, wifdom,  public  counfel,  the  head  of 
this  city,  the  fancluary  of  her  allies,  the 
refuge  of  all  nations,  the  feat  granted  to 
tins  order  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  the 
Roman  people,  Ihould  be  fired,  erafed,  and 
defiled  r  And  not  by  a  giddy  mob,  though 
even  that  would  have  been  dreadful,  but 
by  one  man  ;  who,  if  he  dared  to  commit 
fuch  havock  for  his  deceafed  friend  as  a 
revenger,  what  would  he  not,  as  a  leader, 
have  done  for  him  when  living  ?  He  chafe- 
to  throw  the  body  of  Clodius  into  the  fe-» 
r.atc-hculV,    tl  at,   when  deadj  he   might 

bura 


BOOK  III.      ORATION 

bum  what  he  had  fubverted  when  living. 
Are  there  any  who  complain  of  the  Ap- 
pian  way,  and  yet  are  filent  as  to  the  fe- 
nate-houfe?  Can  we  imagine  that  the  fo- 
rum could  have  been  defended  againft 
that  man,  when  living,  whole  lifelefs  corfe 
deftroyed  the  fenate-houfe  ?  Raife,  raife 
him  if  you  can  from  the  dead ;  will  you 
break  the  force  of  the  living  man,  when 
you  can  fcarce  fuftain  the  rage  occafioned 
by  his  unburied  body  ?  Unlefs  you  pre- 
tend that  you  fuftained  the  attacks  of  thofe 
who  ran  to  the  fenate-houfe  with  torches, 
to  the  temple  of  Caftor  with  fcythes,  and 
flew  all  over  the  forum  with  fwords.  You 
faw  the  Roman  people  roaftacred,  an  af- 
fembly  attacked  with  arms,  while  they 
were  attentively  hearing  Marcus  Ccelius, 
the  tribune  of  the  people;  a  man  undaunt- 
ed in  the  fervice  of  the  republic ;  melt  re- 
folute  in  whatever  caufe  he  undertakes  ; 
devoted  to  good  men,  and  to  the  authori- 
ty of  the  fenate  ;  and  who  has  difcovered 
a  divine  and  amazing  fidelity  to  Milo  un- 
der his  prefent  circumitances  ;  to  which  he 
was  reduced  either  by  the  force  of  envy, 
or  a  fingular  turn  of  fortune. 

But  now  I  have  laid  enough  in  relation 
to  the  caufe,  and  perhaps  taken  too  much 
liberty  in  digrefling  from  the  main  fubjecf.. 
What  then  remains,  but  to  befeech  and  ad- 
jure you,  my  lords,  to  extend  that  com- 
panion to  a  brave  man,  which  he  difdains 
to  implore,  but  which  I,  even  againft  his 
confent,  implore  and  earneftly  intreat. 
Though  you  have  not  feen  him  ihed  a  An- 
gle tear  while  all  are  weeping  around  him, 
though  he  has  preferved  the  fame  fteady 
countenance,  the  fame  firmnefs  of  voice 
and  language,  do  not  on  this  account  with- 
hold it  from  him  :  indeed  I  know  not  whe- 
ther thefe  circumitances  ought  not  to  plead 
with  you  in  his  favour.  If  in  the  combats 
of  gladiators,  where  perfons  of  the  loweft. 
rank,  the  very  dregs  of  the  people,  are 
engaged,  we  look  with  fo  much  contempt 
on  cowards,  on  thofe  who  meanly  beg  their 
lives,  and  are  fo  fond  of  faving  the  brave, 
the  intrepid,  and  thofe  who  chearfully  offer 
their  brealts  to  the  fword ;  if  I,  fay,  we 
feel  more  pity  for  thofe  who  feem  above 
afking  our  pity,  than  for  thofe  who  with 
earneftnefs  intreat  it,  how  much  more 
ought  we  to  be  thus  affected  where  the  in- 
terefts  of  our  braveff.  citizens  are  concern- 
ed ?  The  words  of  M  ilo,  my  lords,  which 
he  frequently  utters,  and  which  I  daily 
hear,  kill  and  confound  me.  May  my 
felly  w -citizens,  fays  lie,  fiourilh,  may  they 


S,    CHARACTERS,    &e.         SS3 

be  fafe,  may  they  be  glorious,  may  they  be 
happy  !    May   this  renowned  city  prolper, 
and  my  country,  which  fhall  ever  be  dear 
to    me,  in  whatfbever  manner  fhe    fhall 
pleafe  to  treat  me :  fmce  I  mult  not  live 
with  my  fellow -citizens,    let  them  enjoy 
peace   and    tranquillity  without  me;  but 
then,  to  me  let  them  owe  their  happifiefs. 
I  will  withdraw,  and  retire  into  exile :  if  I 
cannot   be  a  member  of  a  virtuous  com- 
monwealth, it  will  be  fome  fatiifadlion  not 
to  live  in  a  bad  one ;  and  as  foon  as  I  fet 
foot  within  a  well-regulated  and  free  fhte, 
there  will  I  fix  my  abode.     Alas,  cries  he, 
my  fruitlefs  toils  !  my    fallacious  hopes  ! 
my  vain  and  empty  fchemes  !    Could  I, 
who,  in  my  tribunefhip,  when  the  ftate  was 
under  oppreflion,  gave  myfelf  up  wholly 
to  the  fervice  of  the  fenate,  which  I  found 
almoft  deftroyed ;  to  the  fervice  of  the  Ro- 
man knights,  whofe  ftrength  was  fo  much 
weakened ;  to  the  fervice  of  all  good  citi- 
zens,  from  whom  the  oppreffive  arms  of 
Clodius  had  wrefted  their  due  authority  ; 
could  I  ever  have  imagined  I  mould  want 
a  guard  of  honeft  men   to  defend  me? 
When  I  reftored  you  to  your  country,  (for 
we  frequently  diicourfe  together)   could  I 
ever  have  thought  that  I  mould  be  driven 
myfdf  into   baniihment  ?    Where  is  now 
that  fenate,  to  whofe  intereft  we  devoted 
ourfelves?     Where,  where,  fays    he,  are 
thofe  Roman  knights  of  yours?  What  is 
become  of  that  warm  affection  the  muni- 
cipal towns  formerly  teflified  in  your  fa- 
vour ?  What  is  become  of  the  acclamations 
of  all  Italy  ?  What  is  become  of  thy  art, 
of  thy  eloquence,  my  Tuily,  which  have  fo 
often  been  employed  to  preferve  your  fel- 
low-citizens ?  Am  I  the  only  perfon,    to 
whom  alone  they  can  give  no  affiftance ;  I, 
who  have  fo  often  engaged  my  life  in  your 
defence  ? 

Nor  does  he  utter  fuch  fentiments  as 
thefe,  my  lords,  as  I  do  now,  with  tears, 
but  with  the  fame  intrepid  countenance 
you  now  behold.  For  he  denies,  he  abfo- 
lutely  denies,  that  his  fellow.citizens  have 
repaid  his  fervices  with  ingratitude;  but 
he  confeffes  they  have  been  too  timorous, 
too  apprehenfive  of  danger.  He  declares, 
that,  in  order  to  infure  your  fafety,  he 
gained  over  the  common  people,  all  the 
fcum  of  the  populace,  to  his  intereft,  when 
under  their  leader  Clodius  they  threatened 
your  property  and  your  lives  ;  that  he  not 
only  curbed  them  by  his  refolution,  but 
foothed  their  rage  at  the  expence  of  his 
three  inheritances.     And  while,  by  his  U, 

bjrality, 


€?4 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE, 


berality,  he  nppeafes  the  fury  of  the  people, 
he  entertaius  not  the  leaft  doubt  but  that 
his  extraordinary  fer  vices  to  the  ftate  will 
procure  him  your  affection  and  favour. 
Repeated  proofs  of  the  fenMe's  eiteem,  he 
acknowledges  that  he  has  received,  even 
upon  the  prefent  occafion ;  and  declares, 
that,  wherever  fortune  may  convey  him, 
file  can  never  deprive  him  of  thofe  marks 
of  honour,  regard,  and  affection,  conferred 
upon  him  by  you  and  the  people  of  Rome. 
He  recollects  too,  that  he  was  declared  con- 
fol  by  the  univerfal  fufFrage  of  the  people, 
the  only  thing  he  valued  or  defired  ;  and 
that,  in  order  to  his  being  inverted  with 
that  office,  the  voice  of  the  cryer  was  only 
wanting  ;  a  matter,  in  his  opinion,  of  very 
little  importance-  But  now  if  thefe  arms 
are  to  be  turned  againft  him,  at  lad,  'tis  a 
Satisfaction  to  him  that  it  is  not  owing  to 
his  guilt,  but  to  the  fufpicion  of  it.  He 
adds  likcwife,  what  is  unqueltionably  true, 
that  the  brave  and  wife  perform  great 
actions,  not  fo  much  on  account  of  the 
rewards  attending  them,  as  on  account  of 
their  own  intrinfic  excellence  ;  that  through 
his  whole  courfe  of  life,  whatever  he  has 
done  has  been  nobly  done,  fmce  nothing  can 
be  more  truly  great  than  for  a  man  to  refcue 
his  country  from  impending  dangers  :  that 
they  are  without  doubt  happy,  whom  their 
fellow-citizens  have  repaid  with  their  due 
reward  of  honour ;  but  that  neither  are 
thofe  to  be  eitecmed  unhappy,  whofe  fcr- 
viccs  have  exceeded  their  rewards.  Yet, 
fhould  wc  in  the  purfuits  of  virtue  have  any 
cf  its  rewards  in  view,  he  is  convinced  that 
the  nobleft  ®f  all  is  glory ;  that  this  alone 
compenfates  the  fliortnefs  of  life,  by  the 
immortality  of  fame;  that  by  this  we  are 
full  prefent,  when  abfent  from  the  world, 
and  iurvive  even  after  death ;  and  that  by 
the  fteps  of  glory,  infhort,  mortals  kern  to 
mount  to  heaven.  Of  me,  fays  he,  the 
people  of  Rome,  all  the  nations  of  the 
earth,  fhall  talk,  and  my  name  ihall  be 
known  to  the  lateft  polterity.  Nay,  at 
this  very  time,  when  all  my  enemies  com- 
bine to  inflame  an  univerfal  odium  againft 
me,  yet  I  receive  the  thanks,  congratula- 
tions, and  applaufes  of  every  nffembly. 
Not  to  mention  the  Tufcan  feitivals  inlli- 
tutcd  in  honour  of  me,  it  is  now  about  an 
hundred  days  fince  the  death  of  Clodius, 
and  yet,  T  am  perfuaded,  not  only  the 
fjme  of  this  action,  but  the  joy  ariiing 
from  it,  has  reached  beyond  the  remoteft 
bounds  of  the  Roman  empire.  It  is  there- 
fore, continues  he,  of  little  importance  to 


me,  how  this  body  of  mine 'is  difpofed  of, 
fince  the  glory  of  iny  name  already  rills, 
and  fhall  ever  poffefs,  every  region  of  the 
earth. 

This,  Milo,  is  what  you  have  often 
talked  to  rne,  while  thefe  were  abfent ; 
and  now  that  they  are  prefent,  I  repeat  it 
to  vou.  Your  fortitude  I  cannot  fufrici- 
ently  applaud,  but  the  more  noble  and 
divine  your  virtue  appears  to  me,  the  more 
diftrefs  I  feel  in  being  torn  from  you. 
Nor  when  you  are  feparated  from  me, 
fhall  I  have  the  poor  confolation  of  being 
angry  with  thofe  who  give  the  wound. 
For  the  feparation  is  not  made  by  my  ene- 
mies, but  by  my  friends ;  not  by  thofe 
who  have  at  any  time  treated  me  injuria 
oufly,  but  by  thofe  to  whom  I  have  been 
always  highly  obliged.  Load  me,  my 
lords,  with  as  fevere  afflictions  as  yon 
pleafe,  even  with  that  I  have  juft  mention- 
ed, (and  none  furely  can  be  more  fevere) 
yet  ihall  I  ever  retain  a  grateful  fenfe  of 
your  former  favours.  But  ifyou  have  loft 
the  remembrance  of  thefe,  or  if  I  have 
fallen  under  your  difpleafure,  why  do  not 
ye  avenge  ysurfelves  rather  upon  me,  than 
Milo  ?  Long  and  happily  enough  fhall  I 
have  lived,  could  I  but  die  before  fuch  a 
calamity  befall  me.  Now  I  have  only  one 
confolation  to  fupport  me,  the  confeiouf- 
nefs  of  having  performed  for  thee,  my 
Milo,  every  good  office  of  love  andfriend- 
fhip  it  was  in  my  power  to  perform.  For 
thee,  I  have  dared  the  refentment  of  the 
great  and  powerful :  for  thee,  I  have  often 
expofed  my  life  to  the  fwords  of  thy  ene- 
mies; for  thee,  I  have  often  proftrated 
myfelf  as  a  fuppliant :  I  have  embarked 
my  own  and  my  family's  eftate  on  the 
fame  bottom  with  thine;  and  at  this  very 
hour,  ifyou  are  threatened  with  any  vio- 
lence, if  your  life  runs  any  hazard,  I  de- 
mand a  fhare  in  your  danger.  What  now 
remains  ?  what  can  I  fay  ?  what  can  I  do 
to  repay  the  obligations  I  am  under  to  you, 
but  embrace  your  fortune,  whatever  it 
fhall  be,  as  my  own  ?  I  will  not  refufe ;  I 
accept  my  fhare  in  it :  and,  my  lords,  I 
intreat  you  either  to  crown  the  favours  you 
have  conferred  upon  me  by  the  preferva- 
tion  of  my  friend,  or  cancel  them  by  his 
defr.ruc~t.ion. 

Milo,  I  perceive,  beholds  my  tears 
without  the  leaft  emotion.  Incredible 
firmnefs  of  foul  !  he  thinks  himfelf  in  exile 
there,  where  virtue  has  no  place ;  and 
looks  upon  death,  not  as  a  punifhinent, 
but  as  the  period  of  our  lives.     Let  him 

then 


BOOK.   HI.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c.        635 


then  retain  that  noblenefs  of  foul,  which 
is  natural  to  him  but  how,  my  lords,  are 
you  to  determine  i  Will  ye  Itill  preferve 
the  memory  of  Milo,  and  yet  drive  his 
perfon  into  banifhment  ?  And  {hall  there 
be  found  on  earth  a  place  more  worthy 
the  refidence  of  fuch  virtue,  than  that  which 
gave  it  birth  ?  On  you,  on  you  I  call,  ye 
heroes,  who  have  loll  fo  much  blood  in 
the  fervice  of  your  country ;  to  you,  ye 
centurions,  ye  foldiers,  I  appeal  in  this 
hour  of  danger  to  the  belt  of  men,  and 
braveft  of  citizens ;  while  you  are  looking 
on,  while  you  ftand  here  with  arms  in  your 
hands,  and  guard  this  tribunal,  lhall  vir- 
tue like  this  be  expelled,  exterminated,  cart 
.out  with  dilhonour  Unhappy,  wretched 
man  that  I  am  !  could  you,  Milo,  by  theie 
recall  me  to  my  country  ;  and  by  thefe 
fhall  I  not  be  able  to  keep  you  in  yourj  r 
What  anfwer  fhall  I  make  to  my  children, 
who  look  on  you  as  another  father  ?  What 
to  you,  Quintus,  my  abfent  brother,  the 
kind  partner  of  all  my  misfortunes  ?  that  I 
eould  not  preferve  Milo  by  thofe  vary  in- 
struments which  he  employed  in  my  pre- 
fervation  ?  in  whatcaufe  could  I  not  pre- 
ferve him  ?  a  caufe  approved  of  by  all. 
Who  have  put  it  out  of  my  power  to  pre- 
ferve him  ?  Thofe  who  gained  molt  by  the 
<leath  of  Clodius.  And  who  folicited  £br 
Milo?  Imyfelf.  What  crime,  what  hor- 
rid villainy  was  I  guilty  of,  when  thofe 
plots  that  were  conceived  for  our  common 
ieitruftion  were  all,  by  my  induftry,  traced 
•ut,  fully  difcovered,  laid  open  before  you, 
and  crudied  at  once  ?  From  that  copious 
fource  flow  all  the  calamities  which  befall 
inc  and  mine.  Why  did  you  defire  my 
return  from  banifhment  ?  Was  it  that  J 
might  fee  thofe  very  perfons  who  were 
initrumental  in  my  reftoration  banifhed 
before  my  face  ?  Make  not,  I  conjure 
you,  my  return  a  greater  afflicTion  to  me, 
than  was  my  baniihment.  For  how  can  I 
think  myfelf  truly  reitored  to  my  country, 
if  thofe  friends  who  reitored  me  are  to  be 
tern  from  me  ? 

By  the  immortal  gods  I  wifh  (parden 
me,  O  my  country  !  for  I  fear  what  I 
fhall  fay  out  of  a  pious  regard  for  Milo 
maybe  deemed  impiety  againfi  thee)  that 
Clodius  not  only  lived,  but  were  prretor, 
conful,  dictator,  rather  than  be  witnefs  to 
fuch  a  fcene  as  this.  Immortal  gods  ! 
how  brave  a  man  is  that,  and  how  worthy 
of  being  preferved  by  you  !  By  no  means, 
he  cries :  the  ruffian  met  with  the  punifh- 
men:  he  deferved ;  and  let  me,  if  it  mult 


be  fo,  fuffer  the  puniihment  I  have  not  de- 
ferved. Shall  this  man  then,  who  was 
born  to  fave  his  country,  die  any  where 
but  in  his  country  ?  Shall  he  not  at  leaft 
die  in  the  fervice  of  his  country  Will 
you  retain  the  memorials  of  his  gallant 
foul,  and  deny  his  body  a  grave  in  Italy  ? 
Will  any  perfon  give  his  voice  for  b.inim- 
ing  a  man  from  this  city,  whom  every  city 
on  earth  would  be  proud  to  receive  within 
its  walls  ?  Happy  the  country  that  mall 
receive  him  !  .ungrateful  this,  if  it  fhall 
banilh  him  !  wretched,  if  it  fhould  lofc 
him  !  But  I  mufc  conclude  ;  my  tears  will 
cot  allow  me  to  proceed,  and  Milo  forbids 
tears  to  be  employed  in  his  defence.  You, 
my  lords,  I  befeech  .and  adjure,  that,  ia 
your  decifion,  you  would  dare  act  as  you 
think.  Trail  me,  your  fortitude,  your 
juilice,  your  fidelity,  will  more  efpeciaUy 
be  approved  of  by  him,  who,  in  his  choice 
of  judges,  has  raifed  to  the  bench  the 
braveft,  the  vvifeli,  and  the  beil  of  men. 

Whit-i'jcrtF  s  Cicer$. 

%    II.     Part of  Cicero's  Oration  againfe 
Ve?  res. 

The  time  is  come,  Fathers,  when  that 
which  has  long  been  wilhed  for,  towards^ 
allaying  the  envy  your  order  has  bees 
fubjeel  to,  and  removing  the  imputa- 
tions againil  trials*  is  (not  by  human  con- 
trivance but  fuperior  direction)  effectually 
put  in  our  power.  All  opinion  has  lonjj 
prevailed,  not  only  here  at  home,  but  like- 
wife  in  foreign  countries,  both  dangerous 
to  you,  and  pernicious  to  the  Hate,  viz, 
that  in  profecutions,  men  of  wealth  are 
always  fafe,  however  clearly  convicted. 
There  is  now  to  be  brought  upon  his  trial 
before  you,  to  the  confufion,  I  hope,  of  the 
propagators  of  this  flanderous  imputation, 
one  whofe  life  andacYtons  condemn  him  in 
the  opinion  of  all  impartial  perfons,  but 
who,  according  to  his  own  reckoning,  and. 
declared  dependence  upon  his  riches,  is 
already  acquitted;  I  mean  Caius  Verres. 
If  that  fentence  is  palled  upon  him  which 
his  crimes  deferve,  your  authority,  Fathers, 
will  be  venerable  and  facred  in  the  eyes 
of  the  public:  but  if  his  great  riches  fhould 
bias  you  in  his  favour,  I  lhall  Itill  gain  one 
point,  viz.  to  make  it  apparent  to  all  the 
world,  that  what  was  wanting  in  this  cafe 
was  not  a  criminal  nor  a  profecutor,  but 
jultice  and  adequate  puniihment. 

To  pafs  over  the  fhameful  irregularities 

of  his  youth,  what   does  his  qua;itorfhip, 

2  the 


685 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE: 


rhe  firft  public  employment  he  held,  what  thofe    unfortunate   perfons    to  frefh  pain, 
does- It  exhibit,  but  one  continued  fcene  of*  who  have  not  been  able  to  favc  their  wives 
villainies?   Cneius  Carbo  plundered  of  the  and  daughters  from  his  impurity.      And 
public  money  by  his  own  treafurer,  a  con-  thefe  his  atrocious  crimes  have  been  com- 
ful  Gripped  and  betrayed,  an  armydefert-  mitted  in  fo  public  a  manner,  that  there 
cd  and  reduced  to  want,  a  province  robbed,  is  no  one  who  has  heard  of  his  name,  but 
the  civil  and  religious  rights  of  a  people  could  reckon  up  his  actions. — Having,  by 
violated.  The  employment  he  held  in  Afia  his  iniquitous  fentences,  filled  the  prifons 
Minor  and  Pamphilia,  what  did  it  produce  with  the  moll  mduitrious  and  deferring  of 
but  the  ruin  of  thole  countries?  in  which  thepeople,  he  then  proceeded  toordernum- 
boules,  cities,  and  temples,  were  robbed  by  bers  of  Roman  citizens  to  be  ftrangled  in 
Mm.     What  was  his  conduct  in  his  prae-  the  gaols;  fo  that  the  exclamation,  "  Jam 
torihip  here  at  home?     Let  the  plundered  a  citizen  of  Rome  !"  which  has  often,  in 
temples,  and  public  works  neglecfed,  that  the  molt  diftant  regions,  and  among  the 
he  might  embezzle   the  money  intended  molt  barbarous  people,  been  a  protection, 
for  carrying  them  on,  bear  witnefs.    But  was  of  no  fervice  to  them,  but,  en  the  con- 
his    pratorfhrp    in   Sicily  crowns  all    his  trary,  brought  a  fpeedier  and  more  ferere 
works  of  wickednefs,  andfiniihes  a  lading  punishment  upon  them, 
monument  to  his  infamy.     The  mifchiefs  I  afk   now,  Verres,  what  you  hare  to 
done  by  him  in  that  country  daring  the  advance  againft  this  charge?      Will   you 
three  years  of  his  iniquitous  adminiftration,  pretend  to  deny  it  ?  Will  you  pretend  that 
are  fuch,  that  many  years,  under  the  wifell  any  thing  falfe,  that  even  any  thing  ag- 
ain! belt  of  prsetors,  will  not  be  fufficient  grarated,  is  alledged  again!!:  you?    Had 
to  reitore  things  to  the  condition  in  which  any  prince,  or  any   ftate,  committed  the 
he  found  them.    For  it  is  notorious,  that,  fame  outrage  againil  the  pririlege  of  Ro- 
during  the  time  of  his  tyranny,  the  Siciii-  man  citizens,  mould  we  not  think  we  had 
ans  neither  enjoyed  the  proteclion  of  their  fuiiicient  ground  for  declaring  immediate 
own  original  laws,  of  the  regulations  made  war   againil    them?       What    punifhment 
for  their  benefit  by  the  Roman  fenate  upon  ought  then  to  be  inflicted  upon  a  tyranni- 
their  coming  under  the  protection  of  the  cal  and  wicked  praetor,  who  dared,  at  no 
commonwealth,  nor  of  the  natural  and  un-  greater  diitance  than  Sicily,  within  fight 
alienable  rights  of  men.     His  nod  has  de-  of  the  Italian  coaft,  to  put  to  the  infamous 
elded  all  caufes  in  Sicily   for  thefe   three  death  of  crucifixion  that  unfortunate  and 
years;  and  his   decifions   have  broke  all  innocent  citizen  Publius  Gavius  Cofanus, 
law,  all  precedent,  all  right.     The  fums  only  for  his   having  aiTerted  his  privilege 
he  has,  by  arbitrary  taxes  and  unheard-of  of  citizenfhip,  and  declared  his  intention 
impofitions,  extorted  from  the  indurlrious  of  appealing  to  the  juftice  of  his  country 
poor,  are  not  to  be  computed.     The  moft  againft  a  cruel  oppreiibr,  who  had  unjuftly 
Faithful  allies  of  the  commonwealth  have  confined  him  in  prifon  at  Syracufe,  from 
keen  treated  as  enemies.     Roman  citizens  whence  he  bad  juft  made  his  efcape?  The 
have,  like  ilaves,  been  put  to  death  with  unhappy  man,  arrefted  as  he  was  going  to 
tortures.     The  moft    atrocious   criminals,  embark  for  his  natire  country,  is  brought 
for  money,  hare  been  exempted  from  the  before    the  wicked   praetor.      With  eyes 
defrved    punifhments;    and   men  of  the  darting  fury,  and  a  countenance  diftorted 
moft  unexceptionable  characters  condemn-  with  cruelty,  he  orders  the  helplefs  riftim 
ed,  andbanifhed,  unheard.    The  harbours,  of  his  rage  to  be  ftripped,  and  rods  to  be 
though  fuhheiently  fortified,  and  the  gates  brought ;  accufing  him,  but  without   the 
of  ftrong  towns,  opened  to  pirates  and  ra-  lealt  ihadow  of  eridence,   or  even  of  fuf- 
vagers :    the  foldiery  and  failors  belonging  picion,  of  having  come  to  Sicily  as  a  fpy. 
to  a  province  under  the  protection  of  the  It  was  in  vain  that  the  unhappy  man  cried 
commonwealth,  ftarved    to  death:    whole  out,   "    I  am  a  Roman  citizen;    1    hare 
fleets,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  pro-  "  ferved  under  Lucius  Pretius,  who  is  now 


vince,  fufFered  to  perifh:  the  ancient  mo- 
numents of  either  Sicilian  or  Roman  great- 
nefs,  the  ftatues  of  heroes  and  princes,  car- 
ried off;  and  the  temples  ftripped  of  the 


"  at  Panormus,  and  will  atteft  my  in- 
"  nocence."  The  blood- thirfty  praetor, 
deaf  to  all  he  could  urge  in  his  own  de- 
fence, ordered  the  infamous  'punifhment  to 


images.     The  infamy  of  his  lewduefs  has     be  inflicted.     Thus,  Fathers,  was  an  inno- 
btfen  fuch  as  decencv  forbids  to  defcribe  ;     cent  Roman  citizen  publicly  mangled  with 
nor  wiil  I,  by  mentioning  particulars,  put     fcourging;  whilft  the  only  words  he  ut- 
tered! 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c.        687 


lered  amidft  his  cruel  fufFerings,  were, 
**  lam  a  Roman  citizen!"  With  thefe  he 
hoped  to  defend  himfelf  from  violence  and 
infamy ;  but  of  fo  little  fervice  was  this 
privilege  to  him,  that  while  he  was  thus 
afTerting  his  citizenfhip,  the  order  was 
given  for  his  execution — for  his  execution 
upon  the  crofs ! 

O  liberty  !— .O  found  once  delightful  to 
every  Roman  ear ! — O  facred  privilege  of 
Roman  citizenlhip  ! — once  facred  ! — now 

trampled  upon  ! But  what  then  ?  Is  it 

come  to  this  ?  Shall  an  inferior  rrragi- 
ftrate,  a  governor  who  holds  his  whole 
power  of  the  Roman  people,  in  a  Roman 
province,  within  fight  of  Italy,  bind, 
fcourge,  torture  with  fire  and  red-hot 
plates  of  iron,  and  at  the  laft  put  to  the 
infamous  death  of  the  crofs,  a  Roman  citi- 
zen? Shall  neither  the  cries  of  innocence 
expiring  in  agony,  nor  the  tears  of  pitying 
fpectators,  nor  the  majefiy  of  the  Roman 
commonwealth,  nor  the  fear  of  the  jultice 
of  his  country,  reftrain  the  licentious  and 
wanton  cruelty  of  a  monfter,  who,  in  con- 
fidence of  his  riches,  ftrikes  at  the  root  of 
liberty,  and  fets  mankind  at  defiance  ? 

I  conclude  with  exprefiing  my  hopes, 
that  your  wifdom  and  juftice,  Fathers,  will 
not,  by  fufFering  the  atrocious  and  un- 
exampled infolence  of  Caius  Verres  to 
efcape  the  due  punifhment,  leave  room  to 
apprehend  the  danger  of  a  total  fubverfion 
of  authority,  and  introduction  of  general 
anarchy  and  confufion. 

Cicero's  Orations. 


§  12.  The  Oration  which  ivas  fpohen  l>y 
Pe  ri  cles,  at  the  public  Funeral  of  thcje 
Athenians  avho  had  been  Jirjl  killed 
in  the  Peloponnesi an  War. 

Many  of  thofe  who  have  fpoken  be- 
fore me  on  occafions  of  this  kind,  have 
commended  the  author  of  that  law  which 
we  are  now  obeying,  for  having  in- 
flituted  an  oration  to  the  honour  of  thofe 
who  facrifice  their  lives  in  fighting  fcr 
their  country.  For  my  part,  I  think  it 
fufficient  for  men  who  have  approved  their 
virtue  in  aftion,  by  action  to  be  honoured 
for  it — by  fuch  as  you  fee  the  public  grati- 
tude now  performing  about  this  funeral ; 
and  that  the  virtues  of  many  ought  not 
to  be  endangered  by  the  management  of 
any  one  perfon,  when  their  credit  mult 
precarioufly  depend  on  his  oration,  which 
may  be  good,  and  may  be  bad.     Dijhcult 


indeed  it  is,  judicioufly  to  handle  a  fubject, 
where  even  probable  truth  will  hardly  gai;i 
affent.  The  hearer,  enlightened  by  a  lon-»- 
acquaintance,  and  warm  in  his  affections, 
may  quickly  pronounce  every  thing  un- 
favourably exprefled,  in  refpedt  to  what 
he  wifhes  and  what  he  knows;  whiljt 
the  ftranger  pronounceth  all  exaggerated, 
through  envy  of  thofe  deeds  which  he  is 
confcious  are  above  his  own  achievement. 
For  the  praifes  bellowed  on  others  are 
then  only  to  be  endured,  when  men  ima- 
gine they  can  do  thofe  feats  they  hear  to 
have  been  done ;  they  envy  what  they 
cannot  equal,  and  immediately  pronounce 
itfalfe.  Yet,  as  this  folemnity  has  ie- 
ceived  its  fanction  from  the  authority  of 
our  ancestor's,  it  is  my  duty  alfo  to  obey 
the  law,  and  to  endeavour  to  procure,  fo 
far  as  I  am  able,  the  good-will  and  appro- 
bation of  ali  my  audience. 

I  fhall  therefore  begin  firfl  with  our 
forefathers,  fmce  both  juitice  and  decency 
require  we  fhould,  on  this  occafion,  bellow 
on  them  an  honourable  remembrance.  In 
this  our  country  they  kept  themfelves  al- 
ways firmly  fettled;'  and,  through  their 
valour,  handed   it    down    free    to    every 

fince-fucceeding    generation . Worthy, 

indeed,  of  praife  are  they,  and  yet  more 
worthy  are  our  immediate  fathers ;   fmce, 
enlarging  their  own  inheritance  into  the 
extenfive  empire  which  we  now   pofTcis, 
they  bequeathed  that  their  work  of  toil  to 
us  their  Ions.     Yet  even  thefe  fuccefles; 
we  ourfelves,  here  prefent,  we  who   are 
yet  in  the  ftrength  and  vigour  of  our  days, 
have  nobly  improved,  and  have  made  fuch 
provisions   for  this  our  Athens,  that  now 
it  is  aJl-fufficient  in  kfelfto  anfwer  every 
exigence  of  war  and   of  peace.     I  mean 
not  here  to  recite  thofe  martial  exploits 
by  which  thefe  ends  were  accompliihed, 
or   the    refolute    defences     we    ourfelves 
and  our  forefathers  have  made  againft  the 
formidable   invafions  of  Barbarians    ami 
Greeks.     Your  own  knowledge  of  thefe 
will  excufe  the  long  detail.     But,  by  what 
methods  we  have  rofe  to  this  height  of 
glory  and  power ;  by  what  polity,  and  by 
what  conduct,  we  are  thus  aggrandized'; 
I  fhall  firfl  endeavour  to  fhew,  and  then 
proceed  to    the    praife    of  the   deceafed. 
Thefe,  in  my  opinion,  can  be  no  imperti- 
nent topics  on  this  occafion  ;  the  difcufiion 
of  them  mult  be  beneficial  to  this  numerous 
company  of  Athenians  and  of  Grangers. 

We  are  happy  in  a  form  of  government 
which  cannot  envy  the  laws  of  our  neigh- 
bours; 


ess 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


bours ;  for  it  hath  ferved  as  a  model  to 
others,  but  is  original  at  Athens.  And 
this  our  form,  as  committed  not  to  the 
few,  but  to  the  whole  bodv  of  the  people, 
is  called  a  democracy.  How  different  fo- 
ever  in  a  private  capacity,  we  all  enjoy 
the  fame  general  equality  our  laws  are 
fitted  to  preferve  ;  and  fuperior  honours, 
juft  as  we  excel.  The  public  adminiftra- 
tion  is  not  confined  to  a  particular  family, 
but  is  attainable  only  by  merit.  Poverty 
is  not  an  hindrance,  fince  whoever  is 'able 
to  ferve  his  country  meets  with  no  ob- 
ftacle  to  preferment  from  his  firft  obfeu- 
rity.  The  offices  of  the  ftate  we  go 
through  without  obitru&ions  from  one 
another;  and  live  together  in  the  mutual 
endearments  of  private  life  without  fufpi- 
cions ;  not  angry  with  a  neighbour  for 
following  the  bent  of  his  own  humour, 
nor  putting  on  that  countenance  of  dif- 
content,  which  pains,  though  it  cannot 
punifh;  fo  that  in  private  life  we  converfe 
together  without  diffidence  or  damage, 
whilft  we  dare  not,  on  any  account,  offend 
sgainft  the  public,  through  the  reverence 
we  bear  to  the  magiltrates  and  the  laws, 
chiefly  to  thofe  enacted  for  redrefs  of  the 
injured,  and  to  thofe  unwritten,  a  breach 
of  which  is  allowed  difgrace.  Our  laws 
have  further  provided  for  the  mind  moll 
frequent  intermiilions  of  care,  by  the  ap- 
pointment of  public  recreations  and  facri- 
iices  throughout  the  year,  elegantly  per- 
formed with  a  peculiar  pomp,  the  daily 
delight  of  which  is  .a  charm  that  puts 
melancholy  to  flight.  The  grandeur  of 
this  our  Athens  caufes  the  produce  of 
the  whole  earth  to  be  imported  here,  by 
which  we  reap  a  familiar  enjoyment,  not 
fnore  of  the  delicacies  of  our  own  growth, 
than  of  thofe  of  other  nations. 

In  the  affairs  of  war  we  excel  thofe  of 
cur  enemies,  who  adher*  to  methods  op- 
pofite  to  our  own  ;  for  we  lay  open  Athens 
to  general  refort,  nor  ever  drive  any 
ftranger  from  us,  whom  either  improve- 
ment or  curiofity  hath  brought  amongft 
Ms,  left  any  enemy  mould  hurt  us  by 
feeing  what  is  never  concealed :  we  place 
not  fo  great  a  confidence  in  the  prepara- 
tives and  artifices  of  war  as  in  the  native 
warmth  of  our  fouls  impelling  us  to 
aftion.  In  point  of  education,  the  youth 
of  fome  people  are  inured,  by  a  courfe  of 
laborious  exercife,  to  fupport  toil  and 
hardfhip  like  men ;  but  we,  notwithftanding 
ojt  ealy  and  elegant  way  of  life,  face  all 
the  dangers  of  war  as  intrepidly  as  they. 


This  may  be  proved  by  facts,  fince  the 
Lacedaemonians  never  invade  our  terri- 
tories, barely  with  their  own,  but  with  the 
united  flrength  of  all  their  confederates. 
But  when  we  invade  the  dominions  of 
our  neighbours,  for  the  moft  part  we 
conquer  without  difficulty,  in  an  enemy's* 
country,  thofe  who  light  in  defence  of 
their  own  habitations.  The  flrength  of 
our  whole  force,  no  enemy  hath  yet  ever 
experienced,  becaufe  it  is  divided  by  our 
naval  expeditions,  or  engaged  in  the  dif- 
ferent quarters  of  our  fervice  by  land- 
But  if  any- where  they  engage  and  defeat 
a  fmall  party  of  our  forces,  they  boaftingly 
give  it  out  a  total  defeat;  and,  if  they  are 
beat,  they  were  certainly  overpowered  by 
our  united  ftrength.  What  though  from 
a  ftate  of  inactivity,  rather  than  laborious 
exercife,  or  with  a  natural,  rather  than  an 
acquired  valour,  we  learn  to  encounter 
danger ;  this  good  at  leave,  we  receive 
from  it,  that  we  never  droop  under  the 
apprehenfion  of  poffible  misfortunes,  and 
when  we  hazard  the  danger,  are  found 
no  lefs  courageous  than  thofe  who  are 
continually  inured  to  it.  In  thefe  refpecls, 
our  whole  community  deferves  juftly  to  be 
admired,  and  in  many  we  have  yet  to 
mention. 

In  our  manner  of  living  we  lhew  an 
elegance  tempered  with  frugality,  and  we 
cultivate  phiiofophv,  without  enervating 
the  mind.  We  difplay  our  wealth  in  the 
feafon  of  beneficence,  and  not  in  the 
vanity  of  difcourfe.  A  confeffion  of 
poverty  is  difgrace  to  no  man;  no  effort 
to  avoid  it,  is  difgrace  indeed.  There  it 
vjfibiv,  in  the  fame  perfons,  an  attention 
to  their  own  private  concerns,  and  thofe 
of  the  public  ;  and  in  others,  engaged  in 
the  labours  of  life,  there  is  a  competent 
fkill  in  the  affairs  of  government.  For 
ive  are  the  only  people  who  think  him 
that  does  not  meddle  in  fate  affairs — not 
indolent,  but  good  for  nothing.  And  yet 
we  pafs  the  ibundeft  judgment,  and  are 
quick  at  catching  the  right  apprehenf:ons 
of  things,  not  thinking  that  words  are 
prejudical  to  actions;  but  rather  the  not 
being  duly  prepared  by  previous  debate, 
before  we  are  obliged  to  proceed  to  exe- 
cution. Herein  confiils  our  diftinguifhing 
excellence,  that  in  the  hour  of  action  we 
lhew  the  greatelt  courage,  and  yet  debate 
before-hand  the  expediency  of  our  mea- 
fures.  The  courage  of  others  is  the  refult 
of  ignorance ;  deliberation  makes  them 
gowards.      And  taofe  -undoubtedly  muft 

ba 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,   CHARACTERS,   &c. 


62g 


be  owned  to  have  the  greateft  fouls,  who, 
molt  acutely  fenfible  of  the  miferies  of  war 
and  the  fweets  of  peace,  are  not  hence  in 
the  leaft  deterred  from  facing  danger. 

in  a<5ts  of  beneficence,  farther,  we  dif- 
fer from  the  many.  We  preferve  friends, 
not  by  receiving,  but  by  conferring  ob- 
ligations. For  lie  who  does  a  kindnefs, 
hath  the  advantage  over  him  who,  by  the 
law  of  gratitude,  becomes  a  debtor  to 
his  benefactor.  The  perfon  obliged  is 
compelled  to  a£t  the  more  infipid  part, 
confcious  that  a  return  of  kindnefs  is 
merely  a  payment,  and  not  an  obligation. 
And  we  alone  arc  fplendidly  beneficent  to 
others,  not  lb  much  from  interefted  mo- 
tives, as  for  the  credit  of  pure  liberality. 
I  fhall  fum  up  what  yet  remains,  by  only 
adding,  that  our  Athens,  in  general,  is 
the  fchool  of  Greece  :  and  that  every  lingle 
Athenian  among  us  is  excellently  formed, 
by  his  perfonal  qualincatiorfs,  for  all  the 
various  lcenes  of  active  life,  acling  with 
a  moil:  graceful  demeanor,  and  a  moll: 
ready  habit  of  difpatch. 

That  I  have  not,  on  this  occafion,  made 
ufe  of  a  pomp  of  words,  but  the  truth  of 
fails,  that  height  to  which,  by  fuch  a 
conduct,  this  ftate  hath  rofe,  is  an  un- 
deniable proof.  For  we  are  now  the  only 
people  of  the  world,  who  are  found  by 
experience  to  be  greater  than  in  report ; 
the  only  people  who,  repelling  the  attacks 
of  an  invading  enemy,  exempts  their  de- 
feat from  the  blufli  of  indignation,  and 
to  their  tributaries  no  difcontent,  as  if 
fabjeft  to  men  unworthy  to  command. 
That  we  deferve  our  power,  wc  need  no 
evidence  to  manifest;  we  have  great  and 
fignal  proofs  of  this,  which  entitle  us  to 
the  admiration  of  the  prefent  and  of  future 
ages.  We  want  no  Homer  to  be  the 
herald  of  our  praife ;  no  poet  to  deck  off" 
a  hiftory  with  the  charms  of  verfe,  where 
the  opinion  of  exploits  mult  fuffer  by  a 
ftriit  relation.  Every  fea  hath  been  opened 
by  our  fleets,  and  every  land  been  pene- 
trated by  our  armies,  which  have  every 
where  left  behind  them  eternal  monuments 
of  our  enmity  and  our  friendlhip. 

In  the  juit  defence  of  fuch  a  Itate,  thefe 
victims  of  their  own  valour,  fcorning  the 
ruin  threatened  to  it,  have  valiantly 
fought,  and  bravely  died.  And  every 
one  of  thofe  who  furvive  is  ready,  I  am 
perfuaded,  to  facrifice  life  in  fuch  a  caufe. 
And  for  this  reafon.  have  I  enlarged  fo 
much  on  national  points,  to  give  the 
clsajefl  proof,  that  in  the  prefent  war  we 


have  more  at  flake  then  men  whofe  public 
advantages  are  not  fo  valuable;  and  to 
illustrate  by  actual  evidence,  how  great  a 
commendation  is  due  to  them  who  are 
now  my  ftfbje&s,  and  the  greateft  part  of 
which  they  have  already  received.  For 
the  encomiums  with  which  I  have  cele- 
brated the  ftate,  have  been  earned  for  it 
by  the  bravery  of  thefe,  and  of  men  like 
thefe.  And  fuch  compliments  might  be- 
thought too  high  and  exaggerated,  if 
palled  on  any  Grecians,  but  them  alone. 
The  fatal  period  to  which  thefe  gallant 
fouls  are  now  reduced,  is  the  furefV evi- 
dence of  their  merit:— an  evidence  begun 
in  their  lives,  and  completed  in  their 
deaths:  for  it  is  a  d^bt  of  juitice  to  pay 
fuperior  honours  to  men,  who  have  devoted 
their  lives  in  fighting  for  their  country, 
though  inferior  to  others  in  every  virtue 
but  that  of  valour.  Their  laft  fervice 
effaceth  all  former  demerits— it  extends 
to  the  public  ;  their  private  demeanors 
reached  only  to  a  few.  Yet  not  one  of 
thefe  was  at  all  induced  to  fhrihk  from' 
danger,  through  fondnels  of  thofe  delights 
which  the  peaceful  affluent  life  beftowsf 
not  one  was  the  Iefs  la vilh  of  his  lif , 
though  that  flattering'  hope  attendant 
upori^  want,  that  poverty  at  length  mig  it 
be  exchanged  for  affluence.  •  One  pafiio'n' 
there  was  in  their  -mitids  much  Wronger' 
thin  thefe,  the  defire  of  vengeance  on 
their  enemies.  Regarding  this  as  Me 
moft  honourable  prize  of  dangers,  they 
boldly  rufhed  towards  the  mark,  to  feefe 
revenge,  and  then  to  fatisfy  thofe  fecond- 
ary  paffions.  The  uncertain  event  th -y 
had  already  fecured  in  hope;  what  their 
eyes  fhewed  plainly  mult  hi  done,  they 
trufted  their -own  valour  to  accomplish, 
thinking  it  more  glorious  to  defend  them- 
felves,  and  die  in  the  attempt,  than  to 
yield  and  live.  From;  the  reproach  of 
cowardice,  indeed,  they  fled,  but  preieiited 
their  bodies  to  the  mock  or"  battle  ;'when,^ 
infenflbie  of  fear,  but  triumphing  in  hope, 
in  the  doubtful  charge  they  initantly  drop  ; 
and  thus  difcharged  the  duty  which  brave  ' 
men  owe  fo  their  Country. 

As  for  you,  who  now  furvive  them,  it 
is  your  bufmefs  to  pray  for  a  better  fate— ■ 
but  to  think  it  your  duty  alfo  to  preferve. 
the  fame  fpirit  and  warmth  of  courage 
againlt  your  enemies;  not  judging  the 
expediency  of  this  from  a  mere  harangue 
—where  any  man,  indulging  a  flow  of 
words,  may  tell  you,  what  ycu  yourlelves 
know  as  well  as  he,  how  many  advantages 
Y  y  ih.xc 


6$& 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


there  are  in  fighting  valiantly  againft  your 
enemies — but  rather  making  the  daily 
increasing  grandeur  of  this  community 
the  object  of"  your  thoughts,  and  growing 
quite  enamoured  of  it.  And,  when  it. 
really  appears  great  to  your  apprehen- 
sions, think  again,  that  this  grandeur  was 
accquired  by  brave  and  valiant  men  ;  by 
men  who  knew  their  duty,  and  in  the' 
moments  of  aclion  were  feniible  of  fhame  ; 
who,  whenever  their  attempts  were  un- 
fuceefsful,  thought  it  difhonourable  their 
country  mould  fland  in  need  of  any  thing 
their  valour  could  do  for  it,  and  fo  made 
it  the  mod:  glorious  prefent.  Bellowing 
thus  their  lives  on  the  public,  they  have' 
every  one  received  a  praife  that  will  never 
decay,  a  fepulchre  that,  will  be  mod  il- 
luftrious. — Not  that  in  which  their  bones 
lie  mouldering,  but  that,  in  which  their 
fame  is  preferved,,to  be  on  every  occafion, 
when  honour  is  the  employ  of  either  word- 
or  act,  eternally  remembered.  This  whole 
earth  is  the  fepulchre  of  illuflrious  men; 
nor  is  it  the  infeription  on  the  columns  in 
their  native  foil  that  alone  fhews  .  their, 
merit,  but  the  memorial  of  them,  better; 
than  all  inferiptions,  in  every,  foreign  na- 
tion, repofited  more  durably  in  univerfal" 
remembrance  than  on  their  own  tomb. 
From  this  very  moment,  emulating  thefe 
noble  patterns,  placing  vour  happinefs-^in 
liberty,  and  liberty  in  valour,  be  prepa- 
red to  encounter  all  the  dangers  of  war. 
For,  to  be  lavifh  of  life  is  not  fo  noble  in 
thofe  whom  misfortunes  have  reduced  to 
miferyand  defpair,  as  in  men  who  hazard 
the  lofs  of  a  comfortable  fubiillence,  and 
the  enjoyment  of  all  the  bleiiings-  this 
World  afrbrus,  by  an  unfucefsful  cntcr- 
prize.  Adverfity,.  after  a  ferics  of  eafe 
and  affluence,  links  deeper  i -.to  the  heart 
of  a  man  of  fpirit,  than  the  ftroke  of  death 
infenfibly  received  in  the  vigour  of  life 
and  public  hope. 

For  this  reafon,  the  parents  of  thofe 
who  are  now  gone,  whoever  of  them  may 
be  attending  here,  I  do  not  bewail  ; — I 
lhall  rather  comfort.  It  is  well  known 
to  what  unhappy  accidents  they  were 
liable  from  the  moment  of  their  birth  ; 
and  that  happi-icfs  belongs  to  men  who 
have  reached  the  moil  glorious  period  of 
life,  as  thefe  now  have  who  are  to  you 
the  fource  of  forrow  ;  thofe,  whole  life 
hath  received  its  ample  meafure,  happy 
in  its  continuance,  and  equally  happy  in 
its  conclufion.  1  know  it  in  truth  a  diffi- 
cult talk  to  fix  comfort  in  thole  hreails 
which. will  have  frequent  remembrances, 


in  feeing  the  happinefV  of  others,  of  what; 
they  once  themfelves  enjoyed.  And  forrow 
flows  not  from  the  abfence  of  thofe  good 
things  we  have  never  yet  experienced, 
but  from  the  lofs  of  thofe  to  which  we 
have  been  accuftomed.  They,  who  are- 
not  yet  by  age  exempted  from  iflue,  fhould, 
be  comforted  in  the  hope  of  having  more. 
The  children  yet  to  be  born  will  be  a 
private  benefit  to  fome,  in  caufmg  them, 
to.  forget  fuch  as  no  longer  are,  and  will 
be  a  double  benefit  to  their  country,  in 
preventing  its  defolation,  and  providing 
for  its  fecurity.  Eor  thofe  perfons  cannot 
in  common  jullice  be  regarded  as  members 
of  equal  value  to  the  public,. who  have  no 
children  to  expofe.to  danger,  for  its  fafety. 
But  you,  whofe  age  is  already  far  ad- 
vanced, compute  the  greater  fhare  ofhap- 
pinefs  your  longer  time  hath  afforded  for 
lb i  much  gain,  perfuaded  in  yourfelves 
the  remainder  will  be  but  fhort,  and  en- 
lighten that  fpace  by  the  glory  gained  by 
thefe.  It.  is  greatnefs  of  foul  alone  that 
never  grows  old  ;  nor  is  iuwealth  that  de- 
lights in  the  latter  ilage  of.  life,  as  fome 
give  out,  fo  much  as.  honour. 

To  you,  the  fons  and  brothers  of  the- 
d'eseafect',  whatever,  number  of  you  are 
here,  a  field  of  hardy  contention  is  opened. 
For  him,,  who  no  longer  is,  every  one  is 
ready  to  commend,,  fo  that  to -whatever 
height,  you  puih  your  defert:,  you  will 
fenrce  ever  be  thought  to  equal,  but  to  be 
fomewhat  inferior,  to  thefe.  Envy  will, 
exert  itfelf  againft  a  competitor  whiilt  life 
remains ;  but  when  death  Hops  the  com- 
petition, afreclion  wRl  applaud  without  re- 
ilraint. 

If,  after  this,  it  be  expected  from  me 
to  fay  any  thing  to  you,  who  are  now  re- 
duced to  a  Hate  of  widowhood,  about  fe- 
male virtue,  I  fhall  exprefs  it  all  in  one 
fhort  admonition: — It  is  your  greateft 
glory  not  to  be  deficient  in  the  virtue  pe- 
culiar to  your  fex,  and  to  give  the  men  as- 
little  handle  as  poffible  to  talk  of  your  be- 
haviour, whether  well  or  ill. 

1  have  now  difcharged  the  province  al- 
lotted me  by  the  laws,  and  faid  what  I 
thought  moll  pertinent  to  this  aflembly, 
Our  departed  friends  have  by  facts  been. 
already  honoured.  Their  children,. from 
this  day  till  they  arrive  at  manhood,  fhall 
be  educated  at  the  public  expenee  of  the 
flate*,  which  hath  appointed  fo  beneficial 

*  The  law  was  that  they  fhould  be  initrufieJ 
at  the  public  cxpence,  and  when  tome  to  age  pre  - 
ftntetl  with  a  complete  fuit  of  armour,  and  ho- 
r.ojisd  with  the  nrtt  feats  in. all  public  planes. 

a  meed 


Book  in.  orations,  characters,  &c. 


c'q* 


a  meed  for  thefe,  and  all  future  relics  of 
the  public  contefts.  For  wherever  the 
greateft  rewards  are  propofed  for  virtue, 
there  the  belt  of  patriots  are  ever  to  be 
found. — Now,  let  every  one  refpectively 
indulge  the  decent  grief  for  his  departed 
friends,  and  then  retire.         Tbucyd'uies. 

§13.  H  ft  m  L  E  T  ts  the  Players. 
Speak  the  fpeech, .  I  pray  you,  as  I 
pronounced  it  to  you,  trippingly  on  the 
tongue.  But  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many 
of  our  players  do^  I  had  as  lieve  the 
town  crier  had  fpoke  my  lines.  And 
do  riot  faw  the  air  too  much  with  your 
hand ;  but  ufe  all  gently  :  for  in  the  very 
torrent,  tempdt,  and,  as  [  may  fay,  whirl- 
wind of  your  paflion,  you  mult  acquire 
and  beget  a  temperance  that  may  give  it 
fmoothnefs.  Oh  !  it  offends  me  to  the 
foul,  to  hear  a  robuitous  periwig-pated 
fellow  tear  a  pafiion  to  tatters,  to  very 
rags,  to  fplit  the  ears  of  the  groundlings; 
who  (for  the  molt  part)  are  capable  of  no- 
thing, but  inexplicable  dumb  {hews  and 
noife.     Pray  you,  avoid  it. 

Be  not  too  tame  neither;  but  let  your 
own  difcretion  be  your  tutor.  Suit  the 
action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action ; 
with  this  fpecial  obiervance,  that  you  o'er- 
itep  not  the  modeity  of  nature;  for  any 
thing  fo  overdone,  is  from  the  purpofe  of 
playing;  whofe  end  is — to  hold,  as  'twere 
the  mirror  up  to  nature;  to  fhew  Virtue 
jher  own  feature,  Scorn  her  own  image, 
and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time 
his  form  and  preflure.  Now,  this  over- 
done, or  come  tardy  off,  though  it  make 
the  unfkilful  laugh,  cannot  but  make  the 
judicious  grieve;  the  cenfure  of  one  of 
'which  mull,  in  your  allowance,  o'erweigh 
a  whole  theatre  of  others'.  Oh  !  there  be 
players  that  I  hive  feen  play,  and  heard 
others  praife,  and  "that  highly,  that,  neither 
having  the  accent  of  Chriftian,  nor  the 
gait  of  Chriitian,  Pagan,  nor  man,  have 
•fo  ftrutted  and  bellowed,  that  I  have 
thought  fame  of  nature's  journeymen  had 
made  them,  and  not  made  them  well;  they 
imitated  humanity  fo  abominably. 

And  let  thofe  that  play  your  clowns, 
fp&ak  no  more  than  is  fet  down  for  them : 
for  there  be  of  them  that  will  th.emft.lye3 
laugh,  to  fet  on  fame  quantity  of  barren 
fpeitators  to  laugh  too  ;  though,  in  the 
mean  time,  fome  neceffary  queition  of  the 
play  be  then  to  be  considered :— that's 
villainous,  and  (hews  a  molt  pitiful  ambi- 
tion in  the  fool  that  uks  it.     $fake/beart% 


§  14.     The  Cbaratter  cfWi a rius. 

The    birth    of   Marius    was    obfeurs, 
though    fome  call  it   equeltrian,   and    his 
education    wholly  in    camps ;    where  he 
learnt  the  firft   rudiments   of  war,  under 
the  greateit  mailer  of  that  age,  the  younger 
Scipio,  who  deitroyed  Carthage;  till  by 
long  fervice,   diitiaguifhed  valour,  and  a 
peculiar    hardinefs   and  patience    of    dis- 
cipline,   he    advanced    himfelf  gradually 
through  all  the  iteps  of  military  honour* 
with  the  reputation  of  a  brave  and   com- 
plete foldier.     The  obfeurity  of  his  ex- 
traction, which  deprcflbd   him    with   the 
nobility,  made  him  the  greater  favourite 
of  the  people ;    who,  on  all  oecafions  of 
danger,  thought  him  the  only  man  fit  to 
be  trulted  with  their  lives  and  fortunes  j 
or  to  have  the  command  of  a  difficult  and 
defperate   war :  and,   in  truth,   he    twice 
delivered  them   from  the  molt  d.fperate, 
with  which  they  had  ever  been  threatened 
by  a  foreign   enemy.     Scipio,    from  the 
obfervation  of  his    martial  talents,  while 
he  had  yet  but  an  inferior  command  in 
the  army,  gave  a  kind  of  prophetic  telti- 
mony  of  his  future  glory;  for  being  afked 
by  fome  of  his  officers,  who  were  iupping 
with  him  at  Numantia,  what  general  the 
republic  would  have,  in  cafe  of  any  acci- 
dent to  himfelf  ?   That  man,    replied  he, 
pointing  to  Marius  at  the  bottom  of  the 
table.     In  the  field  he  was  cautious    and 
provident;   and   while   he  was   watching 
the  moft    favourable  opportunities  of  ac- 
tion, affected  to  take  all  his  meafures  from 
augurs  and  diviners ;  nor  ever  gave  battle, 
till"  by  pretended  omens  and  divine  admo- 
nitions he  had  infpired  his  fcldiers  with  a 
confidence  of  victory  ;   fo  that  his  enemies 
dreaded  him  as  fomething  more  than  mor- 
tal ;  and  both  friends    and  foes    believed: 
him,  to  act  always  by   a  peculiar  impulfe 
and  direction  from  the  gods.     His  meric 
however    was  wholly    military,   void   c£ 
every  accomplishment  of  learning,  which 
he  openly  affected  to  delpife  ;  lb  that  Ar- 
pinum  had  the  lingular  felicity  to  produce 
the  molt   glorious  contemner,  as  well    as 
the  molt  illultrious  improver,  of  the  arts. 
and  eloquence  cf  Rome  *.     He  rnade  no 
figure,  therefore,  «n   the  gown,  nor   had 
any  other  way  of  fuftaining  his  authority 
in  the  city,  than  by  cheriilung  the  natural 
jealoufy  between  the  fenate  and  the  people; 
that  by  this  declared  enmity  to  the  one  he 
might  always  be  at  the  head  of  the  other  j 

*  Arpinum  was  alfo  ;b?  native  city  of  Cicero.. 

Y  y  a  wWe 


6Q2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


whofe  favour  he  managed,  not  with  any 
view  to  the  public  good,  for  he  had  no- 
thing ia  him  of  the  ftatefman  or  the  pa- 
triot, but  to  the  advancement  of  his  private 
iritereft  and  glory:  In  ihort,  he  was  crafty, 
cruel,  covetous,  and  perfidious  ;  of  a  tem- 
per and  talents  greatly  ferviceable  abroad, 
but  turbulent  and  dangerous  at  home;  an 
implacable  enemy  to  the  nobles,  ever 
feeking  occaiions  to  mortify  them,  and 
ready  to  facrifke  the  republic,  which  he 
had  faved,  to  his  ambition  and  revenge. 
After  a  life  ipent  in  the  perpetual  toils  of 
foreign  or  domeftic  wars,  he  died  at  lail 
in  his  bed,  in  a  good  old  age,  and  in  his 
feventh  confuifhip ;  an  honour  that  no 
Roman  before  him  ever  attained. 

MtidleiQtt. 

§  15.     Romulus  to   the  People  of  Rome, 
after  building  the  City. 

If  all  the  ftrength  of  cities  jay  in  the 
height  of  their  ramparts,  or  the  depth  of 
their  ditches,  we  mould  have  great  reafon 
to  be  in  fear  for  that  which  we  have  now 
built.  But  are  there  in  reality  any  walls 
too  high  to  be  fcaled  by  a  valiant  enemy  ? 
and  of  what  rcfe  are  ramparts  in  interline 
divifions  ?  They  may  ferve  for  a  defence 
againfl  hidden  incurfions  from  abroad ; 
but  it  is  by  courage  and  prudence  chiefly, 
that  the  invasions  of  foreign  enemies  are 
repelled  ;  and  by  unanimity,  fobriety,  and 
juilice,  that  doraei'Hc  (editions  are  pre- 
vented. Cities  fortified  by  the  ftroneefi 
bulwarks  have  been  often  feen  to  yield  to 
force  from  without,  or  to  tumults  from 
within.  An  exact  military  difcipline,  and 
a  ileady  obfervance  of  civil  polity,  are  the 
fureli  barriers  againfl  thefe  evils. 

But  there  is  full  another  point  of  great 
importance  tj  bs  confidered.  The  pros- 
perity of  fome  rifing  colonies,  and  the 
pecdy  ruin  of  others,  have  in  a  great 
ineafure  been  owing  to  their  form  of  go- 
vernment. Were  there  but  one  manner 
of  ruling  ftates  and  cities  that  could  make 
them  happy,  the  choice  would  not  be 
difficult;  but  I  have  learnt,  that  of  the 
various  forms  of  government  among  the 
Greeks  and  Barbarians,  there  are  three 
which  are  highly  extolled  by  thofe  who 
have  experienced  them ;  and  yet,  that 
no  one  of  thefe  is  in  all  refpects  perfect, 
but  eacH  of  them  has  fome  innate  and 
incurable  defect.  Chufe  you,  then,  in 
what  manner  this  city  (hall  be  governed. 
Shall  it  be  by  one  man  ?  {hall  it  be  by  a 
felect  number  of  the  wifeft  among  us  ?  or 


fhall  the  legiflative  power  be  in  the  people  r 
As  for  me,  I  (hail  fubmit  to  whatever 
form  of  administration  you  fhall  pleafe  to 
eftablilh.  As  I  think  myfelf  not  unworthy 
to  command,,  fo  neither  am  I  unwilling 
to  obev.  Your  having  chofen  me  to  be 
the  leader  of  this  colony,  and  your  call- 
ing the  city  after  my  name,  are  honours 
fuiheient  to  content  me  ;  honours  of  which, 
living  or  dead,  I  never  can  be  deprived. 

Hcoke. 

§  16.     The  Character  of  Syll a. 

Sylla  died  after  he  had  laid  down  the 
dicvatorfhip,   and    reftored  liberty  to  the 
republic,  and,  with  an  uncommon   great- 
neis  of   mind,   lived    many   months  as  a 
private  fenator,  and  with  perfect  fecurityr#- 
in  that  city  where  he  had  exercifed  the 
moil   bloody    tyranny:  but   nothing   was 
thought  to  be    greater   in  his  character, 
than  that,  during  the  three  years  in  which 
the    Marians    were    mailers   of  Italy,  he 
neither  dillembled  his    refolution  of  pur,- 
fuing  them  by    arms,  nor   neglected    the 
war   which  he  had  upon  his  hands ;  but 
thought  it  his  duty,  firft  to  chaftife  a  fo- 
reign enemy,  before  he  took  his  revenge 
upon  citizens.     His  family  was  noble  and 
patrician,  which   yet,  through    the    indo- 
lency  of  his  anceltors,  had  made  no  figure 
in  the  republic  for  many  generations,  and 
was   nlmot    funk  into  obfciirity,    till  he 
produced  it  again  into  light,  by  afpiring 
to  the  honours   of  the    ltate.     He  was  a 
lover  and  patron  of  polite  letters,  having 
been  carefully  initituted  himfelf  in  all  the 
learning  of  Greece  and  Rome  ;  but  from 
a  peculiar  gaiety  of  temper,   and  fondnefs 
for  the  company  of  mimics  and  players, 
was  drawn,  when    young,  into  a  life    of 
luxury  and  pleafure ;  fo  that  when  he  was 
fentquarftor  to  Marius,  in  the  Jugurthine 
war,  Marius  complained,  that  in  fo  rough 
and  defperate  a  fervice  chance  had  given 
him  fo  fofc  and  delicate  a  quaeflor.     But, 
whether  roufed  by  the  example,  or  flung 
by  the  reproach  of  his  general,  be  behaved 
himfelf  in  that  charge  with  the  greatelt 
vigour  and  courage,  fuftering  no  man  to 
outdo  him  in  any  part  of  military  duty  or 
labour,  making  himfelf  equal  and  familiar 
even  to    the  loweil   of   the   foldiers,  and 
obliging  them  by  all  his  good  offices   and 
his  money:  fo  that  he  foon  acquired  the 
favour  of  his  army,  with  the  character  of 
a  brave  and  (kilftfl  commander;  and  lived 
to  drive    Marius    himfelf,    banifhed    and 
profcribed,  into  that  very  province  where 

he 


BOOK   III.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    Sec, 


&9% 


he  had  been  contemned  by  him  at  firft  as 
his  quxftor.  He  had  a  wonderful  faculty 
of  concealing  his  pafiions  and  purpofes  ; 
and  was  fo  different  from  himfeif  in  dif- 
ferent circumiiances,  that  he  feemed  as  it 
were  to  be  two  men  in  one :  no  man  was 
ever  more  mild  and  moderate  before  vic- 
tory; none  more  bloody  and  cruel  after 
it.  In  war,  he  praftifed  the  fame  art 
that  he  had  feen  fo  fuccefsful  to  Marius, 
of  railing  a  kind  of  enthufiaim  and  con- 
tempt of  danger  in  his  army,  by  the  for- 
gery of  aufpices  and  divine  admonitions ; 
for  which  end,  he  carried  always  about 
with  him  a  little  lfa.tue  of  Apojlo,  taken 
from  the  temple  of  Delphi :  and  when- 
ever he  had  refolved  to  give  battle,  ufed 
to  embrace  it  in  fight  of  the  foldiers,  and 
beg  the  fpeedy  confirmation  of  its  pro- 
mifes  to  him.  From  an  uninterrupted 
courfe  of  fuccefs  and  profperity,  he  af- 
fumed  a  furname,  unknown  before  to  the 
Romans,  of  Felix,  or  the  Fortunate  ;  and 
would  have  been  fortunate  indeed,  fays 
Velleius,  if  his  life  had  ended  with  his 
victories.  Pliny  calls  it  a  wicked  title, 
drawn  from  the  blood  and  oppreffion  of 
his  country ;  for  which  poilerity  would 
think  him  more  unfortunate,  even  than 
thofe  whom  he  had  put  to  death.  He 
had  one  felicity,  however,  peculiar  to 
himfelf,  of  being  the  only  man  in  hillory, 
in  whom  the  odium  of  the  moft  barbarous 
cruelties  was  extinguished  by  the  glory  of 
his  great  'acts.  Cicero,  though  he  had  a 
good  opinion  of  his  caufe,  yet  detetted 
the  inhumanity  of  his  victory/  and  never 
fpeaks  of  him  with  refpect,  nor  of  his 
government  bat- as  a  proper  tyranny; 
calling  him,  "  a  mafter  of  three  moll  pef- 
"  tilent  vices,  luxury,  avarice,  crue  ty." 
He  was  the  firlt.  of  his  family  whofe  dead 
body  was  burnt :  for,  having  ordered 
Marius's  remains  to  be  taken  out  of  his 
grave,  and  thrown  into  the  river  Anio, 
he  was  apprehenfive  of  the  fame  infult 
upon  his  own,  if  left  to  th  -  ufaal  way  of 
burial.  A  little  before  his  death,  he  made 
his  own  epitaph,  the  fum  of  which  was, 
"  that  no  man  had  ever  gone  beyond  him, 
"  in  doing  good  to  his  friends,  or  hurt  to 
"  his  enemies."  Middleton. 

§  17.  Hannibal  to  Scipio  Africa- 
n  u  s,  at  their  Interview  preceding  the 
Battle  of  Zo.ma. 

Since  fate  has  fo  ordained  it,  that  I, 
who  began  the  war,  and  who  have  been 
fo  often  on  the  point  of  ending  it  by   a 


complete  conqueft,  mould  now  come  of  my 
own  motion  to  alk  a  peace  ;  I  am  glad  that 
it  is  of  you,  Scipio,  I  have  the  fortune  to 
alk  it.  Nor  will  this  be  among  the  leavt 
of  your  glories,  that  Hannibal,  victorious 
over  fo  many  Roman  generals,  fubmitted 
at  lail  to  you. 

I  could  vvifh,  that  our  fathers  and  we 
had  confined  our  ambition  within  the 
limits  which  nature  feems  to  have  pre- 
ferred to  it ;  the  fhores  of  Africa,  and  the 
fhores  of  Italy.  Tne  gods  did  not  give 
us  that  mind.  On  both  fides  we  have 
been  fo  eager  after  foreign  pofieftions, 
as  to  put  our  own  to  the  hazard  of  war. 
Rome  and  Carthage  have  had,  each  in 
her  turn,  the  enemy  at  her  gates.  But 
fince  errors  pair,  may  be  more  eafiiy  blamed 
than  corrected,  let  it  now  be  the  work  of 
you  and  me  to  put  an  end,  if  poiGble,  to 
the  obitinate  contention.  For  my  own 
part,  my  years,  and  the  experience  £ 
have  had  of  the  instability  of  fortune,  in- 
clines me  to  leave  notrung  to  her  deter- 
mination, which  reafon  can  decide.  But 
much  I  fear,  Scipio,  that  your  youth, 
your  want  "of  the  like  experience,  your 
uninterrupted  fuccefs,  may  render  you 
averfe  from  the  thoughts  of  peace.  He 
whom  fortune  has  never  failed,  rarely 
reflects  upon  her  inconftancy.  Yet,  with*, 
out  recurring  to  former  examples,  my  own 
may  perhaps  fufHce  to  teach  you  modera- 
tion. I  am  that  fame  Hannibal,  who 
after  my  victory  at  Cannae,  became  mailer 
of  the  greater!  part  of  your  country,  and 
deliberated  with  myfelf  what  fate  I  Should 
decree  to  Italy  and  Rome.  And  now — 
fee  the  change  1  Here,  in  Africa,  I  arn 
come  to  treat  with  a  Roman,  for  my  own 
prefervation  and  my  country's.  Such 
are  the  fports  of  fortune.  Is  ine  then  to 
be  truiled  becaufe  the  fmiles  ?  An  ad- 
vantageous peace  is  preferable  to  the 
hope  of  viclory.  The  one  is  111  your  own 
power,  the  other  at  the  pleafure  of  the 
gods.  Should  you  prove  victorious,  it 
would  add  little  to  your  own  glory,  or 
the  g'ory  of  your  country  ;  if  vanquished, 
you  lofe  in  one  hour  all  the  honour  and 
reputation  you  have  been  fo  many  years 
acquiring.  But  what  is  my  aim  in  all 
this  ? — that  you  Should  content  yourfelf 
with  our  ceffion  of  Spain,  Sicily,  Sardinia, 
and  all  the  ifhnds  between  Italy  and 
Africa.  A  peace  on  thefe  conditions'  will, 
in  my  opinion,  not  only  fec-ure  the  future 
tranquillity  of  Carthage,  but  be  fuihciently 
glorious  for  you,  and  for  the  Roman  name. 
Y  y  3  And 


6q 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


And  do  not  tell  me,  that  fome  of  our 
citizens  dealt  fraudulently  with  you  in 
the  late  treaty — it  is  J,  Hannibal,  that 
now  afk  a  peace  :  I  afk  it,  becaufe  I  think 
it  expedient  for  my  country  ;  and,  think- 
ing it  expedient,  i  will  inviolably  main- 
tain it.  Hooke. 

§   iS.     Scipjo'-t  dnfouef. 

I  knew  very  well,  Hannibal,  that  it  was 
the  hope  of  your  return  which  emboldened 
the  Carthaginians  to  break  the  truce  with 
us,    and    to   lay  afide    all  thoughts    of  a 
peace,  when  it  was  jufl  upon  the  point  of 
being  concluded  ;  and  your  prelent  pro- 
pofal  is  a  proof  of  it.     You  retrench  from 
their  conceflions  every  thing  but  what  we 
are,    and    have  been    long,    pofleffed    of. 
But  as  it   is  your  care  that  your  fellow- 
citizens  ihouldhave  the  obligations  to  you, 
of  being  eafed  from  a  great  part  of  their 
burden,  fo  it  ought  to  be  mine  that  they 
draw  no  advantage  from  their  perfidiouf- 
nefs.     Nobodv  is  more  fenfible  than  I  am 
of  the  weaknefs  of  man,  and  the  power  of 
fortune,  and  that  whatever  we  enterprize 
is  fubjecl  to  a  thoufand  chances.     If,  be- 
fore the  Romans  palled  into  Africa,  you 
had  of  your  own  accord  quitted  Italy,  and 
made  the  offers  you  now  make,  I   believe 
they  would  not  have  been  rejected.     But 
as  you  have  been  forced  out  of  Italy,  and 
we  are  matters  here  of  the  open  country, 
the  fituation  of  things    is    milch  altered. 
And,  what  n  chiefly  to  be  confidered,  the 
Carthaginians,  by  the  late  treaty  which  we 
entered  into  at  their  requeft,  were,  over 
and  above  what  you  offer,  to  have  refloi'ed 
to  us  cur  prifonets  without    ranfom,  de- 
livered up  their  fhips  of  war,  paid  us  five 
ihoufand  talents,  and  to  have  given  hpf- 
tages  for  the  performance   of  all.     The 
fenate  accepted  thefe  conditions,  but  Car- 
thage failed  on  her  part;  Carthage  de- 
ceived us.    What  then  is  to  be  done  ?  Are 
the  Carthaginians  to  be  releaied  from  the 
moil  important  articles  of  the  treaty,   as 
a  reward  of  their  breach  of  faith  ?     No, 
certainly.     Jf,    to    the    conditions   before 
:j<Zrecd  npen,    you    had  added   feme  new 
a i tides    to    our    advantage,   there  would 
have   been    matter    cf  reference    to    the 
Reman  people;  hut  when,  inflcad  ofadd- 
>'  !_(,  you  retrench,  there   is   no  room  for 
deliberation.     The    Carthaginians    there- 
fore   mur    fubmit   to  u.c   at  diicretion,   or 
mufi  \  unquifii  its  in  battle. 

Jlccke. 


§    1 9.     The  Charatter  of  Pom  p  E  V. 
Pompey  had    early  acquired    the    fur- 
name  of  the  Great,  by  that  fort  of  merit 
which,  from    the  coniljtution  of  the  re- 
public,   neceffarily    made    him    great ;    a 
fame  and  fuccefs  irl  war,  fuperior  to  what 
Rome  had  ever  known  in  the  moll  cele- 
brated   of  her    generals.      He    had    tri- 
umphed, at  three  fcveral  times,  over  the 
three  different  parts  of  the  known  world, 
Europe,  Afia,  Africa;  and  by  his  victories 
had  almofi  doubled  the  extent,  as  well  as 
the  revenues,    of  the  Roman  dominion ; 
for,  as  he  declared  to  the  people  on  his 
return  from  the  Ivlithridatic  war,  he  had 
found  the  leffer    Alia  the  boundary,  but 
left  it    the  middle  of  their  empire.     He 
was  about    fix"  years    older    than  Cacfarj 
and  while  Ca?far,  immerled  in  pleafures, 
oppreffed    with    debts,    and  fufpected  by 
all  honeft  men,  was  hardly  able  to  fheW 
his  head,  Pompey  was  flourifhing  in  the 
height  of  power  and  glory;  and,  by  the 
confent  of  all  parties,  placed  at  the  head 
of  the  republic.     This  was   the  poft  that 
his  ambition  feemed  to  aim  at,  to  be  the 
firft  man  in  R.ome  ;    the  leader,  not  tha 
tyrant  of  his  country  ;  for  he  more  than 
once  had  it  in  his  power  to  have  made 
himfelf  the  mailer  of  it  without  any  rifk, 
if  his  virtue,  or  his  phlegm  at  leaft,  had 
not  refrained  him:  but  he  lived  in  a  per- 
petual expectation  of  receiving  from  the 
gift  of  the  people,  what  he   did  net  care 
to  fcize  by  force ;  and,  by  fomenting  tha 
diforders  of  the  city,  hoped  to  drive  them 
to  the  neceffity  of  creating  him  dictator. 
It  is  an  observation  of  all  the  hiilorians, 
that  while   Csefar  made  no  difference  of 
power,  whether  it  was  conferred  or  uiurp- 
ed,    whether    over    thofe   who  loved,    or 
thofe  who  feared  him ;  Pompey  feemed  to 
value  none  but  what  was  offered ;  nor'  tp 
have  any  defire  to  govern,  but   with  the 
good-will  of  the  governed.     What  leifura 
he  found  from  his  wars,  he  emp'oyed   in 
the  fludy  of  polite   letters,  and  efpecially 
of  eloquence,    in    which    he  would  have 
acquired  great  fame,    if  his    genius    had 
not  drawn  him  to  the  more  dazzling  glory 
of  arms  ;    yet  he    pleaded  feveral  caufes 
with  applaufe,  in  the  defence  of  his  friends 
and  clients;  and  fome    of  them   in   con? 
junction  with  Cicero.     His  language  was 
copious  and  elevated  ;  his  fentiments  jufl  ; 
his  voice  fweet ;  his  action  noble,  and  full 
Of  dignity.     But   his  talents   were   better 
formed    for    arms    than    the   gown;    for 
though  in  both  he  obfevyed  the  fame  diA- 

ciplin?j 


BOOK    III.     ORATIONS,  'CiHAJR-AtTEHS,    &t.       695 


clplme,  a  perpetual  modefty,  temperance, 
and  gravity  of  outward  behaviour;  yet  in 
the  licence  of  camps    the    example   was 
more  rare  and  ftriking.     His  perfon  was 
extremely  graceful,    and    imprinting   re- 
fpect ;  yet  with  an  air  of  referved  haugh- 
"tinefs,    which  .became  the  general  better 
than  the  citizen.     His    parts  were  pla-u- 
fible,  rath  r  than  great ;  fpecious,  rather 
than  penetrating.;  and  his  views  of  politics 
but  narrow;  for  his  chief  instrument  of 
governing  was  diilimulation ;  yet  he  had 
tiot   always    the  art    to  conceal    his  real 
fentiments.     As  he  was  a  better  foldier 
than  a  ftatefman,   fe  what  he    gained  in 
the  camp  he  ufually  loft  in  the  city  ;  and 
"though  adored  when    abroad,    was   often 
affronted  and  mortified  at  home,  tiil  the 
imprudent  oppofition  of  the  fenate  drove 
him    to    that   alliance    with  Craflus  and 
Ca:far,  which  proved  fatal  both  to  himfelf 
and  the  republic.     He  took  in  thefe  two, 
not  as    the    partners,    but    the    minifters 
rather  of  his  power ;  that  by  giving  them 
fome  fhare  with  him,  he  might  make  'his 
own  authority  .uncontrollable :  he  had  no 
reafon  to  apprehend  that  they  could  ever 
.prove  his  rivals ;    fince    neither  of  them 
had  any  credit  or  character  of  that  kind, 
which  alone  could  raife  them   above  the 
Jaws;  a  fuperior  fame  and  experience  in 
Avar,  with  the    militia   of  the   empire  at 
their  devotion  :    all    this    was  purely  his 
"own;  till,  by  cherilTiing  Caviar,  and  throw- 
ing into  his  hands  the  only  thing  which 
•he  wanted,  arms,  and  military  command, 
•he  made  him  at  laft  too  itrong  for  him- 
fe!f,  and  never  began    to  fear  him  till  it 
was  too  late.     Cicero    warmly    dilTuaded 
'-both  his  union  and  his  breach  with  Cafar; 
and  after  the  rupture,  as  warmly  ftill,  the 
thought  of  giving  him  battle  :  if  any  of 
tthefe  couniels  had  been  followed,  Pompey 
nad    preferved    his    life  and  honour,  and 
the  republic  its  liberty.    But  he  was  urged 
lo  his  fate  by  a  natural  fuperftition,  and 
attention    to    thofe    vain    auguides,    with 
which  he  was  flattered  by  all  the  Haruf- 
pices :    he  had    leen  the  fame  temper  in 
Marius  and  Sylla,  and  obferved  the  happy 
effeds  of  it:  but  they  alTumed  it  only  out 
of  policy,  he  out  of  principle :  they  ufed 
it  to  animate  their  foldiers,  when  they  had 
found  a  probable  opportunity  of  fighting: 
but  he,  againft  all   prudence  and  proba- 
bility, was  encouraged  by  it  to  fight  to  his 
'Dwn  ruin.     He  faw  his  miftakes  at  laft, 
when  it  was  out  of  his  power  to  correct 
'them;   and   in   his  wretched  flight  from 


Fharfalia,  was  forced  to  confefs,  that  he 
had  tFuited  too  much  to  his  hopes;  and 
that  Cicero  had  judged  better,  and  feen 
farther  into  things  than  he.      The  reta- 
liation of  feeding  refuge  in  Egypt  finifhed 
the  fad  -cataftrophe    of  this  great  man  : 
the  father  of   the    reigning   prince    had 
been  highly  obliged  to  him  for  his  pro- 
tection at  Rome,  and   reftoration  to  his 
kingdom:    and    the  fon  had  fent  a  con- 
fulerable  fleet  to  his  affiftance  in  the  pre- 
fent  war :  but  in  this  ruin  of  his  fortunes, 
what  gratitude  was  there  to  be  expected 
from  a  court   governed    by  eunuchs  and 
mercenary    Greeks?     all    whofe    politics 
turned,  not  on  the  honour  of   the  king, 
but  the  eftab'ifhment  of  their  own  power; 
which   was  likely    to  be  eclipfed  by   the 
admiffion  of  Pompey.     How  happy  had  it 
been -for  him  to  have  died  in  that  fieknefs, 
when  all  Italy  was   putting  up  vows  and 
prayers    for    his    fa'ety  !    or,    if  he   had 
fallen  by  the  chance  of  war,  on  the  plains 
of  Pharlalia,  in  the  defence  of  his  country's 
liberty,  he  had  died  ftill  glorious,  though 
unfortunate;  but,  as   if  he  had  been  re- 
ferved  for   an  example  of  the  inftability 
of  human  greatnefs,  he,  who  a  few  days 
before  commanded  kings  and  confuls,  and 
all    the    nobleft  of  Rome,  was  fentenced 
to  die  by  a  council  of  flaves ;  murdered 
by   a   bafe  deferter;  cart   out  naked  and 
headlefs   on    the    Egyptian    ftrand ;    and 
when  the  whole  earth,  as  Velleius  fays, 
had  fcarce  been  fofficieht  for  his  victories, 
could  not  find  a  fpot  upon  it  at  laft  for  a 
grave.     His  body  was  burnt  on  the  fhore 
by  one  of  his  freed-men,  with  the  planks 
of  an    oid    filhing-boat ;    and   his    allies, 
being  conveyed  to  Rome,  were  depofited 
privately,  by  his  wife  Cornelia,  in  a  vault 
by  his  alban  villa.     The  Egyptians  how- 
ever railed  a  monument  to  him  on   the 
place,  and  adorned  it  with  figures  of  brais, 
which  being  defaced  afterwards  by  time, 
and  buried  almoft  in  fand  and  rubbifh,  was 
fought  out,  and  reftored  by  the  'emperor 
Hadrian.  Middkton. 

§  20.      Suhmijfton  ;  Complaint ;  Intreating— 

The  Speech  of  Sen  ec  a  the  Philofopher  to 

Nero,  complaining  of  the  Envy  of  bis 

Enemies,  and    requeuing   the   Emperor    to 

reduce  him    back  to  his  former    narrow 

Circumjiances,   that  he  might  no  longer  te 

an  QhjeSi  of  their  Malignity. 

May  it  pleafe  the  imperial  majefty  of 

Cccfar,  favourably    to  accept  the  humble 

iubmiiuons  and  grateful  acknowledgments 

Y  v  4  9* 


6$6 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


of  the  weak  though  faithful  guide  of  his 
youth. 

It  is  now  a  great  many  years  fince  I 
full  had  the  honour  of  attending  your 
imperial  majefty  as  preceptor.  And  vour 
bounty  has  rewarded  my  labours  with  fuch 
affluence,  as  has  drawn  upon  me,  what  I 
had  .reafon  to  expecl,  the  envy  of  many  of 
thofe  perlbns,  who  are  always  ready  to 
prefcribe  to  their  prince  where  to  bellow, 
and  where  to  withhold  his  favours.  It 
is  well  known,  that  your  illuitrious  an- 
cestor, Auguftus,  bellowed  en  his  defend- 
ing favourites,  Agrippa  and  FVlaxenas,  ho- 
nours and  emoluments,  fuitable  to  the  dig- 
nity of  the  benefactor,  and  to  the  fervices 
of  the  receivers  :  nor  has  his  conduct  been 
blamed.  My  employment  about  your  im- 
perial majefty  has,  indeed,  been  purely 
domeftic :  I  have  neither  headed  your 
armies,  nor  affifled  at  your  councils,  But 
you  know,  Sir,  (though  there  arefome  who 
do  not  feem  to  attend  to  it)  that  a  prince 
may  be  feryecl  in  different  ways,  fome 
efs  cpnfpicuous :   and   that 

I  ter  may  be  to  him  as  valuable  as  the 
former. 

"  But  what  !"  fay  my  enemies,  "  mall 
f*  a  private    perfon,   of  equeftrian   rank, 

II  and  a  provincial  by  birth,  be  advanced 
"  to  an  equality  with  the  patricians  ?  Shall , 
«•'  an  upftart,  of  no  name  nor  family,  rank 
"  with  thofe  who  can,  by  the  ftatues  w  hidj 
"  m  ke  the  ornament  of  their  palaces, 
"  recken  .backward  a  line  of  anceftors, 
«  long  enough  to  tire  cm  the:  fufti*  ?  Shall 
"  a  philbfopher  who  has  written  forot  iers 
«  precepts  of  moderation,  and  contempt 
"  of  all  that  is  external,  himfelf  live  in 
"  affluence  and  luxury?  Shall  he  purchafe 
«•'  eftates  and  lay  out  money  at  iritereft  ? 
*'  Shall  he  build  palaces,  plant  wardens, 
"  and  adorn  a  country  at  his  own  exp-nce, 
"  and  for  his  own  pleafure  ?" 

C  far  has  given  royally,  as  became 
imperial  magnificence.  Seneca  has  re- 
ceived what  his  prince  bellowed  ;  nor  did 
he  ever  afk  :  he  is  only  guilty  of — not 
refufing.  Cadar's  rank  places  him  above 
the  reach  of  invidious  malignity.  Seneca 
is  not,  nor  enn  be,  high  enough  to  defpife 
the  envious.'  '  As  the  overloaded  foldier, 
o.-  traveller,  would  be  glad  to  be  relieved 
of  his  burden,  fo  I,  in  this  hit  ftageof  the 
journey  of  life,  now  that- 1  find  myfelf  un- 
equal to  the  lighted  cares  beg,  that  C«efar 

The    f.ifH,  or  calendars,- or,  if  you  pleafe, 
almanacs,  of  the  ancients,  had,  as  oui  almanacs, 
of  kimjs,  confuls,  &cv 


would  kindly  eafe  me  of  the  trouble  ef  my 
unwieldy  wealth.  I  befeech  him  to  reltore 
to  the  imperial  treafury,  from  whence  it 
came,  what  is  to  me  fuperfiuous  and 
cumbrous.  The  time  and  the  attention, 
which  I  am  now  obliged  to  bellow  upon 
my  villa  and  my  gardens,  I  fhall  be  glad 
to  apply  to  the  regulation  of  my  mind. 
Citfar  is  in  the  flower  of  life;  long  may 
he  be  equal  to  the  toils  of  government ! 
His  goodnefs  will  grant  to  his  worn-out 
fervant  leave  to  retire.  It  will  not  be 
derogatory  from  Caefar's  greatnefs  to  have 
it  faid,  that  he  bellowed  favours  on  fome, 
who,  fo  far  from  being  intoxicated  with 
them,  fhewed — that  they  could  be  happy, 
when  (at  their  own  requefl)  diverted  of 
'them.  Corn.  Tacit. 

§  21.  Speech  ?/  Charidemus,  an  A- 
T hen  i  am  Exile  at  the  Court  of  Da- 
rius, on  being  ajked  his'Ofiuion  of  the 
warlike  Preparations  making  by  that  Brines 
againji  Alexander. 

Perhaps  vcxtr  Majefty  may  not  bear  the 
truth  from  the  mouth  of  a  Grecian*  and  an 
exile:  and  if  I  do  not  declare  it  now,  J 
never  will,  perhaps  I  may  never  have 
another  opportunity.  —  Your  Majefty's 
numerous  army,  drawn  from  various  na- 
tions, and  which  unpeoples  the  eaft,  may 
feem  formidable  to  the  neighbouring 
countries.  The  gold,  the  purple,  and  the 
fplendour  of  arms,  which  ftrike  the  eyes  of 
beholders,  make  a  (how  which  furpaffesthe 
nation  cf  all  who  have  not  ken  it. 
The  Macedonian  army,  with  which  your 
Majefty's  forces  are  going  to  contend,  is, 
on  the  contrary,  grim,  and  horrid  of  af- 
pedl,  and  clad  in  iron.  The  irrefiltibie 
phalanx  is  a  body  of  men  who,  in  the 
field  of  battle,  fear  no  onfet,  being  prac- 
tifed  toehold  together,  man  to  man,  fhieldl 
to  lhi,T.d,  and  fpear  to  fpear;  lo  that  a 
brazen  wail  might  as  loon  be  broke 
through.  In  advancing,  in  wheeling  to 
right  or  left,  in  attacking*  in  every  exer- 
ciie  of  arms,  they  act.  as  one  man.  They 
anfwer  the  flighted  fign,  from  the  com- 
mander, as  if  his  foul  animated  the  whole 
army.  Every  foldier  has  a  knowledge 
of  war  fufficient  for  a  general.  And  this 
diicipline,  by  which  the  Macedonian  army 
is  become  fo  formidable,  was  firS  efta- 
blifhed,  and  has  been  all  along  kept  up, 
by  a  fixed  contempt  of  what  your  Ma- 
jefty's troops  are  fo  vain  of,  1  mean  gold 
and  filver.  The  bare  earth  fcrves  them 
for  beds.     Whatever  Will  fatisfy  nature, 

is 


BOOK  III.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


69; 


is  their  luxury.  Their  repofe  is  always 
Aicrter  than  the  night.  Your  Majefty 
may,  therefore,  judge,  whether  the  Thef- 
falian,  Acarnanian,  and  JEtalhn  cavalry, 
and  the  Macedonian  phalanx — a&  army 
that  has,  in  fpite  of  all  oppohtion,  over- 
run half  the  world — are  to  be  repelled  by 
a  multitude  (however  numerous)  armed 
with  ili-ngs,  and  ftakes  hardened  at  the 
points  by  fire.  To  be  upon  equal  terms 
with  Alexander,  your  Majeft-y-  ought  to 
have  an  army  qompofed  of  the  fame  fort 
of  troops :  and  they  are  no  where  to  be 
had,  but  in  the  fame  countries  which  pro- 
duced thofe  conquerors  of  the  world. — It 
is  therefore  my  opinion,  that,  if  your 
Majefty  were  to  apply  the  gold  and  filver, 
which  now  fo  fuperfluoufly  adorns  your 
men,  to  the  purpofe  of  hiring  an  army 
from  Greece,  to  contend  with  Greeks,  you 
might  have  fome  chance  for  fuccefs;  other- 
wife  I  fee  no  reafon  to  expect  any  thing 
die,  than  that  your  army  mould  be  de- 
feated, as  all  the  others  have  been  who 
have  encountered  the  irrefulible  Macedo- 
nians. fjK  Curtius. 

§  Z2.  The  Cbaraeler  of Juliu s  C/esar^ 
Caefar  was  endowed  with  every  great 
and  noble  quality,  that  could  exait  human 
nature,  and  give  a  man  the  alcendant  in 
jocietyr :  formed  to  excel  in  peace,  as  well 
as  war ;  provident  in  council ;  fearlefs  in 
action  ;  and  executing  what  he  had  re- 
jfolved  with  an  amazing  celerity  :  generous 
beyond  meafure  to  his  friends;  placable 
to  his  enemies";  and  for  parts,  learning, 
eloquence,  fcarce  inferior  to  any  man. 
His  orations  were  admired  for  two  quali- 
ties, which  are  ieldom  found  together; 
ftrength  and  elegance ;  Cicero  ranks -him 
among  the  greater!  orators  that  Rome 
ever  bred ;  and  Quinctilian  fays,  that  he 
fpoke  with  the  fame  force  with  which  he 
fought ;  and  if  he  haa  devoted  him.elf  to 
the  bar,  would  have  been  the  only  man 
capable  of  rivalling  Cicero.  Nor  was  he 
a  mailer  only  of  the  politer  arts ;  but 
converfant  alio  with  the  molt  abftrufe  and 
critical  parts  of  learning;  arid,  among, 
other  works  which  he  publifhed,  addrefled 
two  books  to  Cicero,  on  the  analogy  of 
language,  or  the  art  of  fpeaking  and 
writing  correctly.  He  was  a  inoit  liberal 
patron  of  wit  and  learning,  where.'oever 
they  were  found;  and  out  of  his  love  of 
thofe  talents,  would  readily  pardon  thofe 
who  had  employed  them  againft  himfelf ; 
lightly  judging,    that    by    making    fuch 


men  his  friends,    he  mould  draw   praifes 
from    the   fame    fountain   from  which  he 
had  been    afperfed.     His  capital  pafhons 
were  ambition,  and  love  of  pleafure;  which 
he  indulged  in  their  turns  to  the  greated 
exceis :  yet  the  fir  ft  was  always  predomi- 
nant; to  which  he  could  eafily  faciince  all 
the  charms  of  the  fecond,  and  draw  plea- 
fure  even  from   toils  and  dangers,  when 
they  miniftered   to    his    .ilory.       For  he 
thought    Tyranny,    as    Cicero    fays,    the 
greateft  of  goddeftes ;  and  had  frequently 
in  his  mouth  a  verfe  of  Euripides,  which 
exprefled    the  image   of  his  foul,  that  if 
right  and  juftice  were  ever  to  be  violated, 
they  were  to  be  violated  for  the  fake  of 
reigning.      This  was    the  chief  end  and 
purpofe  of  his    life;   the   fcheme  that  he- 
had  formed  from  his  early  youth  ;  fo  that, 
as  Cato  truly  declared  of  him,  he  came 
with  fobriety  and  meditation  to  the  fub- 
verfion  of  the'  republic.     He  ufed  to  fay, 
that  there   were  two  things  neceflary,  to 
acquire   and  to    fupport   power— fold ;?rs 
and  money;  which  yet  depended  mutually 
upon   each  other:    with   money  therefore 
he  provided    foldiers,    and  with  foldiers 
extorted  money  ;  and  was,  of  all  men,  the 
ino ft  rapacious  in  plundering  both  friends 
and  foes  ;  fparing  neither  prince,  nor  flat?, 
nor  temple,  nor  even  private  perfons,  who 
were  known  -to  polTefs  any  (hare  of  trea- 
fure.    His  great  abilities  would  neceftarily 
have  made  him  one  of  the  firft  citizens  of  ' 
Rome;  bijt,  difdaining  the  condition  of  a 
fubjecr.,  he  could  never  reft,  till  he  made 
himfelf  a  monarch.       In  afting  this   Lift 
part,  his  ufual  prudence    feemed    to    fail 
him  ;    as  if  the  height  to  which   he  was 
mounted,  had  turned  his  head,  and  made 
him  giddy  :  for,  by  a  vain  orientation  of 
his  power,  he  destroyed  the  liability  of  it : 
and  as  men  fhoi  ten  life  by  living  too  faft, 
fo   by  an  intemperance   of  reigning,    he 
brought  his  reign  to  a  violent  end. 

Middle!  077. 

§  23.  Cai.isthenes'j  Reproof  of  C:.e- 
on'j  Flattery  to  Alexander,  on  whom 
be  -  bad  propofed  to  confer  Divinity  by 
Vote. 

If  the  king  were  prefent,  Cieon,  there 
would  be  no  need  of  my  anfwering  to  what 
you  have  juft  propofed:  he  would  himfelf 
reprove  you  for  endeavouring  to  draw  him 
into  an  imitation  of  foreign  absurdities, 
and  for  bringing  envy  upon  him  by  fuch 
unmanly  flattery.  As  he  is  abierit,  I  take 
upon  me  to  teil  you,  in  his  name,  that  no 
6  praife 


€$$ 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


praifc  is  Rafting,  but  what  is  rational;  and 
that  you  do  what  you  can  to  leffen  his 
glory,  inftead  of  adding  to  it.  Heroes 
jiave  never,  among  us,  been  deified  till 
after  their  death;  and,  whatever  maybe 
your  way  of  thinking,  Cleon,  for  my  part, 
J  wilh  the  king  may  not,  for  many  years 
to  come,  obtain  that  honour. 

You  have  mentioned,  as  precedents  of 
what  you  propofe,  Hercules  and  Bacchus. 
Do  you  imagine,  Cleon,  that  they  were 
-deified  over  a  cup  of  wine  ?  and  are  you 
■and  I  qualified  to  make  gods  ?  Is  -the 
feiiAg,  our  fovereign,  to  receive  his  divinity 
from  you  and  me,  who  are  his  fubjects  ? 
*Firft  try  your  power,  whether  you  can 
snake  a  king.  It  is,  furely,  eafier  to  make 
,a  king  than  a  god ;  to  give  an  earthly  do- 
minion, than  a  throne  in  heaven.  I  only 
Jtvifh  that  the  gods  may  have  heard,  with- 
out offence,  the  arrogant  propofal  yon 
have  made  of  adding  one  to  their  number-; 
.and  that  they  may  it  ill  be  fo  propitious  to 
•tii,  as  to  grant  the  continuance  of  that 
ifijecefs  to  our  affairs  with  which  they  have 
hitherto  favoured  us.  For  my  part,  I  am 
not  afhamed  of  my  country;  nor  do  I  ap- 
prove of  our  adopting  the  rites  of  foreign 
•nations,  or  learning  from  them  how  we 
••ought  to  reverence  our  kings.  To  receive 
laws  or  rules  of  conduct  from  them,  what 
as  it  but  to  confeis  ourfelves  inferior  to 
•them  ?  i£,  Curtius, 

§  34.     The  Clmra.ler -of  Catc. 

If  we  confider  the  character  of  Cato 
without  prejudice,  he  was  certainly  a  great 
#nd  worthy  man  ;  a  friend  to  truth,  virtue, 
liberty}  yet,  falfcly  meaiuring  all  duty  by 
the  abiutd  rigour  of  the  lloical  rule,  he 
was  generally  difappointed  of  the  end 
which  he  fought  by  it,  the  happinefs  both 
of  his  private  and  public  life.  In  his  pri- 
vate conduct  he  was  fevere,  morofe,  iney- 
orable  ;  baniming  all  the  fofter  affections, 
a-;  natural  enemies  to  jullice,  and  as  fug- 
geiling  falie  motives  of  acting,  from  fa^ 
vbur,  clemency,  and  compaffion:  in  public 
affairs  he  was -the  fame;  had  but  one  rule 
©f  policy,  to  adhere  to  what  was  right, 
without  regard  to  time  or  circumitances, 
or  even  to  a  force  that  could  contioul  him  ; 
for,  inllead  of  managing  the  power  of  the 
great,  fo  as  to  mitigate  the  il',  or  extract 
any  good  from  it,  he  was  urging  it  always 
to  acts  of  violence  by  a  perpetual  defiance; 
fo  th'it,  with  the  belt  intentions  in  the 
world,  lie  often  did  great  harm  to  the  re- 


public. This  was  his  general  behaviour? 
yet  from  fome  particular  facts,  it  appears 
that  his  ftrength  of  mind  was  not  always 
impregnable,  but  had  its  weak  places  of 
pride,  ambition,  and  party  zeal :  which, 
when  managed  and  flattered  to  a  certain 
point,  would  betray  him  fometimes  into 
meafures  contrary  to  his  ordinary  rule  of 
right  and  truth.  The  laft  ait  of  his  life 
was  agreeable  to  his  nature  and  philofo- 
phy :  when  he  could  no  longer  be  what  he 
had  been  ;  or  when  the  ills  of  life  over- 
balanced the  good,  which,  by  the  princi- 
ples of  his  feet,  was  a  juit  cauie  for  dying  ; 
he  put  >an  end  to  his  life  with  a  fpirit  and 
refolution  which  would  make  one  imagine-, 
that  he  was  glad  to  have  found,  an  occafion 
of  dving  in  his  proper  character.  On  the: 
whole,  ins  life  was  rather  admirable  thaa 
amiable.;  fit  -to  -beprailed,  ratner  than  imi- 
tated. Middleton. 

•§•25.      Br'Vtvs\-  Speech   in  Vindication  of 
Cv.s  ar';  Murder. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers ! — 
Hear  me,  for  my  caufe;  and  be  filent,  thai 
you  may  hear.  Believe  me,  for  mine  ho- 
nour ;  and  have  refpect  to  mine  honour, 
that  you  may  believe.  Cenfure  me,  in 
your  wifdom  ;  and  awake  your  fenfes,  that 
you  -may  the  better  judge. 

If  there  be  any  in  this  affemhty,  any 
dear  friend  of  Caffar's,  to  him  I  fay,  that 
Bruuis's  love  to  Cxfar  was  no  lefs  than  his,. 
•If,  then,  that  friend  demand  why  Brutus 
rofe  againit  Cjefar?  this  is  my  anfvver— 
Not  that  I  loved  Caffar  lets,  but  that  I 
loved  Rome  more.  Had  you  rather  Ca?fa* 
were,  and  die  all  flaves;  than,  thasi  Cadar 
were  dead,  to  live  all  freemen?  As  Casfaf 
loved  me,  1  weep  for  him;  as  he  was  for- 
tunate, 1  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he  was  valiant, 
1  honour  him;  but, as  he  was  ambitious,  I 
flew  him.  There  are  tears  for  his  love, 
joy  for  his  fortune,  honour  for  his  valour, 
and  death  for  his  ambition.  Who's  here 
lo  bale,  that  would  be  a  bond-man? — If 
any,  (peak ;  for  him  have  I  offended. 
Who's  here  fo  rude,  that  would  not  be  a 
Roman  : — If  any,  (peak;  for  him  have  I 
offended.  Who's  here  fo  vile,  that  will 
not  love  his  country  :-r-If  any,  fpeak,; 
for  him  have  I  offended. — -I  paufe  for  a 
reply. 

None  ? — Th;  n  -none  have  I  offended. 
I  have  done  no  more  to  Cajfar,  than  you 
lhou'd  do  to  Brutus.  The  quefti  m  ol  his 
tc;;;h  is  inrollcd  in  the  capitol :  his  g.ory 

not 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,   CHARACTERS,    &c. 


699 


not  extenuated,  wherein  he  was  worthy ; 
nor  his  offences  inforced,  for  -which  he 
fuffered  death. 

Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark 
Antony ;  who,  though  he  had  no  hand  in 
his  death,  fhall  receive  the  benefit  of  his 
dying,  a  place  in  the  common-wealth  ;  as, 
which  of  you  fhall  not  ?  With  this  I  depart 
r— That,  as  I  flew  my  belt  lover  for  the 
good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  fame  dagger  for 
myfelf,  when  it  fhall  pleafe  my  country  tQ 
need  my  death.  Shake/pears. 

§  26.  A Comparifon  of "C ^esar  ivitb  Cato. 

As  to  their  extraction,  years,  and  elo- 
quence, they  were  pretty  nigh  equal.  Both 
of  them  had  the  fame  greatnefs  of  mind, 
both  the  fame  degree  of  glory,  but  in  dif- 
ferent ways  :  G'arfar  was  celebrated  for  his 
great  bounty  and  generofity ;  Cato  for  his 
unfuliied  integrity  :  the  former  became  re- 
nowned by  his  humanity  and  companion  ; 
an  aultere  feverity  heightened  the  dignity 
of  the  latter.  Csfar  acquired  glory  by  a 
liberal,  compaffionte,  and  forgiving  tem- 
per ;  as  did  Cato,  by  never  bellowing  any 
thing.  In  the  one,  the  miferable  found  a 
fanctuary ;  in  the  other,  the  guilty  met 
with  a  certain  deftruclion.  Caffarwas  ad- 
mired for  an  eafy  yielding  temper;  Cato 
for  his  immoveable  firmnefs ;  Ca:far,  in  a 
word,  had  formed  himfelf  for  a  laborious 
aftive  life  ;  was  intent  upon  promoting  the 
intereft  of  his  friends,  to  the  neglect  of  his 
pwn  ;and  refufed  to  grant  nothing  that  was 
worth  accepting  ;  what  he  defired  for  him- 
felf, was  to  have  fovereign  command,  to  be 
at  the  head  of  armies,' and  engaged  in  new 
wars,  in  order  to  dilplay  his  military  ta^ 
lents.  As  for  Cato,  his  only  ftudy  was 
moderation,  regular  conduct,  and,  above 
all,  rigorous  feverity  :  he  did  not  vie  with 
the  rich  in  riches,  nor  in  faction  with  the 
factious ;  but,  taking  a  nobler  aim,  he  con- 
tended in  bravery  with  the  brave,  in  mo- 
del!.)' with  the  modeft,  in  integrity  with  the 
upright ;  and  was  more  defirous  to  be  vir- 
tuous, than  appear  lb :  fo  that  the  lefs  he 
courted  fame,  the  more  it  followed  him. 
SaUuft,  by  Mr.  Roju 

§  27.  Caius  Marius  to  the  Romans, 
Jhexving  the  Abfurdity  of  their  befitating 
to  confer  on  him  the  Rank  of  General, 
merely  on  Account  of  his  Extraction. 

It  is  but  too  common,  my  countrymen, 
to  obferve  a  material  difference  between 
the  behaviour  of  thofe  who  fland  candidates 
for  places  of  power  and  trull,  before  and 


after  their  obtaining  them.  They  folicit 
them  in  one  manner,  and  execute  them  in 
another.  They  fet  out  with  a  great  ap- 
pearance of  activity,  humility,  and  modera- 
tion ;  and  tl>ey  quickly  fall  into  fioth,  pride, 
and  avarice. — It  is  undoubtedly,  no  eafy 
matter  to  difcharge,  to  the  general  fatif- 
fadtion,  the  duty  of  a  fupreme  commander* 
in  troublefome  times.  I  am,  I  hope,  duly 
fenlible  of  the  importance  of  the  office  I 
propofe  to  take  upon  me  for  the  fervice  of 
my  country.  To  carry  on,  with  effeclj,  an 
expenfive  war,  and  yet  be  frugal  of  the 
public  money;  to  oblige  thofe  to  ferve, 
whom  it  may  be  delicate  to  offend;  to 
conduct,  at  the  fame  time,  a  complicated 
variety  of  operations  ;  to  concert  meafures 
at  home,  anfwerahle  to  the  ftate  of  things 
abroad  ;  and  to  gain  every  valuable  end, 
in  fpite  of  oppofition  from  the  envious,  the 
factions,  and  the  djfaffected— to  do  all  this, 
my  countrymen,  is  more  difficult  than  is 
generally  thought. 

Btit  belides  the  difadvantages  which  are 
common  to  me  with  all  others  in  emi- 
nent llations,  my  cafe  is,  in  this  refpeel,  pe- 
culiarly hard— that  whereas  a  commander 
of  Patrician  rank,  if  he  is  guilty  of  a  ne- 
glect or  breach  of  duty,  has  Ms  great  con- 
nections, the  antiquity  of  his  family,  the 
important  fervices  of  his  anceftors,  and  the 
multitudes  he  has,  by  power,  engaged  in 
his  intereft,  to  fcreen  him  from  condign 
punifhment,  my  whole  fafety  depends 
upon  myfelf;  which  renders  it  the  more 
indifpenfably  neceffary  for  me  to  take  care 
that  my  conduct  be  clear  and  unexception- 
able. Befides,  I  am  well  aware,  my  coun- 
trymen, that  the  eye  of  the  public  is  upon 
me;  and  that,  though  the  impartial,  who 
prefer  the  real  advantage  of  the  common- 
wealth to  all  other  coniiderations,  favour 
my  pretenfions,the  Patricians  want  nothing 
fo  much  as  an  occafion  againlt  me.  It  is, 
therefore,  my  fixed  refolution,  to  ufe  my 
beft  endeavours,  that  you  be  not  disap- 
pointed in  me,  and  that  their  indirect  de- 
figns  againll  me  may  be  defeated. 

I  have,  from  my  youth,  been  familiar 
with  toils  and  with  dangers.  I  was  faith- 
ful to  your  intereft,  my  countrymen,  when 
I  ferved  you  for  no  reward,  but  that  of 
honour.  It  is  not  my  defign  to  betray  you, 
now  that  you  have  conferred  upon  me  a 
place  of  profit.  You  have  committed  to 
my  conduct  the  war  againll  Jugurtha. 
The  Patricians  are  offended  at  tl  is.  But 
where  would  be  the  wifdorn  of  giving  fuch 
a   command    to    or.e  of  their  honourable 

body  } 


'/OO 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


"ody  ?  a  perfon  of  iiluftrious  birth,  of  an- 
cient family,  of  innumerable  ftatues,  but 
-—of  no  experience  I  What  fervice  would 
his  long  line  of  dead  anceftors,  or  his  mul- 
titude of  motionlefs  ftatues,  do  his  coun- 
try in  the  day  of  battle  ?  What  could  fiich 
a.  general  do,  but,  in  his  trepidation  and  in- 
experience, have  recourfe  to  fome  inferior 
commander,  for  direction  in  difficulties  to 
which  he  was  not  himiclf  equal  ?  Thus 
your  Patrician  general  would,  in  fad!,  have 
a  general  over  him :  fo  that  the  acling 
commander  would  .ftii!  be  a  Plebeian.  So 
true  is  this,  my  countrymen,  that  I  have, 
elf,  known  thofe  vyho  have  been  chofen 
•:  infuls,  begin  then  to  read  the  hiftory  of 
■  own  country,  of  which,  till  chat 
me,  tb  were  totally  ignorant ;  that  is, 
obtained  the  employment,  and 
then  bethought  themfelves  of  the  qualiri- 
-  *  ions  neceffary  for  the  proper  discharge 
el  it. 

I  fubmit  to  your  jadgment,  Romans,  on 
which    fide    the    advantage    lies,  when  a 
companion    is    made    between    Patrician 
haughtinefs  and  Plebeian  experience.  The 
s?ery  actions,  which  they  have  only  read,  I 
ha\  e  partly  feen,  and  partly  rnyielf  atchiev- 
ed.     What  they  know  by  reading,.!  know 
by  action.     They  are  pleafed  to  flight  my 
mean  birth ;  1  deipife  their  mean  charac- 
ters. Want  of  birth  and  fortune  is  the  ob- 
jection againft  me  ;  want  of  perfonal  worth 
'  ainft  them.     But  are  not  all  men  of  the 
feme  foecies  ?  What  can  make  z  difference 
.   n  one  man  and  another,  but  the  en- 
dowments of  the  mind?  For  my  part,  I 
[ways  look  upon  the  braveft  man  as 
man.     Suppofe  it  were  enquir- 
'the  fathers  offuch  Patricians  as  Al- 
and Beftia,  whether,  if  they  had  their 
choice,  they  would  deftrefons  of  their  cha- 
.  U  e  ;•,  or  of  mine;  what  would  they   an- 
fwef  but  that  they  Should  wilh  the  worthi- 
eii  to  be  their  'ens  ?  If  the  Patricians  have 
ieai  n  to    defpife  me,    let  them  likewife 
de/pife  their  anceftors  ;  whole  nobility  was 
the  fruit  of  their  virtue.     Do  they  envy 
the  honours  bellowed  upon  me  r  Let  them 
envy  likewife,  my  labours,  my  abf.ircr.ee, 
and  the  dangers  I  have  undergone  for  my 
country,  by  which   I  have  acquired  them. 
Hut  thole  worthlcSs  men  lead  fuch  a  life  of 
inacliviiy,  as  if  th  y  defpifed  any  horours 
i;  can  bellow,  whilft  they  afpire  to  ho- 
.     if  tl  :y  had  deferved  them  by  the 
duftrious  virtue.     They   lay  c'aim 
of  as   ''.  ity,  for  their  having 
ti  ■  :  leafures  of  luxury;  yet  none 
:  on   lavi      than  th<  y  are  in  praife 


of  their  anceftors:  and  they  imagine  they 
honour  themfelves  by  celebrating  their 
forefathers  ;  whereas  they  do  the  very  con- 
trary :  for,  as  much,  as  their  anceftors  were 
diftinguifhed  for  their  virtues,  fo  much  are 
they  disgraced  by  their  vices.  The  glory 
of  anceftors  cafts  a  light,  indeed,  upon  their 
pofterity  ;  but  it  only  ferves  to  fhew  what: 
the  descendants  are.  It  alike  exhibits  to 
public  view  their  degeneracy  and  their 
worth.  I  own,  I  cannot  boaft  of  the  deeds 
of  my  forefathers  ;  but  I  hope  I  may  an~ 
fwer  the  cavils  of  the  Patricians,  by  hand- 
ing up  in  defence  of  what  I  have  mySelf 
done. 

Obferve  now,  my  countrymen,  the  in- 
juftice  of  the  Patrcians.  They  arrogate 
to  themfelves  honours,  on  account  of  the 
exploits  done  by  their  forefathers;  whilftr 
they  will  not  allow  me  the  due  praife,  for 
performing  the  very  fame  fort  of  actions  in 
my  own  perfon.  He  has  no  ftatues,  -they 
cry,  of  his  family.  Pie  can  trace  no  ve- 
nerable line  of  anceitors  — What  then  ? 
Is  it  matter  of  more  praife  to  diSgrace 
one's  iiluftrious  anceftors,  than  to  become 
iiluftrious  by  one's  own  good  behaviour  ? 
What  if  I  can  fhew  no  ftatues  of  my  fa- 
mily ?  I  can  fhew  the  ftandards,  the  ar- 
mour, and  die  trappings,  which  I  have  mv- 
felf  taken  from  the  vanquished  :  I  can  fhew 
the  fears  of  thofe  wounds  which  I  have  re- 
ceived by  facing  the  enemies  of  my  coun- 
try. Thefe  arc  my  ftatues.  Thefe  are  the 
honours  I  boaft  of.  Not  left  me  by  inhe- 
ritance, as  theirs:  but  earned  by  toil,  by 
abftinenee,  by  valour;  amidft  clouds  of 
daft,  and  feas  of  blood  :  fcenes  of  action, 
where  thofe  effeminate  Patricians,  who  en- 
deavour by  indirecl  means  to  depreciate 
me  in  your  eileem,  have  never  'dared  to 
fhew  their  faces.  Salluji. 

§  28.     The  CharaQer  «/*Catiline. 

Lucius  Catiline  was  defcended  of  an  ii- 
luftrious family :  he  was  a  man  of  great 
vigour,  both  of  body  and  mind,  but  of  a 
diipofition  extremely  profligate  and  de- 
praved. From  his  youth  he  took  pleafure 
in  civil  wars,  maffacres,  depredations,  and 
inteftine  broils;  and  in  theie  he  employed 
his  younger  days.  His  body  was  formed 
for  enduring  cold,  hunger,  and  want  of 
reft,  to  a  degree  indeed  incredible  :  his 
ipirit  was  daring,  fubtle,  and  changeable  : 
he  was  expert  in  all  the  arts  of  Simulation 
and  difiimulation ;  covetous  of  what  be- 
longed to  others,  lavifh  of  his  own  ;  .vio- 
lent in  his  paffions  ;  he  had  eloquence 
encugh,  but  a  lmall  fhare  of  wifdom.     His 

boundlefs 


BOOK   III.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c.         r-i 


Ibbundlefs  foul  was  coriilantly  engaged  in 
extravagant  and  romantic  projects,  too  high 
to  be  attempted. 

After  Sylia's  ufurpation,  he  was  fired 
«vith  a  violent  defire  of  feizing  the  go- 
vernment ;  and,  provided  he  could  bat 
carry  his  point,  he  was  not  at  all  folici- 
toas'Tjy  what  means.  His  fpirit,  naturally 
violent,  was  daily  more  and  more  hurried 
on  to  the  execution  of  his  defign,  by  his  po- 
verty, and  the  confcioufnefs  of  his  crimes  ; 
both  which  evils  he  had  heightened  by  the 
practices  above-mentioned.  He  was  en- 
couraged to  it  by  the  wickednefs  of  the 
ilate,  thoroughly  debauched  by  luxury  and 
avarice ;  vices  equally  fatal,  though  of 
contrary  natures.  •Saihf, by  Mr.  Roji. 

§  29.  Speech  of  Titus  Quinctius 
to  /fo  PvUMANS,  iv  be  ft  theJEqvi  and 
'Vol sc'i,  taking  Advantage  of  their  in- 
teftine  Commotisns,  ravaged  their  Coun- 
try to  the  Gates  of  Rome. 

Though  I  am  not  confeious,  O  Romans, 
of  any  crime  by  me  committed,  it  is  yet 
with  the  ucmoft  lhame  and  confuiion  that 
I-  appear  in  your  affembly.  You  have'  feen 
it  — "pofterky  will  know  it! — in  the  fourth 
confullhip  of  Titus  QuincYms.,  the  ^qui 
and  VcHci  (fcarce  a  match  for  the  Hernici 
alone)  came  in  arms  to  the  very  gates  of 
Rome,  and  went  away  again  unchaitifed  ! 
The  courfe  of  our  manners,  indeed,  and 
the  Ilate  of  our  affairs, '  have  long  been 
fuch,  that  I  had  no  reafon  to  prefage  much 
good ;  but,  could  I  have  imagined  that'  fo 
great  an  ignominy  would  have  befallen  me 
this  year,  1  would,  by  baniihment  or, death 
(if  all  other  means  had  failed)  have  avoid- 
ed the  ftation  I  am  now  in.  What!  might 
Rome  then  have  been  taken,  if  thofe  men 
who  were  at  our  gates  had  not  wanted 
courage  for  the  attempt? — Rome  taken, 
whihi  I  was  conful  ! — Of  honours  I  had 
Sufficient —  of  life  enough  —  more  than 
enough — I  mould  have  died  in  my  third 
coniulate. 

But  who  are  they  that  our  dafTardly  ene- 
mies thus  defpife  ? — the  confuls,  or  youj- 
Romans  ?  If  we  are  in  fault,  depofe  us,  or 
puniih.  us  yet  more  feverely.  If  you  are 
to  blame — -may  neither  gods  nor  men  "pu- 
nim  your  faults !  only  may  you  repent ! 
No,  Romans,  the  confidence  of  our  ene-~ 
in  es  is  not  owing  to  their  courage,  or  to 
their  belief  of  your  Cowardice ;  they  have 
been  too  often  vanquifhed,  not  to  know 
both  themfclves  and  you.  Difcord,  dif- 
cord,  is  the  ruin  of  this  city  J  The  eter- 


nal difputes'  between  the  fenate  and  the 
people  are  the  fo'e  caufe  of  our  misfor- 
tunes. While  we  will  fet  no  bounds  to  our 
dominion,  nor  you  to  your  liberty  ;  while 
you  impatiently  endure  Patrician  magi- 
$ra£es,  and  we  Plebeian;  our  enemies  take 
heart,  grow  elated,  and  prefump'tuous.  In 
the  name  of  the  immortal  gods,  what  is  i£ 
Romans,  you  would  have  ?  You  cleared 
Tribunes;  for  the  fake  of  peace,  we 
granted  them.  Your  were  eager  to  have 
Decemvirs:;  we  confented  to  their  crea- 
tion. You  grew  weary  of  the  e  De :.-.-' 
virs ;  we  obliged  them  to  abdicate.  Your 
hatred  purfued  them  when  reduced  to  p;i- 
vate  men;  and  we  fuffered  you  to  pot  to 
death,  or  bardih,  Patricians  of  the  -nrit 
rank  in.  the  republic.  You  infilled  upon. 
the  reiteration  of  the  Tribune/hip ;  .we 
yielded :  we  quietly  faw  Confuls  of  yoar 
own  faclion  elected.  You  have  the  pro- 
tection of  your  Tribunes,  and  the  privilege 
of  appeal:  the  Patricians  are  fubjecled  to 
the  decrees  of  the  Commons.  Under  pre  - 
'  tence  of  equal  and  impartial  Jaws,  you 
have  invaded  our  rights;  and  we  have 
fuffered  it,  and  we  frill  fuffer  it.  When 
(hall  we  fee  an  end  of  difcord  ?  When  flia'S 
we  have  one -inte reft,  and  one  common 
country  ?-  Victorious  and  triumphant,  you 
mew  lefs  temper  than  we  under  defeat. 
When  you  are  to  contend  with  us,  you  can 
feize  the  Aventine  hill,  you*  can  poffefs 
yourfeTves  of  the  Mons  Sacer. 

The  enemy,  is  at  our  gates,  the  yEfqui- 
line  is' near  being  taken,  and  nobody  llirs 
to  hinder  it.     But  again/Ids   you  are  va- 
liant, againlt  us  you  can  arm  with  diligence. 
Come  on  then,  beilege   the  fenate-houf, 
make  a  camp  of  the  forum,  fill  the  jails 
with  our  chief  nobles  ;and,  when  you  have 
atchieved  thefe  glorious  exploits,  then,  at' 
laft,  (ally  out  at  the  /Efquiline  gate,  with 
the  fame  fierce  fpirits,  againd  the  enemy. 
Does  your  refolution  fail  you  for  this?  Go 
then, -'and  behold  from  our  walls  your  lands. 
ravaged,  your    houfes    plundered    and    ui 
flame?,  the  whole  country  laid  v/aile      .  h 
fire  and  fword.      Have  you  any  thing  .    re 
to  repair  thefe  d images?    Will  , the   Tri- 
bunes make  up  your  tones  to  ycu  ?   The--'.: 
give'  you  words  as   many  as  you  pleafe  ; 
bring  impeachments  in  abundance  again'!? 
the  prime' men    in  the    Irate ;    heap   la 
upon  laws  :  aifemblies  you  lhali  hav  e 
out  end:  but  will  avy  of  you   return  t  is 
richef  from  t 'a  •■■     iffernbliei  ?   ExtinguilhV 
O  Romans,   thefe  fatal   divisions;    - 
roufiy    break    this     eutfftd    caeh* 


702 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


which  keeps  you  buried  in  a  fcandalous  in- 
action. Open  your  eyes,  and  confider  the 
management  of  thofe  ambitious  men,  who, 
to  make  themfelves  powerful  in  their  party, 
ftudy  nothing  but  how  they  may  foment 
diviiions  in  the  commonwealth. — If  you 
can  but  fummon  up  your  former  courage, 
if  you  will  now  march  out  of  Rome  with 
your  confuis,  there  is  no  punifhment  you 
can  inflict  which  I  will  not  fubmit  to,  if  I 
do  not  in  a  few  days  drive  thofe  pillagers 
out  of  our  territory.  This  terror  of  war, 
with  which  you  ieem  fo  grieveufly  ftruck, 
ihall  quickly  be  removed  from  Rome  to 
their  own  cities.  Hooke. 

§     30.       MlCIPSA   tD  JURURTHA. 

You  know,  Jugurtha,  that  1  received 
you  under  my  protection  in  your  early 
youth,  when  left  a  helplefs  and  hopelefs 
orphan.  I  advanced  you  to  high  honours 
in  my  kingdom,  in  the  full  affuranc'e  that 
you  would  prove  grateful  for  my  kindnefs 
to  you;  and  that,  if  I  came  to  have  chil- 
dren of  my  own,  you  would  iludy  to  repay 
to  them  what  you  owed  to  me.  Hitherto 
I  have  had  no  reafon  to  repent  of  my  fa- 
vours to  you.  For,  to  omit  all  former  in- 
ftances  of  your  extraordinary  merit,  your 
late  behaviour  in  the  Numantian  war  has 
reflected  upon  me,  and  my  kingdom,  a 
new  and  diitinguifhed  glory.  You  have, 
by  your  valour,  rendered  the  Roman  com- 
monwealth, which  before  was  well  affected 
to  our  intereit,  much  more  friendly.  In 
Spain,  you  have  raifed  the  honour  of  my 
name  and  crown.  And  you  have  fur- 
mounted  what  is  junly  reckoned  one  of  the 
greater!,  difficulties ;  having,  by  your  me- 
rit, filenced  envy.  My  diifolution  fcems 
now  to  'be  fad  approachiug.  I  therefore 
befeech  and  conjure  you,  my  dear  Jugur- 
tha 1  by  this  right  hand  ;  by  the  remem- 
brance of  my  palt  kindnefs  to  you  ;  by  the 
honour  of  my  kingdom  ;  and  by  the  ma- 
jefty  of  the  gods  ;  be  kind  to  my  two  fons, 
whom  my  favour  to  you  has  made  your 
brothers;  and  do  not  think  of  forming  a 
connection  with  any  ilranger,  to  the  pre- 
judice of  your  relations.  It  is  not  by  arms, 
r.or  by  treafures,  that  a  kingdom  is  fecured, 
but  by  well  affected  fubjects  and  allies. 
And  ic  is  by  faithful  and  important  fervices, 
that  friendihip  (which  neither  gold  will 
purchife,  nor  arms  extort)  is  iecured. 
liut  w'jat  friendihip  is  mo;e  perfect,  than 
that  which  ought  to  obtain  between  bro- 
thers ?  What  fidelity  can  be  expected 
amyng  fkan^trs,  if  it  ii  wanting  among 


relations  ?  The  kingdom  I  leave  you  is  in 
good  condition,  if  you  govern  it  properly ; 
if  otherwife,  it  is  weak.  For  by  agree- 
ment a  fmall  ftate  increafes;  by  diviiion  a 
great  one  falls  into  ruin.  It  will  lie  upon 
you,  Jugurtha,  who  are  com'e  to  riper  years 
than  your  brothers,  to  provide  that  no 
mifconduct  produce  any  bad  effect.  And, 
if  any  difference  lhould  arife  between  you 
and  your  brothers  (which  may  the  gods 
avert  !)  the  public  will  charge  you,  how- 
ever innocent  you  may  be,  as  the  aggreffor, 
becaufe  your  years  and  abilities  give. you 
the  fuperiority.  But  I  firmly  perfuade  my- 
felf,  that  you  will  treat  them  with  kindnefs, 
and  that  they  will  honour  and  eiteem  you, 
as  your  diftinguifhed  virtue  deferves. 

Sal/uf. 

§  31.     Speech  rf  Publius  Scipio  to  the 
Roman    rfrmy,   before  the  Battle  of  the 

TlCIN. 

Were  you,  foldiers,  the  fame  army 
which  I  had  with  me  in  Gaul,  I  might 
well  forbear  faying  any  thing  to  you  at 
this  time  ;  for,  what  occafion  could  there 
be  to  ufe  exhortation  to  a  cavalry  that 
had  fo  fignally  vanquifhed  the  fquadrons 
of  the  enemy  upon  the  Rhone;  or  to  le- 
gions, by  whom  that  fame  euerriv,  flying 
before  them  to  avoid  a  battle,  did  in  effect 
confefs  themfelves  conquered  ?  But,  as 
thefe  troops,  having  been  inrolled  for 
Spain,  are  there  with  my  brother  Cneius» 
making  war  under  my  aufpices  (as  was  the 
will  of  the  fenate  and  people  of  Rome)  I, 
that  you  might  have  a  conful  for  your  cap- 
tain, againit  Hannibal  and  the  Carthagi- 
nians, have  freely  offered  mylelf  for  this 
war.  You,  then,  have  a  new  general ; 
and  I  a  new  army.  On  this  account,  a, 
few  words  from  me  to  you  will  be  neither 
improper  nor  unfeafonable. 

That  you  may  not  be  unapprised  of  what 
fort  of  enemies  you  are  going  to  encounter, 
or  of  what  js  to  be  feared  from  them,  they 
are  the  very  fame  whom,  in  a  former  war, 
you  vanquifhed  both  by  land  and  lea;  the 
fame,  from  whom  you  took  Sicily  and  Sar- 
dinia: and  who  have  been  thefe  twenty 
years  your  tributaries.  You  will  not,  I 
prcfume,  march  againft  thefe  men,  with 
only  that  courage  with  which  you  are  wont 
to  face  other  enemies ;  but  with  a  certain 
anger  and  indignation,  fuch  as  you  would 
feel  if  you  faw  your  flaves  on  a  iudden  rife 
up  in  arms  againft  you,  Conquered  and 
enflaved,  it  is  not  bcldnefs,  but  neceffity, 
that  urges  them  to  battle,  unlets  you  can, 

believe 


BOOK   III.     ORATIONS 

believe  that  thofe  who  avoided  fighting 
when  their  army  was  entire,  have  acquired 
better  hope  by  the  lofs  of  two-thirds  of 
their  horfe  and  foot  in  the  pafTage  of  the 
Alps. 

But  you  have  heard,  perhaps,  that, 
though  they  are  few  in  number,,  they  are 
men  of  flout  hearts  and  robud  bodies  -r 
heroes,  of  fuch  ftrength  and  vigour,  as  no- 
thing is  able  to  refill. — Mere  effigies !  nay, 
fhadows  of  men  L  wretches,  emaciated 
with  hunger  and.  benumbed  with  cold  ! 
bruifed  and  battered  to  pieces  among  the 
rocks  and  craggy  cliffs  L  their  weapons 
broken,  and  their  horfes  weak  and  founder- 
ed !  Such  are  the  cavalry,, and  fuch  the 
infantry,  with  which  you.  are  going  to  con- 
tend ;  not  enemies,  but  the  fragments  of 
enemies.  There  is  nothing  which  I  more 
apprehend,  than  that  it  will  be  thought 
Hannibal  was  vanquished  by  the  Alps,  be- 
'  fore  we  had  any  conflict  with  him.  But, 
perhaps,  it  was  fitting  it  mould  be  {o  ;  and 
that,  with  a.  people  and  a  leader  who  had 
violated  leagues  and  covenants,  the  gods 
themfelves,  without  man's  help,  mould 
begin  the  war,  and  bang  it  to  a  near  con- 
clufion  :  and  that  we,  who,  next  to  the 
gods,  have  been  injured  and  offended, 
inould  happily  finilh  what  they  have 
begun. 

I  need  not  be  in  any  fear  that  you  mould 
fufpect  me  of  faying  thefe  things  merely  to 
encourage  you,  while  inwardly  I  have  dif- 
ferent lentiments.  What  hindered  me 
from  going  into  Spain  r  That  was  my 
province,  where  I  lhould  have  had  the  lefs- 
dreaded  Afdrubal,  not  Hannibal;  to  deal 
with.  But  hearing,  as  I  palled  along  the 
coail  of  Gaul,  of  this  enemy's  march,  I 
Landed  my  troops,  fent  the  horfe  forward, 
and  pitched  rav  camp  upon  the  Rhone.  A 
part  of  my  cavalry  encountered,  and.  de- 
feated that  of  the  enemy.  My  infantry 
not  being  able  to  overtake  theirs,  which. 
fled  before  us,  I  returned  to  my  fleet ;  and, 
with  all  the  expedition  I  couid  ufe  in  fo 
long  a  voyage  by  fea  and  land,  am  come 
to  meet  them  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps. 
Was  it,  then,  my  inclination  to  avoid  a 
conteft  with  this  tremendous  Hannibal  ? 
and  have  I  met  with  him  only  by  accident 
and  unawares  r  or  am  I  come  on  purpoie 
to  challenge  him  to  the  combat  r  1  would 
gladly  try  whether  the  earth, within  thefe 
twenty  year^,  has  brought  forth  a  new  kind 
of  Carthaginians ;  or  whether  they  be  the 
fa,me  fort  of  men,  who  fought  at  the 
^Egates,  and  whom,  at  Eryx,you  f offered  to 


,    C  H  A  R  A  C  T  £  R  S*   &c.         705. 

redeem  themfelves  at  eighteen  denarii  per 
head:  whether  this  Hannibal,  for  labours- 
and  journies,  be,  as  he  would  be  thought, 
the  rival  of  Hercules;  or  whether  he  be,, 
what  his  father  left  him,  a  tributary,  a 
vaflalj.a  flave  of  the  Roman  people.  Did 
not  the  confcloufnefs  of  his  wicked  deed  ac 
Saguntum  torment  him  and  make  hira 
defperate,  he  would  have  fome  regard,  if 
not  to  his  conquered  country,  yetfurely  to 
his  own  family,  to  his  father's  memory,  to 
the  treaty  written  with  Hamilcar's  own 
hand.  We  might  have  ilarved  him  in 
Eryx  ;  we  might  have  parted  into.  Africa 
with  our  victorious  fleet;  and,  in  a  few  days, 
have  deltroyed  Carthage.  At  their  hum- 
ble fupp'ieation,  we  pardoned  them,-  wer 
releafed  them,,  when  they  were  clofely  fhut 
up,  without  a  poffibilky  of  efcaping ;  we 
made  peace  with  them,  when  they  were 
conquered.  When  they  were  diilreffed  by 
the  African  war,  we  confidered  them,  we 
treated  them,  as  a  people  under  our  pro- 
tection. And  what  is  the  return  they 
make  us  for  all  thefe  favours  ?  Under  the 
conduct  of  a  hair- brained  young  man> 
they  come  hither  to  overturn  our  (hue, 
and  lay  wade  our  country. — I  could  wifh„ 
indeed,  that  it  were  not  fo  ;  and  that  the 
war  we  are  now  engaged  in  concerned  only 
our  own  glory,  and  not  our  prefervation. 
But  the  conteft  at  prefent  is  not  for  the 
poffeffion  of  Sicily  and  Sardinia,  but  of 
Italy  itfelf:  nor  is  there  behind  us  another 
army,  which,  if  we  fnould  not  prove  the 
conquerors,  may  make  head  againft  our 
victorious  enemies.  There  are  no  more 
Aips  for  them  to  pafs,  which  might  give  us 
leisure  to  raiie  new  forces.  N.o,  foidiers : 
here  you  mult  make  your  Hand,  as  if  you 
werejuft  now  before  the  walls  of  Rome, 
Let  every  one  reflect,  that  he  is  now  to  de- 
fend, not  his  own  perfon  only,  but  his  wire, 
his  children,  his  helplefs  infants.  Yet,  lee 
not  private  confiderations  alone  poflels  our 
minds :  let  us  remember  that  the  eyes  of 
the  fenate  and  people  of  Rome  are  upon 
us ;  and  that,  as  our  force  and  courage 
fhall  now  prove,  fuch  will  be  the  fortune  of 
that  city,  and  of  the  Roman  empire. 

Ernie. 

§   3  z.     Speech  ^Hannibal  to  the  Car- 
thaginian Ap/ny,  on  the  Jam:  Occa- 
fton. 

I  know  not,   foidiers,  whether  you  or 
your  prifoners  be  encompafied  by  fortune 
with  the    llrlcter    bonds    and    neceffities. 
Two  feas  inclofe  you  on  the  right  and  left ; 
3  no  j 


•04 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


no:  a  fliip  to  fly  to  for  efcaping.  Before 
ycu  is  the  Po,  a  river  broader  and  more 
rapid  than  the  Rhone  :  behind  you  are  the 
Alps ;  over  (vhich,  even  when  your  num- 
bers were  undiminimed,  you  were  hardly 
able  to  force  a  pafiage.  Here  then,  fol- 
diers, you  muft  either  conquer  or  die,  the 
ver)  n i it  hour  you  meet  the  enemy. 

But  the  fame  fortune  which  has  thus 
laid  you  under  the  r.ecefiity  of  fighting, 
has  let  before  your  eyes  thole  rewards  of 
victory,  than  which  no  men  are  ever  wont 
towilh  lor  greater  from  the  immortal  gods. 
Should  we,  by  our  valour,  recover  only 
Sicily  and  Sardinia,  which  were  ravifhed 
from  our  fathers,  thofe  would  be  no  incon- 
fiderabie  prizes.-  Yet,  what  are  thofe  ? 
The  wealth  of  R.omc;  whatever  riches  lhe 
has  heaped  together  in  the  -fpoils  of  na- 
tions; all  thele.  with  the  matters  of  them, 
will  be  yours.  You  have  been  long  enough 
employed  in  driving  the  cattle  upon  the 
vaft  mountains  of  Lufitania  and  Celtibe- 
ria;  you  have  hitherto  met  with  no  reward 
\vorthyr  of  the  labours  and  dangers  ycu  have 
undergone.  The  time  is  now  come,  to 
reap  the  full  recompence  of  your  toiifome 
marches  over  fo  many  mountains  and  ri- 
vers, and  through  lb  many  nations,  all  of 
them  in  arms.  This  is  the  place  which 
fortune  has  appointed  to  be  the  limits  of 
your  labour ;  it  is  here  that  ycu  will  finifh 
your  glorious  warfare,  and  receive  an 
ample  recompence  of  your  completed 
fervise.  For  I  would  i  ot  have  ycu  ima- 
gine, that  victory  wili  be  as  difficult  as  the 
najne  of  a  Roman  war  is  p-c:\t  ar,d  found- 
ing.' It  has  often  happened,  that  a  de- 
fpifed  enemy  has  given  a  bloody  battle  : 
and  the  moll  renowned  kings  and  nations 
have  by  a  fmall  force  been  overthrown. 
And,  if  you  but  take  away  the  glitter  of 
the  Roman  name,  what  is  there  wherein 
they  may  ftand  in  competition  with  you? 
For  (to  fay  nothing  of  your  fervice  in  war, 
for  twenty  years  together,  with  fo  much 
w.'our  and  fuccefs)  from  the  very  pillars 
of  Hercules,  from  the  ocean,  from  the  ut- 
mod  bounds  of  the  earth,  through  fo  many 
\.  ar.ike  nations  of  Spain  and  Gat:!,  are  yon 
rot  come  hither  victorious  ?  And  with 
wli  im  are  you  now  to  fight?  With  raw 
foldiers,  an  undifciplined  army,  beaten, 
vanquifhed,  beMegcd  by  the  Gauls  the 
very  laft  fummer-;  an  army,  unknown  to 
their  leader,  and  unacquainted  with  him. 

Or  mall  J,  who  was  born,  J  might  almoft 
fay,  but-certain  by  brought  'up,  in  the  tent 
vl  :r.)  ,.u!wr.  chat  moil  excellent  general ; 


mail  I,  the  conqueror  of  Spain  and  Gaul  % 
and  not  only  of  the  Alpine  nations,  but 
which  is  greater  itill,  of  the  Alps  them- 
felves ;  (hall  I  compare  myfelf  with  this 
half-year  captain  !  a  captain,  before  whom 
fhould  one  place  the  two  armies,  without 
their  enfigns,  I  am  perfuaded  he  would  not 
know  to  which  of  them  he  is  conful.  I 
elteem  it  no  fmall  advantage,  foldiers,  that 
there  is  not  one  among  you,  who  has  not 
often  been  an  eye-witnefs  of  my  exploits 
in  war;  not  one  ofwhcfe  valour  I  myfelf 
have  not  been  a  fpectator,  fo-as  to  be  able 
to  name  the  times  and  places  of  his  noble 
achievements ;  that  with  foldiers,  whom  I 
have  a  thoufand  times  praifed  and  reward- 
ed, and  whofe  pupil  I  was  before  ]  became 
their  general,  I  ihail  march  agalrift  an  army 
of  men  flrangers  to  one  another. 

On  wnat  fide  ioever  I  turn  my  eyes,  \ 
behold  all  lull  of  courage  and  llrength, 
A  veteran  infantry  :  a  moft  gallant  caval- 
ry ;  you,  my  allies,  moft  faithful  and  va- 
liant ;  you,  Carthaginians,  whom  not  only 
your  country's  caule,  but  thejufteft  anger, 
impels  to  battle.  The  hope,  the  courage 
of  affulants,  is  always  greater  than  of  thofe 
who  aft  upon  the  defenfive.  With  hofrile 
banners  dilplayed,  you  are  come  down 
upon  Italy:  you  bring  the  war.  Grief, 
injuries,  indignities,  fire  your  minds,  and 
fpur  you  forward  to  revenge. — Firft,  they 
demanded  me;  that  I,  your  general, 
fhould  be  delivered  up  to  them;  next,  all 
of  you  who  had  fought  at  the  fiege  of  Sa- 
guiitum  :  and  we  were  to  be  put- to  death 
b\-  tiie  extrcmeft  tortures.  Proud  and 
cruel  nation  !  every  thing  muft  be  yours, 
and  at  your  difpofal  !  you  are  to  prefcribe 
to  us  with  whom  we  lhall  make  war,  with 
whom  we  fhall  make  peace.  You  are  to 
fet  us  bounds :  to  ihut  us  up  within  hills 
and  rivers  ;  but  you,  you  are  not  to  ob- 
ferve  the  limits  which  yourfelves  have 
fixed !  "  Pafs  not  the  lberus."  What 
next?  "  Touch'  not  the  Saguntines.  Sa- 
"  gulitum  is  upon  the  lberus,  move  not  a 
"  itep  towards  that  city."  Is  it  a  fmall 
matter  then  that  you  have  deprived  us  of 
our  ancient  poflellion,  Sicily  and  Sardinia  ? 
you  would  have  Spain  too.  Well,  we  (hall 
yield  Spain,  and  then. — you  will  pafs  into 
Africa.  Will  pafs,  did  I  fay  ? — this  very 
year  they  ordered  one  of  their  confuls  into 
Africa,  the  other  into  Spain.  No,  fol- 
diers ;  there  is  nothing  left  for  us,  but 
what  we  can  vindicate  with  our  fwords. 
Come  on,  then.  Be  men.  The  Romans 
may,  with  more  fafety,  be  cowards :  they 

fa,v9 


BOOK  III,    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


7o; 


have  their  own  coivntry  behind  them,  have 
places  of  refuge  to  fly  to,  and  are  fecure 
from  danger  in  the  roads  thither ;  but  for 
you,  there  is  no  middle  fortune  between 
death  and  victory.  Let  this  be  but  well 
fixed  in  your  minds ;  and  once  again,  I 
fay,  you  are  conquerors.  Hocke. 

%   33.     The  Char -after  of 'Ham ni bal. 

Hannibal  being  fent  to  Spain,  on  his 
arrival  there  attracted  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  army.  The  veterans  believed  Ha- 
milcar  was  revived  and  reftored  to  them  : 
they  faw  the  fame  vigorous  countenance, 
the  fame  piercing  eye,  the  lame  complexion 
and  features.  But  in  a  fhort  time  his  be- 
haviour occafioned  this  refemblance  of  his 
father  to  contribute  the  leaft  towards  his 
gaining  their  favour.  And,  in  truth,  never 
was  there  a  genius  more  happily  formed 
for  two  things,  moll  manifeftly  contrary 
to  each  other — to  obey  and  to  command. 
This  made  it  difficult  to  determine,  whe- 
ther the  general  or  foldiers  loved  him 
moil.  Where* any  enterprize  required 
vigour,  and  valour  in  the  performance, 
Afdrubal  always  chofc  him  to,  command 
at  the  executing  it ;  nor  were  the  troops 
ever  more  confident  of  fuccefs,  or  more. 
Intrepid,  than  when  he  was  at  their  head. 
None  ever  (hewed  greater  bravery  in  un- 
dertaking hazardous  attempts,  or  more 
preience  of  mind  and  conduct  in  the  exe- 
cution of  them.  No  hardfhip  could  fa- 
tigue his  body,  or  daunt  his  courage  :  he 
could  equally  bear  cold  and  heat.  The 
neceifary  refection  of  nature,  not  the  plea- 
sure of  his  palate,  he  folely  regarded  in 
liis  meals.  He  made  no  diftincTion  of  day 
and  night  in  his  watching,  or  taking  reft  ; 
and  appropriated  no  time  to  fleep,  but 
what  remained  after  he  had  compleated  his 
duty  :  he  never  fought  for  a  foft  or  retired 
place  of  repofe;  but  was  often  feen  lying 
on  the  bare  ground,  wrapt  in  a  foldier's 
cloak,  amongll  the  centinels  and  guards. 
He  did  not  diltinguiih  himfelf  from  his 
companions  by  the  magnificence  of  his 
drefs,  but  by  the  quality -of  his  horfe  and 
arms.  At  the  fame  time,  he  was  by  far 
the  bell  foot  and  horfe  foldier  in  the 
army ;  ever  the  foremoil  in  a  charge,  and 
the  laft  who  left  the  field  after  the  battle 
was  begun.  Thefe  Ihining  qualities  were 
however  balanced  by  great  vices')  inhu- 
man cruelty  ;  more  than  Carthaginian 
treachery  ;  no  refpect  for  truth  or  honour, 
no   fear  of  the  gods,  no  regard  for  the  . 


fanclity  of  oaths,  no  fenfe  of  religion. 
With  a  difpofition  thus  chequered  with 
virtues  and  vices,  he  ferved  three  years 
under  Afdrubal,  without  neglecting  to  pry 
into,  or  perform  any  thing,  that  could  con- 
tribute to  make  him  hereafter  a  complete 
general.  Li-uy. 

§  34..  The  Scythian  Amlaffadors  to 
Alexander,  on  his  making  Prepara~ 
tions  to  attack  their  Country. 

If  your  perfon  were  as  gigantic  as  your 
defires,  the  world  would  not  contain  you. 
Your  right  hand  would  touch  the  eaft,  and 
your  left  the  well  at  the  fame  time  :  you 
grafp  at  more  than  you  are  equal  to.  From 
Europe  you  reach  Afia;  from  Afia  you 
lay  hold  cm  Europe.  And  if  you  mould 
conquer  all  mankind,  you  feem  difpofed 
to  wage  war  with  woods  and  fnows,  with 
rivers  and  wild  beafts,  and  to  attempt  to 
fubdue  nsture.  But  have  you  considered 
the  ufual  courfe  of  things  ?  have  you  re- 
flected, that  great  trees  are  many  years 
in  growing  to  their  height,  and  are  cut 
down  in  an  hour  ?  it  is  foolifh.to  think  of 
the  fruit  only,  without  confidering  the 
height  you  have  to  climb  to  come  at  it. 
Take  care  left,  while  you  ftrive  to  reach 
the  top,  ycu  fall  to  the  ground  with  the 
branches  you  have  laid  hold  on. 

Befides,  what  have  you  to  do  with  the 
Scythians,  or  the  Scythians  with  you  ? 
We  have  never  invaded  Macedon  ;  why 
fhould  you  attack  Scythia?  You  pretend 
to  be  the  puniiher  of  robbers.;  and  are. 
yourfelf  the  general  robber  of  mankind. 
You  have  taken  Lydia;  you  have  fcized 
Syria  ;  you  are  matter  of  Perfia  ;  you  have 
fubdued  the  Bactrians,  and  attacked  In- 
dia: all  this  will  not  fatisfy  you,  unlefs 
you  lay  your  greedy  and  infatiable  hands 
upon  our  flocks  and  our  herds.  How  im- 
prudent is  your  conduct!  you  grafp  aC 
riches,  the  poffeffion  of  which  only  increafes 
your  avarice.  You  increafe  your  hunger, 
by  what  fhould  produce  fatiety;  fo  that 
the  more  you  have,  the  more  you  de/ire. 
But  have  you  forgot  how  long  the  con- 
quer! of  the  Bactrians  detained  you  ?  while 
you  were  fubduing  them  the  Sogdians  re- 
volted. Your  victories  ferve  to  no  other 
purpofe  than  to  find  you  employment  by 
producing  new  wars;  for  the  bufinefs  of 
every  conqueft  is  twofold,  to  win,  and  to 
preferve  :  and  though  you  may  be  the  great- 
eft  of  warriors,  you  mull  expect  that  the  na- 
tions you  conquer  will  endeavour  to  Shake-' 
Zz  off 


7'o6' 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


off  the  yoke  as  fall  as  poflible  :  for  what 
people  chufe  to  be  under  foreign  domi- 
nion ? 

If  you  will  crofs'  the  Tanais,  you  may 
travel  over  Scythia,  and  obferve  how  ex- 
tenfive  a-  territory  we  inhabit.  But  to 
conquer  us  is  quite  another  bufinefs ;  you 
will  find  us>  at  one  time,  too  nimble  for 
your  purfuit;  and  at  another  time,  when 
you 'think  we  are  fled  far  enough  from 
you,  you  will  have  us  furprife  you  in  your 
camp':  for  the  Scythians  attack  with  no 
lefs  vigour  than  they  fly.  It  will  there- 
fore be  your  wifdom  to  keep  with  Uriel 
attention  what  you  have  gained  :  catching 
at  more  you  may  lofe  what  you  have. 
We  have  a  proverbial  faying  in  Scythia, 
That  Fortune  has  no  feet,  and  is  furnilhed 
only  with  hands  to  diitribute  her  capricious 
favours,  and  with  fins  to  elude  the  grafpof 
thofe  to  whom  fhe  has  been  bountiful.— 
You  give  yourfelf  out  to  be  a  god,  the  (on 
of  Jupiter  Amnion:  it  faits  the  character 
of  a  god  to  beilow  favours  on  mortals,  not 
to  deprive  them  of  what  they  have.  But 
if  you  are  no  god,  reflect  on  the  precarious 
condition  of  humanity.  You  will  thus 
'mew  more  wifdom,  than  by  dwelling  en 
thofe  fubjeets  which  have  puffed  up  your 
pride,  and  made  you  forget  yourfelf. 

You  fee  how  little  you  are  likely  to  gain 
IrT  attempting  the  conquefl  of  Sc\  thia. 
On  the  other  hand,  you  may,  if  you  pleafe, 
have  in  us  a  valuable  alliance.  We  com- 
mand the  borders  of  both  Europe  and 
Afla.  There  is  nothing  between  us  and 
Bactria  but  the  river  Tanais ;  and  our 
territory  extends  to  Thrace,  which,  as  we 
have  heard,  borders  on  Macedon.  If  you 
decide  attacking  us  in  a  hoftile  manner, 
you-  may  have  our  friendship.  Nation's 
which  have  never  been  at  war  are  on  an 
etmal  footing  ;  but  it  is  in  vain  that  confi- 
dence is  repofed  in  a  conquered  people  : 
there  can  be  no  fincere  friendship  between 
the  oppreflbrs  and  the  oppreffed  ;  even  in 
peace,  the  latter  think  themfelves  entitled 
to  the  rights  cf  war  againft  the  former. 
We  will,  if  you  think  good,  enter  into  a 
treatv  with  you,  according  to  our  manner, 
which  is  not  by  figning,  fcaling,  and  tak- 
ing the  go^ls  to  witnefs,  as  is  the  Grecian 
caftom;  but  by  doing  actual  fervices. 
The,  Scythians  are  not  ufed  to  promife, 
but  perform  without  promising.  And  they 
think  an  appeal  to  the  gods  luperfluous ; 
for  that  thofe  \<ho  have  no  regard  for 
the  ellcem   of  men   will  not   hefitate  to 


offend  the  gods  by  perjury.— You  may 
therefore  coniider  with  yourfelf,  whether 
you  had  better  have  a  people  of  fitch  a 
character,  and  fo  fituated  as  to  have  it  in 
their  power  either  to  fervc  you  or  to 
annoy  you,-  according  as  you  treat  them, 
for  allies  or  for  enemies.         Q.  Curtius. 

§  35  •  Junius 'Brutus  o<ver  the  dead 
Body  of  Lucretia,  ivho  had  [tabbed 
her/elf  in  confequence  of  the  Rape  of 
Tarqjjin. 

Yes,  noble  lady,  I  fwear  by  this  blood 
which  was  once  fo  pure,  and  which  no- 
thing but  royal  villainy  could  have  polluted, 
that  1  will  purfue  'Lucius  Tarquinius  the- 
Proud,  his  wicked  wife,  and  their  chil- 
dren, with  fire  and  fword  :  nor  will  I  fuffer 
any  of  that  family,  or  of  any  other  what- 
foever,  to  be  king  in  Rome. — Ye  gods,  I 
call  you  to  witnefs  this  my  oath  ! 

Theie,  Romans,  turn  your  eyes  to  that 
fad  fpeclacle  ! — the  daughter  of  Lucretius, 
Collating's  wife — fhe  died  by  her  own 
hand  !  See  there  a  noble  lady,  whom  the 
lull  of  a  Tarquin  reduced  to  the  necefiity 
of  being  her  own  executioner,  to  atteil 
her  innocence.  Hofpitably  entertained  by 
her  as  a  kinfman  of  her  hulband,  Sextus, 
the  perfidious  guefl,  became  her  brutal 
raviiher.  The  chafte,  the  generous  Lu- 
cretia Could  not  furvive  the  infult.  Glo- 
rious woman  !  but  once  only  treated  as  a 
flavc,  (lie  thought  life  no  longer  to  be  en- 
dured. Lucretia,  a  woman,  difdaineda  life 
that  depended  on  a  tyrant's  will  ;  and  fhalF 
we,  (hall  men,  with  fuch  r.n  example 
before  our "  eyes,  and  after  f;ve-and 
twenty  years  of  ignominious  fervitude, 
fhall  we,  through  a  fear  of  dying,  defer 
one  fmgle  inftant  to  affert  our  liberty  ? 
No,  Remans ;  now  is  the  time  ;  the  fa- 
vourable moment  we  have  fo  long  waited 
for  is  come.  Tarquin  is  not  at  Rome : 
the  Patricians  are  at  the  head  of  the  enter- 
prize  :  the  city  is  abundantly  provided 
witli  men,  arms,  and  all  thing*  neceilary. 
There  is  nsthing  wanting  to  fecure  the 
fuccefs,  if  our  own  courage  does  not  fail 
us.  And  lhall  thofe  warriors  who  have 
ever  been  fo  brave  when  foreign  enemies 
were  tx>  be  fubdued,  or  when  conqueits 
were  to  be  made  to  gratify  the  ambition 
and  avarice  of  Tarquin,  be  then  only 
cowards,  when  they  are  to  "deliver  them- 
felves from  llavery  ? 

Some   of  you   are  perhaps  intimidated 
by    the  army  which.  Tarquin  now   com- 
mands ; 


BOOK  in.      ORATIONS,   CHARACTERS,    &c. 


707 


mands;  the  foldiers,  you  imagine,  will 
take  the  part  of  their  general.  Baniih 
fuch  a  gro'undlefs  fear?  the  love  of  liberty 
is  natural  to  all  men.  You?  fellow  citi- 
zens in  the  camp  feel  the  weight  of  oppref- 
fion  with  ay  quick  a  fenfe  as  you  that  are  in 
Rome  ;  they  will  as  eagerly  ioize  the  oc- 
cafion  of  throwing  off  the  yoke.  But  let 
us  grant  there  may  be  ibme  among  them 
who,  through  bafcnefs  of  fpirit,  or  a  bad 
education,  will  be  difpofed  to  favour  the 
tyrant :  the  n amber  of  thefe  can  be  but 
fmall,  and  we  have  means  'fufhcient  in  our 
hands  to  reduce  them  to  reafon.  They 
have  left  us  hofbges  more  dear  to  them 
than  life  ;  their  wives,  their  children,  their 
fathers,  their  mothers,  are  here  in  the  city. 
Courage,  Romans,  the  gods  are  for  us; 
thofe  gods,  whole  temples  and  altars  the 
impious  Tarquin  has  profaned  by  facri- 
fices  and  libations  made  with  polluted 
hands,  polluted  with  blood,  and  with  nura- 
berlefs  unexpiated  crimes  committed  a- 
gainll  his  mbjects. 

Ye  gods,  who  protected  our  forefathers  ! 
ye  genii,  who  watch  for  the  prefervation 
and  glory  of  Rome  !  do  you  infpire  us 
with  courage  and  unanimity  in  this  glo- 
rious caufe,  and  we  will  to  our  laft  breath 
defend  your  worfhip  from  all  profanation. 

Livy. 

§  36.  Speech  c/  Adhereal  to  the  Ro- 
man Senate,  imploring  their  Ajjijiance 
again/}  Jugurtha. 

Fathers  ! 
It  is  known  to  you  that  king  Micipfa, 
my  father,  on  his  death-bed,  left  in  charge 
to  Jugurtha,  his  adopted  fon,  conjunctly 
with  my  unfortunate  brother  Hiempfal  and 
'  myfelf,  the  children  of  his  own  body,  the 
adminiflration  of  the  kingdom  of  Numi- 
dia, directing  us  to  confider  the  fenate  and 
people  of  R.ome  as  proprietors  of  it.  He 
charged  us  to  ufe  our  belt,  endeavours,  to 
be  ferviceable  to  the  Roman  common- 
wealth, in  peace  and  war  5  alluring  us, 
that  your  protection  would  prove  to  us  a 
defence  againil  all  enemies,  and  would  be 
inftead  of  armies,  fortifications,  and  trea- 
fures. 

While  my  brother  and  I  were  thinking 
of  nothing  but  how  to  regulate  ourfelves 
according  to  the  directions  of  .our  deceaied 
father,-  Jugurtha — the  moil  infamous  of 
.  mankind  !  -breaking  through  all  tics  of 
gratitude  and  of  common  humanity,  and 
trampling  on  the  authority  of  the  Roman 
commonwealth— procured  the   murder  of 


my  unfortunate  brother,  and  has  driven 
me  from  my  throne  and  native  country, 
though  he  knows  I  inherit,  1  fom  my 
grandfather  MafTinifTa,  and  my  father  Mi- 
cipfa, the  friendihip  and  alliance  of  the 
Romans. 

For  a  prince  to  be  reduced,  by  villainy, 
to  my  diitrefsful.  circumitances,  is  calamity 
enough ;  but  my  misfortunes  are  height- 
ened by  the  confideration,  that  I  find  my- 
felf obliged  to  folicit  your  afliftance,  Fa- 
thers, for  thefervices  done  you  by  my  ancef- 
tors,  not  for  any  I  haye  been  able  to  ren- 
der you  in  my  own  perfon.  Jugurtha  has 
put  it  out  of  my  power  to  deferve  any 
thing  at  your  hands,  and  has  forced  me 
to  be  burdenfome  before  I  could  be  ufeful 
to  you.  And  yet,  if  I  had  no,  plea  but  my 
undeferved  milery,  who,  from  a  powerful 
prince,  the  defeeiidant  of  a  race  of  illuftri- 
ous  monarchs,  find  myfelf,  without  any 
fault  of  my  own,  deftitute  of  every  fup- 
port,  and  reduced  to  the  neceflity  of  beg- 
ging foreign  affiftance  againfi  an  enemy 
who  has  feized  my  throne  and  kingdom ; 
if  ray  unequalled  dirlreiTes  were  ad  I  had 
to  plead,  it  would  become  the  greatnefs 
of  the  R.oman  commonwealth,  the  ar'oitrefs 
of  the  world,  to  protect  the  injured,  and 
to  check  the  triumph  of  daring  wickedneis 
over  helplefs  innocence.  Bur,  to  provoke 
your  vengeance  to  the  utmoft,  Jugurtha  has 
driven  me  from  the  very  dominions  which 
the  fenate  and  people  of  Rome  gave  to 
my  anceflors,  and  from  which  my  grand- 
father and  my  father,  under  your  umbrage, 
expelled  Syphax  and  the  Carthaginians. 
Thus,  Fathers,  your  kindnefs  tq  our  fa- 
mily is  defeated;  and  Jugurtha,  in  injur- 
ing me,  throws  contempt  on  you. 

O  wretched  prince  1  O  cruel  reverfe  of 
fortune  !  O  father  Micipfa  !  is  this  the 
confequence  of  your  generofity,  that  he 
whom  your  goodnefs  railed  to  an  equality 
with  your  own  children,  fhoulJ  be  the 
murderer  of  your  children  ?  Mull;  then  the 
royal  houfe  of  Numidia  always  be  a  fcene 
of  havoek  and  blood  ?  While  Carthage 
remained,  we  fufFered,  as  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, ali  forts  of  hardfhips  from  their 
holtile  attacks ;  our  enemy  near  ;  our  only 
powerful  ally,  the  Roman  commonwealth, 
at  a  dittance;  while  we  were  fo  circum- 
ftancedj  we  were  always  in  arms,  and  in 
action.  When  that  fcourge  of  Africa  was 
no  more,  we  congratulated  ourfelves  on 
the  profpedt  of  eftablifhed  peace.  But  in- 
flead  of  peace,  behold  the  kingdom  of  - 
Numidia  drenched  with  royal  blood,  and 
Z  z  2  the 


~c8 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  only  furviving  fon  of  its  late  king  fly- 
ing from  an  adopted  murderer,  and  ieek- 
ing  that  fafety  in  foreign  parts,  which  he 
cannot  command  in  his  own  kingdom . 

Whither— O  whither,  (hall  I  fly  !  If  I 
return  to  the  royal  palace  of  my  anceilors, 
my  father's  throne  is  feized  by  the  mur- 
derer of  my  brother.  What  can  1  there 
expecl,  but  that  Jugurtha  fhould  haften  to 
imbrue  in  my  blood  thoie  hands  which  are 
now  reeking  with  my  brother's?  If  I 
were  to  fly  for  refuge,  or  for  affiftance,  to 
any  other  courts,  from  what  prince  can  I 
hope  for  protection,  if  the  Roman  com- 
monwealth gives  me  up  ?  From  my  'own 
family  or  friends  I  have  no  expectations. 
My  royal  father  is  no  more  :  he  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  violence,  and  out  of  hearing 
of  the  complaints  of  his  unhappy  fon. 
Were  my  brother  alive,  our  mutual  Am- 
pathy  would  be  fome  alleviation :  but  he 
is  hurried  out  of  life  in  his  early  youth, 
by  the  very  hand  which  fhould  have  been 
the  laft  to  injure  any  of  the  royal  family 
of  Numidia.  The  bloody  Jugurtha  has 
butchered  all  whom  he  fufpected  to  be  in 
my  intereft.  Some  have  been  deftreyed 
by  the  lingering  torment  of  the  crofs  ? 
others  have  been  given  a  prey  to  wild 
beafls,  and  their  anguilh  made  the  fport  of 
men  more  cruel  than  wild  beafls.  If  there 
be  any  yet  alive,  they  are  (hut  up  in  dun- 
geons, there  to  drag  out  a  life  more  into- 
lerable than  death  itfelf. 

Look     down,   "illuftrious     fenators     of 
Rome  !     from   that    height   of  power    to 
which  you  are  raifed,  on  the  unexampled 
diftrefles  of  a  prince,  who  is,  by  the  cru- 
elty of  a  wicked  intruder,  become  an  out- 
caft  from  all  mankind.     Let  not  the  crafty 
infinuations  of  him  who  returns  murder  for 
adoption,  prejudice  your  judgment.     Do 
not  liften  to  the  wretch  who  has  butchered 
the  fon  and  relations  of  a  king,  who  gave 
him  power  to  fit  on  the  fame  throne  with 
his  own  fons.— I  have  been  informed  that 
he  labours   by  his    emiflaries  to  prevent 
your  determining   any  thing  againft  him 
in  his  abfence,  pretending  that  I  magnify 
my  diftrefs,  and  might  for  him  have  (laid 
in  peace  in  my  own  kingdom.     But,  if 
ever  the  time  comes  when  the  due  ven- 
geance from  above  fhall  overtake  him,  he 
will  then  difTemble  as  I  do.     Then  he  who 
now,  hardened  in    wickednefs,    triumphs 
over  thofe  whom  his  violence  has  laid  low, 
will  in  his  turn  feel  diftrefs,  and  fufFer  for 
iiis  impious  ingratitude  to  my  father,  and 
kin  blood-thirUy  cruelty  to  my  brother. 


O  murdered,  butchered  brother !  O 
deareft  to  my  heart — now  gone  for  ever 
from  my  fight ! — But  why  fhould  I  lament 
his  death  ?  He  is  indeed  deprived  of  the 
blefled  light  of  heaven,  of  life,  and  king- 
dom, at  once,  by  the  very  perfon  who 
ought  to  have  been  the  firft  to  hazard  his 
own  life  in  defence  of  any  one  of  Mici^.- 
fa's  family  ?  But  as  things  are,  my  brother 
is  not  io  much  deprived  of  thefe  comforts, 
as  delivered  from  terror,  from  flight,  from 
exile,  and  the  endiefs  train  of  miferies 
which  render  life  to  me  a  burden.  He  lies 
full  low,  gored  with  wounds,  and  feftering 
in  his  own  blood  ;  but  he  lies  in  peace  :  he 
feels  none  of  the  miferies  which  rend  my 
foul  with  agony  and  diilra&ion,  whilll  I 
am  fet  up  a  fpedacle  to  all  mankind  of 
the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs.  So  far 
from  having  it  in  my  power  to  revenge 
his  death,  1  am  not  mailer  of  the  means 
of  fecuring  my  own  life:  fo  far  froln 
being  in  a  condition  to  defend  my  king- 
dom from  the  violence  of  the  ufurper,  I 
am  obliged  to  apply  for  foreign  protection 
for  my  own  perfon. 

Fathers  !  Senators  of  Rome!  the  arbi- 
ters oi~  the  world  ! — to  you  I  fly  for  re- 
fuge from  the  murderous  fury  of  Jugur- 
tha.— By  your  affection  for  your  children, 
by  your  love  for  your  country,  by  your 
own  virtues,  by  the  majefty  of  the  Roman 
commonwealth,  by  all  that  is  facred,  and 
all  that  is  dear  to  you — deliver  a  wretch- 
ed prince  from  undeferved,  unprovoked 
injury,  and  fave  the  kingdom  of  Numidia, 
which  is  your  own  property,  from  being 
the  prey  of  violence,  ufurpation,  and 
cruelty.  Salluft. 

§    J 7 .      Speech   of  Canuleius,  a  Reman 
Tribune,  to  the  Ccnfuls ;  in  which  he  de~ 
7nandi  that  the  Plebeians  may  be  admitted 
into  the  Cgnfuljhipi  and  that  the  Lazv  pro- 
hibiting Patricians    and   Plebeians  from 
intermarrying  may  bp  repealed. 
What  an  infult  upon  us  is  this !   If  we 
are  not  fo  rich  as  the  patricians,  are  we 
not  citizens  of  Rome  as  well  as  they  ?  in- 
habitants of  the  fame  country  ?  members 
of  the    fame    community  ?    The   natierrsr 
bordering  upon  Rome,  and  even  ftrangers 
more  remote,  are    admitted    not  only  to 
marriages  with  us,  but  to  what  is  of  much 
greater   importance,  the  freedom  of  the 
city.    Are  we,  becauie  we  are  commoners, 
to  be  worfe  treated  than  ftrangers  ? — And, 
when  we  demand  that  the  people  may  be 
free  to  bellow  their  crliccs  and  dignities  on 

whom 


BOOK  III.      ORATION 

whom  they  pleafe,  do  we  afk  any  thing 
unreafonable  or  new  ?  do  we  claim  more 
than  their  original  inherent  right  ?  What 
occafion  then  for  all  this  uproar,  as  if  the 
univerfewere  falling  to  ruin  ! — They  were 
jull  going  to  lay  violent  hands  upon  me 
in  the  fenate-houie. 

What?  mull  this  empire  then  be  un- 
avoidably overturned?  muft  Rome  of  ne-  . 
ceffity  fink  at  once,  if  a  plebeian,  wor- 
thy of  the  office,  fhould  be  railed  to  the 
confulfhip  ?  The  patricians,  I  am  per- 
fuaded,  if  they  could,  would  deprive  you 
of  the  common  light.  It  certainly  offends 
them  that  you  breathe,  that  you  fpeak, 
that  you  have  the  fhapes  of  men.  Nay, 
but  to  make  a  commoner  a  conful,  would 
be,  fay  they,  a  molt  enormous  thing. 
Numa  Pompilius,  however,  without  being 
fo  much  as  a  Roman  citizen,  was  made 
king  of  Rome  :  the  elder  Tarquin,  by 
birth  not  even  an  Italian,  was  neverthelefs 
placed  upon  the  throne :  Servius  Tullius, 
the  fon  of  a  captive  woman  (nobody 
knows  who  his  father  was)  obtained  the 
kingdom  as  the  reward  of  his  wifdom  and 
virtue.  In  thofe  days,  no  man  in  whom 
virtue  fhone  confpicuous  was  rejected,  or. 
defpifed,  on  account  cf  his  race  and  de- 
fcent.  And  did  the  Hate  profper  lefs  for 
that?  were  not  thefe  Grangers. the  very 
bell  of  all  our  kings  ?  And,  fuppofing  now 
that  a  plebeian  fhould  have  their  talents 
and  merit,  mull  not  he  be  fuffered  to  go- 
vern us  ? 

But,  "  we  find  that,  upon  the  abolition 
"  of  the  regal  power,  no  commoner  was 
"  chofen  to  the  confulatc."  And  what  of 
that  !  Before  Numa's  time  there  were  no 
pontiffs  in  Rome.  Before  Servius  Tul- 
lius's  days  there  was  no  Cenfus,  no  divifion 
of  the  people  into  clafTes  and  centuries. 
Who  ever  heard  of  ccnfuls  before  the-  cx- 
pullion  of  Tarquin  the  Proud?  Dictators, 
we  all  know,  are  of  modern  invention ; 
and  fo  are  the  offices  of  tribunes,  a;diles, 
qua?Mors.  Within  thefe  ten  years  we  have 
made  decemvirs,  and  we  have  unmade 
them.  Is  nothing  to  be  done  but  what 
has  been  done  before  ?  That  very  law' 
forbidding  marriages  of  patricians  with 
plebeians,  is  not  "that  a  new  thing  ?  was 
there  any  fuch  law  before  the  decemvirs 
enacted  it  ?  and  a  moil  lhameful  one  it  is 
in  a  free  eitate.  Such  marriages,  it  feerns, 
will  taint  the  pure  blood  of  the  nobility  ! 
why,  if  they  think  fo,  let  them  take  care 
to  match  their  filters  and  daughters  with 
men.  of  iivi'u-  own  fort,    No  plebeian  will 


S,    CHARACTERS,    <S:c.         ;o9 

do  violence  to  the  daughter  of  a  patrician  ; 
thofe  are  exploits  for  our  prime  nobles. 
There  is  no  need  to  fear,  that  we  fhall 
force  any  body  into  a  contract  of  marriage. 
But,  to  make  an  exprefs  law  to  prohibit 
marriages  of  patricians  with  plebeians, 
what  is  this  but  to  (hew  the  utmoft  contempt 
of  us,  and  to  declare  one  part  of  the  com- 
munity to  be  impure  and  unclean  ? 

They  talk  to  us  of  the  confufion  there 
will  be  in  families,  if  this  ftatute  fhould  be 
repealed.  I  wonder  they  do  not  make  a 
law  againfl  a  commoner's  living  near  a 
nobleman,  or  going  the  fame  road  that  he 
is  going,  or  being  prefent  at  the  fame 
feali,  or  appearing  in  the  fame  market- 
place :  they  might  as  well  pretend,  that 
thefe  things  make  confufion  in  families,  as 
that  intermarriages  will  do  it.  Does  not 
everv  one  know,  that  the  child  will  be 
ranked  according  to  the  quality  of  his  fa- 
ther, let  him  be  a  patrician  or  a  plebeian  ? 
In  fhort,  it  is  manifeft  enough,  that  we 
have  nothing  in  view  but  to  be  treated  as 
men  and  citizens ;  nor  can  they  who  op- 
pofe  our  demand,  have  any  motive  to  do  it, 
but  the  love  of  domineering.  I  would  fain 
know  of  you,  confuls  and  patricians,  is  the 
fovereign  power  in  the  people  of  Rome, 
or  in  you  ?  I  hope  you  will  allow,  that 
the  people  can,  at  their  pleafure,  either 
make  a  law  or  repeal  one.  And  will  you 
then,  as  foon  as  any  law  is  propofed  to  them, 
pretend  to  lift  them  immediately  for  the 
war,  and  hinder  them  from  giving  their 
fuffrages,  by  leading  them  into  the  held  ? 

Hear  me,  confuls :  whether  the  news  of  the 
war  you  talk  of  be  true,  or  whether  it  be  only 
a  falfe  rumour,  fpread  abroad  for  nothing 
but  a  colour  to  fend  the  people  out  of  the 
city,  I  declare,  as  tribune,  that  this  people, 
who  have  already  fo  often  fpilt  their  blood 
in  our  country's  cauie,  are  again  ready  to 
arm  for  its  defence  and  its  glory,  if  they 
may  be  reftored  to  their  natural  rights, 
and  you  will  no  longer  treat  us  like  Gran- 
gers in  our  own  country :  but  if  you  ac- 
count us  unworthy  of  your  alliance  by  in- 
termarriages ;  if  you  will  not  fuffer  the 
entrance  to  the  chief  offices  in  the  Hate  to 
be  open  to  all  perfons  of  merit  indiffer- 
ently, but  will  confine  your  choice  of  ma- 
gillrates  to  the  fenate  alone — talk  ol  wars 
as  much  as  ever  you  pleafe  ;  paint,  in 
your  ordinary  difcourfes,  the  league  and 
power  of  our  enemies  ten  times  more 
dreadful  than  you  do  now — I  declare  that 
this  people,  whom  you  fo  much  defpife,  and 
to  whom  you  are  n£verthekfs  indebted 
£  z  3  for 


IO 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


for  all,  your  victories,  fnall  never  more  in- 
lift  themfelves ;  not  a  man  of  them  mall 
take  arms ;  not  a  man  of  them  fhall  expofe 
his  life  for  imperious  lords,  with  whom  he 
can  neither  fhare  the  dignities  of  the  ftate, 
nor  in  private  life  have  any  alliance  by 
marriage.  Hooke. 

§  38.     Life  cf  Cicero. 

The  (lory  of  Cicero's  death  continued 
frefh  on  the  minds  of  the  Romans  for  many 
ages  after  it ;  and  was  delivered  down  to 
poiterity,  with  all  its  circumftances,  as  one 
of  the  mofl  affecting  and  memorable  events 
of  their  hiftory :  fo  that  the  fpot  on  which 
it  happened,  feems  to  have  been  vifited  by 
travellers  with  a  kind  of  religions  reve- 
rence. The  odium  of  it  fell-  chiefly  on 
Antony  ;  yet  it  left  a  ftain  of  perfdity  and 
ingratitude  alio  on  Auguftus ;  which  ex- 
plains the  reafon  of  that  filence,  which  is 
obferved  about  him,  by  the  writers  of  that 
age;  and  why  his  name  is  not  fo  much  as 
mentioned  either"  by  Horace  or  Virgil. 
For  though  his  character  would  have  fur- 
niflied  a  glorious  fubjeel  for  many  noble 
lines,  yet  he  was  no  fubjeel  for  court  poets, 
iince  the  very  mention  of  him  muft  have 
been  a  fatire  on  the  prince,  efpecially 
while  Antony  lived;  among  the  fycophants 
of  whofe  court  it  was  fafhior.able  to  infult 
his  memory,  by  all  the  methods  of  ca- 
lumny that  wit  and  malice  could  invent : 
nay,  Virgil,  0:1  an  occafion  that  could 
hardly  fail  of  bringing  him  to  his  mind, 
inllead  of  doing  juftice  to  his  merit,  chofe 
to  do  an  injuftie'e  rather  to  Romeitfelf,  by 
yielding  the  fupcriority  of  eloquence  to  the 
Greeks,  which  they  themfelves  had  been 
forced  to  yield  to  Cicero. 

Livy,  however,  whofe  candour  made 
Auguftus  call  him  a  Pompeian,  while  out 
of  complaifance  to  the  times,  he  feems 'to 
"extenuate  the  crime  of  Cicero's  murder, 
yet  after  a  high  encomium  of  his  virtues, 
declares,  that  to  pralfe  him  as  he  deferred, 
required  the  eloquence  of.  Cieero  himfelf. 
Auguftus  too,  as  Plutarch  tells  us,  hap- 
pening one  day  to  catch  his  grandfon 
reading  one  of  Cicero's  books,  which,  for 
fear  oi  the  emptor's  difpleaiurc,  the  boy 
endeavoured  to  hide  under  his  gown,  tock 
the  book  into  his  hands,  and  turning  over 
a  great  part  of  it,  gave  it  back  again,  and 
laid,  "  This  was  a  learned  man,  my  child, 
*'  and  a  lover  of  his  country." 

In  the  fucceeding  generation,  as  thepaf- 
fcLukr  euvy  to   Cicero    fubftded,  by  the 


death  of  thofe  whofe  private  interefts  and 
perfonal  quarrels  had  engaged  to  hate 
when  living,  and  defame  him  when  dead, 
fo  his  name  and  memory  began  to  mine 
out  in  its  proper  luftre ;  and  in  the  reign 
even  of  Tiberius,  when  an  eminent  fenator 
and  hillorian,  Cremutius  Cordus,  was  con- 
demned to  die  for  praifing  Brutus,  yet  Pa- 
terculus  could  not  forbear  breaking  out 
into  the  following  warm  expostulation  with 
Antony  on  the  fubject  of  Cicero's  death :  ' 
"  Thou  had  done  nothing,  Antony  ;  haft 
"  done  nothing,  I  fay,  by  fetting  a  price 
"  on  that  divine  and  illuilrious  head,  and 
"  by  a,  dete liable  reward  procuring  the 
"  death  of  fo  great  a  conful  and  preferver 
"  of  the  republic.  Thou  haft  matched 
"  from  Cicero  a  troublefome  being,  a  de- 
"  clining  age,  a  life  more  miferable  under 
"  thy  dominion  than  death  itfelf;  but  fo 
"  far  from  diminiihing  the  glory  of  his 
"  deeds  and  fayin^s,  thou  haft  increafed 
"  it.  He  lives,  and  will  live  in  the  me- 
"  mory  of  all  ages;  and  as  long  as  this 
"  fyftem  of  nature,  whether  by  chance  or 
"  providence,  or  what  way  fo  ever  formed, 
"  which  he  alone  of  all  the  Romans  com- 
*'  prehended  in  his  mind,  and  illuftrated 
"  by  his, eloquence,  fhall  remain  intire,  it 
"  will  draw  the  praifes  of  Cicero  along 
"  with  it  :  and  all  poiterity  will  admire 
"  his  writings  againft  thee,  curfe  thy  act 
"  againft  him ." 

From  this  period,  all  the  Roman  writers, 
whether  poets  or  hiftorians,  l^em  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  celebrating  the  praifes 
of  Cicero,  as  the  moft  illuilrious  of  all  their 
patriots,  and  the  parc:if  cf  the  Roman  -zuit 
end  eloquence,  who  had  done  more  honour 
to  his  country  by  his 'writings,  than  all  their 
conquerors  by  their  arms,  and  extended  the 
bounds  of  his  learning  beyond  thofe  of  their 
empire.  So  that  their  very  emperors,  near 
three  centuries  after  his  death,  began  to 
reverence  him  in  the  clafs  of  their  inferior 
c.cities;  a  rank  which  he  would  have  pre- 
ferved  to  this  clay,  if  he  had  happened  to 
live  in  papalRome,  where  he  could  not  have 
failed,  as  Erafmus  fays,  from  the  innocence 
of  his  life,  of  obtaining  the  honour  and  title 
of  a  faint. 

As  to  his  perfon,  he  was  tall  and  ilender, 
with  a  neck  particularly  long  ;  yet  his  fea- 
tures were  regular  and  manly  ;  prcferving 
a  comciinefs  and  dignity  to  the  laft,  with, 
a  certain  air  cf  chcaifulneis  and  ferenity, 
that  imprinted  both  aifeftion  and  refpqft. 
His  iconilitution  was  naturally  weak,  yet 
was  fo  confirmed  by  his  management  of 

it, 


BCOK   III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c.         711 


ft,  as  to  enable  him  to  fupport  all  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  molt  active,  as  well  as  the 
moft  ftudious  life,  with  perpetual  health 
and  vigour.  The  care  that  he  employed 
upon  his  body,  confuted  chiefly  in  bathing 
and  rubbing,  with  a  few  turns  every  day 
in  his  gardens  for  the  refrefhment  of  his 
•voice  from  the  labour  "of  the  bar :  yet  in 
the  fummer,  he  generally  gave  himfelf  the 
■exercife  of  a  journey,  to  vifit  his  feveral 
eftates  and  villas  in  different  parts  of  Italy. 
But  his  principal  instrument  of  health  was 
diet  and  temperance  :  by  thefe  he  preferved 
himfelf  from  all  violent. diftempcrs  ;  and 
■when  he  happened  to  be  attacked  by  any 
•flight  indifpofition,  ufed  to  inforce  the  fe- 
verity  of  his  abftinence,  and  ftarve  it  pre- 
tfently  by  failing. 

In  his  cloaths  and  drefs,  which  the  wife 
have  ufually  coniidered  as  an  index  of 
the  mind,  he  obferved,  what  he  prefcribes 
in  his  book  of  Offices,  a  modefty  and  de- 
cency adapted  to  his  rar.k  and  character: 
a  perpetual  cleanlinefs,  without  the  ap- 
pearance of  pains ;  free  from  the  affecta- 
tion of  Angularity,  and  avoiding  the  ex- 
tremes of  a  rultic  neg-li^ence  and  foppiih 
delicacy;  both  of  which  are  equally  con- 
trary to  true  dignity;  the  one  implying  an 
ignorance,  or  illiberal  contempt  of  it,  the 
.other  a  ckildiih  pride  and  oftentation  of 
proclaiming  our  prete-nfions  to  it. 

In  his  domeftic  and  focial  life  his  be- 
haviour was  very  amiable :  he  was  a  moft 
indulgent  parent,  a  fincere  and  zealous 
friend,  a  kind  and  generous  mailer.  His- 
letters  are  full  of  die  tenderer!  expreffions 
of  love  for  his  children  ;  in  whofe  endear- 
ing converfation,  as  he  often  tells  us,  he 
ufed  to  drop  all  his  cares,  and  relieve  him- 
felf from  all  his  ltruggles  in  the  fenate  and 
the  forum.  Th"  fame  affection,  in  an  in- 
ferior degree,  was  extended  alfo  to  lids 
ilaves,  when  by  their  fidelity  and  fervices 
they  had  recommended  themfelves  to  his 
favour.  We  have  feen  a  remarkable  in- 
ftance  of  it  in  Tiro,  whofe  cafe  was  no 
jotherwife  different  from  the  reft,  than  as 
it  was  distinguished  by  the  fuperiority  of 
his  merit.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  At- 
ticus,  "  I  have  nothing  more,"  fays  he, 
"  to  write ;  and  my  mind  indeed  is  fome- 
"  what  ruffled  at  prefent;  for  Socitheus, 
■"  my  reader,  is  dead;  a  hopeful  youth; 
"  which  has  afflicted  me  more  than  one 
"  would  imagine  the  death  of  a  Have  ought 
"to  do." 

He  entertained  very  high,  notions  of 
friendfnip,  and  x>f  its   excellent  ufe  and 


benefit  to  human  life  ;  which  he  has  beau- 
tifully illuftrated  in  his  entertaining  trea- 
tife  on  that  fubject ;  where  he  lays  down 
•no  other  rules  than  what  he- exemplified 
by  his  practice.  For  in  all  the  variety  of 
friendfhips  in  which  his  eminent  rank  en- 
gaged him,  he  never  was  charged  witk 
deceiving,  deferring,  or  even  flighting  any 
one  whom  he  had  once  called  his  friend,  or 
efteemed  an  honeft  man.  It  was  his  de- 
light to  advance  their  profperity,  to  relieve 
their  adverfity ;  the  fame  friend  to  both 
fortunes ;  but  more  zealous  only  -in  the 
bad,  where  his  help  was  moft  wanted,  and 
his  fervices  the  moft  difinterefted  ;  looking 
upon  it  not  as  a- friend  (hip,  but  a  Jordid 
traffic  mid  merchandize  of  benefits,  where 
good  offices  are  to  be  weighed  by  a  nice 
efKmate  of  gain  and  lofs.  He  calls  gra- 
titude the  mother  of  virtues  j_  reckons  it  the 
moft  capital  of  all  duties  ;  and  ules  the 
words  grateful  and  good  as  -terms  fynony- 
mous,  and  infeparably  united  in  the  fame 
character.  His  writings  abound  with  fen- 
timerrts  of  this  fort,  as  his  life  did  with 
the  examples  cf  them  ;  fo  that  one  of  his 
friends,  in  apologizing  for  the  importunity 
of  a  requeit,  obferves  tio  him  with  great 
truth,  that  the  tenor  of  his  life  would  be  a 
fufficient  excufe  for  it;  fince  he  had  efta- 
blifhad  fuch  a  cuilom,  of  doing  every  thing 
for  his  friends,  that  they  no  longer  re- 
quefted,  hut  claimed  a  right  to  command 
him. 

Yet  he  was  not  more  generous  to  his 
f.iends,  than  placable  to  his  enemies;  rea- 
dily pardoning  the  greater!  injuries,  upon 
the  flighted  fubmiflion;  and  though  no 
man  ever  had  greater  abilities  or  oppor- 
tunities of  revenging  himfelf,  yet  when  it 
was  in  his  power  to  hurt,  he  fought  out 
reafons  to  forgive;  and  whenever  he  was. 
invited  to  it,  never  declined  a  reconcilia- 
tion with  his  moft  inveterate  enemies ;  of 
which  there  are  numerous  inftances  in  his 
hiftory.  He  declared  nothing  to  be  more 
laudable  and  worthy  of  a  great  wan  than 
placability ;  and  laid  down  for  a  natural 
duty,  to  moderate  our  revenge,  and  objerve 
a  temper  in  punijhing ;  and  held  repentance 
to  be  a  fufficient  ground  for  remitting  it  : 
and  it  was  one  of  his  fayings,  delivered  to 
"  a  public  affembly,  that  his  enmities  were 
mortal,  his  friendjhips  immortal. 

His  manner  of  living  was  agreeable  to 
the  dignity  of  his  character,  fplendid  and 
noble:  his  houfe  was  open  to  all  the.  learned 
ftrangers  and  philofophers  of  Greece  and 
Aha ;  feveral  of  whom  were  conftantly 
Z  z  4  eater- 


732 


ELEGANT    EXTR 


entertained  In  it  as  part  of  his  family,  and 
fpent  their  whole  lives  with  him.  His 
levee  was  perpetually  crouded  with  mul- 
titudes of  all  ranks ;  even  Pompey  himfeif 
<not  difdaining  to  frequent  it.  The  great- 
eft  part  came  not  only  to  pay  their  com- 
pliments, but  to  attend  him  on  days  of 
bufmefs  to  the  fenate  or  the  forum;  where, 
upon  any  debate  or  tranfa&ion  of  mo- 
ment, they  conitantly  waited  to  condudt 
him  home  again:  but  on  ordinary  days, 
when  thefe  morning  vifits  were  over,  as 
they  ufually  were  before  ten,  he  retired  to 
his  books,  and  fhut  himfeif  up  in  his  li- 
brary without  feeking  any  other  diverfion, 
but  what  his  children  afforded  to  the  fhort 
intervals  of  his  leifure.  His  fupper  was 
the  greateit  meal ;  and  the  ufual  feafon 
with  all  the  great  of  enjoying  their  friends 
at  table,  which  was  frequently  prolonged 
to  a  late  hour  of  the  night :  yet  he  was  out 
of  his  bed  every  morning  before  it  was 
light ;  and  never  ufed  to  fleep  again  at 
noon,  as  all  others  generally  did,  and  as 
it  is  commonly  prattifed  in  Rome  to  tnis 
day. 

But  though  he  was  fo  temperate  and 
ftudiqus,  yet  when  he  was  engaged  to  fup 
with  other;:,  either  at  home  or  abroad,  he 
laid  afide  his  rules,  and  forgot  the  invalid  ; 
and  was  gay  and  fprightly,  and  the  very 
foul  of  the  company.  When  friends  were 
met  together,  to  heighten  the  comforts  of 
focial  life,  he  thought  it  inhofpitable  not 
to  contribute  his  fhare  to  their  common 
mirth,  or  to  damp  it  by  a  churlifh  referved- 
nefs.  But  he  was  really  a  lover  of  chear- 
ful  entertainments,  being  of  a  nature  re- 
markably facetious,  and  iingularly  turned 
to  raillery  ;  a  talent  which  was  of  great 
fervice  to  him  at  the  bar,  to  correct"  the 
petulance  of  an  adverfary ;  retime  ike  fa- 
tiety  of  a  ttdious  caufe  ;  divert  the  minds  cf 
the  judges ;  and  mitigate  the  rigour  of  'a 
fentence,  by  making  both  the  bench  and 
audience  merry  at  the  expence  of  the  ac- 
cttfer. 

This  ufe  of  it  was  always  thought  fair, 
and  greatly  applauded  in  public  trials  ;  but 
in  private  Lconverfations,  he  was  charged 
fometimes  with  pufhing  his  raillery  too  far ; 
and  through  a  cenfeioufnefs  of  his  fuperior 
wit,  exerting  it  often  intemperate]}*,  with- 
out reflecting  what  cruel  wounds  hi s  lames 
infdfted.  Yet  of  all  his  fcrcaitical  jokes, 
Which  are  tranfmitted  to  us  by  antiquity, 
we  (hall  not  obferve  any  but  what  were 
pointed  againft  characters,  either  ridicu- 
Jcus  or  pro3i|rate  ;  finch  as'he  defpiied  fbi 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

their  fol'-ies,  or  hated  for  their  vices;  and 
though  he  might  provoke  the  fpleen,  and 
quicken  the  malice  of  his  enemies,  more 
than  was  confident  with,  a  regard  to  his 
own  eafe,  yet  he  never  appears  to  have 
hurt  or  loit  a  friend,  or  any  one  whom  he 
valued,  by  the  levity  of  jetting. 

It  is  certain,  that  the  fame  of  his  wit 
was  as  celebrated  as  that  of  his  eloquence, 
and  that  feveral  fpurious  collections  of  his 
fayings  were  handed  about  in  Rome  in 
his  life  -time,  till  his  friend  Trebonius,  after 
Jie  had  been  conful,  thought  it  worth  while 
to  publifh  an  authentic  edition  of  them,  in 
a  volume  v.'bich  he  addrefed  to  Cicero  him- 
feif. Csefar  likewife,  in  the  height  of  his. 
power,  haying  taking  a  fancy  to  collect  the 
Apophthegms,  or  memorable  fayings  of 
eminent  men,  gave  ltrid  orders  to  all  his 
friends  who  ufed  to  frequent  Cicero,  to 
bring  him  every  thing  of  that  fort,  -ivhich, 
happened  to  drop  from  him  in  their  company. 
But  Tiro,  Cicero's  freedman,  who  ferved 
him  chiefly  in  his  ftudies  and  literary  af- 
fairs, publimed  after  his  death  the  molt 
perfect  collection  of  his  Sayings,  in  three 
bcoks;  where  Quintilian  however  withes, 
that  he  had  been  mere  f paring  in  the  num- 
ber, and  judicious  in  the  choice  of  them. 
None  of  thefe  book;,  are  now  remaining, 
nor  any  other  fpecimen  of  the  jefts,  but 
what  are  incidently  fcattered  in  different 
parts  of  his  own  and  other  people's  writ- 
ings ;  which,  as  the  fame  judicious  critic 
obierves,  through  the  change  of  talte  in 
different  ages,  and  the  want  of  that  ailion. 
cr  gejiure,  which  gave  the  chief  fpirit  to 
many  of  them,  could  never  be  explained  to 
advantage,  though  feveral  had  attempted  it. 
Hew  much  more  cold  then  and  infipid 
mud  they  needs  appear  to  us,  who  are 
unacquainted  with  the  particular  characters 
and  ftories  to  which  xhey  relate,  as  well 
as  the  peculiar  falhions,  humour,  and  taite 
of  wit  in  that  age?  Yet  even  in  thefe,  as 
Quintilian  alfo  tells  us,  as  well  as  in  his 
other  compofitions,  people  weuld  fooner 
find  vjbat-they  might  rcjecl,  than  ix-bat  they 
ecu  Id  add  to  them. 

He  Jiad  a  great  number  of  fine  houfes 
in  different  parts  of  Italy ;  fome  writers 
reckon  up  eighteen ;  which,  excepting  the 
family  feat  at  Arpinum,  feem  to  have  been 
all  purchafed,  or  built  by  himfeif.  They 
were  fituated  generally  near  to  the  fea,  and 
placed  at  proper  diftances  along  the  lower 
coait,  between  Rome  and  Pompeii,  which 
was  about  four  leagues  beyond  Naples; 
and  for    the   elegance   of  ftrudture,  and 

the 


BOOK  Iir.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


7*3 


the  delights  of  their  Situation,  are  called 
by  him  the  eyes,  or  the  beauties  of  Italy. 
Thofe  in  which  he  took  the  moil  pleafure, 
and  ufually  fpent  fome  part  of  every  year, 
were  his  Tufculum,  Antium,  Auftura,  Ar- 
pinum  ;  his  Formian,  Cuman,  Puteolan, 
and  Pompeian  villas ;  all  of  them  large 
enough  for  the  reception  not  only  of  his 
own  family,  but  of  his  friends  and  nume- 
rous guefts ;  many  of  whom,  of  the  fir  ft 
quality,  nfed  to  pafs  feveral  days  with  him 
in  their  excurfions  from  Rome.  But  be- 
sides thefe  that  may  properly  be  reckoned 
feats,  with  large  plantations  and  gardens 
around  them,  he  had  feveral  little  inns,  as 
he  calls  them,  or  baiting -places  on  the 
road,  built  for  his  accommodation  in  palling 
from  one  houfe  to  another. 

His  Tufculan  houfe  had  "been  Sylja's, 
the  dictator;  and  in  one  of  its  apartments 
had  a  painting  of  his  memorable  'viJiory 
near  No/a,  in  the  Marjic  tuar-,  in  which 
Cicero  had  ferved  under,  him  as  a  volun- 
teer :  it  was  about  four  leagues  from  Rome, 
on  the  top  of  a  beautiful  hill,  covered  with 
the  villas  of  the  nobility,  and  affording 
an  agreeable  profpeft  of  the  city,  and  the 
country  around  it,  with  plenty  of  water 
flowing  through  his  grounds  in  a  large 
ftream  or  canal,  for  which  he  paid  a  rent 
to  the  corporation  of  Tufculum.  Its 
neighbourhood  to  Rome  gave  him  the  op- 
portunity of  a  retreat  at  any  hour  from 
the  fatigues  of.the  bar  or  the  fenate,  to 
breathe  a  little  frefh  air,  and  divert  him- 
felf  with  his  friends  or  family  :  fo  that 
this  was  the  place  in  which  he  took  the 
moll  delight,  and  fpcnt  the  greateft  lhare 
of  his  leifure;  and  for  that  reafon  im- 
proved and  adorned  it  beyond  all  his  other 
houfes. 

When  a  greater  fatiety  of  the  city,  or 
a  longer  vacation  in  the  forum,  difpbfed 
him  to  feek  a  calmer  fcene,  and  more  un- 
difturbed  retirement,  he  ufed  to  remove  to 
Antium  or  Aftura.  At  Antium  he  placed 
his  beft  collection  of  books,  and  as  it  wa? 
not  above  thirty  miles  from  Rome,  he 
could  have  daily  intelligence  there  of  every 
thing  that  pafi'ed  in  the  city.  Aftura  was 
a  little  ijland,  at  the  mouth  of  a  river  of 
the  fame  name,  about  two  leagues  farther 
towards  the  fouth,  between  the  promon- 
tories of  Antium  and  Circasum,  and  in 
the  view  of  them  b'oth  ;  a  place  peculiarly 
adapted  to  the  purpofes  of  folitude,  and  a 
fevere  retreat ;  covered  with  a  thick  wood, 
cut  out  into  fhady  walks,  in  which  he  ufed 
to  fpend  the  gloomy  and  fplenetic  moments 
of  his  life,  * 


In  the  height  of  fummer,  the  manfion- 
houfe  at  Arpinum,  and  the  little  ifland 
adjoining,  by  the  advantage  of  its  groves 
and  cafcades,  afforded  the  beft  defence 
againft  the  inconvenience  of  the  heats  ; 
where,  in  the  greateft  that  he  had  ever 
remembered,  we  find  him  refrefhing  him- 
felf,  as  he  writes  to  his  brother,  with  the 
utmoft  pleafure,  in  the  cool  ftream  of  his 
Fibrenus.  His  other  villas  were  fituated 
in  the  more  public  parts  of  Italy,  where 
all  the  beft  company  of  Rome  had  their 
houfes  of  ple*fure.  He  had  two  at  For- 
mice,  a  lower  and  upper  villa;  the  one 
near  to  the  port  of  Cajeta,  the  other  upon 
the  mountains  adjoining.  He  had  a  third 
on  the  fhore  of  Baice,  between  the  lake 
Avernus  and  Puteoli,  which  he  calls  his  > 
Puteolan:  a  fourth  on  the  hills  of  Old 
Curnce,  called  his  Cuman  villa ;  and  a 
fifth  at  Pompeii,  four  leagues  beyond  Na- 
ples, in  a  country  famed  for  the  purity 
of  its  air,  fertility  of  its  foil,  and  delicacy 
of  its  fruits.  His  Puteolan  houfe  was 
built  after  the  plan  of  the  Academy  of 
Athens,  and  called  by  that  name;  being- 
adorned  with  a  portico  and  a  grove,  for 
the  fame  ufe  of  philofophical  conferences. 
Some  time  after  his  death,  it  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Antiftius  Vetus,  who  repaired  and 
improved  it;  when  a  fpring  of  warm  wa- 
ter, which  happened  to  burft  out  in  one 
part  of  it,  gave  occafion  to  the  following 
epigram,  made  by  Laurea  Tullius,  one  of 
Cicero's  freedmem 

Quo  tua  Romanae  vindex  cbrifiime  lingine 
S>lva  loco  melius  furgere  jufia  virer, 
Atque  Acsdemise  celebraLtm  nomine  villain 
Nunc  reparat  cnltu  fub  potiore  Vetus, 
Hie  etiam  apparent  lymphse  non  ante  reperta?, 
Languida  qnse  infufo  lumina  rore  Jpvant, 
Nimirum  locus  ipfe  fui  Ciceronis  honore 
Hoc  dedit,  hue  fontes  cum  patefecit  ope. 
tic  quoniam  totxim  legitur  fine  fine  perorbero. 
Sint  plures,  occulis  quae  mediantur,  aquas. 

Plin.  Hilt.  Nat.  1.  31.  z. 

"  Where  groves,  once  thine,  now  with  frefli 

"  verdure  bloom, 
u  Great  Parent  of  the  eloquence  of  Rome, 
"  And  where  thy  Academy,  favourite  feat, 
"  Now  to  Antiftius  yields  its  fweet  retreat. 
*'  A  gufhing  ftream  burfts  out,  of  vvond'rous 

M  pow'r, 
"  To  heal  the  eyes,  and  weaken'd  fight  reftove. 
*?  The  place,  which  all  its  pride  from  Ciceiu 

"  drew, 
"  Repays  this  honour  to  his  memory  due, 
"  That  fince  his  works  throughout  the  worlu 

ft  are  fpre-d, 
"  And  with  fuch  eagernefs  by  all  are  read, 
H  New  fprings  of  healing  quality  fhall  rife, 
'.'  Tp  eafe  the  increafe  of  labour  to  the  eves.'" 


Th< 


"3d 


ELK  G  ANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


The  furniture  of  his  houfes  was  fuitable 
to  the  elegance  of  his  tafte,  and  the  magni- 
ficence of  his  buildings;  his  galleries  were 
adorned  with  ftatues  and  paintings  of  the 
belt  Grecian  matters ;  and  his  veflels  and 
moveables  were  of  the  bell  work  and  choic- 
elt  materials.  There  was  a  cedar  table  of 
his  remaining  in  Pliny's  time,  faid  to  be  the 
frft  which  was  ever  feen  in  Rome,  and  to 
have  colt  him  eighty  pounds.  He  thought 
it  the  part  of  an  eminent  citizen  to  pre- 
serve an  uniformity  of  character  in  every 
article  of  his  conduct,  and  to  ilhvttrate  his 
dignity  by  the  fplendor  of  his  life.  This 
was  the  reafon  of  the  great  variety  of  his 
houfes,  and  of  their  htuation  in  the  moil 
confpicuous  parts  of  Italy,  along  the  courfe 
of  the  Appian  road  ;  that  they  might  occur 
at  every  ftage  to  the  observation  of  travel- 
lers, and  lie  commodious  for  the  reception 
and  entertainment  of  his  friends. 

"The  reader,  perhaps,  when  he*  reflects 
•on  what  the  old  writers  have  faid  on  the 
mediocrity  of  his  paternal  eftate,  will  be 
at  a  lofs  to  conceive  whence  all  his  reve- 
nues Mowed,  that  enabled  him  to  fullain 
■the  vaft  expence  of  building  and  maintain- 
ing fuch  a  number  of  noble  houfes;  but 
the  folution  will  be  eafy,  when  we  recoiled 
the  great  opportunities  that  he  had  of  im- 
proving his  original  fortunes.  The  two 
principal  funds  of  wealth  to  the  leading 
men  of  Rome,  were  firit,  the  public  magi- 
stracies, and  provincial  commands ;  fe- 
tondly,  the  prefents  of  kings,  princes,  and 
foreign  Hates,  whom  they  had  obliged  by 
their  ferviccs  and  protection ;  and  though 
no  man  Vvas  mure  moderate  in  the  ufe  of 
thefe  advantages  than  Cicero,  yet  to  one 
fif  his  prudence,  ceconomy,  and  contempt 
of  vicious  pleafures,  thefe  were  abundantly 
Sufficient  to  anfwer  all  his  expences  :  for 
in  his  pro\  inc.*  of  Cilicia,  after  all  the  me- 
morable in  fiances  of  his  generosity,  by 
which  he  faved  to  the  public  a  full  million 
Tfterljng,  which  all  other  governors  had  ap- 
to  their  private  i\k,  yet  at  the  expi- 
ration of  his  year,  he  left  in  the  hande  of 
tb,  publicans  in  Alia  near  twenty  thoufand 
founds,  referred  from  the  ftrift  dues  of  his 
government,  and  remitted  to  him  after- 
wards at  Rome.  But  there  was  another 
v.  ay  of  acquiring  money,  etteemed,  -the 
molt  reputable  of  any,  which  brought  large 
and  frequent  fupplies  to  him,  the  legacies  of 
*leceafed friends.  It  was  the  peculiar  cuf- 
tom  of  Rome,  for  the  clients  and  depen- 
dants of  fan. dies,  to  bequeath  at  their 
.  to  their  patrons,  feme  considerable 


part  of  their  ettates,  as  the  moft  effectual 
testimony  of  their  refpect  and  gratitude; 
and  the  more  a  man  received  in  this,  way, 
the  more  it  redounded  to  his  credit.  Thus 
Cicero  mentions  it  to  the  honour  of  Lu- 
cullus,  that  while  he  governed  Alia  as 
pfoconful,  many  great  ejiates  were  left  to 
hitn  by  <witt:  and  Ncpos  tells  us  in  praife  of 
Atticus,  that  he  fucceeded  to  many  inheri- 
tances of  the  fame  kind,  bequeathed  to  him 
on'  no  other  account  than  on  his  friendly 
and  amiable  temper.  Cicero  had  his  full 
fhare  of  thefe  testamentary  donations  ;  as 
we  fee  from  the  many  instances  of  them 
mentioned  in  his  letters ;  and  when  he  vvas 
falfely  reproached  by  Antony,  with  being 
neglected  on  thefe  occaiions,  he  declared- 
in  his  reply,  that  he  had  gained  from  this 
fmgle  article  about  two  hundred  thoufand 
pounds,  by  the  fee  and  'voluntary  gifts  cf  dy- 
ing  friends ;  not  the  forged  willsofper/onf 
unknown  to  him,  with  which  he  charged 
Antony.  ,. 

His  moral  characterwas  never  blemifhed 
by  the  ftain  of  any  habitual,  vice  ;  but  was 
a  finning  pattern  of  virtue  to  an  age,  of  all 
others  the  molt  licentious  and  profligate. 
His  mind  was  fuperior  to  all  the  fordid 
pactions  which  engro'fs  little  fouls ;  ava- 
rice, envy,  malice,  lull.  Ifwefift  his  fa- 
miliar letters,  we  cannot  diicover  in  them 
the  leaft  hint  of  any  thing  bafe,  immodest, 
fpit  jfal  or  perfidious,  but  an  uniform  prin- 
ciple of  benevolence,  juitice,  love  of  his 
friends  and  country,  flowing  through  the 
whole,  and  infpiring  all  his  thoughts  and 
actions.  Though  no  man  ever  felt  the 
effects  of  other  people's  envy  more  fevere- 
ly  than  he,  yet  no  man  was  ever  more  free 
from  it :  this  is  allowed  to  him  by  all  the 
old  writers,  and  is  evident  indeed  from  his 
works;  where  we  find  him  perpetually 
praifmg  and  recommending  whatever  was 
laudable,  even  in  a  rival  or  an  adverfary ; 
celebrating  merit  wherever  it  was  found, 
whether  in  the  ancients  or  his  contempora- 
ries ;  whether  in  Greeks  or  Romans  ;  and 
verifying  a  maxim,  which  he  had  declared 
in  a  fpeech  fo  the  fenate,  that  no  man  could 
be  envious  cf  another's  -virtue,  who  was  con- 
Jcious  cf  his  own. 

His  fprightly  wit  would  naturally  have 
recommended  him  to  the  favour  of  the 
ladies,  whofe  company  he  ufed  to  frequent 
when  young,  and  with  many  of  whom  of 
the  firit  quality,  he  was  oft  engaged  in  his 
riper  years  to  confer  about  the  interests  cf 
their  hufbands,  brothers,  or  relations,  who 
were  abfer.t  from  Rome  ;  yet  wc  meet  with 

n<s 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


715 


no  trace  of  any  criminal  gallantry  or  in- 
trigue with  any  of  them.  In  a  letter  to 
Panus,  towards  the  end  of  his  life,  he  gives 
a  jocofe  account  of  his  flipping  with  their 
friend  Volumnius,  an  epicurean  wit  of  the 
rhft  clafs,  when  the  famed  courtefan,  Cy- 
theris,  who  had  been  Volumnius's  Have, 
and  was  then  his  miilrefs,  made  one  of  the 
company  at  table  :  where,  after  feveral 
jokes  on  that  incident,  he  fayr,  that  he  nc~ 
ver  fufpeSed  Jhe  would  ha<v£  been  of  the 
party  ;  and  though  he  was  always  a  lever 
^of  chearful  entertainments,  yet  nothing  of  that 
Jbrt  had  ever  pleafed  him  when  young,  much 
lefs  now,  ivben  be  was  old.  There  was  one 
lady,  however,  ca'lcd  Caefellia,  with  whom 
he  kept  up  a  particular  familiarity  andcor- 
refpondence  of  letters;  on  which  Dio  ab- 
furdly  grounds  feme  little  fcandal,  though 
'  he  owns  her  to  have  been  feventy  years  old. 
She  is  frequently  mentioned  in  Cicero's 
letters  as  a  lever  of  books  and  philofo- 
phy,  and  on  that  account  as  fond  of  his 
company  and  writings :  but  while  out  of 
CompJaifance  to  her  Tex,  and  a  regard  to 
her  uncommon  talents,  he  treated  her  al- 
ways with  fefpeft  ;  yet  by  the  hints  which 
he  drops  of  her  to  Atticus,  it  appears  that 
fhe  had  no  (hare  of  his  affections,  or  any 
real  authority  with  him. 

His  failings  were  as  few  as  were  ever 
found  in  any  eminent  genius ;  fucli  as  flow- 
ed from  his  ccnititution,  not  his  will;  and 
were  chargeable  rather  to  the  condition  of 
his  humanity,  than  to  the  fault  of  the  man. 
He  was  thought  to  be  too/anguine  in  proj'pe- 
rity,  too  defponding  in  adverfity  :  and  apt  to 
periuade  himfelf  in  each  fortune,  that  it 
would  never  have  an  end.  This  is  Pollio's 
account  of  him,  which  feems  in  general  to 
be  true:  Brutus  touches  the  firft  part  of  it 
in  one  of  his  letters  to  him  :  and  when 
things  were  going  profperoufly  againft 
Antonv,  puts  him  gently  in  mind,  that  he 
J'ecmed  to  truft  too  touch  to  his  hopes  :  and  he 
himfelf  allows  the  fecond,  and  fays,  that  if 
any  one  was  timorous  in  great  and  dangerous 
events,  apprehending  always  the  worjl,  rather 
than  hoping  the  bejl,  he  vjas  the  man  ;  and  if 
that  was  a  fauh,  cenfeffes  himielf  not  to  be 
free  from  it :  yet  in  explaining  afterwards 
the  nature  of  this  timidity,  it  was  fuch,  he 
tells  us,  as  mewed  itlelf  rather  in  ferejeeing 
dangers,  than  in  encountering  them  :  an  ex- 
plication which  the  latter  part  of  his  life 
fully  confirmed,  and  above  all  his  death, 
which  r.o  man  ctauld  fuftain  with  greater 
courage  and  rcfoluticn. 

But  the  .moil  confpicuous  and  glaring 
3 


paffion  of  his  foul  was,  the  love  of  glory  and 
thirjl  ofpraife :  a  paffion  that  he  not  only 
avowed,  but  freely  indulged ;  and  fome- 
times,  as  he  himfelf  confefles,  to  a  degree 
even  of  vanity.  This  often  gave  his  ene- 
mies a  piaufible  handle  of  ridiculing  his 
pride  and  arrogance;  while  the  forward- 
nefs  that  he  fhewed  to  celebrate  his  own 
merits  in  all  his  public  fpeeches,  feemed  to 
juilify  their  cenfures :  and  fmce  this  is 
generally  conndered  as  the  grand  foible 
of  his  life,  and  has  been  handed  down  im- 
plicitly from  age  to  age,  without  ever  be- 
ing fairly  examined,  or  rightly  underflood, 
it  will  be  proper  to  lay  open  the  fource 
from  which  the  paffion  itfelf  flowed,  and 
explain  the  nature  of  that  glory,  of  which 
he  profefles  lvmfelf  fo  fond. 

True  glory  then,  according  to  his  own 
definition  cf  it,  is  a  wide  and '  illujlriousfame 
of  many  and  great  benefits  conferred  upon  our 
friends,  our  country,  or  the  whole  race  of  man- 
kind-; it  is  not,  he  fays,  the  empty  tlajt  of 
popul-ar  favour,  or  the  applauje  cf  a  giddy 
multitude,  which  all  wife  men  had  ever  de- 
fpifed,  and  none  more  than  himfelf;  but 
the  confeuting  praife  of  all  honefl  men,  and  the 
incorrupt  trjrimony  of  thofe  who  can  judge  of 
excellent  merit,  which  refunds  always  to  vir- 
tue, as  the  echo  to  the  voice ;  and  iince  it  is 
the  general  companion  of  good  actions, 
ought  not  to  be  rejected  by  good  men. 
That  thofe  who  afpired  to  this  glory  were, 
not  to  expect  eafe  or  pleafure,  cr  tranquillity 
of  life  for  their  pains  ;  but  mujl  give  up  their 
own  peace,  to  fecure  the  peace  cf  others ;  rnujl 
expoj'e  the/uj elves  to  forms  and  dangers  for 
the  public  good',  fujlain  many  battles  with 
the  audacious  and  the  wicked,  and  Jane  even 
nvith  the  powerful :  in  ihort,  muit  behave 
themfelves  fo,  as  to  give  th:ir  citizens  cattje 
to  rejoice  that  they  bad  ever  been  born.  This 
is  the  notion  that  he  inculcates  every  where 
of  true  glory  ;  which  is  furely  one  of  the 
nobleil  principles  that  can  infpire  a  human 
breait ;  implanted  by  God  in  our  nature,  . 
to  dignify  and  exalt  it ;  and  always  lound 
the  ftrongeft  in  the  bell  and  molt  elevated 
minds;  and  to  which  we  owe  every  thino- 
great  and  laudable,  that  hiftory  has  to  offer 
us  through  all  the  ages  of  the  heathen 
world.  There  is  not  an  inftance,  fays  Ci- 
cero, of  a  man's  exerting  himfelf  ever  •with 
praife  and  virtue  in  the  dangers  cf  his  coun- 
try, iv ho  was  not  drawn  to  it  by  the  hopes  of 
glory,  and  a  regard  to  pojlerity.  Give  me  a 
boy,,  fays  Quintdian,  vuho?n  praife  excites, 
whom  glory  v.arms .:  for  fuch  a  fcholar  was 
fure  tc'aniwer  all  his  hope?,  and  do  credit 

to 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


7x6 

to  his  discipline.  "  Whether  pofterity 
"  \\  ill  have  any  refpecl  for  me,"  fays 
Pliny,  "  I  know  not,  but  I  am  fare  that  I 
"  have  deferved  fome  from  it  :  I  will  not 
"  fay  by  my  wit,  for  that  would  be  ar- 
**  rogant ;  but  by  the  zeal,  by  the  pains, 
"  by  the  reverence  which  I  have  always 
•«  paid  to  it." 

It  will  not  feem  ftrange,  to  obferve  the 
wifelr.  of  the  ancients  pufhing  this  prin- 
ciple to  fo  great  a  length,  and  .considering 
glory  as  the  ampleil  reward  of  a  well-fpent 
life,  when  we  re  Heel,  that  the  greateftpart 
ofthem  had  no  notion  of  any  other  reward 
or  futurity  ;  and  even  thofe  who  believed 
a  State  of  happinefs  to  the  good,  yet  en- 
tertained it  with  fo  much  diffidence,  that 
the)'  indulged  it  rather  as  a  vvifh,  than  a 
well  grounded  hope,  and  were  glad  there- 
fore to  lay  hold  on  that  which  feemed  to 
be  within  their  reach;  a  futurity  of  their 
own  creating ;  an  immortality  of  fame  and 
glory  from  the  applaufe  of  poilerity.  This, 
by  a  pleafing  fiction,  they  looked  upon  as 
a  propagation  of  life,  and  an  eternity  of ' 
exigence;  and  had  no  fmall  comfort  in 
imagining,  that  though  the  fenfe  of  it 
ihculd  not  reach  to  themfelves,  it  would 
extend  at  Jeait  to  others ;  and  that  they 
mould  be  doing  good  Still  when  dead,  by 
leaving  the  example  of  their  virtues  to  the 
imitation  cf  mankind.  Thus  Cicero,  as 
he  often  declares,  never  looked  upon  that 
to  be  his  life,  which  was  confined  to  this 
narrow  circle  on  earth,  but  coniidered  his 
acts  as  feeds  fown  in  the  irrjmenfc  univerfe, 
to  raife  up  the  fruit  of  glory  and  immor- 
tality to  him  through  a  fuccefiion  ot  infi- 
nite ages;  nor  has  he  been  frustrated  of 
hi  hope,  or  difappointed  of  his  end;  but 
as  long  as  the  name  of  Rome  fubfift?,  or 
as  long  as  learning,  virtue,  and  liberty 
preic  "Ve  anv  credit  in  the  world,  he  wiil 
be  great  and  glorious  in  the  memory  of 
.  II  posterity. 

As  to  the   other  part  of  the  charge,  or 
the  proof  of  ins  vanity,  drawn    from  his 
i  aj.    ig    fo  frequently    of  himfelf   in    his 
Ipeeches.     both    to    the    fenate    and    the 
e,  though  it  may  appear  to  a  com- 
mon  reader   to   be  abundantly  confirmed 
\  ■■  his  writings:  yet  if  we  attend  to  the 
circumftances  of  the  times,  and   the   part 
•Inch  he  acted  in  them,  we  Shall   ffid  it 
(  :  t  only   excufable,    but  in    fome  degree 
.  ,-cn  neceffary.     The   fate  of  Rome  was 
iow  brought  to  a  crisis,  and  the  contend- 
ing parties  were  making  their  lall  efforts 
...  r  to  opprefs  or  preferve  it:  Cicero 


was  the  head  of  thofe  who  flood  up  for  its 
liberty,  which  entirely  depended  on  the 
influences  cf  his  counfels-;  he  had  many 
years,  therefore,  been  the  common  mark 
of  the  rage  and  malice  of  all  who  were 
aiming  at  illegal  powers,  or  a  tyranny  in. 
the  ftate  ;  and  while  thefe  were  generally 
fupported  by  the  military  power  of  the 
empire,  he  had  no  other  arms  or  means 
of  defeating  them  but  his  authority  with 
the  fenate  and  people,  grounded  on  the 
experience  of  his  Services,  and  the  per- 
fuaiion  of  his  integrity ;  fo  that  to  obviate 
the  perpetual  calumnies  of  the  factious,  he 
was  obliged  to  inculcate  the  merit  and 
good  effects  of  his  counfels,  in  order  to 
confirm  people  in  their  union  and  adher- 
ence to  them,  againft  the  intrigues  of 
thofe  who  were  employing  all  arts  to  fub- 
vert  them.  "  The  frequent  commemora- 
"  tion  of  his  acls,"  fays  Quintilian,  "  was 
"  not  made  fo  much  for  glory  as  for 
•'  defence  ;  to  repel  calumny,  and  vindi- 
"  cate  his  meafures  when  they  were  at- 
"  tacked  :"  and  this  is  what  Cicero  him- 
felf declared  in  all  his  fpeeches,  "  That 
*;  no  man  ever  heard  him  fpeak  of  him- 
"  felf  hut  when  he  was  forced  to  it :  that 
"  when  he  was  urged  with  fictitious  crimes, 
"  it  was  his  cuitom  to  anfwer  them  with 
"  his  real  fervices  :  and  if  ever  he  faid 
"  any  thing  glorious  of  himfelf,  it  was  not 
"  through  a  fondnefs  of  praife,  but  to  re- 
"  pel  an  accufation :  that  no  man  who 
"  had  been  converfant  in  great  affairs, 
"  and  treated  with  particular  envy,  could 
"  refute  the  contumely  cf  an  enemy,  with- 
"  out  touching  upon  his  ownpraiies;  and 
"  after  all  his  labours  for  the  common 
"  fafety,  if  a  juffc  indignation  had  drawn 
"  from  him,  "at  any  time,  what  might. 
"  feem  to  be  vain-glorious,  it  might  rea- 
"  fo'nably  be  forgiven  to  him:  that  whe'n 
"  ethers  v,  ere  filent  about  him,  if  he  could 
"  rot  then  forbear  to  fpeak  of  himfelf, 
"  that  indeed  would  be  Shameful ;  but 
"  when  he  was  injured,  accufed,  expofed 
"  to  popular  odium,  he  muft  certainly  be 
"  allowed  to  afiert  his  liberty,  if  they 
"  would  not  Suffer  him  to  retain  his  dig- 
"  nity." 

This  then  was  the  true  Hate  of  the  cafe,, 
as  it  is  evident  from  the  facts  of  his  hiflo- 
ry  ;  he  had  an  ardent  love  of  glory,  and 
an  eager  thiril  of  praife:  was  pleafed* 
v  hi  a  living,  to  hear  his  acls  applauded; 
yet  more  i l ill  with  imagining*  that  they 
would  ever  be  celebrated  when  he  wai 
.  apaffion  whi«h,  for  the  reaSons al- 
ready 


BOOR  III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    Sec. 


'17 


ready  hinted,  had  always  the  greateft  force 
on  the  greateft  fouls :  but  it  muft  needs 
raife  our  contempt  and  indignation,  to  fee 
every"  conceited  pedant,  and  trifling  de- 
claimed who  knew  little  of  Cicero's  real 
character,  and  lefs  ftill  of  their  own,  pre- 
fuming  to  call  him  the  vainefi  of  mortals. 

But  there  is  no  point  of  light  in  which 
we  can  view  him  with  more  advantage  or 
fatisfadion  to  ourfelves,  than  in  the  con- 
templation  of  his  learning,  and  the  fur- 
prifing  extent  of  his  knowledge.  This 
ihines  fo  confpicuous  in  all  the  monuments 
which  remain  of  him,  that  it  even  leffens 
the  dignity  of  his  general  character : 
while  the  idea  of  the  Icholar  abforbs  that 
of  the  fenator;  and  by  confidering  him  as 
the  gi  cateft  writer,  we  are  apt  to  forget, 
that  he  was  the  greateft  magiftrate  alfo  of 
Rome.  We  learn  our  Latin  from  him  at 
fchool ;  our  itile  and  fentiments  at  the 
college:  here  the  generality  take  their 
leave  of  him,  and  feldom  think  of  him 
more  but  as  of  an  orator,  a  moralift,  or 
philofopher  of  antiquity.  But  it  is  with 
characters  as  with  pictures :  we  cannot 
judge  well  of  a  fingle  part,  without  fur- 
veying  the  whole,  fince  the  perfection  of 
each  depends  ©n  its  proportion  and  rela- 
tion to  the  reft  ;  while  in  viewing  them  all 
together,  they  mutually  reflect  an  addi- 
tional grace  upon  each  other.  His  learn- 
ing, confidered  feparately,  will  appear  ad- 
mirable ;  yet  much  more  fo,  when  it  is 
found  in  the  poffeflion  of  the  firft  ftatef- 
man  of  a  mighty  empire.  His  abilities  as 
a  fiatefman  are  glorious ;  yet  furprife  us 
itili  more  when  they  are  obferved  in  the 
ableft  fcholar  and  philofopher  of  his  age  ; 
but  an  union  of  both  thefe  characters  ex- 
hibits that  fublime  fpecimen  of  perfection, 
to  which  the  belt  parts,  with  the  belt  cul- 
ture, can  exalt  human  nature. 

No  man,  whofe  life  had  been  wholly 
fpent  in  ftudy,  ever  left  more  numerous, 
or  more  valuable  fruits  of  his  learning  in 
every  branch  of  fcience,  and  the  politer 
arts ;  in  oratory,  poetry,  philofopby,  laiv, 
hifiory,  criticifm,  politks,  ethics  ;  in  each  of 
which  he  equalled  the  greateft  mafters  of 
has  time;  in  fome  of  them  excelled  all 
men  of  all  times.  His  remaining  works, 
as  voluminous  as  they  appear,  are  but  a 
fmall  part  of  what  he  really  publifhed  ;  and 
though  many  of  thefe  are  come  down  to 
us  maimed  by  time,  and  the  barbarity  of 
the  intermediate  ages,  yet  they  are  juftlv 
efteemed  the  moil  precious  remains  of  all 
antiquity,  and,  like  the  SyhyUine  boots,  if 


more  of  them  had  perilhed,  would  have 
been  equal  ftill  to  any  price. 

His  induftry  was  incrcdible,'b<?ycnd  the 
example,  or  even  conception  of  our  days; 
this  was  the  fecret  by  which  he  performed 
fuch  wonders,  and  reconciled  perpetual 
ftudy  with  perpetual  affairs.  He  fuffered 
no  part  of  his  leifure  to  be  idle,  or  the  leaft 
interval  of  it  to  be  loft :  but  what  other 
people  gave  to  the  public  Jhe-ivs,  to  pleafutes, 
tofeajls,  nay  even  to  Jleep,  and  the  ordinary 
refrejbments  of  nature,  he  generally  gave  to 
his  books,  and  the  enlargement  of  his  know- 
ledge. On  days  of  bufinefs,  when  he  had 
any  thing  particular  to  compofe,  he  had 
no  other  time  for  meditating  but  when  he 
was  taking  afe-zv  turns  in  his  ivalks,  where 
he  ufed  to  dictate  his  thoughts  to  bis  fcribes 
who  attended  him.  We  find  many  of  his 
letters  dated  before  day-light ;  and  foms 
from  the  fenate  ;  others  from  his  meals ;  and 
the  crowd  of  his  morning  levee. 

No  compofitions  afford  more  pleafure 
than  the  epiftles  of  great  men  ;  they  touch 
the  heart  of  the  reader  by  laying  open  that 
of  the  writer.  The  letters  of  eminent  wits, 
eminent  fcholars,  eminent  ftatefmen,  are 
all  efteemed  in  their  feveral  kinds :  but 
there  never  was  a  collection  that  excelled 
fo  much  in  every  kind  as  Cicero's,  for  the 
purity  of  ftile,  the  importance  of  the  mat- 
ter, or  the  dignity  of  the  perfons  concern- 
ed in  them.  We  have  above  a  thoufajid 
ftill  remaining,  all  written  after  he  was  forty 
years  old  ;  which  are  a  fmall  part  not  only 
of  what  he  wrote,  but  of  what  were  actually 
publiihed  after  his  death  by  his  fervant 
Tiro.  For  we  fee  many  volumes  of  them 
quoted  by  the  ancients,  which  are  utterly 
loft;  as  the  firft  book  of  his  Letters  to  Li- 
cinius  Calvus ;  the  firft  alio  to  Q^  Axius ; 
a  fecond  book  to  his  fon  ;  a  fecend  alfo  to 
Corn.  Nepos  ;  a  third  book  to  J.  Caviar  ;  a 
third  to  Octavius  ;  a  third  alfo  to  Panfa ; 
an  eighth  book  to  M.  Brutus  ;  and  a  ninth 
to  A.  Hirtius.  Of  all  which,  excepting  a 
few  to  J.  Caefar  and  Brutus,  we  have  r,o 
thing  more  left  than  fome  fcattered  phrafe-: 
and  fentences,  gathered  from  the  citation? ' 
of  the  old  critics  and  grammarians.  What 
makes  thefe  letters  ftill  more  eftimabie  is, 
that  he  had  never  defigned  them  for  ths 
public,  nor  kept  any  copies  of  them;  for 
the  year  before  his  death,  when  Atticus 
was  making  fome  enquiry  about  them,  he 
fent  him  word,  that  he  had  made  no  coU 
leilion  ;  and  jbat  Tiro  had  preferred  only 
about  fet-enty.  Here  then  we  may  expect 
to  fee  the  genuine  man,  without  difguife 


7i8 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


or  affectation ;  especially  in  his  letters  to 
Atticus,  o  whom  he  talked  with  the  fame 
franknefs  as  to  himfelf;  opened  the  rife 
and  progrefs  of  each  thought,  and  never 
entered  into  any  affair  without  his  parti- 
cular advice ;  fo  that  thefe  may  be  con- 
fide red  as  the  memoirs  of  his  times ;  con- 
taining the  molt  authentic  materials  for 
the  history  of  that  age,  and  laying  open 
the  grounds  and  motives  of  all  the  great 
events  that  happened  in  it :  and  it  is  the 
want  of  attention  to  them  that  makes  the 
generality  of  writers  on  thofe  times  fo  fu- 
periicial,  as  well  as  erroneous ;  while  they 
chufe  to  transcribe  the  dry  and  imperfect 
relations  of  the  later  Greek  hijtorians,  rather 
than  take  the  pains  to  extract  the  original 
account  of  facts  frcm  one  who  was  a  prin- 
cipal actor  in  them. 

In  his  familiar  letters  lie  affected  no 
particular  elegance  or  choice  of  words, 
but  took  the  hrft  that  occurred  from  com- 
mon ufe,  and  the  language  of  converfation. 
Whenever  he  was  diipofed  to  joke,  his 
wit  was  eafy  and  natural ;  flowing  always 
from  the  fubject,  and  throwing  out  vubat 
came  uppermoft ;  nor  difdaining  even  a  pun, 
when  it  ferved  to  make  his  friends  laugh. 
In  letters  of  compliment,  fome  of  which 
were  addreSfed  to  the  greateft  men  who 
ever  lived,  his  inclination  to  pleafe  is  ex- 
prefled  in  a  manner  agreeable  to  nature 
and  rcafon,  with  the  utmolt  delicacy  both 
of  fentiment  and  diction,  yet  without  any 
of  thofe  pompous  tides  and  lofty  epithets, 
which  modern  cuitom  has  introduced  into 
our  commerce  with  the  great,  and  falfely 
Stamped  with  the  name  of  politenefs ; 
though  they  are  the  real  offspring  of  bar- 
barian, and  the  effects  of  our  degeneracy 
both  in  taile  and  manners.,  In  his  poli- 
tical letters,  all  his  maxims  are  drawn  from 
an  intimate  knowledge  of  men  and  things : 
he  always  toadies  the  point  on  which  the 
affair  turns ;  forefees  the  danger,  and 
foretells  the  mifchief,  which  never  failed 
to  follow  upon  the  ncglccl  of  his  coun- 
sels ;  of  which  there  were  fo  many  inltan- 
ces,  that,  as  an  eminent  writer  of  his  own 
time  oblerved  to  him,  his  prudence feemed 
to  he  a  kind  of  divination,  vjhicb  foretold 
every  thing  that  afterwards  happened,  with 
sic  veracity  of  a  prophet.  But  none  of  his 
letters  do  him  more  credit  than  thofe  of 
the  recommendatory  kind :  the  others  fhew 
his  wit  and  his  parts,  thefe  his  benevo- 
lence and  his  probity :  he  Solicits  the  in- 
terest of  his,  friends,  with  all  the  warmth 
and  foice  of  words  of  which  he  was  maf- 


ter ;  and  alledges  generally  fome  perfonal 
reafon  for  his  peculiar  zeal  in  the  cauSe> 
and  that  his  own  honour  was  concerned 
in  the  fuccefs  of  it. 

But  his  letters  are  not  more  valuable  on 
any  account,  than  for  their  being  the  only 
monuments  of  that  fort,  which  remain  to 
us  from  free  Rome.  Tbey  breathe  the  lait 
words  of  expiring  liberty  ;  a  great  pars 
of  them  having  been  written  in  the  very 
crifis  of  its  ruin,  to  roufe  up  all  the  virtue 
that  was  left  in  the  honeft  and  the  brave, 
to  the  defence  of  their  country.  The  ad- 
vantage which  they  derive  from  this  cir-> 
cumftance,  will  eafily  he  obferved  by 
comparing  them  with  the  epiftles  of  the 
belt  and  greateft,  who  flourished  after- 
wards in  Imperial  Rome.  Pliny's  letters 
are  juftly  admired  by  men  of  tafte  :  they 
fhew  the  Scholar,  the  wit,  the  fine  gentle- 
man ;  yet  we  cannot  but  oblerve  a  poverty 
and  barrennefs  through  the  whole,  that  be- 
trays the  awe  of  a  mafler.  All  his  Stories 
and  reflections  terminate  in  private  life  ; 
there  is  nothing  important  in  politics ;  nor 
great  affairs  explained;  no  account  of  ;he 
motives  of  public'  counfels  :  he  I  ad  I 
all  the  fame  offices  with  Cicero,  whom  in 
all  points  he  affected  to  emulate;  yet  his 
honours  were  in  effect  nominal,  conferred 
by  a  Superior  power,  «nd  administered  by 
a  Superior  will;  and  with  the  oil  titles  of 
conful  and  proconful,  we  want  Still  the 
ftatefman,  the  politician,  and  the  magistrate. 
In  his  provincial  command,  where  Cicero 
govened  all  things  with  fupreme  autho- 
rity, and  had  kings  attendant  on  his  or- 
ders, Pliny  durft  not  venture  to  repair  a 
bath,  or  to  pv.nif:  a  fugitive  Jlave,  or  in- 
corporate a  company  of  rnajons,  till  he  had 
firft  conSulted  and  obtained  the  leave  of 
Trajan. 

His  historical  works  are  all  loft;  the 
Commentaries  of  his  Conful  Ship  in  Greek  ; 
the  Hiitory  of  his  own  Affairs,  to  his  re- 
turn  from  exile,  in  Latin  verfe  ;  as*d  his 
Anecdotes ;  as  well  as  the  pieces  that  he 
published  on  Natural  Hiitory,  of  which 
Pliny  quotes  one  upon  the  Wonderst  of 
Nature,  and  another  on  Perfumes.  He 
was  meditating  likewiSe  a  general  HiStory 
of  Rome,  to  which  lie  was  frequently 
urged  by  his  friends,  as  the  only  man  ca- 
pable of  adding  that  glory  alio  to  his 
country,  of  excelling  the  Greeks  in  a  Spe- 
cies of  writing,  which  of  all  others  was 
at  that  time  the  leaft  cultivated  by  the 
Romans.  But  he  never  found  leifure  to 
execute    fo   great    a    taSk  ;    yet    he    has 

Sketched. 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS",    &e. 


719 


Iketched  out  a  plan  of  it,  which,  fhort 
as  it  is,  feems  to  be  the  belt  that  can-  be 
formed  for  the  defign  of  a  perfect  hiftory. 

"  He  declares  it  to  be  the  firft  and 
"  fundamental  law  of  hiftory,  that  it 
"  lhould  neither  dare  to  fay  any  thing  that 
<«  was  falfe,  or  fear  to  fay  any  thing  that 
"  was  true,  nor  give  any  juft  fufpicion.ei- 
«*  ther  of  favour  or  difafFeclion;  that  in  the 
"  relation  of  things,  the  writer  mould  ob- 
"  ferve  the  order  of  time,  and  add  alfo 
**  the  defcription  of  places  :  that  in  all 
■"  great  and  memorable  transactions  he 
"  lhould  full  explain  the  councils,  then 
"  the  afts,  laiily  the  events;  that  in  coun-' 
"  cih  he  mould  interpofe  his  own  judg- 
"  ment,  or  the  merit  of  them ;  in  the  acts, 
Id  relate  not  only  what  was  done, 
"  hue  how  it  was  done  ;  in  the  events 
"  fhauld  fliew,  what  fhare  chance,  or  rafh- 
"  nefs, or  pj  ace  had  in  them;  that  in 
'*  regard.- to  perfons,  he  lhould  defcribe 
"  not  only  their  particular  actions,  but  the 
"  lives  and  characters  of  all  thofe  who 
*.'  bear  an  eminent  part  in  the  ftory  ;  that 
"  he  lhould  illuftrate  the  whole  in  a  clear, 
*'  eafy,  natural  ftile,  flowing  with  a  per- 
"  petual  Gnoothnefs  and  equability,  free 
".  from  the  affectation  of  points  and  fen- 
"  tences,  or  the  -reughnefs  of  judicial 
'.'  pleadings." 

We  have  no  remains  likewife  of  his 
poetry,  except  fome  fragments  occafion- 
ally  interfperfed  through  his  other  writ- 
ings ;  yet  thefe,  as  I  have  before  obferved, 
are  fufficient  to  convince  us,  that  his  poe- 
tical genius,  if  it  had  been  cultivated  with 
the  fame  care,  would  not  have  been  inferior 
to  hisoratorial.  The  two  arts  are  fo  nearly 
allied,  that  an  excellency  in  the  one  feems 
to  imply  a  capacity  for  the  other,  the 
fame  qualities  being  effemial  to  them 
both;  a  fprightly  fancy,  fertile  invention, 
flowing  and  numerous  diction.  It  was  in 
Cicero's  time,  that  the  old  ruiHcitv  of  the 
Latin  mule  full  began  to  be  poiiihed  by 
the  ornaments  of  drefs,  and  the  harmony 
of  numbers;  but  the  height  of  perfection 
to  which  it  was  carried  after  his  death  by 
the  fuxceeding  generation,  as  it  left  no 
room  for  a  mediocrity  in  poetry,  fo  it  quite 
eclipfed  the  fame  cf  Cicero.  For  the 
world  always  judges  of  things  by  com- 
panion, and  becaufe  he  was  not  fo  great  a 
poet  as  Virgil  and  Horace,  he  was  decried 
as  none  at  all ;  efpecially  in  the  courts  of 
Antony  and  Aaguftus,  where  it  was  a 
compliment  to  the  fovereign,  and  a  fafhion 
coniequently  among    their    flatterers,    to 


make  his  character  ridiculous  wherever  it 
lay  open  to  them  ;  hence  flowed  that  per- 
petual raillery  which  fubfiib  to  this  day, 
on  his  famous  verfes  : 

Cedant  arma  togs,  concedat  Ianrea  lingua:, 
O  fortunatara  nccam  me  Confule  Romam. 

And  two  bad  lines  picked  out  by  the  ma- 
lice of  enemies,  and  tranfmitted  to  pof- 
terity  as  a  fpecimen  of  the  relf,  have  ferved 
to  damn  many  thoufands  of  good  ones. 
For  Plutarch  reckons  him  among  the  moji 
eminent  of  the  Roman  poets;  and  Pliny  the 
younger  was  proud  of  emulating  him  in 
his  poetic  character  ;  and  Quintilian  fecms 
to  charge  the  cavils  of  his  cenfurers  to  a 
principle  of  malignity.  But  his  own  verfes 
carry  the  fureft  proof  of  his  merit,  being 
written  in  the  bell:  manner  of  that  age  in 
which  he  lived,  and  in  the  ftile  of  Lu- 
cretius, whofe  poem  he  is  faid  to  have 
re-vi/ed  and  corrected  for  its  publication, 
after  Lucretius's  death.  This  however  is 
certain,  that  he  was  the  conftant  friend 
and  generous  patron  of  all  the  celebrated 
'poets  of  his  time;  of  Aceius,  Archias, 
Chilius,  Lucretius,  Catullus,  who  pays  his 
thanks  to  him  in  the  following  lines,  for 
fome  favour  that  he  had  received  from 
him : — 

Tully,  moft  eloquent  by  far 

Of  all,  who  have  been  or  who  are, 

Or  who  iii  ages  Hill  to  come 

Shall  rife  of  all  the  fons  of  Rome, 

To  thee  Catullus  grateful  fends 

His  waimeft  thanks,  and  recommends 

His  humble  mufe,  as  much  below 

All  other  poets  he,  a<;  thcu 

All  other  patrons  doft  excel, 

In  power  of  words  and  (peaking  well. 

Ca  tull.  47. 

But  poetry  was  the  amufement  only,  and 
relief  cf  his  other  ftadies ;  eloquence  was  his 
diltinguifhing  talent,  his  fovereign  attri- 
bute :  to  this  he  devoted  all  the  faculties 
of  his  foul,  and  attained  to  a  degree  of  per- 
fection in  it,  that  no  mortal  ever  furpafled  : 
fo  that  as  a  polite  hiftorian  obferves,  Rome 
had  hut  feiv  orators  before  him,  wham  it 
could  praife ;  none  ctvho7n  it  could  admire. 
Demoithenes  was  the  pattern  by  which  he 
formed  himfeif;  whom  he  emulated  with 
iuch  fuccefs,  as  to  merit  what  St.  Jerom 
calls  that  beautiful  eloge :  Demojllenes  has 
/notched from  thee  the  glory  of  being  the  frji  : 
then  from  Dcmojlbenes,  that  of  being  the  only 
orator.  The  genius,  the  capacity,  the  ftile 
and  manner  of  them  both  were  much  the 
fame  ;  their  eloquence  of  that  great,  fub- 

lime, 


720 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN-    PROSE. 


lime,  and  comprchenfive  kind,  which  dig- 
nified every  fubject,  and  gave  it  all  the 
force  and  beauty  of  which  it  was  capable ; 
it  was  that  raundnefs  of /peaking,  as  the  an- 
cients   call   it,  where   there  was  nothing 
cither  redundant  or  deficient;  nothing  ei- 
ther to  be  added  or  retrenched  :  their  per- 
fections were  in  all  points  to  tranfeendent, 
and  yet  fo  fimilar,  that  the  critics  arc  not 
agreed   on  which   fide    to  give  the  pre- 
ference.    Quintilian  indeed,  the  moft  ju- 
dicious of  them,  has  given  it  on  the  whole 
to  Cicero  ;  but  if,  as  others  have. thought, 
Cicero  had  not  all  the  nerves,  the  energy, 
or,  as  he   himfelf  calls   it,   the  thunder  of 
Demoflhenes ;   he    excelled  him  in  the  co- 
pioufnefs  and  elegance  of  hfs  diction,    the 
variety  of  his  fentiments,  and,  above  all,  in 
the  vivacity  of  his  wit,  and /'mart  nefs  of  his 
raillery:    Demofthenes   had  nothing  jocefe 
or  facetious  in  him ;    yet,   by   attempting 
fometimes   to  jeft,  (hewed,  that  the  thing 
itfelf  did  net  difpleafe,  but  did  not  belong  to 
him :   for,  as  Longinus  fays,  'whenever  be 
ajfeeled  to  be ,  plea/ant,  he  made  himfelf  ridi-^ 
culous  ;  and  if  Le  happened  to  raife  a  laugh, 
it  <was  chiefly  upon  himfelf  Whereas  Cicero, 
from  a  perpetual  fund  of  wit  and  ridicule, 
had  the  power  always  to  pleafe,  when  he 
found    himfelf  unable    to  convince,    and 
could  put  his  judges  into  good  humour, 
when  he   had  caufe  to  be  afraid  of  their 
ieverity;  fo  that,  by  the   opportunity  of  a 
"well-timed  joke,  he  is  faid  to  have  preferred 
tnany  cf  bis  clients  from  manifeft  ruin. 

Yet  in  all  this  height  and  fame  of  his 
aloquence,  there  was  another  fet  of  orators 
at  the  fame  time  in  Rome,  men  of  parts 
and  learning,  and  of  the  firft  quality  ;  who, 
while  they  acknowledged  the  fuperiority 
of  his  genius,  yet  cenfured  his  diction,  as 
not  truly  attic  or  clafical;  fome  calling  it 
loofe  and  languid,  others  timid  and  exube- 
rant. Thefe  men  aifectcd  a  minute  and 
faftidious  correctnefs,  pointed  fen  fences, 
fhort  and  concife  periods,  without  a  Sylla- 
ble to  fpare  in  them,  as  if  the  perfection  of 
oratory  confifted  in  a  frugality  cf  words, 
and  in  crowding  our  fentiments  into  the 
rarroweft  compafs.  The  chief  patrons  of 
this  tafle  were,  M.Brutus,  Licinius,  Caivus, 
Afinius,  Pollio,  and  Salluft,  whom  Seneca 
feems  to  treat  as  the  author  of  the  obfeure, 
abrupt,  and  fententious  ftile.  Cicero  often 
ridicules  thefe  pretenders  to  attic  elegance, 
as  judging  of  eloquence  not  by  the  force 
cf  the  art,  but  their  own  iveakuefs ;  and 
re  folving  to  decrv  what  they  could  not  at- 
tain, and  to  admire  nothing  but  what  they 


could  imitate;  and  though  their -way  of 
fpeaking,  he  fays,  might  pleafe  the  ear  of 
a  critic  or  afcholar,  yet  it  was  not  of  that 
fublinie  and  fonorous  kind,  whofe  end  was 
not  only  to  in/iriccl,  but  to  move  an  audience  ; 
an  eloquence,  born  for  the  multitude  ; 
whofe  merit  was  always  fhewn  by  its  ef- 
fects of  exciting  admiration,  and  extorting 
jhcuts  of  applaufe  ;  and  on  which  there 
never  was  any  difference  of  judgment 
between  the  learned  and  the  populace.  . 

This    was  the  genuine  eloquence  that 
prevailed  in  Rome  as  long  as  Cicero  lived; 
his  were  the  only  fpeeches  that  were  re-" 
liihed  or  admired  by  the  city ;  while  thofe 
attic  orators,    as   ttley  called  themfelves, 
were   generally  defpifed,  and  frequently 
deferted  by  the  audience,  in  the  mid  ft  of 
their  harangues.  But  after  Cicero's  death, 
and   the  ruin  of  the  republic,  the  Roman 
oratory  funk  of  courfe  with  itslibertv,  and 
a  falfe  fpecies  universally  prevailed;  when 
in  fie  ad  of  that  elate,  copious,  and  flowing 
eloquence,  which  launched  out  freely  into 
every  fubjectj  there  fucceeded  a  guarded, 
dry,    fententious    kind,   full  of  laboured 
turns  and  ftudied  points ;  and  proper  only 
for  the  occafion  on  which  it  was  employed, 
the  making  panegyrics  and  fervile  com. 
pliments  to  their  tyrants.    This  change  of 
ftile  may  be  obfirved  in  all  their  writers,- 
from  Cicero's  time  to  the  younger  Pliny; 
who  carried  it  to  its  utmoft  perfection,  in 
his   celebrated  panegyric    on   the   emperor 
Trajan  ;   which,  as  it  is  juftly  admired  for 
the  elegance  of  diction,  the  beauty  of  fen- 
timents, and   the    delicacy  cf  its  compli- 
ments, fo  is    become    in    a    manner   the 
ftandard  of  fine  fpeaking  to  modern  times, 
where  it  is  common  to  hear  the  pretend- 
ers to  criticifm,  defcanting  on  the  tedious 
length    and    fpiritlefs    exuberance    of  the 
Ciceronian  periods.     But  the  fuperiority  of 
Cicero's  eloquence,  as    it   was    acknow- 
ledged  by   the  politeft  age  of  free.  Rome, 
fo  it  has  received  the  moil  authentic  con- 
firmation   that    the  nature  of  things  can 
admit,  from   the  concurrent  fenfe  of  na- 
tions; which  neglecting    the  productions 
of  his    rivals    and   contemporaries,   have 
preferved   to  us  his  ineftimable  remains, 
as  a  fpecimen   of  the  moft  perfect  man- 
ner of  fpeaking,  to  which  the  language  of 
mortals  can  be  exalted  :  fo  that,  as  Quin- 
tilian declared  of  him  even  in  that  early 
age,  he  has  acquired  fuch  fame  with  poi- 
terity,    that    Cicero    is   not  reckoned    fo 
much  the  name  of  a  man,  as  of  eloquence 
itfelf. 

z  But 


BOOK    III.    ORATIONS 

But  we  have  hitherto  been  confidering 
the  exterior  part  of  Cicero's  character, 
and  lhall  now  attempt  to  penetrate  the  re- 
cefl'es  of  his  mind,  and  difcover  the  real 
fource  and  principle  of  his  actions,  from  a 
view  of  that  philofophy  which  he  pro- 
felled  io  follow,  as  the  general  rule  of  his 
life.  This,  as  he  often  declares,  was 
drawn,  from  the  academic  fed  %  which  de- 
rived its  origin  from  Socrates,  and  its 
name  from  a  celebrated  gymnaiium,  or 
place  of  exercife  in  the  fuburbs  of  Athens, 
called  the  Academy,  where  the  profeiTors 
of  that  fchool  ufed  to  hold  their  lectures 
and  philofophical  difputations.  Socrates 
was  the  nrit  who  baniihed  phyfics  out  cf 
philofophy,  which  till  his  time  had  been 
the  fole  object  of  it,  and  drew  it  off  from 
the  obfeure  and  intricate  inquiries  into 
nature,  and  the  conftkution  cf  the  hea- 
venly bodies,  to  questions  of  morality ;  of 
more  immediate  ufe  and  importance  to 
the  happinefs  of  man,  concerning  the  true 
notions  cf  'virtue  and  vice,  and  the  natural 
difference  cf  good  and  ill;  and  as  he  found 
the  world  generally  prepoflefTcd  with  falfe 
notions  on  thofe  fubjects,  lb  his  nuthod 
was  not  to  ajjert  any  opinion  cf  his  cw  i,  but 
to  refute  the  opinions  of  others,  ard  attack 
the  errors  in  vogue;  as  the  hrfc  ft*p  to- 
wards preparing  men  for  the  reception  of 
truth,  or  whit  came  the  neareft  to  it,  pro- 
bability. Whilehe  himfelf  therefore  profef- 
feJ  -to  know  nothing,  he  ufed  to  fift  out  the 
leveral  doctrines  of  all  the  pretenders  to  fci- 
ence,  and  then  teafe  them  with  a  ferics  of 
queitions,  fo  contrived  as  to  reduce  them, 
by  the  courfe  of  their  anfivers,  to  an  evi- 
dent abfurdity,  and  the  impoffibility  of  de- 
fending what  they  had  at  firft  affirmed. 

But  Plato  did  not  ftrictly  adhere  to  the 
method  of  his  mailer  Socrates,  and  his 
followers  wholly  deferted  it  :  for  inftead 
of  the  Socratic  modeily  of  affirming  no- 
thing, and  examining  every  thing,  they 
turned  philofophy,  as  it  were,  into  an  art, 
and  formed  a  fyltem  cf  opinions,  which 
they  delivered  to  their  difciples  as  the 
peculiar  tenets  of  their  feet.  Plato's  ne- 
phew Speufippus,  who  was  left  the  heir 
of  his  fchcol,  continued  hi5  lectures,  as 
his  fucceflbrs  alfo  did  in  the  academy, 
and  preierved  the  name  of  academics ; 
whilft  Ariftotie,  the.  moil  eminent  of  Plato's 


olars,    retired    to    another  gymnafiium, 


fch 

called  the  Lyceum  ;  where,  from  a  cuilom 
which  he  and  his  followers  obferved,  of 
teaching  and  difputing  as  they  ~<:mLcd  in 
jhe  portico's  of  the  place,  they  obtained 


,  char  Act  Eiis,  &c.         7n 

the  name  of  Peripatetics,  or  the  Walking 
Philoibphers.  Thefe  two  fects,  though  dif- 
fering in  name,  agreed  generally  in  things, 
or  in  all  the  principal  points  of  their  phi. 
lofophy :  they  placed  the  chief  happinefs 
of  man  in  virtue,  with  a  competency  of  ex- 
ternal goods ;  taught  the  exijiencc  of  a  God, 
a  providence,  the  immortality  of  the  foil,  and 
a  future  fate  of  rewards  and  punijhments. 

This  was  the  Hate  of  the  academic 
fchool  under  five  fucceflive  mailers,  who 
governed  it  after  Plato  ;  Speufippus,  Xe- 
nocrates,  Polemo,  Crates,  Grantor ;  tiil 
Arceiila's  the  fixth  discarded  at  once  a'l 
the  fyilems  of  his  predecefibrs,  and  re- 
vived the  Socratic  way,  of  affirming  nothing, 
doubting  of  all  things,  and  expofing  the  va- 
nity of  the  reigning  opinions.  Pie  al- 
ledged  the  neceffity  of  making  this  refor- 
mation, from  that  ebfeurity  of  things,  which 
had  reduced  Socrates,  and  all  the  ancients 
before  him,  to  a  confejfion  of  their  ignorance  : 
he  obferved,  as  they  had  all  likewife  done, 
that  the  fenfes  were  narrow,  reafon  infirm, 
life  jhort,  truth  immsrfed  in  the  deep,  opinion 
and  cufiom  every  where  predominant,  and 
all  things  involved  in  darknefs.  He  taught 
therefore,  "  That  there  was  no  certain 
"  knowledge  or  perception  of  any  thing 
"  in  nature,  nor  any  infallible  criterion  of 
"  truth  and  falfhood  ;  that  nothing  was  fo 
"  deteftable  as  rafhnefs,  nothing  fo  fcan- 
"  dalous  to  a  philofopher,  as  to  profefs 
"  what  was  either  falfe  or  unknown  to 
"  him ;  that  we  ought  to  afiert  nothing 
"  dogmatically,  but  in  all  cafes  to  fuf- 
"  pend  our  aflent ;  and  inftead  of  pretend- 
"  ing  to  certainty,  content  ourfelves  with 
"  opinion,  grounded  on  probability,  which 
"  was  all  that  a  rational  mind  had  to  ac- 
"  quiefce  in."  This  was  called  the  new 
academy,  in  diftinction  from  the  Platonic,  or 
the  old  :  which  maintained  its  credit  down 
to  Cicero's  time,  by  a  fucceifion  of  able1 
mailers ;  the  chief  of  whom  was  Car- 
neades,  the  fourth  from  Arcefilas,  who 
carried  it  to  its  utmoil  height  of  glory, 
and  is  greatly  celebrated  by  antiquity  for 
the  vivacity  of  his  wit,  and  force  of  his 
eloquence. 

We  muft  not  however  imagine,  that 
thefe  academics  continued  doubting  and 
fluctuating  all  their  lives  in  fcepticifm  and 
irrefolution,  without  any  precife  opinions, 
cr  fettled  principle  of  judging  and  acting  : 
no ;  their  rule  was  as  certain  and  confid- 
ent as  that  of  any  other  feet,  as  it  is  fre- 
quently explained  by  Cicero,  in  many  parrs 
of  his  works,  <•'  We  are  not  of  that  fort," 
x  A  fays 


722  ELEGANT    EXTR 

fays  he,  "  whofe  mind  is  perpetually  wan- 
*'  dering  in  error,  without  any  particular 
"  end  or  object  of  its  purfuit :  for  what 
"  would  fuch  a  mind  or  fuch  a  life  indeed 
"  be  worth,  which  had  no  determinate 
"  rule  or  method  of  thinking  and  acting? 
"  But  the  difference  between  us  and  the 
"  reft  is,  that  whereas  they  call  fome 
"  things  certain,  and  others  uncertain;  we 
*'  call  the  one  probable,  the  other  improba- 
«  blc.  For  what  reafon  then,  mould  not 
"  I  purfue  the  probable,  reject  the  contrary, 
"  and,  declining  the  arrogance  of  affirming, 
*'  avoid  the  imputation  of  rafhnefs,  which 
<-'  of  all  things  .is  the  fartheit  removed 
"  fromwifdom?"  Again;  "we  do  not  pre- 
"  tend  to  fay  that  there  is  no  fuch  thing 
<:  as  truth ;  but  that  all  truths  have  fome 
"  falfhood  annexed  to  them,  of  fo  near  a 
«*  refemblance  and  fimilitude,  as  to  afford 
*'  no  certain  note  of  diflinction,  whereby 
"  to  determine  our  judgment  and  aflent : 
"  whence  it  follows  alfo  of  courfe,  that 
"  there  are  many  things  probable  ;  which, 
"  though  not  perfectly  comprehended,  yet 
"  on  account  of  their  attractive  and  fpe- 
*'  cious  appearance,  are  fufficient  to  go- 
"  vern  the  life  of  a  wife  man."  In  another 
place,  "  there  is  no  difference,  fays  he, 
"  between  us,  and  thofe  who  pretend  to 
*'  know  things ;  but  that  they  never  doubt 
"c  of  the  truth  of  what  they  maintain  : 
**  whereas  we  have  many  probabilities, 
"  which  we  readily  embrace,  but  dare 
"  not  affirm.  By  this  we  preferve  our 
"  judgment  free  and  unprejudiced,  and 
«'  are  under  no  neceffity  of  defending  what 
"  is  prefcribed  and  enjoined  to  us;  where - 
"  as  in  other  iects,,  men  are  tied  down  to 
"  certain  doctrines,  before  they  are  capa- 
"  ble  of  judging  what  is  the  belt;  and  it 
"  the  moil  infirm  part  of  life,  drawn 
**  either  by  the  authority  of  a  friend,  or 
"  charmed  with  the  firft  mailer  whom 
*'  they  happen  to  hear,  they  form  a  judg- 
'«  ment  of  things  unknown  to- them;  and 
"  to  whatever  fchool  they  chance  to  be 
"  driven  by  the  tide,  cleaVe  to  it  as  fail 
"  as  the  oyiter  to  the  rock." 

Thus  the  academy  held  the  proper  me- 
dium between  the  rigid  iioic,  and  the  in- 
difference of  the  fceptic  :  the  lioics  em- 
braced all  their  doctrines,  as  fo  many  fixed 
and  immutable  truths,  from  which  it  whs 
infamous  to  depart;  and  by  making  this 
their  point of  honour,  held  all  their  difciples 
in  an  inviolable  attachment  to  them.  The 
fceptics,  on  the  other  hand,  nbferveda  per- 
feit  neutrality  toward.,  all  opinions ;  maiii- 
9 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

taining  all  of  them  to  be  equally  uncertain; 
and  that  we  could  not  affirm  of  any  thin?-, 
that  it  nvat  this  or  that,  fince  there  was  at 
much  reafon  to  take  it  for  the  one  as  for 
the  other,  or  for  neither  of  them  ;  and 
wholly  indifferent  which  of  them  we: 
thought  it  to  be:  thus  they  lived,  without 
ever  engaging  themfelves  on  any  fide  of : 
a  queftion,  directing  their  lives  in  the  mean 
time  by  natural  affections,  and  the  laws- 
and  cuftoms  of  their  country.  But  the 
academics,  by  adopting  the  probable  in- 
ftead  of  the  certain,  kept,  the  balance  in 
an  equal  poife  between  the  two  extremes,-/ 
making  it  their  general  principle  to  obt; 
ferve  a  moderation  in  all  their  opinions; 
and  as  Plutarch,  who  was  one  of  them, 
tells  us,  paying  a  great  regard  always  to 
that  old  maxim, 

As  this  fchool  then  was  in  no  particular 
opposition  to  any,  but  an  equal  adverfary  to 
all,  or  rather  to  dogmatical  philofophy  in 
general,  fo  every  other  (td:,  next  to  itfell 
readily  gave  it  the  preference  to  the  reft; 
which  univerfal  conceffion  of  the  fecond 
place,  is  commonly  thought  to  infer  a  rio-ht 
to  the  firli  :  and  if  we  reflect  on  the  ftate 
of  the  heathen  world,  and  what  they  them- 
felves fo  often  complain  of,  the  darknefs 
that  furrounded  them,  and  the  infinite  dif- 
faiflons  of  the  belt  and  wifeft  on  the  fun- 
damental queftions  of  religion  and  mora- 
lity, we  mull  neceffarily  allow,  that  the 
academic  manner  of  philofophizing  was 
of  all  others  the  moll  rational  and  modeia 
and  the  belt  adapted  to  the  difcovery  of 
truth,  whofe  peculiar  character  it  was 
to  encourage  enquiry  ;  to  fift  evevy  q::ef- 
tion  to  the  bottom ;  to  try  the  force  of, 
every  argument,  till  it  had  found  its  real 
moment,  or  the  precife  quantity  of  ire 
weight. 

This  it  was  that  induced  Cicero,  ira  Ins 
advanced  life  and  ripened  judgment,  to 
dclert  the  old  academy,  and  declare  for  the 
new  ;  when,  from  a  long  experience  of  the 
vanity  of  thofe  feels  who  called  them- 
selves the  proprietors  of  truth,  and  the 
iole  guides  of  life,  and  through  a  defpair 
ol  finding  any  thing'  certain,  he  was  clad, 
after  all  his  pains,  to  take  up  with  the/r«- 
bahle.  But  the  genius  and  general  cha- 
racter of  both  the  academies  was  in  fome. 
meafure  ilill  the  fame  :  for  the  old,  though 
it  profefled  to  teach  a  peculiar  fyftem  of 
doctrines,  yet  it  was  ever  diffident  and 
cuutious  of  affirming;  and  th-j  new,  only 

tiife 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,     *c. 


723 


the  more  fcrupulous  and  fceptical  of  the 
two;  this  appears  from  the  writings  of 
Plato,  the  firft  matter  of  the  old,  in  which,  as 
Cicero  obferves,  nothing  is  abibiutely  af- 
firmed, nothing  delivered  for  certain,  but 
all  things  freely  [inquired  into,  and  both 
fides  of  the  queftion  impartially  difcuffed. 
Yet  there  was  another  reafon  that  recom- 
mended this  philofophy  in  a  peculiar  man- 
ner to  Cicero,  its  being,  of  ail  others,  the 
befl  fuited  to  the  profeflion  of  an  orator; 
fince  by  its  praclice  of  difputing  for  and 
againf  every  opinion  of  the  other  feels,  it 
gave  him  the  befl  opportunity  of  perfect- 
ing his  oratorical  faculty,  and  acquiring  a 
habit  o*f  fpeaking  readily  upon  all  fubjeels. 
He  calls  it  therefore  the  'parent  of  elegance 
and  copioufnefs ;  and  declares,  that  he  owed 
all  the  fame  of  his  eloquence,  not  to  the  me- 
chanic rules  of  the  rhetoricians,  but  to  the 
enlarged  and.  generous  principles  of  the  aca- 
demy. 

This  fchool,  however,  was  almoft  defert- 
ed  in  Greece,  and  had  but  few  difciples 
at  Rome,  when  Cicero  undertook  its  pa- 
tronage, and  endeavoured  to  revive  its 
drooping  credit.     The  reafon  is  obvious : 


veral  writings,  that  perplexes  the  gene- 
rality of  his  readers  :  for  wherever  they 
dip  into  his  works,  they  are  apt  to  fancy 
themfelves  poffeffed  cf  his  fentiments,  and 
to  quote  them  indifferently  as  fuch,  whe- 
ther from  his  Orations,  his  Dialogues,  or 
his  Letters,  without  attending  to  the  pe- 
culiar nature  of  the  work,  or  the  different 
perfon  that  he  affumes  in  it. 

His  orations  are  generally  of  the  judi- 
cial kind ;  or  the  pleadings  of  an  advo- 
cate, whole  bufinefy  it  was  to  make  ths 
beft  of  his  caufe  ;  and  to  deliver,  not  fo'much 
what  was  true,  as  what  was  ufeful  to  his  cli- 
ent ;  the  patronage  of  truth' belonging  in 
fuch  cafes  to  the  judge,  and  not  to  the 
pleader,  It  wouldbeabfurd  therefore  to  re- 
quire a  fcrupulous  veracity,  or  ftricl  declara- 
tion of  his  fentiments  in  them;  the  thing 
does  not  admit  of  it;  and  he  himfelf  for- 
bids  us  to  expeft  it ;  and  in  one  of  thofs 
orations  frankly  declares  the  true  nature  of 
them  all. — "That  man,"  fays  he,"  is  much 
"  miftaken,  who  thinks,  that  in  thefe  ju- 
"  dicial  pleadings,  he  has  an  authentic 
"  fpecirnen  of  our  opinions  ;  they  are  the 

fpeeches  of   the  caufes  and  the  times ; 


it  impofed  a  hard  talk  upon  its  fcholars,  of  "  not  of  the  men  or  the  advocates  :  if  the 
difputing  againft  every  feci,  and  on  every 
quellion  in  philofophy  ;  and  if  it  was  dif- 
ficult, as  Cicero  fays,  to  he  nlafter  of  any 
one,  bow  much  mere  cf  them  all  ?  which  was 
incumbent  on  thofe  who  profelfed  them- 
felves academics.  No  wonder  then  that  it 
loft  ground  every  where,  in  proportion  as 
eafe  and  luxury  prevailed,  which  naturally 
difpofed  people  to  the  doclrine  of  Epicu- 
rus ;  jn  relation  to  which  there  is  a  fmart 
faying  recorded  of  Arcefilas,  who  being 
alked,  why  fo  many  of  all  feels  went  over  to 
the  Epicureans,  but  none  ever  came  back  from 
them,  replied,  that  men  might  be  made 
eunuchs,  but  eunuchs  could  never  be-made  men 
■again. 

This  general  view  of  Cicerp's  philofo- 
phy, will  help  us  to  account,  in  fome  mea- 
fure,  for  that  difficulty  which  people  fre-- 
quently  coniplain  of  in  difcovering  his 
real  fentiments,  as  well  as  for  the  mif- 
takes  which  they  are  apt  to  fall  into  in  that 
fearch ;  fince  it  was  the  diftinguifhing  prin- 
ciple of  the  academy  to  refute  the  opinions 
of  ethers,  rather  than  declare  any  of  their 
ewn.  Yet  the  chief  difficulty  does  not  lie 
here ;  for  Cicero  was  not  fcrupulous  on 
that  head,  nor-affecled  any  obicurity  in 
the  delivery  of  his  thoughts,  when  it  was 
his  buunefs  to  explain  them  ;  but  it  is  the 
variety  and  different  characters  of  his  fe- 


caufes  could  fpeak  of  themfelves,  no 
"  body  would  employ  an  orator ;  but  we 
"  are.  employed  to  fpeak,  not  what  we 
"  would  undertake  to  affirm  upon  our  au- 
"  thority,  bnt  what  is  fuggefted  by  the 
"  caufe  and  the  thing  itfelf."  Agreeably 
to  this  notion,  Quintilian  tells  us,  "  that 
"  thofe  who  are  truly  wife,  and  have  {pent 
"  their  time  in  public  affairs,  and  not  in 
"  idle  difputes,  though  they  have  refolved 
"  with  themfelves  to  be  ftrift  and  honeft 
"  in  all  their  adlions,  yet  will  not  fcruple 
"  to  ufe  every  argument  that  can  be  of 
".  fervice  to  the  caufe  which  they  have 
"  undertaken  to  defend."  In  his  ora- 
tions, therefore,  where  we  often  meet  with 
tlie  fentenccs  and  maxims  of  philoiophv, 
we  cannot  always  take  them  for  his  own, 
but  as  topics  applied  to  move  his  au- 
dience, or  add  an  air  of  gravity  and  pro- 
bability to  his  fpeech. 

His  letters  indeed  to  familiar  friends, 
and  efpecially  thofe  to  Atticus,  place  the 
real  man  before  us,  and  lay  open  his  very 
heart;  yet  in  thefe  fome  diftinftion  mutt 
neceflarily  be  obferved  ;  for  in  letters  of 
compliment,  condolence,  or  recommen- 
dation, or  where  he  is  foliciting  any  point 
of  importance,  he  adapts  his  arguments 
to  the  occafion ;  and  ufes  fuch  as  would 
induce  his  friend  the  moil  readily  to  grant 
1,  A  z  what 


?i±  .ELEGANT     EXTRACTS 

what  he  dcfircd.  But  as  his  letters  in 
general  feldom  touch  upon  any  queftions 
of  philofophy,  except  {lightly  and  inci- 
dentally, fo  they  will  afford  verv  little  help 
to  us  in  the  difcovery  of  his  philofophical 
Opinlcnsi  which  are  the  fubjecT:  of  the  pre- 
fect inquiry,  and  for  which  we  mud  wholly 
rec".  r  to  his  philofophica!  works. 

Now  tlie  general  purpofc  of  tivtfc  works 
was,  to  give  a  hijlory  rather  of  the  a  ''pent 
fluoftphy,  than  any  account  of  his  own; 
and  to  explain  to  his  fellow-citizens  in 
their  own  language,  whatever  the  phi- 
losophers of  all  feds,  and  all  ages  "had 
taught  on  every  important  queftio'nj  in  or- 
der to  eslarge  their  minds,  and  reform 
their  morals:  and  to  employ  hitnfel'f  moft 
ulefully  to  his  country,  at  a  time  when 
arms  and  a  fuperior  force  had  deprived 
him  of  the  power  of  fervinp-  \t  in  any 
other  way.  This  he  declares  in  his  trea- 
tife  called  de  Finibus,  or  on  the  CUifGood 
or  111  of  Man  \  in  that  upon  the  Naurs  cf 
the  Gods;  in  his  Tufculan  Deputations;  And 
in  his  hook  on  the  Academic  Philofophy; 
in  all  which  he  fometimes  takes  uponhim- 
felf  the  part  of  a.  Stoic;  fometimes  of  an 
Epicurean;  fometimes  of  the  Periproctic;  for 
the  lake  of  explaining  with  more  authority 
the  different  doclrines  of  each  feet;  and 
as  he  afiumes  the  perfon  of  the  one  to  con- 
fute the  other,  fo  in  his  proper  character 
of  an  Academic,  he  femetimes  difputes 
a'gainfl;  them  all ;  \\  hile  the  unwary  reader, 
not  reflecling  on  the  nature  of  dialogues, 
takes  Cicero  (till  for  the  perpetual  fpeakcr ; 
and  under  that  miftake,  often  quotes  a 
fentiment  for  his,  that  was  delivered  by 
him  only  in  order  to  be  confuted.  But  in 
thefe  dialogues,  as  in  all  his  other  works, 
v  hereyer  he  treats  any  fubjeclprofefiedly 
or  gives  a  judgment  upon  it  deliberately, 
either  in  his  own  perfon,  or  that  of  an 
Academic,  there  he  delivers  his  own  opi- 
nions ;  and  where  he  himfelf  does  not  ap- 
pear in  the  fcene,he  takes  care  ufually  co 
inform  us,  to  which  of  the  characters  he 
h-is  ajTigncd  the  patronage  of  his  o\s  n  fen- 
timeiits  5  who  was  generally  the  principal 
fpeaker.^f the  dialogue;  as  Crafius  in  his 
treatife  on  tfa  Orator;  Scipio,  in  that  of 
"  ■  Republic  ;  Cato,  in  hi.,  piece  en  Old  Age* 
'i  his  key  will  let  us  into  his  real  thoughts; 
•'  1  !  &nabje  us  to  trace  his  genuine  notions 
'  .  '  u  ..  cyegy  part  of  his  writings,  from 
1  (hailnow  proceed  to  give. a  ihc;t 
awinjet  of  them. 

As  to  /', ■[■;..!,  or  Natural  £hilofopJty., 
he  fcciw   to  have  had  the  t^mx   notion 


IN     PROSE. 


with  Socrates,  that  a  minute  and  particu- 
lar attention  to  it.  and  the  making  it  the 
fole  end  and  object  of  our  enquiries,  was- 
a  ftndy  rather  curious  than  profitable,  and 
contributing  but  little  to  the  improve- 
ment  of  human  life.  For  though  he  was- 
perfectly  acquainted  with  the  various  fyf- 
tems  of  all  the  philcfopfoers  of  any  name, 
from  the  earlieit  antiquity;  and  has  ex- 
pLin.'d  them  all  in  his  works  ;  yet  he  did 
not  think  it  worth  while,  either  to  form 
anv  diftihel  opinions  of  his  own,  or  at 
leail  to  declare  them.  From  his  account, 
however,  of  thofe  fyftems  we  may  ob- 
ferve,  that  feveral  of  the  fundamental 
principles  of  modern  philofophy,  which 
pais  for  the  original  discoveries  of  thefe 
later  times,  are  the  revival  rather  of  an- 
cient notions  maintained  by  fome  of  the- 
firft  philosophers,  of  whom  we  have  any 
notice  in  hiltory';  as  the  Motion  of  the  Earth  ; 
the  Antipodes  ;  a  Vacuum;  and  an  uni<verfal 
Gravitation,  or  attractive  Quality  cf  Matter ,. 
which  holds  the  World  in  its  prefent  Fern: 
and  Order. 

But  in  all  the  great  points  of  religion 
and  morality,  which  are  of  more  imme- 
diate relation  to  the  happinefs  of  man, 
the  being  of  a  God;  a  providence;  the 
immortality  of  the  foul;  a  future  fate  cf 
rewards  and  punifhments ;  and  the  eternal 
difference  of  good  and  ill;  he  has  large- 
ly and  clearly  declared  his  mind  in  many 
parts  of  his  Writings.  He  maintained 
that  there  was  one  God,  or  Supreme  Be- 
ing :  incorporeal,  eternal,  J'elfexfjhnt,  who 
treat,  d  the  world  by  his  power,  and  J  vil- 
lained it  bx  his  providence.  This  he  infer- 
red from  the  confent  of  all  nations;  the  or- 
der arid  beauty  of  the  heavenly  .bodies;  the 
evid,  ul  marks  of  ccunfel,  wifdom,  and  a 
t'tue/s  to  certain  ends,  cbfervahle  ill  the  wh'Je, 
'and  in  every  part  of  the  vifib'e  world-;  and 
declares  that  perfon  unworthy  of  the  name 
of  a  man,  who  can  bet : eve  all  this  to  havi 
been  made  by  ihan.ee  ;  when  -with  the  utmeji 
jhc.h  of  "human  ixifdom,  we  cannot  penc- 
,..',.-  the  depth  of  thai  wifdom  which  con- 
trived, it. 

He  believed  alio  a  Divine  Prcviden:e, 
conitamly  prcfiding  over  the  whole  fyftem, 
and  extending  its  cere  to  all  the  principal 
members  of 'it,  with  a  peculiar  attention 
to  the  coufiucl  and  atfjcjfs  of  mm,  but  leav- 
ing the  minute  and,  infericr  parts  to  the 
.courfe  of  his  genera! '  L-a  - .  This  he  qoJL- 
le&ed  from  the  nature  and  attributes  of 
thp  Deity  j  hi:  cmfdf  ence,  omniprefence,  and 
i  ;   thai    !  ould  never    defer* 


inj.u:tc   gi 


QC 


BOOK    III. 


O  R  ATI  O  N  S,    C  II  A  R  A  C  T  E  R  $     H 


or  neglect  what  he  had  once  produced  into 
being  :  and  declares,  that  without  this  be- 
lief, there  could  be  no  f'uch  thing  as  piety 
or  religion  in  the  world. 

He  held  I^kewife  the  iinniortality  of  the 
foul,  and  its  feparate  exigence  after  death  in 
a  fiat:  of happinefs  or  mifiry.     Tins  he  in- 
ferred from  that  ardent  thi'rfi  of  immortality, 
which  was  always  the  molt  confpicuous  in 
the  beft  and  moil  exalted  minds;    from 
which  the  trueil  fpecimen  of  their  nature 
mad  needs  be  drawn,  from  its  unmixed  and 
indivfible  efjence,  which  had  nothing  fepa- 
rable  or  pe.ilhable  in  it  ;  from  its  wonder- 
ful   powers  and  faculties;  its  principle  of 
Jelf  motion  ;  its  memory,  invention,  wit,  comr 
prehenfion ;  which  were  all  incompatible  with 
Jluggijh  matter,     The    Stoics  fancied  that 
the  foul  was  a  fubtilized,  fiery  fubflance, 
which  furvived  the  body  after  death,  and 
fubfiiled  a    long  time,  yet  not  eternally, 
but  was  to   perifh  at  lad  in  the  general 
conflagration  ;   in  which   they  allowed,  as 
Cicero  fays,  the  only  thing  that  veas  hard 
to   conceive,  its  feparate    exiftence  from   the 
body ;  yet  denied  what  zvas   not   only  eafy  to 
imagine,  hut  a  covfiqtifnee  of  the  other  ;  its 
eternal  duration.     Ariftotle  taught^  that  be- 
fides  the  fur  c  Intents  cf  the  material  world, 
whence   all  other  things  were  fuppofed  to 
draw  their  being,  there  was  a  fifth  efience 
or  nature,  peculiar  to  God  and  the  foul,  which 
had  nothing  in  it  that  was  common  to  any 
of  the  reft.     This  opinion  Cicero  followed, 
and  illuilrated  with  his  ufual  perfpicuity  in 
the  following  paiTage: 

"  The  origin  of  the  human  foul,"  fays 
ke,  "  is  not  to  be  found  any  where  on 
"  earth;  there  is  nothing  mixed,  concrete, 
"or  earthly;  nothing  of  water,  air,  or 
"  fire  in  it.  For  theie  natures  are  not 
"  fafceptible  of  memory,  intelligence,  or 
"thought;  have  nothing  that  can  retain 
"  the  pall,  forefee  the  future,  lay  hold  on 
"  the  prefent  ;  which  faculties  are  purelv 
"  divine,  and  could  not  pollibly  be  derived 
"  to  man,  exxept  from  God  ;  the  nature 
"  of  the  foul  therefore  is  of  a  ftx&ular 
"  kind,  diflinct  from  thefe  known  and  ob- 
"  vious  natures;  and  whatever  it  be  that 
"  feels  and  taftes,  that  livps  and  moves  in 
"  us,  it  mull  be  heavenly  and  divine,  and 
"  for  that  reafon  eternal!  Nor  is  God  in- 
"  deed  himfelf,  whofe  exigence  we  can 
"  clearly  difcoyer,  to  be  comprehended  by 
"  us  in  any  other  manner,  but  as  a  free 
"  and  pure  mi-id,  clear  from  all  mortal 
"  concretion  ;  obferying  and  moving  ail. 
*  things ;  and  indeed  with  an  eternal  pri  :- 


<■■  'ciple  of  felf-motion:   of  this    kind,  and 
"  of  the  fame  nature,  is  the  human  foul." 
A-  to  a  future  fiate  of  rewards  and  pu- 
nijbmetiis,  he  confidered  it  as  a  confequence 
of  the  foul's  immortality,  deducible  from 
the    at  Dilutes     of  God,    and    the    condition 
of  mans  life    on  earth;   and  thought  it  fo 
highly  probable,  that  we  could  hardly  doubt 
qf  it,  he  fays,  unlefs  it  Jhould  happen  to  our 
minds,  when  they   look  into  them/clues,  as   it 
does  to  our  eyes,  when  they  lock  too  intenfsly 
at  the  fun,  that  finding  their  fight  dazzled, 
the;  give  over  looking  at  all.     In  this   opi- 
nion" he  followed  Socrates  and  Plato,  for 
whofe  judgment   he  profeffed  io  great  a 
'reverence, "that  if  they  had  given   no  rear 
fans,  where  vet  they  had  given  many,  he  jhould 
have   been  ' perfiiaded,  he   fays,  by  tl.Kir  file 
authority.     Socrates,  therefore,  as  he  tells 
us,  declared  in  his  dying  fpeech,  "  That 
"  there  were  two  ways  appointed  to  the 
f«  human  fouls  at  their  departure  from  the 
"  human  body  :  that  thofe  who  had  been 
"  immerfed  in  fenfual  pleafures  and  lulls, 
"and  had  polluted  themfelves  with  pri:-* 
"  vate  vices  or  public  crimes  againit  their 
"  country,  took  an   obfeure  and  devious 
"  road,  remote  from  the  feat  and  alterably 
"  of  the  gods ;  whilll  thofe  who  had  pre- 
■<  ferved  their  integrity,  and  received  little 
"  or  no  contagion  from  the  body,   from 
"  which    they    had    conilantly  ab'lracted 
"  themfelves,'   and  in  the  bodies  of  men 
"  imrated    the  life  of  the  gods,  had  an 
"  eafv  afcent  lying  open  before  them  to 
"  thofe    gods,   from  whom  they  derived 
"  their  being." 

From  what  has  already  been  faad,  the 
reader  will  cafdy  imagine  what  Cicero's 
opinion  mull  have  been  concerning  the  re- 
ligion of  his  country.:  for  a  mind  enlightened 
by  the  noble  principles  juil  ftated,  could 
not  pollibly  harbour  a  thought  of  the 
truth  or  divinity  of  fo  abfurd  a  worfhip; 
and  the  liberty  which  not  only  he,  but  all 
the  old  writers  take,  in  ridiculing  the  cha- 
racters of  their  gods,  and  the  herons  of 
their  infernal  torments  (hews,  that  there  w$tf 
not  a  in  an  of  liberal  education,  who  did 
*  not  conilder  it  as  an  engine  of  Hate,  or  po- 
litical ivilem  ;  contrived  for  the  ufes  of 
government,  and  to  ktep  the  people  in  or- 
der; in  this  light  Cicero_  always  com- 
mends it  as  a  wife  iniHtution,  fmgular.y 
adapted  to  the  genius  of  Rome,  and  con* 
ilantly  inculcates  an  adherence  to  its  rights 
as  the  duty  of  all  good  citizens. 

Their  re'.igio'n'confilled  of  two  princi- 
pal  branches;  the  observation  of  the  avfpi- 
3  A  3 


725 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


ces,  and  the  nuorjhip  of  the  gods:  the  firft 
was  inftituted  by  Romulus;  the  fecond  by 
his  fucceifor,  Numa  ;  who  drew  up  a  ritual, 
or  order  of  ceremonies,  to  be  obferved  in 
the  different  facrifices  of  their  feveral  dei- 
ties :  tp  thefe  a  third  part  was  afterwards 
added,  relating  to  divine  admonitions  from 
portents ;  monflrbus  births  ;  the  entrails  of 
leafs  in  facrifice  j  and  the  prophecies  of  the 
fybitst  The  College  of  Augurs  prefided 
over  the  aufpices,  as  the  fupreme  interpre- 
ters cf 'the  lOill  of  Jove;  and  determined 
what  figns  were  propitious,  and  what  not : 
the  other  prielts  were  the  judges  of  all 
the  other  cafes  relating  to  religion,  as  well 
of  what  concerned  the  public  worlhip,  as 
that  of  private  families. 

Now  the  prielts  of  all  denominations 
were  of  the  firft  nobility  of  Rome,  and 
the  augurs  efpecially  were  commonly  fe- 
nators  of  confular  rank,  who  had  paffed 
through  all  the  dignities  of  the  republic, 
and  by  their  power  over  the  aufpices,  could 
put  an  immediate  Hop  to  all  proceedings, 
and  diffolve  at  once  all  the  affemblies  of 
the  people  convened  for  public  bulinefs. 
The  interpretation  of  the  fybih  prophecies 
was  veiled  in  the  decemviri,  or  guardians 
of  the  fybilline  book?,  ten  perfons  of  dif- 
tinguifhed  rank,  chofen  ufually  from  the 
priefes.  And  the  province  of  interpreting 
prodigies,  and  infpedting  the  entrails,  be- 
longed to  the  hamfpices  ;  who  were  the 
fervants  cf  the  public,  hired  to  attend  the 
magistrates  in  all  their  facrifices ;  and  who 
never  failed  to  accommodate  their  anfwers 
to  the  views  of  thofe  who  employed  them, 
and  to  whofe  protection  they  owed  their 
credit  and  their  livelihood. 

This  confutation  of  a  religion  arfcono- 
a  people  naturally  fuperftitious,  neceffarily 
threw  the  chief  influence  of  affairs  into 
the  hands  of  the  fenate,  and  the  better 
fort;  who  by  this  advantage  frequently 
checked  the  violences  of  the  populace,  and 
the  factious  attempts  of  the  tribunes:  fo 
that  it  is  perpetually  applauded  by  Cicero 
as  the  main  bulwark  of  the  republic ; 
though  conhdered  all  the  while  by  men  of 
fenfe,  as  merely  political,  and  of  human 
invention.  The  only  part  that  admitted 
any  difpute  concerning  its  origin,  was  au- 
gury, or  their  method  of  divining  by  au- 
fpices. The  Stoics  held  that  God,  out  of 
his  goodnefs  to  men,  had  imprinted  on  the 
nature  of  things  certain  marks  or  notices 
»f future  events  ;  as  on  the  entrails  ofbeafis, 
the  flight  of  bird;,  thunder,  and  other  celef- 
toal  Signs,  which,  by  lung  observation,  and 


the  experience  of  ages,  were  reduced  in{<j 
an  ^rt,  by  which  the  meaning  of  each  fign 
might  be  determined,  and  applied  to  the 
event  that  was  fignified  by  it.  This  they 
called  artificial  divination,  in  diftinetion 
from  the  natural,  which  they  fuppofed  to 
flow  from  an  inftincl,  or  native power,  im- 
planted in  the  foul,  which  it  exerted  always 
with  the  greater!:  efficacy,  when  it  was  the 
moll  free  and  difengaged  from  the  body, 
as  in  dreams  and  viadnefs.  But  this  notion 
was  generally  ridiculed  by  the  other  p'ni- 
lofophers ;  and  of  all  the  College  of  Au- 
gurs, there  was  but  one  who  at  this  time 
maintained  it,  Appius  Claudius,  who  was 
laughed  at  for  his  pains  by  the  reft,  and 
called  the  Pifidian:  it  occafioned  how- 
ever a  fmart  controverfy  between  him  and 
his  colleague  Marcellus,  whofeverally  pub- 
lished books  on  each  fide  of  the  queition  \. 
wherein  Marcellus  afferted  the  whole  af- 
fair to  be  the  contrivance  of  Jlatejmen : 
Appius,  on  the  contrary,  that  there  vjai 
a  real  art  and  powuer  of  divining  fiibfij}- 
ing  in  the  augural  dijcipline,  and  taught  by 
the  augural  books.  Appius  dedicated  this 
treatife  to  Cicero,  who,  though  he  pre- 
ferred Marcellus's  notion,  yet  did  not 
wholly  agree  with  either,  but  believed 
that  augury  might  probably  be  infiifuteH  at 
firji  upon  a  ferfuafion  of  its  divinity ;  and 
vjhen,  by  the  improvements  of  arts  and  learn- 
ing, that  opinion  vjas  exploded  in  fucceeding 
ages,  jet  the  thing  itfelf  vjas  voifely  re- 
tained for  the  fake  of  its  uj'e  to  the  re- 
public. 

But  whatever  was  the  origin  of  the  re- 
ligion of  Rome,  Cicero's  religion  was 
undoubtedly  of  heavenly  extraction,  built, 
as  we  have  feen,  on  the  foundation  of  a 
God;  a  pi  evidence;  an  immortality.  He 
confidered  this  ihort  period  of  our  life  on 
earth  as  a  ftate  of  trial,  or  a  kind  of 
fohool,  in  which  we  were  to  improve  and 
prepare  cu delves  for  that  eternity  of  ex- 
ilic nee  which  was  provided  for  us  here- 
after; that  we  were  placed  therefore  here 
by  our  Creator,  not  fo  much  to  inhabit  the 
earth,  as  to  contemplate  the  heavens ;  on 
which  were  imprinted,  in  legible  charac- 
ters, all  the  duties  of  that  nature  which 
was  given  to  us.  He  obferved,  that  this. 
fpeclacle  belonged  to  no  other  animal  but 
man:  to  whom  God,  for  that  reafon,  had 
given  an  creel  and  upright  form,  iviih  eyes 
not  prone  or  fixed  upon  the  ground,  like 
thofe  of  other  animals,  but  placed  on  high 
an  Ifublime,  in  a  fituation  the  moll  proper 
for  this  celefiial  contemplation,  to  remind 

bun 


BOOK  TIL     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,   &c. 


727 


him  perpetually  of  his  talk,  and  to  ac- 
quaint him  with  the  place  on  which  he 
fprung,  and  for  which  he  was  finally  de- 
signed. He  took  the  fyfcem  of  the  world, 
or  the  vifible  works  of  God,  to  be  the 
promulgation  rf  God's  laav,  or  the  declara- 
tion of  his  will  to  mankind ;  whence,  as 
we  might  collect  his  being,  nature,  and 
attributes,  fo  we  could  trace  the  reafons 
alio  and  motives  of  his  acting ;  till,  by 
tbjjywing  vjhat  he  had  done,,  <zve  might  learn 
ivh'at  vse  ought  to  do,  and,  by  the  opera- 
tion; of  the  divine  reafon,  be  injtrucled  hovj 


"  rial,   immutable   law,  comprehends  all 

"  nations,  at  all  times,  under  one  common 

"  Mailer  and  Governor  of  all,   GOD. 

"  He  is  the  inventor,  propounder,  enactor 

*«  of  this  law;    and    whofoever  will    not 

"  obey  it,  mult  firit  renounce  himfelf,  and 

"  throw  off  the  nature  of  man  ;  by  doing 

'-'  which,    he  will  naffer  the  greateft  pu- 

"  riifhment,  though  he  fhould  efca'pe   all 

"  the    other    torments    which    are    com- 

**  monly  believed  to  be  prepared  for  the 

"  wicked." 

In  another  place  he  tells  us,  that  the 


to  perfect  euro-tun  ;  fince  the  perfection  of    fludy  of  this  law  was  the  only  thing  which 


man  confiited  in  the  imitation  of  God 

From  this  fource  he  deduced  the  origin 
of  all  duty,  or  moral  obligation  ;  frpm  the 
*will  of  God  manifefed  in  his  vjcrks ;  or 
from  that  eternal  reafon,  fitnefs  and  relation 
of  things,  which  is  difplaved  in  every  part 
of  the  creation.  This  he  calls  the  origi- 
nal, immutable  lav: ;  the  criterion  of  gocd 
and  ill,  <f  juft  and  unjuft  ;  imprinted  on 
the  nature  of  things,  as  the  rule  by  which 
all  human  laws  are  formed;  which,  when- 
ever they  deviate  from  this  pattern,  ought, 
he  fays,  to  be  called  any  thing  rather  than 
laws,  and  are  in  effect  nothing  but  aSs 
of  free,  violence,  and  tyranny.  That  to 
imagine  the  diftinclion  of  good  and  ill  not 
to  be  founded  in  nature,  but  in  cuftom,  opi- 
nion, cr  human  infiitutio'a,  is  mere  folly  and 
madnef;  which  would  overthrow  all  fo- 
ciety,  and  confound  all  right  and  juftice 
arncngil  men  :  that  this  was  the  cenftant 
opinion  of  the  wifefl  of  all  ages ;  who 
held,  that  the  mind  of  God,  governing  all 
things  by  eternal  reafon,  nvas  tb.v  principle 
and fever  el gn  lavo  ;  <whnfe  fubftittite  on  earth 
hvks  the  reafon  or  mind  of  the  v:ife :  to 
which  pu.-pofe  there  are  many  ftrong  and 
beautiful  pafikges  fcattered  occafionaily 
through  every  part  of  his  works. 

"  ri  he  true  law,"  fays  he,  "  is  right 
"  reafon,  conformable'  to  the  nature  cf 
"  things; conflsnt, eternal, diffufed through 
"  all ;  which  calls  us  to  duty  by  command- 
"  ing;  deters  us  from  fin  by  forbidding; 
'*  which  never  lefes  its  influence  with  the 
"  good,  nor  ever  preferves  it  with  the 
"  wicked.  This  cannot  pofhbly  be  over- 
*'  ruled  by  any  other  law,  nor  abrogated 
"  in  the  whole,  or  in  part :  nor  can  we  be 
"  abfolved  from  it  either  by  the  ienate  or 
"  the  people ;  nor  are  we  to  feek  any 
"  other  comment  or  interpreter  of  it  but 
"  itfelf :  nor  can  there  be  one  law  at 
"  Rome,  another  at  Athens ;  one  now, 
"  another  hereafter ;  but  the   fame  eter- 


could  teach  us  that  moil  important  of  all 
lefibns,faid  to  beprefcribed  by  the  Pythian 
oracle,  to  know  ourselves;  that  is, 
to  know  our  true  nature  and  rank  in  the 
oniverfal  fyilem,  the  relation  that  we  bear 
to  all  other  things,  and  the  pwpofes  for 
which  we  were  fent  into  the  world. 
"  When  -a  man,"  fays  he,  "  has  a'tten- 
''  tively  furveyed  the  heavens,  the  earth, 
"  the  fea,  and  all  things  in  them,  ob- 
"  ferved  whence  they  fprung,  and  whither 
"  they  all  tend ;  when  and  how  they  are 
"  to  end  ;  what  part  is  mortal  and  perilh- 
'.'  able,  what  divine  and  eternal:  when  he 
"  has  almofl  reached  and  touched,  as  it 
"  were,  the  Governor  and  Ruler  of  them 
"  all,  and  difcovered  himfelf  not  to  be 
"  confined  to  the  walls  of  any  certain 
"  place,  but  a  citizen  of  the  world,  as  of 
"  one  common  city ;  in  this  magnificent 
"  view  of  things,  in  this  enlarged  pro- 
'"  fpedt  and  knowledge  of  nature,  good 
"  gods  !  how  will"  he  learn  to  knovj  him- 
"  [elf?  How  will  he  contemn,  defpife,  and 
"  let  at  nought  all  thofe  things  which 
"  the  vulgar  eiteem  the  moil  fplendid  and 
"  glorious  ?" 

Thefe  were  the  principles  on  which  Ci- 
cero built  his  religion  and  morality,  which 
fhine  indeed  through  ail  his  writings  but 
were  largely  and  explicitly  iiluilrated  by 
him  in  his  Treatife's  on  Government  and  on- 
Laws  ;  to  which  he  added  afterwards  his 
book  of  Offices,  to  make  the  fcheme  com- 
plete:  volumes  which,  as  the  elder  Pliny 
fays  to  the  emperor  Titus,  ought  not  only 
to  be  read,  but  to  be  got  by  heart.  The 
firftand  greateil  of  thele  works  is  loft,  ex- 
cept a  few  fragment?,  in  which  he  had 
delivered  his  real  thoughts  fo  profeffedly, 
that  in  a  letter  to  Attic  us,  he  calls  thefe 
fix.  books  on  the  republic,  fo  many  fledges 
given  to  his  country  for  the  integrity  of  ins 
life;  from  which,  if  ever  hefwerved,  he 
could  never  have  the  face  to  hoi:  into  them 


723 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


again.  In  hi3  book  of  Laws,  he  purfued 
the  fame  argument,  and  deduced  the  ori- 
gin of  law  from  the  will  of  the  fupreme 
God.  Thefe  two  pieces  therefore  contain 
his  belief,  and  the  book  of  Of  ices  his  prac- 
tice: where  he  has  traced  cut  all  the  du- 
ties of  man,  or  a  rule  of  life  conformable 
to  the  divine  principles,  which  he  had 
eftablifhed  in  the  other  two ;  to  which  he 
often  refers,  as  to  the  foundation  of  his 
whole  fyflem.  This  work  was  one  of  the 
lafl  that  he  finifhed,  for  the  ufe  of  his  fori, 
to  whom  he  addreffed  it;  being  defirous, 
in  the  decline  of  a  glorious  life,  to  explain 
to  him  the  maxims  by  which  he  had  go- 


commentators  take  them  to  mean  nothing 
more,  and  that  death  is  the  end  of  all  things 
here  below,  and  without  any  farther  finfe  of 
what  is  done  upon  earth;  yet  fhould  they 
be  underitood  to  relate,  as  perhaps  they 
may,  to  an  utter  extinction  cf  our  being  ; 
it  muft  be  obferved,  that  he  was  writing 
in  all  probability  to  Epicureans,  and  ac- 
commodating his  arguments  to  the  men; 
by  offering  fuch  topics  of  comfort  to  them 
from  their  own  philofophy,  as  they  them- 
felves  held  to  be  the  mofl  effectual.  But 
if  this  alfo  fliould  feem  precarious,  we 
mufl  remember  always,  that  Cicero  <was  an 
academic;  and  though  ha  believed  a  future 


verned  it,  and  teach  him  the  way  of  paf-    fate,  was  fond  of  the  opinion,  and  declares 


iing  through  the  world  with  innocence, 
virtue,  and  true  glory,  to  an  immortality 
ofhappjnefs:  where  the  ftriclnefs  of  his 
inora's,  adapted  to  all  the  various  cafes  and 
circumfrances  of  human  life,  will  ferve, 
if  not  to  inflrucl,  yet  to  reproach  the  prac- 
tice of  moft  ChfjfKans.  This  was  that 
law,  which  is  mentioned  by  St.  Paul,  to  be 
taught  by  nature,  and  written  en  the  hearts 
of  the  Gentiles,  to  guide  them  through  that 
itate  of  ignorance  and  darknef ,  of  which 
they  themfelvescomplained,tiilthey  fhould 
be  bleffed  with  a  more  perfect  revelation 
cf  the  divine  will;  and  this  fcheme  of  it 
profeffed  by  Cicero,  was  certainly  the  moil 
complete  that  the  Gentile  world  had  ever 
neen  acquainted  with;  the  utmoil  effort 
that  human  nature  could  make  towards 
attaining  its  proper  end,  or  that  fupreme 
good  for  which  the  Creator  had  designed 
it :  upon  the  contemplation  of  which 
fublime  truhs,  as  delivered  by  a  hea- 
tnen,  Erafmus  could  not  help  perfuading 
himielf,  that  the  breaji  from  which  they 
fanned,  mufl  needs  ha-ve  been  infpircd  by  the 
Deity. 

But  afte*  all  thefe  glorious  fentiments 
that  we  hive  been  afcribing  to  Cicero, 
and  collecting  from  his  writings,  fome 
have  been  apt  to  confider  them  as  the 
flourifh.es  ra  her  of  his  eloquence,  than  the 
cor.clufions  of  his  reafon,  fir.ee  in  other 
parts  of  his  works  he  feerhs  to  intimate 
rot  only  a  dilfidence,  but  a  difbelief  of  (be 


himfelf  refoived  never  to  part  with  it ; 
yet  he  believed  it  as  probable  only,  not  as 
certain  ;  and  as  probability  implies  fome 
mixture  of  doubt,  and  admits  the  degrees 
of  more  and  lefs,  fo  it  admits  alfo  fome 
variety  in  the  {lability  of  our  perfuafion : 
thus,  in  a  melancholy  hour,  when  his 
fpirits  were  depreffed,  the  fame  argument 
will  not  appear  to  him  with  the  fame  force  ; 
but  doubts  and  difficulties  get  the  afcend- 
ant,  and  what  humoured  his  prefent  cha- 
grin, find  the  readied  admiffion. 

The  pafTages  alledged  were  all  of  this 
kind,  and  written  in  the  feafon  of  his  de- 
jeclion,  when  all  things  were  going  with 
him,  in  the  height  of  Cacfar's  power  j 
and  though  we  allow  them  to  have  all  the 
force  that  they  can  poiiibly  bear,  and  to 
exprefs  what  Cicero  really  meant  at  that 
time  ;  yet  they  yrove  at  lail  nothing  more, 
than  that,  agreeably  to  the  characters  and 
principles  of  the  Academy,  he  fometimes 
doubted  of  what  he  generally  believed. 
But,  after  all,  whatever  be  the  fenfe  of 
them,  it  cannot  furely  be  thought  reafon- 
able  to  oppofe  a  few  fcattered  hints,  ac- 
cidentally thrown  out,  when  he  was  not 
conhdering  the  fubjecl,  to  the  volumes  that 
he  had  deliberately  written  on  the  other 
fide  of  the  quefiion. 

As  to  his  political  condudl,  no  man  was 
ever  a  more  determined  patriot,  or  a  warm- 
er lover  of  his  country  than  he  :  his  whole 
character,  natural  temper,  choice  of  life 
mwortdlity  of  the  foul,  and  a  future  fate  of    and  principles,  made  its  true  interefl  infe- 

parable  from  his  own.  His  general  view, 
therefore,  was  always  one  and  the  fame ; 
to  fuppert  the  peace  and  liberty  of  the  re- 
public in  that  form  and  conftitution  of  it, 
which  their  anceilors  had  delivered  down 
to  them.  Ho  looked  upon  that  as  the  only 
foundation  on  which  it  could  be  fupported, 
and  afed  to  quote  a  v^rk  of  old  Ennius, 

as 


■  Ira's  and  punifhments ;  and  efpecial'y  in 
hi.-i  lettejs,  where  he  is  fuppofed  to  de- 
c\  re  }.'<-  mind  with  the  greateA  franknefs. 
>  .  ■  ail  the  pafiages  brought  to  fupport 
fcdlion,  where  he  is  imagined  to 
i  :'ealh  as  the  end  cf  all  things  to 
man,   :     they  arc  aadrefied  to  friends  in 


> 


iv  of  coni.oiation  ;   so  Ionic 


BOOK    III.     ORATIONS,     CHARACTERS,    &c. 


7*9 


as  the  di&ate  of  an  oracle,  which  derived 
all  the  glory  of  Rome  from  an  adherence 
to  its  ancient  manners  and  difcipliiie. 


Moribus  autiquis.  flat  yes  Romana  viriftjue. 
Fra^m.  ile  Rtpub.  1 


5- 


It  i's  one  of  his  maxims,  which  he  incul- 
cates in  his  writings,  that  as  the  end  of  a 
pilot  is  a  pro/per cus  'voyage  ;  of  a  phyfician, 
the  health  of  his  patient;  of  a  general, -vic- 
tory ;  Jo  that  of  a  ftaiennan  is,  to  make  his 
citizens  happy,  to  make  them  jirm  in  power, 
rich  in  wealth,  jplendid  in  glory,  eminent 
in  virtue,  ivhich  he  declares  to  be  the  great  - 
eft  and  he/'/  of  all  --marks  among  men :  and 
.as  this  cannot  be  effected  but  ky  the  concord 
and  harmony  of  the  coriftituem  members 
of  a  city ;  fo  it  was  his  conftant  aim  to 
ur.ite  the  different  orders  of  the  Hate  into 
one  common  intereit,  and  to  infpire  them 
with  a  mutual  confidence  in  each  other ; 
fo  as  to  balance  the  fupremacy  of  the 
people  by  the  authority  of  the  fenate;  that 
the  one  Jhauld  enaQ,  but  the  other  adi'ije ; 
the  one  have  the  laji  refort,  the  other  the 
chief  influence.  This  was  the  old  conftitu- 
tion  of  Rome,  by  which  it  had  been  raifed 
to  all  its  grandeur;  whilft  all  its  misfortunes 
were  owing  to  the  contrary  principle  of 
diftrull  and  diffenfton  between  thefe  two 
rival  powers :  it  was  the  great  object, 
therefore,  of  his,  policy,  to  throw  the  af- 
cendant  in  all  affairs  in/a  the  hands  cf  the 
jenatc  and  the  magift  rates,  as  far  as  it  was 
coniiitent  with  the  rights  and  liberties  of 
the  people ;  which  will  always  be  the  s>e- 
r.eral  view  of  the  wife  and  honeft  in  all  po- 
pular governments. 

This  was  the  principle  which  he  efpou- 
fed  from  the  beginning,  and  purfued  to 
the  end  of  his  life  :  and  though  in  fome 
pafiages  of  his  hiltory,  he  may  be  thought 
perhaps  to  have  deviated  from  it,  yet  up- 
on an  impartial  view  of  the  cafe,  we  fliall 
find  that  his  end  was  always  the  fame, 
though  he  had  changed  his  meafures  of 
purfuing  it,  when  compelled  to  it  by  the 
violence  of  the  times,  and  an  over-ruling 
force,  and  a  neceffary  regard  to  his  own 
fafety  :  fo  that  he  might  fay  with  great 
truth,  what  an  Athenian  orator  once  faid 
in  excufe  of  his  inconfiancy;  that  he  had 
acled  indeed  on  fome  cccafions  contrary  to  him- 
felf,  hut  never  to  the  republic :  and  here 
alio  his  academic  philofophy  feems  to  have 
fhewed  its  fuperior  ufe  in  practical  as  well 
lis  in  fpeculative  life,  by  indulging  that 
liberty  of  acting  which  nature  and  reafon 
require ;  and  when  the  times  and  things 


themfelves  are  changed,  allowing  a  change 
of  conduct,  and  a  recourfe  to  new  means 
for  the  attaintment  of  the  fame  end. 

The  three  fits,  which  at  this  time  chief- 
ly engrofi'edthe  philosophical  partofRome, 
were  the  Stoic,  the  Epicurean,  and  the  Aca- 
demic; and  the  chief  ornaments  of  each 
were,  Cato,  Atticus,  and  Cicero,  who  lived 
together  in  Uriel  friendfhip,  and  a  mutual 
efieem  of  each    other's    virtue;    but  the 
different  behaviour  of  thefe  three,  will  fhevv 
by  fail  and  example,   the  different  merit 
of  their  feveral  principles,  and   which  of 
them  was  the  beft  adapted  to  promote  the 
good   of  fociety.     The    Stoics    were    the 
bigots  or  enlhufafs  in  philofophy,  who  held 
none  to    be    truly  wife    but  themfelves ; 
placed   perfecl  happinefs  in  <virtue,   though 
ft ripped  of  ev»ry    other  good;    affirmed  all 
ftns  to  be  equal ;  all  deviations  from   right 
equally  wicked ;  to  kill  a  dunghill-cock  with- 
out reafon,  the  fame  crime  as  to  kill  a  parent ; 
a  wife  man  could  never  forgive,  never  be 
moved  by  anger,  favour  or  pity  ;  never  be 
deceived;    never    repent;    never  change 
his  mind.     With  thefe  principles  Cato  en- 
tered into  public  life,  and  adted  in  it,  as 
Cicero  f?.y\,  as  if  he  had  lived  in  the  po- 
lity of  Plato,  not  in   the  dregs  of  Romu- 
lus.    He  made  no  diitindtion  of  times  or 
things ;  no  .diowance  for  the  weaknefs  of 
the  republic,  and  the  power  of  thofe  who 
oppreffed  it:  it  was  his  maxim  to  combat 
all  power,  not  built  upon  the  laws,  or  to 
defy  it  at  leaft  if  he  could  not  controul  it: 
he  knew  no  way  to  this  end  but  the  direct, 
and  whatever  obftructions  he  met  with,  re- 
folved  itill  to  pufh  on,  and  either  furmount 
them  or  perifh  in  the  attempt ;  taking  it  for 
bafeneis  and  confeffion  of  being  conquered, 
to  decline  a  title  from  the  true  road,     in 
an  age,  therefore,  of  the  utmoft  libertin- 
ifm,  when  the  public  difcipline  was  loft* 
and  the  government  itfetf   tottering,    he 
ftruggled  with '  the  fame  zeal  againft  all 
corruption,  and    waged    a  perpetual  war 
with  a  fuperior  force ;  whilft  the  rigour  of 
his   principles    tended   rather    to  alienate 
friends,  than  reconcile  enemies;    and  bv 
provoking  the  power    that  he  could  not 
fubdue,  helped  to  haiku  that  ruin  which 
he  was  ftnvir.g  to  avert ;  fo  that  after  a 
perpetual  courie  of  difapp&intrr.ents  and 
repulfcs,  finding   himfelf  unable  to  purfue 
his  own  way  any  farther,  iniiead  of  taking 
a  new  one,  he    was    driven    by  his  phi- 
lofophy to  put  an  end  to  his  life. 

But  as  the  btoics  exalted  hum3n  nature 
too  high,  fo  the  Epicureans  dcprefled  it 

too 


n° 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


too  low  ;  as  thofe  raifed  to  the  heroic,  thefe 
debafed  it  to  the  brutal  ftate ;  they  held 
pleafure  to  be  the  chief  good  of  a  man  ;  death 
the  extinction  of  his  being ;  and  placed 
their  happinefs  coniequently  in  the  fecure 
enjoyment  of  a  pleaSurable  life,  esteeming 
virtue  en  no  other  account,  than  as  it  was 
s.  hand-maid  to  pleasure ;  and  helped  to 
infure  the  poffefiion  of  it,  by  preserving 
health  and  conciliating  friends.  Their  wife 
man  had  therefore  no  other  duty,  but  to 
provide  for  his  own  eafe  ;  to  decline  all 
Struggles ;  to  retire  from  ■  public  affairs, 
and  to  imitate  the  life  of  their  gods ;  by 
paifing  his  days  in  a  calm,  contemplative, 
nndifturbed  repefe ;  in  the  midft  of  rural 
fhades  and  pleafant  gardens.  This  was 
the  Scheme  that  Atticus  followed  :  he  had 
all  the  talents  that  could  qualify  a  man  ro 
be  uSeful  to  Society  ;  great  parts,  learning, 
judgment,  candour,  benevolence,  genero- 
fity  j  the  fame  love  of  his  country,  and 
the  fame  Sentiments  in  politics  with  Cicero; 
whom  he  was  always  advifmg  and  urging 
to  aft,  yet  determined  never  to  act  him- 
felf ;  or  never  at  kail  fo  far  as  to  disturb 
his  eafe,  or  endanger  his  Safety.  For 
though  he  was  So  Strictly  united  with 
Cicero,  and  valued  him  above  all  men, 
yet  he  managed  an  interdl  all  the  while 
with  the  oppofite  party  faction,  and  a 
friendship  even  with  his  mortal  enemies, 
Clcv-iius  and  Antony  ;  that  he  might  Secure 
againft  all  events  the  grand  point  which 
he  had  in  view,  the  peace  and  tranquillity 
of  his  life. 

Thus  two  excellent  men  by  their  mif- 
taken  notion  of  virtue,  drawn  from  the 
principles  of  their  philofophy,  were  made 
ofelefs  in  a  manner  to  their  country,  each 
In  a  different  extreme  of  life ;  the  one  al- 
ways acting  and  'expofing  himfelf  to  dan- 
gers, without  the  profpect  of  doing  good  ; 
the  other  without  attempting  to  do  any, 
refolving  never  to  act  at  all.  Cicero  chofe 
the  middle  way  between  the  obftihacy  of 
Cato,  and  the  indolence  of  Atticus  :  he 
preferred  always  the  readied  road  to  what 
was  right,  if  it  lay  open  to  him  :  if  not, 
took  the  next;  and  in  politics  as  in  morality, 
when  he  could,  not  arrive  at  the  true,  con- 
tented himfelf  with  the  probable.  He 
often  compares  the  jiatefnan  to  the  pilot, 
whole  art  confifts  in  managing  every  turn 
of  the  winds,  and  applying  even  the  molt 
perverfe  to  the  progreSs  of  his  voyage; 
So  that  by  changing  his  courSe,  and  en- 
larging  his  circuit  of  Sailing,  to  arrive  with 
Safety  at  his  defUned  port.     He  mentions 


likewife  an  obferyation,  which  long  expe- 
rience had  confirmed  to  him,  that  none  of 
the  popular  a?id  ambitious,  who  afpired  to  ex- 
traordinary commands,  and  to  be  leaders  jn 
the  republic,  ever  chofe  to  obtain  their  ends 
from  the  people,  iill  they  had  fir f  been  repidfed 
by  the  fenate.  This  was  verified  by  all 
their  civil  diffcnfions,  from  the  Gracchi- 
down  to  C.x-far  :  fo  that  when  he  faw  men 
cf  this  Spirit  at  the  head  of  the  govern- 
ment, who.  by  the  Splendor  of  their  lives 
and  actions  had  acquired  an  afcendant 
over  the  populace  ;  it  was  his  conftant  ad- 
vice to  the  fenate,  to  gain  them  by  gentle 
compliances,  and  to  gratify  their  thUSt  for 
power  by  a  voluntary  grant  of  it,  as  the 
belt  way  to  moderate  their  ambition,  and 
reclaim  them  from  defperate  counfels. 
He  declared  contention  to  be  710  longer  pru- 
dent, than  while  it  either  did  fervice,  or  at 
leaf  not  hurt ;  but  when  faction  was  grown 
too  Strong  to  be  withstood,  that  it  was  time 
to  give  over  righting,  and  nothing  left  but 
to  ex  trad  fome  good  out  cf  the  ill,  by  mi- 
tigating that  power  by  patience,  which 
they  could  not  reduce  by  force,  and  con- 
ciliating it,  if  pofllbie,  to  the  intereft  of 
the  ftate.'  This  was  what  he  adviSed,  and 
what  he  practiSed;  and  it  will  account,  in 
a  great  mcaSure,  for  thofe  paits  of  his 
conduct  which  are  the  molt  liable  to  ex- 
ception, on  the  account  cf  that  compla- 
cence, which  he  is  fuppofed  to  have  paid, 
at  different  times,  to  the  Several  uSurpers 
cf  illegal  power. 

He  made  a  juit  distinction  between  bear- 
ing what  we  cannot  help,  and  approving 
what  we  ought  to  condemn ;  and  lubmitted 
therefore,  yet  never  conferred  to  thofe 
ufurpatiens ;  and  when  he  was  forced  to 
comply  with  them,  did  it  always  with  a 
reluctance,  that  lie  expreffed  very  keenly 
in  his  letters  to  his  friends.  But  whenever 
that  force  was  removed,  and  he  was  at 
liberty  to  purSue  his  principles  and  act 
without  controul,  as  in  his  confuljhip,  in  his 
province,  and  after  Caefar's  death,  the  only 
periods  of ! his  life  in  which  he  was  truly 
mailer  of  himfelf;  there  we  See  him  Shin- 
ing out  in  his  genuine  character,  of  an  ex- 
cellent citizen;  a  great  magiitrate;  a  glo- 
rious patriot :  there  we  See  the  man  who 
could  declare  of  himfelf  with  truth,  in  an 
appeal  to  Attieus,  as  to  the  belt,  witnefs  of 
his  confeience,  that  he  had  always  done  the 
greateji  fervice  to  his  country,  when  it  was 
in  his  pov.  er ;  or  when  it  was  not,  had  ne- 
ver harboured  a  thought  of  it,  but  what  was 
divine,     if  we  mult  needs  compare  him 

therefore 


BOOK   III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    ice. 


731 


therefore  with  Cato,  as  fome  writers  affect 
to  do;  it  is  certain,  that  if  Cato's  virtue 
feems  more  fplendid  in  theory,  Cicero's 
will  be  found  Superior  in  practice ;  the  one 
was  romantic,  the  other  rational ;  the  one 
drawn  from  the  refinements  of  the  fchools, 
the  other  from  nature  and  fecial  life  ;  the 
one  always  unfuccefsful,  often  hurtful ;  the 
other  always  beneficial,  often  falutary  to 
the  republic. 

To  conclude ;  Cicero's  death,  though 
violent,  cannot  be  called  untimely  :  but 
was  the  proper  end  6*f  fuch  a  life,  which 
muft  have  been  rendered  lefs  glorious,  if  it 
had  owed  ils  prefervation  to  Antony.  It  was 
therefore  what  he  not  only  expected,  but 
in  the  circumstances  to  which  he  was  re- 
duced, what  he  feems  even  to  have  wifhed. 
For  he,  who  had  before  been  timid  in  dan- 
gers and  defponding  in  diflrefs,  yet  from  the 
time  of  Caeiar's  death,  roufed  by  the  de- 
Jperate  Jlatc  of  ike  republic,  aSTumed  the  for- 
titude of  a  hero  :  difcarded  all  fear ;  de- 
fpifed  all  danger  ;  and  when  he  could  not 
free  his  country  from  a  tyranny,  provoked 
the  tyrants  to  take  that  life,  which  he  no 
longer  cared  to  preferve.  Thus,  like  a  great 
actor  on  the  itage,  he  referved  hiinfelf  as 
it  were  for  the  lair,  aft  ;  and  after  he  had 
played  his  part  with  dignity,  refolved  to 
iinifh  it  with  glory.     Middleton's  Cicero. 

§  39.  The  charaSer  c/Mahtix  Luther* 

While  appearances  of  danger  daily  in- 
creased, and  the  ternpelt  which  had  been 
fo  long  a-gathering,  was  ready  to  break 
forth  in  all  its  violence  againftthe  proteft- 
ant  church,  Luther  was  faved  by  a  feafon- 
able  death,  from  feeling  or  beholding  its 
destructive  rage.  Having  gone,  though 
in  a  declining  State  of  health,  and  during  a 
rigorous  feafon,  to  his  native  city  of  Eiile- 
ben,  in  order  to  compof?,  by  his  authority, 
a  difienfion  among  the  counts  of  Manf- 
field,  he  was  feized  with  a  violent  inflam- 
mation in  his  itomach,  which  in  a  few 
days  put  an  end  to  his  life,  in  the  fixty- 
third  year  of  his  age. — As  he  was  railed 
up  by  Providence  to  be  the  author  of  one 
of  the  greateit  and  moit  interfiling  revo- 
lutions recorded  in  hiitory,  there  is  not 
any  perfon,  perhaps,  whole  character  has 
been  drawn  with  fuch  oppofhe  colours. 
In  his  own  age,  one. party,  itruck  with 
horror  and  inflamed  with  rage,  when  they 
faw  with  what  a  daring  hand  he  over- 
turned every  thing  which  they  held  to  be 
facred,  or  valued  as  beneficial,  imputed  to 
feipi  not  only  all  the  defects  and  vices  of  a 


man,  but  the  qualities  of  a  daemon.  The 
other,  warmed  with  admiration  and  grati- 
tude, which  they  thought  he  merited,  as 
the  reftorer  of  light  and  liberty  to  the 
Christian  church,  afcribed  to  him  perfec- 
tions above  the  condition  of  humanity,  and 
viewed  all  his  actions  with  a  veneration 
bordering  on  that  which  fhould  be  paid 
only  to  thofe  who  are  guided  by  the  imme- 
diate infpiration  of  Heaven.  It  is  his  own 
conduct,  not  the  undidinguifhing  ceniure, 
nor  the  exaggerated  praife  of  his  contem- 
poraries, which  ought  to  regulate  the  opi- 
nions of  the  prefent  age  concerning  him. 
Zeal  for  what  he  regarded  as  truti.,  un- 
daunted intrepidity  to  maintain  it,  abilities, 
both  natural  and  acquired  to  defend  it, 
and  unwearied  induflry  to  propagate  it,  are 
virtues  which  fhine  fo  confpicuoufly  in 
every  part  of  his  behav-iour,  that  even  his 
enemies  muft  allow  him  to  have  poffefTed 
them  in  an  eminent  degree.  To  thefe 
may  be  added,  with  equal  juftice,  fuch 
purity,  and  even  aufterity  of  manners,  as 
became  one  who  affumed  the  character  of 
a  reformer;  fuch  Sanctity  of  life  as  fuited 
the  doctrine  which  he  delivered  ;  and  fucli 
perfect  difmtereitednefs,  as  affords  no  flight 
prefumpticn  of  his  Sincerity,  Superior  to 
all  felfiSh  ccnfiderations,  a  Stranger  to  the 
elegancies  of  life,  and  defpifing  its  plea- 
fures,  he  left  the  honours  and  emoluments 
of  the  church  to  his  difciples  ;  remaining 
Satisfied  himfelf  in  his  original  ftate  of 
profefl'or  in  the  univerfity,  and  paSlor  to 
the  town  of  Wittemberg,  with  the  mode- 
rate appointments  annexed  to  thefe  oSEces. 
His  extraordinary  qualities  were  alloyed 
with  no  inconfiderable  mixture  of  human 
frailty,  and  human  paiTions.  Thefe,  how- 
ever,- were  of  fuch  a  nature,  that  they  can- 
not be  imputed  to  malevolence  or  corrup- 
tion of  heart,  but  feem  to  have  taken  their 
rife  from  the  fame  Source  with  many  of  his 
virtues.  His  mind,  forcible  and  vehement 
in  all  its  operations,  roufed  by  great  ob- 
jects, or  agitated  by  violent  pafiions,  broke 
out,  on  many  occasions,  with  an  impetu- 
ofity  which  aftonifhes  men  of  feebler  fpi- 
rits,  or  fuch  as  are  placed  in  a  more  tran- 
quil Situation,  By  carrying  fome  praife- 
worthy  difpofitions  to  excefs,  he  bordered 
fometimes  on  what  was  culpable,  and  wr. 
often  betraved  into  actions  which  expofed 
him  to  cenfure.  His  confidence  that  his 
own  opinions  were  well  founded,  appioach- 
ed  to  arrogance  ;  his  courage  in  afl'trting 
them,  to  rafhnefs ;  his  firmnefs^n  adhering 
to  them,  to  obfdnacy ;  and  his  zeal  in  con- 
futing 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE, 


Fating  his  adverfaries,  to  rage  and  fcurri- 
lity.  Accuftomed  himfelf  to  confider  every 
thing  as  fubordinate  to  truth,  he  expected 
the  fame  deference  for  it  from  other  men  ; 
and,  without  making  any  allowances  for 
their  timidity  or  prejudices,  he  poured 
forth,  againft  thofe  who  difappointed  him 
in  this  particular,  a  torrent  of  invective 
mingled  with  contempt.  Regardlefs  of 
any  diltinttion  of  rank  or  character,  when 
his  doctrines  were  attacked,  he  chaftifed 
all  his  adverfaries,  indifcriminately,  with 
the  fame  rough  hand ;  neither  the  royal 
dignity  of  Henry  VIII.  nor  the  eminent 
learning  and  ability  of  Erafmus,  fcreened 
them  from  the  fame  abufe  with  which  he 
treated  Tetzel  or  Ecciub. 

But  thefe  indecencies  of  which  Luther 
was  guilty,  mult  not  be  imputed  wholly 
to  the  violence  of  his  temper.  They  ought 
to  be  charged  in  part  on  the  manners  of 
the  age.  Among  a  rude  people,  unac- 
quainted with  thefe  maxims,  which,  by 
putting  continual  reilraint  on  the  paffions 
of  individuals,  have  polilhed  fociety,  and 
rendered  it  agreeable,  difputes  of  every 
kind  were  managed  with  heat,  and  ffrong 
emotions  were  uttered  in  their  natural  lan- 
guage, without  referve  or  delicacy.  At 
the  fame  time,  the  works  of  learned  men 
were  all  compofed  in  Latin ;  and  they  were 
not  only  authorifed,  by  the  example  of  emi- 
nent writers  in  that  language,  to  ufe  their 
antagonifts  with  the  moll  illiberal  fcurri- 
lity  :  but,  in  a  dead  tongue,  indecencies  of 
every  kind  appear  lefs  {hocking  than  in  a 
living  language,,  whofe  idioms  and  phrafes 
feem  grofs,  becaufe  they  are  familiar. 

In  palling  judgment  upon  the  characters 
of  men,  we  ought  to  try  them  by  the  prin- 
ciples and  maxims  of  their  own  age,  not 
by  thofe  of  another.  For  although  virtue 
and  vice  are  at  all  times  the  fame,  man- 
ners and  cuiloms  vary  continually.  Some 
parts  of  Luther's  behaviour,  which  to  us 
appear  moil  culpable,  gave  no  difguil  to 
his  contemporaries.  It  was  even  by  fome 
of  thoie  qualities  which  we  are  now  apt  to 
blame,  that  he  was  fitted  for  accomplish- 
ing the  ereat  work  which  he  undertook. 
... 

To  roufe  mankind,  when  funk  in  ignorance 
or  fuperftition,  and  to  encounter  the  rage 
of  bigotry,  armed  with  power,  required 
tii"?  utmoft  vehemence  of  zeal,  and  a  tem- 
per daring  to  excefc.  A  gentle  call  would 
neither  have  reached,  nor  have  excited 
thofe  to  whom  it  was  addrefTed.  A  fpirit, 
more  amiabl  •,  hut  lefs  vigorous  than  Lu- 
■    ■-'     wculi  '.avc  Sirai  k  back  from  the 


dangers  which  he  braved  and  funnounted. 
Towards  the  clofe  of  Luther's  life,  though 
without;  a  perceptible  declenfion  of  his  zeal 
or  abilities,  the  infirmities  of  his  temper 
increafed  upon  him,  fo  that  he  daily  grew 
more  peevifh,  more  irafcible,  and  more 
impatient  of  contradiction.  Having  lived 
to  be  witnefs  of  his  own  amazing  fuccefs ; 
to  fee  a  great  part  of  Europe  embrace  his 
doctrines ;  and  to  fiiake  the  foundation  or 
the  Papal  throne,  before  which  the  mighti- 
er! monarchs  had  trembled,  he  difcovered, 
on  fome  occafions,  fymptoms  of  vanity  and 
felf-applaufe.  He  mull  have  been  indeed 
more  than  man,  if,  upon  contemplating  all 
that  he  actually  accompliihed,  he  had  ne- 
ver felt  any  fentiment  of  this  kind  rifing 
in  his  breail. 

Some  time  before  his  death  he  felt  his 
(Length  declining,  his  conititution  being- 
worn  out  by  a  prodigious  multiplicity  of 
bufinefs,  added  to  the  labour  of  diicharging. 
his  minilteria!  function  with  unremitting 
diligence,  to  the  fatigue  of  conflant  ftudv, 
befides  the  compofition  of  works  as  volu- 
minous as  if  he  had  enjoyed  uninterrupted 
leifure  and  retirement.  His  natural  intre- 
pidity did  not  forfake  him  at  the  approach 
of  death  :  his  lafl:  converfation  with  his 
friends  was  concerning  the  happinefs  re- 
icrved  for  good  men  in  a  future  world,  of 
which  he  fpoke  with  the  fervour  and  de- 
light natural  to  one  who  expected  and 
wifhed  to  enter  foon  upon  the  enjoyment 
of  if.  The  account  of  his  death  filled  the 
Roman  Catholic  party  with  exceffive  as 
well  as  indecent  joy,  and  damped  the 
fpirits  of  all  his  followers ;  neither  party 
iuihciently  confidering  that  his  doctrines 
were  now  fo  firmly  rooted,  as  to  be  in  a 
condition  to  flourifh,  independent  of  the 
hand  which  firit  had  planted  them.  His 
funeral  was  celebrated  by  order  of  the 
Elector  of  Saxony,  with  extraordinary 
pomp.  He  left  feveral  children  by  his 
wife,  Catharine  Bore,  who  furvived  him  : 
towards  the  end  of  the  laft  century,  there 
were  in  Saxony  fome  of  hisdefcendants  in- 
decent and  honourable  Rations. 

Robert/on, 

%  40.     Characi.er    of  Alfred,    King   cf 

England. 

The  merit  of  this  prince,  both  in  private 
and  public  life,  may  with  advantage  be 
fet  in  oppofition  to  that  of  any  monarch 
or  citizen  which  the  annals  of  any  age  cr 
an;/  nation  can  present  to  us.  He  ieems, 
indeed,  to  be  the  complete  model  of  that 

perfect 


BOOK    III.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    Sec. 


733 


perfect  character,  which,  under  the  deno- 
mination of  a  fage  or  wife  man,  the  phi- 
lofophers  have  been  fond  of  delineating, 
rather  as  a  ■•fiction  of  their  imagination, 
than  in  hopes  of  ever  feeing  it  reduced  to 
practice  :  fo  happily  were  all  his  virtues 
tempered  together,  fo  juftly  were  they 
blendeo,  and  fo  powerfully  did  each  pre- 
vent the  other  from  exceeding  its  proper 
bounds.  He  knew  how  to  conciliate  the 
moll  enterprifmg  fpirit  with  the  cooleil 
moderation ;  the  moll  obftinate  perfever- 
ance  with  the  eaficit  flexibility  ;  the  moit 
fevere  juitiee  with  the  greatelt  lenity  ;  the 
greatelt  rigour  in  command  with  the 
greater!  affability  of  deportment ; ;  the 
highelt  capacity  and  inclinationfor  fcience, 
with  the  moit  fhining  talents  for  action. 
Mis  civil  and  his  military  virtues  are  al- 
moil  equally  the  objects  of  our  admiration, 
excepting  only,  that  the  former,  being 
more  rare  among  princes,  as  well  as  more 
ufeful,  feem  chiefly  to  challenge  our  ap- 
plaufe.  Nature  alio,  as  if  defirous  that  fo 
bright  a  production  of  her  {kill  Ihould  be 
fet  in  the  faireft  light,  had  bellowed  on 
him  all  bodily  a^complifhments,  vigour  of 
limbs,  dignity  of  fhape  and.  air,  and  a 
p!eafant,  engaging,  and  open  counte- 
nance. Fortune  alone,  by  throwing  him 
into  that  barbarcus  age,  deprived  him  of 
hillorians  worthy  to  tranfmit  his  fame  to 
poftcrity;  and  we  wifh  to  fee  him  delineated 
in  more  lively  colours,  and  with  more  par- 
ticular ftrokes,  that  we  may  at  leaft  per- 
ceive fome  of  thofe  fmall  fpecks  and  ble- 
mifhes,  from  which,  as  a  man,  it  is  im- 
poffible  he  could  be  entirely  exempted. 

Hume. 

§  41.     Another  ChwaSicr.  of  Alfred. 
Alfred,    that    he  might  be  the    better 
able  to  extend  his  charity  and  munificence, 
regulated  his  finances  with  the  moll  perfect 
ceconomy,  and  divided  his  revenues  into 
a   certain  number  of  parts,  which  he  ap- 
propriated, to  the  different  expences  of  the 
,  itate,  and  .the  exercife  of  his  owa  private 
liberality  and  devotion ;  nor  was  he  a  lefs 
.  ceconomill  in  the  diilribution  of  his  time, 
which  he  divided  into  three  equal  portions, 
.  allotting  one  to  fieep,  meals,  and  exercife  ; 
and  devoting  the  other  two   to   writing, 
reading;  bufmefs,  and  prayer.    That  this 
divifion  might  not   be    encroached  upon 
inadvertently,  he  meafured  them  by  tapers 
of  an  equal  lize,  which  he  kept  continually 
burning   before  the  fhrines  of  relics.     Al- 
fred .  fcemed   to  be  a  geftiiss  felf-taught, 
Avincii  contrived  and  comprehended  every 


thing  that  could  contribute  to  the  fecuritv 
of  his  kingdom.  He  was  author  of  that 
inellimable  privilege,  peculiar  to  the  fub- 
jects  of  this  nation,  which  confills  in  their 
being  tried  by  their  peers ;  for  he  firft 
inllituted  juries,  or  at  leaft  improved  upon 
an  old  inllitution,  by  fpecifying  the  num- 
ber and  qualifications  of  jurymen,  and 
extending  their  power  to  trials  of  property 
as  well  as  criminal  indictments  i  but  no 
regulation  redounded  more  to  his  honour 
and  the  advantage  of  his  kingdom,  than 
the  meafures  he  took  to  prevent  rapine, 
murder,  and  other  outrages,  which  had  fo 
long  been  committed  with  impunity,  His 
attention  Hooped  even  to  the  meanefl  cir- 
cumltances  of  his  people's  conveniency. 
He  introduced  the  art  of  brick-making, 
and  built  his  own  houfes  of  thofe  materials ; 
which  being  much  more  durable  and  fecure 
from  accidents  than  timber,  his  example 
was  followed  by  his  fubjects  in  general, 
He  was,  doubtlefs,  an  obiedt  of  moll  per- 
fect elteem  and  admiration  ;  for,  exclusive 
of  the  qualities  which  diilinguilhed  him  as 
a  warrior  and  legiflator,  his  perfonal  cha- 
racter was  amiable  in  every  refpect.  Died 
897,  aged  52.  Smollett. 

§   4.2.     Char  after   of  William     the 
Conqueror. 

Few  princes  have  been  more  fortunate 
than  this  great  monarch,  or  were  better 
entitled^  to  profperity  and  grandeur  for 
the  abilities  and  vigour  of  mind  which  he 
difplayed  in  all  his  conduct.  His  fpirii; 
was  bold  and  enterprifmg,  yet  guided  by 
prudence.  His  ambition,  which  was  ex- 
orbitant, and  lay  little  under  the  reftraints 
of  juftice,  and  {till  lefs  under  thofe  of  hu- 
manity, ever  fubraitted  to  the  dictates  of 
reafon  and  found  policy.  Born  in  an 
age  when  the  minds  of  men  were  intrac- 
table and  unacquainted  with  fubmifiion, 
he  was  yet  able  to  direct  them  to  his  pur- 
pofes  ;  and,  partly  from  the  afcendant  of 
his  vehement  difpofition,  partly  from  art 
and  diiliirmlation,  to  eftablifh  an  unlimited 
monarchy.  Though  not  infenfiblc  to 
generoJity,  he  was  hardened'  again  ft  com- 
panion, and  feenied  equally  oilentatious 
and  ambitious  of  eclat  in  his  clemency 
and  Ms  feverity.  The  maxims  of  his  ad- 
miniflration  were  fevere;  but  might  have 
been  ufeful,  had  they  been  folely  employed 
in  preferving  order  in  ah  eftabliftied  go- 
vernment ;  they  were  ill  calculated  for 
fpftening  the  rigours  which  under 'the  moit 
gejitle  management  are  infeparable  from, 
conquefl.     His    attempt   againil  England 


734- 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


was  the  laft  enterprize  of  the  kind,  which, 
during  the  courSe  of  feven  hundred  years, 
had  fully  Succeeded  in  Europe  ;  and  the 
greatnefs  of  his  genius  broke  through 
thole  limits,  which  fir  ft  the  feudal  inltitu- 
tions,  then  the  refined  policy  of  princes, 
have  fixed  on  the  feveral  ltates  of  Chrif- 
tendom.  Thougn  he  rendered  himielf  in- 
finitely odious  to  his  Englifti  Subjects,  he 
tranfinitted  his  power  to  his  pofterity,  and 
the  throne  is  ftill  filled  by  his  defcendaots ; 
a  proof  that  the  foundation  which  he  laid 
was  firm  and  folid,  and  that  amongft  all 
his  violences,  while  he  feemed  only  to  gra- 
tify the  prefent  paffion,  he  had  ftill  an  eye 
towards  futurity.  Died  Sept.  9,  10S7, 
aged  63*.  Hume. 

%  43.  Another  Char  after  of  William 
the  Conqueror. 
From  the  tranfadYions  of  William's  reign, 
he  appears  to  have  been  a  prince  of  great 
courage,  capacity,  and  ambition ;  politic, 
cruel, vindictive,  and  rapacious;  fternand 
haughty  in  his  deportment,  referved  and 
jealous  in  his  difpofition,  He  was  fond 
of  glory ;  and,  though  parumonious  in 
his  houfehold,  delighted  much  in  often- 
tation.  Though  fudden  and  impetuous 
in  his  enterprises,  he  was  cool,  deliberate, 
and  indefatigable,  in  times  of  danger  and 
difficulty.  His  afpect  was  nobly  fevere 
and  imperious,  his  ftature  tall  and  portly : 
his  conftitution  robuft,  and  the  compo- 
fition  of  his  bones  and  mufcles  ftrong: 
there  was  hardly  a  man  of  that  age,  who 
could  bend  his  bow,  or  handle  his  arms. 

Smollett. 

*§  43.     Another  Char  after  of  William 
the  Conqueror. 

The  character  of  this  prince  has  feklom 
been  fet  in  its  true  light;  Some  eminent 
writers  having  been  dazzled  fo  much  by 
the  more  lhining  parts-  of  it,  that  they 
have  hardly  feen  his  faults  ;  while  others, 
out  of  a  ftrong  deteftation  of  tyranny, 
have  been  unwilling  to  allow  him  the 
praife  he  deserves. 

He  may  with  -juftice  be  ranked  among 
the  greateft  generals  any  age  has  pro- 
duced. There  was  united  in  him  aCfti v  ity, 
vigilance,  intrepidity,  caution,  great  force 
of  judgment,  and  never-failing  prefence 
of  mind.  He  was  drift  in  his  discipline* 
and  kept  his  foldiers  in  perfect  obedience  ; 
yet  prekrved  their  affection,  Having  been 
from  his  very  childhood  continually  in  war, 

*  Smollett  fays,  61. 


and  at  the  head  of  armies,  he  joined  to  all 
the  capacity  that  genius  could  give,  all  the 
knowledge  and  Skill  that  experience  could 
teach,  and  was  a  perfect;  mailer  of  the 
military  art,  as  it  was  practiSed  in  the 
times  wherein  he  lived.  His  conftitution 
enabled  him  to  endure  any  hardfhips,  and 
very  few  were  equal  to  him  in  perfonal 
ftrength,  which  was  an  excellence  of  more 
importance  than  it  is  now,  from  the  man- 
ner of  fighting  then  in  ufe.  It  is  faid  of 
him,  that  none  except  himfelf  could  bend 
his  bow.  His  courage  was  heroic,  and 
he  pollefled  it  not  only  in  the  field,  but 
(which  is  more  uncommon)  in  the  cabinet, 
attempting  great  things  with  means  that 
to  other  men  appeared. totally  unequal  to 
fuch  undertakings,  and  fteadily  profecnting 
what  he  had  boldly  refolved;  being  never 
disturbed  or  disheartened  by  difficulties,  in 
the  courfe  of  his  enterprizes ;  but  having 
that  noble  vigour  of  mind,  which,  initead 
of  bending  to  oppofition,  rifes  againft  it, 
and  feems  to  have  a  power  of  controlling 
and  commanding  Fortune  herfelf. 

Nor  was  he  lefs  fuperior  to  pleafure 
than  to  fear  :  no  luxury  foftened  him,  no 
riot  disordered,  r.o  floth  relaxed.  It  helped 
not  a  little  to  maintain  the  high  refpect  his 
Subjects  had  for  him,  that  the  majefty  of 
his  character  was  never  let  down  by  any 
incontinence  or  indecent  excels.  His  tem- 
perance and  his  chaility  were  conftant 
guards,  that  fecured  his  mind  from  all 
vveaknefs,  Supported  its  dignity,  and  kept 
it  always  as  it  were  on  the  throne. 
Through  his  whole  life  he  had  no  partner 
of  his  bed  but  his  queen  ;  a  moft  extra- 
ordinary virtue  in  one  who  had  lived,  even 
f-om  his  earlieft  youth,  amidftall  the  licence! 
of  camps,  the  allurements  of  a  court,  and 
the  Seductions  of  Sovereign  power  !  Had 
he- kept  ids  oaths  to  his  people  as  well  as 
no  did  his  marriage  vow,  he  would  have 
been  the  belt  of  Ling- ;  but  he  indulged 
other  pailicns  of  a  worie  nature,  and  in- 
finite!/ more  detrimental  to  the  public  than 
thofe  he  reftrairied.  A  luft  of  power,  which 
no  regard  to  juftice  could  limit,  the  moft 
unrelenting  cruelty,  and  the  molt  infatiable 
avarice,  pofieiled  his  foul.  It  is  true,  in- 
deed, that  among  many  acts  of  extreme 
i  ihu]  lanity  fome  lhining  instances  of  great 
clemency  may  be  produced,  that  were 
either  effects  of  his  policy,  which  taught 
him  this  method  of  acquiring  friends,  or 
of  his  magnanimity,  which  made  him  flight 
a  weak  and  Subdued  enemy,  fuch  as  was 
Edgar  Atheling,  in  whom  he  found  neither 
lpirit  no*  talents  able  to  contend  with  him 

tor 


"BOOK  III.    ORATIONS, 

for  the  crown.  But  where  he  had  no  ad- 
vantage nor  pride  in  forgiving,  his  nature 
discovered  itfelf  to  be  utterly  void  of  all 
fenfe  of  GOtnpaifion  ;  and  fome  barbarities 
which  he  committed,  exceeded  the  bounds 
that  even  tyrants  and  conquerors  pr.efcribe 
to  themfelves..  .  '.-;.-. 

Moil  of  our  ancient  hifrorians  give  him 
the  character  of  a  very  religious  prince; 
but  his  religion  was  after  the  falhion  of 
thofe  times,  belief  without  examination, 
and  devotion  without  piety.  It  was  a  re- 
ligion that  prompted  him  to  endow  mo- 
nasteries, and  at  the  fame  time  allowed 
him  to  pillage  kingdoms;  that  threw  him 
on  his  knees  before  a  relic  or  crofs,  but 
fuffered  him  un  re  ft  rained  to  trample  upon 
the  liberties  and  rights  of  mankind. 

As  to    his  wifdom    in  government,  of 
which  fome  modern  writers  have  fpoken 
very   highly,   he  was  indeed  fo  far  wife 
that,  through    a  long  unquiet    reign,   he 
knew  how  to  fupport  oppreffion  by  terror, 
and  employ  the  propereit  means  for  the 
carrying  on    a  very  iniquitous  and  violent 
ad  mi  niii:  ration.     But  that  which  alone  de- 
fences the  name  of  wifdom  in  the  character 
of  a  king,  the  maintaining  of  authority 
by  the  exercife  of  thofe  virtues  which  make 
the  "  happinefs   of  his  people,,  was  what, 
w;th  all  his  abilities,  he  does  not  appear  to 
have  poffeffed.     Nor  did  he  excel  in  thofe 
foothing    and   popular  arts,  which  fome- 
times  change  the  complexion  of  a  tyranny, 
and   give^    it    a  fallacious    appearance  of 
freedom.     His  government  was  harm  and 
defpotic,  violating  even  the  principles  of 
that    conflitution  which    he    hirr.felf  had 
eftablifned.     Yet  fo  fir  he  performed  the 
duty  of  a  fovereign,  that  he  took  care  to 
maintain  a  good  police  in  his  realm  ;  curb- 
ing licentioufnefs  with  a  ftrong  hand,  which, 
in  the  tumultuous  ftate  of  his  government, 
was  a  great  and  difficult  work.     How  well 
he  performed  it,  we  may  learn  even  from 
the  teilimony  of  a    contemporary   Saxon 
hiilorian,  who  fays,  that  during  his  reign 
•  a    man    might    have  travelled  in  perfect 
feeurity  all  over  the  kingdom  With  his  bo- 
fom  full  of  gold,  nor  dufft  any  kill  another 
in  .revenge   of  the  greater!  offences,  nor 
offer. violence  to  the  chaftity  of  a  woman. 
But  it  was  a  poor  compenfation,  that  the 
highways  were  fafe,  when   the  courts  of 
juftice  were    dens    of  thieves,  and  when 
AJmort  every  man  in  authority,  or  in  office, 
uk-d  his  power  to  opprefs  and  pillage  the 
people.     The  king  himfelf  did  not   only 
tolerate,  but  encourage,  fupport,  and  even 
fliare  thefc  extortions.  Though  the  erest- 


CHARACTERS,    &c.  735 

nefs.of  the  'ancient  landed  eflate  of  the 
crown,  and  the  feudal  profits  to  which  he 
legally  was  entitled,  rendered  him  one  of 
the  richeft:  monarehs  in  Europe,  he  was 
not  content  with  all  that  opulence,  but  by 
authorizing  the  fheriffs,  who  collected  his 
revenues  in  the  feveral  counties,  topractiie 
.  the  moll  grievous  vexations  and  abufes, 
for  the  raifmg  of  them  higher,  by  a  per- 
petual auction  of  the  crown  lands,  fo  that 
none  of  his  tenants  could  be  fecure  of 
poffeflion,  if  any  other  would  come  and 
offer  more  ;  by  various  iniquities  in  the 
court  of  exchequer,  which  was  entirely 
Norman;  by  forfeitures  wrongfully  taken; 
and,  laflly,  by  arbitrary  and  illegal  taxa- 
tions, he  drew  into  his  treafury  much  too 
great  a  proportion  of  the  wealth  of  his 
.kingdom. 

It  onnft  however  be  owned,  that  if  his 
avarice  was  infatiabiy  and  unjuftly  rapa- 
cious, it  was  not  meanly  parfimonious, 
nor  of  that  fordid  kind  which-  brings  on 
a  prince  dilhonour  and  contempt.  He 
fupported  the  dignity  of  his  crown  with 
a  decent  magnificence ;  and  though  he 
never  was  lavifh,  he  fometimes  was°  libe- 
ral, more  efpecially  to  his  foldiers  and  to 
the  church.  But  looking  on  money  as  a 
neceffary  means  of  maintaining  and  in- 
creafing  power,  he  defired  to  accumulate 
as  much  as  he  could,  rather,  perhaps,  from 
an  ambitious  than  a  covetous  nature;  at 
leaf!  his  avarice  was  fubfervient  to  his 
ambition,  and  .he  laid  up-  wealth  in  his 
coffers,  as  he  did  arms  in  his  magazines, 
to  be  drawn  out,  when  any  proper  occafion 
required  it,  for  the  defence  and  enlarge- 
ment of  his  dominions. 

Upon  the  whole,  he  had  many  gre.it 
qualities,  but  few  virtues ;  and  if  thofe 
actions  that  mod  particularly  diftinguilh, 
the  man  or  the  king  are  impartially  con-i 
fide  red,  we  jhall  find  that  in  his  character 
there  is  much  to  admire,  but  ftill  more  to 
abhor-  tjtteitm. 

§   45.     Tbt     Cbar.iaer    of  William 

RlJFUS. 

The  memory  of  this  monarch  is  tranf- 
mitted  to  us  with  little  advantage  by  the 
churchmen,  whom  he  had  offended.;  and 
though  we  may  fufpecl:  in  general  that 
their  account  of  his  vices  is  fomewhat 
exaggerated,  his  conduct  affords  little  rea- 
fbn  for  contradicting;  the  character  wliich 
they  have  affigned  him,  or  for  attributing 
to  him  any  very  eftimable  qualities  ;  he 
feems  to  have  been  a  violent  and  tyrannical 
prince;    a    perfidious,    encroaching,  and 

dangerous 


7  & 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


dangerous  neighbour;  an  unkind  and  un- 
generous relation.  He  was  equally  prodigal 
and  rapacious  in  the  management  of  the 
treafury  ;  and,  if  he  polleiTed  abilities,  he 
Jay  fo  much  under  the  government  of  im- 
petuous pafiions,  that  he  made  little  ufe 
•of  them  in  his  adminiftf ation ;  and  he 
indulged  intire'y-  the  domineering  policy 
which  fiuted  his  temper,  and  which,  if 
fupported,  as  it  was  in  him,  with  courage 
and  vigour,  proves  often  more  fuccefsiul 
in  diforderly  times,  than  the  deepeil  fore- 
fight  a-.d  moll  refined  artifice.  The  mo- 
numents which  remain  of  this  prince  in 
England  arc,  the  Tower,  Weftminiter-Hall, 
and  London  Bridge,  which  he  built.  Died 
Auguil  2,  i  ioo,  aged  40.  Hume. 

§  46.     Another  Character   of  William 
Rufus. 

Thus  fell  William  *,  furnamed  Rufus, 
from  his  red  hair  and  florid  complexion, 
after  he  had  lived  four-and -forty  years, 
and  reigned  near  thirteen  ;  during  which 
time  he  oppreffed  his  people  in  every  form 
of  tyranny  and  infult.  He  was  equally 
void  of  learning,  principle,  and  honour; 
haughty,  pafhonate,  and  ungrateful ;  a 
fcoffer  at  religion,  a  fcourge  to  the  clergy ; 
vain- glorious,  talkative,  rapacious,  lavish, 
and  diiTclute;  and  an  inveterate  enemy  to 
the  Englifh,  though  he  owed  his  crown  to 
their  valour  and  fidelity,  when  the  Norman 
lords  intended  to  expel  him  from  the 
throne.  In  return  for  this  inilance  of 
their  loyalty,  he  took  all  opportunities  to 
fleece  and  enflave  them  ;  and  at  one  time 
imprilbned  fifty  of  the  belt  families  in  the 
kingdom,  on  pretence  of  killing  his  deer  ; 
fo  that  they  were  compelled  to  purchafe 
their  liberty  at  the  expence  of  their  wealth, 
though  not  before  they  had  undergone  the 
f.ery  ordeal.  He  lived  in  a  fcandalous 
commerce  with  proftitutes,  profeinng  his 
contempt  for  marriage  ;  and,  having  no 
legitimate  ifTue,  the  crown  devolved  to  his 
brother  Henry,  who  was  fo  intent  upon  the 
fuccefhon,  that  he  paid  very  little  regard 
to  the  funeral  of  the  deceaied  king. 

Smollett. 

*  By  the  hand  of  Tyrrel,  n  French  gentleman, 
remarkable  for  his  jddrefs  in  archery,  attending 
h;jn  in  the  recreation  of  hunting,  as  William 
ha  l  difmounted  after  n  cl.ace.  Tyrrel,  impatient 
l<>  fliew  his  dexterity,  let  fly  at  a  ltag  which  fud- 
'  e'enly  ftarted  before  him:  ths  anow  glancing 
1.  n  i  i;-ee,  fhiick  the  king  in  fai;  brealt,  and 
iiift  intly  flew  him. 


§   47.     Character  cf  He  n  r  y   I. 

This  prince  was  one  of  the  molt  ac- 
complished that  has  filled  the  Englifh 
throne  ;  and  pofieffed  all  the  qualities  both 
of  body  and  mind,  natural  and  acquired, 
which  could  fit  him  for  the  high  Itation  to 
which  he  attained:  his  perfon  was  manly  : 
his  countenance  engaging ;  his  eyes  clear, 
fcrene,  and  penetrating.  The  affability 
of  his  addrefs  encouraged  thofewho  might 
be  overawed  by  the  fenfe  of  his  dignity  or 
his  wifdom  ;  and  though  he  often  indulged 
his  facetious  humour,  he  knew  how  to 
temper  it  with  discretion,  and  ever  kept 
at  a  didancc  from  all  indecent  familiarities 
with  his  courtiers.  His  fuperior  eloquence 
and  judgment  would  have  given  him  an 
afcendant,  even  if  he  had  been  born  in  a 
private  Itation ;  and  his  pcrfonal  bravery 
would  have  procured  him  refpeel,  even 
though  it  had  been  iefs  fupported  by  art 
and  policy.  By  his  great  progreis  in 
literature,  he  acqui.ed  the  name  of  Beau 
Clerc,  or  tire  Scholar;  but  his  application 
to  fedentary  purfuits  abated  nothing  of  the 
activity  and  vigilance  of  his  government : 
and  though  the  learning  of  that  age  was 
better  fitted  to  corrupt  than  improve  the 
under  (landing,  his  natural  good  fenfe  prc- 
ferved  Itfelf  untainted  both  from  the  pe- 
dantry and  fuperfiition  which  were  then  fo 
prevalent  among  men  of  letters.  His 
temper  was  very  fufceptible  of  the  fenti- 
ments  as  well  of  fricndlhip  as  refentmeat; 
and  his  ambition,  though  high,  might  be 
efleemed  moderate,  had  not  his  conduct 
towards  his  brother  fhewed,  that  he  was 
too  much  difpokd  to  facrifice  to  it  all  the 
maxims  of  juitice  and  equity.  Died  De- 
cember 1,  1135,  aged  67,  having  reigned 
35  years.  Hume. 

§  48.  Another.  Char  after  c/Henry  I  • 
Henry  was  of  a  middle  flatureand  robufr 
make,  with  dark  brown  hair,  and  blue  fc- 
rene eyes.  He  was  facetious,  fluent,  and 
affable  to  his  favourites.  His  capacity, 
naturally  good,  was  improved  and  culti- 
vated in  fuch  a  manner,  that  he  acquired 
the  name  of  Beau  Clcrc  by  his  learning. 
He  was  cool,  cautious,  politic,  and  pene- 
trating ;  Ids  courage  was  unqueuioned, 
and  hjs  fortitude  invincible.  Ke  was  vin- 
dictive, cruel,  and  implacable,  inexorable 
to  offenders,  rigid  £nd  fevere  in  the  execu- 
tion of  juitice;  and,  though  temperate  in 
his  diet,  a  voluptuary  in  his  amours,  which 

produced 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS, 

produced  a  numerous  family  of  illegiti- 
mate iffue.  His  Norman  defcent  and  con- 
nections with  the  continent  infpired  him 
with  a  contempt  for  the  Englifh,  whom  he 
oppreffed  in  the  moil  tyrannical  manner 

Smollett. 

§  49.  Char  after  ©/"Stephen. 
England  differed  great  miferies  during 
the  reign  of  this  prince :  but  his  perfonal 
character,  allowing  for  the  temerity  and 
injuftice  of  his  ufurpation,  appears  not  li- 
able to  any  great  exception;  and  he  feems 
to  hare  been  well  qualified,  had  he  fuc- 
ceeded  by  a  juft  title,  to  have  promoted  the 
happinefs  and  profp'erity  of  his  fubjects. 
He  was  poffeffed  of  induftry,  activity,  and 
courage,  to  a  great  degree ;  was  not  defi- 
cient in  ability,  had  the  talent  of  gaining 
men's  affections  ;  and,  notwithftanding  his 
precarious  fituation,  never  indulged  him- 
felf  in  the  exercife  of  any  cruelty  of  re- 
venge. His  advancement  to  the  throne 
procured  him  neither  tranquillity  nor  hap- 
pinefs.    Died  1154.  Hume. 

§  50.  Another  Character  ^Stephen. 
Stephen  was  a  prince  of  great  courage, 
fortitude,  and  activity,  and  might  have 
reigned  with  the  approbation  of  his  people, 
had  he  not  been  haraiied  by  the  efforts 
of  a  powerful  competitor,  which  obliged 
him  to  take  fuch  meafures  for  his  fafety 
as  were  inconfutent  with  the  dictates  of 
honour,  which  indeed  his  ambition  prompt- 
ed him  to  forego,  in  his  firft  endeavours  to 
afcend  the  throne.  His  neceffities  after- 
wards compelled  him  to  infringe  the  char- 
ter of  privileges  he  granted  at  his  accef- 
fion  ;  and  he  was  inftigated  by  his  jealoufy 
and  refemment  to  commit  the  in  oft  flagrant 
outrages  againft  gratitude  and  found  po- 
licy. His  vices,  as  a  king,  feem  to  have 
been  the  effect  of  troubles  in  which  he  was 
involved ;  for,  as  a  man,  he  was  brave, 
open,  and  liberal ;  and,  during  the  ihort 
calm  that  fuceeeded  the  tempeft  of  his 
xeign,  he  made  a  progrefs  through  his 
kingdom,  publiihed  an  edict  to  reftrain  all 
rapine  and  violence,  and  difbanded  the  fo- 
reign mercenaries  who  had  preyed  fo  long 
on  his  people.  Smollett. 

§  51.  Character  c/Henry  II. 
Thus  died,  in  the  58th  year  of  his  age, 
and  thirty  fifth  of  his  reign,  the  greateft 
prince  of  his  time  for  wifdom,  virtue,  and 
ability,  and  the  moft  pov/erful  in  extent  of 
dominion,  of  all  thofe  that  had  ever  filled 


CHARACTERS,    &c.  757 

the  throne  of  England.  His  character,  both 
in  public  and  private  life,  is  alrnoft  without 
a  blemifh ;  and  he  feems  to  have  poffeffed 
every  accomplifhment,  both  of  body  and 
mind,  which  makes  a  man  eftimable  or 
amiable.  He  was  of  a  middle  ftature, 
ftrong,  and  well  proportioned;  his  coun- 
tenance was  lively  and  engaging  ;  his  con- 
verfation  affable  and  entertaining  ;  his  elo- 
cution eafy,  perfuafive,  and  ever  at  com- 
mand. He  loved  peace,  but  poffeffed  both 
conduct  and  bravery  in  war  ;  was  provident 
without  timidity ;  fevere  in  the  execution 
of  juftice  without  rigour;  and  temperate 
without  aufterity.  He  preferved  health, 
and  kept  himfelf  from  corpulency,  to  which 
he  was  fomewhat  inclined,  by  an  abfte- 
mious  diet,  and  by  frequent  exercife,  par- 
ticularly by  hunting.  When  he  could  enjoy 
leifure,  he  recreated  himfelf  in  learned 
converfation,  or  in  reading;  and  he  culti- 
vated his  natural  talents  by  ftudy,  above 
any  prince  of  his  time.  His  affection:,  as 
well  as  his  enmities,  were  warm  and  dura- 
ble ;  and  his  long  experience  of  ingratitude 
and  infidelity  of  men  never  deftroyed  the 
natural  fenfi'bility  of  his  temper,  which 
difpofed  him  to  friendfhip  and  fociety. 
His  character  has  been  tranfmitted  to  us 
by  many  writers  who  were  his  contempo- 
raries ;  and  it  refembles  extremely,  in  its 
moft  remarkable  ftrokes,  that  of  his  ma- 
ternal grandfather,  Henry  I.  excepting  only 
that  ambition,  which  was  a  ruling  pafiion 
in  both,  found  not  in  the  firft  Henry  fuch 
unexceptionable  means  of  exerting  itfelf, 
and  pufhed  that  prince  into  meafures  which 
were  both  criminal  in  themfelves,  and  were 
the  caule  of  further  crimes,  from  which  his 
grandfon's  conduct  was  happily  exempted. 
Died  1 189.  Hume. 

§52.  Another  Character  ^HenrtII. 
Thus  died  Henry  in  the  fifty  -feventh 
year  of  his  age  (Hume  fays  58)  and 
thirty-fifth  of  his  reign ;  in  the  courfe  of 
which  he  had,  on  fundry  occafions,  dis- 
played all  the  abilities  of  a  politician,  all 
the  fagacity  of  a  legiilator,  and  all  the 
magnanimity  o{  a  hero.  He  lived  revered 
above  all  the  princes  of  his  time;  and  his 
death  was  deeply  lamented  by  his  fubjects, 
whofe  happinefs  feems  to  have  been  the 
chief  aim  of  all  his  endeavours.  He  not 
only  enacted  wholefome  laws,  but  faw  them 
executed  with  great  punctuality.  He  was 
generous,  even  to  admiration,  with  regard 
to  thofe  who  committed  offences  againft 
his  own  perfonj  but  he  never  forgave  the 
a  B  injuries 


738  ELEGANT    EXTRACTS 

injuries  that  were  offered  to  his  pe®ple, 
for  atrocious  crimes  were  punifhed  feverely 
without  refpect  of  perfons.  He  was  of  a 
middle  ftature,  and  the  molt  exact  propor- 
tion ;  his  countenance  was  round,  fair,  and 
ruddy ;  his  blue  eyes  were  mild  and  en- 
gaging, except  in  a  tranfport  of-paffion, 
when  they  fparkled  like  lightning,  to  the 
terror  of  the  beholders,  He  was  broad- 
chefted,  ftrong,  mufcular,  and  inclined  to 
be  corpulent,  though  he  prevented  the  bad 
effects  of  this  difpoiition  by  hard  exercife 
and  continual  fatigue;  he  was  temperate 
in  his  meals,  even  to  a  degree  of  ablii- 
nence,  and  ieldom  or  ever  fat  down,  exce'pt 
at  fupper ;  he  was  eloquent,  agreeable, 
and  facetious ;  remarkably  courteous  and 
polite;  companionate  to  all  in  difcrefs;  fo 
charitable,  that  he  conftantly  allotted  one- 
tenth  of  his  houfholdprovifions  to  the  poor, 
and  in  the  time  of  dearth  be  maintained  ten 
thoufand  indigent  perfons,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  fpring  till  the  end  of  autumn.  His 
talents,  naturally  good,  he  had  cultivated 
with  great  aiiiduity,  and  delighted  in  the 
converfation  of  learned  men,  to  whom  he 
was  a  generous  benefactor.  His  memory 
was  fo  furprizingly  tenacious,  that  he  ne- 
ver forgot  a  face  nor  a  circumitance  that 
was  worth  remembering.  Though  fupe- 
rior  to  his  contemporaries  in  ilrength, 
riches,  true  courage,  and  military  fkill ; 
he  never  engaged  in  war  without  reluc- 
tance, and  was  fo  averfe  to  bioodfhed,  that 
he  expreffed  an  uncommon  grief  at  the 
lofs  of  every  private  foldier  :  yet  he  was 
not  exempt  from  human  frailties ;  his  paf- 
fions,  naturally  violent,  often  hurried  him 
to  excefs;  he  was  prone  to  anger,  trans- 
ported with  the  lull  of  power,  and  parti- 
cularly accufed  of  incontinence,  not  only 
in  the  affair  of  Rofamond,  whom  he  is  laid 
to  have  concealed  in  a  labyrinth  at  Wood- 
itock,  from  the  jealous  enquiry  of  his  wife, 
but  alio  in  a  iuppoied  commerce  with  the 
French  princefs  Adalais,  who  was  bred  in 
England  as ,  the  future  wife  of  his  ion  Ri- 
chard. This  infamous  breach  of  honour  and 
hofpitality,  if  he  was  actually  guilty,  is  the 
fouleft  ftain  upon  his  character;  though 
the  fact  is  doubtful,  and  we  hope  the  charge 
untrue.  Smollett. 


IN     PROSE. 


§53.  Char aff er  of  R 1  c  H  a  r  ;>  I. 

The  molt  fhi-ing  part  of  this  prince's 
character  was  his  military  talents  ;  no  man 
ever  in  that  romantic  age  carried  courage* 
and  intrepidity  to  a  greater  height;  and 
'.'-'■'■■  qualitj  gained  him  the  appellation  of 


the  lion- hearted,  cceur  de  lion.  He  pafiion- 
atelv  loved  glory;  and  as  his  conduct  in 
the  field  was  not  inferior  to  his  valour,  he 
feems  to  have  poffeffed  every  talent  necef- 
fary  for  acquiring  it:  his  refentments  alfo 
were  high,  his  pride  unconquerable,  and 
his  fubjects,  as  well  as  his  neighbour?,  had 
therefore  reafon  to  apprehend,  from  the 
continuance  of  his  reign,  a  perpetual  fcene 
of  blood  and  violence.  Of  an  impetuous 
and  vehement  fpirit,  he  was  diltinguifhed 
bv  all  the  good  as  well  as  the  bad  qualities 
which  are  incident  to  that  character.  He 
was  open,  frank,  generous,  fincere,  and 
brave  ;  he  was  revengeful,  domineering, 
ambitious,  haughty,  and  cruel,  and  was 
thus  better  calculated  to  dazzle  men  by  the 
fplendour  of  his  enterprizes,  than  either  to 
promote  their  happinefs,  or  his  own  gran- 
deur by  a  found  and  well-regulated  policy. 
As  military  talents  make  great  impreffion 
on  the  people,  he  feems  to  have  been  much 
beloved  by  his  Englilh  fubjects ;  and  he  is 
remarked  to  have  been  the  firft  prince  of 
the  Norman  line  who  bore  a  fincere  affec- 
tion and  regard  for  them.  Hepaffed,  how- 
ever, only  four  months  of  his  reign  in  that 
kingdom  :  the  crufadc  employed  him  near 
three  years :  he  was  detained  about  four 
months  in  captivity;  the  reft  of  his  reign 
was  fpent  either  in  war,  or  preparations 
for  war  againft  France  :  and  he  was  fo 
pieafed  with  the  fame  which  he  had  ac- 
quired in  the  Ealt,  that  he  feemed  deter- 
mined, notwithstanding  all  his  palt  misfor- 
tunes, to  have  further  exhaufted  his  king- 
dom, and  to  have  expofed  himfelf  to  new 
hazards,  by  conducting  another  expedition 
againft  the  infidels.  Died  April  6,  1199. 
aged  42.     R.eigned  ten  years.       Hume. 

§    54.  Another  Character  of Rich  ARD  I. 

This  renowned  prince  was  tall,  ftrong, 
ftraight,  and  well-proportioned.  His  arms 
were  remarkably  long,  his  eyes  blue,  and 
full  of  vivacity  ;  his  hair  was  of  a  yellowifh 
colour ;  his  countenance  fair  and  comely, 
and  his  air  majeltic.  He  was  endowed 
with  good  natural  underftanding  ;  his  pe- 
netration was  uncommon  ;  he  poffeffed  a 
fund  of  manly  eloquence;  his  converfation 
was  fpirited,  and  he  was  admired  for  his 
talents  of  repartee  ;  as  for  his  courage  and 
ability  in  war,  both  Europe  and  Alia  re- 
found  with  his  praife.  The  Saracens  Hilled 
their  children  with  the  terror  of  his  name; 
and  Saladine,  who  was  an  accomplifhed 
prince,  admired  his  valour  to  fach  a  de- 
gree of  enthufiafm,  that  immediately  aftei 

Richard 


BOOK  IIL    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,    &c. 


739 


Richard  had  defeated  him  on  the  plains  of 
Joppa,  he  fent  him  a  couple  of  fine*  Ara- 
bian horfes,  in  token  of  his  eSteem ;  a  po- 
lite compliment,  which  Richard  returned 
with  magnificent  prefents.  Thefe  are  the 
Shining  parts  of  his  character,  which,  how- 
ever, cannot  dazzle  the  judicious  obferver 
fo  much,  but  that  he  may  perceive  a  num- 
ber of  blemifhes,  which  no  historian  has 
been  able  to  efface  from  the  memory  of 
this  celebrated  monarch.  His  ingratitude 
and  want  of  filial  affection  are  unpardon- 
able. He  was  proud,  haughty,  ambitious, 
choleric,  cruel,  vindictive,  and  debauched  ; 
nothing  could  equal  his  rapacioufnefs  but 
his  profufion,  and,  indeed,  the  one  was  the 
effect  of  the  other;  he  was  a  tyrant  to  his 
wife,  as  well  as  to  his  people,  who  groaned 
under  his  taxations  to  fuch  a  degree,  that 
even  the  glory  of  his  victories  did  not  ex- 
empt him  from  their  execrations ;  in  a 
word,  he  has  been  aptly  compared  to  a 
lion,  a  fpecies  of  animals  which  he  refem- 
bled  not  only  in  courage,  but  likewife  in 
ferocity.  Smollett. 

§  5  5 .      Char  ail  er  of  J  0  H  N . 
The  character  of  this  prince  is  nothing 
but  a  complication  of  vices,  equally  mean 
and  odious,  ruinous  to  himfelf,  and    de- 
structive to  his  people  :  cowardice,  inacti- 
vity, folly,  levity,  licentioufnefs,  ingrati- 
tude, treachery,  tyranny,  and  crueltv  ;  all 
thefe  qualities  too  evidently  appear  in  the 
feveral  incidents  of  his  life,  to  give  us  room 
to  fufpect,  that  the  difagreeable  picture  has 
been  any  wife  overcharged  by  the  preju- 
dice of  the  ancient  hiitorians.     It  is  hard 
to  fay,  whether  his  conduct  to  his  father, 
his  brother,  his   nephew,  or  his   fubjects, 
was  mcft  culpable ;  or  whether  his  crimes 
in  thefe  refpects  were  not  even  exceeded 
by  the  bafenefs  which  appeared  in  his  tranf- 
actions  with  the  king  of  France,  the  pope, 
and  the  barons.  His  dominions,  when  they 
devolved  to  him  by  the  death  of  his  bro- 
ther, were  more  extenfive  than  have  ever 
fince  his  time  been  ruled  by  any  Englifh 
monarch.     But  he  firft  loit,  by  his  mifcon- 
duct,  the  flourishing  provinces  in  France ; 
the  ancient  patrimony  of  his  family.     He 
Subjected  his  kingdom  to  a  Shameful  vai- 
falage,  under  the  fee  of  Rome;  he  faw  the 
prerogatives  of  his  crown  diminilhed  by 
law,  and  Still  more  reduced  by  faction  ;  and 
he  died  atlait  when  in  danger  of  being  to- 
tally expelled  by  a  foreign  power,  and  of 
either  ending  his  life  miferably  in  a  prifon, 
or  feeking  Shelter  as  a  fugitive  from  the 
purfuit  of  his  enemies, 


The  prejudices  againft  this  prince  were 
fo  violent,  that  he  was  believed  to  have  fent 
an  embaffy  to  the  emperor  of  Morocco, 
and  to  have  offered  to  change  his  religion 
and  become  Mahometan,  in  order  to  pur- 
chafe  the  protection  of  that  monarch  ;  but, 
though  that  Story  is  told  us  on  plaufible 
authority,  it  is  in  itfelf  utterly  improbable, 
except  that  there  is  nothing  fo  incredi- 
ble as  may  not  become  likely  from  the 
folly  and  wickednefs  of  John.  Died  1216. 

Hume.. 

'  §  56.     Another  Char  after  ofjontf. 

John  was  in  his  perfon  tiller  than  the 
middle  fize,  of  a  good  fhape  and  agreeabls 
countenance  ;  with  refpect  to  his  difpoli- 
tion,  it  is  Strongly  delineated  in  the  tranf- 
actions  of  his  reign.  If  his  understanding 
was  contemptible,  his  heart  was  the  object 
of  deteftation ;  we  find  him  flothful,  (hal- 
low, proud,  imperious,  cowardly,  libidi- 
nous, and  inconllant,  abject  in  adverfity, 
and  overbearing  in  fuccefs ;  contemned 
and  hated  by  his  fubjects,  over  whom  he 
tyrannized  to  the  utmoit  of  his  power;  ab« 
horred  by  the  clergy,  whom  he  oppreffed 
with  exactions ;  and  defpifed  by  all  the 
neighbouring  princes  of  Europe:  though 
he  might  have  palled  through  life  without 
incurring  fuch  a  load  of  odium  and  con- 
tempt, had  not  his  reign  been  perplexed  by 
the  turbulence  of  his  barons,  the  rapaci- 
oufnefs of  the  pope,  and  the  ambition 
of  fuch  a  monarch  as  Philip  Auguftus; 
his  character  could  never  have  afforded 
one  quality  that  would  have  exempted 
him  from  the  difgint  and  fcorn  of  his 
people:  nevertheless,  it  muff,  be  owned, 
that  his  reign  is  not  altogether  barren 
of  laudable  tranfactions.  He  regulated 
the  form  of  the  government  in  the  city 
of  London,  and  feveral  other  places  in 
the  kingdom.  He  was  the  firft  who  coined 
Sterling  money. 

Smollett. 

§57.   CharaSler  c/Henry  III. 

The  moll:  obvious  circumstance  of  Henry 
the  Third's  character,  is  his  incapacity  for 
government,  which  rendered  him  as  much 
a  prifoner  in  the  hands  of  his  own  mini- 
sters and  favourites,  and  as  little  at  his  own 
difpofal,  as  when  detained  a  captive  in  the 
hands  of  his  enemies.  From  this  fource, 
rather  than  from  infincerityand  treachery, 
arofe  his  negligence  in  obferving  his  pro- 
mifes  ;  and  he  was  too  eafily  induced,  for 
the  fake  of  prefent  convenience,  to  facri- 
3  B  2  fice 


74° 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN   PROSE. 


nee  the  lafting  advantages  arifing  from  the 
truft  and  confidence  of  his  people.  Hence 
were  derived  his  profusion  to  favourites, 
his  attachment  to  Strangers,  the  variable- 
nefs  oi  his  conduct,  his  haity  refentments, 
and  his  Sudden  forgivenefs  and  return  of 
affection.  In  (lead  of  reducing  the  danger- 
ous power  of  his  nobles,  by  obliging  them 
to  obferve  the  laws  towards  their  inferiors, 
and  fetting  them  the  falatary  example  in 
his  own  government,  he  was  feduced  to 
Imitate  their  conduct,  and  to  make  his  ar- 
bitrary w  11,  or  rather  that  of  his  ministers, 
the  rule  of  his  actions. 

Jnf:ead  of  accommodating  himfelf,  by  a 
ftrict  frugality,  to  the  embarrafTed  Situation 
to  which  his  revenne  had  been  left,  by  the 
military  expedition  of  Ids  uncle,  the  dilli- 
pations  of  his  father,  and  the  ufarpations 
of  the  barons;  he  was  tempted  to  levy 
monev  by  irregular  exactions,  which,  with- 
out enriching  himfelf,  impoverished,  or  at 
leall  difguited,  his  people.  Of  all  men,  na- 
ture feemed  lea.it  to  have  fitted  him  for 
being  a  tyrant;  yet  are  there  inftances  of 
oppreifion  in  his  reign,  which,  though  de- 
rived from  the  precedents  left  him  by  his 
predeceflbrs,  had  been  carefully  guarded 
againSt  by  the  great  charter;  and  are  in- 
confiffcent  with  all  rules  of  good  govern- 
ment :  and,  on  the  whole,  we  may  fay,  that 
greater  abilities*  with  his  good  difpofitions, 
would  have  prevented  him  from  falling 
into  his  faults ;  or,  with  worfe  difpofitions, 
would  have  enabled  him  to  maintain  and 
defend  them.  Died  November  16,  1272, 
aged  64.     Reigned  56  years. 

Hume. 

§  5  8.  -Another  Characler  cf  He  kry  III. 
Henry  was  of  a  middle  fi/e  and  robuff, 
make,  and  his  countenance  had  a  peculiar 
cait  from  his  left  eye-lid,  which  hung  down 
fo  far  as  to  cover  part  of  his  eye.  The 
particulars  of  his  character  may  be  gather- 
ed from  the  detail  of  his  conduct.  He  was 
certainly  a  prince  of  very  mean  talents;  ir- 
refolute,  inconitant,  and  capricious  ;  proud, 
infolent,  and  arbitrary ;  arrogant  in  prof- 
perity,  and  abject  in  adverfity ;  profufe, 
rapacious,  and  choleric,  though  destitute 
of  liberality,  ceconomy,  and  courage  ;  yet 
his  continence  was  praife- worthy,  as  well 
as  his  averfion  to  cruelty  ;  for  he  contented 
frmfelf  with  punifhing  the  rebels  in  their 
effects,  when  he  might  have  glutted  his 
revenge  with  their  blood.  He  was  pro- 
digal even  to  excef,  and  therefore  always 
in  neceflity.      Notwithstanding'  the  great 


fums  he  levied  from  his  fubjects,  and 
though  his  occafions  were  never  fo  prefi- 
xing, he  could  not  help  fquandering  away 
his  money  upon  worthlefs  favourites,  with- 
out considering  the  difficulty  he  alwayi 
found  in  obtaining  fupplies  from  parlia- 
ment. Smollett. 

§  59  CharaHev  c/*  Edward  I. 
The  enterprizes  finiihed  by  this  prince, 
and  the  projects  which  he  formed,  and 
brought  very  near  to  a  concluiion,  weie 
more  prudent  and  more  regularly  conduct- 
ed, and  more  advantageous  to  the  folid  in- 
terest of  this  kingdom,  than  thofe  which 
were  undertaken  in  any  reign  either  ofhi3 
ar.cellors  or  fuccellors.  He  reftored  autho- 
rity to  the  government,  difordered  by  the 
weaknefs  of  his  father;  he  maintained  the 
laws  againftall  the  efforts  of  his  turbulent 
barons ;  he  fully  annexed  to  the  crown  the 
principality  of  Wales;  he  took  the  wifefl 
and  moll  effectual  meafures  for  reducing 
Scotland  to  a  like  condition  ;  and  though 
the  equity  of  this  latter  enterprize  may  rea- 
fonablv  be  queftioned,  the  circumltances 
of  the  two  kingdoms  promifed  fuch  fuccefs, 
and  the  advantage  was  fo  v/fible,  of  uniting 
the  whole  ifland  under  one  head,  that  thofe 
who  give  great  indulgence  to  reafons  of 
flate  in  the  meafures  of  princes,  will  not  be 
apt  to  regard  this  part  of  his  conduct  with 
much  feveiity. 

But  Edward,  however  exceptionable  his 
character  may  appear  on  the  head  ofjui'cice, 
is  the  model  of  a  politic  and  warlike  king. 
He  pofTeiied  industry,  penetration,  courage,, 
vigour,  and  enterprize.  He  was  frugal  in 
all  expences  that  were  not  necelfary ;  he 
knew  how  to  open  the  public  treafures  on 
proper  occafions ;  he  puniihed  criminals 
with  feveiity  ;  he  was  gracious  and  affable 
to  his  fervants  and  courtiers ;  and  being  of 
a  majeilic  figure,  expert  at  all  bodily  exer- 
cife,  and  in  the  main  well-proportioned  in. 
his  limbs,  notwithstanding  the  great  length 
of  his  legs,  he  was  as  well  qualified  to  cap- 
tivate the  populace  by  his  exterior  appear- 
ance, as  to  gain  the  approbation  of  men  of 
fenfe  by  his  more  folid  virtues.  Died 
July  7,  1307,  aged  69.    Reigned  3 5  years. 

Hume. 

§  6  0 .      Another  Char  ail  er  o/"EdwardI 
He  was  a  prince  of  very  dignified  ap- 
pearance,   tall    in    Stature ;    regular    and 
i  1    his  features;   with  keen  pierc- 
ing  eyes,  and  of  an  afpect  that  command- 
ed reverence  and  eileera.    His  conftitutioa 

was 


BOOK  III.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


741 


was  robuft ;  his  ftrength  and  dexterity  per- 
haps unequalled  in  his  kingdom  ;  and  his 
fhape  was  unblemifhed  in  all  other  refpects, 
but  that  of  his  legs,  which  are  faid  to  have 
been  too  long  in  proportion   to  his  body ; 
whence  he    derived    the    epithet  of  Long 
Shanks.     In  the  qualities  of  his  head,  he 
equalled  the  greatell  monarchs  who  have 
fat  on  the  Englifh  throne.     He  was  cool, 
penetrating,    fagacious,    and    circumfpect. 
The  remotefl  corners  of  the  earth  founded 
with  the  fame  of  his  courage;  and  all  over 
Europe  he  was  confidered  as  the  flower  of 
chivalry.     Nor  was  be  lefs  conlummate  in 
his  legiflative  capacity,  than   eminent  for 
his  prowefs.     He  may  be  ftyled  the  Eng- 
lifh  Juftinian :    for,  befides  the  excellent 
ftatutes  that  were  enacted  in  his  reign,  he 
new-modelled  the  adminiftration  of  juilice, 
fo  as  to  render  it  more  fure  and  fummary ; 
he  fixed  proper  bounds  to  the  courts  of 
jurifdiction  ;  fettled  a  new  and  eafy  me- 
thod of  collecting  the  revenue,  and  efla- 
blifhed  wife  and  effectual  methods  of  pre- 
ferving  peace  and  order  among  his  fubjefts. 
Yet,  with  all  thefe  good  qualities,  he  che- 
rifhed  a  dangerous  ambition,  to  which  he 
did  not  fcruple  to  facrifice  the  good  of  his 
country ;  witnefs  his  ruinous  war  with  Scot- 
land, which  drained  the  kingdom  of  men 
and  money,  and  gave  rife  to  that  rancorous 
enmity  which  proved  fo  prejudicial  to  both 
nations.     Though  he  is  celebrated  for  his 
chaftity  and  regular  deportment,  there  is 
not,  in  the  whole  courfe  of  his  reign,  one 
inflance  of  his  liberality  and  munificence. 
He  had  great  abilities,  but  no  genius ;  and 
was  an  accomplifhed  warrior,  without  the 
leaft  fpark  of  heroifm.  Smollett. 

§  61.     Character  of  Edward  II. 

It  is  not  eafy  to  imagine  a  man  more  inno- 
cent or  inoffenftve  than  this  unhappy  king ; 
nor  a  prince  lefs  fitted  for  governing  that 
fierce  and  turbulent  people  fupjecled  to  his 
authority.  He  was  obliged  to  devolve  on 
others  the  weight  of  government  which  he 
had  neither  ability  nor  inclination  to  bear: 
the  fame  indolence  and  want  of  penetration 
led  him  to  make  choice  ofminifters  and  fa- 
vourites, which  were  not  always  bell  quali- 
fied for  the  trull  committed  to  them.  The 
feditious  grandees,  pleafed  with  his  weak- 
nefs,  and  complaining  of  it,  under  pretence 
of  attacking  his  mimfters,  infultedhis  per- 
ion,  and  invaded  his  authority ;  and  the 
impatient  populace,  ignorant  ofthefource 
of  their  grievances,  threw  all   the  blame 


upon  the  king,  and  increafcd  the  public 
diforders  by  their  faction  and  infolence.  It 
was  in  vain  to  look  for  protection  from  the 
laws,  whole  voice,  always  feeble  in  thofe 
times,  was  not  heard  in  the  din  of  arms: 
what  could  not  defend  the  king,  was  lefs 
able  to  give  fhelter  to  any  one  of  his  peo- 
ple ;  the  whole  machine  of  government 
was  torn  in  pieces, with  fury  and  violence; 
and  men,  inilead  of  complaining  againll 
the  manners  of  the  age,  and  the  form  of 
their  conllitution,  which  required  the  moll 
fleady  and  the  mo  ft  fkilful  hand  to  conduct 
them,  imputed  all  errors  to  the  perfonwho 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  intruded  with  the 
reins  of  empire.  Murdered  21  Septem- 
ber, 1 327.  Hume. 

§  62.  Another  Character  of  Edward  II. 

Thus  perifhed  Edward  II.  after  having 
atoned  by  his  fufferings  for  all  the  errors  of 
his  conduct.  He  is  faid  to  have  refembled 
his  father  in  the  accomplifhments  of  his 
perfon,  as  well  as  in  his  countenance :  but 
in  other  refpects  he  feems  only  to  have  in- 
herited the  defects  of  his  character :  for  he 
was  cruel  and  illiberal,  without  his  valour 
or  capacity.  He  had  levity,  indolence,  and 
irrefolution,  in  common  with  other  weak 
princes ;  but  the  diftinguifhing  foible  of  his 
character  was  that  unaccountable  paflion 
for  the  reigning  favourites,  to  which  he  fa- 
crificed  every  other  confideration  of  policy 
and  convenience,  and  at  laft  fell  a  refer- 
able victim.  Smollett. 

§  63.     Char  after  of  Edward  III. 

The  Englifh  are  apt  to  confider  with 
peculiar  fondnefs  the  hiftory  of  Edward 
the  Third,  and  to  efteem  his  reign,  as  it 
was  one  of  the  longed,  the  moll  glorious 
alfo,  which  occurs  in  the  annals  of  the  na- 
tion. The  afcendant  which  they  began  to 
have  over  France,  their  rival  and  national 
enemy,  makes  them  call  their  eyes  on  this 
period  with  great  complacency,  and  fane-. 
tines  every  meafure  which  Edward  em- 
braced for  that  end.  But  the  domeilic 
government  is  really  more  admirable 
than  his  foreign  victories;  and  England 
enjoyed,  by  his  prudence  and  vigour  of 
adminiftration,  a  longer  interval  of  domes- 
tic peace  and  tranquillity,  than  fhe  had 
been  blell  with  in  any  former  period,  or 
than  fhe  experienced  for  many  years  after. 
He  gained  the  affections  of  the  great,  and 
curbed  their  licentioulneis :  he  made  them 
feei  his  power,  without  their  daring,  or 

3  B  3  even 


742 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


even  being  inclined  to  murmur  at  it ;  Ms 
affable  and  obliging  behaviour,  his  muni- 
ficence and  generoiity,  made  them  fubmit 
with  pleafure  to  his  dominion ;  his  valour 
and  conduct  made  them  fuccefsful  in  moll: 
of  their  enterprizes;  and  their  unquiet 
fpirits,  directed  againft  a  public  enemy, 
had  no  leifure  to  breed  difturbances,  to 
which  they  were  naturally  Co  much  inclin- 
ed, and  which  the  form  of  the  govern- 
ment feemed  fo  much  to  authorize.  This 
•was  the  chief  benefit  which  refulted  from 
Edward's  victories  and  conquefts.  His 
foreign  wars  were,  in  other  refpedts,  nei- 
ther founded  in  juftice,  nor  directed  to  any 
very  falutary  purpofe.  His  attempt  againft 
the  king  of  Scotland,  a  minor,  and  a  bro- 
ther-in-law, and  the  revival  of  his  grand- 
father's claim  of  fuperiority  over  that 
kingdom,  were  both  unreasonable  and 
ungenerous  :  and  he  allowed  himfeif  to  be 
too  foon  feduced  by  the  glaring  profpecls 
of  French  conquer!,  from  the  acquiikion 
of  a  point  which  was  practicable,  and 
which  might  really,  if  attained,  have  been 
of  lading  utility  to  his  country  and  to  his 
fucceffbrs.  But  the  glory  of  a  conqueror 
is  fo  dazzling  to  the  vulgar,  and  the  ani- 
mofity  of  nations  fo  extreme,  that  the  fruit- 
lefs  defolation  of  fo  fine  a  part  of  Eu- 
rope as  France  is  totally  difregarded  by 
us,  and  never  confidered  as  a  blemifh  in 
the  character  or  conduct  of  this  prince  : 
and  indeed,  from  the  unfortunate  ftate  of 
human  nature,  it  will  commonly  happen 
that  a  fovereign  of  great  genius,  fuch  as 
Edward,  who  ufually  finds  every  thing 
eafy  in  the  domellic  government,  will  turn 
himfeif  towards  military  enterprizes,  where 
I  one  he  meets  oppofition,  and  where  he 
has  full  exercife  for  his  induftry  and  capa- 
city. Died  2 1  ft  of  June,  aged  65,  in  the 
^  1  ft  year  of  his  reign.  Hume. 

§  64.  Another  Char  ad  er  0/"  Edward  III. 
Edward's  conftitution  had  been  impaired 
by  the  fatigues  of  his  youth  :  fo  that  he 
began  to  feel  the  infirmities  of  old  age,  be- 
fore they  approach  the  common  courfe  of 
nature  :  and  now  he  was  feized  with  a 
malignant  fever,  attended  with  eruptions, 
that  foon  put  a  period  to  his  life.  When  his 
diftemper  became  fo  violent,  that  no  hope 
cf  his  recovery  remained,  all  his  attend- 
ants forfook  him,  as  a  bankrupt  no  longer 
able  to  requite  their  fervices.  The  un- 
grateful Alice,  waiting  until  fhe  per- 
ceived him  in  the  agonies  of  death,  was  fo 
inhuman  as  to  ftrip  him  of  his  rings  and 


jewels,  and  leave  him  without  one  dome- 
flic  to  clofe  his  eyes,  and  do  the  laft  offices 
to  his  breathlefs  corfe.  In  this  deplorable 
condition,  bereft  of  comfort  and  affiftar.ee, 
the  mighty  Edward  lay  expiring  ;  when  a 
prieft,  not  quite  fo  favage  as  the  reft  of  his 
domeflics,  approached  his  bed ;  and,  find- 
ing him  ftill  breathing,  began  to  admi- 
niiler  fome  comfort  to  his  foul.  Edward 
had  not  yet  loft  all  perception,  when  he 
found  himfeif  thus  abandoned  and  forlorn, 
in  the  laft  moments  of  his  life.  He  was 
juft  able  to  exprefs  a  deep  fenfe  cf  forrow 
and  contrition  for  the  errors  of  his  con- 
duct, and  died  pronouncing  the  name  of 
Jesus. 

Such  was  the  piteous  andobfeure  end  of 
Edward  the  Third,  undoubtedly  one  of 
the  greateft  princes  that  ever  fwayed  the 
fcepter  of  England ;  whether  we  reipect 
him  as  a  warrior,  a  lawgiver,  a  monarch,  or 
a  man.  FlepoiTeffed  all  the  romantic  ipirit 
of  Alexander ;  the  penetration,  the  forti- 
tude, the  polifhed  manners  of  Julius;  the 
liberality,  the  munificence,  the  wildom  of 
Auguftus  Csefar.  He  was  ta'l,majeilic,  finely 
fhaped,  with  a  piercing  eye,  and  aquiline 
vifage.  He  excelled  all  his  contemporaries 
in  feats  of  arms,  and  perfonal  addi  eis.  He 
was  courteous,  affable,  and  eloquent ;  of  a 
free  deportment,  and  agreeable  conven- 
tion ;  and  had  the  art  of  commanding  the 
affection  of  his  fubjects,  without  feeihing 
to  folicit  popularity.  The  love  cf  glory 
was  certainly  the  predominant  prffion  of 
Edward,  to  the  gratification  of  which  he 
did  not  fcruple  to  facrilice  the  feelings  of 
humanity,  the  lives  of  his  fubjects,  and  the 
intercfts  of  his  country.  And  nothing 
could  have  induced  or  enabled  his  people 
to  bear  the  load  of  taxes  with  which  they 
were  encumbered  in  his  reign,  but  the 
love  and  admiration  of  his  perlon,  the  fame 
of  his  victories,  and  the  excellent  laws  and 
regulations  which  the  parliament  enacted 
with  his  advice  and  concurrence. 

Smollett. 

%6$.  Character  of  Richard  II. 
All  the  writers  who  have  tranfmitted  to 
us  the  hiftory  of  Richard,  compofed  their 
works  during  the  reign  of  the  Lancallrian 
princes ;  and  candour  requires  that  we 
fhould  not  give  entire  credit  to  the  re- 
proaches which  have  been  thrown  upon 
his  memory.  But  after  making  all  proper 
abatements,  he  ftill  appears  to  have  been 
a  weak  prince,  and  unfit  for  government; 
lefs  for  want  of  natural  parts  and  capa- 
city, 


BOOK  III;      ORATION 

city,  than  of  folid  judgment  and  good 
education.  He  was  violent  in  his  temper, 
profufe  in  his  expences,  fond  of  idle  (how 
and  magnificence,  devoted  to  favourites, 
and  addicted  to  pleafure ;  paflions,  all 
of  them,  the  moil  inconfiltent  with  a 
prudent  ceconomy,  and  confequently  dan- 
gerous in  a  limited  and  mixed  govern- 
ment. Had  he  poftefled  the  talents  of 
gaining,  and,  ftill  more,  of  overawing  his 
great  barons,  he  might  have  efcaped  all  the 
misfortunes  of"  his  reign,  and  been  allowed 
to  carry  much  further  his  oppreflions  over 
his  people,  if  he  really  was  guilty  of  any, 
without  their  daring  to  rebel,  or  even 
murmur,  againft  him.  But  when  the 
grandees  were  tempted,  by  his  want  of 
prudence  and  rigour,  to  refill:  his  autho- 
rity, and  execute  the  moll  violent  enter- 
prizes  upon  him,  he  was  naturally  led  to 
ieelc  for  an  opportunity  of  retaliation  ; 
juftice  was  neglected ;  the  lives  of  the 
chief  nobility  facrificed ;  and  all  thefe 
evils  feem  to  have  proceeded  more  from  a 
fettled  defign  of  eftablilhing  arbitrary 
power,  than  from  the  inlblence  of  victory, 
and  the  neceflities  of  the  king's  fituation. 
The  manners,  indeed,  of  the  age,  were  the 
chief  fources  of  fuch  violence;  laws,  which 
were  feebly  executed  in  peaceable  times, 
loll  all  their  authority  in  public  convul- 
sions. Both  parties  were  alike  guilty  ;  or, 
if  any  difference  may  be  remarked  be- 
tween them,  we  (hall  find  the  authority  of 
the  crown,  being  more  legal,  was  com- 
monly carried,  when  it  prevailed,  to  lefs 
delperate  extremities  than  thole  of  arifto- 
cracy.  *  Hume. 

§   66.    Another  Char  after  of  Ri  chard  II. 

Such  was  the  laft  conclufion  of  Richard 
II.  a  weak,  vain,  frivolous,  inconftant 
prince ;  without  weight  to  balance  the 
fcales  of  government,  without  difcernment 
to  choofe  a  good  miniltry  ;  without  virtue 
to  oppole  the  meafures,  or  advice,  of  evil 
counfellors,  even  where  they  happened  to 
clafh  with  his  own  principles  and  opinion. 
He  was  a  dupe  to  flattery,  a  Have  to  orien- 
tation, and  not  more  apt  to  give  up  his 
reafon  to  the  fuggeftionof  fycophants,  and 
vicious  m milters,  than  to  facrifice  thofe 
minifters  to  his  fafety.  He  was  idle,  pro- 
fufe, and  profligate ;  and,  though  brave 
by  ftarts,  naturally  pufilianimous,  and  irre- 

*  He  was  ftarved  to  death  in  prifq'n,  or  mur- 
dered, after  having  been  dethroned,  A.  D.  1399 
in  the  year  of  his  age  34. ;  of  his  reign  23. 


S,  CHARACTERS,    &c.  743 

folute.  His  pride  and  refentment  prompt- 
ed him  to  cruelty  and  breach  of  faith ; 
while  his  neceflities  obliged  him  to  fleece 
his  people,  and  degrade  the  dignity  of  his 
character  and  fituation.  Though  we  find 
none  of  his  charities  on  record,  all  his  his- 
torians agree,  that  he  excelled  all  his  pre- 
decefibrs  in  ftate  hofpitality,  and  fed  a 
thouland  every  day  from  his  kitchen. 

Smollett. 

§  67.  Another  Charafter of  Richard  II. 

Richard  of  Bourdeaux  (fo  called  from 
the  place  of  his  birth)  was  remark- 
ably beautiful  and  handfome  in  his  per- 
fon';  and  doth  not  feem  to  be  naturally 
defective,  either  in  courage  or  underltand- 
ing.  For  on  fome  occafions,  particularly 
in  the  dangerous  infurrections  of  the 
crown,  he  acted  with  a  degree  of  fpirit 
and  prudence  fuperior  to  his  years.  But 
his  education  was  miferably  neglected; 
or,  rather,  he  was  intentionally  corrupted 
and  debauched  by  three  ambitious  uncles, 
who,  being  defirous.of  retaining  the  ma- 
nagement of  his  affairs,  encouraged  him 
to  fpend  his  time  in  the  company  of  dif- 
folute  young  people  of  both  kxes,  in  a 
continual  courfe  of  feaiting  and  diflipation. 
By  this  means,  he  contracted  a  tafte  for 
pomp  and  pleafure,  and  a  diflike  to  bufi- 
nefs.  The  greateft  foible  in  the  character 
of  this  unhappy  prince  was  an  exceffive 
fondnefs  for,  and  unbounded  liberality  to 
his  favourites,  which  enraged  his  uncles, 
particularly  the  Duke  of  Gloucefter,  and 
difguited  fuch  of  the  nobility  as  did  not 
partake  of  his  bounty.  He  was  an  affec- 
tionate huiband,  a  generous  mafter,  and  a 
faithful  friend ;  and  if  he  had  received  a 
proper  education,  might  have  proved  a 
great  and  good  king.  Henry. 

§  68.    Char  after  of  Henry  IV. 

The  o-reat  popularity  which  Henry  em- 
joved  before  he  attained  the  crown,  and 
which  had  fo  much  aided  him  in  the  acqui- 
fitionofit,  was  entirely  loft,  many  years 
before  the  end  of  his  reign,  and  he  go- 
verned the  people  more  by  terror  than  af- 
fection, more  by  his  own  policy  than  their 
fenfe  of  duty  and  allegiance.  When  men 
came  to  reflect  in  cold  blood  on  the  crimes 
which  led  him  to  the  throne ;  and  the  re- 
bellion againft  his  prince ;  the  depofition 
of  a  lawful  king,  guilty  fometimes  of  op- 
preflion,  but  more  frequently  of  impru- 
dences;  the  exclufion  of  the  true  heir; 

3  B  4  -   the 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


744 

the  murder  of  his  fovereign  and  near  re- 
lation ;    thefe   were    fuch   enormities,    as 
drew  on  him  the   hatred   of  his  fubje&s, 
fan&ified  all    the    rebellions  againlt  him, 
and  made  the  executions,  though  not  re- 
markably fevere,  which  he  found  necefTary 
for  the  maintenance  of  his  authority,  ap- 
pear cruel  as  well  as  iniquitous  to  his  peo- 
ple.    Yet,  without  pretending   to  apolo- 
gize for  thefe  crimes,  which  mull  ever  be 
held  in  deteitation,  it  may  be  remarked, 
that  he  was  infenfibly  led  into  this  blame- 
able  conduct,  by  a  train  of  incidents,  which 
few  men  pollefs   virtue  enough  to  with- 
stand.    The  injuftiee  with  which  his  pre- 
deceflbr  had  treated  him,  in  firft  condemn- 
ing him  to  baniihment,  and  then  defpoilino- 
him  of  his  patrimony,  made  him  naturally 
think  of  revenge,  and  of  recovering  his 
loft  rights;  the  headftrong  zeal  of  the  peo- 
ple hurried  him  into  the  throne,  the  care 
of  his  own  fecurity,  as  well  as  his  ambition, 
made  him  an  ufurper;  and  the  fteps  have 
always  been  fo  few  between  the  prifons  of 
princes  and  their  graves,  that  we  need  not 
wonder  that  Richard's  fate  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  general  rule.     All  thefe  con- 
siderations made  the  king's  Situation,  if  he 
retained  any  fenfe  of  virtue,  very  much  to 
be  lamented ;    and   the  inquietudes,  with 
which  he    poftefied  his  envied  greatnefs, 
and  the  remorfes  by  which,  it  is  faid,  he 
was  continually  haunted,  rendered  him  an 
object  of  our  pity,  even  when  feated  upon 
the  throne.     But  it  muft  be  owned,   that 
his  prudence,  vigilance,  and   foreiight  in 
maintaining  his   power,  were  admirable; 
his  command  of  temper  remarkable ;  his 
courage,  both  military  and  political,  with- 
out blemifh  :  and  he  poffeifed  many  qua- 
lities, which  fitted  him  for  his  high  Station, 
and  which  rendered  his  ufurpataon  of  it, 
though   pernicious    in   after-times,  rather 
Salutary   during    his    own    reign,  to    the 
Englim  nation. 
Died  141 3.  Aged  43.  Hume. 

§  69.  Another  Char  ail  cr  «/*Hekry  IV. 
Henry  IV.  was  of  amiddle  ftature,  well- 
proportioned,  and  perfect  in  all  the  exer- 
cifes  of  arms  and  chivalry;  his  counte- 
nance was  fevere,  rather  than  ferene,  and 
his  difpofition  four,  fallen,  and  referved : 
hepoiTefledagreat  ihare  of  courage,  forti- 
tude, and  penetration ;  was  naturally  im- 
perious, though  he  bridled  his  temper  with 
a  great  deal  of  caution;  fuperSKtious 
though  without  the  leail  tincture  of  virtue 
and  true  religion;  and  meanly  parfimc- 


nious,  though  juilly  cenfured  for  want  of 
ceconomy,  and  ill-judged  profusion.  He 
was  tame  from  caution,  humble  from  fear, 
cruel  from  policy,  and  rapacious  from  in- 
digence. He  rofe  to  the  throne  by  perfidy 
and  treafon  ;  and  eftabiilhed  his  authority 
in  the  blood  of  his  fubjects,  and  died  a  pe- 
nitent for  his  fins,  becaufe  he  could  no 
longer  enjoy  the  fruit  of  his  tranfg re  (lions. 

Smollett. 

$  70.   Character  <?/"  Henry  V. 

This  prince  pofiefied  many  eminent  vir- 
tues ;  and,  if  we  give  indulgence  to  ambi- 
tion in  a  monarch,  or  rank  it,  as  the  vulgar 
do,  among  his  virtues,  they  were  unftained 
by  any  coniiderable  blemifh  ;  his  abilities 
appeared  equally  in  the  cabinet  and  in  the 
field:  the  boldnefs  of  his  enterprizes  was 
no  lefs  remarkable  than  his  perfonal  va- 
lour in  conducting  them.  He  had  the 
talent  of  attaching  his'  friends  by  aft'ability, 
and  gaining  his  enemies  by  addrefs  and 
clemency. 

The  Englifh,  dazzled  by  the  luftre  of 
his  character,  ftill  more  by  that  of  his 
victories,  were  reconciled  to  the  defects  of 
his  title.  The  French  almoft  forgot  he 
was  an  enemy ;  and  his  care  of  main- 
taining juilice  in  his  civil  adminillration, 
and  preferving  difcipline  in  his  armies, 
made  fome  amends  to  both  nations  for  the 
calamities  infeparable  from  thofe  wars  in 
which  his  fhort  reign  was  almoft  occupied. 
That  he  could  forgive  the  earl  of  Marche, 
who  had  a  better  right  to  the  throne  than 
himielf,  is  a  fure  proof  of  his  magnani- 
mity ;  and  that  the  earl  relied  fo  on  his 
friendfliip,  is  no  lefs  a  proof  of  his  efta- 
blifhed  character  for  candour  and  fincerity. 

There  remain,  in  hiilory,  few  inftances 
of  fuch  mutual  truft;  and  ftillfewer,  where 
neither  found  reafon  to  repent  it. 

The  exterior  figure  of  this  great  prince, 
as  well  as  his  deportment,  was  engaging. 
His  ilature  was  fome  what  above  the  mid- 
dle fize ;  his  countenance  beautiful,  his 
limbs  genteel  and  fiender,  but  full  of  vi- 
gour ;  and  he  excelled  in  all  warlike  and 
manly  exercifes. 

Died  31ft  Auguft,  1422  :  in  the  year  of 
his  age  34  ;  of  his  reign,  the  10th.  Hume. 

§  71.  Another  Characler  of  Henry  V. 

Henry  was  tall  and  {lender,  with  a  long 
neck,  and  engaging  afpect,  and  limbs  of 
the  moil  elegant  turn.  He  excelled  all  the 
youth  of  that  age,  in  agility,  and  the  ex- 
ercifc  of  aims;  was  hardy,  patient,  labq- 

rious, 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,   CHARACTERS,    &c. 


745 


fious,  and  more  capable  of  enduring  cold, 
hunger,  and  fatigue,  than  any  individual 
in  his  army.  His  valour  was  fuch  as  no 
danger  could  ftartle,  and  no  difficulty  op- 
pofe;  nor  was  his  policy  inferior  to  his 
courage. 

He  managed  the  diffenfions  among  his 
enemies  with  fuch  addrefs,  as  fpoke  him 
confummate  in  the  arts  of  the  cabinet.  He 
fomented  their  jealoufy,  and  converted 
their  mutal  refentment  to  his  own  ad- 
vantage. 

Henry  poffeffed  a  felf-taught  genius, 
that  blazed  out  at  once,  without  the  aid  of 
inftruition  and  experience  :  and  a  fund  of 
natural  fagacity,  that  made  ample  amends 
for  all  thefe  defects.  He  was  chaite,  tem- 
perate, moderate,  and  devout,  fcrupuloufly 
jull  in  his  adminiftration,  and  feverely 
exaft  in  the  difcipline  of  his  army  ;  upon 
which  he  knew  his  glory  and  fuccefs, 
in  a  great  meafure,  depended.  In  a  word, 
it  muil  be  owned,  he  was  without  an 
equal  in  the  arts  of  war,  policy,  and  go- 
vernment. But  we  cannot  be  fo  far  daz- 
zled with  his  great  qualities,  as  to  over- 
look the  defects  in  his  character.  His 
pride  and  imperious  temper  loll  him  the 
hearts  of  the  French  nobility,  and  fre- 
quently fell  out  into  outrage  and  abufe  ; 
as  at  the  fiege  of  Melun,  when  he  treated 
the  Marechal  PIQe  d'Adam  with  the  ut- 
moft  indignity,  although  that  nobleman 
had  given  him  no  other  offence,  than  that 
of  coming  into  his  prefence  in  plain  de- 
cent apparel.  Smollett. 

§  72.     Hume's  Account  of  Henry  VI. 

(for  there  is  ?io  regular  Character  of  this 

Prince  given  by  this  Hijhrian)  is  expreffed 

it  the  following  Manner. 

In  this  manner  finifhed  the  reign  of 
Henry  VI.  who,  while  yet  in  his  cradle, 
had  been  proclaimed  king  both  of  France 
and  England,  and  who  began  his  life  with 
the  moil  fplendid  profpects  which  any 
prince  in  Europe  had  ever  enjoyed.  The 
revolution  was  unhappy  for  his  people,  as 
it  was  the  fource  of  civil  wars  ;  but  was 
almofr.  entirely  indifferent  to  Henry  him- 
felf,  who  was  utterly  incapable  of  exercif- 
ing  his  authority,  and  who,  provided  he  met 
perpetually  with  good  ufage,  was  equally 
eafy,  as  he  was  equally  enllived,  in  the 
hands  of  his  enemies  and  of  his  friends. 
His  weakness,  and  his  difputed  title,  werp 
the  chief  caufes  of  his  public  misfortunes : 
but  whether  his  queen  and  his  miniiters 
were  not  guilty  of  fome  great  ab«(es  cf 


power,  it  is  not  eafy  for  us,  at  this  diftance 
of  time,  to  determine.  There  remain  no 
proofs  on  record  of  any  confiderable  vio- 
lation of  the  laws,  except  in  the  death  of 
the  Duke  of  Gloucefter,  which  was  a  pri- 
vate crime,  formed  no  precedent,  and  was 
but  too  much  of  a  piece  with  the  ufual  fe- 
rocity and  cruelty  of  the  times. 

§  73.  Smollett's  Account  of  the  Deatl? 
of  Henry  VI.  naithfome  Strictures  of 
Characler,  is  as  follows. 

This  infurredYion*  in  all  probability  haM- 
ened  the  death  of  the  unfortunate  Henry, 
who  was    found    dead  in  the  Tower,  in 
which  he  had  been  confined  fince  the  re- 
ftoration  of  Edward.     The  greater  part 
of  hiftorians  have  alledged,   that  he  was 
affaffmatedby  the  Duke  of  Gloucefter,  who 
was  a  prince  of  the    molt  brutal  difpofi- 
tion;  while  fome  moderns,  from  an  affec- 
tation of  fingularity,  affirm  that  Henry  died 
of  grief  and  vexation.      This,  no  doubt, 
mio-ht  have  been  the  cafe;  and  it  muil  be 
owned,  that   nothing  appears  in    hiftory, 
from  which    either    Edward    or  Richard 
could  be  convicted  of  having  contrived  or 
perpetrated  his  murder :  but,  at  the  fame 
time,  we  muft  obferve  fome  concurring  cir- 
cumftances  that  amount  to  ftrong  prefump- 
tion  againft  the  reigning  monarch.  Henry 
was  cfahaleconltitution,  but  jull:  turned  of 
fifty,  naturally  infenfible  of  affii&ion,  and 
hackneyed  in  the  viciffitudes  of  fortune,  fo 
that  one  would  not  expe£t  he  fhould  have 
died  of  age  and  infirmity,  or  that  his  life 
would  have  been  affected  by  grief  arifing 
from  his  laft  difafter.     His  fudden  death 
was  fufpicious,  as  well  as  the  conjuncture  at 
which  he  died,  immediately  after  the  fup- 
preffion  of  a  rebellion,  which  feemed  to  de- 
clare thatEdwardwould  neverbe  quiet,while 
the  head  of  thehoufe  of  Lancafter  remained 
alive  :  and  laftly,  the  fufpicion  is  confirm- 
ed by  the  characters  of  the  reigning  king 
and  "his  brother  Richard,  who  were  bloody, 
barbarous,  and  unrelenting.     Very  differ- 
ent was    the    difpofition    of   the  ill-fated 
Henry,  who,  without  any  princely  virtue  or 
qualification,  was  totally  free  from  cruelty 
or  revenge  :  on  the  contrary,  he  could  not, 
without  reluctance,  ccnfent  to  the  puniih- 
ment  cf  thofe  malefactors  who  were  facri- 
ficed  to  the  public  fafety  ;  and  frequently 
fuftained  indignities  cf  the  gro.'leit  nature, 
witliout  difcovering  the  lealt  mark  of  re- 
fentment.    He  was  chaite,  pious,  compaf- 


*  Revolt  of  the  baftard  of  FakonbrwJge 


fipnate. 


745 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


fionate,  and  charitable;  and  fo  inofFenfive, 
that  the  bifhop,  who  was  his  confeffor  for 
ten  years,  declares,  that  in  all  that  time  he 
had  never  committed  any  fin  that  re- 
quired penance  or  rebuke.  In  a  word,  he 
would  have  adorned  a  cloifter,  though  he 
difgraced  a  crown ;  and  was  rather  re- 
fpectable  for  thofe  vices  he  wanted,  than 
for  thofe  virtues  he  polTefTed.  He  founded 
the  colleges  of  Eaton  and  Windfor,  and 
King's  College  in  Cambridge,  for  the  re- 
ception of  thofe  fcholars  who  had  began 
their  ftudies  at  Eaton. 

On  the  morning  that  fucceeded  his 
death,  his  body  was  expofed  at  St.  Paul's 
church,  in  order  to  prevent  unfavourable 
conjectures,  and,  next  day,  fent  by  water 
to  the  abbey  of  Chertfey,  where  he  was 
interred :  but  it  was  afterwards  removed, 
by  order  of  Richard  III.  to  Windfor,  and 
there  buried  with  great  funeral  folem- 
nity. 

§  74.  Character  of  Edward  IV. 
Edward  IV.  was  a  prince  more  fplendid 
and  fnewy,  than  either  prudent  or  virtu- 
ous ;  brave,  though  cruel ;  addicted  to  plea- 
fure,  though  capable  of  activity  in  great 
emergencies  ;  and  lefs  fitted  to  prevent  ills 
by  wife  precautions,  than  to  remedy  them 
after  they  took  place,  by  his  vigour  and 
enterprize.  Hume. 

§  7  y .  Another  Character  of  E  r> w  a  r  d  I V. 
He  was  a  prince  of  the  moll  elegant 
perfon  and  insinuating  addrefs ;  endowed 
with  the  utmolt  fortitude  and  intrepidity ; 
poffeffed  of  uncommon  fagacity  and  pene- 
tration ;  but,  like  all  his  anceftors,  was 
brutally  cruel  and  vindictive,  perfidious, 
lewd,  perjured,  and  rapacious ;  without 
one  liberal  thought,  without  one  fentiment 
of  h  umani  ty.  Smollett. 

§  76.  Another  Character  of  Eviw  ard  IV. 

When  Edward  afcended  the  throne,  he 
was  one  of  the  handfomefl  men  in  Eng- 
land, and  perhaps  in  Europe.  His  noble 
mien,  his  free  and  eafy  way,  his  affable 
carriage,  won  the  hearts  of  all  at  firffc  fight. 
Thele  qualities  gained  him  efteem  and  af- 
fection, which  flood  him  in  great  ftead  in 
feveral  ciicumftances  of  his  life.  For  fome 
time  he  was  exceeding  liberal ;  but  at 
length  he  grew  covetous,  not  fo  much  from 
his  natural  tamper,  as  out  of  a  neceffity  to 
bear  the  immediate  expences  which  his 
pleafures  ran  him  into. 

Though  he  had  a  great  deal  of  wit,  and 


a  found  judgment,  he  committed,  however, 
feveral  overfights.  But  the  crimes  Ed- 
ward is  moll;  juftly  charged  with,  are  his 
cruelty,  perjury,  and  incontinence.  The 
firft  appears  in  the  great  number  of  princes 
and  lords  he  put  to  death,  on  the  fcaf- 
fold,  after  he  had  taken  them  in  battle.  If 
there  ever  was  reafon  to  fhew  mercy  in  cafe 
of  rebellion,  it  was  at  that  fatal  time,  when 
it  was  aim  oft  impoffible  to  ftand  neuter, 
and  fo  difficult  to  ehufe  the  jufteft  fide  be- 
tween the  two  houles  that  were  contending 
for  the  crown. 

And  yet  we  do  not  fee  that  Edward  had 
any  regard  to  that  consideration.  As  for 
Edward's  incontinence,  one  may  fay,  that 
his  whole  life  was  one  continued  fcene  of 
excefs  that  way  ;  he  had  abundance  of  mif- 
treffes,  but  efpeeially  three,  of  whom  he 
faid,  that  one  was  the  merrieft,  the  other 
the  wittiell,  and  the  other  the  holieft  in  the 
would,  fince  fhe  wouid  not  ftir  from  the 
church  but  when  he  fent  for  her  — What 
is  moft  afionifhing  in  the  life  of  this  prince 
is  his  good  fortune,  which  feemed  to  be 
prodigious. 

He  was  raifed  to  the  throne,  after  the 
lofs  of  two  battles,  one  by  the  Duke  his 
fiither,  the  other  by  the  Earl  of  Warwick, 
who  was  devoted  to  the  houfe  of  York, 
The  head  of  the  father  was  flill  upon  the 
walls  of  York,  when  the  fon  was  pro- 
claimed in  London. 

Edward  efcaped,  as  it  were,  by  miracle, 
out  of  his  confinement  at  Middleham,  He 
was  reftored  to  the  throne,  or  at  leaft  re- 
ceived into  London,  at  his  return  from 
Holland,  before  he  had  overcome,  and 
whiiit  his  fortune  yet  depended  upon  the 
iffue  of  a  battle  which  the  Earl  of  War- 
wick was  ready  to  give  him,  In  a  word, 
he  was  ever  victorious  in  all  the  battles 
wherein  he  fought  in  perfon.  Edward 
died  the  9th  of  April,  in  the  4zd  year  of 
his  age,  after  a  reign  of  twenty-two  years 
and  one  month.  •  Rapin. 

§   77.     Edward  V. 

Immediately  after  the  death  of  the 
fourth  Edward,  his  fon  was  proclaimed 
king  of  England,  by  the  name  of  Ed- 
ward V.  though  that  young  prince  was 
but  juft  turned  ef  twelve  years  of  age, 
never  received  the  crown,  nor  exercifed 
any  function  of  royalty  ;  fo  that  the  inter- 
val between  the  death  of  his  father,  and 
the  ufurpation  of  his  "uncle,  the  Duke  of 
Gloucefter,  afterwards  Richard  III.  was 
properly  an  interregnum,   during  which 

the 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c: 


the  uncle  took  his  meafures  for  wrefling 
the  crown  from  his  nephew. 

§    78.       C/wfl&'s/RlCHARB   III. 

Thofe  hiftorians  who  favour  Richard, 
for  even  He  has  met  partizans  among  later 
writers,  maintain  that  he  was  well  quali- 
fied for  government,  had  he  legally  ob- 
tained it;  and  that  he  committed  no  crimes 
but  fuch  as  were  neceffary  to  procure  him 
pofleflion  of  the  crown  :  but  this  is  a  very 
poor  apology,  when  it  is  confefled,  that  he 
was  ready  to  commit  the  molt  horrid  crimes 
which  appeared  neceffary  for  that  purpofe  ; 
and  it  is  certain  that  all  his  courage  and 
capacity,  qualities  in  which  he  really  leems 
not  to  have  been  deficient,  would  never 
have  made  compenfation  to  the  people, 
for  the  danger  of  the  precedent,  and  for 
the  contagious  example  of  vice  and  mur- 
der, exalted  upon  the  throne.  This  prince 
was  of  fmall  feature,  hump-backed,  and 
had  a  very  harfh  difagreeable  vifage ;  fo 
that  his  body  was  in  every  particular  no 
lefs  deformed  than  his  mind.         Hume. 

§  79.  Another  Charailer  of  Richard  III. 
Such  was  the  end  *  of  Richard  III.  the 
moft  cruel,  unrelenting  tyrant  that  ever 
fat  on  the  throne  of  England.  He  feems 
to  have  been  ap  utter  ttranger  to  the  fofter 
emotions  of  the  human  heart,  and  entirely 
deititute  of  every  fecial  enjoyment.  His 
ruling  paffion  was  ambition;  for  the  grati- 
fication of  which  he  trampled  upon  every 
law,  both  human  and  divine  ;  but  this  thirft 
of  dominion  was  unattended  with  the  leaft 
work  of  generofity,  or  any  defire  of  ren- 
dering himfelf  agreeable  to  his  fellow-crea- 
tures :  it  was  the  ambition  of  a  favage,  not 
of  a  prince  ;  for  he  was  a  folitary  king,  al- 
together detached  from  the  reft  of  mankind, 
and  incapable  of  that  fatisfadtion  which 
refults  from  private  friendfhip  and  difin- 
tereiled  fociety.  We  mult  acknowledge, 
however,  that  after  his  acceffion  to  the 
throne,  his  administration  in  general  was 
conducted  by  the  rules  of  juitice ;  that  he 
enacted  falutary  laws,  and  eftabliihed  wife 
regulations ;  and  that,  if  his  reign  had  been 
protracted,  he  might  have  proved  an  ex- 
cellent king  to  the  Englim  nation.  He 
was  dark,  filent,  and  referved,  and  fo  much 
mailer  of  diffimulation,  that  it  was  almoft 
impoffible  to  dive  into  his  real  fentiments, 
when  he  wanted  to  conceal  his  defigns. 
His  ftature  was  fmall,  his  afpett  cloudy, 
fevere,  and  forbidding  :  one  of  his  arms 
*  Slain  at  the  battle  uf  Bcfworth. 


747 

was  withered,  and  one  ihoulder  higher  than 
another,  from  which  circumftance  of  de- 
formity he  acquired  the  epithet  of  Crook- 
backed.  Smollett. 

§  80.     Char  after  c/Henry  VII. 

The  reign  of  Henry  VII.  was  in  the 
main  fortunate  for  his  people  at  home, 
and  honourable  abroad.  He  put  an  end 
to  the  civil  wars  with  which  the  nation  had 
been  fo  long  harafTed ;  he  maintained 
peace  and  order  to  the  ftate ;  he  depreffed 
the  former  exorbitant  power  of  the  nobi- 
lity; s.nd,  together  with  the  friendfhip  of 
fome  foreign  princes,  he  acquired  the  con- 
sideration and  regard  of  all. 

He  loved  peace,  without  fearing  war  ; 
though  agitated  with  criminal  fufpicions  of 
his  fervants  and  minifters,  he  difcovered 
no  timidity,  either  in  the  conducl  of  his 
affairs,  or  in  the  day  of  battle;  and,  though 
often  fevere  in  his  punifhments,  he  was 
commonly  lefs  actuated  by  revenge  than 
by  the  maxims  of  policy. 

The  fervices  which  he  rendered  his 
people  were  derived  from  his  views  of 
private  int^reit,  rather  than  the  motives 
of  public  fpirit ;  and  where  he  deviated 
from  felfifh  regards,  it  was  unknown  to 
himfelf,  and  ever  from  malignant  preju- 
dices, or  the  mean  projects  of  avarice; 
net  from  the  fallies  of  paffion,  or  allure- 
ments of  pleafure ;  ftill  lefs  from  the  be- 
nign motives  of  friendfhip  and  generofity. 

His  capacity  was  excellent,  but  fome- 
what  contracted  by  the  narrownefs  of  his 
heart ;  hepoffeffed  infinuation  and  addrefs, 
but  never  employed  thefe  talents  except 
fome  great  point  of  interelt  was  to  be  gain- 
ed ;  and  while  he  neglected  to  conciliate 
the  affections  of  his  people,  he  often  felt 
the  danger  of  reiting  his  authority  on  their 
fear  and  reverence  alone.  He  was  always 
extremely  attentive  to  his  affairs;  but. 
poffeffed  not  the  faculty  of  feeing  far  into 
futurity  ;  and  was  more  expert  at  promot- 
ing a  remedy  for  his  miftakes,  than  judi- 
cious in  avoiding  them.  Avarice  was  on 
the  whole  his  ruling  paffion ;  and  he  re- 
mained an  inftance  almolt  lingular,  of  a 
man  placed  in  a  high  itation,  and  poffeffed 
of  talents  for  great  affairs,  in  whom  that 
paffion  predominated  above  ambition.  Even 
among  private  perfons,  avarice  is  nothing 
but  a  fpecies  of  ambition,  and  is  chiefly  incit- 
ed by  the  profpedl  of  that  regard,  diftinftion, 
and  confederation,  which  attends  on  riches. 

Died  April  12th,  1 509,  aged  5 2,  having 
reigned  23  years.  Hume. 

h  81. 


748  ELEGANT    EXTR 

§  8 1 .  Another  Char  after  of  H  E  N  R  Y  VI I. 
Kenry  was  tall,  ftraight,and  well-fhaped, 
though  flender ;  of  a  grave  afpeft,  and  fa- 
turnine  complexion;  auftere  in  his  drefs, 
and  referved  in  converfation,  except  when 
he  had  a  favourite  point  to  carry  ;  and  then 
he  would  fawn,  flatter,  and  praftife  all  the 
arts  of  infmuation.  He  inherited  a  natural 
fund  of  fagacity,  which  was  improved  by 
ftudy  and  experience ;  nor  was  he  deficient 
in  perfonal  bravery  and  political  courage. 
He  was  cool,  clofe,  cunning,  dark,  diftruit- 
ful,  and  defigning  ;  and  of  all  the  princes 
who  had  fat  on  the  Engliih  throne,  the 
molt  fordid,  felfifh,  and  ignorant.  He  pof- 
feffed,  in  a  peculiar  manner,  the  art  of 
turning  all  his  domeftic  troubles,  and  all 
his  foreign  difputes,  to  his  own  advantage ; 
hence  he  acquired  the  appellation  of  the 
Engliih  Solomon ;  and  all  the  powers  of 
the  continent  courted  his  alliance,  on  ac- 
count of  his  wealth,  wifdom,  and  uninter- 
rupted profperity. 

The  nobility  he  excluded  entirely  from 
the  administration  of  public  affairs,  and 
employed  clergymen  and  lawyers,  who,  as 
they  had  no  interelt  in  the  nation,  and 
depended  entirely  upon  his  favour,  were 
more  obfequious  to  his  will,  and  ready  to 
concur  in  all  his  arbitrary  meafures.  At 
the  fame  time  it  mull:  be  owned,  he  was 
a  wife  legiflator ;  chafte,  temperate,  and 
afliduous  in  the  exercife  of  religious  duties ; 
decent  in  his  deportment,  and  exaft  in  the 
adminiftration  of  juftice,  when  his  private 
interelt.  was  not  concerned;  though  he  fre- 
quently ufed  religion  and  juftice  as  cloaks 
for  perfidy  and  oppreffion.  His  foul  was 
continually  actuated  by  two  ruling  paffions, 
equally  bafe  and  unkingly,  namely,  the 
fear  of  lofing  his  crown,  and  the  defire  of 
amaffing  riches :  and  thefe  motives  influ- 
enced his  whole  conducl.  Neverthelefs, 
his  apprehenfion  and  avarice  redounded, 
,on  the  whole,  to  the  advantage  of  the  na- 
tion. The  firft  induced  him  to  deprefs 
the  nobility,  and  abolifli  the  feudal  tenures, 
which  rendered  them  equally  formidable 
to  the  prince  and  people  ;  and  his  avarice 
prompted  him  to  encourage  induftry  and 
trade,  becaufe  it  improved  his  cufloms, 
and  enriched  his  fubje&s,  whom  he  could 
aftsrwards  pillage  at  difcretion. 

Smollett. 

\  82.     CharaBer  of  Henry  VIII. 
It  is  difficult  to  give  ajuftfumipary  of  this 
pi        '•  qualities  j  he  was  fo different  from 


ACTS    IN     PROSE. 

himfelf  in  different  parts  of  his  reign,  that, 
as  is  well  remarked  by  Lord  Herbert,  his 
hilhory  is  his  beft  character  and  defcriprion. 
The  abfolute  and  uncontrouled  authority 
which  he  maintained  at  home,  and  the  re- 
gard he  obtained  among  foreign  nations, 
are  circumltances  which  entitle  him  to  the 
appellation  of  a  great  prince ;  while  his 
tyranny  and  cruelty  feem  to  exclude  him 
from  the  character  of  a  good  one. 

He  poffeffed,  indeed,  great  vigour  of 
mind,  which  qualified  him  for  exercifing 
dominion  over  men  ;  courage,  intrepidity, 
vigilance,  inflexibility  ;  and  though  thefe 
qualities  lay  not  always  under  the  guidance 
of  a  regular  and  folid  judgment,  they  were 
accompanied  with  good  parts,  and  an  ex- 
tenfive  capacity  ;  and  every  one  dreaded  a 
contell  with  a  man  who  was  never  known 
to"  yield,  or  to  forgive ;  and  who,  irt  every 
controverfy,  was  determined  to  ruin  him- 
felf, or  his  antagonift. 

A  catalogue  of  his  vices  would  compre- 
hend many  of  the  worft  qualities  incident 
to  human  nature.  Violence,  cruelty,  pro- 
fufion,  rapacity,  injuftice,  obftinacy,  arro- 
gance, bigotry,  prefumption,  caprice  ;  but 
neither  was  he  fubjecl  to  all  thefe  vices  in 
the  moft  extreme  degree,  nor  was  he  at 
intervals  altogether  devoid  of  virtues.  He 
was  fincere,  open,  gallant,  liberal,  and  ca- 
pable at  leait  of  a  temporary  friendfhip 
and  attachment.  In  this  refpedt  he  was 
unfortunate,  that  the  incidents  of  his  times 
ferved  to  difplay  his  faults  in  their  full 
light;  the  treatment  he  met  with  from  the 
court  of  Rome  provoked  him  to  violence  ; 
the  danger  of  a  revolt  from  his  fuperfti- 
tious  fubjedts  feemed  to  require  the  moft 
extreme  feverity.  But  it  muff  at  the  fame 
time  be  acknowledged,  that  his  fituation 
tended  to  throw  an  additional  luftre  on 
what  was  great  and  magnanimous  in  his 
charafler. 

The  emulation  between  the  Emperor 
and  the  French  King  rendered  his  alliance, 
notwithstanding  his  impolitic  conducl,  of 
great  importance  to  Europe.  The  ext'en- 
five  powers  of  his  prerogative,  and  the 
fubmiffion,  not  to  fay  llaviih  difpofition  of 
his  parliament,  made  it  more  eafy  for  him 
to  aflume  and  maintain  that  entire  domi- 
nion, by  which  his  reign  is  fo  much  diitin- 
guifhed  in  Engliih  hiltory. 

It  may  feem  a  little  extraordinary, that 
notwithstanding  his  cruelty,  his  extortion, 
his  violence,  his  arbitrary  adminiftration, 
this  prince  not  only  acquired  tne  regard  of 
his  fubjefts,  but  never  was  the  object  of 

their 


BOOK  III.   ORATIONS, 

their  hatred  ;  he  feems  even,  in  fome  de- 
gree, to  have  poflefled  their  love  and 
affection.  His  exterior  qualities  were  ad- 
vantageous, and  fit  to  captivate  the  multi- 
tude ;  his  magnificence,  and  perfonal  bra- 
very, rendered  him  illuftrious  to  vulgar 
eyes  ;  and  it  may  be  iaid  with  truth,  that 
the  Englifh  in  that  age  were  ib  thoroughly 
fubdued,.  that,  like  eaftern  flaves,  they 
were  inclined  to  admire  even  thofe  acts  of 
violence  and  tyranny,  which  were  exer- 
cifed  over  themielves,  and  at  their  own  ex- 
pence. 

Died  January  z8th,  1547,  anno  netatis 
57,  regni  37.  Hume. 

§   83.  Another  Character  of  Heuky  WW. 

Henry  VIII.  before  he  became  corpu- 
lent, was  a  prince  of  a  goodly  perfonage, 
and  commanding  afpeiSt,  rather  imperious 
than  dignified.     He    excelled    in -all  the 
exercifes  of  youth,  and  pofTeffed  a  good 
underltanding,  which  was   not  much  im- 
proved by    the    nature   of  his  education, 
Inftead  of  learning  that  philofophy  which 
opens  the  mind,  and  extends  the  qualities 
of  the  heart,  he  was  confined  to  the  ftudy 
of    gloomy     and    fcholaftic    difquifitions, 
which  ferved  to  cramp  his  ideas,  and  per- 
vert the  faculty  of  reafon,  qualifying  him 
for  the  difputant  of  a  cloifter,  rather  than 
the  lawgiver  of  a  people.  In  the  firft  years 
of  his  reign,  his  pride  and  vanity  feemed 
to  domineer  over   all  his   other  paffions; 
though  from  the  beginning  he  was  impe- 
tuous, headftrong,  impatient  of  contradic- 
tion and  advice.     He  was  rafh,  arrogant, 
prodigal,  vain-glorious,  pedantic,  and  fu- 
perftitious.     He   delighted   in  pomp  and 
pageantry,  the  baubles  of  a  weak  mind. 
His  paffions,  Toothed  by  adulation,  rejected 
all  reflraint;  and  as  he  was  an  utter  Gran- 
ger to  the   finer   feelings  of  the  foul,  he 
gratified    them  at  the  expence  of  juftice 
and  humanity,  without   remorfe  or  com- 
punction. 

He  wrefted  the  fupremacy  from  the 
bifliop  of  Rome,  partly  on  confeientious 
motives,  and  partly  from  reafons  of  ftate 
and  conveniency.  He  fupprefted  the  mo- 
nafteries,  in  order  to  fupply  his  extrava- 
gance with  their  fpoih ;  but  he  would  not 
Lave  made  thofe  acquifitions,  had  they  not 
been  productive  of  advantage  to  his  nobi- 
lity, and  agreeable  to  the  nation  in  gene- 
ral. He  was  frequently  at  war;  but  the 
greateft  conquslt  he  obtained  was  over  his 
own  parliament  and  people — Religious 
difputes  had  divided  them  into  two  fac- 


CHARACTERS,    &c. 


749 


tions.  As  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  make 
either  fcale  preponderate,  each  courted  his 
favour  with  the  moft  obfequious  fubmif- 
ficn,  and,  in  trimming  the  balance,  he  kept 
them  both  in  fubjeclion.  In  accufroming 
them  to  thefe  abject:  compliances,  they  de- 
generated into  flaves,  and  he  from  their 
proftitution  acquired  the  moft  defpotic  au- 
thority. He  became  rapacious,  arbitrary, 
froward,  fretful,  and  fo  cruel  that  he  feem- 
ed to  delight  in  the  blood  of  his  fubjects. 

He  never  feemed  to  betray  the  leaft 
fymptoms  of  tendernefs  in  his  difpofition ; 
and,  as  we  already  obferved,  his  kindnefs 
to  Cranmer  was  an  inconfiltence  in  his 
character.  He  feemed  to  live  in  defiance 
of  cenfure,  whether  ecclefiaftical  or  fecu- 
lar ;  he  died  in  apprehenfion  of  futurity  ; 
and  was  buried  at  Windfor,  with  idle  prc- 
ceffions  and  childifh  pageantry,  which  in 
thofe  days  paffed  for  real  tafte  and  magni- 
ficence. Smollett. 

§  84.     Chamber  c/Ecward  VI. 

Thus  died  Edward  VI.  in  the  fixteentft 
year   of  bis  age.     He  was    counted    the 
wonder   of    his    time ;    he  was  not  only 
learned  in  the  tongues  and  the  liberal  fci- 
ences,  but  he  knew  well  the  ftate  of  his 
kingdom.      He    kept    a    table-book,    in 
which  he  had  written  the  characters  of  all 
the  eminent  men  of  the  nation :  he  ftudied 
fortification,  and  underftood  the  mint  well. 
He  knew  the  harbours  in  all  his  domini- 
ons, with    the    depth    of  the  water,  and 
way  of  coming  into  them.    He  underftood 
foreign  affairs   fo  well,  that  the  ambafTa- 
dors  who  were  lent  into  England,  publilh- 
ed  very  extraordinary  things   of  him,  in 
all  the  courts  of  Europe.    He  had  great 
quicknefs  of  apprehenfion  ;   but  being  dif- 
truftful  of  his   memory,  he  took  notes  of 
every  thing  he  heard  (that  was  confider- 
able)  in  Greek  characters,  that  thofe  about 
him  might  not  underftand  what  he  writ, 
which  he  afterwards  copied  out  fair  in  the 
journal  that   he  kept.     His  virtues  were 
wonderful.:  when  he  was  made  to  believe 
that  his  uncle  was  guilty  of  confpiring  the 
death  of  the  other  counfellors,  he  upon  that 
abandoned  him. 

Barnaby  Fitz  Patrick  was  his  favourite; 
and  when  he  lent  him  to  travel,  he  writ 
oft  to  him  to  keep  good  company,  to  avoid 
excefs  and  luxury;  and  to  improve  himfelf 
in  thofe  things  that  might  render  him  ca- 
pable of  employment  at  his  return.  He 
was  afterwards  made  Lord  of  Upper  Qf- 
forv  in  Ireland,  by  Queen  Elisabeth,  and 

did 


?^o 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


did  anfwer  the  hopes  this  excellent  king 
had  of  him.  He  was  very  merciful  in  his 
natu*e,  which  appeared  in  his  unwilling- 
nefs  to  fign  the  warrant  for  burning  the 
maid  of  Kent.  He  took  great  care  to  have 
his  debts  well  paid,  reckoning  that  a  prince 
who  breaks  his  faith,  and  lofes  his  credit, 
lias  thrown  up  that  which  he  can  never  re- 
cover, and  made  himfelf  liable  to  perpetual 
diftruft,  and  extreme  contempt.  He  took 
fpecial  care  of  the  petitions  that  were  given 
him  by  poor  and  oppreft  people.  But  his 
great  zeal  for  religion  crowned  all  the 
reft — it  was  not  an  angry  heat  about  it 
that  actuated  him,  but  it  was  a  true  tender- 
jiefs  of  confcience,  founded  on  the  love  of 
God  and  his  neighbour.  Thefe  extraordi- 
nary qualities,  fet  oft*  with  great  fweetnefs 
and  affability,  made  him  univerfally  be- 
loved by  his  people.  Burnet. 

§  85-  Another  Characler  of  Edw a rd  VI. 
All  the  Englilh  hiftorians  dwell  with 
pleafure  on  the  excellencies  of  this  young 
prince,  whom  the  flattering  promifes  of 
hope,  joined  to  many  real  virtues,  had 
made  an  object  of  the  mod  tender  affec- 
tions of  the  public.  He  poffeffed  mildnefs 
of  difpofition,  application  to  ftudy  and 
bufinefs,  a  capacity  to  learn  and  judge, 
and  an  attachment  to  equity  and  juftice. 
He  feems  only  to  have  contracted,  from 
his  education,  and  from  the  age  in  which 
he  lived,  too  much  of  a  narrow  prepoffef- 
fion  in  matters  of  religion,  which  made 
him  incline  fomewhat  to  bigotry  and  per- 
fection. But  as  the  bigotry  of  Proteft- 
ants,  lefs  governed  by  priefts,  lies  undcr 
more  reftraints  than  that  of  Catholics,  the 
effects  of  this  malignant  quality  were  the 
lefs  to  be  apprehended,  if  a  longer  life  had 
been  granted  to  young  Edward.     Hume. 

§  86.  Another  Character  of  Emv ard  VI. 

Edward  is  celebrated  by  hiftorians  for 
the  beauty  of  his  perfon,  the  fweetnefs  of 
his  difpofition,  and  the  extent  of  his  know- 
ledge. By  that  time  he  had  attained  his 
fixteenth  year,  he  underftood  the  Greek, 
Latin,  French,  Italian,  and  Spanilh  lan- 
guages ;  he  was  verfed  in  the  fciences  of 
logic,  mufic,  natural  philofophy,  and  rnaftcr 
of  all  theological  difputes ;  infomuch  that 
the  famous  Cardanus,  in  his  return  from 
Scotland,  vifning  the  Engliih  court,  was 
aftonifhed  at  the  progrefs  he  had  made  in 
learning;  and  afterwards  extolled  him  in 
his  works  as  a  prodigy  of  nature.  Nct- 
withftanding  thefe  encomium';,  he  (eenisto 


have  had  an  ingredient  of  bigotry  in  his 
difpofition,  that  would  have  rendered  him 
very  troublefome  to  thofe  of  tender  con- 
fciences,  who  might  have  happened  to  dif- 
fer with  him  in  religious  principles;  nor 
can  we  reconcile  either  to  his  boafted  hu- 
manity or  penetration,  his  confenting  to  the 
death  of  his  uncle,  who  had  ferved  him 
faithfully;  unlefs  we  fuppofe  he  wanted 
refolution  to  withftand  the  importunities  of 
his  minifters,  and  was  deficient  in  that  vi- 
gour of  mind,  which  often  exifts  indepen- 
dent of  learning  and  culture.       Smollett. 


§   87.      Char  ad  er  c/Mary. 

is    not   neceftary    to   employ  many 
drawing 


It 

words  in  drawing    the    character  of  this 
princefs.    She  poffefted  few  qualities  either 
eftimable  or  amiable,  and  her  perfon  was 
as   little   engaging  as  her  behaviour  and 
addrefs.  Obitinacy,  bigotry,  violence,  cru- 
elty,   malignity,    revenge,    and   tyranny; 
every  circumftance  of  her  character  took 
a  tincture  from  her  bad  temper  and  nar- 
row understanding.  And  amidft  that  com- 
plication of  vices  which  entered  into  her 
compolition,  we    fhall    fcarcely    find   any 
virtue  but  fincerity;  a  quality  which  fhe 
feems  to  have  maintained  throughout  her 
whole  life,  except  in  the  beginning  of  her 
reign,  when    the  neceffity    of  her  affairs 
obliged  her  to  make  fome  promifes  to  the 
Proteftants,  which  lhe  certainly  never  in- 
tended to  perform.     But  in  thefe  cafes  a 
weak  bigoted  woman,  under  the  govern- 
ment of  priefts,  eafily  finds  cafuiftry  fufti- 
cient  tojuftify    to  herfelf  the  violation  of 
an  engagement.     She  appears,  as  well  as 
her  father,  to  have  been  fufceptible  of  fome 
attachment  of  friendlhip  ;  and  that  without 
caprice  and  inconftancy,  which  were  fo  re- 
markable in  the  conduct  of  that  monarch. 
To  which  we  may  add,  that  in  many  cir- 
cumftances  of  her  life,  fhe  gave  indications 
of  refolution  and  vigour  of  mind;  a  qua- 
lity which  feems  to  have  been  inherent  in 
her  family. 

Died  Nov.  7,  A.  D.  1558.  Hume. 

§   S3.     Another  Chara£ter  of Mart. 

We  have  already  oblerved,  that  the  cha- 
rac~leriftic<;  of  Mary  were  bigotry  and  re- 
venge:  we  fhall  only  add,  that  fhe  was 
proud,  imperious,  froward,  avaricious,  and 
wholly  deftitute  of  every  agreeable  quali- 
fication. Smollett. 


§  Sg.     Chare. 

Elizabeth  had 
13 


3er  ^Elizabeth. 

a   r;rcat  deal  of  wit,  and 
was 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,     be 


751 


was  naturally  of  a  found  and  folid  judg- 
ment. This  was  vifible  by  her  whole 
management,  from  one  end  of  her  reign 
to  the  other.  Nothing  {hews  her  capacity 
more,  than  her  addrefs  in  furmounting  all 
the  difficulties  and  troubles  created  by  her 
enemies,  efpecially  when  it  is  confidered 
who  thefe  enemies  were  ;  perfons  the  moft 
powerful,  the  moft  artful,  the  moft  fubtile,  . 
and  the  leaft  fcrupulous  in  Europe.  The 
following  are  the  maxims  which  ftie  laid 
down  for  the  rule  and  meafures  of  her 
whole  conduct,  and  from  which  (he  never 
fwerved :  "  To  make  herfelf  beloved  by 
««  her  people  :  To  be  frugal  of  her  trea- 
«<  fure:  To  keep  up  diil'enfion  amongft 
"  her  neighbours." 

Her  enemies  pretend  that  her  abilities 
confuted  wholly  in  overtrained  dimmula- 
tion,  and  a  profound  hypocrify.  In  a 
word,  they  fay  fhe  was  a  perfect  come- 
dian. For  my  part,  I  don't  deny  that  fhe 
made  great  ufe  of  diffimulation,  as  well 
with  regard  to  the  courts  of  France  and 
Spain,  as  to  the  queen  of  Scotland  and  the 
Scots.  I  am  alfo  perfuaded  that,  being 
as  much  concerned  to  gain  the  love  and 
efieem  of  her  fubjects,  fhe  affected  to  fpeak 
frequently,  -snd  with  exaggeration,  of  her 
tender  affection  for  them.  And  that  fhe 
had  a  mind  to  make  it  believed  that  fhe 
did  fome  things  from  an  exceffive  love  to 
her  people,  which  fhe  was  led  to  more  by 
her  own  intereft. 

Avarice  is  another  failing  which  her 
own  friends  reproach  her  with.  1  will  not 
deny  that  fhe  was  too  pariimonious,  and 
upon  fome  occafions  fluck  too  clofe  to  the 
maxims  fhe  had  laid  down,  not  to  be  at  any 
expence  but  what  was  abfolutely  neceffary. 
However  in  general  I  maintain,  that  if  her 
circumftances  did  not  require  her  to  be 
covetous,  at  leall  they  required  that  fhe 
(hould  not  part  with  her  money  but  with 
great  caution,  both  in  order  to  preferve 
the  affection  of  her  people,  and  to  keep 
herfelf  always  in  a  condition  to  withiland 
her  enemies. 

She  is  accufed  alfo  of  not  being  fo 
chaile,  as  fhe  affected  to  appear.  Nay, 
fome  pretend  that  there  are  now  in  Eng- 
land, the  defcendants  of  a  daughter  fhe 
had  by  the  Earl  of  Leicefter ;  but  as 
hitherto  nobody  has  undertaken  to  pro- 
duce any  proofs  of  this  accufation,  one 
may  fafely  reckon  it  among  the  ilanders 
which  they  endeavoured  to  ftain  her  repu- 
tation with,  both  in  her  life-time  and  after 
her  deceafe. 


It  is  not  fo  eafy  to  juftify  her  concerning 
the  death  of  the  queen  of  Scots.  Here  it 
muft  be  owned  fhe  facrificed  equity,  jultice, 
and  it  may  be  her  own  confcience,  to  her 
fafety.  If  Mary  was  guilty  of  the  mur- 
der of  her  hufband,  as  there  is  ground  to 
believe,  it  was  not  Elizabeth's  bufinefs  to 
punilh  her  for  it.  And  truly  it  was  not 
for  that  ihe  took  away  her  life ;  but  fhe 
made  ufe  of  that  pretence  to  detain  her 
in  prifon,  under  the  deceitful  colour  of 
making  her  innocence  appear.  On  this 
occafion  her  diffimulatien  was  blame-wor-- 
thy.  This  firft  piece  of  injullice,  drew 
her  in  afterwards  to  ufe  a  world  of  artful 
devices  to  get  a  pretence  to  render  Mary's 
imprifonment  perpetual.  From  hence  arofe 
in  the  end,  the  neceffity  of  putting  her  to 
death  on  the  fcaffold.  This  doubtlefs  is 
Elizabeth's  great  blemifh,  which  manifeftly 
proves  to  what  degree  fhe  carried  the  fear 
of  lofing  a  crown.  The  continual  fear  and 
uneafinefs  fhe  was  under  on  that  account, 
is  what  characterifes  her  reign,  becaufe  it 
was  the  main  fpring  of  almoft  all  her 
actions.  The  beft  thing  that  can  be  faid 
in  Elizabeth's  behalf  is,  that  the  queen  of 
Scots  and  her  friends  had  brought  matters 
to  fuch  a  pafs,  that  one  of  the  two  queens 
muft  perilh,  and  it  was  natural  that  the 
weakeft  fhould  fall.  I  don't  believe  any- 
body ever  queftioned  her  being  a  true 
Proteftant,  But,  as  it  was  her  intereft  to 
be  fb,  fome  have  taken  occafion  to  doubt 
whether  the  zeal  fhe  expreffed  for  her  re- 
ligion, was  the  effect  of  her  perfuafiou  or 
policy.  All  that  can  be  faid  is,  that  fhe 
happened  fometimes  to  prefer  her  temporal 
concerns,  before  thofe  of  religion.  To 
fum  up  in  two  words  what  may  ferve  to 
form  Elizabeth's  character,  I  ihall  add, 
fhe  was  a  good  and  illultrious  queen,  with 
many  virtues  and  noble  qualities,  and  few 
faults.  But  what  ought  above  all  things 
to  make  her  memory  precious  is,  that  fh® 
caufed  the  Englifh  to  enjoy  a  ftate  of  feli- 
city unknown  to  their  anceftors,  under 
moil  part  of  the  kings,  her  predeceffors. 

Died  March  24,  1603,  aged  70,  having 
reigned  44  years,  4  months,  and  %  days. 

Rapin. 

§  90.  Another  Cbaratter  cf  Elizabeth. 

There  are  few  great  perfonages  in  hif- 
tcry  who  have  been  more  expoied  to  the 
calumny  of  enemies,  and  the  adulation  of 
friends,  than  queen  Elizabeth;  and  yet 
there  is  fcarce  any  who'e  reputation  has 
been  more   certainly  determined,  by  the 

unanimous 


75  2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


unanimous  confent  of  poilerity.  The  un- 
ufual  length  of  her  adminiftration,  and  the 
iirong  features  of  her  character,  were  able 
to  overcome  all  prejudices ;  and  obliging 
her  detractors  to  abate  much  of  their  in- 
vectives, and  her  admirers  fomewhat  their 
panegyricks,  have  at  laft,  in  fpite  of  poli- 
tical factions,  and,  what  is  more,  of  reli- 
gious animofities,  produced  an  uniform 
judgment  with  regard  to  her  conduct. 
Her  vigour,  her  conftancy,  her  magnani- 
mity, her  penetration,  and  vigilance,  are 
allowed  to  merit  the  higheft  praife,  and  ap- 
pear not  to  have  been  furpafTed  by  any 
perfon  who  ever  filled  a  throne.  A  conduct 
lefs  vigorous,  lefs  imperious ;  more  fincere, 
more  indulgent  to  her  people,  would  have 
been  requifite  to  form  a  perfect  character. 
By  the  force  of  her  mind,  (he  controuled 
all  her  more  active  and  ftronger  qualities, 
and  prevented  them  from  running  into 
excels.  Her  heroifm  was  exempt  from  all 
temerity,  her  frugality  from  avarice,  her 
friendship  from  partiality,  her  active  fpirit 
from  turbulency  and  a  vain  ambition.  She 
guarded  not  herfelf  with  equal  care,  or 
equal  fuccefs  from  leiTer  infirmities ;  the 
rivalfnip  of  beauty,  the  defire  of  admira- 
tion, the  jealoufy  of  love,  and  the  fallies  of 
anger. 

Her  flngular  talents  for  government 
were  founded  equally  on  her  temper  and 
on  her  capacity.  Endowed  with  a  great 
command  of  herfelf,  fhe  obtained  an  un- 
controuled  afcendant  over  her  people;  and 
while  fhe  merited  all  their  efteem  by  her 
real  virtues,  (he  alio  engaged  their  affection 
by  her  pretended  ones.  Few  fovereigns  of 
England  fucceeded  to  the  throne  in  more 
difficult  circumftances ;  and  none  ever  con- 
ducted the  government  with  fuch  uniform 
fuccefs  and  felicity.  Though  unacquainted 
with  the  practice  of  toleration,  the  true 
fecret  for  managing  religious  factions,  fhe 
preferved  her  people,  by  her  fuperior 
providence,  from  thofe  confufions  in  which 
theological  controverfy  had  involved  all 
the  neighbouring  nations:  and  though  her 
enemies  were  the  malt  powerful  princes  in 
Europe,  the  moft  active,  the  moft  enter- 
prizing,  the  leaft  fcrupulous,  fhe  was  able 
by  her  vigour  to  make  deep  impreffions  on 
their  ffate ;  her  own  greatnefs  mem  while 
untouched  and  unimpaired. 

The  wife  minifters  and  brave  warriors, 
who  flourifned  during  her  reign,  fhare  the 
praife  of  her  fuccefs;  but  inftead  of  leiTen- 
ing  the  applaufe  dus  to  her,  they  make 
great  addition  to.   it.     They   owed  ill  of 


them  their  advancement  to  her  choice,  they 
were  fupported  by  her  conftancy  ;  and  with 
all  their  ability  they  were  never  able  to 
acquire  any  undue  afcendant  over  her.  In 
her  family,  in  her  court,  in  her  kingdom, 
fhe  remained  equally  miitrtfs.  The  force 
of  the  tender  pailions  was  great  over  her, 
but  the  force  of  her  mind  was  (till  fuperior  ; 
and  the  combat  which  her  victory  vifibly 
colt  her,  ferves  only  to  difplay  the  firmnefs 
of  her  refolution,  and  the  loftinefs  of  her 
ambitious  fentiments. 

The  fame  of  this  princefs,  though  it  has 
furmounted  the  prejudices  both  of  faction 
and  bigotry,  yet  lies  itill  expofed  to  ano- 
ther prejudice  which  is  more  durable,  be- 
caufe  more  natural,  and  which,  according 
to  the  different  views  in  which  we  furvey 
her,  is  capable  either  of  exalting  beyond 
meafure,  or  diminifhing  the  luitre  of  her 
character.  This  prejudice  is  founded  in 
confideration  of  her  fex.  When  we  con- 
template her  as  a  woman,  we  are  apt  to  be 
ftruck  with  the  higheft  admiration  of  her 
great  qualities  and  extenfive  capacity  ;  but 
we  are  apt  alfo  to  require  fome  more  foft- 
nefs  of  difpofition,  fome  greater  lenity  of 
temper,  fome  of  thofe  amiable  weakneffes 
by  which  her  fex  is  diftinguithed.  But  the 
true  method  of  eftimating  her  merit  is,  to 
lay  afide  all  thofe  confideration s,  and  con- 
fider  her  merely  as  a  rational  being,  placed 
in  authority,  and  entrufted  with  the  go- 
vernment of  mankind.  We  may  find  it 
difficult  to  reconcile  our  fancy  to  her  as  3 
wife,  or  a  miltrefs ;  but  her  qualities  as  a 
fovereign,  though  with  fome  coniiderable 
exceptions,  are  the  object  of  undifputed 
applaufe  and  approbation. 


thus  left  unjinijhed  hy  Hume. 

§91.  Another  Char after  c/Elizabeth. 
Elizabeth,  in  her  perfon,  was  mafculine, 
tall,  ftraight,  and  ftrong-limbed,  with  arf 
high  round  forehead,  brown  eyes,  fair 
complexion,  fine  white  teeth,  and  yellow 
hair;  fhe  danced  with  great  agility;  her 
voice  was  ftrong  and  flu-ill ;  fhe  underflood 
mufic,  and  played  upon  feveral  inftruments. 
She  pofTelTed  an  excellent  memory,  and 
underflood  the  dead  and  living  languages, 
and  made  good  proficiency  in  the  fciences 
and  was  well  read  in  hiflory.  Her  con- 
versation was  fprightly  and  agreeable,  her 
judgment  folid,  her  apprehenfion  acute, 
her  application  indefatigable,  and  her  cou- 
rage invincible.  She  was  the  great  bul- 
6  wark 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,    &c. 


X 


Wark  of  the  Proteftant  religion;  fhe  was 
highly  commendable  for  her  general  re- 
gard to  the  impartial  administration  of 
juftice;  and  even  for  her  rigid  ceconomy, 
which  faved  the  public  money,  and  evinced 
that  love  for  her  people  which  fhe  fo 
warmly  profefTed.  Yet  fhe  deviated  from 
juftice  in  fome  infrances  when  her  intereft 
and  pa/lions  were  concerned;  and,  not- 
withstanding all  her  great  qualities,  we 
cannot  deny  fhe  was  vain,  proud,  imperi- 
ous, and  in  fome  cafes  cruel :  her  predo- 
minant paihon  was  jealoufy  and  avarice  ; 
though  me  was  alfo  fubject  to  fuch  violent 
gulls  of  anger  as  overwhelmed  all  regard 
to  the  dignity  of  her  ftation,  and  even 
hurried  her  beyond  the  common  bounds  of 
decency.  She  was  wife  and  fteady  in  her 
principles  of  government,  and  above  all 
princes  fortunate  in  a  miniilry. 

Smollett. 

§92.  Char  after  of  J  a  m  e  s  I . 
James  was  of  a  middle  ftature,  of  a  fine 
complexion,  and  a  foft  fkin;  his  perfon 
plump,  but  not  corpulent,  his  eyes  large 
and  rolling,  his  beard  thin,  his  tongue  too 
big  for  his  mouth,  his  countenance  dif- 
agreeable,  his  air  awkward,  and  his  gait 
remarkably  ungraceful,  from  a  weaknefs 
in  his  knees  that  prevented  his  walking 
without  amltance;  he  was  tolerably  tem- 
perate in  his  diet,  but  drank  of  little  elfe 
than  rich  and  ftrong  wines.  His  character, 
from  the  variety  of  grotefque  qualities  that 
compole  it,  is  not  eafy  to  be  delineated. 
The  virtues  he  pofleffed  were  fo  loaded 
with  a  greater  proportion  of  their  neigh- 
bouring vices,  that  they  exhibit  no  lights, 
to  fet  off  the  dark  lhades ;  his  principles  of 
generofity  were  tainted  by  fuch  a  childifh 
profufion,  that  they  left  him  without  means 
of  paying  hisj'uft  obligations,  and  fubjefled 
him  to  the  neceffity  of  attempting  irregu- 
lar, illegal,  and  unjull  methods  of  acquiring 
money.  His  friendfhip,  not  to  give  it  the 
name  of  vice,  was  directed  by  fo  puerile  a. 
fancy,  and  fo  abfurd  a  caprice,  that  the  ob- 
jects of  it  were  contemptible,  and  its  con- 
fluences attended  with  fuch  an  unmerited 
profufion  of  favours,  that  it  was  perhaps 
the  molt  exceptionable  quality  of 'any  he 
poflefl'ed.  Hisdiftinclions  were  formed  on 
principles  of  fclfilhnefs  ;  he  valued  no  per- 
fon for  any  endowments  that  could  not  be 
made  fubiervient  to  his  pleafures  or  his  in- 
terest; and  thus  he  rarely  advanced  any 
nun  of  real  worth  to  preferment,      His, 


familiar  converfation,  both  in  writing  and 
in  fpeaking,  was  fluffed  with  vulgar  and  in- 
decent phrafes.  Though  proud  and  arro- 
gant in  his  temper,  and  full  of  the  impor- 
tance of  his  ftation,  he  defcended  to  buf- 
foonry,  and  fuffered  his  favourites  to  ad- 
drefs  him  in  the  molt  difrefpectful  terms  of 
grofs  familiarity. 

Himfelf  affected  a  fententious  wit,  but 
rofe  no  higher  in  thofe  attempts  than  to 
quaint,  and  often  ftale  conceits.  His  edu- 
cation had  been  a  more  learned  one  than  is 
commonly  bellowed  on  princes ;  this,  from 
the  conceit  it  gave  him,  turned  out  a  very 
difadvantageous  circumltance,  by  contract- 
ing his  opinions  to  his  own  narrow  views; 
his  pretences  to  a  confummate  knowledge 
in  divinity,  politics,  and  the  art  of  govern- 
ing, expofe  him  to  a  high  degree  of  ridi- 
cule; his  conduct  fhewing  him  more  than 
commonly  deficient  in  all  thefe  points.  His 
romantic  idea  of  the  natural  rights  of  prin- 
ce.1;, caufed  him  publicly  to  avow  preten- 
fions  that  impreffed  into  the  minds  of  the 
people  an  incurable  jealoufy  ;  this,  with  an 
affectation  of  a  profound  fkill  in  the  art  of 
diffembling,  or  kingcraft,  as  he  termed  it, 
rendered  him  the  object  of  fear  and  dif- 
truft ;  when  at  the  fame  time  he  wa3  him- 
felf the  only  dupe  to  an  impertinent,  ufelefs 
hypocrify. 

If  the  laws  and  conftitution  of  England 
received  no  prejudice  from  his  government, 
it  was  owing  to  his  want  of  ability  to  effect 
a  change  fuitable  to  the  purpofe  of  an  ar- 
bitrary fvvay.  Stained  with  thefe  vices,  and 
fullied  with  thefe  wcakneiTes,  if  he  is  even 
exempt  from  our  hatred,  the  exemption 
muft  arife  from  motives  of  contempt.  Def~ 
picable  as  he  appears  through  his  own 
Britannic  government,  his  behaviour  when 
king  of  Scotland  was  in  many  points  un- 
exceptionable ;  but,  intoxicated  with  the 
power  he  received  over  a  people  whofe 
privileges  were  but  feebly  eitabliihed,  and 
who  had  been  long  Subjected  to  civil  and 
ecclefiaftical  tyranny,  he  at  once  flung  off 
that  moderation  that  hid  his  deformities 
from  the  common  eye.  It  is  alledged,  that 
the  corruption  he  met  with  in  the  court  of 
England,  and  the  time-ferving  genius  of 
the  Englifh  noblemen,  were  thegreat means 
that  debauched  him  from  his  circumfpedt 
conduct.  Among  the  forwardeft  of  tne 
worthlefs  tribe  was  Cecil,  afterwards  Earl 
of  Salifbury,  who  told  him  en  his  coming 
to  the  crown,  that  he  fhould  find  his  Eng- 
lifh fubjects  like  affes,  on  whom  he  might 
lav  any  burden,  and  Ihould  need  neither 
3   C  bit 


75+ 


ELEGANT    E  X  TJl  A  C  T  S    IN    PROSE. 


bit  nor  bridle,  but  their  afles  ears.     Died 
March  27,  A.D.  1625.     Aged  59. 

Macaulay, 

§   93.     Another  Character  of 'James. 

James  was  in  his  Mature  of  the  middle 
fize,  inclining  to  corpulency;  his  forehead 
was  high,  his  beard  fcanty,  and  his  aipect 
mean;  his  eyes,  which  were  weak  and  lan- 
guid, he  rolled  about  inceffantly,  as  if  in 
quell  of  novelty  ;  his  tongue  was  fo  large, 
that  in  fpeaking  or  drinking,  he  beflao- 
bered  the  by-ftanders ;  his  knees  were  fo 
weak  as  to  bend  under  the  weight  of  his 
body;  his  addrefs  was  awkward,  and  his 
appearance  flovenly.  There  was  nothing 
dignified  either  in  the  compofuion  of  his 
mind  or  perfon.  We  have  in  the  courfe 
of  his  reign  exhibited  repeated  inftances  of 
his  ridiculous  vanity,  prejudices,  profufion, 
folly,  and  littlenefs  of  foul.  All  that  we 
can  add  in  his  favour  is,  that  he  was  averfe 
to  cruelty  and  injuftice  ;  very  little  addict- 
ed to  excefs,  temperate  in  his  meals,  kind  to 
his  fervant.%  and  even  defirous  of  acquiring 
the  love  of  his  fubjects,  by  granting  that 
as  a  favour,  which  thev  claimed  as  a  pri- 
vilege. His  reign,  though  ignoble  to  him- 
felf,  was  happy  to  his  people.  Thev  were 
enriched  by  commerce,  which  no  war  in- 
terrupted. They  felt  no  fevere  impac- 
tions ;  and  the  commons  made  confiderable 
progrefs  in  afcertaining  the  liberties  of  the 
nation.  Smollett. 

§  94.     Another  CharaSler  of  ]  a  m  es. 

No  prince,  fo  little  enterprizing  and  fo 
inoffenfive,  was  ever  fo  much  expofed  to 
the  oppofite  extremes  of  calumny  and  flat- 
tery, of  fatire  and  panegyric.  And  the 
factions  which  began  in  his  time,  beipg  Mill 
continued,  have  made  his  "character  be  as 
much  difputed  to  this  day,  as  is  commonly 
that  of  princes  who  are  our  contemporaries. 
Many  virtues,  however,  it  mult  be  owned, 
he  was  poflefTed  of;  but  not  one  of  them 
pure,  or  free  from  the  contagion  of  the 
neighbouring  vices.  His  generofity  bor- 
dered on  profufion.  his  learning  on  pe- 
dantry, his  pacific  difpofuion  on  pufillani- 
mity,  his  wifdom  on  cunning,  his  friend- 
fhip  on  light  fancy,  and  boyilh  fondnefs. 
While  he  imagined  that  he  was  only  main- 
taining his  own  authority,  he  may  perhaps 
be  fufpected  in  fome  of  his  actions,  and 
flill  more  of  his  pretenfions,  to  have  en- 
croached on   the  liberties  of  his  people. 


While  he  endeavoured,  by  an  exact  neu- 
trality, to  acquire  the  good-will  of  all  his 
neighbours,  he  was  able  to  preferve  fully 
the  elteem  and  regard  of  none.  His  ca- 
pacity was  confiderable,  but  fitter  to  dif- 
courfe  on  general  maxims  than  to  conduct: 
any  intricate  bufinefi. 

His  intentious  werejuft,  but  more  adapt- 
ed to  the  conduct  of  private  life,  than  to 
the  government  of  kingdoms.  Awkward 
in  his  perfon,  and  ungainly  in  his  man- 
ners, he  was  ill  qualified  to  command  re- 
flect :  partial  and  undifcerning  in  his  af- 
fections, he  was  little  fitted  to  acquire  ge- 
neral love.  Of  a  feeble  temper  more  than 
of  a  frugal  judgment ;  expofed  to  our  ri- 
dicule from  his  vanity,  but  exempt  from 
our  hatred  by  his  freedom  from  pride  and 
arrogance.  And  upon  the  whole  it  may 
be  pronounced  of  his  character,  that  all  his 
qualities  were  fuliied  with  weaknefs,  and 
embeililhed  by  humanity.  Political  cou- 
rage he  was  certainly  devoid  of;  and  from 
thence  chiefly  is  derived  the  ftrong  pre- 
judice which  prevails  againft  his  perfonal 
bravery :  an  inference,  however,  which 
mult  be  owned,  from  general  experience, 
to  be  extremely  fallacious.  Hume. 

§  9;.     Another  Character  of]  AMES. 

The  principal  thing  which  is  made  to 
fcrve  for  matter  for  king  James's  pane- 
gyric, is  the  conftant  peace  he  caufed  his 
fubjects  to  enjoy.  This  cannot  be  faid  to 
hi  the  effect  of  chance,  fince  it  clearly  ap- 
pears, it  was  his  fole,  or  at  leart  his  chief 
aim  in  the  whole  courfe  of  his  adminiftra- 
tion.  Nothing,  fay  his  friends,  is  more 
worthy  a  great  king  than  fuch  a  defign. 
But  the  fame  defign  lofes  all  its  merit,  if 
the  prince  difcovers  by  his  conduct,  that 
he  preferves  peace  only  out  of  fear,  care- 
leflhefs,  exceffive  love  of  cafe  and  repofe  ; 
and  king'  James's  whole  behaviour  lhews 
he  acted  from  thefe  motives,  though  he 
coloured  it  with  the  pretence  of  his  affec- 
tion for  the  people. 

His  liberality,  which  fome  praife  him 
for,  is  exclaimed  againit  by  others  as  pro- 
digality. Thefe  laft  pretend  he  gave 
without  meafure  and  difcretion,  without 
any  regard  to  his  own  wants,  or  the  me- 
rit of  thefe  whom  he  heaped  his  favours 
upon. 

As  to  his  manners,  writers  are  no  lefs 
divided :  fome  will  have  him  to  be  looked 
on  as  a  very  wife  and  virtuous  prince  ; 
whilll  others  fpeak  of  him  as  a  prince  of 
a  difTolute  life,  given  to  drinking,  and  a 
13  great 


BOOK    TIL      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,  &c. 


755 


}?reat  fwearer  in  common  converfation,  ef- 
pecially  when  in  a  pafiion.  He  is  likewife 
taxed  with  diflblving  the  Earl  of  Effex's 
marriage,  the  pardoning  the  Earl  and 
Gouatefs  of  Someriet,  the  death  of  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  and  the  confidence  where- 
with in  full  parliament  he  caiied  God  to 
witneis,  that  he  never  had  any  thoughts  cf 
giving  the  Papifts  a  toleration,  which  he 
conld  not  affirm  hut  by  means  of  feme 
mental  reservation. 

But  whatever  may  be  faid  for  or  againft 
James's  peribn,  it  is  certain  England  ne- 
yer  HJuriihed  lei's  than  in  his  reign;  the 
JEhglilh  faw  themfelves  expoled  to  the  in- 
fults  and  jells  of  other  nations,  and  all  the 
world  in.  general  threw  the  blame  on  the 
kin?.  Rafein. 


<-a£ler  (/"Charles  I. 


595.      Cha 

Such  was  the  unworthy  and  unexampled 
fate  of  Charles  J.,  king  of  England,  who 
fell  a  faciifice  to  the  molt  atrocious  info- 
lence  of  tfeafon,  in  the  forty-ninth  year  cf 
his  age,  and  in  the  twenty-fourth  of  his 
reign.  He  was  a  prince  of  a  middling  ita- 
twre-,,  robuit,  and  well-proportioned..  His 
hair  was  of  a  dark  colour,  his  forehead 
ixiyh,  his  complexion  pale,  his  vifage  Ion?, 
ri'i J  his  afpeft  melancholy.  He  excelled 
in.  riding,  and  other  manly  cxerciles;  he 
inherited  a  good  under  landing  from  na- 
ture, and  had  cultivated  it  with  g.eat  affi- 
duity.  His  perception  was  clear  and  acute. 
bis  judgment  foiid  and  deafne;  he  pof- 
fefled  a  refined  taite  for  the  liberal  arts, 
and  was  a  munificent  patron  to  thofe  who 
excelled  i.i  painting,  fculpture,  mufic,  and 
architecture.  In  his  private  morals  he  was 
altogether  unblerniihed  and  exemplary. 
He  was  merciful,  model!,  cliaire,  temoe- 


•r.U  ',  rLl.giou;,  perlonaily  brave,  ani  we 
may  join  the  noble  hiltori.m  in  faying; 
*'  He  was  tthe  worthiest  gentleman,  the  belt 
*'  ma  ter,  the  belt  friend,  the  belt  hufband, 
"  the  bed  fuhef,  and  the  belt  chriftian  cf 
"  the  age  in  which  he  lived."  He  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  bred  up  in  high  notions  of 
the  prerogative,  which  he  thought  his  ho- 
nour and  his  duty  obliged  him  to  main- 
tain. He  lived  at  a  time  when  the  fpir-it 
of  the  people  became  too  mighty  for  thofe 
restraints  which  the  regal  power  derived 
fiom  the  conititution;  and  when  the  tide 
of  fanaticifm  began  to  overbear  the  reli- 
gion of  his  country,  to  which  he  was  con- 
icientioufly  devoted,  he  fufFered  himfelf 
to  be  guided  by  counsellors,  who  were  not 
only  inferior  to  himfelf  in  knowledge  and 


judgment,  but  generally  proud,  partial, 
and  inflexible  ;  and  from  an  excels  of  con- 
jugal affection  that  bordered  upon  weak- 
ness, he  paid  too  much  deference  to  the 
advice  and  defires  of  his  confort,  who  was 
fuperiiitioufly  attached  to  the  errors  of  po- 
pery, and  importuned  him  inceflantly  in 
favour  of  the  Roman  Catholics. 

Such  were  the  fources  of  all  that  mifgo- 
vernment  which  was  imputed  to  him  dur- 
ing the  firft  fifteen  years  of  his  reign. 
From  the  beginning  of  the  civil  v/ar  to  his 
fatal  cataltrophe,  his  conduct  feems  to  have 
been  unexceptionable.  His  infirmities  and 
imperfections  have  been  candidly  owned  in 
the  courfe  of  this  narration.  He  was  not 
very  liberal  to  his  dependants ;  his.  conver- 
fation was  not  eafy,  nor  his  addrefs  pleaf- 
ing  ;  yet  the  probity  of  his  heart,  and  the 
innocence  of  ins  manners,  won  the  affec- 
tion of  all  who  attended  his  perfon,  not 
even  excepting  thofe  who  had  the  charge 
of  his  confinement.  In  a  word,  he  cer- 
tainly deferved  the  epithet  of  a  virtuous 
prince,  though  he  wanted  fome  of  thofe 
mining  qualities  which  conltitute  the  cha- 
racter of  a  great  monarch.  Beheaded  Ja- 
nuary 30,  164S  9.  Smollett. 

§  Q-J.  Another  Char  after  o/Charles  I. 
The  character  of  this  prince,  as  that  of 
mod  men,  if  not  of  all  men,  wras  mixed,  but 
his  virtues  predominated  extremely  above 
his  vices;  or,  more  properly  fpeaking,  his 
imperfections :  for  fcarce  any  of  his  faults 
arofe  to  that  pitch,  as  to  merit  the  appel- 
lation of  vices.  To  confider  him  in  the 
mod  favourable  light,  it  may  be  affirmed, 
that  his  dignity  was  exempted  from  pride, 
his  humanity  from  weaknefs,  his  bravery 
from  rafnnefs,  his  temperance  from  au- 
fierity,  and  his  frugality  from  avarice  :  all 
thefe  virtues  in  him  maintained  their  pro- 
per bounds,  and  merited  unreferved  praife. 
To  fpeak  the  molt  harfhiy  of  him,  we  may 
affirm,  that  many  of  his  good  qualities  were 
attended  with  fome  latent  frailty,  which, 
though  feemingly  inconfiderable,  was  able, 
when  fecondedby  the  extreme  malevolence 
of  his  fortune,  to  difappoint  them  of  all 
their  influence.  His  beneficent  difpofition 
was  clouded  by  a  manner  not  gracious,  his 
virtue  was  tinctured  with  fuperftition,  his 
good  fenfe  was  disfigured  by  a  deference 
to  perfons  of  a  capacity  much  inferior  to 
his  own,  and  his  moderate  temper  exempt- 
ed h'm  not  from  hafty  and  precipitate  re- 
folutions.  He  defeives  the  epithet  of  a 
good,  rather  than  of  a  great  man  ;  and  was 
3  C  2  /v  more 


756  ELEGANT    EXTR 

Wore  fitted  to  rule  in  a  regular  eftabliihed 
government,  than  either  to  give  way  to  the 
encroachments  of  a  popular  afiembly,  or 
finally  to  fubdue  their  pretentions.  He 
wanted  fupplenefs  and  dexterity  fu/Hcicnt 
for  the  firft  meafure  ;  he  was  not  endowed 
with  vigour  requifite  for  the  fecond.  Had 
he*  been  born  an  abfolute  prince,  his  hu- 
manity and  good  fenfe  had  rendered  his 
reign  happy,  and  Ins  memory  precious. 
Had  the  limitations  on  the  prerogative  been 
in  hi1)  time  quite  iixed  and  certain,  his  in- 
tegrity had  made  him  regard  as  facred  the 
boundaries  of  the  conftitution.  Unhappily 
his  fate  threw  him  into  a  period,  when  the 
precedents  of  many  former  reigns  favoured 
ihonglv  of  arbitrary  power,  and  the  genius 
6f  the  people  ran  violently  towards  liberty. 
And  if  his  political  prudence  was  not  fuf- 
ficient  to  extricate  him  from  io  perilous  a 
fituation,  he  may  be  excufed ;  fince,  even 
after  the  event,  when  it  is  commonly  eafy 
to  correal  all  errors,  one  is  at  a  lofs  to  de- 
termine what  conduct  in  his  circumilances 
would  have  maintained  the  authority  of 
the  crown,  and  preferved  the  peace  of  the 
nation.  Expofed  without  revenue,  without 
arms,  to  the  afiault  of  furious,  implacable, 
and  bigoted  factions;  it  was  never  per- 
mitted him,  but  with  the  molt  fatal  con- 
fequences,  to  commit  the  fmalleft  miftake; 
a  condition  too  rigorous  to  be  impoled  on 
the  oreatell  human  capacity. 

Some  hiilorians  have  ralhly  queftioned 
the  good  faith  of  this  prince  :  but,  for  this 
reproach,  the  moll  malignant  fcrutiny  of 
his  conduit,  which  in  every  circumllance 
is  now  thoroughly  known,  affords  not  any 
reafonable  foundation.  On  the  contrary, 
if  we  confider  the  extreme  difficulties  to 
which  he  was  ^o  frequently  reduced,  and 
compare  the  fincerity  of  his  profeihons  and 
declarations,  we  fhall  avow,  that  probity 
and  honour  ought  juftiy  to  be  numbered 
among  his  moll  ihining  qualities.  In  every 
treaty,  thofe  conccflions  which  he  thought 
in  confeience  he  could  not  maintain,  he 
never  would  by  any  motive  or  perfuafion 
be  induced  to  make. 

And  though  fome  violations  of  the  pe- 
tition of  right  may  be  imputed  to  him; 
ti'.ofe  arc  more  to  Le  a'cribed  to  the  ne- 
ceftity  of  his  fituation,  and  to  the  lofty 
ideas  of  royal  prerogative  which  he  had 
imbibed,  lhan  to  any  failure  of  the  inte- 
grity jof  his  principles.  This  prince  was 
of  a  comely  prefcacc  ;  of  a  fwect  and  me- 
lancholy afpectj    his    face   was    regular, 


ACTS     IN     PROSE. 

handfome,  and  well  complexioned  ;  his 
body  ftrong,  healthy,  and  juftiy  proporti- 
oned; and  being  of  middle  ftature,  he  was 
capable  of  enduring  the  greateft  fatigues. 
He  excelled  in  horfemanihip  and  other  ex- 
ercifes ;  and  he  poffefled  all  the  exterior, 
as  well  as  many  of  the  eflential  qualities, 
v.  hich  form  an  accomplifhed  prince. 

Hiune. 

§  98.  Another  C'jaraf'er  cfCtt  A  rles  I. 
In  the  charadter  of  Charles,  as  reprefent. 
ed  by  his  panegyrifts,  we  find  the  qualities 
of  temperance,  challity,  regularity,  piety", 
equity,  humanity,  dignity,  condefcenfion, 
and  equanimity  ;  fome  have  gone  fo  far  as 
to  allow  him  integrity,  and  many  writers, 
who  condemn  his  political  principles,  give 
him  the  title  of  a  moral  man.  In  the  com- 
parifon  of  this  rcprefentatron  with  Charles's 
conduct,  accurately  and  juftiy  defcribed,  it 
is  difcernible  that  vices  of  the  worft  ten- 
dency, when  (haded  by  a  plaufible  and  for- 
mal carriage,  when  concordant  to  the  in- 
terefts  of  a  faction,  and  the  prejudices  of 
the  vulgar,  afi'ume  the  appearances  of,  and 
are  impofed  on  the  credulous  world  as, 
virtues  of  the  fir  ft  rank. 

Paflion  for  power  was  Charles's  predo- 
minant vice ;  idolotry  to  his  regal  prero- 
gatives, his  governing  principle.  The  in- 
terells  of  the  crown,  legitimated  every 
meafure,  and  fanctified  in  his  eye  the 
wider!  deviation  from  moral  rule, 

Neither  gratitude,  clemency,  humanity, 
equity,  nor  generofity,  have  place  in  the 
fair  part  of  Charles's  character;  of  the 
virtues  of  temperance,  fortitude,  and  per- 
fonal  bravery,  he  was  undeniably  pofleiled. 
His  manners  partook  ofdiflipation,  and  his 
converfation  'of  the  indecency  of  a  court. 
His  challity  has  been  called  in  queition,  by 
an  author  of  the  higheft  re;ute  ;  and  were 
it  allowed,  it  was  tainted  by  an  excefs  of 
uxorioufnefs,  which  gave  it  the  properties 
and  the  confequences  of  vice.  The  want 
of  integrity  is  manifeft  in  every  part  of 
his  condu.'t ;  which,  whether,  the  corruption 
of  his  judgment  or  heart,  loft  him  fair  op- 
portunities of  reinflatemcnt  in  the  throne, 
and  was  the  vice  for  which  above  all  others 
he  paid  the  tribute  of  his  life.  His  intel- 
lectual powers  were  naturally  good,  and 
fo  improved  by  a  continual  excrcife,  that 
though  in  the  be ginning  of  his  reign  he 
fpokc  with  difficulty  and  liefitation,  towards 
the  clcfe  of  his  life  he  difcovered  in  his 
wjitinps  purity  of  language  and  dignity  of 

"  ftyJel 


BOOK   III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,     &c. 


flyle ;  in  his  debates  elocution,  and  quick- 
nefs  of  perception.  The  high  opinion  he 
entertained  of  regal  dignity,  occafioned  him 
to  obferve  a  ftatelinefs  and  imperioufnefs  in 
his  manner;  which,  to  the  rational  and 
intelligent,  was  unamiable  and  offenfive; 
by  the  weak  and  formal  it  was  miilaken 
for  dignity. 

In  the  exercife  cf  horfemanfhip  he  ex- 
celled ;  had  a  good  tafte,  and  even  fkill,  in 
feveral  of  the  polite  arts ;  but  though  a 
proficient  in  fpme  branches  of  literature, 
was  no  encourager  of  ufeful  learning,  and 
ouly  patronized  adepts  in  jargon  of  the 
divine  right,  and  utility  of  kings  and  bi- 
shops. His  understanding  in  this  point 
was  fo  depraved  by  the  prejudices  of  his 
education,  the  flattery  of  prielcs,  and  the 
affections  of  his  heart,  that  he  would  never 
endure  converfation  which  tended  to  in- 
culcate the  principles  of  equal  right  in 
men;  and  notwithstanding  that  the  parti- 
cularity of  his  fituation  enforced  his  at- 
tention to  doctrines  of  this  kind,  he  went 
out  of  the  world  with  the  fame  fond  preju- 
dices with  which  he  had  been  foilered  in 
his  nurfery,  and  cajoled  in  the  zenith  of  his 
power. 

Charles  was  of  a  middle  Mature,  his  body 
ftrong,  healthy,  and  juitly  proportioned; 
and  his  afpect  melancholy,  yet  not  unpleaf- 
ing.  His  furviving  iffue,  were  three  fons 
and  three  daughters.  He  was  executed  in 
the  49th  year  of  his  age,  and  buried,  by 
the  appointment  of  the  parliament,  at 
Windfor,  decently,  yet  without  pomp. 

Macaulay. 

§  99.  Chara&er  of  Oliver  Crom- 
well *. 
Oliver  Cromwell  was  of  a  rcbuft  make 
and  constitution,  his  afpect  manly  though 
clownilh.  His  education  extended  no  far- 
ther than  a  fuperhcial  knowledge  of  the 
Latin  tongue,  but  he  inherited  great  ta- 
lents from  nature  ;  though  they  were  fuch 
as  he  could  not  have  exerted  to  advantage 
at  any  juncture  than  that  of  a  civil  war, 
inflamed  by  religious  contefts.  His  cha- 
racter was  formed  from  an  amazing  con- 
juncture of  enthufiafm,  hypocrify,  and  am- 
bition. He  was  poflefled  of  courage  and 
relolution,  that  overlooked  all  dangers,  and 
faw  no  difficulties.  He  di^ed  into  the  cha- 
racters of  mankind  with  wonderful  faga- 

*  From  Noble's  Memoir?  of  the  Protectoral 
houfe  ot"  Cromwell. 


city,  whilit  he  concealed  h's  own  purpofes, 
under  the  impenetrable  fl.ie.d  of  diilimu- 
lation. 

He  reconciled  the  moil  atrocious  crimes 
to  the  moil  rigid  notions  of  religious  obli- 
gations. From  the  fevereil  exercife  of  de- 
votion, he  relaxed  into  the  moil  ridiculous 
and  idle  buffoonry :  yet  he  preferved  the 
dignity  and  diltance  of  his  character,  in  the 
midit  of  the  coarfelt  familiarity.  He  was 
cruel  and  tyrannic  from  policy  ;  juil  and 
temperate  from  inclination  ;  perplexed  and 
defpicable  in  his  difcourfe;  clear  and  con- 
fummate  in  his  defigns ;  ridiculous  in  his. 
reveries ;  refpectable  in  his  conduct ;  in  a 
word,  the  ftrangeft  compound  of  villainy 
and  virtue,  bafenefs  and  magnanimity,  ab- 
furdity  and  good  fenfe,  that  we  find  on  re- 
cord in  the  annals  of  mankind  *. 

Noble. 

§  IOO.  Character  of  C  h  a  r  l  e  s  II. 
If  we  furvey  the  character  of  Charles 
the  Second  in  the  different  lights  which  it 
will  admit  of,  it  will  appear  very  various, 
and  give  rife  to  different  and  even  opponte 
fentiments.  When  confidered  as  a  com- 
panion, he  appears  the  moil  amiable  and 
engaging  of  men ;  and,  indeed,  in  this  view, 
his  deportment  muit  be  allowed  altogether 
unexceptionable.  His  love  of  raillery  was 
fo  tempered  with  good-breeding,  that  it 
was  never  offenfive.  His  propenfity  to  fa- 
tire  was  fo  checked  with  difcretion,  that  his 
friends  never  dreaded  their  becoming  the 
object  of  it.  His  wit,  to  ufe  the  expreffion 
of  one  who  knew  him  well,  and  who  was 
himfelf  an  exquifite  judge  f,  could  not  be 
faid  fo  much  to  be  very  refined  or  elevated, 
qualities  apt  to  beget  jealoufy  and  appre- 
henfion  in  company,  as  to  be  a  plain,  gain- 
ing, well-bred,  recommending  kind  of  wit. 
And  though  perhaps  he  talked  more  than 
ftrict  rules  of  behaviour  might  permit,  men 
were  fo  pleaied  with  the  affable,  communi- 

*  Cromwell  died  more  than  five  millions  in 
debt ;  though  the  parliament  had  lef;  him  in  the 
treasury  above  five  hundred  thouland  pounds,  and 
in  {lores  to  the  value  of  feven  hundred  thouland 
pounds. 

Richard,  the  (on  of  Cromwell,  was  proclaimed 
protector  in  his  room  ;  but  Richard,  being  of  a 
very  different  difpofition  to  his  father,  resigned 
his  authority  the  2id  of  April  1659  ;  and  fo»n  af- 
ter frgned  his  abdication  in  form,  and  retired  to 
live  feveral  years  after  his  resignation,  at  full  on 
the  Continent,  and  afterwards  upon  his  paternal 
fortune  at  home. 

f  Marquis  of  Halifax, 

3  C  3  citive 


753  ELEGANT     EXTR 

cative  deportment  of  the  monarch,  that 
they  always  went  away  contented  both  with 
him  and  with  themfelves.  This  indeed  is 
the  molt  mining  part  of  the  king's  character, 
and  he  feems  to  have  been  feniible  of  it; 
for  he  was  fond  of  dropping  the  formalities 
of  ltate,  and  of  relapfing  every  moment 
into  the  companion. 

In  the  duties  of  private  life,  his  conduct 
though  not  free  from  exception,  was  in  the 
main  laudable.  He  was  an  eafy  generous 
lover,  a  civil  obliging  hufband,  a  friendly 
brother,  an  indulgent  father,  and  a  good- 
natured  mailer.  The  voluntary  friend- 
fhips,  however,  which  this  prince  contract- 
ed, nay,  even  his  fenfe  of  gratitude,  were 
feeble;  and  he  never  attached  himfelf  to 
any  of  his  ministers  or  courtiers  with  a 
very  fincere  affection.  He  believed  them 
to  have  no  other  motive  for  ferving  him  but 
felf-intereit,  and  he  was  ftill  ready,  in  his 
turn,  to  facrifice  them  to  prefent  cafe  and 
convenience. 

With  a  detail  on  his  private  character 
we  mult  fe.t  bounds  to  our  panegyric  on 
Charles.  The  other  parts  of  his  conduct 
may  admit  of  fome  apology,  but  can  de- 
ferve  fmall  applaufe.  He  was  indeed  fo 
much  fitted  for  private  \uts  preferably  to 
public,  that  he  even  poffefTed  order,  fru- 
gality, ceconomy  in  the  former ;  was  pro- 
file, thoughtlefs,  negligent  in  the  latter. 
When  we  confider  him  as  a  fovereien,  his 
character,  though  not  altogether  void  of 
virtues,  was  in  the  main  dangerous  to  his 
people,  and  dishonourable  to  himfelf.  Neg- 
ligent of  the  interefls  of  the  nation,  care- 
lei's  of  its  glory,  averfe  to  its  religion,  jea- 
lous of  its  liberty,  lavilh  of  its  treafure, 
and  fparing  only  of  its  blood;  he  expofed 
it  by  his  meafures  (though  he  appeared 
ever  but  in  fport)  to  the  danger  of  a  fu- 
rious civil  war,  and  even  to  the  ruin  and 
ignominy  of  a  foreign  cor.teil.  Yet  may 
all  thefe  enormities,  if  fairly  and  candidly 
examined,  be  imputed,  in  a  great  meafur^, 
to  the  indolence  of  his  temper:  a  fau't 
which,  however  unfortunate  in  a  monarch, 
it  is  impoffible  for  us  to  regard  with  great 
fe  verity. 

It  has  been  remarked  of  this  king,  that 
he  never  faid  a  foolifh  thing,  nor  ever  did 
a  wife  one  :  a  cenfure,  which,  though  too 
far  carried,  feems  to  have  fome  foundation 
in  his  character  and  deportment.  Died 
Feb.  6,  1685,  aged  54.  Bums, 

§    101.   Another  Char  ad er  c/Charlcs  II. 
Charles  II.  was  in  his  perfon  tall  and 


ACTS     IN     PROSE. 

fwarthy,  and  his  countenance  marked  with 
ftrong,  harih  lineaments.  His  penetration 
was  keen,  his  judgment  clear,  his  under- 
Handing  extenfive,  his  converfation  lively 
and  entertaining,  and  he  poffefTed  the  ta- 
lent of  wit  and  ridicule.  He  was  cafy  of 
accefs,  polite,  and  affable ;  had  he  been 
limited  to  a  private  ftation,  he  would  have 
paffed  for  the  molt  agreeable  and  beft-na- 
tured  man  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 
His  greatest  enemies  allow  him  to  have 
been  a  civil  huiband,  an  obliging  lover,  an 
affectionate  father,  and  an  indulgent  maf- 
ter;  even  as  a  prince  he  manifefted  an 
avevfion  to  cruelty  and  injuftice.  Yet  thefe 
good  qualitieswere  more  than  over- balanced 
by  his  weaknefs  and  defects.  He  was  a 
feoffor  at  religion,  and  a  libertine  in  his 
morals ;  careleis,  indolent,  profufe,  aban- 
doned to  effeminate  pleafure,  incapable  of 
any  noble  enterprise,  a  Itrangcr  to  any 
manly  friendfhip  and  gratitude,  deaf  to  the 
voice  of  honour,  blind  to  the  allurements 
of  glory,  and,  in  a  word,  wholly  deftitute  of 
every  active  virtue.  Being  himfelf  un- 
principled, he  believed  mankind  were  falfe, 
perfidious,  and  interelted;  and  therefore 
practised  diffimulation  for  his  own  conve- 
nience. He  was  ftrongly  attached  to  the 
French  manners,  government,  and  mo- 
narch ;  he  was  difiatisfied  with  his  own  li- 
mited prerogative.  The  majority  of  his 
own  fubjecls  he  defpifed  or  hated,  as  hy- 
pocrites, fanatics,  and  repnblicans,  who 
had  perfecuted  his  father  and  himfelf,  and 
fought  the  destruction  of  the  monarchy. 
In  thefe  fentiments,  he  cculd  net  be  fup- 
pofed  to  purfuc  the  interefl  of  the  nation  ; 
or,  the  contrary,  he  itemed  to  think  that 
his  own  fafety  was  incompatible  with  the 
honour  and  advantage  of  his  people. 

SmcUcu. 

§    102,  Another  Character  tf  Ck  a  p.  les  II. 

Thus  lived  and  died  king  Charles  the 
Second.  He  was  the  greatcfl  inilance  in 
hittory  of  the  various  revolutions  of  which 
any  one  man  feemed  capable.  He  was  bred 
up  the  frit  twelve  years  of  his  life,  with  the 
fplendpur  that  became  the  heir  of  fo  great 
a  crown.  After  that,  i.e  paffed  through 
eighteen  years  in  great  inequalities,  un- 
happy in  the  war,  in  the  lofs  of  his  father, 
and  of  the  crown  of  England. — While  he 
was  aboad  at  Paris,  Colen,  or  Bruffels,  he 
never  feemed  to  lay  any  thing  to  heart.  He 
purfued  all  his  diverfions,  and  irregular 
pleafures,  in  a  fiee  career;  and  feemed  to 
Le  at  ferene  under  the  lofs  cf  a  crown,  as 

the 


BOOK  111.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,  X-c. 


759 


the  greateft  philofopher  could  have  been. 
Nor  did  he  willingly  hearken  to  any  of 
thofe  projects,  with  which,  he  complained 
often,  his  chancellor  perfecuted  him.  That 
in  which  he  feemed  moll  concerned  was,  to 
lind  money  for  fupporting  his  expence. 
And  it  was  often  faid,  that  if  Cromwell 
would  have  compounded  the  matter,  and 
have  given  him  a  good  round  penfion,  he 
might  have  been  induced  to  relign  his  title 
to  him.  During  his  exile,  he  delivered 
himfelf  fo  entirely  to  his  pleafures,  that  he 
became  incapable  of  application.  He  fpent 
little  of  his  time  in  reading  and  ftuJy ;  and 
yet  lefs  in  thinking.  And  in  the  ftate  his 
affairs  were  then  in,  he  accuftomed  him- 
felf to  fay  to  every  perfon,  and  upon  all 
occafions,  that  which  he  thought  wou'd 
pleafe  molt:  (o  that  words  or  promifes 
went  very  eafily  from  him.  And  he  had 
fo  ill  an  opinion  of  mankind,  that  he  thought 
the  great  art  of  living  and  governing  wag, 
to  manage  all  things,  and  all  perfons,  with 
a  depth  of  craft  and  diifimulation.  He 
defired  to  become  abfolute,  and  to  overturn 
both  our  religion  and  laws  ;  yet  he  would 
neither  run  the  rifque,  nor  give  himfelf  the 
trouble,  which  fo  great  a  deiign  required. 
He  had  an  appearance  of  gentlenefs  in  his 
outward  deportment ;  but  he  feemed  to 
.have  no  bowels  nor  tendernefs  in' his  na- 
ture; and  in  the  end  of  his  life  he  became 
cruel.  Burnet. 

§  503.  Another  Character  c/Charles  II. 

The  character  of  Charles  the  Second, 
like  the  tranfactions  of  his  reign,  has  af- 
inmed  various  appearances,  in  proportion 
to  the  paffions  and  prejudices  of  different 
writers.  To  affirm  that  he  was  a  great 
and  good  king,  would  be  as  unjuil  as  to 
alledge  that  he  was  deftitute  of  all  virtue, 
and  a  bloody  and  inhuman  tyrant.  The 
indolence  of  his  difpoiition,  and  the  difli- 
pation  occafioned  by  Irs  pleafures,  as  they 
were  at  firft  the  fource  of  his  misfortunes, 
became  afterwards  the  fafety  of  the  nation. 
Had  he  joined  the  ambition  of  power,  and 
the  perfeverance  and  attention  of  his  bro- 
ther, to  Ms  own  infinuating  and  engaging 
addrefs,  he  might  have  fecured  his  repu- 
tation with  writers,  by  enflaving  them  with 
the  nation. 

In  his  perfon  he  was  tall  and  well  made. 
His  complexion  was  dark,  the  lines  of  his 
face  ftrong  and  harfh,  when  fingly  traced  : 
but  when  his  features  were  comprehended 
in  one  view,  they  appeared  dignified  and 


even  pleafing.  In  the  motions  of  his  per- 
fon he  was  eafy,  graceful,  and  firm.  His 
conititution  was  ftrong,  and  communicated 
an  active  vigour  to  all  his  limbs.  Though 
a  lover  of  eafe  of  mind,  he  was  fond  of 
bodily  exercifc.  He  rofe  early,  he  walked 
much,  he  mixed  with  the  meaneft  of  his 
fubjefts,  and  joined  in  their  converfation, 
without  diminilhing  his  own  dignity,  or 
raifing  their  prefumption.  He  was  ac- 
quainted with  many  perfons  in  the  lower 
ltations  of  life.  He  captivated  them  with 
fprightly  terms  of  humour,  and  with  a 
kind  of  good-natured  wit,  which  rendered 
them  pleafed  with  themfelves.  His  guards 
on'iy  attended  him  on  public  occafions.  He 
took  the  air  frequently  in  company  with  a 
fingle  friend;  and  though  crowds  followed 
him,  it  was  more  from  a  wifh  to  attract:  his 
notice,  than  from  an  idle  curiofity.  When 
evident  defigns  againft  his  life  were  daily 
exhibited  before  the  courts  of  juftice,  he 
changed  not  his  manner  of  appearing  in 
public.  It  was  foon  after  the  Rye-houfe 
plot  was  difcovered,  he  is  faid  to  have  been 
fevere  on  his  brother's  character,  when  he 
exhibited  a  ftriking  feature  of  his  own.  The 
cuke  returning  from  hunting  with  his 
guards,  found  the  king  one  day  in  Hyde 
Park.  He  expreffed  his  furprize  how  his 
majeftv  could  venture  his  perfon  alone  at 
fuch  a  peiilous  time.  "  James,"  (replied 
the  king,)  "  take  you  care  of  yourlelf,  and 
"  1  am  fafe.  No  man  in  England  will  kill 
"  we,  to  make  you  king." 

When  he  was  oppofed  with  molt  violence 
in  parliament,  he  continued  the  moll  po- 
pular man  in  the  kingdom.  His  good- 
breeding  as  a  gentleman,  overcame  the 
opinion  conceived  of  his  faults  as  a  king. 
His  affability,  his  eafy  addrefs,  his  attention 
to  the  very  prejudices  of  the  people,  ren- 
dered him  independent  of  all  the  arts  of 
his  enemies  to  inflame  the  vulgar.  He  is 
faid  with  reafon  to  have  died  opportunely 
for  his  country.  Had  his  life  extended  to 
the  number  of  years  which  the  ftrength  of 
his  conllitution  feemed  to  promife,  the  na- 
tion would  have  loft  all  memory  of  their 
liberties.  Had  his  fate  placed  Charles  the 
Second  in  thefe  latter  times;  when  influence 
fupplies  the  place  of  obvious  power ;  when 
the  crown  has  ceafed  to  be  diftrefled  through 
the  channel  of  its  neceflities  ;  when  the  re- 
prefentatives  of  the  people,  in  granting 
fupplies  for  the  public  fervice,  provide  for 
themfelves ;  his  want  of  ambition  would 
have  precluded  the  jealoufy,  and  his  po- 

3  C  4  pular 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


760 

pular  qualities  fecured  the  utmofl:  admira- 
tion of  his  fiibjefls.  His  gallantry  itfelf 
would  be  coniirued  into  fpirir,  in  an  age 
where  decency  is  only  an  improvement  on 
vice.  Macpherfcn. 

§  104.    Cbara3er  of  J-am.ES  It. 

In  many  refpects  it  mult  be  owned,  that 
he  was  a  virtuous  man,  as  well  as  a  good 
monarch.  He  was  frugal  of  the  public 
money;  he  encouraged  commerce  with 
great  attention  ;  he  applied  hirrifelf  to  na- 
■val  affairs  with  fuccefs;  he  fuppotted  the 
fleet  as  the  glory  and  protection  cf  Eng- 
land. He  was  alfo  zealous  for  the  honour 
cf  his  country  ;  he  was  capable  of  fup- 
porting  its  intereds  with  a  degree  of  dig- 
nity in  the  fcale  of  Europe.  In  his  private 
life  he  was  almoft  irreproachable;  he  was 
an  indulgent  parent,  a  tender  hufband,  a 
generous  and  fteady  friend;  in  his  deport- 
ment he  was  affable,  though  irately ;  he 
beitowed  favours  with  peculiar  grace  ;  he 
prevented  felicitation  by  the  fuddenneis 
of  his  difpofal  of  places;  though  fcarce 
any  prince  was  ever  fo  generally^deferted, 
few  ever  had  fo  many  private  friends ;  thofe 
who  injured  him  molt  were  the  firft  -o  im- 
plore his  forgivenefs,  and  even  after  they 
had  railed  another  prince  to  the  throne, 
they  reflected  his  perfon,  and  were  anxious 
for  his  Safety.  To  thefe  virtues  he  added 
a  lteadinefs  of  counfels,  a  perfeverance  in 
his  plans,  and  courage  in  his  enterprises. 
He  was  honourable  and  fair  in  all  his  deal- 
ings;  he  was  imjuft  to  men  in  their  prin- 
ciples, but  never  with  regard  to  their,  pro- 
perty. Though  few  monarchs  ever  of- 
fended a  people  more,  he  yielded  to  none 
in  his  love  of  hisfubjedts ;  'he  even  affirm- 
ed, that  he  quitted  England  to  prevent  the 
horrors  cf  a  civil  war,  as  much  as  from  fear 
of  a  rein-aim  upon  his  perfon  from  the  prince 
of  Orange.  His  great  viitue  was  a  Uriel: 
adherence  to  facls  and  truth  in  all  he  wrote 
and  faid,  though  feme  parts  of  his  conduct 
had  rendered  his  fincerity  in  his  political 
profeflipn  fufpecled  by  his  enemies.  Ab- 
dicated his  throne  1689.        Macfrherfon. 

§105.  Jnotber  Charailer  cf  J  a  m  e  s  II. 
The  en:mics  of  James  did  net  fail  to 
make  the  molt  of  the  advantages  they  had 
gamed  by  their  fubtle  manoeuvres;  fome 
faid,  that  the  king's  flight  was  the  effect 
of  a  cilturbed  conlcience,  labouring  under 
the  Ioadoffecret  guilt;  and  thofe  whofe 
cenfures  were  more  moderate,  afler.tcd,  that 
his  incurable  bigotry  had  led  hits  even  to 


facririce  his  crown  to  the  interefts  of  his 
prieits  ;  and  that  he  chefe  rather  to  depend 
on  the  precarious  fupportof  a  French  force 
to  fubdue  the  refractory  fpirit  of  his  peo- 
ple, than  to  abide  the  iffue  of  events  which 
,  threatened  fuch  legal  limitations  as  fhould 
effectually  prevent  any  further  abufe  of 
power. 

The  whole  tenor  of  the  king's  palt  con- 
duct, undoubtedly  gave  a  countenance  to 
infmuations  which  were  in  themfelves  fuf- 
ficiendy  plauhble  to  anfwer  all  the  purpofes 
for  which  they  were  indultrioully  circulat- 
ed ;  but  when  the  following  circumltances 
are  taken  into  conlideration,  namely,  that 
timidity  is  natural  to  the  human  mind, 
when  oppreffed  with  an  uninterrupted  ftries 
of  misfortunes;  that  the  king's  life  was  put 
entirely  into  the  hands  of  a  rival,  whofe 
ambitious  views  were  altogether  incompa- 
tible even  with  the  fhadow  of  regal  power 
in  his  perfon  ;  that  the  means  taken  to  in- 
creafe  the  appreheniions  which  reflections 
of  this  nature  mull  neceffarily  occafion, 
were  of  the  molt  mortifying  kind  ;  it  mult 
be  acknowledged,  that  if  the  principles  of 
heroic  virtue  might  have  produced  con- 
duit in  fome  exalted  individuals,  yet  that 
the  generality  of  mankind  would,  in  James's 
fituation.  have  fought  lhelter  in  the  profeffed 
generofity  of  a  milted  friend,  from  per- 
fon d  infill t,  perfonal  danger,  and  from  all 
the  haraffing  fufpence  under  which  the 
mind  of  this  imprudent  and  unfortunate 
monarch  had  long  laboured. 

The  oppofition  of  James's  religious 
principles  to  thofe  of  his  fubjects,  his  unpo- 
pular connections  with  the  court  of  France  ; 
but,  above  all,  the  permanent  eitablifhment 
of  a  rival  family  on  the  throne  of  England, 
has  formed  in  his  favour  fuch  an  union  of 
prejudice  and  intereit,  as  to  deftroy  in  the 
minds  of  poflerity,  all  that  fympathy  which, 
on  fimilar  occasions,  and  in  fnnilar  misfor- 
tunes, has  fo  wonderfully  operated  in  fa- 
vour of  other  princes ;  and  whilit  we  pay 
the  tribute  of  unavailing  tears  over  the 
memory  of  Charles,  the  Firft;  whilit,  with  . 
the  Church  of  England,  we  venerate  him 
as  a  martyr  to  the  power  and  office  of  pre- 
lates; whilfl  we  fee,  with  regret,  that  he 
was  flripped  of  his  dignity  and  life  at  the 
very  time  when  the  chaftening  hand  of  af- 
fliction had,  in  a  great  meafure,  corrected 
the  errors  of  a  faulty  education;  the  irre- 
firtible  power  of  truth  mult  oblige  us  to 
confefs,  that  the  adherence  to  religious 
principle,  which  cot  the  father  his  life, 
dej   ived  the.  fon  of  hi;  dominions;  that  the 

enormous 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


761 


enormous  abufes  of  power  with  which  both 
fcWereigns  are  accufed,  owed  their  origin 
to  the  fame  fource ;  the  errors  arifing  from 
a  bad  education,  aggravated  and  extended 
by  the  impious  flattery  of  defigning  priefts ; 
we  fhall  alfo  be  obliged  to  confefs,  that 
the  parliament  itfelf,  by  an  unprecedented 
fervility  helped  to  confirm  James  in  the 
exalted  idea  he  had  entertained  of  the 
royal  office,  and  that  the  doctrines  of  an 
abfolute  and    unconditional  fubmiffion  on 


lenity,  which  have  led  to  the  enjoyment  of 
privileges  which  can  never  be  entirely  loit, 
but  by  a  general  corruption  of  principle 
and  depravity  of  manners. 

It  was  faid  by  the  witty  duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, "  that  Charles  the  Second  might 
"  do  well  if  he  would,  and  that  James 
"  would  do  well  if  he  could;"  an  obferva- 
tion  which  fays  little  for  the  underftandino- 
of  James,  but  a  great  deal  for  his  heart; 
and,  with  all  the  blcmifhes  with  which  his 


the  part  of  fubjects,  which,  in  the  reign  of    public  character  is  ftained,  he  was  not  d 


his  father,  was,  in  a  great  meafure,  con- 
fined to  the  precepts  of  a  Laud,  a  Sib- 
thorpe,  and  Maynwaring,  were  now  taught 
as  the  avowed  doctrines  of  the  Church  of 
England,  were  acknowledged  by  the  two 
Univ'erfities,  and  implicity  avowed  by  a 
large  majority  of  the  nation  ;  fo  great,  in- 
deed, was  the  change  in  the  temper,  man- 
ners, and  opinions  of  the  people,  from  the 
commencement  of  the  reign  of  Charles  the 
Firft  to  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of 
his  fon  James,  that  at  this  fhameful  period 
the  people  gloried  in  having  laid  all  their 
privileges  at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  and 
execrated  every  generous  principle  of  free- 
dom, as  arifing  from  a  fpirit'totally  incom- 
patible with  the  peace  of  fociety,  and  al- 
together repugnant  to  the  doctrines  of 
Chriftianity. 

This  was  the  fituation  of  affairs  at  the 
acceffion  of  the  unfortunate  James ;  and 
had  he  been  equally  unprincipled  as  his 
brother,  the  deceafed  king ;  had  he  pro- 
feffed  himfelf  a  Proteitant,  whillt  he  was 
in  his  heart  a  Papiit ;  had  he  not  regarded 
it  as  his  duty  to  ufe  his  omnipotent  power 
for  the  reiloring  to  fome  parts  of  its  an- 
cient dignity  a  Church  which  he  regarded 
as  the  only  true  Church  of  Chrift ;  or  had 
he,  initead  of  attacking  the  prerogative  of 
the  prelacy,  fuffered  them  to  fhare  the  re- 
gal defpotifm  which  they  had  fixed  on  the 
bans  of  confeience,  the  molt  flagrant  abufes 
of  civil  power  would  never  have  been 
called  in  judgment  againll  him,  and  par- 
liament themfelves  would  'have  lent  their 
conflitutional  authority  to  have  riveted  the 
chains  of  the  empire  in  fuch  a  manner  as 
fhould  have  put  it  out  of  the  power  of  the 
molt  determined  votaries  of  freedom  to 
have  re-eltab!iihed  the  government  on  its 
ancierit  foundation.  From  this  immediate 
evil  England  owes  its  deliverance  to  the 
bigoted  fincerity  of  James ;  a  circumltance 
which  ought,  in  fome  meafure,  to  conciliate 
our  affections  to  the  memory  of  the  fuffer- 
er,  and  induce  us  to  treat  tho'fe  error"  with 


ficient  in  feveral  qualities  ncceilary  to  com- 
pofe  a  good  fovereign.  His  indurftry  and 
bufmefs  were  exemplary,  he  was  frugal  of 
the  public  money,  he  cheriihed  and  extend  ■ ' 
ed  the  maritime  power  of  the  empire,  and 
his  encouragement  of  trade  was  attended 
with  fuch  fuccefs,  that,  according  to  the 
obfervaticn  of  the  impartial  hiitorian  Ralph, 
as  the  frugality  of  his  adminiftration  help- 
ed to  increafe  the  number  of  malcontents, 
fo  his  extreme  attention  to  trade  was  not 
lefs  alarming  to  the  whole  body  of  the 
Dutch,  than  his  refolution  not  to  rulh  into 
a  war  with  France  was  mortifying  to  their 
ltadtholder. 

In  domeftic  life,  the  character  of  James, 
though  not  irreproachable,  was  compara- 
tively good.  It  is  true,  he.  was  in  a  great 
meafure  tainted  with  that  licentioufnefs  of 
manners,  which  at  this  rime  pervaded  the 
whole  fociety,  and  which  reigned  trium- 
phant within  the  circle  of  the  court;  but  he 
was  never  carried  into  any  excefles  which 
trenched  deeply  on  the  duties  of  focial 
life;  and  if  the  qualities  of  his  heart  were 
only  to  be  judged  by  his  different  conduct 
in  the  different  characters  of  hufband,  fa- 
ther, malter,  and  friend,  he  might  be. pro- 
nounced a  man  of  very  amiable  difpofuion. 
Butthofe  who  know  not  how  to  forgive  in- 
juries, and  can  never  pardon  the  errors,  the  . 
infirmities,  the  vices,  or  even  the  virtues  of 
their  fellow  creatures,  when  in  any  reflect 
they  affect  perfonal  intcreft  or  inclination, 
will  aim  againlt  them  the  fcnfibilhy  of  every 
humane  mind,  and  can  never  expect  from 
others  that  juitice  and  commiferation  which 
themfelves  have  never  cxercifed:  but  whillt 
we  execrate  that  rancorous  crueltv  with 
which  James,  in  the  ihort  hour  of  triumph, 
perfecuted  all  thofe  who  endeavoured  to 
thwart  his  ambitious  hopes,  it  is  but  juitice 
to  obferve,  that  the  rank  vices  of  pride, 
malice,  and  revenge,  which  blacken  his 
conduct,  whillt  he  figured  in  the  ftation  of 
prefumptive  heir  to  the  crown,  and  after- 
wards in  the  character  of  fovereign,  on  the 

fuccefsful 


-62 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fuccefsful  quelling  of  the  Monmouth  re- 
bellion, were  thoroughly  collected  by  the 
chaiUling  hand-of  affliction  :  that  the  whole 
period  of  his  life,  from  his  return  to  Ireland 
to  the  day  of  his  death,  was  fpent  in  the 
exercife  of  the  firft  Chriftian  virtues,  pa- 
tience, fortitude,  humility,  and  resignation. 
Bretonneau,  his  biographer,  records,  that 
he  always  fpoke  with  an  extreme  modera- 
tion of  the  individuals  who  had  acted  the 
moft  fuccefsfully  in  his  disfavour  ;  that  he 
reproved  thofe  who  mentioned  their  con- 
duel  with  feverity ;  that  he  read,  even  with 
a  iloical  apathy,  the  bitterer!  writings  which 
were  publifhed  againft  him  ;  that  he  re- 
garded the  lofs  of  empire  as  a  neceftary 
correction  of  the  mildemeanors  of  his  life, 
and  even  rebuked  thofe  who  exprefled  any 
concern  for  the  iffue  of  events,  which  he 
refpected  as  ordinations  of  the  divine  will. 

According  to  the  fame  biographer,  James 
was  exact  in  his  devotion,  moderate  even 
to  abllinence  in  his  life  ;  full  of  fentiments 
of  the  higher!  contrition  for  paft  offences ; 
and,  according  to  the  difcipline.  of  the  Ro- 
miih  church,  was  very  fevere  in  the  auste- 
rities which  he  inflicTted  on  his  perfon.  As 
this  prince  juftlv  regarded  himfelf  as  a 
martyr  to  the.  Catholic  faith,  as  his  warmer! 
friends  were  all  of  this  perfuafion,  as  his 
converfation  in  his  retirement  at  St.  Ger- 
mains  was  entirely,  in  a  great  meafure, 
confined  to  prieils  and  devotees,  it  is  natu- 
ral that  this  fuperftition  mould  increafe  with 
the  increafe  of  religious  fentiment,  and  as 
he  had  made  ufe  of  his  power  and  autho- 
rity, whilil  in  England,  to  enlarge  the 
number  of  profelytes  in  popery,  fo,  in  a 
private  ftation,  he  laboured  inceflantly,  by 
prayer,  exhortation,  and  example,  to  con- 
firm the  piety  of  his  Popifh  adherents,  and 
to  effect  a  reformation  in  thofe  who  Mill 
continued  firm  to  the  doctrines  of  the 
church  of  England.  He  vifued  the  monks 
of  LaTrappe  or.ee  a  year,  the  feverelt  or- 
der of  religionifts in  France;  and  his  con- 
formity to  the  difcipline  of  the  convent  was 
fo  llrict  and  exact,  that  he  impreU'ed  thofe 
devotees  with  fentiments  of  admiration  at 
-his  piety,  humility,  and  conftancy. 

Thus  having  fpent  twelve  years  with  a 
higher  degree  of  peace  and  tranquillity  than 
he  had  ever  experienced  in  the  mol!  tri- 
umphant part  of  his  life,  he  was  feized  with 
a  palfy  in  September  1701,  and  after  hav- 
ing languiihed  fifteen  days,  died  in  the 
fixty-eighth  year  of  his  age,  having  filled 
up  the  interval  between  his  fir  ft  feizureand 
final  exit 'with  the  whole  train  of  reiieious 


exercifes  enjoined  on  fimilar  occafions  by 
the  church  of  Rome,  with  folemn  and  re- 
peated profeflions  of  his  faith,  and  earner! 
exhortation  to  his  two  children,  the  young- 
eil  of  whom  was  born  in  the  fecond  year 
of  his  exile,  to  keep  ftedfafttb  the  religion 
in  which  they  had  been  educated.  Thefe 
precepts  and  commands  have  acted  with  a 
force  fuperior  to  all  the  temptations  of 
a  crown,  and  have  been  adhered  to  with  a 
firmnefs  which  obliges  an  hiftorian  to  ac- 
knowledge the  fuperiority  which  James's 
defcendants,  in  the  nice  points  of  honour 
and  conlcienc?,  have  gained  over  the  cha- 
racter of  H'.-nry  the  Fourth,  who,  at  the 
period  when  he  was  looked  up  to  as  the 
great  hero  of  the  Protectant  caufe,  made 
no  fcruple  to  accept  a  crown  on  the  dif- 
graceful  terms  of  abjuring  the  principles 
of  the  Reformation,  and  embracing  the 
principles  of  a  religion,  which,  from  his 
early  infancy,  he  had  been  taught  to  regard 
as  idolatrous  and  profane. 

The  dominion  of  error  over  the  minds 
of  the  generality  of  mankind  is  irrefiliible. 
James,  to  the  lal!  hour  of  his  life,  continued 
as  great  a  bigot  to  his  political  as  his  reli- 
gious errors:  he  could  not  help  confider- 
ing  the  ftrength  and  power  of  the  crown 
as  a  circumltar.ee  necefTary  to  the  prefer- 
vation  and  happinefs  of  the  people;  and 
in  a  letter  of  advice  which  he  wrote  to  his 
fori,  whilft  he  conjures  him  to  pay  a  reli- 
gious obfervar.ee  to  all  the  duties  of  a  good 
fovereign,  he  cautions  him  againft  fullering 
any  entrenchment  on  the  royal  prerogative. 
Among  feveral  heads,  containing  excellent 
inductions  on  the  art  of  reigning  happily 
and  ju.'ilv,  he  warns  the  young  prince  never 
to  dilquFt  his  fubjects  in  their  property  or 
their  religion;  and,  what  is  remarkable,  to 
his  lal!  breath  he  perfiitcd  in  aflerting,  that 
he  never  attempted  to  fubvert  the  laws,  or 
procure  more  than  a  toleration  and  equa- 
lity of  privilege  to  his  Catholic  fubjects. 
As  there  is  great  reafon  -to  believe  this  af- 
fertion  to  be  true,  it  fhews,  that  the  delu- 
fion  was  incurable  under  which  the  king 
laboured,  by  the  truit  he  had  put  in  the 
knavilh  doctrines  of  lawyers  and  priefts ; 
and  that  neither  himfelf,  nor  his  Protectant. 
abettors,  cou'd  fathom  the  confequences  of 
that  enlarged  toleration  which  he  endea- 
voured to  eltablim.  Macaulay. 

§  106.  Cbarafler  of  Willi  am  III. 

William   III.  was  in  his  perfon  of  the 
middle  llature,  a  thin   body,  and  delicate 
conltitution,  fubject  to  an  althma  and  con- 
tinual 


BOOK  111.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


763 


tlnual  cough  from  his  infancy.  He  had 
an  aquiline  nofe,  fparkling  eyes,  a  large 
forehead,  and  grave  fclemn  afpect.  He 
was  very  fparing  of  fpeech ;  his  conversa- 
tion was  dry,  and  his  manner  difgufting, 
except  in  battle,  when  his  deportment  was 
free,  fpirited,  and  animating.  In  courage, 
fortitude,  and  equanimity,  he  rivalled  the 
moil  eminent  warriors  of  antiquity;  and 
his  natural  fagacity  made  amends  for  the 
defects  of  his  education,  which  had  not 
been  properly  fuperintended.  He  was  re- 
ligious, temperate,  generally  jull  and  fin- 
cere,  a  Stranger  to  violent  trail  (ports  of 
paffion,  and  might  have  pafTed  for  one  of 
the  belt  princes  of  the  age  in  which  he 
lived,  had  he  never  arcended  the  throne  of 
Great  Britain.  But  the  diitinguiihing  cri- 
terion cf  his  character  was  ambition  ;  to 
this  he  Sacrificed  the  punctilios  of  honour 
and  decorum,  in  depoilng  his  own  father- 
in-law  and  uncle;  and  this  he  gratified  at 
tha  expence  of  the  nation  that  raifed  him 
to  fovereign  authority.  He  afpired  to  the 
honour  of  acting  as  umpire  in  all  the  con- 
tefts  of  Europe  ;  and  the  fecond  object  of 
his  attention  was,  the  profperity  of  that 
country  to  which  he  owed  his  birth  and  ex- 
traction. Whether  he  really  thought  the 
interefta  of  the  Continent  and  Great  Bri- 
tain were  ir.feparable,  or  fought  only  to 
drag  England  into  the  confederacy  as  a 
convenient  ally  ;  certain  it  is,  he  involved 
thefe  kingdoms  in  foreign  connections, 
which,  in  all  probability,  will  be  productive 
of  their  ruin.  In  order  to  ertabliih  this  fa- 
vourite point,  he  fcrupled  not  to  employ  all 
the  engines  of  corruption,  by  which  means 
tiie  morals  of  the  nation  were  totally  de- 
bauched. He  procured  a  parliamentary 
fanct'on  for  a  {landing  army,  which  now 
feems  to  be  interwoven  in  the  conlHtu- 
tion.  He  ir.troduced-the  pernicious  prac- 
tice of  borrowing  upon  remote  funds ;  an 
expedient  that  necelTarily  hatched  a  brood 
of  ufurers,  brokers,  and  ilock -jobbers,  to 
prey  upon  the  vitals  of  their  country.  He 
entailed  upon  the  nation  a  growing  debt, 
and  a  fyftem  of  politics  big  with  mifery, 
defpair,  and  deftruction.  To  fum  up  his 
character  in  a  few  words,  William  was  a 
fatalift  in  religion,  indefatigable  in  war, 
enterpriilng  in  politics,  dead  to  all  the  warm 
and  generous  emotions  of  the  human  heart, 
a  cold  relation,  an  indifferent  hufband,  a 
difagrceable  man,  an  ungracious  prince,  and 
an  imperious  fovereign. 

Died  March  8th,  1701,  a£ed  52, having 
reigned  13  years.  Smollett. 


§  107.  Another  CharaHer of 'Willi  am  III. 

William  the  Third,  king  of  Great  Bri- 
tain and  Ireland,  was  in  his  perfon  of  mid- 
dle fize,  ill-fhaped  in  his  limbs,  fomewhat 
round  in  his  moulders,  light  brown  in  the 
colour  of  his  hair,  and  in  his  complexion. 
The  lines  of  his  face  were  hard,  and  his 
nofe  was  aquiline  ;  but  a  good  and  pene- 
trating eye  threw  a  kind  of  light  on  his 
countenance,  which  tempered  its  feverity, 
and  rendered  his  harfh  features,  in  fome 
meafure,  agreeable.  Though  his  confti- 
tution  was  weak,  delicate,  and  infirm,  he 
loved  the  manly  exercifes  of  the  field  ;  and 
often  indulged  himfelf  in  the  pleafures,  and 
even  lbmetimes  in  the  excefTes,  of  the  ta- 
ble. In  his  private  character  he  was  fre- 
quently ha:(h,  pafiionate,  and  fevere,  with 
regard  to  trifles ;  but  when  the  fubject  rofe 
equal  to  his  mind,  and  in  the  tumult  of 
battle,  he  was  dignified,  cool,  and  ferene. 
Though  he  was  apt  to  form  bad  impref- 
fions,  which  were  not  eafily  removed,  he 
was  neither  vindictive  in  his  difpofition, 
nor  oblfinate  in  his  refentment.  Neglected 
in  his  education,  and,  perhaps,  deititute  by 
nature  of  an  elegance  of  mind,  he  had  no 
taile  for  literature,  none  for  the  fciences, 
none  for  the  beautiful  arts.  He  paid  no 
attention  to  muiic,  he  undertood  no  poe- 
try; he  difregarded  learning;  he  encou- 
raged no  men  of  letters,  no  painters,  no 
artifts  of  any  kind.  In  fortification  and  the 
mathematics  he  had  a  considerable  de- 
gree of  knowledge.  Though  unfuccefsful  in 
the  field,  he  underftood  military  operations 
by  land;  but  he  neither  pofleffed  nor  pre- 
tended to  any  fkill  in  maritime  affairs. 

In  the  diitributions  of  favours  he  was 
cold  and  injudicious.  Jn  the  puniihment 
of  crimes,  often  too  eafy,  and  fometimes 
too  fevere.  He  was  parfimonious  where 
he  mould  have  been  liberal ;  where  he 
ought  to  be  fparing,  frequently  profufe. 
In  his  temper  he  was  filent  and  referved,  in 
his  addrefs  ungraceful ;  and  though  not 
deititute  of  diffimulation,  and  qualified  for 
intrigue,  lefs  apt  to  conceal  his  paffions 
than  his  defigns  :  thefe  defects,  rather  than 
vices  of  the  mind,  combining  with  an 
indifference  about  humouring  mankind 
through  their  ruling  paffions,  rendered  him 
extremely  unfit  for  gaining  the  affections 
of  the  Englifh  nation.  His  reign,  there- 
fore, was  crowded  with  mortifications  of 
various  kinds ;  the  difcontented  parties 
among  his  fubjects  found  no  difficulty  in 
eilranging  the  minds  of  the  people  from  a 

prince 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


7H 

prince  poffefled  of  few  talents  to  make  him 
popular.  He  was  trailed,  perhaps,  lefs 
than  he  deferred,  by  the  moil  obfcquious 
of  his  parliaments ;  but  it  feems,  upon  the 
whole,  apparent,  that  the  nation  adhered 
to  his  government  more  from  a  fear  of  the 
return  of  his.  predeceiibr,  than  from  any 
attachment  to  his  own  perfon,  or  refpect  for 
his  right  to  the  throne.  Macpberfon. 

§    1 08.     Charaiier  of  Mary,  ^ueen  Con- 
fort  of  W  iiliam  III. 

Marv  was  in  her  perfon  tall  and  well- 
proportioned,  with  an  oval  vifage,  lively 
eyes,  agreeable  features,  a  mild  afpect, 
and  an  air  of  dignity.  Her  apprehenfion 
was  clear,  her  memory  tenacious,  and  her 
judgment  folid.  She  was  a  zealous  Pro- 
teltant,  fcrupuloufly  exact  in  all  the  duties 
of  devotion,  of  an  even  temper,  cf  a  calm 
and  mild  Conversation  ;  (he  was  ruffled  by 
no  paffiori,  and  feems  to  have  been  a 
ftranger  to  the  emotions  of  natural  affec- 
tion, for  fire  afcended  the  throne  from 
which  her  lather  had  been  depofed,  and 
treated  her  filter  as  an  alien  to  her  blood. 
In  a  word,  Mary  feems  to  have  imbibed 
the  cold  difpofition  and  apathy  of  her  huf- 
band,  and  to  have  centered  all  her  ambition 
in  deferving  the  epithet  of  an  humble  and 
obedient  wife.  Smollett. 

Died  28th  December,  1694,  aged  33. 

§    IC9.      C.':ara::er  cf  Ax-KZ. 

The  queen  continued  to  dofe  in  a  le- 
thargic infenfibility,  with  very  fhort  inter- 
vals, till  the  firft  day  of  Augult  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  the  expired,  in  the  fiftieth  year 
of  her  age,  and  in  the  thirteenth  of  her 
reign.  Anne  Stuart,  queen  of  Great  Bri- 
tain, was  in  her  perfon  of  the  middle  fize, 
well-proportioned;  her  hair  was  of  a  dark 
brown  colour,  her  complexion  ruddy,  her 
:s  were  regular,  her  countenance  was 
rather  round  than  oval,  and  her  afpect  more 
comely  than  majeftic  :  her  voice  was  clear 
and  melodious,  and  her  prefence  engaging; 
liej  t  ipacity  was  naturally  good,  but  not 
much  cultivated  by  learning ;  nor  did  flie 
exhibit  any  marks  of  extraordinary  genius, 
or  1  '  ifonal  ambition,  ft) e  was  certainly  de- 
ft-,  icnt  in  that  vigour  of  mind  by  which  a 
prince  ought  to  preferve  her  independence, 
and  avoid  the  fnares  and  fetters  of  fyco- 

its  and   favourite;  hut,  whatever  her 

wealcnefs    in    this    particular   might  have 

the  virtues  of  her  heart  were  never 

c  died   in  queftion  ;  me   was  a  pattern  of 

1  -  l!  affection  and  fidelity,  a  tender  mo- 


ther,  a  warm  friend,  an  indulgent  miftref.% 
a  munificent  patron,  a  mild  and  merciful 
princefs ;  during  vvhofe  reign  no  blood  was 
fhed  for  treaion.  She  was  zealouflv  at- 
tached to  the  Church  of  England,  from 
conviction  rather  than  from  prepofTeflion  ; 
unaffectedly  pious,  jufl,  charitable,  and  com- 
panionate. She  felt  a  mother's  fondnefs 
for  her  people,  by  whom  fhe  was  univerfally 
beloved  with  a  warmth  of  affection  which 
even  the  prejudice"  of  party  could  not  abate. 
In  a  word,  if  fhe  was  not  the  greateit,  fhe 
was  certainly  one  of  the  belt  and  moll 
unblemifhed  fovereigns  that  ever  fat  .upon 
the  throne  of  England,  and  well  deferved 
the  expreffive,  though  iimple  epithet  of,  the 
"  good  queen  Anne."  Smollett.    ' 

She  died  in  17 14. 

§    1 10.     Another  Charatlcr  jTAkne, 

Thus  died  Anne  Stuart,  queen  of  Great 
Britain,  and  one  of  the  belt  and  greateit 
monarchs  that  ever  filled  that  throne. 
What  was  molt  remarkable,  was  a  clear 
harmonious  voice,  always  admired  in  her 
graceful  delivery  of  her  fpeeches  to  parlia- 
ment, infomuch  that  it  ufed  to  be  a  com- 
mon faying  in  the  mouth  of  every  one, 
"  that  her  very  fpeech  was  mufic." 
Good-nature,  the  true  characteriitic  cf 
the  Stuarts,  predominated  in  her  temper, 
which  was  a  compound  of  benevolence, 
generofity,  indolence,  and  timidity,  but  not 
without  a  due  fenhbility  of  arty  flight  which 
fhe  thought  was  offered  to  her  perfon  or 
her  dignity  ;  to  thefe  ail  her  actions,  both 
as  a  monarch  and  as  a  woman,  may  be 
afcribed  ;  thefe  were  the  fources  both  of 
her  virtues  and  her  failings ;  her  greateft 
biefling  upon  earth  was  that  entire  union 
of  affections  and  inclinations  between  her 
and  her  royal  confort;  which  made  them  a 
perfect  pattern  of  conjugal  love.  She  was 
a  fond  and  tender  mother,  an  eafy  and  in- 
dulgent miftrefs,  and  a  molt  gracious  fo- 
vereign;  but  fhe  had  more  than  once  rea- 
fon  to  repent  her  giving  up  her  heart,  and 
trailing  her  fecrets  without  referve  to  her 
favourites.  She  retained  to  the  laft  the 
principle  of  that  true  religion  which  fhe  had 
imbibed  early ;  being  devout  without  affec- 
tation, and  charitable  without  oftentation. 
She  had  a  great  reverence  for  clergymen 
eminent  for  learning  and  good  lives,  and 
was  particularly  beneficent  to  the  poorer 
fort  of  them,  of  which  lhe  left  an  evidence 
which  beas  her  name,  and  will  perpetuate 
both  that  and  her  bounty  to  all  fucceeding 
g  e  nerations.  Cbsmberlaine. 

h  in. 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,   &c. 


§lli.     Another  Ch avail cr  c/Anne. 

Thus  died  Anne  Stuart,  queen  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  in  the  fiftieth  year  of 
her  age,  and  thirteenth  of  her  reign.  In 
her  perfon  flie  was  of  a  middle  ftature,  and, 
before  (he  bore  children,  we'll  made.  Her 
hair  was  dark,  her  complexion  fanguine, 
her  features  ftrong,  but  not  irregular,  her 
whole  countenance  more  dignified  than 
agreeable.  In  the  accomplifhments  of  the 
mind,  as  a  woman,  fhe  was  not  deficient; 
(he  underllood  mufic  ;  fhe  loved  paint- 
ing ;  fhe  had  even  fome  tafte  for  works  of 
genius ;  flie  was  always  generous,  fome- 
times  liberal,  but  never  profufe.  Like  the 
reft  of  the  family,  fhe  was  good-natured  to 
a  degree  of  weaknefs ;  indolent  in  her  dif- 
pofition,  timid  by  nature,  devoted  to  the 
company  of  her  favourites,  eafi'y  led.  She 
pofTeiTed  all  the  virtues  of  her  father,  ex- 
cept political  courage ;  fhe  was  fubjeft  to 
all  his  weakneffes,  except  enthufiafm  in 
religion;  fhe  was  jealous  of  her  authority, 
and  iullenly  irreconcilaje  towards  thole 
who  treated  either  herfelf  or  prerogative 
with  difrefpeft ;  but,  like  him  alfo,  fhe 
was  much  better  qualified  to  difcharge  the 
duties  of  a  private  life  than  to  aft  the  part 
of  a  fovereign.  As  a  friend,  a  mother,  a 
wife,  fhe  deierved  every  praife.  Her  con- 
duit as  a  daughter  could  fcarcely  be  ex- 
ceeded by  a  virtue  much  fuperior  to  all 
thefe.  Upon  the  whole,  though  her  reign 
was  crowded  with  great  events,  fhe  can- 
not, with  aiiv  juftice,  be  called  a  great 
princels.  Subjeft  to  terror,  beyond  the 
conititutional  timidity  of  her  fex,  fne  was 
altogether  incapable  of  decifive  counfels, 
and  nothing  but  her  irrefiftible  popularity 
could  have  fupported  her  authority  amidlt 
the  ferment  of  thofe  diftrafted  times. 

Macpherfon. 

§  1 1  2.      The  Char  after  c/Mary  Queen  of 
Scots. 

To  all  the  charms  of  beauty,  and  the 
utmofl  elegance  of  external  form,  Mary 
added  thofe  accomplifhments  which  ren- 
der their  impreflion  irrefiftible.  Polite, 
affable,  infmuating,  fprightly,  and  capable 
of  fpeaking  and  of  writing  with  equal  eafe 
and  dignity.  Sudden,  however,  and  vio- 
lent in  all  her  attachments ;  becaufe  her 
heart  was  warm  and  unfufpicious.  Impa- 
tient of  contradiction,  becaufe  fhe  had  been 
accuitomed  from  her  infaney  to  be  treated 
as  a  queen.  No  ftranger,  on  fome  occa- 
flons,  to  difTimulation;  which,  in  that  per- 


fidious court  where  fhe  received  her  edu- 
cation, was  reckoned  among  the  neccflary 
arts  of  government.  Not  infenfible  to 
flattery,  or  unconfeious  of  that  pleafure, 
with  which  almoft  every  woman  beholds 
the  influence  of  her  own  beauty.  Formed 
with  the  qualities  that  we  love,  not  with 
the  talents  that  we  admire  ;  flie  was  an 
agreeable  woman  rather  than  an  illuftricus 
queen.  The  vivacity  of  her  fpirit,  not 
fufliciently  tempered  with  found  judgment, 
and  the  warmth  of  her  heart,  which  was 
not  at  all  times  under  the  reflraint  of  dis- 
cretion, betrayed  her  both  into  errors  and 
into  crimes.  To  fay  that  fhe  was  always 
unfortunate,  will  not  account  for  that  long 
and  almoft  uninterrupted  fucceflion  of  ca- 
lamities which  befel  her ;  we  muft  likewjfe 
add,  that  flie  was  often  imprudent.  Her 
paffion  for  Darnly  was  rafh,  youthful,  and 
excefhve.  And  though  the  iudden  transi- 
tion to  the  opponte  extreme  was  the  na- 
tural effect  of  her  ill-requited  love,  and  of 
his  ingratitude,  infolence,  and  brutality ; 
yet  neither  thefe,  nor  Bcthwell's  artful 
addrefs  and  important  fervices,  can  juitiiy 
her  attachments  to  that  nobleman.  Even 
the  manners  of  the  age,  licentious  as  they 
were,  are  no  apology  for  this  unhappv 
pafTion  ;  nor  can  they  induce  us  to  look  oa 
that  tragical  and  infamous  fcene,  which 
followed  upon  it,  with  lefs  abhorrence. 
Humanity  will  draw  a  veil  over  this  part 
of  her  character,  which  it  cannot  ap- 
prove, and  may,  perhaps,  prompt  fome  to 
impute  her  aftions  to  her  fituation,  more 
than  to  her  difpofition  ;  and  to  lament 
the  unhappihefs  of  the  former,  rather 
than  accufe  the  perverfenefs  of  the  latter. 
Mary's  fufferings  exceed,  both  in  degree 
and  in  duration,  thofe  tragical  diftrefles 
which  fancy  has  feigned  to  excite  for- 
row  and  commiferation ;  and  while  we  fur- 
vey  them,  we  are  apt  altogether  to  forget 
her  frailties,  we  think  of  her  faults  with 
lefs  indignation,  and  approve  of  our  tears, 
as  if  they  were  fhed  for  a  perfon  who  had 
attained  much  nearer  to  pure  virtue. 

With  regard  to  the  queen's  perfon,  a  cir- 
cumftance  not  to  be  omitted  in  writing  the 
hiffory  of  a  female  reign,  all  contemporary 
authors  agree  in  afcribing  to  Mary  the  ut- 
moft  beauty  of  countenance  and  elegance 
of  fhape  of  which  the  human  form  is  capa- 
ble. Her  hair  was  black,  though,  accord- 
ing to  the  fafhion  of  that  age,  flie  fre- 
quently wore  borrowed  locks,  and  of  dif- 
ferent colours.  Her  eyes  were  a  dark 
grey,  her  complexion  was  exquifitely  fine, 

and 


766 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


and  her  hands  and  arms  remarkably  deli- 
cate, both  as  to  fhape  and  colour,  Her 
ftature  was  of  a  height  that  rafe  to  the 
majettic.  She  danced,  Die  walked,  and 
rode  with  equal  grace.  Her  talle  for 
mufic  was  juit,  and  (he  both  fur.g  and 
played  upon  the  lute  with  uncommon  flcill. 
Towards  the  end  of  her  life  fhe  began  to 
grow  fat;  and  her  long  confinement,  and 
the  coldnefs  of  the  houfes  in  which  {lie 
was  imprifoned,  brought  on  a  rheumatifm 
which  deprived  her  of  the  ule  of  her  limbs. 
No  man,  fays  Brantome,  ever  beheld  her 
perfon  without  admiration  and  love,  or 
will  read  her  hiitory  without  forrow. 

Robert/on. 

§   113.       The  Charaffer   «/  Francis    I. 

mcith  fame    Refleilions    on    his   Ri-ualjhip 

huztb  Charles  V. 

Francis  died  at  Rambouillet,  on  the  lair, 
day  of  March,  in  the  fifty-third  year  of 
his  age,  and  the  thirty-third  year  of  his 
reign.  During  twenty-eight  years  of  that 
time,  an  avowed  rivallhip  f  ubfifted  between 
him  and  the  emperor,  which  involved  not 
only  their  own  dominions,  but  the  greater 
part  of  Europe  in  wars,  profecuted  with 
more  violent  animofity,  and  drawn  out  to 
a  greater  length,  than  had  been  known  in 
any  former  period.  Many  circumfrances 
contributed  to  both.  Their  animofity  was 
founded  in  oppofition  of  interefl,  heighten- 
ed by  perfonal  emulation,  and  exafperated 
not  only  by  mutual  injuries,  but  by  recipro- 
cal infults.  At  the  fame  time,  whatever 
advantage  one  feemed  to  poffefs  towards 
gaining  the  afcendant,  was  wonderfully 
balanced  by  fome  favourable  circumftancc, 
peculiar  to  the  other.  The  emperor's  do- 
minions were  of  great  extent,  the  French 
king's  lay  more  compact:  Franc:?  go- 
verned his  kingdom  with  abfolute  power; 
that  of  Charles  was  limited,  but  he  fup- 
plied  the  want  of  authority  by  addrefs  : 
the  troops  of  the  former  were  more  impe- 
tuous and  enterprifmg ;  thofe  of  the  latter 
better  difciplined,  and  more  patient  of  fa- 
tigue.  The  talents  and  abilities  of  the  two 
monarchs  were  as  different  as  the  advan- 
tages which  they  poiTelTed,  and  contri- 
buted no  lefs  to  prolong  the  conteft  be- 
tween them.  Francis  took  his  refolutions 
fuddenly,  profecuted  them  at  firft  with 
warmth,  and  pufhed  them  into  execution 
with  a  mofl  adventurous  courage;  but  be- 
ing deftitute  of  the  perfeverance  neceffary 
to  furmount  difficulties,  he  often  abandoned 
his  defigns,  or  relaxed  the  vigour  of  pur- 


fuit  from  impatience,  and  fometimes  from 
levity. 

Charles  deliberated  long,  and  determi- 
ned with  ccclnefs;  but,  having  once  fixed 
his  plan,  he  adhered  to  it  with  inflexible 
Obftinacy,  and  neither  danger  nor  difcou- 
ragement  could  turn  him  afide  from  the 
execution  of  it.  The  fuccefs  of  their  en- 
terprifos  was  as  different  as  their  charac- 
ters, and  was  uniformly  influenced  by 
them.  Francis,  by  his  impetuous  activity, 
often  diiconcerted  the  emperor's  belt-laid 
fchemes:  Charles,  .by  a  more  calm,  but 
fteady  profecution  of  his  defigns,  checked 
the  rapidity  of  his  rival's  career,  and  baf- 
fled or  repulled  his  mo!!  vigorous  efforts. 
The  former  at  the  opening  of  a  war  or  of 
a  campaign,  broke  in  upon  his  enemy  with 
the  violence  of  a  torrent,  and  carried  all 
before  him  ;  the  latter  uaiting  until  he  fa.v 
the  force  of  his  rival  begin  to  abate,  re- 
covered in  the  end  not  only  all  that  he 
had  loll,  but  made  new  acquiiitions.  Few 
of  the  French  monarch's  attempts  towards 
conquefl,  whatever  promiiing  afpect  they 
might  wear  at  firil,  were  conducted  to  ai 
happy  ilfue  :  many  of  the  emperor's  enter- 
prises, even  after  they  appeared  defperate 
and  impracticable,  terminated  in  the  mofl 
profpercus  manner.  Francis  was  dazzled 
with  the  fpendour  of  an  undertaking  ; 
Charles  was  allured  by  the  profpect  of  its 
turning  to  his  advantage.  The  degree, 
however,  of  their  comparative  merit  and 
reputation  lias  not  been  fixed,  either  by  a 
Uriel  fcrutinv  into  their  abilities  for  go- 
vernment, or  by  an  impartial  confederation 
of  the  greatnefs  and  fuccefs  of  their  under- 
takings; and  Francis  i;,  o.'ie  of  thofe  mo- 
narchs who  occupies  a  higher  rank  in  the 
temple  of  fame,  than  either  his  talents  or 
performances  entitle  him  to  hold.  This  pre- 
eminence he  owned  to  many  different  cir- 
cumfrances. The  fuperiority  which  Charles 
acquired  by  the  victory  of  Pavia,  and  which 
from  that  period  he  preferred  through  the 
remainder  of  his  reign,  was  lb  manifefr, 
that  Francis's  ftruggle  againft  his  exorbi- 
tant and  growing  dominion,  was  viewed  by 
moil  of  the  other  powers,  not  only  with 
the  partiality  which  naturally  arifes  from 
thofe  who  gallantly  maintain  an  unequal 
conteft,  but  with  the  favour  due  to  one  who 
was  refilling  a  common  enemy,  and  endea- 
vouring to  let  bounds  to  a  monarch  equally 
formidable  to  them  all.  The  characters 
of  princes  too,  efpecially  among  their  con-, 
temporaries,  depend  not  only  upon  their 
t.tlents    for   government,  but    upon   their 

qualities 


BOOK  III.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c.  767 


qualities  as  men.  Francis,  notwithflanding 
the  many  errors  confpicuous  in  his  foreign 
policy  and  domeilic  adminiilration,  was 
neverthelefs  humane,  beneficent,  generous. 
He  pofTdled  dignity  without  pride  ;  affabi- 
lity free  from  meatinefs,  and  courtefy  ex- 
empt from  deceit.  All  who  had  accefs  to 
him  (and  no  man  of  merit  was  ever  denied 
that  privilege)  refpected  and  loved  him. 
Captivated  with  his  perfonal  qualities,  his 
fubjects  forgot  his  defeats  as  a  monarch, 
and  admiring  him  as  the  moil  accomplifhed 
and  amiable  gentleman  in  his  dominions, 
they  never  murmured  at  a<5ts  of  mal-admi- 
niilration,  which  in  a  prince  of  lefs  engag- 
ing difpoiitions  would  have  been  deemed 
unpardonable.  This  admiration,  however, 
mull;  have  been  temporary  only,  and  would 
have  died  away  with  the  courtiers  who  be- 
llowed it ;  the  illufion  arifiag  from  his  pri- 
vate virtues  mull:  have  ceafed,  and  pollerity 
would  have  judged  of  his  public  conduct 
with  its  ufual  impartiality ;  but  another 
circumilance  prevented  this,  and  his  name 
hath  been  tranfmitted  to  poilerity  with  in- 
creafing  reputation.  Science  and  the  arts 
had,  at  that  time,  made  little  progrefs  in 
France.  They  were  juil  beginning  to  ad- 
vance beyond  the  limits  of  Italy,  where 
they  had  revived,  and  which  had  hitherto 
been  their  only  feat.  Francis  took  them 
immediately  under  his  protection,  and  vied 
withLeohimfelf  in  the  zeal  and  munificence 
with  which  he  encouraged  them.  He  in- 
vited learned  men  to  his  court ;  he  con- 
verfed  with  them  familiarly,  he  employed 
them  ill  buiinefs ;  he  railed  them  to  offices 
of  dignity,  and  honoured  them  with  his 
confidence.  That  race  of  men,  not  more 
prone  to  complain  when  denied  the  refpefl 
to  which  they  fancy  themfelves  entitled, 
than  apt  to  be  pleated  when  treated  with 
the  diilinclion  which  they  confider  as  their, 
due,  though  they  could  not  exceed  in  gra- 
titude to  fuch  a  benefactor,  drained  their 
invention,  and  employed  all  their  ingenuity 
in  panegyric. 

Succeeding  authors,  warmed  with  their 
defcriptions  of  Francis's  bounty,  adopted 
their  encomiums,  and  refined  upon  them. 
The  appellation  of  Father  of  Letters,  be- 
llowed upon  Francis,  ha.th  rendered  his 
memory  facred  among  hillorians,  and  they 
item  to  have  regarded  it  as  a  fort  of  im- 
piety to  uncover  his  infirmities,  or  to  point 
out  his  defects.  Thus  Francis,  notwith- 
standing his  inferior  abilities,  and  want  of 
fuccefs,  hath  more  than  equalled  the  fame 
of  Charles.     The  virtues  which  he  poilef- 


fed  as  a  man  have  entitled  him  to  greater 
admiration  and  praife,  then  have  been  be- 
llowed upon  the  extenfive  genius  and  for- 
tunate arts  of  a  more  capable,  but  lefs 
amiable  rival.  Robert/on. 

§    114.  The  CbaraSier  of  Ch  arles  V. 

As  Charles  was  the  firft  prince  of  his 
age  in  rank  and  dignity,  the  part  which  he 
acted,  whether  we  confider  the  greatnefs, 
the  variety,  or  the  fuccefs  of  his  under- 
taking, was  the  moll  confpicuous.  It  is 
from  an  attentive  obfervation  to  his  con- 
duel,  not  from  the  exaggerated  praifes  of 
the  Spaniih  hillorians,  or  the  undiilinguifh- 
ing  cenfure  of  the  French,  that  a  juil  idea 
of  Charles's  genius  and  abilities  is  to  be 
collected.  He  pofleffed  qualities  fo  pecu- 
liar, as  ftrongly  mark  his  character,  and 
not  only  diilinguilh  him  from  the  princes 
who  were  his  contemporaries,  but  account 
for  that  fuperiority  over  them  which  he  fo 
long  maintained.  In  forming  his  fchemes, 
he  was,  by  nature  as  well  as  by  habit,  cau- 
tious and  confiderate.  Born  with  talents, 
Which  unfolded  themfelves  flowly,  and 
were  late  in  attaining  maturity,  he  was 
accullomed  to  ponder  every  fubject  that 
demanded  his  confideration,  with  a  careful 
and  deliberate  attention.  He  bent  the 
whole  force  of  his  mind  towards  it,  and 
dwelling  upon  it  with  ferious  application, 
undiverted  by  pleafure,  and  hardly  relax- 
ed by  any  amufement,  he  revolved  it  in 
filence  in  his  own  breaft:  he  then  com- 
municated the  matter  to  his  minillers ;  and 
after  hearing  their  opinions,  took  his  refo- 
lution  with  a  d?cifive  tirmnefs,  which  feldorri 
follows  luch  flow  consultations.  In  confe- 
quence  of  this,  Charles's  meafures,  inflead 
of  refembling  the  defuhory  and  irregular 
fallies  of  Henry  VIII.  or  Francis  I.  had 
the  appearance  of  a  confident  fyllem,  in 
which  all  the  parts  were  arranged.,  the  ef- 
fects were  forefeen,  and  the  accidents  were 
provided  for.  His  promptitude  in  execu- 
tion was  no  lefs  remarkable  than  his  pa- 
tience in  deliberation.  He  confulted  with 
phlegm,  but  he  acted  with  vigour  ;  and  did 
not  difcover  greater  fagacity  in  his  choice 
of  the  meafures  which  it  was  proper  to 
purfue,  than  fertility  of  genius  in  finding 
out^the  means-for  rendering  his  purfuit  of 
them  fuccefsful.  Though  he  had  naturally 
fo  little  of  the  martial  turn,  that  during 
the  moil  ardent  and  buflling  period  of  life, 
h?  remained  in  the  cabinet  inactive;  yet 
when  he  chofe  at  length  to  appear  at  the 
head  of  his  armies,  his.  mind  was  fo  fcrmed 

for 


t63 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


for  vigorous  exertions  in  every  direction,  Burgundy ;  this  opened  to  him  fuch  a  vaft 
that  he  acquired  fuch  knowledge  in  the  field  of  enterprise,  and  engaged  hirn  in 
art  of  war,  and  fuch  talents  for  command,  fchemes  fo  complicated  as  well  as  arduous, 
as  rendered  him  equal  in  reputation  and  that  feeling  his  power  to  be  unequal  to  the 
fuccefs  to  the  moit  able  generals  of  the  execution  of  thefe,  he  had  often  recourfe 
age.  But  Charles  poUefled,  in  the  molt  to  low  artifices,  unbecoming  his  fuperior 
eminent  degree,  the  icience  which  *s  of  talents  ;  and  fometimes  ventered  on  fuch 
greateit  importance  to  a  monarch,  that  of  deviations  from  integrity,  as  were  difho- 
knowing  men,  and  of  adapting  their  ta-  nourable  in  a  great  prince.  His  infiuious 
lents  to  the  various  departments  which  he  and  fraudulent  policy  appeared  move  con- 
allotted  to  them.  From  the  death  of  Chie-  fpicuous,  and  Was  rendered  more  odious 
vrcs  to  the  end  of  his  reign,  he  employed  by  a  comparifon  with  the  open  and  unde- 
no  general  in  the  field,  no  minifter  in  the  figning  character  of  his  contemporaries, 
cabinet,  no  ambaifador  to  a  foreign  court,  Francis  I.  and  Henry  VTJJ.  This  differ- 
no  governor  of  a  province,  whole  abilities  ence,  though  occafioned  chiefly  by  the  di- 
were  inadequate  to  the  trull  which  he  re-  verfitv  of  their  tempers,  mult  be  afcribed 
pofed  in  them.  Though  destitute  of  that  in  fome  degree  to  fuch  an  oppofition  in 
bewitching  affability  of  manner,  which  the  principles  of  their  political  conduct,  as 
gained  Francis  the  hearts  of  all  who  ap-  affords  fome  excufe  for  this  defect  -in 
proached  his  perlon,  he  was  no  ftranger  Charles's  behaviour,  though  it  cannot  ferve  ' 
to  the  virtues  which  lecure  fidelity  and  at-  as  a  juftification  of  it.  Francis  and  Henry 
tachment.  He  placed  unbounded  conn-  feldom  acted  but  from  the  impulfe  of  their 
dence  in  his  generals ;  he  rewarded  their  paffions,  and  rufhed  headlong  towards  the 
lervices  with  munificence  ;  he  neither  en-  object  in  view.  Charles's  meafures  being 
vied  their  fame,  nor  difcovered  any  jea-  the  remit  of  cool  reflection,  were  dilpofed 
Joufy  of  their  power.  Almolt  all  the  ge-  into  a  regular  fyitem,  and  carried  on  upon 
nerals  who  conducted  his  armies,  may  be  a  concerted  plan.  Perfons  who  act  in  the 
placed  on  a  level  with  thofe  illultrious  per-  former  manner  naturally  purfue  the  end 
fonages  who  have  attained  the  highelt  in  view,  without  affuming  any  difguife,  or 
eminence  of  military  glory;  and  his  ad-  difplaying  much  addrefs.  Such  as  hold 
vantages  over  his  rivals  are  to  be  afcribed  the  latter  courfe,  are  apt,  in  forming,  as 
fo  manifeltly  to  the  fuperior  abilities  of  the  well  as  in  executing  their  defigns,  to  em- 
commanders  whom  he  fet  in  oppofition  to  ploy  fuch  refinements,  as  always  lead  to 
them,  that  this  might  feem  to  detract,  in  artifice  in  conduct,  and  often  degenerate 
iome  degree,  from  his  own  merit,  if  the 
talent  of  discovering  and  employing  fuch 
inltruments  were  not  the  molt  undoubted 
proof  of  his  capacity  for  government. 
There  were,  ncverthelefs,  defects  in  his 


into  deceit.  Robert/on. 

, .  The  Char  after  o/Epa  m  i  k  o  k  d  a  s. 


i  I 


Epaminondas  was  born  and  educated  in 
that  honelt  poverty  which  thofe  lefs  cor- 
political  character,  which  mult  coniider-  rupted  ages  accounted  the  glorious  mark 
ably  abate  the  admiration  due  to  his  ex-  of  integrity  and  virtue.  The  inltiuftions 
traordinary    talents.     Charles's    ambition     of  a  Pythagorean  philofopher,  to  whom  he 


was  infatiable ;  and  though  there  feems  to 
be  no  foundation  for  an  opinion  prevalent 
in  his  own  age,  that  he  had  formed  the 
chimerical  project  of  cftablilhing  an  uni- 
verfal  monarchy  in  Europe,  it  is  certain 
that  his  deure  of  being  diitinguifhed  as  a 
conqueror  involved  him  in  continual  wars, 
which  exhaufted  and  oppreffed  his  fubjects, 
and  left  him  little  leiiure  for  giving  atten 


was  en  trailed  in  his  earlielt  years,  formed 
him  to  all  the  temperance  and  feverity 
peculiar  to  that  feet,  and  were  received 
with  a  docility  and  pleafure  which  belpoke 
an  ingenuous  mind.  Mufic,  dancing,  and 
all  thofe  arts  which  were  accounted  ho- 
nourable diltinctions  at  Thebes,  he  received 
from  the  greateft  mailers.  Jn  the  athletic 
exercifes  he  became  confpicuous,  but  foon 


tion  to  the  interior  police  and  improve-  learned  to  apply  particularly  to  thofe  which 
ment  of  his  kingdoms,  the  great  objects  of  might  prepare  him  for  the  labours  and  cc- 
every  prince  who  makes  the  happinefs  of  cafions  of  a  military  life.  His  modelty 
his  people  the  end  of  his  government,  and  gravity  rendered  him  ready  to  hear 
Charles,  at  a  very  early  period  of  life,  and  receive  inftru&ion ;  and  his  genius  en- 
having  added  the  'imperial  crown  to  the  abled  him  to  learn  and  improve.  A  love 
kingdoms  of  Spain,  and  to  the  hereditary  of  truth,  a  love  of  virtue,  tenderneis,  and 
dominions  of  the  houfes  of  Auihia  and  humanity,  and  an  exalted  patriotifm,  he 
4  had 


BOOK    III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,     &c. 


76$ 


had  learned,  and  {ban  difplayed,  To  thefe 
glorious  qualities  he  added  penetration  and 
iagacity,  a  happinefs  in  improving  every 
incident,  a  consummate  /kill  in  war,  an  un- 
conquerable patience  of  toil  and  diStrefs, 
a  boldnefs  in  enterprise,  vigour,  and  mag- 
nanimity. Thus  did  he  become  great  and 
terrible  in  war;  nor  was  he  leis  diftin- 
guifhed  by  the  gentler  virtues  of  peace 
and  retirement.  He  had  a  foul  capable  of 
the  molt  exalted  and  dilintereiled  friend- 
ihip.  The  vvarmtli  of  his  benevolence 
Supplied  the  deficiencies  of  his  foitune  ; 
his  credit  and  good  offices  frequently  were 
employed  to  gain  that  relief  for  the  ne- 
cemti'es  of  others,  which  his  own  circum- 
stances could  not  grant  them  :  within  the 
narrow  fphere  of  thefe  were  his  deiires  re- 
gularly confined;  no  temptations  could 
corrupt  him ;  no  profpects  of  advantage 
could  fhake  his  integrity;  to  the  public  he 
appeared  unalterably  and  folely  devoted  ; 
nor  could  neglect  or  injuries  abate  his  zeal 
for  Thebes.  All  thefe  illuilrious  quali- 
ties he  adorned  with  that  eloquence  which 
was  then  in  fuch  repute,  and  appeared  in 
council  equally  eminent,  equally  ufeful  to 
his  country  as  in  action.  By  him  Thebes 
iirll  role  to  fovereign  power,  and  with  him 
ihe  loll  her  greatnefs.  Leland. 

§  1 1 6.  A  Comparifon  of  the  political  Prin- 
ciples and  Conduit  of  C  A  t  o,  A  t  t  I  c  u  s, 
and  Cicero. 

The  three  feds  which  chiefly  engrofled 
the  philolbphical  part  of  Rome  were,  the 
Stoic,  the  Epicurean,  and  the  Academic ; 
and  the  chief  ornaments  of  each  were, 
Cato,  Atticus,  and  Cicero ;  who  lived  to- 
gether in  Uriel;  friendfliip,  and  a  mutual 
clleem  of  each  other's  virtue :  but  the  dif- 
ferent behaviour  of  thefe  three  will  fhew, 
by  fact  and  example,  the  different  merit 
of  their  Several  principles,  and  which  of 
them  was  the  bell  adapted  to  promote  the 
good  of  Society. 

The  Stoics  were  the  bigots  or  enthufi- 
alts  in  philofophy  ;  who  held  none  to  be 
truly  wife  or  good  but  thcmfelves;  placed 
perfect  happinefs  in  virtue,  though  ltripped 
of  every  other  good;  affirmed  all  fins  to 
be  equal,  all  deviations  from  right  equal- 
ly wicked ;  to  kill  a  dunghill-cock  with- 
out reafon,  the  fame  crime  as  to  kill  a 
parent;  that  a  wife  man  could  never  for- 
give ;  never  be  moved  by  anger,  favour, 
or  pity;  never  be  deceived;  never  re- 
pent ;  never  change  his  mind.  With  thefe 
principles  Cato   entered  into  public  life; 


and  acted  in  it,  as  Cicero  fays,  '  as  if  he 
had  lived  in  the  polity  of  Plato,  not  in  tne 
dregs  of  Romulus.'  He  made  no  diitinc- 
tion  of  times  or  things  ;  no  allowance  for 
the  weaknefs  of  the  republic,  and  the 
power  of  thofe  who  opprclfed  it :  it  was 
his  maxim  to  combat  all  power  not  built 
upon  the  laws,  or  to  defy  it  at  lealt,  if  he 
could  not  controul  it  :  he  knew  no  way  to 
his  end,  but  the  direct ;  and  whatever  ob- 
structions he  met  with,  refolved  ftill  to 
rufn  on,  and  either  to  Surmount  them,  or 
peri fli  in  the  attempt;  taking  it  for  a  bafe- 
nefs,  and  confeffion  of  being  conquered, 
to  decline  a  tittle  from  the  true  road.  Jn 
an  age,  therefore,  of  the  utmott  libertinifm, 
when  the  public  difcipline  was  loit,  and  the 
government  itfelf  tottering,  he  Struggled 
with  the  fame  zeal  agair.it  all  corruption, 
and  waged  a  perpetual  war  with  a  fuperior 
force;  whillt  the  rigour  of  his  principles 
tended  rather  to  alienate  his  friends,  thari 
reconcile  enemies ;  and  by  provoking  the 
power  that  he  could  not  fubdtie,  help  to 
hallen  that  ruin  which  he  was  Striving  to 
avert:  fo  that  after  a  perpetual  courfe  of 
difappointments  and  repulfes,  finding  liim- 
felf  unable  to  purfue  his  old  way  anv  far- 
ther, inttead  of  uking  a  new  one,  he  was 
driven  by  his  philofophy  to  put  an  end  to 
his  life. 

But  as  the  Stoics  exalted  human  nature* 
too  high,  i'o  the  Epicureans  depreSTed  it 
too  low ;  as  thofe  railed  it  to  the  heroic, 
thefe  debafed  it  to  the  brutal  itate  ;  they 
held  pleafure  to  be  the  chief  good  of  man; 
death  the  extinction  of  his  being ;  and 
placed  their  happinefs,  consequently,  in  the 
fecure  enjoyment  of  a  pleafurab'e  life  ; 
elteeming  virtue  on  no  other  account  than 
as  it  was  a  handmaid  to  pleafure,  and 
helped  to  enfure  the  pofleffion  of  it,  by 
preferving  health  and  conciliating  friends. 
Their  wife  man,  therefore,  had  no  other 
duty,  but  to  provide  for  his  own  eafe,  to 
decline  all  Struggles,  to  retire  from  public 
affairs,  and  to  imirate  the  life  of  their 
gods,  by  pafiing  his  days  in  a  calm", 
contemplative,  undisturbed  repofe,  in  the 
midftof  rural  Shades  and  pleafant  garden.*,. 
This  was  the  fcheme  that  Atticus  fol- 
lowed :  he  had  all  the  talents  that  could 
qualify  a  man  to  be  ufefu!  to  Society ;  great 
parts,  learning,  judgment,  candour,  bene- 
volence, generality,  the  fame  Jove  of  his 
country,  and  the  fame  Sentiments  in  poli- 
tics, with  Cicero;  whom  he  was  always 
adviflng  and  urging  to  act,  yet  determin- 
ed never  to  act  himfe'f;  or  never,  at  lea  It, 
1   D  io 


ffd 


Elegant    extracts    in    prose. 


fo  far  as  to  didurb  his  eafe,  or  endanger 
his  fafety.  For  though  he  was  fo  drict- 
ly  united  with  Cicero,  and  valued  him 
above  all  men,  yet  he  managed  an  inte- 
red  all  the  while  with  the  oppofite  faction, 
and  a  friend  (hip  even  with  his  mortal  ene- 
mies, Clodius  and  Antony ;  that  he  might 
fecure,  againd  all  events,  the  grand  point 
which  he  had  in  view,  the  peace  and  ran- 
quillity  of  his  life.  Thus  two  excellent 
men,  by  their  miftaken  notions  of  virtue, 
drawn  from  their  principles  of  philofophy. 
were  made  ufelefs  in  a  manner  to  their 
country,  each  in  a  diiferent  extreme  of  life  ; 
the  one  always  acting  and  expofmg  himfelf 
to  dangers,  without  the  profpect  of  doing 
good ;  the  other,  without  attempting  to  do 
any,  refolving  never  to  aft  at  all. 

Cicero  chofe  the  middle  way, between  the 
cbiHnacy  of  Cato,  and  the  indolence  of  Atti- 
cus ;  he  preferred  always  the  readied  road 
to  what  was  right,  if  it  lay  open  to  him;  if 
not,  he  took  the  next  that  feemed  likely  to 
bring  him  to  the  fame  end  ;  and  in  politics, 
as  in  morality,  when  he  could  not  arrive  at 
the  true,  contented  himfelf  which  the  proba- 
ble. He  often  compares  the  datefman  to  the 
pilot,  whofe  art  confifls  in  managing  every 
turn  of  the  winds,  andapplying  even  the  moll 
perverfe  of  the  progrefs  to  his  voyage;  fo 
as,  by  changing  his  courfe,  and  enlarging 
his  circuit  of  failing,  to  arrive  with  fafety, 
though  later,  at  his  deftined  port.  He 
mentions  likewife  an  obfervation,  which 
long  experience  .had  comfirmed  to  him, 
that  none  of  the  popular  and  ambitious, 
who  afpired  to  extraordinary  commands, 
and  to  be  leaders  in  the  republic,  ever 
chofe  to  obtain  their  ends  from  the  people, 
till  they  had  fird  been  repulied  by  the  fe- 
nate.  This  was  verified  by  all  their  civil 
diffenfions,  from  the  Gracchi  down  to  C^e- 
far:  fo  that  when  he  faw  men  of  this  fpirit 
at  the  head  of  the  government,  who,  by 
the  iplendor  of  their  lives  and  actions,  had 
acquired  an  afcendant  over  the  populace, 
it  was  his  conftant  advice  to  the  fenate,  to 
gain  them  by  gentle  compliances,  and  to 
gratify  their  third  of  power  by  voluntary 
grants  of  it,  as  the  bed  way  to  moderate 
their  ambition,  and  reclaim  them  from 
defperate  councils.  He  declared  contention 
to  be  no  longer  prudent  than  while  it  either 
did  fcrvice,  or  at  lead  no  hurt;  but  when 
»n  was  grown  too  drong  to  be  with- 
stood; that  it  was  lime  to  give  over  fieht- 
and  nothing  left  but\o  extract  fome 
*  out  of  the  ill,  by  mitigating  that 
by   patience,  which   they  could  not 


reduce  by  force,  and  conciliating  it,  if 
poffible,  to  the  intereft  of  the  date.  Thi3 
was  what  he  had  advifed,  and  what  he 
pra&ifed ;  and  it  will  account,  in  a  great 
meafure,  for  thofe  parts  of  his  conduct 
which  are  the  mod  liable  to  exception  on 
the  account  of  that  complaifance  which  he 
is  fuppofed  to  have  paid,  at  different  times, 
to  the  feveral  ufurpers  of  illegal  power. 

Middleton. 

§   117.     The  Char  after  of  Lord  Towns- 

HEND. 

Lord  Townfhend,  by  very  long  expe- 
rience, and  unwearied  application,  was 
certainly  an  able  man  of  bufinefs,  which 
was  his  only  pafiion.  His  parts  were  nei- 
ther above  nor  below  it ;  they  were  rather 
flow,  a  defect  of  the  fafer  fide.  He  re-" 
quired  time  to  form  his  opinion ;  but  when 
formed,  he  adhered  to  it  with  invincible 
firmnefs,notto  fay  obdinacy,  whether  right 
or  wrong,  arid  was  impatient  of  contra- 
diction. 

He  was  a  mod  ungraceful  and  confufed 
fpeaker  in  the  houie  of  lords,  inelegant  in 
his  language,  perplexed  in  his  arguments, 
but  always  near  the  drefs  of  the  quedion. 

His  manners  were  coarfe,  rudic,  and 
feemingly  brutal;  but  his  nature  was  by 
no  means  fo ;  for  he  was  a  kind  hufband 
to  both  his\vives,  a  mod  indulgent  father 
to  all  his  children,  and  a  benevolent  mader 
to  his  fervants;  fure  teds  of  real  good- 
nature, for  no  man  can  long  together  iimu- 
late  or  difiimulate  at  home. 

He  was  a  warm  friend,  and  a  warm 
enemy;  defects,  if  defects  they  are,  infe- 
parable  in  human  nature,  and  often  ac- 
companying the  mod  generous  minds. 

Never  minifter  had  cleaner  hands  than 
he  had.  Mere  domedic  ceconomy  was  his 
only  care  as  to  money ;  for  he  did  not  add 
one  acre  to  his  edate,  and  left  his  younger 
children  very  moderately  provided  for, 
though  he  had  been  in  confiderable  and  lu- 
crative employments  near  thirty  years. 

As  he  only  loved  power  for  the  fake  of 
power,  in  order  to  preferve  it,  he  was 
obliged  to  have  a  mod  unwarrantable  com- 
plaiiancefor  the  intereds  and  even  dictates 
of  the  electorate,  which  was  the  only  way 
by  which  a  Britifh  minider  could  hold  ei- 
ther favour  or  power  during  the  reigns  of 
king  George  the  Fird  and  ^Second. 

The  coarfenefs  and  impericumefs  of  his 
manners,  made  him  difagreeable  to  queen 
Caroline. 

Lord  Townfhend  was  not  of  a  temper 
20  to 


BOOK    III.    ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


771 


to  act  a  fecond  part,  after  having  acted  a 
firft,  as  he  did  during  the  reign  of  king 
George  the  Firft.  He  refolved,  therefore, 
to  make  one  convulfive  ftruggle  to  revive 
his  expiring' power,  or,  if  that  did  not  fuc- 
ceed,  to  retire  from  bufinefs.  He  tried  the 
experiment  upon  the  king,  with  whom  he 
had  a  perfonal  intereft.  The  experiment 
failed,  as  he  might  eafily,  and  ought  to 
have  forefeen.  He  retired  to  his  feat  in 
the  country,  and,  in  a  few  years,  died  of 
an  apoplexy. 

Having  thus  mentioned  the  flight  defects, 
as  well  as  the  many  valuable  parts  of  his 
character,  I  muft  declare,  that  I  owed  the 
former  to  truth,  and  the  latter  to  gratitude 
and  friendlhip  as  well  as  to  truth,  fmce, 
for  fome  years  before  he  retired  from  bufi- 
nefs, we  lived  in  the  ftricteft  intimacy  that 
the  difference  of  our  age  and  fituations 
could  admit,  during  which  time  he  gave 
me  many  unafked  and  unequivocal  proofs 
of  his  friendlhip.  Chefierfield. 

§    118.     The  Charafter  of Mr.  Pope. 

Pope  in  converfation  was  below  himfelf; 
he  was  feldom  eafy  and  natural,  and  feem- 
ed  afraid  that  the  man  fhould  degrade  the 
poet,  which  made  him  always  attempt  wit 
and  humour,  often  unfuccefsfully,  and  too 
often  unfeafonably,  I  have  been  with  him 
a  week  at  a  time  at  his  houfe  at  Twicken- 
ham, where  I  neceffarily  faw  his  mind  in 
its  undrefs,  when  he  was  both  an  agreeable 
and  inftrudtive  companion. 

His  moral  character  has  been  warmly 
attacked,  and  but  weakly  defended ;  the 
natural  confequence  of  his  fhining  turn 
to  fatire,  of  which  many  felt,  and  all  fear- 
ed the  fmart.  It  mufl:  be  owned  that  he 
was  the  mod  irritable  of  all  the  genus  irri- 
tabile  njatum,  offended  with  trifles,  and  ne- 
ver forgetting  or  forgiving  them  ;  but  in 
this  I  really  think  that  the  poet  was  more 
in  fault  than  the  man.  He  was  as  great 
an  inftance  as  any  he  quotes,  of  the  con- 
trarieties and  inconfiflencies  of  human  na- 
ture ;  for,  notwithftanding  the  malignancy 
of  his  fatires,  and  fome  blameable  paffages 
of  his  life,  he  was  charitable  to  his  power, 
active  in  doing  good  offices,  and  pioufly 
attentive  to  an  old  bedridden  mother,  who 
died  but  a  little  time  before  him.  His 
poor,  crazy,  deformed  body  was  a  mere 
Pandora's  box,  containing  all  the  phyfical 
ills  that  ever  afflicted  humanity.  This, 
perhaps,  whetted  the  edge  of  his  fatire, 
and  may  in  fome  degree  excufe  it. 

I  will  fay  nothing  of  his  works,  they 


fpeak  fufflciently  for  themfelves  ;  they  will 
live  as  long  as  letters  and  tafte  fhall  remain 
in  this  country,  and  be  more  and  more 
admired  as  envy  and  refentment  fhall  fub- 
fide.  But  I  will  venture  this  piece  of  claf- 
fical  blafphemy,  which  is,  that  however  he 
may  be  fuppofed  to  be  oliged  to  Horace, 
Horace  is  more  obliged  to  him-. 

Chefierfield. 

§    119.  CharaBer  of  Lord  Bolingbr.oke 

It  is  impoflible  to  find  lights  and  fhades 
ftrong  enough  to  paint  the  character  of 
lord  Bolingbroke,  who  was  a  moll:  morti- 
fying inftance  of  the  violence  of  human 
paflions,  and  of  the  moll  improved  and  ex- 
alted human  reafon.  His  virtues  and  his 
vices,  his  reafon  and  his  paflions,  did  not 
blend  themfelves  by  a  gradation  of  tints, 
but  formed  a  fhining  and  fudden  contraft. 

Here  the  darkefl,  there  the  mod  fplen- 
did  colours,  and  both  rendered  more  fink- 
ing from  their  proximity.  Tmpetuofity, 
excefs,  and  almoft  extravagancy,  charac- 
terized not  only  his  paffions,  but  even  his 
fenfes.  His  youth  was  diftinguifhed  by  all 
the  tumult  and  florm  of  pleafures,  in  which 
he  licentioufly  triumphed,  difdaining  all 
decorum.  His  fine  imagination  was  often 
heated  and  exliaufted,  with  his  body,  in 
celebrating  and  deifying  the  proftitute  of 
the  night ;  and  his  convivial  joys  were 
puihed  to  all  the  extravagancy  of  frantic 
bacchanals.  Thefe  paflions  were  never 
interrupted  but  by  a  flronger  ambition. 
The  former  impaired  both  his  conftitution 
and  his  character ;  but  the  latter  deflroyed 
both  his  fortune  and  his  reputation. 

He  engaged  young,  and  diffinguifhed 
himfelf  in  bufinefs.  His  penetration,  was 
almoft  intuition,  and  he  adorned  whatever 
fubject  he  either  fpoke  or  wrote  upon,  by 
the  moil  fplendid  eloquence ;  not  a  ftudied 
or  laboured  eloquence,,  but  by  fuch  a  flow- 
ing happinefs  of  diction,  which  (from  care, 
perhaps,  at  firft)  was  become  fo  habitual 
to  him,  that  even  his  moft  familiar  con- 
ventions, if  taken  down  in  writing,  would 
have  borne  the  prefs,  without  the  leaft 
correction,  either  as  to  method  or  ftyle. 
He  had  noble  and  generous  fmtiments, 
rather  than  fixed  reflected  principles  of 
good-nature  and  friendfnip ;  but  they  were 
more  violent  than  lafting,  and  fuddeniy 
and  often  varied  to  their  oppofite  extremes, 
with  regard  even  to  the  fame  perfons. 
He  received  the  common  attention  of  ci- 
vility as  obligations,  which  he  returned 
with  intereft;  and  refented  with  paflion 
3  D  2  \hi 


772 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN   PROSE. 


the  little  inadvertencies  of  human  nature, 
which  he  repaid  with  intereft  too.  Even 
a  difference  of  opinion  upon  a  philosophi- 
cal lubject,  would  provoke  and  prove  him 
no  practical  philoibpher  at  lead. 

Notwithstanding  the  diflipation  of  his 
youth,  and  the  tumultuous  agitation  of  his 
middle  age,  he  had  an  infinite  fund  of 
various  and  almolt  univerfal  knowledge, 
which,  from  the  cleareft  and  quickeit.  con- 
ception, and  the  happieft  memory  that 
ever  man  was  blefl'ed  with,  he  always  car- 
ried about  him.  It  was  his  pocket-money, 
and  he  never  had  occafion  to  draw  upon  a 
book  for  any  fum.  He  excelled  more  par- 
ticularly in  hiftory,  as  his  hiftorical  works 
plainly  prove.  The  relative,  political,  and 
commercial  interefts  of  every  countrv  in 
Europe,  particularly  of  his  own,  were  bet- 
ter known  to  him  than  perhaps  to  any  man 
in  it ;  but  how  fteadily  he  purfued  the  latter 
in  his  public  conduct,  his  enemies  of  all  par- 
ties and  denominations  tell  with  pleafure. 

During  his  long  exile  in  France,  he  ap- 
plied himfelf  to  ftudy  with  his  characterif- 
tical  ardour;  and  there  he  formed,  and 
chiefly  executed,  the  plan  of  his  great  phi- 
loibphical  work.  The  common  bounds  of 
human  knowledge  were  too  narrow  for  his 
wa-rm  and  afpiring  imagination ;  he  mull 
go  extra  fla?nmantia  mania  ?nundi,  and  ex- 
plore the  unknown  and  unknowable  regions 
of  metaphyfics,  which  open  an  unbound- 
ed field  for  the  excuifions  of  an  ardent 
imagination ;  where  endlefs  conjectures  fup- 
ply  the  defects  of  unattainable  knowledge, 
and  too  often  u!urp  both  its  name  and  its 
influence. 

He  had  a  very  handfome  perfon,  with  a 
moll  engaging  addrefs  in  his  air  and  man- 
ners ;  he  had  all  the  dignity  and  good- 
breeding  which  a  man  of  quality  iliould  or 
can  have,  and  which  i'o  few,  in  this  coun- 
try at  leaft,  really  have. 

He  profeficd  himfelf  a  deill,  believing 
in  a  general  Providence,  but  doubting  of, 
though  by  no  means  rejecting,  (as  is  com- 
monly fuppofed)  the  immortality  of  the 
foul,  and  a  future  ftate. 

He  died  of  a  cruel  and  fhocking  dif- 
tempcr,  a  cancer  in  his  face,  which  he 
endured  with  lirmnefs.  A  week  before  he 
died,  I  took  my  lad  leave  of  him  with 
grief;  and  he  returned  me  his  la  ft  farewel 
with  tenderness,  and  faid,  "  God,  who 
v<  placed  me  here,  will  do  what  he  pleafes 
M  with  me  hereafter ;  and  he  knows  bell 
"  what  to  do.    May  he  blefs  you  !  " 

Upon  the  whole  of  this  extraordinary 


character,  what  can  we  fay,  but,  alas !  poor 
human  nature  1  CbeJierfieU. 

§    I  20.   Character  of  Mr.  Pu  ltene  v. 

Mr.  Pulteney  was  formed  by  nature  for 
focial  and  convivial  pleafures.  Refent- 
ment  made  him  engage  in  bufinefs.  He 
had  thought  himfelf  flighted  by  Sir  Robert 
Walpole,  to  whom  he  publicly  avowed  not 
only  revenge,  but  utter  deftruction.  He 
had  lively  and  fhining  parts,  a  furprifing 
quicknefs  of  wit,  and  a  happy  turn  to  the 
moil  amufing  and  entertaining  kinds  of 
poetry,  as  epigrams,  ballads,  odes,  &c. ; 
in  all  which  he  had  an  uncommon  facility. 
His  compofitions  in  that  way  were  fome- 
times  fatirical,  often  licentious,  but  always 
full  of  wit. 

He  had  a  quick  and  clear  conception  of 
bufinef- ;  could  equally  detect  and  practife 
fophiftry.  He  could  ftate  and  explain  the 
moflintricate  matters,  even  in  figures,  with 
the  utmoit  perfpicuity.  His  parts  were 
rather  above  bufinefs ;  and  the  warmth  of 
his  imagination,  joined  to  the  impetuofity 
and  reftleflnefs  of  his  temper,  made  him 
incapable  of  conducing  it  long  together 
with  prudence  and  fteadinefs. 

He  was  a  molt  complete  orator  and  de- 
bater in  the  houfe  of  commons;  eloquent, 
entertaining,  perfuafive,  ftrong,  and  pa- 
thetic, as  occafion  required ;  for  he  had 
arguments,  wit,  and  tears,  at  his  command. 
His  breaft  was  the  feat  of  all  thofe  paflions 
which  degrade  our  nature  and  difturb  our 
reafon.  There  they  raged  in  perpetual 
conflict;  but  avarice,  the  meaneft  of  them 
all,  generally  triumphed,  ruled  abfolutely, 
and  in  many  initances,  which  I  forbear  to 
mention,  moll  fcandaloufly. 

His  fudden  paflion  was  outrageous,  but 
fupported  by  great  perfonal  courage.  No- 
thing exceeded  his  ambition,  but  his  avarice ; 
they  often  accompany,  and  are  frequently 
and  reciprocally  the  caufes  and  the  effects  of 
each  other;  but  the  latter  is  always  a  clog 
upen  the  former.  He  affected  good-nature 
and  compaffion ;  and  perhaps  his  heart 
might  feel  the  misfortunes  and  diftrefles  of 
his  fellow-creatures,  but  his  hand  was  fcl- 
dom  or  never  ftretched  out  to  relieve  them. 
Though  he  was  an  able  actor  of  truth  and 
linccrity,  he  could  occafionally  lay  them 
afide,  to  ferve  the  purpofes  of  his  ambition 
or  avarice. 

He  was  once  in  the  greateft  point  of  view 
that  ever  I  faw  any  fubject  in.  When 
the  oppofition,  of  which  he  was  tha  leader 
in  the  houfe  of  commons,  prevailed  at  lair. 

agaiaft 


BOOK   III.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,     &c.  773 

mean  to  do  impartial  juftice  to  his  chara  - 
ter;  and  therefore  my  picture  of  him  will, 
perhaps,  be  more  like  him  than  it  will  be 
like  any  of  the  other  pictures  drawn  of 
him. 

In  private  life  he  was  good-natured, 
chearful,  fecial;  inelegant  in  his  manners, 
loofe  in  his  morals.  He  had  a  coarfe, 
ftrong  wit,  which  he  was  too  free  of  for 
a  man  in  his  ftation,  as  it  is  always  incon- 
fiitent  with  dignity.  He  was  very  able  as  a 
minifter,  but  without  a  certain  elevation  of 
mind  necefTary  for  great  good  or  great  mif- 
chief.  Profufe  and  appetent,  his  ambition 
was  fubfervient  to  his  dehre  of  making  a 
great  fortune.  He  had  more  of  the  Ma- 
zarin  than  of  the  Richelieu.  He  would 
do  mean  things  for  profit,_  and  never 
thought  of  doing  great  ones  for  glory. 

He  was  both'the  beft  parliament-man, 
and  the  ablelt  manager  of  parliament, 
that,  1  believe,  ever  lived.  An  artful,  ra- 
ther than  an  eloquent  fpeaker ;  he  faw,  as 
by  intuition,  the  difpolition  of  the  houfe, 
and  preffed  or  receded  accordingly.  So 
clear  in  Hating  the  moft  intricate  matters, 
efpecially  in  the  finances,  that,  whilft  he 
was  fpeaking,  the  moft  ignorant  thought 
that  they  underrtood  what  they  really  did 
not.  Money,  not  prerogative,  was  the  chief 
engine  of  his  adminiilration ;  and  he  em- 
ployed it  with  a  fuccefs  which  in  a  manner 
difgraced  humanity.  He  was  not,  it  is 
true,  the  inventor' of  that  fhameful  me- 
thod of  governing,  which  had  becn^  gain- 
ing ground  infenfibly  ever  iince  Charles 
II.;  but,  with  uncommon  flcill,  and  un- 
bounded profufion,  he  brought  it  to  that 
perfection,  which  at  this  time  diflionours_ 
and  diftrefles  this  country,  and  which  (if 
not  checked,  and  God  knows  how  it  can 
be  now  checked)  mull:  ruin  it. 

Befides  this  powerful  engine  of  govern- 
ment, he  had  a  moft  extraordinary  talent 
of  perfuading  and  working  men  up  to 
his  purpofe.  A  hearty  kind  of  frankneis, 
which  fometimes  feemed  impudence, made 
people  think  that  he  let  thcrn^  into  his 
fecrets,  whilft  the  impolitenefs  or  his  man- 
•  ners  feemed  to  atteft  his  fincerity.  When 
he  found  any  body  proof  againft  pecuniary 
temptations';  which,  alas!  Was  but  fel- 
dom,  he  had  recourfe  to  a  ftill  worle  art ; 
for  he  laughed  at  and  ridiculed  all  notions 
of  public  virtue,  and  the  love  of  one's 
countrv,  calling  them,  "  The  chimerical 
"  fchool-boy  flights  of  claflical  learning;" 
declaring  himfelf,  at  the  fame  time^"  No 
«  faint,  no  Spartan,  no  reformer."  He 
3D  3  would 


againft  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  he  became 
the  arbiter  between  the  crown  and  the 
people;  the  former  imploring  his  protec- 
tion, the  latter  his  fupport.  In  that  criti- 
cal moment  his  various  jarring  pallions 
were  in  the  higheft  ferment,  and  for  a 
while  fufpended  his  ruling  one.  Senie  of 
lhame  made  him  hefitate  at  turning  cour- 
tier on  a  fudden,  after  having  afted  the 
patriot  fo  long,  and  with  fo  much  applaufe; 
and  his  pride  made  him  declare,  that  he 
would  accept  of  no  place  ;  vainly, imagin- 
ing, that  he  could,  by  fuch  a  iimulated  and 
temporary  felf-denial,  preferve  his  popu- 
larity with  the  public,  and  his  power  at 
court.  He  was  miftaken  in  both.  The 
king  hated  him  almoft  as  much  for  what 
he  might  have  done,  as  for  what  he  had 
done;  and  a  motley  miniftry  was  formed, 
which  by  no  means  defired  his  company. 
The  nation  looked  upon  him  as  a  deferter, 
and  he  (hrunk  into  infignificancy  and  an 
earldom. 

He  made  feveral  attempts  afterwards  to 
retrieve  the  opportunity  he  had  loft,  but 
in  vain  ;  his  fituation  would  not  allow  it. — 
He  was  fixed  in  the  houle  of  lords,  that 
hofpital  of  incurables ;  and  his  retreat  to 
popularity  was  cut  off:  for  the  confidence 
of  the  public,  when  once  great,  and  once 
loft,  is  never  to  be  regained.  He  lived 
afterwards  in  retirement,  with  the  wretched 
comfort  of  Horace's  mifer  : 

Populus  me  fibilat,  &c. 

I  may,  perhaps,  be  fufpefted  to  have 
given  too  ftrong  colouring  to  fome  features 
of  this  portrait;  but  I  folemnly  proteft, 
that  I  have  drawn  it  confcientioully,  and 
to  the  beft  of  my  knowledge,  from  a  very 
long  acquaintance  with,  and  obfervation 
of,  the  original.  Nay,  I  have  rather  fof- 
tened  than  heightened  the  colouring. 

CbeJhrfieLl. 

§    12 1.      CLarafier  of  Sir  Rovert  Wal- 

pole. 

I  much  queftion  whether  an  impartial 
character  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole  will  or 
can  be  tranfmitted  to  pofterity ;  for  he 
governed  this  kingdom  fo  long,  that  the 
various  pallions  of  mankind  mingled,  and 
in  a  manner  incorporated  themfelves,  with 
every  thing  that  was  faid  or  written  con- 
cerning him.  Never  was  man  more  flat- 
tered, nor  more  abufed ;  and  his  long- 
power  was  probably  the  chief  caufe  of 
both.  I  was  much  acquainted  with  him, 
both  in  his  public   and  his  private  life.     I 


T74  ELEGANT    EXTR 

would  frequently  afk  young  fellows,  at 
their  firft  appearance  in  the  woiid,  while 
their  honeft  hearts  were  yet  untainted, 
"  Well,  are  you  to  be  an  oli  Roman  ?  a 
"  patriot  ?  you  will  foon  come  off  of  that, 
*'  and  grow  wifer."  And  thus  he  was 
more  dangerous  to  the  morals  than  to  the 
liberties  of  his  country,  to  which  I  am  per- 
fuaded  he  meant  no  ill  in  his  heart. 

He  was  the  eafy  and  profufe  dupe  of 
women,  and  in  fome  inftances  indecently 
fo.  He  was  exceffivcly  open  to  flattery, 
even  of  the  grofieil  kind  ;  and  from  the 
coarfeil  bunglers  of  that  vile  profcfiion ; 
which  engaged  him  to  pafs  mod  of  his 
leifure  and  jovial  hours  with  people  whofe 
blafted  characters  reflected  upon  his  own. 
He  was  loved  by  many,  but  reflected  by 
none;  his  familiar  and  illiberal  mirth  and 
raillery  leaving  him  no  dignity.  He  was 
not  vindictive,  but,  on  the  contrary,  very 
placable  to  thofe  who  had  injured  him  the 
moil.  His  good-humour,  good-nature, 
and  beneficence,  in  the  feveral  relations  of 
father,  hufband^  mailer,  and  friend,  gained 
him  the  warmeft  affections  of  all  within  that 
circle. 

His  name  will  not  be  recorded  in  hiltory 
among  the  "  belt  men,"  or  the  "  bell:  mi- 
"  nillers;"  but  much  le'fs  ought  it  to  be 
ranked  among  the  worft. 

Chef  of  eld. 

•§  12  2.  Char  after  of  Lord  Granville. 
Lord  Granville  had  great  parts,  and  a 
moil  uncommon  (hare  of  learning'  for  a 
man  of  quality.  He  was  one  of  the  bell 
ipeakers  in  the  houfe  of  lords,  both  in  the 
declamatory  and  the  argumentative  way. 
He  had  a  wonderful  quicknefs  and  preci- 
fion  in  feizing  the  ftrefs  of  a  queflion,  which 
no  art,  no  fophifiry,  could  difguife  in  him. 
In  bufinefs  he  was  bold,  enterpriling,  and 
overbearing.  He  had  been  bred  up  in 
high  monarchical,  that  is,  tyrannical  prin- 
ciples of  government,  which  his  ardent 
and  imperious  temper  made  him  think 
were  the  only  rational  and  pra&icable 
ones.  He  would  have  been  a  great  firft 
minifter  in  France,  little  inferior,  perhaps, 
to  Richelieu ;  in  this  government,  which 
is  yet  free,  he  would  have  been  a  danger- 
ous one,  little  lefs  fo,  perhaps,  than  Lord 
Strafford.  He  was  neither  ill-natured,  nor 
vindictive,  and  had  a  great  contempt  for 
money;  his  ideas  were  all  above  it.  In 
focial  life  he  was  an  agreeable,  good  hu- 
moured, an.  inftructive  companion;  a 
great  but  entertaining  talker. 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

He  degraded  himfelf  by  the  vice  of 
drinking ;  which,  together  with  a  great 
flock  of  Greek  and  Latin,  he  brought 
away  with  him  from  Oxford,  and  retained 
and  pradiied  ever  afterwards.  By  his 
own  induftry,  he  had  made  himfelf  mailer 
of  all  the  modem  languages,  and  had  ac- 
quired a  great  knowledge  of  the  law.  His 
political  knowledge  of  the  intereil  of 
princes  and  of  commerce  was  extenfive, 
and  his  notions  were  jufl  and  great.  His 
character  may  be  fummed  up,  in  nice  pre- 
cifion,  quick  decifion,  and  unbounded  pre- 
emption. Ibid. 

§    123.     Char  after  cf  Mr.  Pelh  am. 

Mr.  Pelham  had  good  fenfe,  -without; 
either  fhiniug  parts  or  any  degree  of  lite- 
rature. He  had  by  no  means  an  elevated 
or  enterprifmg  genius,  but  had  a  more 
manly  and  Heady  reiolution  than  his  bro- 
ther the  Duke  of  Newcallle.  He  had  a 
gentieman-like  franknefs  in  his  behaviour, 
and  as  great  point  of  honour  as  a  minifter 
can  have,  efpecially  a  minifter  at  the  head 
of  the  treafury,  where  numberlefs  fturdy 
and  unfatiable  beggars  of  condition  apply, 
who  cannot  all  be  gratified,  nor  all  with 
fafety  be  refuied. 

He  was  a  very  inelegant  fpeaker  in  par- 
liament, but  fpoke  with  a  certain  candour 
and  opennefs  that  made  him  be  well  heard, 
and  generally  believed. 

He  wiihed  well  to  the  public,  and  ma- 
naged the  finances  with  great  care  and' 
perfonal  purity.  He  was  par  negotiis  neque 
Jupra :  had  many  domeitic  virtues  and  no 
vices.  If  his  place,  and  the  power  that 
accompanies  it,  made  him  fome  public 
enemies,  his  behaviour  in  both  fecured  him 
from  perfonal  and  rancorous  ones  Thoie 
who  wiihed  him  wodl,  only  wiihed  them- 
felves  in  his  place. 

Upon  the  whole,  he  was  an  honourable 
man,  and  a  well-wifhing  minifter. 

Ibid. 

§  124..    Charafter  ^Richard  Earl  cf 

Scarborough. 

In  drawing  the  character  of  Lord  Scar- 
borough, I  will  be  ftridly  upon  my  guard 
againll  the  partiality  of  that  intimate  ana 
unreferved  friendfhip,  in  which  we  lived 
for  more  than  twenty  years ;  to  which 
friendfnip,  as  well  as  to  the  public  notoriety 
of  it,  1  owe  much  more  than  my  pride 
will  let  my  gratitude  own.  If  this  may  be 
fufpeded  to  have  biafied  my  judgment,  it 
mull,  at  the  fame  time,  be  allowed  to  have 

informed 


BOOK  111.      ORATIONS,     CHARACTERS,    Sec. 


informed  it ;  for  the  moll  fecret  movements 
of  his  whole  foul  were,  without  difguife, 
communicated  to  me  only.  However,  I 
will  rather  lower  than  heighten  the  colour- 
ing ;  I  will  mark  the  fhades,  and  draw  a 
credible  rather  than  an  exact  likenefs. 

He  had  a  very  good  perfon,  rather  above 
the  middle  fize ;  a  handfome  face,  and, 
when  he  was  chearful,  the  moft  engaging 
countenance  imaginable :  when  grave, 
which  he  was  ofteneft,  the  moft  refpectable 
one.  He  had  in  the  higheft  degree  the 
air,  manners,  and  addrefs,  of  a  man  of 
quality ;  politenefs  with  eafe,  and  dignity 
without  pride. 

Bred  in  camps  and- courts,  it  cannot  be 
fuppofed  that  he  was  untainted  with  the 
faihionable  vices  of  thefe  warm  climates ; 
but  (if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expreffion) 
he  dignified  them,  inftead  of  their  degrad- 
ing him  into  any  mean  or  indecent  action. 
He  had  a  good  degree  of  claiTical,  and  a 
great  one  of  modern,  knowledge  ;  with  a 
juft,  and,  at  the  fame  time,  a  delicate  tafte. 

In  his  common  expences  he  was  liberal 
within  bounds ;  but  in  his  charities,  and 
bounties  he  had  none.  I  have  known  them 
put  him  to  fome  prefent  inconveniencies. 

He  was  a  ftrong,  but  not  an  eloquent  or 
florid  fpeaker  in  parliament.  He  fpoke 
fo  unaffectedly  the  honeft  dictates  of  his 
heart,  that  truth  and  virtue,  which  never 
want,  and  feldom  wear,  ornaments,  feemed 
only  to  borrow  his  voice.  This  gave  fuch 
an  aftonifhing  weight  to  all  he  laid,  that 
he  more  than  once  carried  an  unwilling 
majority  after  him.  Such  is  the  autho- 
rity of  unfufpe&ed  virtue,  that  it  will 
fometimes  fliame  vice  into  decency  at 
leaft. 

He  was  not  only  offered,  but  preffed  to 
accept,  the  poll  of  fecretary  of  ftate  ;  but 
he  conilantly  refufed  it.  I  once  tried  to 
perfuade  him  to  accept  it ;  but  he  told 
me,  that  both  the  natural  warmth  and  me- 
lancholy of  his  temper  made  him  unfit  for 
it;  and  that  moreover  he  knew  very  well 
that,  in  thofe  minilterial  employments,  the 
couife  of  bufinefs  made  it  neceffary  to 
do  many  hard  things,  and  fome  unjuft 
ones,  which  could  only  be  authorized  by 
the  jefuitical  cafuillry  of  the  direction  of 
the  intention :  a  doctrine  which  he  faid  he 
could  not  poffibly  adopt.  Whether  he 
was  the  firft  that  ever  made  that  objection. 
I  cannot  affirm ;  but  I  fufpect  that  he  will 
be  the  laft. 

He  was  a,  true  conftitutional,  and  yet 


practicable  patriot ;  a  fmcere  lover,  and  a 
zealous  afferter  of  the  natural,  the  civil, 
and  the  religious  rights  of  his  country : 
but  he  would  not  quarrel  with  the  crown, 
for  fome  flight  ftretches  of  the  preroga- 
tive; nor  with  the  people,  for  fome  un- 
wary ebullitions  of  liberty  ;  nor  with  any 
one  for  a  difference  of  opinion  in  fpecula- 
tive  points.  He  confidered  the  conllitu- 
tion  in  the  aggregate,  and  only  watched 
that  no  one  part  of  it  mould  preponderate 
too  much. 

His  moral  character  was  fo  pure,  that  if 
one  may  fay  of  that  imperfect  creature 
man,  what  a  celebrated  hiltorian  fays  of 
Scipio,  nil  non  laudcmdum  aut  dixit,  aut 
fecit,  autfenfit ;  I  fincerely  think  (I  had 
almoft  faid  I  know),  one  might  fay  it  with 
great  truth  of  him,  one  fingle  inftance  ex- 
cepted, which  mail  be  mentioned. 

He  joined  to  the  nobleft  and  ftricterc 
principles  of  honour  and  generofity,  the 
tendered  fentiments  of  benevolence  and 
compaffion;  and,  as  he  was  naturally 
warm,  he  could  not  even  hear  of  an  in- 
juftice  or  a  bafenefs,  without  a  fudden 
indignation;  nor  of  the  misfortunes  or 
miferies  of  a  fellow-creature,  without 
melting  into  fofmefs,  and  endeavouring  ta 
relieve  them.  This  part  of  his  character 
was  fo  univerfally  known,  that  our  befe 
and  moft  fatirical  Englifh  poet  fays, 

When  I  confefs  there  is  who  feels  for  fame, 
And   melts  to  goodnefs,   need  I  Scarborough 
name  ? 

He  had  not  the  leaft  pride  of  birth  and 
rank,  that  common  narrow  notion  of  little 
minds,  that  wretched  miftaken  fucceda- 
neum  of  merit;  but  he  was  jealous  to 
anxiety  of  his  character,  as  all  men  are 
who  deferve  a  good  one.  And  fuch  was 
his  diffidence  upon  that  fubject,  that  he 
never  could  be  perfuaded  that  mankind 
really  thought  of  him  as  they  did ;  f  jr 
furely  never  man  had  a  higher  reputation, 
and  never  man  enjoyed  a  more  univerfal 
efteem,  Even  knaves  reflected  him; 
and  fools  thought  they  loved  him.  If  he 
had  any  enemies  (for  I  proteft  I  never 
knew  one),  they  could  be  only  fuch  as 
were  weary  of  always  hearing  of  Ariftides 
the  Juft. 

He  was  too  fubject  to  fudden  gufts  of 
paffion,  but  they  never  hurried  him  into 
any  illiberal  or  indecent  expreffion  or  ac- 
tion ;  fo  invincibly  habitual  to  him  were 
good-nature  and  good-manners»     But  if 

3  D  4  ever 


E  L  E  G  A  X  T     E  X  T  RACTS     IN     PRO  S  E. 


ever  any  word  happened  to  Fall  from  him 
in  warmth,  which  upon  fubfequeht  reflec- 
tion he  himfelf  thought  too  ftrong,  he  was 
never  eafy  till  he  had  made  more  than  a 
lufficient  atonement  for  it. 

He  had  a  moil  unfortunate,  I  will  call  it 
a  mod  fatal  kind  of  melancholy  in  his  na- 
ture, which  often  made  him  both  abfent 
and  filent  in  company,  but  never  morofe 
or  four.  At  other  times  he  was  a  chear- 
ful  and  agreeable  companion ;  but,  con- 
scious that  he  was  not  always  fo,  he  avoid- 
ed company  too  much,  and  was  too  often 
alone,  giving  way  to  a  train  cf  gloomy 
reflections. 

His  conftitution,  which  was  never  ro- 
buft,  broke  rapidly  at  the  latter  end  of  his 
life.  He  had  two  fevere  ftrokes  of  apo- 
plexy or  palfy,  which  confiderably  affected 
his  body  and  his  mind. 

I  defire  that  this  may  not  be  looked 
upon  as  a  full  and  finifhed  character,  writ 
for  the  fake  of  writing  it ;  but  as  my  fo- 
lemn  depofit  of  the  truth  to  the  belt  of  my 
knowledge.  I  owed  this  fmall  depofit  of 
juflice,  luch  as  it  is,  to  the  memory  of  the 
belt  man  I  ever  knew,  and  of  the  deareft 
friend  I  ever  had,  Chefierfield. 

%    I  25.      Char  after  of  IWHardwicke. 

Lord  Hardwicke  was,  perhaps,  the 
greateft  magiftrate  that  this  country  ever 
had.  He  preiided  in  the  court  of  Chan- 
cery above  twenty  years,  and  in  all  that 
time  none  of  his  decrees  were  revcrfed, 
nor  the  juftneis  of  them  ever  qucftioned. 
Though  avarice  was  his  ruling  paflion,  he 
was  never  in  the  lead  fufpecled  of  any  kind 
of  corruption  :  a  rare  and  meritorious  in- 
ftance  of  virtue  and  felf-denial,  under  the 
influence  of  fuch  a  craving,  infatiable,  and 
increafing  paflion. 

He  had  great  and  clear  parts ;  under- 
flood,  loved,  and  cultivated  the  belles  lef- 
ties. He  was  an  agreeable,  eloquent 
fpeaker  in  parliament,  but  not  -without 
fome  little  tincture  of  the  pleader. 

Men  arc  apt  to  millake,  or  at  leaft  to 
feem  to  miJlake,  their  own  talents,  in 
hopes,  perhaps,  of  miileading  others  to 
allow  thtm  that  which  they  are  confeiens 
they  do  not  poffefs.  Thus  Lord  Hard- 
v  icke  valued  himfelf  more  upon  being  a 
great  minilter  of  Hate,  which  he  certainly 
was  not,  than  upon  being  a  great  magi- 
ftrate, which  he  certainly  was. 

All  his  notions  were  clear,  but  none  of 
them  great.  Good  order  and  domeftic 
detail,  were  his  proper  department.     The 


great  and  fhining  parts  of  government, 
though  not  above  his  parts  to  conceive, 
were  above  his  timidity  to  undertake. 

By  great  and  lucrative  emplovments, 
during  the  courfe  of  thirty  years,  and  by 
ftill  greater  panlrrony,  he  acquired  an 
immenfe  fortune,  and  eftablifhed  his  nu- 
merous family  in  advantageous  polls  and 
profitable  alliances. 

Though  he  had  been  folicitor  and  attor- 
ney general,  he  was  by  no  means  what  is 
called  a  prerogative  lawyer.  He  loved 
the  conftitution,  and  maintained  the  juft 
prerogative  of  the  crown,  but  without 
ftretching  it  to  the  oppreffion  of  the  peo- 
ple. 

He  was  naturall v  humane,  moderate, 
and  decent;  and  when,  by  his  former  em- 
ployments, he  was  obliged  to  profecute 
ftate-criminals,  he  difcharged  that  duty  in 
a  very  different  manner  from  mod  of  his 
predeceflors,  who  were  too  juftly  called 
the  "  blood-hounds  of  the  crown." 

He  was  a  chearful  and  inftru&ive  com- 
panion, humane  in  his  nature,  decent  in 
his  manners,  unftained  with  any  vice  (ava- 
rice excepted),  a  very  great  magiftrate, 
but  bv  no  means  a  gieat  minifter. 

CbeJlerf.eU. 

§  126.  Character  of  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle. 

The  Duke  of  Newcaftle  win  be  fo  often 
mentioned  in  the  hiftory  of  thefe  times, 
and  with  fo  ftrong  a  bias  either  for  or 
againft  him,  that  1  refolved,  for  the  fake 
of  truth,  to  draw  his  characler  with  my 
ufual  impartiality  :  for  as  he  had  been  a 
minifter  for  above  forty  years  together, 
and  in  the  laft  ten  years  of  that  period 
firft  minifter,  he  had  full  time  to  oblige 
one  half  of  the  nation,  and  to  offend  the 
other. 

We  were  cotemporaries,  near  relations, 
and  familiar  acquaintances ;  fometimes 
well  and  fometimes  ill  together,  according 
to  the  fevcral  variations  of  political  affairs, 
which  know  no  relations,  friends,  or  ac- 
quaintances. 

The  public  opinion  put  him  below  his 
level  :  for  though  he  had  no  fuperior 
.parts,  or  eminent  talents,  he  had  a  moll 
indefatigable  induftrv,  a  perfeverance,  a 
court  craft,  a  fervile  compliance  with  the 
will  of  his  Sovereign  for  the  time  being; 
which  qualities,  with  only  a  common  fhare 
of  common  fenfe,  will  carry  a  man  fooner 
and  more  fafely  through  the  dark  laby- 
rinths of  a   court,  than  the  molt  fhining 

pans 


BOOK  III.   ORATIONS,  CHARACTERS,  &c. 


parti  would  do,  without  thofe  meaner  ta- 
lents. 

He  was  good-natured  to  a  degree  of 
weakness,  even  to  tears,  upon  the  flighted: 
occaiions.  Exceedingly  timorous,  both  per- 
fonally  and  politically,  dreading  the  leall 
innovation,  and  keeping,  with  a  fcrupulous 
timidity,  in  the  beaten  track  of  bufinefs, 
as  having  the  fafeit  bottom. 

I  will  mention  one  inftance  of  this  dif- 
polition,  which,  I  think,  will  fet  it  in  the 
flrongefl  light.  When  I  brought  the  bill 
into  the  houfe  of  lords,  for  correcting  and 
amending  the  calendar,  I  gave  him  pre- 
vious notice  of  my  intentions  :  he  was 
alarmed  at  fo  bold  an  undertaking,  and 
conjured  me  not  to  ftir  matters  that  had 
been  long  quiet;  adding,  that  he  did  not 
love  new-fangled  things.  I  did  not,  how- 
ever, yield  to  the  cogency  of  thefe  argu- 
ments, but  brought  in  the  bill,  and  it  pall- 
ed unanimoufly.  From  fuch  weaknefies  it 
necefl'arily  follows,  that  he  could  have  no 
great  ideas,  nor  elevation  of  mind. 

His  ruling,  or  rather  his  only,  pafiion 
was,  the  agitation,  the  buftle,  and  the 
hurry  of  bufinefs,  to  which  he  had  been 
accultomed  above  forty  years ;  but  he  was 
as  dilatory  in  difpatching  it,  as  he  was 
eager  to  engage  in  it.  He  was  always  in 
a  hurry,  never  walked,  but  always  run, 
infomuch  that  I  have  fometimes  told  him, 
that  by  his  fleetnefs  one  lhould  rather  take 
him  for  the  courier  than  the  author  of  the 
letters.  , 

He  was  as  jealous  of  his  power  as  an 
impotent  lover  of  his  miftrefs.  without  ac- 
tivity of  mind  enough  to  enjoy  or  exert  it, 
but  could  not  bear  a  mare  even  in  the  ap- 
pearances of  it. 

His  levees  were  his  pleafure,  and  his 
triumph  ;  he  loved  to  have  them  crowded, 
and  confequently  they  were  fo  :  there  he 
made  people  of  bufinefs  wait  two  or  three 
hours  in  the  anti- chamber,  while  he  trifled 
away  that  time  with  fome  infignificant  fa- 
vourites in  his  cloiet.  When  at  laft  he 
came  into  his  levee-room,  he  accolted, 
hugged,  embraced,  and  promifed  every 
body,  with  a  feeming  cordiality ,  but  at  the 
fame  time  with  an  illiberal  and  degrading 
familiarity. 

He  was  exceedingly  difinterefted  :  very 
profufe  of  his  own  fortune,  and  abhorring 
all  thofe  means,  too  often  ufed  by  perfons 
in  his  ltation,  either  to  gratify  their  avarice, 
or  to  fupply  their  prodigality ;  for  he  re- 
tired from  bufinefs  in  the  year  1762,  above 


777 

four  hundred  thoufand  pounds  poorer  than 
when  he  firif.  engaged  in  it. 

Upon  the  whole,  he  was  a  compound 
of  molt  human  weaknefies,  but  untainted 
with  any  vice  or  crime.  CheJIerf.dd. 

§    127.      Char acl 'cr    of  the  Duke  o/"  Bed- 
ford. 

The  Duke  of  Bedford  was  more  con- 
fiderable  for  his  rank  and  immenfe  for- 
tune, than  for  either  his  parts  or  his  vir- 
tues. 

He  had  rather  more  than  a  common 
fhare  of  common  fenfe,  but  with  a  head 
fo  wrong-turned,  and  fo  invincibly  obili- 
nate,  that  the  mare  of  parts  which  he  had 
was  of  little  ufe  to  him,  and  very  trou- 
blefome  to  others. 

He  was  pamonate,  though  obftinate ; 
and,  though  both,  was  always  governed 
by  fome  low  dependants;  who  had  art 
enough  to  make  him  believe  that  he  go- 
verned them. 

His  manners  and  addrefs  were  exceed- 
ingly illiberal ;  he  had  neither  the  talent 
nor  the  defire  of  pleafing. 

In  fpeaking  in  the  houfe,  he  had  an  ine- 
legant flow  of  words,  but  not  without  fome 
reafoning,  matter,  and  method. 

He  had  no  amiable  qualities ;  but  lie 
had  no  vicious  nor  criminal  ones :  he  was 
much  below  mining,  but  above  contempt 
in  any  character. 

In  lhort,  he  was  a  Duke  of  a  refpeclable 
family,  and  with  a  very  great  eilate. 

§    128.     Another  Characler. 

The  Duke  of  Bedford  is  indeed  a  very 
confiderable  man.  The  higheft.  rank,  a 
fplendid  fortune,  and  a  name  glorious  till 
it  was  his,  were  fufticient  to  have  fupport- 
ed  him  with  meaner  abilities  than  he 
poflefled.  The  ufe  he  made  of  thefe  un- 
common advantages  might  have  been 
more  honourable  to  himfelf,  but  could 
not  be  more  inllrudlive  to  mankind.  The 
eminence  of  his  llation  gave  him  a  com- 
manding proipett  of  his  duty.  The  road 
which  led  to  honour  was  open  to  his 
view.  He  could  not  lofe  it  by  mifiake,  and 
he  had  no  temptation  to  depart  from  it  by 
defign. 

An  independent,  virtuous  Duke  of  Bed- 
ford, would  never  proftitute  his  dignity  in 
parliament  by  an  indecent  violence,  either 
in  oppreffing  or  defending  a  miniller  :  he 
would  not  at  one  moment  rancoroufly  per- 
secute, at  another  bafely  cringe  to  the  fa- 
vourite 


77« 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


vourits  of  his  fovereign.  Though  de- 
ceived perhaps  in  his  youth,  he  would 
not,  through  the  courfe  of  a  long  life,  have 
invariably  chofen  his  friends  from  among 
the  moil  profligate  of  mankind :  his  own 
honour  would  have  forbidden  him  from 
mixing  his  private  pleafures  or  converfa- 
tion  with  jockeys,  gamefters,  blafphemers, 
gladiators,  or  buffoons.  He  would  then  have 
never  felt,  much  lefs  would  he  have  fubmit- 
ted  to,  the  humiliating  neceffity  of  engag- 
ing in  the  intereft  and  intrigues  of  his  de- 
pendants ;  of  fupplying  their  vices,  or  re- 
lieving their  beggary,  at  the  expence  of 
.his  country.  He  would  not  have  betrayed 
fuch  ignorance,  or  fuch  contempt  of  the 
conftitution,  as  openly  to  avow  in  a  court 
of  juftice  the  purchafe  and  fale  of  a  bo- 
rough. If  it  mould  be  the  will  of  Provi- 
dence to  affiift  him  with  a  domeftic  mif- 
fortune,  he  would  fubmit  to  the  ftroke 
with  feeling,  but  not  without  dignity ;  and 
not  look  for,  or  find,  an  immediate  confo- 
lation  for  the  lofs  of  an  only  fon  in  con- 
sultations and  empty  bargains  for  a  place 
at  court,  nor  in  the  mifery  of  ballotting  at 
the  India- houfe. 

The  Duke's  hiftory  began  to  be  im- 
portant at  that  auipicious  period,  at  which 
he  was  deputed  to  the  court  of  Verfailles. 
It  was  an  honourable  office,  and  was  exe- 
cuted with  the  fame  fpirit  with  which  it 
was  accepted.  His  patrons  wanted  an 
ambafiador  who  would  fubmit  to  make 
conceffions : — their  bufinefs  required  a 
man  who  had  as  little  feeling  for  his  own 
dignity,  as  for  the  welfare  of  his  country  ; 
and  they  found  him  in  the  firft  rank  of  the 
nobility.  Junius. 

%  129.   CharaEler  of  Mr.  Henry  Fox,  af- 
terwards Lord  Holland. 

Mr.  Henry  Fox  was  a  younger  brother 
of  the  loweil  extraction.  His  father,  Sir 
Stephen  Fox,  made  a  confiderable  fortune, 
Tome  how  or  other,  and  left  him  a  fair 
younger  brother's  portion,  which  he  foon 
fpent  in  the  common  vices  of  youth,  gam- 
ing included:  this  obliged  him  to  travel 
for  fome  time. 

When  he  returned,  though  by  educa- 
tion a  Jacobite,  he  attached  himfelf  to 
Sif  Robert  Walpole,  and  was  one  of  his 
ablcft  elves.  He  had  no  fixed  principles 
either  of  religion  or  morality,  and  was 
too  unwary  in  ridiculing  and  expofing 
them. 

He  had  very  great  abilities  and  indefa- 
tigable induftry  in  bufinefs ;  great  ikill  in 


managing,  that  is,  in  corrupting,  the  houfe 
of  commons ;  and  a  wonderful  dexterity  in 
attaching  individuals  to  himfelf.  He  pro- 
moted, encouraged,  and  practifed  their 
vices ;  he  gratified  their  avarice,  or  fup- 
piied  their  profufion.  He  wifely  and  punc- 
tually performed  whatever  he  promifed, 
and  moll  liberally  rewarded  their  attach- 
ment and  dependence.  By  thefe,  and  all 
other  means  that  can  be  imagined,  he  made 
himfelf  many  perfonal  friends  and  political 
dependants. 

He  was  a  moll  difagreeable  fpeaker  in 
parliament,  inelegant  in  his  language,  he- 
fitating  and  ungraceful  in  his  elocution, 
but  fkilful  in  dilcerning  the  temper  of  the 
houfe,  and  in  knowing  when  and  how  to 
prefs,  or  to  yield. 

A  conllant  good-humour  and  feeming 
franknefs  made  him  a  welcome  companion 
in  focial  life,  and  in  all  domeftic  relations 
he  was  good-natured.  As,  he  advanced  in 
life,  his  ambition  became  fubfervient  to  his 
avarice.  His  early  profufion  and  difiipa- 
tion  had  made  him  feel  the  many  incon^ 
veniencies  of  want,  and,  as  it  often  hap- 
pens, carried  him  to  the  contrary  and  worfe 
extreme  of  corruption  and  rapine.  Rem> 
quocunque  tnodo  rem,  became  his  maxim* 
which  he  obferved  (I  will  not  fay  religi- 
oufly  and  fcrupuloufiy,  but)  invariably  and 
fhamefully. 

He  had  not  the  leafl  notion  of,  or  re- 
gard for,  the  public  good  or  the  conftitu- 
tion,  but  defpifed  thofe  cares  as  the  ob- 
jects of  narrow  minds,  or  the  pretences 
of  interelled  ones :  and  he  lived,  as  Brutus 
died,  calling  virtue  only  a  name. 

Cbejierfeld. 

§130.    Charatter  of  Mr.  Pitt. 

Mr.  Pitt  owed  his  rife  to  the  moft  con- 
fiderable polls  and  power  in  this  kingdom 
fingly  to  his  own  abilities ;  in  him  they 
fupplied  the  want  of  birth  and  fortune, 
which  latter  in  others  too  often  fupply  the 
want  of  the  former.  He  was  a  younger 
brother  of  a  very  new  family,  and  his  for- 
tune only  an  annuity  of  one  hundred  pounds 
a  year. 

The  army  was  his  original  deflination, 
and  a  cornetcy  of  horfe  his  firft  and  only 
commiffion  in  it.  Thus,  unafiifted  by  fa- 
vour or  fortune,  he  had  no  powerful  pro- 
tector to  introduce  him  into  bufinefs,  and 
(if  I  may  ufe  that  expreflion)  to  do  the 
honours  of  his  parts;  but  their  own  ftrength 
was  fully  fufticient. 

His  conftitution  refufed  him  the  ufual 

pleafures^ 


BOOK   III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,     &c. 


779 


jneafures,  and  his  genius  forbad  him  the 
idle  diffipations  of  youth ;  for  fo  early  as 
at  the  age  of  fixteen,  he  was  the  martyr 
of  an  hereditary  gout.  He  therefore  em- 
ployed the  leifure  which  that  tedious  and 
painful  diftemper  either  procured  or  allow- 
ed him,  in  acquiring  a  great  fund  of  pre- 
mature and  ufeful  knowledge.  Thus,  by 
the  unaccountable  relation  of  caufes  and 
effects,  what  feemed  the  greateft  misfor- 
tune of  his  life  was,  perhaps,  the  principal 
caufe  of  its  fplendor. 

His  private  life  was  ftained  by  no  vices, 
nor  fuliied  by  any  meannefs.  All  his  fen- 
timents  were  liberal  and  elevated.  His  rul- 
ing paffion  was  an  unbounded  ambition, 
Which,  when  fupported  by  great  abilities, 
and  crowned  by  great  fuccefs,  make  what 
the  world  calls  "  a  great  man."  He  was 
haughty,  imperious,  impatient  of  contra- 
diction, and  overbearing  ;  qualities  which 
too  often  accompany,  but  always  clog, 
great  ones. 

He  had  manners  and  addrefs ;  but  one 
might  difcern  through  them  too  great  a 
confcioufnefs  of  his  own  fuperior  talents. 
He  was  a  moll  agreeable  and  lively  com- 
panion in  focial  life  ;  and  had  fuch  a  ver- 
satility of  wit,  that  he  could  adapt  it  to  all 
forts  of  convocation.  He  had  alfo  a  molt 
happy  turn  to  poetry,  but  he  feldom  in- 
dulged, and  feldom  avowed  it. 

He  came  young  into  parliament,  and 
upon  that  great  theatre  foon  equalled  the 
oldeftand  the  ablefl  actors.  His  eloquence 
was  of  every  kind,  and  he  excelled  in  the 
argumentative  as  well  as  in  the  declama- 
tory way ;  but  his  invectives  were  terri- 
ble, and  uttered  with  fuch  energy  of  dic- 
tion, and  {tern  dignity  of  action  and  coun- 
tenance, that  he  intimidated  thofe  who 
were  the  moil  willing  and  the  belt  able 
to  encounter  him  *  ;  their  arms  fell  out 
of  their  hands,  and  they  lhrunk  under 
the  afcendant  which  is  genius  gained  over 
theirs. 

In  that  affembly,.  where  the  public  good 
is  fo  much  talked  of,  and  private  interefl 
fingly  purfued,  he  fet  out  with  acting  the 
patriot,  and  performed  that  part  fo  no- 
bly, that  he  was  adopted  by  the  public 
as  their  chief,  or  rather  only  unfufpected, 
champion. 

The  weight  of  his  popularity,  and  his 
univerfally  acknowledged  abilities,  obtrud- 
ed him  upon  King  George  II.  to  whom  he 
was  perfonally  obnoxious.     He  was  made 

*  Hume  Campbell,  and  Lord  "Chief  Juftice 
Mansfield. 


fecretary  of  ftate :  in  this  difficult  and  de- 
licate iituation,  which  one  would  have 
.thought  muft  have  reduced  either  the  pa- 
triot or  the  minifter  to  a  deciiive  option, 
he  managed  with  fuch  ability,  that  while 
he  ferved  the  king  more  effectually  in  his 
moil  unwarrantable  electoral  views,  than 
any  former  minifter,  however  willing,  had 
dared  to  do,  he  Hill  preferved  all  his  credit 
and  popularity  with  the  public ;  whom  he 
affured  and  convinced,  that  the  protection 
and  defence  of  Hanover,  with  an  army  of 
feventy-five  thoufand  men  in  Jjrkilh  pay, 
was  the  only  poffible  method  of  fecuring 
our  poffeffions  or  acquifitions  in  North 
America.  So  much  eafier  is  it  to  deceive 
than  to  undeceive  mankind. 

i  His  own  difintereftednefs,,  and  even  con- 
tempt of  money,  fmcothed  his  way  to  pow- 
er, and  prevented  or  filenced  a  great  lhare 
of  that  envy  which  commonly  attends  it. 
Molt  men  think  that  they  have  an  equal- 
natural  right  to  riches,  and  equal  abilities 
to  make  the  proper  ufe  of  them;  but  not 
very  many  of  them  have  the  impudence  to 
think  themfelves  qualified  for  power. 

Upon  the  whole,  he  will  make  a  great 
and  mining  figure  in  the  annals  of  this 
country,  notwithitanding  the  blot  which 
his  acceptance  of  three  thoufand  pounds 
per  annum  penlion  for  three  lives,  on  his 
voluntary  refignation  of  the  feals  in  the 
firft  year  of  the  prefent  king,  muft  make  in 
his  character,  efpecially  as  to  the  difmte- 
refled  part  of  it.  However,  it  mult  be 
acknowledged,  that  he  had  thofe  qualities 
which  none  but  a  great  man  can  have,  with 
a  mixture  of  thofe  failings  which  are  the 
common  lot  of  wretched  and  imperfect 
human  nature.  Chejierfeld. 

§    1 3  r .     Ancther  Charafier. 

Mr.  Pitt  had  been  originally  defigned 
for  the  army,  in  which  he  actually  bore  a 
commifTion ;  but  fate  referved  him  for  a 
more  important  ftation,  In  point  of  for- 
tune he  was  barely  qualified  to  be  elected 
member  of  parliament,  when  he  obtained 
a  feat  in  the  houfe  of  commons,  where  he 
foon  outfhone  all  his  compatriots.  He  dis- 
played a  furprifing  extent  and  precifion  of 
political  knowledge,  and  irrefiitible  energy 
of  argument,  and  fuch  power  of  elocution 
as  ftruck  his  hearers  with  altonifhment  and 
admiration  :  it  flafhed  like  the  lightening  of 
heaven  again  ft  the  miniiters  and  fons  of 
corruption,  blafling  where  it  fmote,  and 
withering  the  nerves  of  eppofition  :  but  his 
more  fubitantial  praife  was  founded  upon 


78e> 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


his  difinterefted  integrity,  his  incorruptible 
heart,  his  unconquerable  fpirit  of  inde- 
pendence, and  his  invariable  attachment  to 
the  intereft  and  liberty  of  his  country. 

Smollett, 

%  12Z.  Another  Character. 
The  fecretary  flood  alone.  Modern  de- 
generacy had  not  reached  him,  Original 
and  unaccommodating,  the  features  of  his 
character  had  the  hardihood  of  antiquity, 
His  auguft  mind  over-awed  majelly,  and 
one  of  his  fovereigns  thought  royalty  fo 
impaired  in  his  prefence,  that  he  confpired 
to  remove  him,  in  order  to  be  relieved  from 
his  fuperiority.  No  Mate  chicanery,  no 
narrow  fy Item  of  vicious  politics,  no  idle 
conteft  for  minifterial  victories,  funk  him 
to  the  vulgar  level  of  the  great ;  but  over- 
bearing, perluafive,  and  impracticable,  his 
object  was  England,  his  ambition  was  fame. 
Without  dividing,  he  deftroyed  party; 
without  corrupting,  he  made  a  venal  age 
unanimous.  France  funk  beneath  him. 
With  one  hand  he  fmote  the  houfe  of 
Bourbon,  and  wielded  in  the  other  the  de- 
mocracy of  England.  The  fight  of  his 
mind  was  infinite  :  and  his  fchemes  were 
to  affect,  not  England,  not  the  prefent  age 
only,  but  Europe  and  pofterity.  Wonder- 
ful were  the  means  by  which  thefe  fchemes 
were  accomplished;  always  feafonable,  al- 
ways adequate,  the  fuggeitions  of  an  un- 
deritanding  animated  by  ardour,  and  en- 
lightened by  prophecy. 

The  ordinary  feelings  which  make  life 
amiable  and  indolent  were  unknown  to  him. 
No  domeftic  difficulties,  no  domeftic  weak- 
nefs  reached  him  ;  but  aloof  from  the  for- 
did occurrences  of  life,  and  unfullied  bv  its 
intercourfe,  he  came  occasionally  into  our 
fyftem,  to  council  and  to  decide. 

A  character  fo  exalted,  fo  ftrenuous,  fo 
various,  fo  authoritative,  aflonilhed  a  cor- 
rupt age,  and  the  treafury  trembled  at  the 
name  of  Pitt  through  all  her  claries  of  ve- 
nality. Corruption  imagined,  indeed,  that 
me  had  found  defects  in  this  ftatefman,  and 
talked  much  of  the  inconfiftency  of  his 
glory,  and  much  of  the  ruin  of  his  victo- 
ries ;  but  the  hiitory  of  his  country,  and  the 
calamities  of  the  enemy,  anfwered  and  re- 
futed h?r. 

Nor  were  his  political  abilities  his  only 
talents :  his  eloquence  was  an  aera  in  the 
fenate,  peculiar  and  fpontaneous,  familiarly 
expreffing  gigantic  fentiments  and  inftinc- 
tive  wifdom  ;  not  like  the  torrent  of  De- 


mofthenes,  or  the  fplendid  conflagration  of 
Tully;  it  refembled  lometimcs  the  thun- 
der, and  fometimes  the  mulicof  the  fpheres. 
Like  Murray,  he  did  not  conduct  the  un- 
demanding through  the  painful  fubtilty  of 
argumentation;  nor  was  he,  like  Town- 
fhend,  for  ever  on  the  rack  of  exertion; 
but  rather  lightened  upon  the  fubjedt,  and 
reached  the  point  by  the  flalhings  of  the 
mind,  which,  like  thole  of  his  eye,  were 
felt,  but  could  not  be  followed. 

Upon  the  whole,  there  was  in  this  man 
fomething  that  could  create,  fubvert,  or 
reform  ;  an  understanding,  a  fpirit,  and  an 
eloquence,  to  fummon  mankind  to  fociety, 
or  to  break  the  bonds  of  flavery  afunder, 
and  to  rule  the  wiluernefs  of  free  minds 
with  unbounded  authority  ;  fomething  that 
could  eftablifh  or  overwhelm  empire,  and 
ttrike  a  blow  in  the  world  that  thould  re- 
found  through  the  univerfe. 

Anonymous. 

§    133.     Another  Char  after. 

Lord  Chatham  is  a  great  and  celebrated 
name  ;  a  name  that  keeps  the  name  of  this 
country  rcfpectable  in  every  other  on  the 
globe.      It  may  be  truly  called, 

— —  Clarum  et  venerahilc  nomen 
Genubus,  et  multum  noftrae  quod,  proderat  urbi. 

The  venerable  age  of  this  great  man,  his 
merited  rank,  his  fuporior  eloquence,  his 
fplendid  qualities,  his  eminent  lervices,  the 
vaft  fpace  he  fills  in  the  eye  of  mankind, 
and,  more  than  all  the  reft,  his  fall  from 
power,  which,  like  death,  canonizes  and 
fitnetifies  a  great  character,  will  not  fuffer 
me  to  cenfure  any  part  of  his  conduct;.  1 
am  afraid  to  flatter  him ;  I  am  fure  I  am 
not  difpofed  to  blame  him  :  let  thofe  who 
have  betrayed  him  by  their  adulation,  infult 
him  with  their  malevolence.  But  what  I  • 
do  not  prefume  to  cenfure,  I  may  have  leave 
to  lament. 

For  a  wife  man,  he  feemed  to  me  at  that 
time  to  be  governed  too  much  by  general 
maxims  :  one  or  two  of  thefe  maxims, 
flowing  from  an  opinion  not  the  molt  in- 
dulgent to  our  unhappy  fpecies,  and  furely 
a  little  too  general,  led  him  into  meafures 
that  were  greatly  mifchievous  to  himfelf ; 
and  for  that  reafon,  among  others,  perhaps 
fatal  to  his  country  ;  meafures,  the  effects 
of  which  I  am  afraid  are  for  ever  incurable. 
He  made  an  adminiftration  fo  checkered 
and  fpecklcd  ;  he  put  together  a  piece  of 
joinery  fo  crofsly  indented  and  whimfically 

dove- 


BOOK   III.      ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,     &c. 


dovetailed;  a  cabinet  fo  varioufly  inlaid  ; 
fuch  a  piece  of  diverfified  mofaic,  fuch  a 
teffelated  pavement  without  cement;  here 
a  bit  of  black  Hone,  and  there  a  bit  of 
white;  patriots  and  courtiers;  king's  friends 
and  republicans ;  whigs  and  tories;  trea- 
cherous friends  and  open  enemies ;  that  it 
was  indeed  a  very  curious  ihow,  but  ut- 
terly unfafe  to  touch,  and  unfure  to  Hand 
on.  The  colleagues  whom  he  had  aflbrted 
at  the  fame  boards  dared  at  each  other,  and 
were  obliged  to  afk,  "  Sir,  your  name,  Sec." 
It  fo  happened,  that  perfons  had  a  lingle 
officj  divided  between  them  who  had  never 
fpoken  to  each  other  in  their  lives  ;  until 
they  found  themfclves,  they  knew  not  how, 
pigging  together,  heads  and  points,  in  the 
fame  truckle-bed. 

In  confequence  of  this  arrangement  hav- 
ing put  fo  much  the  larger  part  of  his  ene- 
mies and  oppofers  into  power,  the  confu- 
fion  was  fuch  that  his  own  principles  could 
not  poflibly  have  any  effect  or  influence  in 
the  conduct  of  affairs.  If  ever  he  fell  into 
a  fit  of  the  gout,  or  if  any  other  caufe 
withdrew  him  from  public  cares,  princi- 
ples directly  contrary  were  fure  to  predo- 
minate. When  he  had  executed  his  plan, 
he  had  not  an  inch  of  ground  to  Hand  up- 
on :  when  he  had  accomplifhcd  his  fcheme 
of  adminifiration,  lie  was  no  longer  a  mi- 
nifler. 

When  his  f:ice  was  hid  but  for  a  mo- 
ment, his  whole  fyflem  was  on  a  wide  lea, 
without  chart  or  compafs.  The  gentle- 
men, his  particular  friends,  in  various  de- 
partments of  minifiry,  with  a  confidence 
in  him  which  was  juflified,  even  in  its 
extravagance,  by  his  fuperior  abilities, 
had  never  in  any  inlrance  preiumed  on  any 
opinion  of  their  own ;  deprived  of  his 
guiding  influence,  they  were  whirled  about, 
the  fport  of  every  gull,  and  eafdy  driven 
into  any  port ;  and  as  thofe  who  joined 
with  them  in  manning  the  veffel  were  the 
moil  directly  oppofite  to  his  opinions, 
meafures,  and  character,  and  far  the  molt 
artful  and  moll  powerful  of  the  let,  they 
eafily  prevailed,  fo  as  to  feize  upon  the 
molt  vacant,  unoccupied,  and  derelict 
minds  of  his  friends,  and  infiantly  they 
turned  the  veffel  wholly  out  of  the  courfe 
of  his  policy.  As  if  it  were  to  infult  as 
well  as  to  betray  him,  even  long  before 
the  clofe  of  the  firfi  feflion  of  his  admini- 
stration, when  every  thing  was  publicly 
tranfacted,  and  with  great  parade,  in  his 
-Dame,  they  made  an  act,  declaring  it  high- 


ly jufl  and  expedient  to  raife  a  revenue  in 
America.  For  even  then,  even  before  the 
fplendid  orb  was  entirely  fet,  and  while 
the  weflern  horizon  was  in  a  blaze  with 
his  defcending  glory,  on  the  oppofite 
quarter  of  the  heavens  arofe  another  lu- 
minary (Charles  Townfhend)  and  for  his 
hour  became  lord  of  the  aicendant,  who 
was  officially  the  reproducer  of  the  fatal 
fcheme,  the  unfortunate  act  to  tax  Ame- 
rica for  a  revenue.  Edm.  Burke. 

%    1 34.     Mr.  Pulteney'j  Speech  en  the 
Motion  for  reducing  the  jinny. 

Sir, 

We  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  par- 
liamentary armies,  and  about  an  army 
continued  from  year  to  year;  I  have  al- 
ways been,  Sir,  and  always  (hall  be,  againft 
a  Handing  army  of  any  kind.  To  me  it 
is  a  terrible  thing ;  whether  under  that  of 
parliamentary  or  any  other  defignation,  a 
Handing  army  is  Hill  a  Handing  army, 
whatever  name  it  be  called  by :  they  are 
a  body  of  men  diflinct  from  the  body  of 
the  people  ;  they  are  governed  by  diffe- 
rent laws ;  and  blind  obedience,  and  an 
entire  fubmiflion  to  the  orders  of  their 
commanding  officer,  is  their  onlv  prin- 
ciple. The  nations  around  us,  Sir,  are 
already  enflaved,  and  have  been  enflaved 
by  thofe  very  means :  by  means  of  their 
Handing  armies  they  have  every  cne  loft 
their  liberties ;  it  is  indeed  impartible  that 
the  liberties  of  the  people  can  be  preferved 
in  any  country  where  a  numerous  Handing 
army  is  kept  up.  Shall  we  then  take  any 
of  our  meaiures  from  the  examples  of  our 
neighbours?  No,  Sir;  on  the  contrary, 
from  their  misfortunes  we  ought  to  learn 
to  avoid  thofe  rocks  upon  which  they  have 
fplit. 

It  fignifies  nothing  to  tell  me,  that  our 
army  is  commanded  by  fuch  gentlemen  as 
cannot  be  fuppofed  to  join  in  any  meaiures 
for  enflaving  their  country.  ]t  may  be  fo ; 
1  hope  it  is  fo ;  I  have  a  very  good  opi- 
nion of  many  gentlemen  now  in  the  armv; 
1  believe  they  would  not  join  in  any  fuch 
meaiures ;  but  their  lives  are  uncertain, 
nor  can  we  be  fure  how  long  they  may  be 
continued  in  command ;  they  may  be  all 
difmiiled  in  a  moment,  and  proper  tools 
of  power  put  in  their  room.  Befides,  Sir, 
we  know  the  paffions  of  men,  we  know  how 
dangerous  it  is  to  trull  the  bell  of  men  with 
too  much  power.  Where  was  there  a 
5  braver 


7u2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


braver  army  than  that  under  Julius  Caefar  ? 
Where  was  there  ever  any  army  that  had 
ferved  their  country  more  faithfully  ?  That 
army  was  commanded  generally  by  the 
beft  citizens  of  Rome,  by  men  of  great 
fortune  and  figure  in  their  country,  yet 
that  army  enflaved  their  country.  The  af- 
fections of  the  ioldiers  towards  their  coun- 
try, the  honour  and  integrity  of  the  under- 
officers,  are  not  to  be  depended  on  :  by  the 
military  law  the  adminiftration  of  juftice  is 
fo  quick,  and  the  punifhment  fo  fevere, 
that  neither  officer  nor  foldier  dares  offer 
to  difpute  the  orders  of  his  fupreme  com- 
mander; he  muft  not  confult  his  own  in- 
clinations :  if  an  officer  were  commanded 
to  pull  his  own  father  out  of  this  houfe,  he 
muft  do  it;  he  dares  not  difobey  ;  imme- 
diate death  would  be  the  Aire  confequence 
of  the  leaft  grumbling.  And  if  an  officer 
were  fent  into  the  court  of  requefts,  ac- 
companied by  a  body  of  mufketeers  with 
fcrewed  bayonets,  and  with  orders  to  tell 
us  what  we  ought  to  do,  and  how  we  were 
to  vote,  I  know  what  would  be  the  duty  of 
this  houfe ;  I  know  it  would  be  our  duty 
to  order  the  officer  to  be  taken  and  hanged 
up  at  the  door  of  the  lobby ;  but,  Sir,  I 
doubt  much  if  fuch  a  fpirit  could  be  found 
in  the  houfe,  or  in  any  houfe  of  commons 
that  will  ever  be  in  England. 

Sir,  I  talk  ,not  of  imaginary  things :  I 
talk  of  what  has  happened  to  an  Englifh 
houfe  of  commons,  and  from  an  Englifh 
army  :  not  only  from  an  English  army,  but 
an  army  that  was  railed  by  that  very  houfe 
of  commons,  an  army  that  was  paid  by 
them,  and  an  army  that  was  commanded 
by  generals  appointed  by  them.  There- 
fore do  not  let  us  vainly  imagine,  that  an 
army  raifed  and  maintained  by  authority 
of  parliament  will  always  be  fubmiffive  to 
them ;  if  any  army  be  fo  numerous  as  to 
have  it  in  their  power  toove?-awe  the  par- 
liament, they  will  be  fubmiffive  as  long  as 
the  parliament  does  nothing  to  difoblige 
their  favourite  general ;  but  when  that  cafe 
happens,  1  am  afraid  that  in  place  of  the 
parliament's  difmiffing  the  army,  the  army 
will  difmifs  the  parliament,  as  they  have 
done  heretofore.  Nor  does  the  legality  or 
illegality  of  that  parliament,  or  of  that 
army  alter  the  cafe ;  for,  with  refpedt  to 
that  army,  and  according  to  their  way 
of  thinking,  the  parliament  difmiffed  by 
them  was  a  legal  parliament ;  they  were 
an  army  raifed  and  maintained  accord- 
ing to  law,  and  at  firft  they  were  raifed, 
as  they  imagined,  for  the  prefervation  of 


thofe  liberties  which  they  afterwards  de- 
ftroyed. 

It  has  been  urged,  Sir,  that  whoever  is 
for  the  Proteftant  fucceffion,  muft  be  for 
continuing  the  army  :  for  that  very  rea- 
fon,  Sir,  I  am  againft  continuing  the  ar- 
my. I  know  that  neither  the  Proteftant 
fucceffion  in  his  majefty's  more  illuftnous 
houfe,  nor  any  fucceffion,  can  ever  be  fafe, 
as  long  as  there  is  a  {landing  army  in  the 
country.  Armies,  Sir,  have  no  regard  to 
hereditary  fucceffions.  The  firft  two  Cs~ 
fars  at  Rome  did  pretty  well,  and  found 
means  to  keep  their  armies  in -tolerable 
fubjection,  becaufe  the  generals  and  offi- 
cers were  all  their  own  creatures.  But  how 
did  it  fare  with  their  fucceffors  ?  Was  not 
every  one  of  them  named  by  the  army 
without  any  regard  to  hereditary  right,  or 
to  any  right  ?  A  cobler,  a  gardener,  or 
any  man  who  happened  to  raife  himielf  in 
the  army,  and  could  gain  their  affections, 
was  made  emperor  of  the  world.  Was  not 
every  fucceeding  emperor  raifed  to  the 
throne,  or  tnmbled  headlong  into  the  dull, 
according  to  the  mere  whim  or  mad  frenzy 
of  the  foldiers  r 

We  are  told  this  army  is  defired  to  be 
continued  but  for  one  year  longer,  or  for 
a  limited  term  of  years.  How  abfurd  is 
this  diftinction  ?  Is  there  any  army  in  the 
World  continued  for  any  term  of  years? 
Does  the  moil:  abfolute  monarch  tell  his 
army,  that  he  is  to  continue  them  for  any 
number  of  years,  or  anynumber  of  months  ? 
How  long  have  we  already  continued  our 
army  from  year  to  year  ?  And  if  it  thus 
continues,  wherein  will  it  differ  from  the 
Handing  armies  of  thofe  countries  which 
have  already  fubmitted  their  necks  to  the 
yoke  ?  We  are  now  come  to  the  Rubicon  ; 
our  army  is  now  to  be  reduced,  or  it  never 
will;  ftom  his  majefty's  own  mouth  we 
are  allured  of  a  profound  tranquillity 
abroad,  we  know  there  is  one  at  home.  If 
this  is  not  a  proper  time,  if  thefe  circum- 
ftances'  do  not  afford  us  a  fafe  opportunity 
for  reducing  at  leaft  a  part  of  our  regular 
forces,  we  never  can  expect  to  fee  any  re- 
duction ;  and  this  nation,  already  over- 
burdened with  debts  and  taxes,  muft  be 
loaded  with  the  heavy  charge  of  perpetu- 
ally fupporting  a  numerous  Handing  army  ; 
and  remain  forever  expofed  to  the  danger 
of  having  its  liberties  and  privileges  tram- 
pled upon  by  any  future  king  or  miniflry, 
who  fliall  take  it  in  their  heads  to  do  fo, 
and  fhall  take  a  proper  care  to  model  the 
army  for  that  purpole.  §   *35* 


BOOK    III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


783 


$   135.  Sir  John  St.  Aubin'j  Speech  for 
repealing  the  Septennial  Ail. 

Mr.  Speaker. 

The  fubjeft  matter  of  this  debate  is  of 
fuch  importance,  that  I  mould  be  afhamed 
to  return  to  my  electors,  without  endea- 
vouring, in  the  beft  manner  I  am  able, 
to  declare  publicly  the  reafons  which  in- 
duced me  to  give  my  moft  ready  affent  to 
this  queftion. 

The  people  have  an  unqueftionable  right 
to  frequent  new  parliaments  by  ancient 
ufage ;  and  this  ufage  has  been  confirmed 
by  feveral  laws  which  have  been  progref- 
iively  made  by  our  anceftors,  as  often  as 
they  found  it  necefTary  to  infill  on  this  ef- 
fential  privilege. 

Parliaments  were  generally  annual,  but 
never  continued  longer  than  three  years, 
till  the  remarkable  Feign  of  Henry  VIII. 
He,  Sir,  was  a  prince  of  unruly  appetites, 
and  of  an  arbitrary  will ;  he  was  impatient 
of  every  reftraint  ;  the  laws  of  God  and 
man  fell  equally  a  facrifice,  as  they  ltood 
in  the  way  of  his  avarice,  or  difappointed 
his  ambition  :  he  therefore  introduced  long 
parliaments,  becaufe  he  very  well  knew 
that  they  would  become  the  proper  inftru- 
ments  of  both;  and  what  a  flaviih  obedi- 
ence they  paid  to  all  his  meafures  is  fuffi- 
ciently  known. 

If  we  come  to  the  reign  of  Kins:  Charles 
the  Firft,  we  muft  acknowledge  him  to  be 
a  prince  of  a  contrary  temper ;  he  had 
certainly  an  innate  love  for  religion  and 
virtue.  But  here  lay  the  misfortune ;  he 
was  led  from  his  natural  difpofition  by  fy- 
cophants  and  flatterers ;  they  advifed  him 
to  negleft  the  calling  of  frequent  new  par- 
liaments, and  therefore,  by  not  taking  the 
conftant  fenfe  of  his  people  in  what  he  did, 
he  was  worked  up  into  fo  high  a  notion  of 
prerogative,  that  the  commons,  in  order  to 
reftrain  it,  obtained  that  independent  fatal 
power,  which  atlaft  unhappily  brought  him 
to  his  moft  tragical  end,  and  at  the  fame 
time  fubverted  the  whole  conftitution  ;  and 
I  hope  we  fhall  learn  this  leflbn  from  it, 
never  to  compliment  the  crown  with  any 
new  or  extravagant  powers,  nor  to  deny 
the  people  thofe  rights  which  by  ancient 
ufage  they  are  entitled  to  ;  but  to  preferve 
the  juft  and  equal  balance,  from  which 
they  will  both  derive  mutual  fecurity,  and 
which,  if  duly  obferved,  will  render  our 
conftitution  the  envy  and  admiration  of  all 
the  world. 

King  Charles  the  Second  naturally  took 


a  furfeit  of  parliaments  in  his  father's  time, 
and  was  therefore  extremely  defirous  to 
lay  them  afide  :  but  this  was  a  fcheme  im- 
practicable. However,  in  effect,  he  did  fo ; 
for  he  obtained  a  parliament  which,  by  its 
long  duration,  like  an  army  of  veterans, 
became  fo  exa&ly  difciplined  to  his  own 
meafures,  that  they  knew  no  other  com- 
mand but  from  that  perfon  who  gave  them 
their  pay. 

This  was  a  fafe  and  moft  ingenious  way 
of  enflaving  a  nation.  It  was  very  well 
known,  that  arbitrary  power,  if  it  was 
open  and  avowed,  would  never  prevail 
here ;  the  people  were  amufed  with  the 
fpecious  form  of  their  ancient  conftitution  : 
it  exifted,  indeed,  in  their  fancy ;  but,  like 
a  mere  phantom,  had  no  fubftance  nor  re- 
ality in  it :  for  the  power,  the  authority, 
the  dignity  of  parliaments  were  wholly 
loft.  This  was  that  remarkable  parliament 
which  fo  juftly  obtained  the  opprobrious 
name  of  the  Penfion  Parliament ;  and  was 
the  model  from  which,  I  believe,  fome  later 
parliaments  have  been  exactly  copied. 

At  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  the  peo- 
ple made  a  frefii  claim  of  their  ancient 
privileges;  and  as  they  had  fo  lately  ex- 
perienced the  misfortune  of  long  and  fer- 
vile  parliaments,  it  was  then  declared,  that 
they  mould  he  held  frequently.  But,  it 
feems,  their  full  meaning  was  not  under- 
stood by  this  declaration ;  and,  therefore, 
as  in  every  new  fettlement  the  intention  of 
all  parties  fhould  be  fpecifially  manifefted, 
the  parliament  never  ceafed  ftrugglino- 
with  the  crown,  till  the  triennial  law  was 
obtained:  the  preamble  of  it  is  extremely 
full  and  ftrong ;  and  in  the  body  of  the 
bill  you  will  find  the  word  declared  before 
enacled,  by  which  I  apprehend,  that  though 
this  law  did  not  immediately  take  place  at 
the  time  of  the  Revolution,  it  was  certainly 
intended  as  declaratory  of  their  firft  mean- 
ing, and  therefore  ftands  a  part  of  that  ori- 
ginal contract  under  which  the  conftitution 
was  then  fettled.  His  majefty's  tit'e  to  the 
crown  is  primarily  derived  from  that  con- 
trail ;  and  if  upon  a  review  there  fhall  ap- 
pear to  be  any  deviations  from  it,  we  ouo-ht 
to  treat  them  as  fo  many  injuries  done  to 
that  title.  And  I  dare  fay,  that  this  houfe, 
which  has  gone  through  fo  long  a  feries  of 
fervices  to  his  majefty,  will  at  laft  be  wil- 
ling to  revert  to  thofe  original  ftated  mea- 
fures of  government,  to  renew  and  Strength- 
en that  title. 

But,  Sir,  I  think  the  manner,  in  which 
the  Septennial  law  was  firft  introduced,  is  a 

vcrv 


784 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


very  ftrong  reafon  why  it  fhould  be  repeal- 
ed. People,  in  their  fears,  have  very  often 
recourfe  to  defperate  expedients,  which,  if 
not  cancelled  in  feafon,  will  thcmfelves 
prove  fatal  to  that  conilitution  which  they 
were  meant  tofecure.  Such  is  the  nature 
of  the  feptennial  law  ;  it  was  intended  only 
as  a  prefervative  againit  a  temporary  in- 
convenience :  the  inconvenience  is  remov- 
ed, but  the  mifchievous  effects  ftill  conti- 
nue; for  it  not  only  altered  the  conilitution 
of  parliaments,  but  it  extended  that  fame 
parliament  beyond  its  natural  duration ; 
and  therefore  carries  this  moll  unjuir,  im- 
plication with  it,  That  you  may  at  any  time 
ufurp  the  moll  indubitable,  the  moll  effen- 
tial  privilege  of  the  people,  I  mean  that  of 
chuling  their  own  reprefentatives  :  a  pre- 
cedent of  (uch  a  dangerous  confequence,  of 
fo  fatal  a  tendency,  that  I  think  it  would 
be  a  reproach  to  our  itatute-book,  if  that 
law  was  any  longer  to  fubiill,  which  might 
record  it  to  pofterity. 

This  is  a  feaion  of  virtue  and  public 
fpirit ;  let  us  take  advantage  of  it  to  repeal 
thofe  laws  which  infringe  our  liberties,  and 
introduce  fuch  as  may  reftore  the  vigour  of 
our  ancient  conilitution. 

Human  nature  is  fo  very  corrupt,  that 
all  obligations  lofe  their  force,  unlefs  they 
are  frequently  renewed  :  long  parliaments 
become  the;efore  independent  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  when  they  do  fo,  there  always 
happens  a  moll  dangerous  dependence  elie- 
where. 

Long  parliments  give  the  miniller  an 
opportunity  of  getting  acquintance  with 
members,  of  pracliling  his  leveral  arts  to 
win  them  into  his  fchemes.  This  mult  be 
the  work  of  time.  Corruption  is  of  fo  bafe 
a  nature,  that  at  firlt  fight  it  is  extremely 
fhocking;  hardly  any  one  has  fubmitted 
to  it  all  at  once  :  his  difpolition  muit  be 
previoufly  underllood,  the  particular  bait 
mull  be  found  out  with  which  he  is  to  be 
allured,  and  after  all,  it  is  not  without  ma- 
ny llruggles  that  he  furrenders  his  virtue. 
Indeed,  there  are  lbme  who  will  at  once 
plunge  thcmfelves  into  any  bafe  action  ; 
but  the  generality  of  mankind  are  of  a 
more  cautious  nature,  and  will  proceed 
only  by  kifurely  degrees;  one  or  two  per- 
haps have  deferted  their  colours  the  rirlt 
campaign,  lome  have  done  it  a  fecond  ; 
but  a  great  many,  who  have  not  that 
eager  dilpofition  to  vice,  will  wait  till  a 
third. 

For  tins  reafon,  (hort  parliaments  have 
been  lefs  corrupt  than  long  ones ;  they  are. 


obferved,  like  dreams  of  water,  always  to 
grow  more  impure  the  "reater  dillance  they 
run  from  the  fountain-head. 

I  am  aware  it  may  be  laid,  that  frequent 
new  parliaments  will  produce  frequent  new 
expences ;  but  I  think  quite  the  contrary  : 
I  am  really  of  opinion,  that  it  will  be  a  pro- 
per remedy  againll  the  evil  of  bribery  at 
elections,  efpecially  as  you  have  provided 
fo  wholelome  a  law  to  co-operate  upon 
thefe  occafions. 

Bribery  at  elections,  whence  did  it  arife? 
not  from  country  gentlemen,  for  they  are 
fure  of  being  chofen  without  it;  it  was, 
Sir,  the  invention  of  wicked  and  corrupt 
minilters,  wno  have  from  time  to  time  led 
weak  princes  into  fuch  deltrudtive  meafures, 
that  they  did  not  dare  to  rely  upon  the  na- 
tural reprefentation  of  the  people.  Long 
parliaments,  Sir,  firll  introduced  bribery, 
becaufe  they  were  worth  purchafing  at  any 
rate.  Country  gentlemen,  who  have  only 
their  private  fortunes  to  rely  upon,  and 
have  no  mercenary  ends  to  ferve,  are  un- 
able to  oppofe  it,  efpecially  if  at  any  time 
the  public  treafure  mail  be  unfaithfully 
fquanderedaway  to  corrupt  their  boroughs. 
Country  gentlemen,  indeed,  may  make 
fome  weak  efforts,  but  as  they  generally 
prove  unfuccefsful,  and  the  time  of  a  frefh 
llruggle  is  at  fo  great  a  dillance,  they  at 
lalt  grow  faint  in  the  difpute,  give  up  their 
country  for  loll,  and  retire  in  defpair ;  de- 
fpair  naturally  produces  indolence,  and  that 
is  the  proper  difpolition  for  flavery.  Mi- 
nifters  of  itate  underitand  this  very  well, 
and  are  therefore  unwilling  to  awaken  the 
nation  out  of  its  lethargy  by  frequent  elec- 
tions. They  know  that  the  fpirit  of  li- 
berty, like  every  other  virtue  of  the  mind, 
is  to  be  kept  alive  only  by  conltant  action  ; 
that  it  is  impoffible  to  enflave  this  nation, 
while  it  is  perpetually  upon  its  guard. — Let 
country  gentlemen  then,  by  having  fre- 
quent opportunities  of  exerting  themfelves, 
be  kept  warm  and  active  in  their  conten- 
tion for  the  public  good  :  this  will  raife 
that  zeal  and  fpirit,  which  will  at  lalt  get 
the  better  of  thofe  undue  influences  by 
which  the  officers  of  the  crown,  though  un- 
known to  the  feveral  boroughs,  have  been 
able  to  fupplant  country  gentlemen  of  great 
characters  and  fortune,  who  live  in  their 
neighbourhood, — I  do  not  fay  this  upon 
idle  fpeculation  only  :  I  live  in  a  country 
where  it  is  too  well  known,  and  I  appeal 
to  many  gentlemen  in  the  houfe,  to  more 
out  of  it,  (and  who  are  fo  for  this  very 
iva!©:!1)  for  the  truth  of  my  aiVemon,    Sir* 

it 


BOOK  III.     ORATIONS,    CHARACTERS,    &c. 


785 


it  is  a  fore  which  has  been  long  eating  into 
the  molt  vital  part  of  our  constitution,  and 
I  hope  the  time  will  come  when  you  will 
probe  it  to  the  bottom.  For  if  a  minister 
fhould  ever  gain  a  corrupt  familiarity  with 
our  boroughs  j  if  he  fhould  keep  a  register 
of  them  in  his  clofet,  and,  by  fending  down 
his  treafury  mandates,  fhould  procure  a 
fpurious  reprefentation  of  the  people,  the 
offspring  of  his  corruption,  who  will  be  at 
all  times  ready  to  reconcile  and  juftify  the 
molt  contradictory  meafures  of  his  admi- 
nistration, and  even  to  vote  every  crude  in- 
digefted  dream  of  their  patron  into  a  law; 
if  the  maintenance  of  his  power  fhould  be- 
come the  fole  object  of  their  attention,  and 
they  fhould  be  guilty  of  the  molt  violent 
breach  of  parliamentary  truft,  by  giving 
the  king  a  difcretionary  liberty  of  taxing 
the  people  without  limitation  or  controul  ; 
the  laft  fatal  compliment  they  can  pay  to 
the  crown  ;—— if  this  fhould  ever  be  the 
unhappy  condition  of  this  nation,  the 
people  indeed  may  complain;  but  the 
doors  of  that  place,  where  their  complaints 
mould  be  heard,  will  for  ever  be  fhut 
againft  them. 

Our  difeafe,  I  fear,  is  of  a  complicated 
nature,  and  I  think  that  this  motion  is 
wifely  intended  to  remove  the  firft  and 
principal  diforder.  Give  the  people  their 
ancient  right  of  frequent  new  elections; 
that  will  reflore  the  decayed  authority  of 
parliaments,  and  will  put  our  constitution 
into  a  natural  condition  of  working  out  her 
own  cure. 

Sir,  upon  the  whole,  I  am  of  opinion, 
that  1  cannot  exprefs  a  greater  zeal  for  his 
inajeily,  for  the  liberties  of  the  people,  or 
the  honour  and  dignity  of  this  houfe,  than 
by  feconding  the  motion  which  the  ho- 
nourable gentleman  has  made  you. 

,  §  136.  Sir.  Robert  Walpole';  Reply. 
Mr.  Speaker, 
Though  the  question  has  been  already 
fo  fully  oppofed,  that  there  is  no  great  oc- 
cafion  to  fay  any  thing  farther  againft  it, 
yet  I  hope  the  houfe  will  indulge  me  the 
liberty  of  giving  feme  of  thofe  reafons 
which  induce  me  to  be  againlt  the  motion. 
In  general,  I  muft  take  notice,  that  the  na- 
ture of  our  conltitution  feems  to  be  very 
much  mistaken  by  the  gentlemen  who 
have  Spoken  jn  favour  of  this  motion.  It  is 
certain,  that  ours  is  a  mixed  government, 
and  the  perfection  of  our  constitution 
conlifts  in  this,  that  the  monarchical, 
ariftocratical,    and    democratical    form  of 


government,  are  mixt  and  interwoven  in 
ours,  fo  as  to  give  us  all  the  advantages 
of  each,  without  Subjecting  us  to  the  dangers 
and  inconveniencies  of  either.  The  de- 
mocratical  form  of  government,  which  is 
the  only  one  1  have  now  occafion  to  take 
notice  of,  is  liable  to  the  feinconveniencies  ; 
—that  they  are  generally  too  tedious  in 
their  coming  to  any  refolution,  and  feldom 
brifk  and  expeditious  enough  in  carrying 
their  refolutions  into  execution  :  that  they 
are  always  wavering  in  their  refolutions, 
and  never  Steady  in  any  of  the  meafures 
they  refolve  to  purfue;  and  that  they  are 
often  involved  in  factions,  feditions,  and 
infurrections,  which  expofes  them  to  be 
made  the  tools,  if  not  the  prey,  of  their 
neighbours:  therefore,  in  all  regulations  we 
make  with  refpedt  to  our  conltitution,  we 
are  to  guard  againlt  running  too  much  inta 
that  form  of  government,  which  is  properly 
called  democratical :  this  was,  in  my  opi- 
nion, the  effect  of  the  triennial  law,  and 
will  again  be  the  effect,  if  ever  it  Should 
be  reftored. 

That  triennial  elections  would  make  our 
government  too  tedious  in  all  their  refolves, 
is  evident ;  becaufe,  in  fuch  cafe,  no  pru- 
dent administration  would  ever  refolve 
upon  any  meafure  of  confequence  till 
they  had  felt  not  only  the  pulfe  of  the  par- 
liament, but  the  pulfe  of  the  people ;  and 
the  ministers  of  State  would  always  labour 
under  this  disadvantage,  that,  as  fecrets  of 
flate  muft  not  be  immediately  divulged, 
their  enemies  (aud  enemies  they  will  always 
have)  would  have  a  handle  for  cxpoSing 
their  meafures,  and  rendering  them  dis- 
agreeable to  the  people,  and  thereby  car- 
rying perhaps  a  new  election  againft  them, 
before  they  could  have  an  opportunity  of 
j uflifying  their  meafures,  by  divulging 
thofe  facts  and  circumStances,  from  whence 
the  juitice  and  the  wifdom  of  their  meafures 
would  clearly  appear. 

Then,  Sir,  it  is  by  experience  well 
known,  that  what  is  called  the  populace 
of  every  country,  are  apt  to  be  too  much 
elated  with  fuccefs,  and  too  much  dejected 
with  every  misfortune:  this  makes  them 
wavering  in  their  opinions  about  affairs  of 
State,  and  never  long  of  the  fame  mind ; 
and  as  this  houfe  is  chofen  by  the  free  and 
unbiafled  voice  of  the  people  in  general,  if 
this  choice  were  fo  often  renewed,  we  might 
expect  that  this  houfe  would  be  as  waver- 
ing, and  as  unfteady,  as  the  people  ufually 
are:  and  it  being  impoihble  to  carry  on 
;h>e  public  affairs  of  the  nation  without  the 
-    }?  concurrence 


786 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


concurence  of  this  houfe,  the  minifters 
would  always  be  obliged  to  comply,  and 
confequently  would  be  obliged  to  change 
their  meafures,  as  often  as  the  people 
changed  their  minds. 

With  feptennial  parliaments,  Sir,  we  are 
not  expofed  to  either  of  thefe  misfortunes, 
becaufe,  if  the  minifters,  after  having  felt 
the  pulfe  of  the  parliament,  which  they  can 
always  foon  do,  refolve  upon  any  measures* 
they  have  generally  time  enough,  before 
the  new  elections  come  on,  to  give  the  peo- 
ple a  proper  information,  in  order  to  fhew 
them  the  jultice  and  the  wifdom  of  the 
meafures  they  have  purfued  ;  and  if  the 
people  mould  at  any  time  be  too  much 
elated,  or  too  much  dejected,  or  mould 
without  a  caufe  change  their  minds,  thofe 
at  the  helm  of  affairs  have  time  to  fet  them 
right  before  a  new  elect  ion  comes  on. 

As  to  faction  and  fedition,  Sir,  I  will 
grant,  that,  in  monarchical  and  ariitocrati- 
cal  governments,  it  generally  arifes  from 
violence  and  oppreilion  ;  but,  in  democra- 
tical  governments,  it  always  arifes  from  the 
people's  having  too  great  a  (hare  in  the  go- 
vernment. For  in  all  countries,  and  in  all 
governments,  there  always  will  be  many 
factious  and  unquiet  fpirits,  who  can  never 
be  at  reft  either  in  power  or  out  of  power : 
when  in  power,  they  are  never  eafy,  unlefs 
every  man  fubmits  entirely  to  their  direc- 
tion; and  when  out  of  power,  they  are  al- 
ways working  and  intriguing  againft  thofe 
that  are  in,  without  any  regard  to  jullice, 
or  to  the  intereft  of  their  country.  In  po- 
pular governments  fuch  men  have  too  much 
game,  they  have  too  manv  opportunities 
for  working  upon  and  corrupting  the  minds 
of  the  people,  in  order  to  give  them  a  bad 
impreffion  of,  and  to  raife  difcontents  a- 
gain it,  •  thofe  that  have  the  management 
of  the  public  affairs  for  the  time;  and 
thefe  difcontents  often  break  out  into  fedi- 
tions  and  infurrections.  This,  Sir,  would 
in  my  opinion  be  our  misfortune,  if  our 
parliament  were  either  annual  or  triennial : 
by  fuch  frequent  elections  there  would  be 
fo  much  power  thrown  into  the  hands  of 
the  people,  as  would  deftroy  that  equal  mix- 
ture which  is  the  beauty  of  our  conftitution  : 
in  fhort,  our  government  Would  really  be- 
come a '  democratic:!!  government,  and 
might  from  thence  very  probably  diverge 
into  a  tyrannical.  Therefore,  in  order  to 
preferve  our  conftitution,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent our  falling  under  tyranny  and  arbitrary 
power,  we  ought  to  preferve  that  law,  which 
I  really  think  lias  bro  isbt  o:;r  conftitutiosj 


to  a  more  equal  mixture,  and  confequently 
to  a  greater  perfection,  than  it  was  ever  in 
before  that  law  took  place. 

As  to  bribery  and  corruption,  Sir,  if  it 
were  poflible  to  influence,  by  fuch  bafe 
mean-?,  the  majority  of  the  electors  of 
Great  Britain  to  chufe  fuch  men  as  would 
probably  give  up  their  liberties  ;  if  it  were 
poflible  to  influence,  by  fuch  means,  a  ma- 
jority of  the  members  of  this  houfe  to  con- 
ient  to  the  eftablifhment  of  arbitrary  power  ; 
1  would  readily  allow,  that  the  calculations 
made  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  other  fxde 
were  jufl,  and  their  inference  true  ;  but  I 
am  perfuadsd  that  neither  of  thefe  is  pofli- 
ble.  As  the  members  of  this  houfe  gene- 
rally are,  and  muft  always  be,  gentlemen 
of  fortune  and  figure  in  their  country,  is 
it  poflible  to  fuppofe,  that  any  one  of  them 
could,  by  a  penflon,  or  a  poll,  be  influenced 
to  confent  to  the  overthrow  of  our  conftitu- 
tion; by  which  the  enjoyment,  not  only 
of  what  he  got,  but  of  what  he  before 
had,  would  be  rendered  altogether  precari- 
ous ?  1  will  allow,  Sir,  that,  with  refpect  to 
bribery,  the  price  muft  be  higher  or  lower, 
generally  in  proportion  to  the  virtue  of  the 
man  who  is  to  be  bribed ;  but  it  muft  like- 
wife  be  granted,  that  the  humour  he  hap- 
pens to  be  in  at  the  time,  the  fpirit  he  hap- 
pens to  be  endowed  with,  adds  a  great  deal 
to  his  virtue.  When  no  encroachments 
are  made  upon  the  rights  of  the  people, 
when  the  people  do  not  think  themfelves 
in  any  danger,  there  may  be  many  of  the 
electors,  who,  by  a  bribe  of  ten  guineas, 
might  be  induced  to  vote  for  one  candidate 
rather  than  another;  but  if  the  court  were 
making  any  encroachments  upon  the  rights 
of  the  people,  a  proper  fpirit  would,  with- 
out doubt,  arife  in  the  nation;  and  in  fuch 
a  caufe,  I  am  perfuaded,  that  none,  or  very 
few,  even  of  fuch  electors,  could  be  induced 
to  vote  for  a  court  candidate;  no,  not  for 
ten  times  the  fum. 

There  may,  Sir,  be  fome  bribery  and 
corruption  in  the  nation ;  I  am  afraid  there 
•will  always  be  fome:  but  it  is  no  proof  of 
it,  that  rtrangers  are  fometimes  chofen ; 
for  a  gentleman  may  have  lb  much  natural 
influence  over  a  borough  in  his  neighbour- 
hood, as  to  be  able  to  prevail  with  them 
to  c'.-.ufe  any  perfon  he  pleafes  to  recom- 
mend  ;  and  if  upon  fuch  recommendation 
the;r  chufe  one  or  two  of  his  "friends,  who 
are  perhaps  ftrangers  'to  them,  it  is  not 
from  thence  to  be  inferred,  that  the  two 
ftrangers  were  chofen  their  reprefentatives 
by  tire  means  of  bribery  and  corruption. 

To 


BOOK    III.    ORATIONS, 

To  infinuate,  Sir,  that  money  may  be 
iffued  from  the  public  treafury  for  bribing 
elections,  is  really  fomething  very  extra- 
ordinary, efpecially  in  thofe  gentlemen 
who  know  how  many  checks  are  upon 
every  (hilling  that  can  be  iffued  from 
thence ;  and  how  regularly  the  money 
granted  in  one  year  for  the  public  fervice 
of  the  nation,  mult  always  be  accounted 
for  the  very  next  feffion,  in  this  houfe, 
and  likewife  in  the  other,  if  they  have 
a  mind  to  call  for  any  fuch  accounts  And 
as  to  the  gentlemen  in  offices,  if  they  have 
any  advantage  over  country  gentlemen, 
in  having  fomething  elfe  to  depend  on  be- 
fiies  their  own  private  fortunes,  they  have 
likewife  many  difadvantages  :  they  are  ob- 
liged to  live  here  at  London  with  their  fa- 
milies, by  which  they  are  put  to  a  much 
greater  expence  than  gentlemen  of  equal 
fortunes  who  live  in  the  country:  this  lays 
t.iem  under  a  very  great  difadvantage, 
with  refpect  to  the  fupporting  their  intereft 
in  the  country.  The  country  gentleman, 
by  living  among  the  electors,  and  pur- 
chafing  the  neceffaries  for  his  family  from 
them,  keeps  up  an  acquaintance  and  cor- 
refpondence  with  them,  without  putting 
himfelf  to  any  extraordinary  charge ; 
whereas  a  gentleman  who  lives  in  London 
has  no  other  way  of  keeping  up  an  ac- 
quaintance or  correfpondence  among  his 
friends  in  the 'country,  but  by  going  down 
once  or  twice  a  year,  at  a  very  extraordi- 
nary charge,  and  often  without  any  other 
buiinefs;  fo  that  we  may  conclude,,  a  gen- 
tleman in  office  cannot,  even  in  feven  years, 
lave  much  for  dillributing  in  ready  money 
at  the  time  of  an  election  ;  and  I  really 
believe,  if  the  fact  were  narrowly  enquired 
into,  it  would  appear,  that  the  gentlemen 
in  office  are  as  little  guilty  of  bribing  their 
electors  with  ready  money,  as  any  other  fet 
of  gentlemen  in  the  kingdom. 

That  there  are  ferments  often  railing 
among  the  people  without  any  juft  caule, 
is  what  I  am  furprifed  to  hear  controvert- 
ed, fince  very  Lite  experience  may  convince 
us  of  the  contrary.  .Do  not  we  know  what 
a  ferment  was  railed  in  the  nation  towards 
the  latter  end  of  the  late  queen's  reign  ? 
And  it  is  well  known  what  a  fatal  change 
in  the  affairs  of  this  nation  was  introduced, 
or  at  leaft  confirmed,  by  an  eleel ion's  com- 
ing on  while  the  nation  was  in  that  ferment. 
Do  not  we  know  what  a  ferment  was  raif- 
ed  in  the  nation  foon  after  his  late  majefty's 
acceffion  ?  And  if  an  election  had  then  been 
allowed  to  come  on,  while  the  nation  was 
in  that    ferment,    it  might  perhaps  have 


CHARACTERS,     &c.  787 

had  as  fatil  effects  as  the  former;  but, 
thank  God,  this  was  wifely  provided 
again  it  by  the  very  law  which  is  now 
wanted  to  be  repealed. 

As  fuch  ferments  may  hereafter  ofte.i 
happen,  I  mult  think  that  frequent  elec- 
tions will  always  be  dangerous;  for  which 
reafon,  as  far  as  I  can  fee  at  prefent,  I 
(hall,  I  believe,  at  all  times,  think  it  a 
very  dangerous  experiment  to  repeal  the 
feptennial  bill. 

§  137.  Lord  Lyttelton'j  Speech  en 
the' Repeal  of  the  Jcl,  called  the  few  Bill, 
in  the  Tear  1753. 
Mr.  Speaker. 
I  fee  no  occafion  to  enter  at  prefent  into 
the  merits  of  the  bill  we  paffed  the  laft. 
feffion,  for  the  naturalization  of  Jews,  be- 
cau'fe  I  am  convinced,  that  in  the  prefent 
temper  of  the  nation,  not  a  fmgle  foreign 
Jew  will  think  it  expedient  to  take  the 
benefit  of  that  aft ;  and  therefore  the  re- 
pealing of  it  is  giving  up  nothing.  I  affent- 
ed  to  it  laft  year,  in  hopes  it  might  induce 
fome  wealthy  Jews  to  come  and  fettle 
among  us :  in  that  Jight  I  law  enough  of 
utility  in  it,  to  make  me  incline  rather  to 
approve  than  diflike  it ;  but  that  any  man 
alive  could  be  zealous,  either  for  or  againll 
it,  I  confefs  I  h'ad  no  idea.  What  affects 
our  religion  is,  indeed,  of  the  higheft  and 
moft  ferious  importance :  God  forbid  we 
mould  ever  be  indifferent  about  that !  but 
I  thought  this  had  no  more  to  do  with  re- 
ligion, than  any  turnpike-act  we  paffed  in 
that  feffion  ;  and,  after  all  the  divinity  that 
has  been  preached  on  the  fubject,  I  think 

fo  iiiii. 

Refolution  and  iteadinefs  are  excellent 
qualities ;  but,  it  is  the  application  of  them 
upon  which  their  value  depends.  A  wife 
government,  Mr.  Speaker,  will  know  where 
to  yield,  as  well  as  where  to  refift :  and 
there  is  no  furer  mark  of  littlenefs  of  mind 
in  an  adminittration,  than  obitinacy  in 
trifles.  Public  wifdom,  on  fome  occa- 
fions,  mull  condefcend  to  give  way  to  po- 
pular folly,  efpecially  in  a  free  country, 
where  the  humour  of  the  people  mult  be 
conlidered  as  attentively  as  the  humour  of 
a  king  in  an  abfolute  monarchy.  Under 
both  forms  of  government,  a  prudent  and 
.honelt  miniltry  will  indulge  a  fmall  folly, 
and  will  refill  a  groat  one.  Not  to  vouch- 
fafe  now  and  then  a  kind  indulgence  to 
the  former,  would  difcover  an  ignorance 
in  human  nature ;  not  to  refill  the  latter 
at  all  times  would  be  meannefs  and  fer- 
vility. 

■z  E  2  Sir, 


788 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Sir,  I  look  on  the  bill  we  are  at  prefent 
debating,  not  as  a  facrifice  made  to  popu- 
larity (for  it  facrifices  nothing)  but  as  a 
prudent  regard  to  fome  confequences  aris- 
ing from  the  nature  of  the  clamour  raifed 
againit  the  late  aft  for  naturalizing  Jews, 
which  feem  to  require  a  particular  conn- 
deration. 

It  has  been  hitherto  the  rare  and  envied 
felicity  of  his  majefty's  reign,  that  his  fub- 
jefts  have  enjoyed  fuch  a  fettled  tranquil- 
lity, fuch  a  freedom  from  angry  religious 
difputes,  as  is  not  to  be  paralleled  in  any 
former  times.  The  true  ChrilHan  fpirit 
of  moderation,  of  charity,  of  univerfal  be- 
nevolence, has  prevailed  in  the  people,  has 
prevailed  in  the  clergy  of  all  ranks  and 
degrees,  inftead  of  thofe  narrow  princi- 
ples, thofe  bigoted  pleafures,  that  furious, 
that  implacable,  that  ignorant  zeal,  which 
had  often  done  fo  much  hurt  both  to  the 
church  and  the  ftate.  But  from  the  ill- 
underftood,  infignificant  aft  of  parliament 
you  are  now  moved  to  repeal,  occafion  has 
been  taken  to  deprive  us  of  this  ineftima- 
ble  advantage.  It  is  a  pretence  to  difturb 
the  peace  of  the  church,  to  infufe  idle  fear 
into  the  minds  of  the  people,  and  make  re- 
ligion itfelf  an  engine  of  fedition.  It  be- 
hoves the  piety,  as  well  as  the  wifdom  of 
parliament,  to  difappoint  thofe  endeavours. 
Sir,  the  very  worft  mifchief  that  can  be 
done  to  religion,  is  to  pervert  it  to  the  pur- 
pofes  of  faftion.  Heaven  and  hell  are  not 
more  diftant,  than  the  benevolent  fpirit  of 
the  Gofpel,  and  the  malignant  fpirit  of 
party.  The  molt,  impious  wars  ever  made 
were  thofe  called  holy  wars.  He  who  hates 
another  man  for  not  being  a  Chriftian,  is 
himfelf  not  a  Chriftian.  Chriftianity,  Sir, 
breathes  love,  and  peace,  and  good-will  to 
man.  A  temper  comformable  to  the  dictates 
of  that  holy  religion,  has  lately  diftinguifh- 
ed  this  nation  ;  and  a  glorious  diftinftion  it 
was !  But  there  is  latent,  at  all  times,  in 
the  minds  of  the  vulgar,  a  fpark  of  enthu- 
fiafm,  which,  if  blown  by  the  breath  of  a 
party,  may,  even  when  it  feems  quite  ex- 
tmguifhed,  be  fuddenly  revived  and  raifed 
to  a  flame.  The  aft  of  laft  feffion  for  na- 
turalizing Jews,  has  very  unexpectedly  ad- 
miniftered  fuel  to  feed  that  flame.  To 
what  a  height  it  may  rife,  if  it  mould  con- 
tinue much  longer,  one  cannot  eafily  tell; 
but,  take  away  the  fuel,  and  it  will  die  of 
itfelf. 

It  is  the  misfortune  of  all  the  Roman 
Catholic  countries,  that  there  the  church 
and  the  ftate,  the  civil  power  and  the  hier- 


archy, have  feparate  interefts ;  and  are 
continually  at  variance  one  with  the  other. 
It  is  our  happinefs,  that  here  they  form 
but  one  fyftem.  While  this  harmony  lafts. 
whatever  hurts  the  church,  hurts  the  ftate  : 
whatever  weakens  the  credit  of  the  go- 
vernors of  the  church,  takes  away  from 
the  civil  power  a  part  of  its  llrength,  and 
fhakes  the  whole  conftitution. 

Sir,  I  truft  and  believe  that,  by  fpeedily 
pafling  this  bill,  we  fhall  filence  that  oblo- 
quy which  has  founjuftly  been  caft  upon 
our  reverend  prelates  (fome  of  the  moft 
refpeftable  that  ever  adorned  our  church) 
for  the  part  they  took  in  the  aft  which 
this  repeals.  And  it  greatly  concerns  the 
whole  community,  that  they  fhould  not 
lofe  that  refpeft  which  is  fo  juftly  due  to 
them,  by  a  popular  clamour  kept  up  in 
oppofition  to  a  meafure  of  no  importance 
in  itfelf.  But  if  the  departing  from  that 
meafure,  fhould  not  remove  the  prejudice 
fo  malicioufly  raifed,  I  am  certain  that  no 
further  ftep  you  can  take  will  be  able  to 
remove  it ;  and,  therefore,  I  hope  you  will 
flop  here.  This  appears  to  be  a  reafonable 
and  fafe  condefceniion,  by  which  nobody 
will  be  hurt ;  but  all  beyond  this  would  be 
dangerous  weaknefs  in  government:  it 
might  open  a  door  to  the  wildeft  enthu- 
fiafm,  and  to  the  moft  mifchievous  attacks 
of  political  difaffeftion  working  upon  that 
enthufiafm.  If  you  encourage  and  autho- 
rize it  to  fall  on  the  fynagogue,  it  will  go 
from  thence  to  the  meeting-houfe,  and  in 
the  end  to  the  palace.  But  let  us  be  care- 
ful to  check  its  further  progrefs. .  The 
more  zealous  we  are  to  fupport  Chriftiani- 
ty, the  more  vigilant  fhould  we  be  in  main- 
taining toleration.  If  we  bring  back  per- 
Jecution,  we  bring  back  the  Anti-chriftian 
fpirit  of  popery ;  and  when  the  fpirit  is 
here,  the  whole  fyftem  will  foon  follow. 
Toleration  is  the  bans  of  all  public  quiet. 
It  is  a  charter  of  freedom  given  to  the 
mind,  more  valuable,  I  think,  than  that 
which  fecures  our  perfons  and  eftates.  In- 
deed, they  are  infeparably  connefted  toge- 
ther; for,  where  the  mind  is  not  free, 
where  the  confeience  is  enthralled,  there 
is  no  freedom.  Spiritual  tyranny  puts  on 
the  galling  chains;  but  civil  tyranny  i* 
called  in,  to  rivet  and  fix  them.  We  fee 
it  in  Spain,  and  many  other  countries; 
we  have  formerly  both  feen  and  felt  it  in 
England.  By  the  blefling  of  God,  we  are 
now  delivered  from  all  kinds  of  opprei- 
fion.  Let  us  take  care,  that  they  may 
never  return. 


EVD       OF       PCOK       THE       THIRD. 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS. 


BOOK    THE     FOURTH. 


NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 

WITH      OTHER 

HUMOROUS,  FACETIOUS,  AND  ENTERTAINING  PIECES. 


§    I.     The  Story  of  Le  Fivre. 
T  was  fome  time  in  the  fummer  of  that 
year  in  which  Dendermond  was  taken 
by  the  allies,— which  was  about  feven  years 
before  my  father  came  into  the  country, — 
and  about  as  many  after  the  time  that  my 
uncle  Toby  and  Trim  had  privately  de- 
camped from  my  father's  houfe  in  town, 
in  order  to  lay  fome  of  the  fineft  fieges  to 
fome  of  the  fineft  fortified  cities  in  Europe 
— When  my  uncle  Toby  was  one  evening 
getting  his  fupper,  with  Trim  fitting  be- 
hind him  at  a  fmall  fideboard ;— The  land- 
lord of  a  little  inn  in  the  village  came  into 
the  parlour  with  an  empty  phial  in  his  hand 
to  beg  a  glafs  or  two  of  fack ;  'tis  for  a 
poor  gentleman, — 1  think,  of  the  army,  feid 
the  landlord,  who  has  been  taken  ill  at  my 
houfe  four  days  ago,  and  has  never  held  up 
his  head  fince,  or  had  a  defire  to  tafte  any 
thing  'till  juft  now,  that  he  has  a  fancy  for 
a  glafs  of  fack  and  a  thin  toaft. — /  think, 
fays  he,  taking  his  hand  from  his  forehead, 
.it  --would  comfort  me.—— 

If  I  could  neither  beg,  borrow,  nor 
buy  fuch  a  thing, — added  the  landlord, — 
I  would  almoft  ileal  it  for  the  poor  gentle- 
man, he  is  fo  ill. 1  hope  in  God  he  will 

ftill  mend,  continued  he— we  are  all  of  us 
concerned  for  him. 

Thou  art  a  good-natured  foul,  I  wiil 
anfwer  for  thee,  cried  my  uncle  Toby  ; 
and  thou  fhalt  drink  the  poor  gentleman's 
health  in  a  glafs  of  fack  thyfelf, — and  take 
a  cojple  of  bottles,  with  my  femce,  and 


tell  him  he  is  heartily  welcome  to  them, 
and  to  a  dozen  more,  if  they  will  do  him 
good. 

Though  I  am  perfuaded,  faid  my  uncle 
Toby,  as  the  landlord  lhut  the  door,  he  is 
a  very  compafTionate  fellow — Trim,—yet 
I  cannot  help  entertaining  an  high  opinion 
of  his  gueft  too ;  there  muft  be  fomething 
more  than  common  in  him,  that  in  fo  lhort 
a  time  mould  win  fo  much  upon  the  affec- 
tions of  his  hoft  ; And  of  his  whole  fa- 
mily, added  the  corporal,  for  they  are  all 

concerned  for  him. Step  after  him,  faid 

my  uncle  Toby,— do  Trim,— and  afk  if  he 
knows  his  name. 

1  have  quite  forgot  it,  truly,  faid 

the  landlord,  coming  back  into  the  par- 
lour with  the  corporal, — but  I  can_  afk  his 

fon    again: Has    he  a   fon  with  him 

then?    faid    my  uncle  Toby. A  boy, 

replied  the  landlord,  of  about  eleven  or 
twelve  years  of  age ; — but  the  poor  crea- 
ture has  tafted  almoft  as  little  as  his  fa- 
ther ;  he  does  nothing  but  mourn  and  la- 
ment for  him  night  and  day  ; — he  has  noS 
ftirred  from  the  bed-fide  thefe  two  days. 

My  uncle  Toby  laid  down  his  knife  and 
fork,  and  thruft  his  plate  from  before 
him,  as  the  landlord  gave  him  the  account  ; 
and  Trim,  without  being  ordered,  took 
away  without  faying  one  word,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  after  brought  him  his  pipe  and 
tobacco. 

Stay  in  the  room  a  little,  fays  my 

uncle  Toby. — —  , 

Trim  !— faid  mv  uncle  Toby,  after  he 
x   F.  x  had 


79© 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


had  lighted  his  pipe,  and  fmoked  about  a 
dozen  wh'vJi — Trim  came  in  front  of  his 
mailer,  and   made    his    bow  ; — my   uncle 

Toby  fmoked  on,  and  faid  no  more. 

Corporal !  faid  my  uncle  Toby — the  cor- 
poral made  his  bow. My  uncle  Toby 

proceeded  no  farther,  but  finifhed  his  pipe. 

Trim  !  laid  my  uncle  Toby,  I  have  a 
project  in  my  head,  as  it  is  a  bad  night,  of 
wrapping  myfelf  up  warm  in  my  roquelaure, 
and  paying  a  viiit  to  this  poor  gentleman. — 
Your  honour's  roquelaure,  replied  the  cor- 
poral, has  not  once  been  had  on,  fince  the 
night  before  your  honour  received  your 
wound,  when  we  mounted  guard  in  the 
trenches  before  the  gate  of  St.  Nicholas ; 
-— ind  befides,  it  is  fo  cold  and  rainy  a 
night,  that  what  with  the  roquelaure,  and 
what  with  the  weather,  'twill  be  enough 
to  give  your  honour  your  death,  and  bring 
on  your  honour's  torment  in  your  groin, — 
I  fear  fo,  replied  my  uncle  Toby ;  but  I 
am  not  at  reif.  in  my  mind,  Trim,  fince 
the  account  the  landlord  has  given  me. — 
I  wifh  I  had  not  known  fo  much  of  this 
affair — added  my  une'e  Toby, — or  that  I 
had  known  more  of  it : — How  fhall  we 
manage  it? — Leave  it,  an't  pleafe  your 
honour,  to  me,  quoth  the  corporal ; — I'll 
take  my  hat  and  ftick,  and  go  to  the 
boufe  and  reconnoitre,  and  act  accord- 
ingly ;  and  I  will  bring  your  honour  a  full 
account  in  an  hour. — Thou  flialt  ;o,  Trim, 
faid  my  uncle  Toby,  and  here's  a  milling 
for  thee  to  drink  with  his  fervant  -I  ihall 
get  it  all  out  of  him,  faid  the  corporal, 
ihutting  the  door. 

My  uncle  Toby  filled  his  fecond  pipe ; 
and  had  it  not  been,  that  he  now  and  then 
wandered  from  the  point,  with  confidering 
whether  it  was  not  full  as  well  to  have 
the  curtain  of  the  tennaile  a  ftraight  line, 
as  a  crooked  one, — he  might  be  faid  to 
have  thought  of  nothing  elfe  but  poor 
Le  Fevre  and  his  boy  the  whole  time  he 
fmoked  it. 

It  was  not  till  my  uncle  Toby  had 
knocked  the  allies  out  of  his  third  pipe, 
that  corporal  Trim  returned  from  the  inn, 
and  gave  him  the  following  account. 

I  defpaired  at  firft,  faid'the  corporal,  of 
being  able  to  bring  back  your  honour  any 
kind  of  intelligence  concerning  the  poor 
fick  lieutenant — Is  lie  in  the  army  then  ? 
faid  my  uncle  Toby — He  is,  faid  the  cor- 
poral—  And  in  what  regiment?  faid  my 
uncle  Toby — I'll  tell  your  honour,  replied 
the  corporal,  every  thing  ftraight  for- 
wards, as  I  learnt '  it.— Then,  Trim,  I'll 


fill  another  pipe,  faid  my  uncle  Toby,  and 
not  interrupt  thee  till  thou  ha'l  done ;  lb 
fit  down  at  thy  eafe,  Trim,  in  the  window 
feat,  and  begin  thy  flory  again.  The  e<  r- 
poral  made  his  old  bow,  which  generally 
fpoke,  as  plain  as  a  bow  cculd  Ipeak  it — 
"  Your  honour  is  good  :" — And  having 
done  that,  he  fat  down,  as  he  was  or- 
dered,—and  began  the  flory  to  my  uncle 
Toby  over  again  in  pretty  ne  ir  the  fame 
words. 

I  defpaired  at  firft,  faid  the  corporal, 
of  being  able  to  bring  back  any  intelli- 
gence to  your  honour,  ab^ut  the  lieutenant 
and  his  ion;  for  when  I  afked  where  his 
fervant  was,  from  whom  I  made  myfdf 
fure  of  knowing  every  tiling  which  was 
proper  to  be  afked —  That's  a  right  dis- 
tinction, Trim,  faid  my  uncle.  Toby — I  w.  s 
anfwered,  an'  pleafe  your  honour,  that  he 
had  no  fervant  with  him  ; — that  he  had 
come  to  the  inn  with  hired  horfes,  which, 
upon  finding  himfelf  unable  to  proceed, 
(tojoin,  1  fuppofe,  the  regiment)  he  had 
ditmiiied  the  morning  after  he  came. — If 
I  get  better,  my  dear,  faid  he,  as  he  gave 
his  purfe  to  his  Ion  to  pay  the  man, — we 
can  hire  horfes  from  hence,— But  alas ! 
the  poor  gentleman  will  never  get  from 
hence,  faid  the  landlady  to  me,-— -Lr  I 
heard  the  death-watch  all  night  loi:g  : — 
and  when  he  dies,  the  youth,  his  fon,  will 
certainly  die  with  him :  for  he  is  broken- 
hearted already. 

I  was  hearing  this  account,  continued 
the  corporal,  when  the  youth  came  into 
the  kitchen,  to  order  the  tain  toad  the  land- 
lord fpoke  of ;— but  I  will  do  it  for  my  fa- 
ther myfelf,  faid  the  youth. — Pray  let  me 
fave  ycu  the  trouble,  young  gentleman,  faid 
I,  taking  up  a  fork  for  the  pu  pofc,  and 
offering  him  my  chair  to  fit  down  upon  by 
the  fiie,  vvhilll  1  did  it. —  I  believe,  fir, 
faid  he,  very  modeflly,  1  can  pleafe  him 
bed  myfelf. — I  am  fure,  faid  I,  his  honour 
will  not  like  the  toafl  the  worfe  for  biing 
toifted  by  an  old  foldier. — The  youth 
tojk  hold  of  my  hand,  and  inilantly  burft. 
into  tears. — Poor  youth !  faid  my  uncle 
Toby, — he  has  been  bred  up. from  an  in- 
fant in  the  army,  and  the  name  of  a  foldier, 
Trim,  founded  in  his  ears  like  the  name  of 
a  friend  ; — I  wifh  I  had  him  here. 

——I  never,  in  the  longeit  march,  faid 
the  corporal,  had  fo  great  a  mind  to  my 
dinner,  as  I  had  to  cry  with  him  for  com- 
pany : — What  could  be  the  matter  with 
me,  an'  pleafe  your  honour  ?  Nothing  in 
the    world,   Trim,  faid  my  une'e   Toby, 

blowing 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,    &c. 


791 


blowing  his  nofe.— rbut  that  thou  art  a 
good-natured  fellow. 

When  I  gave  him  the  toaft,  continued 
the  corporal,  I  thought  it  was  proper  to 
tell  him  I  was  Captain  Shandy's  fervant, 
and  that  your  honour  (though  a  ftranger) 
was  extremely  concerned  for  his  father;  — 
and  that  if  there  was  any  thing  in  your 
houfe  or  cellar — (and  thou  might'ft  have 
added  my  purfe  too,  faid  my  uncle  Toby) 
lie  was  heartily  welcome  to  it : — he  made 
a  very  low  bow,  (which  was  meant  to 
your  honour)  but  no  anfwer, — for  his  heart 
was  full — fo  he  went  up  flairs  with  the 
toaft : — I  warrant  you,  my  dear,  faid  I,  as 
1  opened  the  kitchen -door,  your  father  will 
be  well  again. — Mr.  Yorick's  curate  was 
fmoking  a  pipe  by  the  kitchen  fire — but 
faid  not  a  word  good  or  bad  to  comfort  the 

youth. 1  thought  it  was  wrong,  added 

the  corporal 1  think  fo  too,  laid  my 

uncle  Toby. 

When  the  lieutenant  had  taken  his  glafs 
of  fack  and  toaft,  he  felt  himfelf  a  little 
revived,  and  fent  down  into  the  kitchen,  to 
let  me  know,  that  in  about  ten  minutes  he 
fhould  be  glad  if  I  would  ltep  up  flairs.— I 
believe,  faid  the  landlord,  he  is  going  to 
fay  his  prayers, — for  there  was  a  book  laid 
upon  the  chair  by  his  bed-fide ;  and  as  I 
ihut  the  door  I  faw  his  fon  take  up  a 
cufhion. — 

I  thought,  faid  the  curate,  that  you  gen- 
tlemen of  the 'army,  Mr.  Trim,  never  faid 

your  prayers  at  all. 1  heard  the  poor 

gentleman  fay  his  prayers  laft  night,  faid 
the  landlady,  very  devoutly,  and  with  my 
own  ears,  or  I  could  not  have  believed  it.— 

Are  you  fure  of  it  ?  replied  the  curate; 

A  foldier,  an'  pleafe  your  reverence,  faid  I, 
prays  as  often  (of  his  own  accord)  as  a  par- 
fon  ; — and  when  he  is  fighting  for  his  king, 
and  for  his  own  life,  and  for  his  honour  too, 
he  has  the  moil  reafon  to  pray  to  God  of  any 
one  in  the"  whole  world. — 'Twas  well  faid 
of  thee,  Trim,  faid  my  uncle  Toby. — But 
when  a  foldier,  faid  I,  an'  pleafe  your  re- 
verence, has  been  Handing  for  twelve  hours 
together  in  the  trenches,  up  to  his  knees  in 
cold  water. — or  engaged.,  faid  I,  for  months 
together  in  long  and  dangerous  marches ; 
— harraffed,  pernaps,  in  his  rear  to-day  ; — 
harraffing  others  to-morrow  : — detached 
here  ; — countermanded  there ; — refting  this 
night  upon  his  arms ; — beat  up  in  his  lhirt 
the  next; — benumbed  in  his  joints ; — per- 
haps without  ftraw  in  his  tent  to  kneel  on  ; 
— he  mull  fay  his  prayers  how  and  when 
he    can. — I    believe,   faid  I, — for   I  was 


piqued,  quoth  the  corporal,  for  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  army, — I  believe,  an't  pleafe 
your  reverence,  faid  I,  that  when  a  foldier 
gets  lime  to  pray, — he  prays  as  heartily  as 
a  parfon — though  not  with  all  his  fufs  and 

hypocrify. Thou  fhould'ft  not  have  faid 

that,  Trim,  faid  my  uncle  Toby, — for  God 
only  knows  who  is  a  hypocrite,  and  who  is 
not : — At  the  great  and  general  review  of 
us  all,  corporal,  at  the  day  of  judgment, 
(and  not  till  then  it  will  be  feen  who 
has  done  their  duties  in  this  world, — and 
who  has  not ,  and  we  fhall  be  advanced, 
Trim,  accordingly. — I  hope  we  fhall,  faid 

Trim. It  is  in  the  Scripture,  faid  my 

uncle  Toby;  and  I  will  fhew  it  thee  to- 
morrow:—  In  the  mean  time  we  may  de- 
pend upon  it,  Trim,  for  our  comfort,  faid 
my  uncle  Toby,  that  God  Almighty  is  fo 
good  and  juil  a  governor  of  the  world,  that 
if  we  have  but  done  oar  duties  in  it, — it 
will  never  be  enquired  into,  whether  we 
have  done  them  in  a  red  coat  or  a  black 
one  : — I  hope  not  faid  the  corporal. — But 
go  on,  Trim,  faid  my  uncle  Toby,  with  thy 
flory. 

When  I  went  up,  continued  the  corporal, 
into  the  lieutenant's  room,  which  I  did  not 
do  till  the  expiration  of  the  ten  minutes, — 
he  was  lying  in  his  bed  with  his  head  raifed 
upon  his  hand,  with  his  elbow  upon  the 
pillow,  and  a  clean  white  cambric  hand- 
kerchief befide  it : — The  youth  was  juft 
Hooping  down  to  take  up  the  cufhion,  upon 
which  i  fuppofed  he  had  been  kneeling— 
the  book  was.  laid  upon  the  bed, — and  as 
he  rofe,  in  taking  up  the  cufhion  with  one 
hand,  he  reached  out  his  other  to  take  it 

away  at  the  fame  time. Let  it  remain 

there,  my  dear,  faid  the  lieutenant. 

He  did  not  offer  to  fpeak  to  me,  till  I 
had  walked  up  clofe  to  his  bed-fide :— If 
you  are  Captain  Shandy's  fervant,  faid  he, 
you  mull:  prefent  my  thanks  to  your  mailer, 
with  my  little  boy's  thanks  along  with 
them,  for  his  courtefy  to  me, — if  he  was 
of   Leven's — faid  the  lieutenant. — I  told 

him  your  honour  was. Then,  faid  he,  I 

ferved  three  campaigns  with  him  in  Flan- 
ders, and  remember  him — but  'tis  moft 
likely,  as  I  had  not  the  honour  of  any  ac- 
quaintance with  him,  that  he  knows  nothing 
of  me. — You  will  tell  him,  however,  that 
the  perfon  his  good-nature  has  laid  under- 
obligations  ro  him,  is  one  Le  Fevre,  a  lieu- 
tenant in  Angus's but   he   knows  me 

not, — faid  he,  a  fecond  time,  mufing ;— • 

poffibly  he  may  my  flory. — added  he — pray 

tell  the  captain,  I  was  the  enfign  at  Breda, 

3  E  4  whole 


79: 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


vhofe  wife  was  moll  unfortunately  killed 
with  a  mufket-fhot,  as  ihe  lay  in  my  arms 

in  my  tent. 1  remember  the  ftory,  an't 

pleafe  your  honour,  faid  I,  very  well. 

Do  you  fo  ?  faid  he,  wiping  his  eyes  with 
his  handkerchief, — then  well  may  I. — In 
faying  this,  he  drew  a  little  ring  out  of  his 
bofom,  which  feemed  tied  with  a  black 
ribband  about  his  neck,  and  kiffed  it  twice. 

Here,  Billy,  faid  he, — the  boy  flew  a- 

crofs  the  room  to  the  bed-fide,  and  falling 
down  upon  his  knee,  took  the  ring  in  his 
hand,  and  kifled  it  too,— then  kifled  hio  fa- 
ther, and  fat  down  upon  the  bed  and  wept. 

I  wilh,  faid  my  uncle  Toby  with  a  deep 
figh, 1  wilh,  Trim,  I  was  afleep. 

Your  honour,  replied  the  corporal,  is 
too  much  concerned; — fliall  I  pour  your 
honour  out  a  glafs  of  fack  to  your  pipe  ? 
Do,  Trim,  faid  my  uncle  Toby. 

I  remember,  faid  my  uncle  Toby,  figh- 
ing  again,  the  ftory  of  the  enfign  and  his 
wife,  with  a  circumftance  his  modefty  omit- 
ted ; — and  particularly  well  that  he,  as  well 
as  ihe,  upon  fome  account  or  other,  (I  for- 
get what)  was  univerfally  pitied  by  the 
whole  regiment ;— but  finilh  the  ftory  thou 
art    upon ; — 'Tis    finifhed    already,    faid 

the  corporal, — for  I  could  ftay  no  longer, 

fo  wifhed  his  honour  a  good  night;  young 
Le  Fevre  rofe  from  off  the  bed,  and  faw 
irie  to  the  bottom  of  the  ftairs ;  and  as  we 
went  down  together,  told  me,  they  had 
come    from    Ireland,    and  were    on  their 

route  to  join  their  regiment  in  Flanders 

But  alas  !   faid  the  corporal, — the   lieute- 

rant'slaft  day's  march  is  over. Then 

what  is  to  become  of  his  poor  boy  ?  cried 
my  uncle  Toby. 

It  was  to  my  uncle  Toby's  eternal  ho- 
nour,—though  I  tell  it  only  for  the  fake  of 
thofe,  who,  when  cooped  in  betwixt  a  na- 
tural and  a  pofitive  law,  know  not  for  their 
fouls  which  way  in  the  world  to  turn  them- 

felves That  notwithstanding  my  uncle 

Toby  was  warmly  engaged  at  that  time  in 
carrying  on  the  fiege  of  Dendermond,  pa- 
rallel with  the  allies,  who  prefled  theirs  on 
fo  vigoroufly  that  they  fcarce  allowed  him 

time  to  get  his  dinner that  neverthelefs 

he  gave  up  Dendermond,  though  he  had 
already  made  a  lodgment  upon  the  coun- 
terfcarp :  and  bent  his  whole  thoughts  to- 
wards the  private  diftrefles  at  the  inn  ;  and, 
except  that  he  ordered  the  garden-o-ate  to 
be  bolted  up,  by  which  he  might  be  faid 
to  have  turned  the  fiege  of  Dendermond 
into  a  blockade— he  left  Dendermond  to 
itfelf,— to  be  relieved  or  not  bv  the  French 


king,  as  the  French  king  thought  good  : 
and  only  confldered  how  he  himfclf  ihould 
relive  the  poor  lieutenant  and  his  fon. 

• That  kind  being,  who  is  a  friend 

to  the  friendlefs,  fhall  recompence  thee 
for  this. 

Thou  haft  left  this  matter  Ihort,  faid  my 
uncle  Toby  to  the  corporal,  as  he  was  put- 
ting him  to  bed, — and  I  will  tell  thee  in  what 
Trim, — In  the  iirft  place,  when  thou  madeft 
an  offer  of  my  fervices  to  Le  Fevre,— 
as  ficknefs  and  travelling  are  both  expen- 
five,  and  thou  knoweft  he  was  but  a  poor 
lieutenant,  with  a  fon  to  fubfift  as  well  as 
himfelf,  out  of  his  pay, — that  thou  didft 
not  make  an  offer  to  him  of  my  purfe  ;  be- 
caufe,  had  he  flood  in  need,  thou  knowefl, 
Trim,  he  had  been  as  welcome  to  it  as 

myfelf Your  honour  knows,  faid  the 

corporal,  I  had  no  orders ; True,  quoth 

my  uncle  Tobv, thou  didft  very  right, 

Trim,  as  a  foldier, — but  certainly  very 
wrong  as  a  man. 

In  the  fecond  place,  for  which,  indeed, 
thou  haft  the  fame  excufe,  continued  my 

uncle  Toby, when  thou  ofteredft  him 

whatever  was  in  my  houfe, thou  fhouldft 

have  offered  him  my  houfe  too : A  fick 

brother  officer  fhould  have  the  beft  quar- 
ters, Trim  ;  and  if  we  had  him  with  us,— 

we  could  tend  and  look  to  him ; thou 

are  an  excellent  nurfe  thyfelf,  Trim, 

and  what  with  thy  care  of  him,  and  the  old 
woman's,  and  his  boy's,  and  mine  together, 
we  might  recruit  him  again  at  once,  and 
fet  him  upon  his  legs. — 

In  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  added 

mv  uncle  Toby,  fmiling, — he  might  march. 
— He  will  never  march,  an'  pleafe  your 
honour,  in   the  world,  faid  the  corporal  ; 

He  will  march,  faid  my  uncle  Toby, 

rifing  up  from  the  fide  of  the  bed,  with  one 
fhoe  off":— An'  pleafe  your  honour,  faid  the 
corporal,  he  will  never  march  but  to  his 
grave  : — He  fhall  march,  cried  my  uncle 
Tobv,  marching  the  foot  which  had  a  fhoe 
on,  though  without  advancing  an  inch,— 
he  fhall  inarch  to  his  regiment.— He  can- 
not ftand  it,  faid  the  corporal. — He  fhall  be 
fupported,  faid  my  uncle  Toby. — He'il 
drop  at  lafl,  faid  the  corporal,  and  what 
will  become  of  his  boy  ? — He  fhall  not 
drop,  faid  my  uncle  Toby,  firmly.— A-well- 
o'day,— do  what  wc  can  for  him,  faid  Trim, 
maintaining  his  point,  the  poor  foul  will 

die:- He  fliall  not  die,  by  G — ,  cried 

my  uncle  Toby. 

The    accufing  fpirit,  which   flew  up 

to  heaven's  chancery  with  the  oath,  blufhed 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,   &c. 


793 


as  he  gave  it  in — and  the  recording  angel, 
as  he  wrote  it  down,  dropp'd  a  tear  upon 
the  word,  and  blotted  it  out  for  ever. 

My  uncle  Toby  went  to  his  bureau, 
—put  his  purfe  into  his  breeches  pocket, 
and  having  ordered  the  corporal  to  go  early 
in  the  morning  for  a  phyfician,— he  went 
to  bed  and  fell  afleep. 

The  fun  looked  bright  the  morning  af- 
ter, to  every  eye  in  the  village  but  Le 
Fevre's  and  his  affliifled  fon's  ;  the  hand  of 
death  prefs'd  heavy  upon  his  eye-lids, — 
and  hardly  could  the  wheel  at  the  ciPrern 
turn  round  its  circle, — when  my  uncle 
Toby,  who  had  rofe  up  an  hour  before  his 
wonted  time,  entered  the  lieutenant's  room, 
and  without  preface  or  apology  fat  himfelf 
down  upon  the  chair,  by  the  bed-fide,  and 
independently  of  all  modes  and  cuftoms 
opened  the  curtain  in  the  manner  an  old 
friend  and  brother  officer  would  have  done 
it,  and  afked  him  how  he  did, — how  he  had 
relied  in  the  night, — what  was  his  com- 
plains—where was  his  pain, — and  what  he 
could  do  to  help  him  ? and  without  giv- 
ing him  time  to  anfwer  any  one  of  the 
enquiries,  went  on  and  told  him  of  the  lit- 
tle plan  which  he  had  been  concerting 
with  the  corporal  the  night  before  for 
him. — 

You    mail    go  home    direflly,  Le 

Fevre,  faid  my  uncle  Toby,  to  my  houfe, 
and  we'll  fend  for  a  dorltor  to  fee  what's 
the  matter, — and  we'll  have  an  apothecary, 
— and  the  corporal  mall  be  your  nurfe ; — 
and  I'll  be  your  fervant,  Le  Fevre. 

There  was  a  franknefs  in  my  uncle  Toby, 
— not  the  effeft  of  familiarity, — but  the 
caufe  of  it, — which  let  you  at  once  into  his 
foul,  and  fhewed  you  the  goodnefs  of  his 
nature ;  to  this,  there  was  fomething  in 
his  looks,  and  voice,  and  manner,  fuper- 
added,  which  eternally  beckoned  to  the 
unfortunate  to  come  and  take  fhelter  under 
him ;  fo  that  before  my  uncle  Toby  had 
half  finifhed  the  kind  offers  he  was  mak- 
ing to  the  father,  had  the  fon  infenfi- 
bly  preflec  up  clofe  to  his  knees,  and  had 
taken  hold  of  the  bread  of  his  coat,  and 

was  pulling  it  towards  him. The  blood 

and  fpirits  of  Le  Fevre,  which  were  wax- 
ing cold  and  flow  within  him,  and  were  re- 
treating to  their  laft  .citadel,  the  heart,— 
rallied  back,  the  film  forfook  his  eyes  for 
a  momenta-he  looked,  up  wifhfully  in  my 
uncle  Toby's  face,— -then  call  a  look  upon 
his  boy, — and  that  ligament,  fine  as  it  was, 
w—was  never  broken, 

Nature   inilantly    ebb'd    again,— -the 


film  returned  to  its  place,— — the  pulfe 
flutler'd — llopp'd — went  on — throbb'd  — 
ftopp'd  again — mov'd— llopp'd — (hall  I  go 
on  ?— — No.  Sterne. 

§  2.     Yorick'j  Death. 

A  few  hours  before  Yorick  breathed  his 
la  ft,  Engenius  ftept  in,  with  an  intent  to 
take  his  laft  fight  and  laft  farewel  of  him. 
Upon  his  drawing  Yorick's  curtain,  and 
afking  how  he  felt  himfelf,  Yorick  looking 
up  in  his  face,  took  hold  of  his  hand, 
and,  after  thanking  him  for  the  many  to- 
kens of  his  friendfhip  to  him,  for  which, 
he  faid,  if  it  was  their  fate  to  meet  here- 
after, he  would  thank  him  again  and  again  ; 
he  told  him,  he  was  within  a  few  hours  of 
giving  his  enemies  the  flip  for  ever. — I 
hope  not,  anfwered  Eugenius,  with  tears 
trickling  down  his  cheeks,  and  with  the 
tenderer!  tone  that  ever  man  fpoke,— I  hope 
not,  Yorick,  faid  he.— —Yorick  replied, 
with  a  look  up,  and  a  gentle  fqueeze  of 
Eugenius's  hand, — and  that  was  all, — but 
it  cut  Eugenius  to  his  heart. — Gome,  come, 
Yorick,  quoth  Eugenius,  wiping  his  eyes, 
and  fummoning  up  the  man  within  him, 
•*— my  dear  lad,  be  comforted, — let  not 
all  thy  fpirits  and  fortitude  forfake  thee  at 
this  crifis  when  thou  molt  wanteft  them ; — 
who  knows  what  refourc.es  are  in  ftore,  and 
what  the  power  of  God  may  yet  do  for 
thee  ? — Yorick  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart, 
and  gently  lhook  his  head ;  for  my  part, 
continued  Eugenius,  crying  bitterly  as  he 
uttered  the  words, — I  declare,  I  know  not, 
Yorick,  how  to  part  with  thee,  and  would 
gladly  flatter  my  hopes,  added  Eugenius, 
chearing  up  his  voice,  that  there  is  ftill 
enough  of  thee  left  to  make  a  bifliop, — . 
and  that  I  may  live  to  fee  it.— -I  befeech 
thee,  Engenius,  quoth  Yorick,  taking  off 
his  night-cap  as  well  as  he  could  with  his 
left  hand,         his  right  being  ftill  grafped 

clofe  in  that  of  Eugenius, -I  befeech  thee 

to  take  a  view  of  my  head. 1  fee  no- 
thing that  ails  it,  replied  Eugenius.  Then, 
alas !  my  friend,  faid  Yorick,  let  me  tell 
you,  that  it  is  fo  bruifed  and  mif-fhapened 
with  the  blows  which  have  been  fo  unhand- 
fomely  given  me  in  the  dark,  that  I  might 
fay  with  SanchoPanca,  that  fliould  I  recover, 
and  "  mitres  thereupon  be  differed  to  rain 
"  down  from  heaven  as  thick  as  hail,  not 

"  one  of  them  would  fit  it." Yorick's 

laft  breath  was  hanging  upon  his  trembling- 
lips,  ready  to  depart  as  he  uttered  this ; — 
yet  ftill  it  was  uttered  with  fomething  of  a 
Cervantic  tone; — and  as  he  fpoke  it,  Eu- 
genia, 


794 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


genius  could  perceive  a  ftream  of  lambent 
fire  lighted  up  for  a  moment  in  his  eyes ; 
——faint  picture  of  thofe  flames  of  his  fpi- 
rit,  which  (as  Shakefpear  faid  of  his  an- 
ceftor)  were  wont  to  fet  the  table  in  a  roar  ! 

Eugenius  was  convinced  from  this,  that 
the    heart    of  his    friend  was  broke ;  he 

Squeezed  his  hand, and   then   walked 

fofdy  out  of  the  room,  weeping  as  he  walk- 
ed.    Yorick  followed   Eugenius  with  his 

eyes  to  the  door, he  then  clofed  them 

— —and  never  opened  them  more. 

He  lies  buried  in  a  corner  of  his  church- 
yard, under  a  plain  marble -flab,  which  his 
friend  Eugenius,  by  leave  of  his  executors, 
laid  upon  his  grave,  with  no  more  than  thefe 
three  words  of  infcription,  ferving  both  for 
kis  epitaph,  and  elegy 


Alas,  poor  YORICK! 


Ten  times  a  day  has  Yorick's  ghofl  the 
confolation  to  hear  his  monumental  infcrip- 
tion read  over  with  fuch  a  variety  of  plain- 
tive tones,  as  denote  a  general  pity  and  ef- 

teem  for  him  ; a  foot- way  croifing  the 

church-yard  clofe  by  his    grave, — not    a 
paflenger  goes  by,  without  flopping  to  ca'.t 

a  look  upon  it, and  fighing  as  he  walks 

©n, 

Alas,  poor  YORICK! 

Sterne. 

§  3 .  The  Story  c/"Alcander  and  S  e  r  - 
t  I  M I  u  s.-  Taken  from  a  Byzantine  Hif- 
torian. 

Athens,  long  after  the  decline  of  the 
Roman  empire,  itill  continued  the  feat  of 
learning,  politenefs,  and  wifdom.  Th>odo- 
ric  the  Oflrogoth  repaired  the  fchools  which 
barbarity  was  fuffering  to  fall  into  decay, 
and  continued  thofe  penfions  to  men  of 
learning  which  avaricious  governors  had 
monopolized. 

In  this  city,  and  about  this  period,  Al- 
cander  and  Septimius  were  feilow-Auicnts 
together  :  the  one  the  molt  fubtle  rea- 
foner  of  all  the  Lyceum,  the  other  the 
moft  eloquent  fpeaker  in  the  academic 
grove.  Mutual  admiration  foon  begot  a 
friendfhip.  Their  fortunes  were  nearly 
equal,  and  they  were  natives  of  the  two 
moll  celebrated  cities  in  the  world  ;  for 
Alcanler  was  of  Athens,  Septimius  came 
from  Rome. 

In  this  fl'.te  of  harmony  they  lived  for 
fom:  time  together  j  when  Alcander,  after 


pafling  the  firft  part  of  his  youth  in  the  in- 
dolence of  philofophy,  thought  at  length 
of  entering  into  the  bufy  world  ;  and,  as  a 
ftep  previous  to  this,  placed  his  affections 
on  Hypatia,  a  lady  of  exquifite  beauty. 
The  day  of  their  intended  nuptials  was 
fixed  ;  the  previous  ceremonies  were  per- 
formed ;  and  nothing  now  remained  but 
her  being  conducted  in  triumph  to  the 
apartment  of  the  intended  bridegroom. 

Alcander's  exultation  in  his  own  happi- 
nefs,  or  being  unable  to  enjoy  any  fatisfac- 
tion  without  making  his  friend  Septimius 
a  partner,  prevailed  upon  him  to  introduce 
Hypatia  to  his  fellow-Audent ;  which  hs 
did  with  all  the  gaiety  of  a  man  who  found 
himfelf  equally  happy  in  friendihip  and  love.  , 
But  this  was  an  interview  fatal  to  the  future 
peace  of  both ;  for  Septimius  no  fooner 
faw  her,  but  he  was  fmitten  with  an  invo- 
luntary paiiion  ;  and,  though  he  ufel  every 
eiFort  to  fupprefs  defires  at  once  fo  impru- 
dent and  unjuit,  the  emotions  of  his  mind 
in  a  fhort  time  became  fo  ltrong,  that  they 
brought  on  a  fever,  which  the  phyliciaas 
judged  incurable. 

During  this  illnefs,  Alcander  watched 
him  with  all  the  anxiety  of  fondnefs,  and 
brought  his  miftrefs  to  join  in  thofe  amia- 
ble oiEces  of  friendfhip,.  The  fagacity  of 
the  phyficians,  by  thefe  means,  foon  difco- 
vcred  that  the  caufe  of  their  patient's  dis- 
order was  love :  and  Alcander  being  ap- 
prized of  their  difcovery,  at  length  extort- 
ed a  confeffion  from  tue,  reluctant  dying 
lover. 

It  would  but  delay  the  narrative  to  de- 
fcribe  the  conflict  between  love  and  friend- 
ihip in  the  breafc  of  Alcander  on  this  occa- 
fion ;  it  is  enough  to  fay,  that  the  Athenians 
were  at  that  time  arrived  at  fuch  refine- 
ment in  morals,  that  every  virtue  was  car- 
ried to  excels.  In  fhort,  forgetful  of  his 
own  felicity,  he  gave  up  his  intended  bride, 
in  all  her  charms,  to  the  young  Roman. 
They  were  married  privately  by  his  con- 
nivance, and  this  unlooked-for  change  of 
fortune  wrought  as  unexpected  a  change 
in  the  constitution  of  the  now  happy  Sep- 
timius:  in  a  few  days  he  was  perfectly  re- 
covered, and  fet  out  with  his  fair  partner 
for  Rome.  Here,  by  an  exertion  of  thofe 
talents  which  he  was  fo  eminently  pofiefled 
of,  Septimius  in  a  few  years  arrived  at  the 
highefl  dignities  of  the  ftate,  and  was  con- 
stituted the  city-judge,,  or  pra-tor. 

In  the  mean  time  Alcander  notonly  felt 
the  pain  of  being  feparated  from  his  friend 
and  his  miftrefs,  but  a  profecution  was  alfo 

commenced 


BOOK   IV.     NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,    &c. 


795 


commenced  againft  him  by  the  relations  of 
Kypatia,  for  having  bafely  given  up  his 
bride,  as  was  iuggcfted,  for  mon;y.  His 
innocence  of  the  crime  laid  to  his  charge, 
and  even  his  eloquence  in  his  own  defence, 
were  not  able  to  withftand  the  influence  of 
a  powerful  party.  Ke  was  call,  and  con- 
d  mned  to  pay  an  enormous  fine.  How- 
ever, being  unable  to  raife  fo  large  a  f  ur.i  at 
the  time  appointed,  his  pofie 'Sons  were  con- 
fifcated,  he  himielf  was  itripped  of  the  habit 
of  freedom,  expofed  as  a  Have  in  the  mar- 
ket-place, and  fold  to  the  highell  bidder. 

A  merchant  of  Thrace  becoming  his 
purchafer,  Alcander,  with  fome  other  com- 
panions of  diitrefs,  was  carried  into  that 
region  of  deflation  and  fterility.  His  Hated 
employment  was  to  follow  the  herds  of  an 
imperious  mailer,  and  his  fuccefs  in  hunt- 
ing was  all  that  was  allowed  him  to  fupply 
his  precarious  fubiiftence.  Every  morning 
awaked  him  to  a  renewal  of  famine  or  toil, 
and  every  change  of  feafon  ferved  but  to 
aggravate  his  unfheitered  diftrefs.  After 
fome  years  of  bondage,  however,  an  op- 
portunity of  efcaping  offered;  he  embraced 
if  with  ardour;  fo  that  travelling  by  night, 
and  lodging  in  caverns  by  day,  to  fhorten 
a  long  Itory,  he  at  laft  arrived  in  Rome. 
The  iarne  day  on  which  Alcander  arrived, 
Septimius  fat  adminiftering  juilice  in  the 
forum,  whither  our  wanderer  came,  expect- 
ing to  be  mftantly  known,  and  publicly  ac- 
knowledged by  his  former  friend.  Here 
he  flood  tne  wiiole  day  asnongft  the  crowd, 
watching  the  eyes  of  the  judge,  and  ex- 
pecting to  be  taken  notice  of;  but  he  was 
io  much  altered  by  a  long  fucceffion  of 
hardships,  that  he  continued  unnoted  among 
the  reif;  and,  in  the  evening,  when  he  was 
going  up  to  the  pnetor's  chair,  he  was  bru- 
tally repulfed  by  the  attending  lienors.  The 
attention  of  the  poor  is  generally  driven 
from  one  ungrateful  object  to  another;  for 
night  coming  on,  he  now  found  himfelf 
under  a  neccflity  of  ieeking  a  place  to  lie 
in,  and  yet  knew  not  where  to  apply.  All 
emaciated,  and  in  rags  as  he  was,  none  of 
the  citizens  would  harbour  fo  much  wretch- 
ednefs ;  and  fleeping  in  the  ftreets  might 
be  attended  with  inteiruption  or  danger: 
in  thort,  he  was  obliged  to  take  up  his  iodg- 
ing  in  oi.e  of  the  tombs  without  the  city, 
the  ufual  retreat  of  guilt,  poverty,  and  de- 
fpair,  In  this  manfion  of  horror,  laying 
his  head  upon  an  inverted  urn,  he  forgot 
his  miferies  for  a  while  in  lleep ;  and  found, 
on  his  flinty  couch,  more  eafe  than  beds  of 
down  can  fupply  to  the  guilty. 


As  he  continued  here,  about  midnight 
two  robbers  came  to  make  this  their  re- 
treat -y  but  happening  to  difagree  about  the 
divinon  of  their  plunder,  one  of  them 
ftabbed  the  other  to  the  heart,  and  left  him 
weltering  in  blood  at  the  entrance.  In 
thefe  circumftancts  he  was  found  next 
morning  dead  at  the  mouth  of  the  vault. 
This  naturally  inducing  a  farther  enquiry, 
an  alarm  was  fpread ;  the  cave  was  exa- 
mined; and  Alcander  being  found,  was 
immediately  apprehended,  and  accufed  of 
robbery  and  murder.  The  ciicumftances 
againft  him  were  ftrong,  and  the  wretch- 
edneis  of  his  appearance  confirmed  fuipi- 
cion.  Misfortune  and  he  were  now  fo  long 
acquainted,  that  he  at  laft  became  regard- 
lefs  of  life.  He  dctefted  a  world  where  he 
had  found  only  ingratitude,  falfehood,  and 
cruelty  ;  he  was  determined  to  make  no 
defence,  and  thus,  lowering  with  refolution 
he  was  dragged,  bound  with  cords,  before 
the  tribunal  of  Septimius.  As  the  proofs 
were  politive  againft  him,  and  he  offered 
nothing  in  his  own  vindication,  the  judge 
was  proceeding  to  doom  him  to  a  moil 
cruel  and  ignominious  death,  when  the  at- 
tention of  the  multitude  was  foon  divided 
by  another  object.  The  robber,  who  had 
been  really  guilty,  was  apprehended  felling 
his  plunder,  and,  ftruck  with  a  panic,  had 
confelfe  J  his  crime.  He  was  brought  bound 
to  the  fame  tribunal,  and  acquitted  every 
other  perfon  of  any  partnership  in  his  guilt. 
Alcander's  innocence  therefore  appeared, 
but  the  fallen  raihnefs  of  his  conduit  re- 
mained a  wonder  to  the  furrounding  mul- 
titude; but  their  aftonifhment  was  ftill  far- 
ther encreafed,  when  they  faw  their  judge 
flart  from  his  tribunal  to  embrace  the  fup- 
pofed  criminal;  Septimius  recollected  his 
friend  and  former  benefactor,  and  hung 
upon  his  neck  with  tears  of  pity  and  of  joy. 
Need  the  fequel  be  related?  Alcander  was 
acquitted :  ihared  th;  friendship  and  ho- 
nours of  the  principal  citizens  of  Rome  ; 
lived  afterwards  in  happinefs  and  eaie ;  and 
left  it  to  be  engraved  on  his  tomb,  That 
no  circumftancts  are  fo  defperate,  which 
Providence  may  not  relieve, 

§  4.  The  Monk. 
A  poor  Monk  of  the  order  of  St.  Fran- 
cis came  into  the  room  to  beg  fomething 
for  his  convent.  The  moment  I  caft  my 
eyes  upon  him,  I  was  pre-determined  not 
to  give  him  a  iingle  fous,  and  accordingly 
I  put  my  purfe  iiuo  my  pocket — buttoned 
it  up — 1st  myfelf  a  little  more  upon  my 

centre, 


796 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


centre,  and  advanced  up  gravely  to  him  : 
there  was  fomething,  I  fear,  forbidding  in 
my  look :  I  have  his  figure  this  moment 
before  my  eyes,  and  think  there  was  that 
in  it  which  deferved  better. 

The  Monk,  as  I  judge  from  the  break 
in  his  tonfure,  a  few  fcactered  white  hairs 
upon  his  temples  being  all  that  remained 
of  it,  might  be  about  feventy— — but  from 
his  eyes,  and  that  fort  of  fire  which  was  in 
them,  which  feemed  more  tempered  by 
courtefy  than  years,  could  be  no  more  than 

fixty truth  might  lie  between— — He 

was  certainly  fixty-five ;  and  the  general 
air  of  his  countenance,  notwithstanding 
lomething  feemed  to  have  been  planting 
wrinkles  in  it  before  their  time,  agreed  to 
the  account. 

It  was  one  of  thofe  heads  which  Guido 
has  often  painted — mild — pale — penetrat- 
ing, free  from  all  common-place  ideas  of 
fat  contented  ignorance  looking  downwards 
upon  the  earth— it  look'd  forwards ;  but 
look'd  as  if  it  look'd  at  fomething  beyond 
this  world.  How  one  of  his  order  came  by 
it,  Heaven  above,  who  let  it  fall  upon  a 
Monk's  moulders,  belt  knows ;  but  it  would 
have  fuited  a  Bramin,  and  had  I  met  it 
upon  the  plains  of  Indoftan,  I  had  reve- 
renced it. 

The  reft  of  his  outline  may  be  given  in 
a  few  ftrokes;  one  might  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  any  one  to  delign,  for  'twas  nei- 
ther elegant  nor  otherwile,  but  as  character 
and  expreffion  made  it  fo  :  it  was  a  thin, 
fpare  form,  fomething  above  the  common 
fize,  if  it  loft  not  the  diftinflion  by  a  bend 
forwards  in  the  figure — but  it  was  the  at- 
titude of  intreaty;  and  as  it  now  ftands 
prefent  to  my  imagination,  it  gain'd  more 
than  it  loft  by  it. 

When  he  had  entered  the  room  three 
paces,  he  flood  ftill ;  and  laying  his  left 
hand  upon  his  breaft  (a  flender  white  ftafr 
with  which  he  journeyed  being  in  his  right) 
— when  I  had  got  clofe  up  to  him,  he  in- 
troduced himfelf  with  the  little  ftory  of  the 
wants  of  his  convent,  and  the  poverty  of 
his  order — —and  did  it  with  fo  fimple  a 
grace— and  fuch  an  air  of  deprecation  was 
there  in  the  whole  caft  of  his  look  and  figure 

I  was  bewitched  not  lo  have  been  ftruck 

with  it 

— A  better  reafon  was,  I  had  pre-deter- 
mined  not  to  give  him  a  fingle  fous. 

— 'Tis  very  true,  faid  I,  replying  to  a 
caft  upwards  with  his  eyes,  with  which  he 
had  concluded  his  addrefs — 'tis  very  true 
and  Heaven  be  their  refource  who  have 


no  other  but  the  charity  of  the  world,  the 
ftock  of  which,  I  fear,  is  no  way  fufficient 
for  the  many  great  claims  which  are  hourly 
made  upon  it. 

As  I  pronounced  the  words  "  great 
"  claims,"  he  gave  a  flight  glance  with 
his  eye  downwards  upon  the  fleeve  of  his 
tunic — I  felt  the  full  force  of  the  appeal — 
I  acknowledge  it,  faid  I — a  coarfe  habit, 
and  that  but  once  in  three  years,  with  mea- 
gre diet — are  no  great  matters :  and  the 
true  point  of  pity  is,  as  they  can  be  eam'd 
in  the  world  with  fo  little  induftry,that  your 
order  fhould  wifh  to  procure  them  by  pref- 
fing  upon  a  fund  which  is  the  property  of 
the  lame,  the  blind,  the  aged,  and  the  in- 
firm :  the  captive,  who  lies  down  counting 
over  and  over  again  the  days  of  his  afflic- 
tion, languifhes  alfo  for  his  fhare  of  it;  and 
had  you  been  of  the  order  of  Mercy,  in- 
ftead  of  the  order  of  St.  Francis,  poor  as 
I  am,  continued  I,  pointing  at  my  port- 
manteau, full  cheerfully  fhould  it  have  been 
opened  to  you  for  the  ranfom  of  the  un- 
fortunate. The  Monk  made  me  a  bow — 
but  of  all  others,  renamed  I,  the  unfortunate 
of  our  own  country,  furely,  have  the  firft 
rights ;  and  I  have  left  thoufands  in  diftrefs 
upon  our  own  fhore— — The  Monk  gave  a 
cordial  wave  with  his  head — as  much  as  to 
fay,  No  doubt,  there  is  mifery  enough  in 
every  corner  of  the  world,  as  well  as  with- 
in our  convent But  we  diflinguifh,  faid 

I,  laying  my  hand  upon  the  fleeve  of  his 
tunic,  in  return  for  his  appeal — we  diflin- 
guifh, my  good  father  !  betwixt  thofe  who 
wifh  only  to  eat  the  bread  of  their  own  la- 
bour— and  thofe  who  eat  the  bread  of 
other  people's,  and  have  no  other  plan  in 
life,  but  to  get  through  it  in  floth  and  ig- 
norance, for  the  love  of  God. 

The  poor  Francifcan  made  no  reply  :  a 
hectic  of  a  moment  pafs'd  acrofs  his  cheek, 
but  could  not  tarry — Nature  feemed  to  have 
had  done  with  her  refentments  in  him ; 
he  fhewed  none — but  letting  his  ftaff  fall 
within  his  arm,  he  preffed  both  his  hands 
with  refignation  upon  his  breaft,  and  re- 
tired. 

My  heart  fmote  me  the  moment  he  fhut 

the   door Pfha  !  faid  I,  with  an  air  of 

careleflhefs,  three  feveral  times but  it 

would  not  do  ;  every  ungracious  f\  liable  I 
had  uttered  crowded  back  into  my  ima- 
gination ;  I  reflected  I  had  no  right  over 
the  poor  Francifcan,  but  to  deny  him  ;  and 
that  the  puniihment  of  that  was  enough  to 
the  difappointed  without  the  addition  of 
unkind    language— J    conlidcred  his  grey 

hairs — • 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


797 


hairs— his  courteous  figure  feemcd  to  re- 
enter, and  gently  afk  me,  what  injury  he 
had  done  me  ?  and  why  I  could  ufe  him 
thus  r — I  would  have  given  twenty  livres 
for  an  advocate — I  have  behaved  very  ill, 
faid  I  within  myfelf;  but  I  have  only  juft 
fet  out  upon  my  travels  ;  and  fhall  learn 
better  manners  as  I  get  along. 

Sterne. 

§  5.    Sir  Bert  rand.    A  Fragment. 

■Sir  Berirand  turned  his  fleed 


towards  the  woulds,  hoping  to  crofs  thefe 
dreary  moors  before  the  curfew.  But  ere 
he  had  proceeded  half  his  journey,  he  was 
bewildered  by  the  different  tracks ;  and 
not  being  able,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  to  efpy  any  object  but  the  brown 
heath  furrounding  him,  he  was  at  length 
quite  uncertain  which  way  he  fliould  direct 
his  courfe.  Night  overtook  him  in  this 
fltuation.  It  was  one  of  thofe  nights  when 
the  moon  gives  a  faint  glimmering  of  light 
through  the  thick  black  clouds  of  a  low- 
ering fky.  Now  and  then  lhe  fuddenly 
emerged  in  full  fplendour  from  her  veil, 
and  then  inftantly  retired  behind  it ;  hav- 
ing juft  ferved  to  give  the  forlorn  Sir  Ber- 
trand  a  wide  extended  profpect  over  the 
defolate  walte.  Hope  and  native  courage 
awhile  urged  him  to  pufh  forwards,  but  at 
length  the  increaiing  darknefs  and  fatigue 
of  body  and  mind  overcame  him ;  he 
dreaded  moving  from  the  ground  he  flood 
on,  for  fear  of  unknown  pits  and  bogs,  and 
alighting  from  his  horfe  in  defpair,  he  threw 
himfelf  on  the  ground.  He  had  not  long 
continued  in  that  pofture,  when  the  fullen 
toll  of  a  diftant  bell  ftruck  his  ears — he 
ftarted  up,  and  turning  towards  the  found, 
difcerned  a  dim  twinkling  light.  Inftantly 
he  feized  his  horfe's  bridle,  and  with  cau- 
tious fteps  advanced  towards  it.  After  a 
painful  march,  he  was  flopped  by  a  moated 
ditch,  furrounding  the  place  from  whence 
the  light  proceeded ;  and  by  a  momentary 
glimpfe  of  moon-light  he  had  a  full  view 
of  a  large  antique  manfion,  with  turrets  at 
the  corners,  and  an  ample  porch  in  the 
centre.  The  injuries  of  time  were  ftrongly 
marked  on  every  thing  about  it.  The  roof 
in  various  places  was  fallen  in,  the  battle- 
ments were  half  demolifaed,  and  the  win- 
dows broken  and  difmantled.  A  draw- 
bridge, with  a  ruinous  gate-way  at  each 
end,  Jed  to  the  court  before  the  building — ' 
He  entered,  and  inftantly  the  light,  which 
proceeded  from  a  window  in  one  of  the 
turrets,  glided  2iong  and  va.oifhed  ;  at  the 


fame  moment  the  moon  funk  beneath  a 
black  cloud,  and  the  night  was  darker  than 
ever.  All  was  filent — Sir  Bertrand  faf- 
tened  his  lteed  under  a  fhed,  and  approach- 
ing the  houfe,  traverfed  its  whole  front 
with  light  and  flow  footlteps — All  was  full 
as  death — He  looked  in  at  the  lower  win- 
dows, but  could  not  diftinguifh  a  finsde 
object  through  the  impenetrable  gloom. 
After  a  fhort  parley  with  himfelf,  he  en- 
tered the  porch,  and  feizing  a  maffy  iron 
knocker  at  the  gate,  lifted  it  up,  and  he- 
fitatingi  at  length  ftruck  a  loud  itroke — the 
noife  refounded  through  the  whole  manfion 
with  hollow  echoes.  All  was  itill  again — 
he  repeated  the  itrokes  more  boldly  and 
louder — another  interval  of  filence  enfued 
—A  third  time  he  knocked,  and  a  third 
time  all  v/as  Itill.  He  then  fell  back  to 
fome  dillance,  that  he  might  difcern  whe- 
ther any  light  could  be  feen  in  the  whole 
front — It  again  appeared  in  the  fame  place, 
and  quickly  glided  away,  as  before — at  the 
fame  inftant  a  deep  fullen  toll  founded  from 
the  turret.  Sir  Bertrand's  heart  made  a 
fearful  ftop — he  was  a  while  motionlefs ; 
then  terror  impelled  him  to  make  fome 
hafty  fteps  towards  his  fteed — but  fhame 
ftopt  his  flight ;  and  urged  by  honour,  and 
a  refiftlefs  defire  of  finifhing  the  adventure, 
he  returned  to  the  porch;  and  working  up 
his  foul  to  a  full  fteadinefs  of  refolution,  he 
drew  forth  his  fword  with  one'  hand,  and 
with  the  other  lifted  up  the  latch  of  the 
gate.  The  heavy  door  creaking  upon  its 
hinges  reluctantly  yielded  to  his  hand — he 
applied  his  fhoulder  to  it,  and  forced  it 
open — he  quitted  it,  and  ftept  forward  — 
the  door  inftantly  lhut  with  a  thundering 
clap.  Sir  Bertrand's  blood  was  chilled — 
he  turned  back  to  find  the  door,  and  it  was 
long  ere  his  trembling  hands  could  feize  it 
— but  his  utmoft  ftrength  could  not  open 
it  again.  After  feveral  ineffectual  attempts, 
he  looked  behind  him,  and  beheld,  acrofs 
a  hall,  upon  a  large  ftair-cafe,  a  pale  bluifh 
fiame,  which  call  a  difmal  gleam  of  light 
around.  He  again  fummoned  forth  his 
courage,  and  advanced  towards  it — it  re- 
tired. He  came  to  the  foot  of  the  flairs, 
and  after  a  moment's  deliberation  afccnd.- 
ed.  He  went  ilowly  up,  the  flame  retiring 
before  him,  till  he  came  to  a  wide  gallery 
— The  flame  proceeded  along  it,  and  he 
followed  in  filent  horror,  treading  lightlv, 
for  the  echoes  of  his  footlteps  itartled  him. 
It  led  him  to  the  foot  of  another  ftair-cafe, 
and  then  vaniihed — At  the  fame  initart 
another  toll  founded  from  the  turret — Sir 

Bernard 


79S 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


Bertrand  felt  it  flrike  upon  his  heart,  He 
was  now  in  total  darkneis,  and  with  his 
arms  extended,  began  to  afcend  the  fe- 
cond  flair-cafe.  A  dead  cold  hand  met 
his  left  hand,  and  firmly  grafped  it,  draw- 
ing him  forcibly  forwards — he  endeavoured 
to  difengage  himfelf,  but  could  not — he 
made  a  furious  blow  with  his  fword,  and 
inftantly  a  loud  fhriek  pierced  his  ears,  arid 
the  dead  hand  was  left  powerlefs  with  his 
—  He  dropt  it,  and  rufhcd  forwards  with  a 
defperate  valour.  The  (lairs  were  narrow 
and  winding,  and  interrupted  by  frequent 
breaches,  and  loofe  fragments  of  llone.  The 
flair  cafe  grew  narrower  and  narrower,  and 
at  length  terminated  in  a  low  iron  grate. 
Sir  Bertrand  pulhed  it  open — it  led  to  an 
intricate  winding  paflage,  juil  large  enough 
to  admit  a  perfon  upon  his  hands  and  knees. 
A  faint  glimmering  of  light  ferved  to  mew 
the  nature  of  the  place — Sir  Bertrand  en- 
tered— A  deep  hollow  groan  refounded 
from  a  dillar.ee  through  the  vault— He 
went  forwards,  and  proceeding  beyond  the 
firft  turning,  he  difcerned  the  fame  blue 
flame  which  had  before  conducted  him — 
He  followed  it.  The  vault,  at  length,  fud- 
denly  opened  into  a  lofty  gallery,  in  the 
midll  of  which  a  figure  appeared,  com- 
pleatly  armed,  thruiling  forwards  the 
bloody  flump  of  an  arm,  with  a  terrible 
frown  and  menacing  geilure,  and  bran- 
difhing  a  fword  in  his  hand.  Sir  Bertrand 
undauntedly  fprung  forwards;  and  aiming 
a  fierce  blow  at  the  figure,  it  inftantly  va- 
nifhed,  letting  fall  a  many  iron  key.  The 
flame  now  relied  upon  a  pair  of  ample 
folding  doors  at  the  end  of  the  gallery.  Sir 
Bertrand  went  up  to  it,  and  applied  the 
key  to  a  brazen  lock — .vith  difficulty  he 
turned  the  bolt — inftantly  the  doors  flew 
open,  and  di (covered  a  large  apartment,  at 
the  end  of  which  was  a  coffin  relied  upon 
a  bier,  with  a  taper  burning  on  each  fide 
of  it.  Along  the  room,  on  both  fides, 
were  gigantic  ftatues  of  black  marble,  at- 
tired in  the  Mooriih  habit,  and  holding 
enormous  fabres  in  their  right  hands.  Each 
of  them  reared  his  arm,  and  advanced  one 
leg  forwards,  as  the  knight  entered  ;  at  the 
fame  moment  the  lid  of  the  coffin  flew  open 
and  the  bell  tolled.  The  flame  ftill  glided 
forwards,  and  Sir  Bertrand  refolutely  fol- 
lowed, till  he  arrived  within  fix  paces  of 
the  coffin.  Suddenly  a  lady  in  a  fhroud 
and  black  veil  rofe  up  in  it,  and  ftretched 
out  her  arms  towards  him — at  the  fame 
time  the  llatues  clafhed  their  fabres  and 
advanced.     Sir  Bertrand  ftew  to  the  lady, 


and  clafped  her  in  his  arms — fhe  threw  up 
her  veil,  and  kifled  his  lips;  and  inftantlv 
the  whole  building  (hook  as  with  an  earth- 
quake, and  fell  afunder  with  a  horrible 
cram.  Sir  Bertrand  was  thrown  into  a 
fudden  trance,  and  on  recovering  found 
himfelf  feated  on  a  velvet  fofa,  in  the  moll 
magnificent  room  he  had  ever  feen,  lighted 
with  innumerable  tapers,  in  luftres  of  pure 
cryllal.  A  fumptuous  banquet  was  fet  in  the 
middle.  The  doors  opening  to  foft  mufic, 
a  lady  of  incomparable  beauty,  attired  with 
amazing  fplendour,  entered,  furrounded  by 
a  troop  of  gay  nymphs  more  fair  than  the 
Graces — She  advanced  to  the  knight,  and 
falling  on  her  knees,  thanked  him  as  her 
deliverer.  The  nymphs  placed  a  garland 
of  laurel  upon  his  head,  and  the  lady  led 
him  by  the  hand  to  the  banquet,  and  fat 
befide  him.  The  nymphs  placed  them- 
felves  at  the  table,  and  a  numerous  train 
of  fervants  entering,  ferved  up  the  feaft : 
delicious  mafic  playing  all  the  time.  Sir 
Bertrand  could  not  fpeak  for  aitonilhment 
— he  could  only  return  their  honours  by 
courteous  looks  and  geftures.  After  the 
banquet  was  finifhed,  all  retired  but  the 
lady,  who  leading  back  the  knight  to  the 
fofa,  addrefled  him  in  thefe  words :         — 


Jikin's  Mifcel. 
§  g.      On  Human  Grandeur. 

An  alehoufe-keeper  near  Ifimgton,  who 
had  long  lived  at  the  fign  of  the  French 
King,  upon  the  commencement  of  the  laft 
war  pulled  down  his  old  fign,  and  put  up 
that  of  the  Queen  of  Hungary.  Under 
the  influence  of  her  red  face  and  golden 
fceptre,  he  continued  to  fell  ale,  till  fhe  was 
no  longer  the  favourite  of  his  cuflomers ; 
he  changed  her  therefore,  fome  time  ago, 
for  the  King  of  Pruffia,  who  may  pro- 
bably be  changed,  in  turn,  for  the  next 
great  man  that  fhall  be  fet  up  for  vulgar 
admiration. 

In  this  manner  the  great  are  dealt  out, 
one  after  the  other,  to  the  gazing  crowd. 
When  we  have  fuflici«ntly  wondered  at  one 
of  them,  he  is  taken  in,  and  another  exhi- 
bited in  his  room,  who  feldom  holds  his 
ilation  long  ;  for  the  mob  are  ever  pleafed 
with  vaierty. 

I  mull  own  T  have  fuch  an  indifferent 
opinion  of  the  vulgar,  that  I  am  ever  led 
to  fufpect  that  merit  which  raifes  their 
fhout :  at  leall  I  am  certain  to  find  thofe 
great,  aad  ioiiietim.es  good  men,  who  find 

fatisfa/lion 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATI 

fatisfaction  in  fuch  acclamations,  made 
worfe  by  it ;  and  hiftory  has  too  frequently 
taught  me,  that  the  head  which  has  grown 
this  day  giddy  with  the  roar  of  the  mil- 
lion, has  the  very  next  been  fixed  upon  a 
pole. 

As  Alexander  VI.  was  entering  a  little 
town  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Rome,  which 
had  been  juft  evacuated  by  the  enemy,  he 
perceived  the  townfmen  bufy  in  the  mar- 
ket-place in  pulling  down  from  a  gibbet  a 
figure  which  had  been  defigned  to  repre- 
fent  himfelf.  There  were  fome  alfo  knock- 
ing down  a  neighbouring  flatue  of  one  of 
the  Orfini  family,  with  whom  he  was  at 
war,  in  order  to  put  Alexander's  effigy  in 
its  place.  It  is  poffible  a  man  who  knew 
lefs  of  the  world  would  have  condemned 
the  adulation  of  thofe  bare -faced  flatter- 
ers :  but  Alexander  feemed  pleafed  at  their 
zeal  ;  and,  turning  to  Borgia,  hL  fon,  faid 
with  a  fmile,  "  Vides,  mi  fili,  quam  leve 
"  difcrimen,  patibulum  inter  et  ftatuam." 
"  You  fee,  my  fon,  the  fmall  difference 
"  between  a  gibbet  and  a  ftatUfe."  If  the 
great  could  be  taught  any  leffon,  this  might 
ferve  to  teach  them  upon  how  weak  a  foun- 
dation their  glory  Hands :  for,  as  popular 
applaufe  is  excited  by  what  feems  like  me- 
rit, it  as  quickly  condemns  what  has  only 
the  appearence  of  guilt. 

Popular  glory  is  a  perfect  coquet  :  her 
lovers  mull  toil,  feel  every  inquietude,  in- 
dulge every  caprice  ;  and,  perhaps,  at  laft, 
be  jilted  for  their  pains.  True  glory,  on 
the  other  hand,  refembles  a  woman  of 
fenfe  ;  her  admirers  mull  play  no  tricks ; 
they  feel  no  great  anxiety,  for  they  are 
fure,  in  the  end,  of  being  rewarded  in  pro- 
portion to  their  merit.  When  Swift  ufed 
to  appear  in  public,  he  generally  had  the 
mob  fhouting  at  his  train.  "  Pox  take 
"  thefe  fools,"  he  would  fay,"  how  much 
"  jcy  might  all  this  bawling  give  my  lord- 
*'  mayor  ?" 

We  have  feen  thofe  virtues  which  have, 
while  living,  retired  from  the  public  eye, 
generally  tranfmitted  to  poiierity,  as  the 
trued:  objects  of  admiration  and  praife. 
Perhaps  the  character  of  the  late  duke  of 
Marlborough  may  one  day  be  fet  up,  even 
above  that  o£  his  more  talked-of  prede- 
cefTor ;  fince  an  afTemblage  of  all  the  mild 
and  amiable  virtues  are  far  fuperior  to  thofe 
vulgarly  called  the  great  ones.  I  muff  be 
pardoned  for  this  fhort  tribute  to  the  me- 
mory of  a  man,  who,  while  living,  would 
as  much  deteft  to  receive  any '  thing  that 
13 


VES,  DIALOGUES,   Sec.         799 

wore  the  appearance  of  flattery,  as  I  fhould 
to  offer  it. 

I  know  not  how  to  turn  fo  trite  a  fub- 
ject  out  of  the  beaten  road  of  common- 
place, except  by  illuftrating  it,  rather  by  the 
affiilance  of  my  memory  than  judgment; 
and,  inftead  of  making  reflections,  by  tel- 
ling a  ftory. 

A  Chinefe,  who  had  long  ftudied  the 
works  of  Confucius,  who  knew  the  cha- 
racters of  fourteen  thoufand  words,  and 
could  read  a  great  part  of  every  book  that 
came  in  his  way,  once  took  it  into  his  head 
to  travel  into  Europe,  and  obferve  the  cuf- 
toms  of  a  people  which  he  thought  not  very 
much  inferior  even  to  his  own  countrymen. 
Upon  his  arrival  at  Amfterdam,  his  paffion 
for  letters  naturally  led  him  to  a  bookfel- 
ler's  (hop;  and,  as  he  could  fpeak  a  little 
Dutch,  he  civilly  afked  the  bookfeller  of 
the  works  of  the  immortal  Xixofou.  The 
bookfeller  allured  him  he  had  never  heard 
the  book  mentioned  before.  "  Alas  !'* 
cries  our  traveller,"  to  what  purpofe,  then, 
"  has  he  fafted  to  death,  to  gain  a  renown 
"  which  has  never  travelled  beyond  the 
"  precincts  of  China  !" 

There  is  fcarce  a  village  in  Europe,  and 
not  one  univerfity,  that  is  not  thus  furnifhed 
with  its  little  great  men.  The  head  of  a 
petty  corporation,  who  oppofes  the  defigr.s 
of  a  prince,  who  would  tyrannically  force 
his  fubjects  to  fave  their  bell  cloaths-  for 
Sundays ;  the  puny  pedant,  who  finds  one 
undifcovercd  quality  in  the  polype,  or  de- 
fcribes  an  unheeded  procefs  in  the  fkeleton 
of  a  mole  ;  and  whofe  mind,  like  his  mi- 
crofcope,  perceives  nature  only  in  detail-: 
the  rhymer,  who  makes  fmooth  verfes,  and 
paints  to  cur  imagination,  when  he  fhould 
only  fpeak  to  cur  hearts ;  all  equally  fancy 
themfelves  walking  forward  to  immortality, 
and  delire  the  crowd  behind  them  to  look 
on.  The  crowd  takes  them  at  their  word. 
Patriot,  philofopher,  and  poet,  are  fhouted 
in  their  train.  "  Where  was  there  ever 
"  fo  much  merit  feen?  no  times  fo  im- 
"  portant  as  our  own  !  ages,  yet  unborn, 
"  (hall  gaze  with  wonder  and  applaule  !" 
To  fuch  muiic  the  important  pigmy  moves 
forward,  buttling  and  fwelling,  and  aptly 
compared  to  a  puddle  in  a  florin. 

I  have  lived  to  fee  generals  who  once 
had  crowds  hallooing  after  them  where  - 
ever  they  went,  who  were  bep railed  by 
news-papers  and  magazines,  thofe  echoes 
of  the  voics  of  the  vulgar,  and  yet  they 
have  long  funk  into  merited  obfeurity,  with 

fcarce 


Soo 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


fcarce  even  an  epitaph  left  to  flatter.  A 
few  years  ago  the  herring-fifhery  employed 
all  Grub-ftreet;  it  was  the  topic  in  every 
coffee-houfe,  and  the  burden  of  every  bal- 
lad. We  were  to  drag  up  oceans  of  gold 
from  the  bottom  of  the  fea ;  we  were  to 
fupply  all  Europe  with  herrings  upon  our 
own  terms.  At  prefent,  we  hear  no  more 
of  all  this.  We  have  fifhed  up  very  little 
gold  that  I  can  learn ;  nor  do  we  furnilh 
the  world  with  herrings,  as  was  expetted. 
Let  us  wait  but  a  few  years  longer,  and 
we  fliall  find  all  our  expectations  an  her- 
ring-fifhery. Goldfmith. 

§   7.    A  Dialogue  between   Mr.  Addison 
and  Dr.  Swift. 

Dr.  Swift.  Surely,  Addifon,  Fortune 
was  exceedingly  bent  upon  playing  the  fool 
(a  humour  her  ladyfhip,  as  well  as  moll 
other  ladies  of  very  great  quality,  is  fre- 
quently in)  when  fhe  made  you  a  minifter 
of  ftate,  and  me  a  divine  ! 

Addifon.  I  muft  confefs  we  were  both  of 
us  out  of  our  elements.  But  you  do  not 
mean  to  infinuate,  that,  if  our  deftinies 
had  been  reversed,  all  would  have  been 
right  ? 

Swift.  Yes,  I  do.— You  would  have 
made  an  excellent  bifhop,  and  I  fhould 
have  governed  Great  Britain  as  I  did  Ire- 
land, with  an  abfolute  fway,  while  I  talked 
of  nothing  but  liberty,  property,  and  fo 
forth. 

Addifon.  You  governed  the  mob  of  Ire- 
land ;  but  I  never  heard  that  you  govern- 
ed the  kingdom.  A  nation  and  a  mob  are 
different  things. 

Swift,  Aye,  fo  you  fellows  that  have 
no  genius  for  politics  may  fuppofe.  But 
there  are  times  when,  by  putting  himfelf 
at  the  head  of  the  mob,  an  able  man  may 
get  to  the  head  of  the  nation.  Nay,  there 
are  times  when  the  nation  itfelf  is  a  mob, 
and  may  be  treated  as  fuch  by  a  fkilful  ob- 
i'erver. 

Addifon.  1  do  not  deny  the  truth  of  your 
axiom :  but  is  there  no  danger  that,  from 
the  vicifhtudes  of  human  affairs,  the  fa- 
vourite of  the  mob  fhould  be  mobbed  in 
his  turn  ? 

Swift.  Sometimes  there  may;  but  I 
rifked  it,  and  it  anfwered  my  purpofe.  Afk 
the  lord-lieutenants,  who  were  forced  to 
pay  court  to  me  initead  of  my  courting 
them,  whether  they  did  not  feel  my  fupe- 
riority.  And  if  I  could  make  myfelf"  fo 
confiderable  when  I  was  only  a  dirty  dean 
of  St.  Patrick's,  without  a  feat  in  either 
6 


houfe  of  parliament,  what  mould  I  have 
done  if  fortune  had  placed  me  in  England, 
unincumbered  with  a  gown,  and  in  a  fitua- 
tion  to  make  myfelf  heard  in  the  houfe  of 
lords  or  of  commons  ? 

Addifon.  You  would  doubtlefs  have 
done  very  marvellous  acts !  perhaps  you 
might  have  then  been  as  zealous  a  whig 
as  lord  Wharton  himfelf:  or,  if  the  whigs 
had  offended  the  ftatefman,  as  they  unhap- 
pily did  the  doctor,  who  knows  but  you 
might  have  brought  in  the  Pretender  ? 
Pray  let  me  afk  you  one  queftion,  between 
you  and  me :  If  you  had  been  firfi  minifter 
under  that  prince,  would  you  have  tolerat- 
ed the  Proteftant  religion,  or  not? 

Swift.  Ha  !  Mr.  Secretary,  are  you 
witty  upon  me  ?  Do  you  think,  becaufe 
Sunderland  took  a  fancy  to  make  you  a 
great  man  in  the  ftate,  that  he  could  alfo 
make  you  as  great  in  wit  as  nature  made 
me  ?  No,  no ;  wit  is  like  grace,  it  muft 
come  from  above.  You  can  no  more  get 
that  from  the  king,  than  my  lords  the  bi- 
fhops  can  the  other.  And  though  I  will 
own  you  had  fome,  yet  believe  me,  my 
friend,  it  was  no  match  for  mine.  I  think 
you  have  not  vanity  enough  to  pretend  to 
a  competition  with  me. 

Addifon.  I  have  been  often  told  by  my 
friends  that  I  was  rather  too  modeft ;  fo,  if 
you  pleafe,  I  will  not  decide  this  difpute 
for  myfelf,  but  refer  it  to  Mercury,  the  god 
of  wit,  who  happens  juft  now  to  be  coming 
this  way,  with  a  foul  he  has  newly  brought 
to  the  fhades. 

Hail,  divine  Hermes !  A  queftion  of 
precedence  in  the  clafs  of  wit  and  humour, 
over  which  you  prefide,  having  arifen  be- 
tween me  and  my  countryman,  Dr.  Swift, 
we  beg  leave 

Mercury.  Dr.  Swift,  I  rejoice  to  fee 
you. — How  does  my  old  lad  ?  How  does 
honeft  Lemuel  Gulliver  ?  Have  you  been 
in  Lilliput  lately,  or  in  the  Flying  Ifland, 
or  with  your  good  nurfe  Glumdalclitch  ? 
Pray,  when  did  you  eat  a  cruft  with  Lord 
Peter?  Is  Jack  as  mad  ftill  as  ever?  I 
hear  the  poor  fellow  is  almoft  got  well  by 
more  gentle  ufage.  If  he  had  but  more 
food  he  would  be  as  much  in  his  fenfes  as 
brother  Martin  himfelf.  But  Martin,  they 
tell  me,  has  fpawned  a  ftrange  brood  of 
fellows,  called  Methodifts,  Moravians, 
Hutchinfonians,who  are  madder  than  Jack 
was  in  his  worft  days.  It  is  a  pity  you  are 
not  alive  again  to  be  at  them :  they  would 
be  excellent  food  for  your  tooth ;  and  a 
iharp  tooth  i:  was,  as  ever  was  placed  in 

the 


COOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,    &c. 


80 ! 


the  gum  of  a  mortal;  aye,  and  a  ftrong 
one  too.  The  hardeft  food  would  not  break 
it,  and  it  could  pierce  the  thickeil  fkulls. 
Indeed  it  was  like  one  of  Cerberus's  teeth: 
one  fhould  not  have  thought  it  belonged  to 
a  man. -Mr.  Addifon,  I  beg  your  par- 
don, I  fhould  have  fpoken  to  you  fooner; 
but  I  was  fo  ftruck  with  the  fight  of  the 
doctor,  that  I  forgot  for  a  time  the  refpe&s 
due  to  you. 

Swift.  Addifon,  I  think  our  difpute 
Ss  decided  before  the  judge  has  heard  the 
caufe. 

Addifon.  I  own  it  is  in  your  favour,  and 
I  fubmit — but — 

Mercury t  Do  not  be  difcouraged,  friend 
Addifon.  Apollo  perhaps  would  have  given 
a  different  judgment.  I  am  a  wit,  and  a 
rogue,  and  a  foe  to  all  dignity.  Swift  and 
I  naturally  like  one  another :  he  worlhips 
me  more  than  Jupiter,  and  I  honour  him 
more  than  Homer;  but  yet,  I  affure  you,  I 

have  a  great  value  for  you Sir  Roger 

de  Coverley,  Will  Honeycomb,  Will  Wim- 
ble, the  country  gentleman  in  the  Free- 
holder, and  tvventv  more  characters,  drawn 
with  the  fined  ltrokes  of  natural  wit  and 
humour  in  your  excellent  writings,  feat  you 
very  high  in  the  clafs  of  my  authors,  though 
not  quite  fo  high  as  the  dean  of  St.  Pa- 
trick's. Perhaps  you  might  have  come 
nearer  to  him,  if  the  decency  of  your  na- 
ture and  cautioufhefs  of  your  judgment 
would  have  given  you  leave.  But  if  in  the 
force  and  fpirit  of  his  wit  he  has  the  advan- 
tage, how  much  does  he  yield  to  you  in  all 
the  polite  and  elegant  graces ;  in  the  fine 
touches  of  delicate  fentiment ;  in  develop- 
ing the  fecret  fprings  of  the  foul ;  in  fhew- 
ing  all  the  mild  lights  and  fhades  of  a  cha- 
racter; in  marking  diftindtly  every  line, 
and  every  foft  gradation' of  tints  which 
would  efcape  the  common  eye  !  Who  ever 
painted  like  you  the  beautiful  parts  of  hu- 
man nature,  and  brought  them  out  from 
under  the  fhade  even  of  the  greateft  fim- 
plicity,  or  the  moil  ridiculous  weakneffes  ; 
fo  that  we  are  forced  to  admire,  and  feel 
that  we  venerate,  even  while  we  are  laugh- 
ing ?  Swift  could  do  nothing  that  ap- 
proaches to  this.— — He  could  draw  an  ill 
face  very  well,  or  caricature  a  good  one 
with  a  mafterly  hand  :  but  there  was  all  his 
power  ;  and,  if  I  am  to  fpeak  as  a  god,  a 
worthlefs  power  it  is.  Yours  is  divine : 
k  tends  to  improve  and  exalt  human  na- 
ture. 

Sfwiff.  Pray,  good  Mercury,  (if  I  may 
have  leave  to  fay  a  word  for  myfeif)  do 


you  think  that  my  talent  was  of  no  ufe  to 
correct  human  nature  ?  Is  whipping  of  no 
ufe  to  mend  naughty  boys  ? 

Mercury.  Men  are  not  fo  patient  of 
whipping  as  boys,  and  I  feldom  have 
known  a  rough  fatirift  mend  them.  But  I 
will  allow  that  you  have  done  fome  good 
in  that  way,  though  not  half  fo  much  as 
Addifon  did  in  his.  And  now  you  are 
here,  if  Pluto  and  Proferpine  would  take 
my  advice,  they  ihould  difpofe  of  you  both 
in  this  manner :— When  any  hero  comes 
hither  from  e"arth,  who  wants  to  be  hum- 
bled, (as  moft  heroes  do)  they  fhould  fee 
Swift  upon  him  to  bring  him  down.  The 
fame  good  office  he  may  frequently  do  to 
a  faint  fvvoln  too  much  with  the  wind  of 
fpiritual  pride,  or  to  a  philofopher,  vain  of 
his  wifdom  and  virtue.  He  will  foon  fhew 
the  firfb  that  he  cannot  be  holy  without  be- 
ing humble  ;  and  the  laft,  that  with  all  his 
boafted  morality,  he  is  but  a  better  kind  of 
Yahoo.  I  would  alfo  have  him  apply  his 
anticofmetic  wafh  to  the  painted  face  of 
female  vanity,  and  his  rod,  which  draws 
blood  at  every  ftroke,  to  the  hard  back  of 
infolent  folly  or  petulant  wit.  But  you, 
Mr.  Addifon,  fhould  be  employed  to  com- 
fort and  raife  the  fpirits  of  thofe  vvhofe 
good  and  noble  fouls  are  dejected  with  a 
fenfe  of  fome  infirmities  in  their  nature. 
To  them  you  fhould  hold  your  fair  and 
charitable  mirrour,  which  would  bring  to 
their  fight  all  their  hiddden  perfections,  cafr. 
over  the  reft  a  foftening  fhade,  and  put 
them  in  a  temper  fit  for  Elyfium.— — — . 
Adieu :  I  muft  now  return  to  my  bufinefs 
above.  Dialogues  of  the  Dead. 

§  8.     The  Hill  of  Science.    A  V if  on. 

In  that  feafon  of  the  year  when  the  fe- 
renity  of  the  fky,  the  various  fruits  which 
cover  the  ground,  the  difcoloured  foliage  of 
the  trees,  and  all  the  fweet,  but  fading 
graces  of  infpiring  autumn,  open  the  mind 
to  benevolence,  and  difpofe  it  for  contem- 
plation, I  was  wandering  in  a  beautiful  and 
romantic  country,  till  curiofity  began  to 
give  way  to  wearinefs ;  and  I  fat  me  down 
on  the  fragment  of  a  rock  overgrown  with 
mofs,  where  the  ruffling  of  the  falling 
leaves,  the  darning  of  waters,  and  the  hum 
of  the  diftant  city,  foothed  my  mind  into 
the  moft  perfect  tranquillity,  and  fleep  in- 
feniibly  ftole  upon  me,  as  1  was  indulging 
the  agreeable  reveries  which  the  objeds 
around  me  naturally  infpired. 

I  immediately  found  myfeif  in  a  vaft  ex- 
tended plain,  in  the  middle  of  which  arofe 
•?  F  a  mo  tin- 


S02 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


a  mountain  higher  than  I  had  before  any 
conception  of.  It  was  covered  with  a  mul- 
titude of  people,  chiefly  youth  ;  many  of 
whom  prefled  forwards'  with  the  livelier! 
expreffion  of  ardour  in  their  countenance, 
though  the  way  was  in  many  places  iteep 
and  difficult.  I  obferved,  that  thofe  who 
had  but  juir.  begun  to  climb  the  hill  thought 
themfelves  not  far  from  the  top;  but  as 
they  proceeded,  new  hills  were  continually 
rifmg  to  their  view,  and  the  fummit  of  the 
higheft  they  could  before  difcern  feemed 
but  the  foot  of  another,  till'the  mountain 
at  length  appeared  to  lofe  itfelf  in  the 
clouds.  As  I  was  gazing  on  thefe  things 
with  aftonilhment,  mygood  genius  fuddenly 
appeared :  The  mountain  before  thee,  faid 
he,  is  the  Hill  of  Science.  On  the  top  is 
the  temple  of  Truth,  whole  head  is  above 
the  clouds,  and  a  veil  of  pure  light  covers 
her  face.  Obferve  the  progrefs  of  her  vo- 
taries ;  be  iilent  and  attentive. 

I  faw  that  the  only  regular  approach  to 
the  mountain  was  by  a  gate,  called  the 
gate  of  languages.  It  was  kept  by  a  wo- 
man of  a  peniive  and  thoughtful  appear- 
ance, whofc  lips  were  continually  moving, 
as  though  ihe  repeated  fomething' to  herfelf. 
Her  name  was  Memory.  On  entering  this 
firft  enclofure,  I  was  ilunned  with  a  con- 
fufed  murmur  of  jarring  voices,  and  diffo- 
nant  founds ;  which  increafed  upon  me  to 
iuch  a  degree,  that  I  was  utterly  confound- 
ed, and  could  compare  the  noife  to  nothing 
but  the  confirfioa  of  tongues  at  Babel.  The 
road  was  alfo  rough  and  iiony ;  and  ren- 
dered more  difficult  by  heaps  of  rubbifli 
continually  tumbled  down  from  the  higher 
parts  of  the  mountain;  and  broken  ruins 
of  ancient  buildings,  which  the  travellers 
were  obliged  to  climb  over  at  every  ftep  ; 
infomuch  that  many,  difgufted  with  fo 
rough  a  beginning,  turned  back,  and  at- 
tempted the  mountain  no  more:  while 
others,  having  conquered  this  difficulty, 
had  nofpi.its  to  afcend  further,  and  fitting 
down  on  fome  fragment  of  the  rubbifh, 
harangued  the  multitude  below  with  the 
greateft  marks  of  importance  and  felf- 
complacency. 

About  halfway  up  the  hill,  I  obferved 
on  e;  ch  fide  the  path  a  thick  foreft  covered 
with  continual  fogs,  and  cut  out  into  laby- 
ri  hs,  crofs  alleys,  and  ferp'entine  walks 
ci. tingled  with  thorns  and  briars.  This 
>■  -     called  the  wood  of  Error  :  and  I  heard 

ie  yoic  s  of  many  who  were  toil  up  and 

o.  ..  n  in  it,  calling  to  one  another,  and  en- 

Lvouririg  in  vain  to  extricate  themfelvesJ 


The  trees  in  many  places  (hot  their  boUghs 
over  the  path,  and  a  thick  mift  often  relied 
on  it ;  yet  never  fo  much  but  that  it  was 
difcernible  by  the  light  which  beamed  from 
the  countenance  of  Truth. 

In  the  pleafanteir.  part  of  the  mountain 
were  placed  the  bowers  of  the  Mufes,whofe 
office  it  was  to  cheer  the  fpirits  of  the  tra- 
vellers, and  encourage  their  fainting  fteps 
with  fongs  from  their  divine  harps.  Not 
far  from  hence  were  the  fields  of  Fiction, 
filled  with  a  variety  of  wild  flowers  (bring- 
ing up  in  the  greateft  luxuriance,  of  richer 
fcents  and  brighter  colours  than  I  had  ob- 
ferved in  any  other  climate.  And  near 
them  was  the  dark  walk  of  Allegory,  fo 
artificially  fhaded,  that  the  light  at  noon- 
day was  never  ftronger  than  that  of  a  bright 
moon-lhine.  This  gave  it  a  pleafingly  ro- 
mantic air  for  thofe  who  delighted  in  con- 
templation. The  paths  and  alleys  were 
perplexed  with  intricate  windings,  and  were 
all  terminated  with  the  ftatue  of  a  Grace, 
a  Virtue,  or  a  Mufe. 

After  I  had  obferved  thefe  things,  I 
turned  my  eye  towards  the  multitudes  who 
were  climbing  the  fteep  afcent,  and  obferv- 
ed amongft  them  a  youth  of  a  lively  look, 
a  piercing  eye,  and  fomething  fiery  and  ir- 
regular in  all  his  motions.  His  name  was 
Genius.  He  darted  like  an  eagle  up  the 
mountain;  and  left  his  companions  gazing 
after  him  with  envy  and  admiration :  but 
his  progrefs  was  unequal,  and  interrupted 
by  a  thoufand  caprices.  When  Pleafure 
warbled  in  the  valley  he  mingled  in  her 
train.  When  Pride  beckoned  towards  the 
precipice  he  ventured  to  the  tottering  edge. 
He  delighted  in  devious  and  untried  paths ; 
and  made  fo  many  excurfions  from  the 
road,  that  his  feebler  companions  often  out- 
irripped  him.  I  obferved  that  the  Mufes 
beheld  him  with  partiality;  but  Truth 
often  frowned,  and  turned  afide  her  face. 
While  Genius  was  thus  waiiing  his  ftrength 
in  eccentric  flights,  I  law  a  perfon  of  a  very 
different  appearance,  named  Application. 
He  c  rept  along  with  a  flow  and  unremitting 
pace,  his  eves  fixed  on  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, patiently  removing  every  ftone  that 
obih'ucled  his  way,  till  he  faw  molt  of  thofe 
below  him  who  had  at  firft  derided  his  flow 
and  toilfome  progrefs.  Indeed  there  were 
feW  who  afcended  the  hill  with  equal  and 
uninterrupted  fteadinefs;  for,  befide  the 
difficulties  of  the  way,  they  were  continu- 
ally folicited  to  turn  afide  by  a  numerous 
crowd  of  Appetites,  Paffions,  and  Pleafures, 
ivhofe  importunity,  when  they  had  once 

-complied 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATI 

fomplied  with,  they  became  Iefs  and  lefs 
able  to  reiiit ;  and  though  they  often  re- 
turned to  the  path,  the  aiperities  of  the 
road  were  more  feverely  felt,  the  hill  ap- 
peared more  deep  and  rugged,  the  fruits 
which  were  wholefome  and  refrefhing 
feemed  harm  and  ill-tailed,  their  fight 
grew  dim,  and  their  feet  tript  at  every 
little  obitrudtion. 

I  faw,  with  fome  furprize,  that  the  Mufes, 
whofe  bufinefs  was  to  cheer  and  encourage 
thofe  who  were  toiling  up  the  afcent,  would 
often  fing  in  the  bovvers  of  Pleafure,  and 
accompany  thofe  who  were  enticed  away 
at  the  call  of  the  Paflions;  they  accom- 
panied them,  however,  but  a  little  way,  and 
always  forfook  them  when  they  loft  fight 
of  the  hill.  The  tyrants  then  doubled 
their  chains  upon  the  unhappy  captives, 
and  led  them  away,  without  refillance,  to 
the  cells  of  Ignorance,  or  the  manfions  of 
Mifery.  Amongft  the  innumerable  fe- 
ducers,  who  were  endeavouring  to  draw 
away  the  votaries  of  Truth  from  the  path 
of  Science,  there  was  one,  fo  little  formi- 
dable in  her  appearance,  and  lb  gentle 
and  languid  in  her  attempts,  that  I  Ihould 
fcarcely  have  taken  notice  of  her,  but  for 
the  numbers  (he  had  imperceptibly  loaded 
with  her  chains.  Indolence  (for  10  {he  was 
called)  far  from  proceeding  to  open  hofti- 
lides,  did  not  attempt  to  turn  their  feet  out 
of  the  path,  but  contented  herfelf  with  re- 
tarding their  progrefs ;  and  the  purpofe  fhe 
could  not  force  them  to  abandon,  fhe  per- 
fuaded  them  to  delay.  Her  touch  had  a 
power  like  that  of  the  torpedo,  which  wi- 
thered the  ftrength  of  thole  who  came 
within  its  influence.  Her  unhappy  cap- 
tives Hill  turned  their  faces  towards  the 
temple,  and  always  hoped  to  arrive  there  ; 
but  the  ground  feemed  to  Aide  from  be- 
neath their  fee^,  and  they  found  thernfelves 
at  the  bottom,  before  they  fufpecled  they 
had  changed  their  place.  The  placid  fe- 
renity,  which  at  firft  appeared  in  their 
countenance,  changed  by  degrees  into  a 
melancholy  languor,  which  was  tinged  with 
deeper  and  deeper  gloom,  as  they  glided 
down  the  ft  ream  of  Infignificance  ;  a  dark 
and  fluggifh  war,er,  which  is  curled  by  no 
breeze,  and  enlivened  by  no  murmur,  till  it 
falls  into  a  dead  lea,  where  (bulled  paffen- 
gers  are  awakened  by  the  fhock,  and  the 
next  moment  buried  in  the  gulph  cf  Ob- 
livion. 

Of  all  the  unhappy  deferters  from  the 
paths  of  Science,  none  feemed  lels  able 
to  return  than  the  followers  of  Indolence. 


VES,   DIALOGUES,    &c.  £03 

The  captives  of  Appetite  and  Paflion  could 
often  feize  the  moment  when  their  tyrants 
were  languid  or  afieeb  to  efcape  from  their 
enchantment;  but  the  dominion  of  Indo- 
lence was  conftant  and  unremitted,  and  fel- 
dom  refilled,  till  refillance  was  in  vain. 

After  contemplating  thefe  things,  I  turn- 
ed my  eyes  towards  the 'top  of  the  moun- 
tain, where  the  air  was  always  pure  and 
exhilarating,  the  path  (haded  with  laurels 
and  other  ever-greens,  and  the  effulgence 
which  beamed  from  the  face  of  the  god- 
defs  feemed  to  fhed  a  glory  round  her  vo- 
taries. Happy,  faid  I,  are  they  who  are 
•permitted  to  afcend  the  mountain  ! — but 
while  I  was  pronouncing  this  exclamation 
with  uncommon  ardour,  I  faw  (landing  be- 
fide  me  a  form  of  diviner  features  and  a 
more  benign  radiance.  Happier,  faid  fhe, 
are  thofe  whom  Virtue  conducts  to  the  man- 
fions of  Content !  What,  faid  I,  does  Vir- 
tue then  refide  in  the  vale  ?  I  am  found, 
faid  lhe,  in  the  vale,  and  I  illuminate  the 
mountain  :  I  cheer  the  cottager  at  his  toil, 
and  infpire  the  fage  at  his  meditation.  I 
mingle  in  the  crowd  of  cities,  and  blefs  the 
hermit  in  his  cell.  I  hare  a  temple  in 
every  heart  that  owns  my  influence ;  and 
to  him  that  withes  for  me  I  am  already 
prefent.  Science  may  raife  you'  to  emi- 
nence, but  I  alone  can  guide  you  to  feli- 
city ! — While  the  goddefs  was  thus  {peak- 
ing, I  flretched  cut  my  arms  towards  her 
with  a  vehemence  which  broke  my  (lum- 
bers. The  chiil  dews  were  falling  around 
me,  and  the  (hades  of  evening  ilretched 
over  the  landfcape.  I  haftened  homeward, 
and  refigned  the  night  to  filence  ?nd  medi- 
tation. Aikiri's  Mifcel. 

§   9.      On  the  Love  cf  Life. 

Age,  that  lefTens  the  enjoyment  of  life, 
encreafes  our  de-fire  of  living.  Thofd  dan- 
gers which,  in  the  vigour  of  youth,  we  had 
learned  to  defpife,  affume  new  terrors  as 
'we  grow  old.  Our  caution  encreafing  as 
our  years  encreafe,  fear  becomes  at  lait  the 
prevailing  paflion  cf  the  mind;  and  the 
final!  remainder  of  life. is  taken  up  in  ufelefs 
efforts  to  keep  off  our  end,  or  provide  for  a 
continued  exigence. 

Strange  contradiction  in  our  nature,  and 
to  which  even  the  wife  are  liable  !  If  I 
fhould  judge  of  that  part  cf  life  which  lie's 
before  me  by  that  which  I  have  already  fiecrt, 
the  profpeft  is  hideous.  Experience  tells  me, 
that  my  pad  enjoyments  have- brought  no 
real  felicity ;  and  fenfation  allures  roe,  that 
thofe  I  have  felt  arc  ihonger  than  thofe 
2  F  2  which 


804 


ELEGANT    EXTR 


which  are  yet  to  come,  Yet  experience 
and  fenfation  in  vain  perfuade  ;  hope,  more 
powerful  than  tidier,  dieffes  out  the  dillant 
profpec~t  in  fancied  beauty  ;  ibme  happinefs, 
in  long  profpeclive,  llill  beckons  me  to  pur- 
fue;  and,  like  alofmg  gameiler,  every  new 
difappointment  encreafes  my  ardour  to  con- 
tinue the  game, 

Whence  then  is  this  encreafed  love  of 
life,  which  grows  upon  us  with  our  years  ? 
whence  comes  it,  that  we  thus  make  greater 
efforts  to  preferve  our  exigence,  at  a  period 
when  it  becomes  icarce  worth  the  keeping  ? 
Js  it  that  Nature,  attentive  to  the  preferva- 
tion  of  mankind,  encreafes  our  wiihes  to 
live,  while  ihe  lefTens  our  enjoyments ;  and, 
as  flie  robs  the  fenfes  of  every  pleafure, 
equips  Imagination  in  the  fpoi's  ?  Life 
would  be  iniupportable  to  an  old  man,  who, 
loaded  with  infirmities,  feared  death  no 
more  than  when  in  the  vigour  of  manhood  ; 
the  numberlefs  calamities  of  decaying  na- 
ture, and  the  coniciouihefs  of  furviving 
every  pleafure,  would  at  once  induce  him, 
with  his  own  hand,  to  terminate  the  fcene 
of  mifery  ;  but  happily  the  contempt  of 
.  death  forfakes  him  at  a  time  when  it  could 
only  be  prejudicial;  and  life  acquires  an 
imaginary  value,  in  proportion  as  its  real 
value  is  no  more. 

Our  attachment  to  every  object  around 
•us,  encreafes,  in  general,  from  the  length 
of  our  acquaintance  with  it.  "  J  would 
"'  not  chufe,"  fays  a  French  Philofopher, 
"  to  fee  an  old  poll  pulled  up,  with  which 
"  I  had  been  long  acquainted."  A  mind 
long  habituated  to  a  certain  fet  of  objedb, 
infenfibly  becomes  fond  of  feeing  them  ; 
vifits  them  from  habit,  and  parts  from  them 
with  reluclance  :  from  hence  proceeds  the 
avarice  of  the  old  in  every  kind  of  poffef- 
jion;  they  love  the  world  and  all  that  it 
produces ;  they  love  life  and  all  its  advan- 
tages ;  not  becaufe  it  gives  them  pleafure, 
but  becaufe  they  have  known  it  long. 

Chinvang  the  Chafte,  afcending  the 
throne  of  China,  commanded  that  all  who 
were  unjufdy  detained  in  prifon  during  the 
preceding  reigns  fhould  be  fet  free.  Among 
the  number  who  came  to  thank  their  deli- 
verer on  this  occafion,  there  appeared  a 
majeiiic  old  man,  who,  falling  at  the  em- 
peror's feet,  addrefTed  him  as  follows : 
"  Great  father  of  China,  behold  a  wretch, 
"  now  eighty-five  years  old,  who  was  fliut 
41  up  in  a  dungeon  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
"  two.  I  was  imprifoned,  though  a  ftran- 
"  ger  to  crime,  or  without  being  even 
«*  confronted  by  my  accufers.     I  have  now 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

"  lived  in  folitude  and  darknefs  for  more 
"  than  fifty  years,  and  am  grown  familiar 
"  with  diftreis.  As  yet,  dazzled  with  the 
"  fplendor  of  that  fum  to  which  you  have 
"  rellored  me,  I  have  been  wandering  the 
"  flreets  to  find  out  fome  friend  that  would 
"  affift,  or  relieve,  or  remember  me ;  but 
"  my  friends,  my  family,  and  relations,  are 
"  all  dead ;  and  I  am  forgotten.  Permit 
"  me  then,  O  Chinvang,  to  wear  out  the 
"  wretched  remains  of  life  in  my  former 
"  prifon  ;  the  walls  of  my  dungeon  are  to 
"  me  more  pleafing  than  the  moil  fplendid 
"  palace  :  I  have  not  long  to  live,  and  fhail 
'*  be  unhappy  except  1  fpend  the  reil  of 
"  my  days  where  my  youth  was  palled ;  in 
"  that  prifon  from  whence  you  were  pleaf- 
"  ed  to  releafe  me." 

The  old  man's  paffion  for  confinement 
is  fimilar  to  that  we  all  have  for  life.  We 
are  habituated  to  the  prifon,  we  look  round 
with  cifcontent,  are  difpleafed  with  the 
abode,  and  yet  the  length  of  cur  cap- 
tivity only  encreafes  our  fondnefs  for  the 
cell.  The  trees  we  have  planted,  the  hcufes 
we  have  built,  or  the  poilerity  we  have  be- 
gotten, all  ferve  to  bind  us  clofer  to  the 
earth,  and  embitter  our  parting.  Life  fues 
the  young  like  a  new  acquaintance ;  the 
companion,  as  yet  unexhauiled,  is  at  once  in- 
ilruclive  and  amufmg  ;  its  company  pleafes, 
yet,  for  all  this  it  is  but  little  regarded. 
To  us,  who  are  declined  in  years,  life  ap- 
pears like  an  old  friend  ;  i.ts  jells  have  been 
anticipated  in  former  converfation  ;  it  has 
no  new  ftory  to  make  us  fmile,  no  new  im- 
provement with  which  to  furprize,  yet  Hill 
we  love  it;  deflitute  of  every  enjoyment, 
ftill  we  love  it,  hufband  the  walling  trea- 
fure  with  encreafmg  frugality,  and  feel  all 
the  poignancy  of  anguith  in  the  fatal  fepa- 
ration. 

Sir  Philip  Mordaunt  was  young,  beau- 
tiful, fincere,  brave,  an  Englishman.  Lie 
had  a  complete  fortune  of  his  own,  and 
the  love  of  the  king  his  mailer,  which  was 
equivalent  to  riches.  Life  opened  all  her 
treafures  before  him,  and  promifed  a  long 
fuccefiion  of  happintTs,  He  came,  tailed 
of  the  entertainment,  but  was  dxfgufted  even 
at  the  beginning.  He  profiiled  an  aversion 
to  living ;  was  tired  of  walking  round  the 
fame  circle;  had  tried  every  enjoyment, 
and  found  them  all  grow  weaker  at  every 
repetition.  "  If  life  be,  in  youth,  fo  dif- 
"  pleafing,"  cried  he  to  himfelf,  "  what 
"  will  it  appear  when  age  comes  on  i  if  it 
"  be  at  prefent  indifferent,  fure  it  will 
"  then  be  execrable."  This  thought  em- 
bittered 


BOOK   IV.     NARRATIV 

bittered  every  reflection  ;  till,  at  laft,  with 
all  the  ferenity  of  perverted  reafon,  he 
ended  the  debate  with  a  piftol  !  Had  this 
felf-deluded  man  been  apprized,  that  exig- 
ence grows  more  defirable  to  us  the  longer 
we  exill,  he  would  have  then  faced  old  age 
without  ihi inking;  he  would  have  boldly 
dared  to  iive;  and  ferved  that  fociety  by 
his  future  afliduiry,  which  he  bafely  injured 
by  his  defertion.  Goldfmith. 

§  10.  The  Canal  and  the  Brook. 
A  Reverie. 
A  delightfully  pleafant  evening  fucceed- 
ing  a  iultry  fummer-day,  invited  me  to  take 
a  folitary  walk ;  and,  leaving  the  dull  of  the 
highway,  I  fell  into  a  path  which  led  along 
a  pleafant  little  valley  watered  by  a  fmall 
rneandrirg  brook.  The  meadow  ground 
on  its  banks  had  been  lately  mown,  and  the 
new  grafs  was  fpringing  up  with  a  lively 
verdure.  The  brook  was  hid  in  feveral 
places  by  the  {hrubs  that  grew  on  each 
flde,  and  intermingled  their  branches.  The 
fides  of  the  valley  were  roughened  by  fmall 
irregular  thickets ;  and  the  whole  fcene  had 
an  air  of  folitude  and  retirement,  uncommon 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  populous  town. 
The  Duke  of  Bridgewater's  canal  crofTsd 
the  valley,  high  railed  on  a  mound  of  earth, 
which  prefer'ved  a  level  with  the  elevated 
ground  on  each  fide.  An  arched  road  was 
carried  under  it,  beneath  which  the  brook 
that  ran  a'ong  the  valley  was  conveyed  by 
a  fubterraneous  paflage.  I  threw  myfelf 
upon  a  green  bank,  fhaded  by  a  leafy 
thicket,  and  retting  my  head  upon  my  hand, 
after  a  welcome  indolence  had  overcome 
my  fenfes,  I  law,  with  the  eyes  of  fancy, 
the  following  fcene. 

The  firm-built  fide  of  the  aqueduct  fud- 
denly  opened,  and  a  gigantic  form  ifihed 
forth,  which  I  foon  discovered  to  be  the 
Genius  of  the  Canal.  He  was  clad  in  a 
clofe  garment  of  rulTet  hue.  A  mural 
crown,  indented  with  battlements,  fur- 
rounded  his  brow.  His  naked  feet  were 
difccloured  with  clay.  On  his  lefcihoulder 
he  bore  a  huge  pick-axe ;  and  in  his  right 
hand  he  held  certain  inilruments,  ufed  in 
furveying  and  levelling.  His  looks  were 
thoughtful,  and  his  features  harm.  The 
breach  through  which  he  proceeded  in- 
flantly  clofed,  and  with  a  heavy  tread  he 
advanced  into  the  valley.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  brook,  the  Deity  of  the 
Stream  arofe  to  meet  him.  He  was  habited 
in  a  light  green  mantle,  and  the  clear  drops 
fell  from  his  dark  hair,  which  was  encircled 


ES,   DIALOGUES,   &c.  8oJ 

with  a  wreath  of  water-lily,  interwoven 
with  fweet-fcented  flag  :  an  angling  rod 
fupported  his  fteps.  The  Genius  of  the 
Ganal  eyed  him  with  a  contemptuous  look, 
and  in  a  hoarfe  voice  thus  began  : 

"  Hence,  ignoble  rill !  with  thy  fcanty 
«  tribute  to  thy  lord  the  Merfey  ;  nor  thus 
"  wafte  thy.almoft-exhauited  urn  in  linger- 
"  ing  windings  along  the  vale.  Feeble  as 
"  thine  aid  is,  it  will  not  be  unacceptable 
"  to  that  matter  ftreara  himfeif;  for,  as  I 
"  lately  crofled  his  channel,  I  perceived  his 
ie  fands  loaded  with  flranded  veffels.  I 
"  faw,  and  pitied  him,  for  undertaking  a 
".talk  to  which  he  is  unequal.  But  thou, 
"  whofe  languid  current  is  obfeured  by 
"  weeds,  and  interrupted  by  mifhapen 
"  pebbles ;  who  lofefl  thyfelf  in  endlefs 
"  mazes,  remote  from  any  found  but  thy 
"  own  idle  gurgling;  how  canfc  thou  fup- 
"  port  an  exigence  fo  contemptible  and  ufe- 
"  lefs  ?  For  me,  the  nobleft  child  of  Art, 
"  who  hold  my  unremitting  courfe  from 
"  hill  to  hill,  over  vales  and  rivers ;  who 
"  pierce  the  folid  rock  for  my  paflage,  and 
"  conneft  unknown  lands  with  diitant  leas ; 
"  wherever  I  appear  I  am  viewed  with 
"  aftoniihment,  and  exulting  Commerce 
«  hails  my  waves.  Behold  my  channel 
"  thronged  with  capacious  yeflels  for  the 
"  conveyance  of  merchandize,  and  fplen- 
"  did  barges  for  the  ufe  and  pleafure  of 
"  travellers  ;  my  banks  crowned  with  airy 
"  bridges  and  huge  warehouies,  andecho- 
"  ing  with  the  bufy  founds  of  indufbry! 
"  Pay  tlien  the  homage  due  from  Sloth 
"  and  Obfcurity  to  Grandeur  and  Uti- 
"  lity." 

"  I  readily  acknowledge,"  replied  the 
Deity  of  the  Brook,  in  a  modeft  accent, 
"  the  fuperior  magniiicence  and  more  ex- 
"  teniive  utility  of  which  you  fo  proudly 
"  boaft ;  yet  in'my  humble  walk,  I  am  not 
"  void  of  a  praife  lefs  fhining,  but  not  lefs 
"  folid  than  yours.  The  nymph  of  this 
"  peaceful  valley,  rendered  more  fertile 
"  and  beautiful  by  my  fcream  ;  the  neigh- 
"  bouring  fylvan  deities,  to  whofe  pleafure 
«  1  contribute ;  will  pay  a  grateful  tefti- 
"  mony  to  my  merit.  The  windings  of 
"  my  courfe,  which  you  fo  much  blame, 
"  ferve  to  diifufe  over  a  greater  extent  of 
"  ground  the  refrefhmer.t  of  my  waters ; 
"  and  the  lovers  of  nature  and  the  Mufesj 
"  who  are  fond  of  ftray'mg  on  my  banks, 
«  are  better  pleafed  that  the  line  of  beauty 
"  marks  my  way,  than  if,  like  yours,  it 
«  were  direded  in  a  flraight,  unvaried  line. 
"  Thev  prize  the  irregular  wildnefs  with 
-j?   -  "  which 


Sc6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


"  which  I  am  decked,  as  the  charms  of 
*<  beauteous  iimnlicity.  What  yen  call 
"  the  weeds  which  darken  and  obfeure 
"  my  waves,  afford  to  the  botanilt  a  pleaf- 
"  ing  fpeculation  of  the  works  of  nature ; 
"  and  the  poet  and  painter  think  the  luitre 
"  of  my  ftream  greatly  improved  by  glit- 
"  tering  through  them.  The  pebbles  which 
"  diverfify  my  bottom,  and  make  thefe 
"  ripplings  in  my  current,  are  pleafing 
**  objects  to  the  eye  of  taite;  and  my  iim- 
"  pie  murmurs  are  more  melodious  to  the 
*«  learned  ear  than  all  the  rude  noifes  of 
"  your  banks,  or  even  the  mufic  that  re- 
"  iounds  from  your  {lately  barges.  If 
"  the  unfeeling  fons  of  Wealth  and  Com- 
"  merce  judge  of  me  by  the  mere  flandard 
"  of  ufefulnefs,  1  may  claim  .no  undiitin- 
"  guifhed  rank.  While  your  waters,  con- 
tl  fined  in  deep  channels,  or  lifted  above 
"  the  valleys,  roll  on,  a  ufelefs  burden  to 
*'  the  fields,  and  only  fubfervient  to  the 
"  drudgery  of  bearing  temporary  mer- 
"  chandizes,  my  ftream  will  bellow  unvary- 
"  ing  fertility  on  the  meadows,  during  the 
"  fummers  of  future  ages.  Yet  I  fcorn  to 
"  fubmit  my  honours  to  the  decifion  of 
"  thofe  whofe  hearts  are  fhut  up  to  tafte 
•"  and  fentiment :  let  me  appeal  to  nobler 
"  judges.  The  philofopher  and  poet,  by 
"  whole  labours  the  human  mind  is  ele- 
"  vated  and  refined,  and  opened  to  plea- 
"  Aires  beyond  the  conception  of  vulgar 
"  fouls,  will  acknowledge  that  the  e'egant 
"  deities  who  prefide  over  fimple  and  na- 
"  tural  beauty,  have  infpired  them  with 
"  their  charming  and  inllruclive  ideas. 
"  The  fweeteft  and  molt  majeftic  bard  that 
**  ever  fung,  has  taker,  a  pride  in  owning 
"  his  affection  to  woods  and  rtreams  ;  2nd, 
"  wi,i!e  the  ltupendous  monuments  of  Ro- 
"  man  grandeur,  the  columns  which  pierced 
"  the  ikies,  and  the  aqueducts  which  poured 
*'  their  waves  over  mountains  and  vallies, 
•'  are  funk  in  oblivion,  the  gently-winding 
*<  Mincius  frill  retains  his  tranquil  honours. 
"  And  when  thy  glories,  proud  Genius  ! 
"  are  loit  and  forgotten  ;  when  the  Hood  of 
"  commerce,  which  now  fupplies  thy  urn, 
"  i;  turned  into  ano'ther  courfe,  and  has 
"  left  thy  channel  dry  and  defolate ;  the 
"  foftly  Mowing  Avon  fnall  Mill  murmur  in 
"  fong,  and  his  banks  receive  the  homage 
*'  of  all  who  are  beloved  by  Phcehus  and 
«  the  Mufes."  Aikkts  Mi/cell. 

§11.     The  Story  of  a  difablcd  Soldier. 
No  observation  is  mere  common,  and 
at  the  fame  time  more  true,  than,  That 


one  half  of  the  world  are  ignorant  how  the 
other  half  lives.  The  misfortunes  of  the 
great  are  held  up  to  engage  our  attention; 
are  enlarged  upon  in  tones  of  declamation; 
and  the  world  is  called  upon  to  gaze  at  the 
noble  fufferers :  the  great,  under  the  pref- 
fure  of  calamity,  are  confeious  of  feveral 
others  fympathizing  with  their  diftrefs ; 
and  have,  at  once,  the  comfort  of  admira-. 
tio;;  and  pity. 

There  is  nothing  magnanimous  in  bear- 
ing misfortunes  with  fortitude,  when  the 
whole  world  is  looking  on :  men  in  fuch 
circumltances  will  aft  bravely,  even  from 
motives  of  vanity  ;  but  he  who,  in  the  vale 
of  obfeurity,  can  brave  adverfity ;  who, 
without  friends  to  encourage,  acquaint- 
ances to  pity,  or  even  without  hope  to  al- 
leviate his  misfortunes,  can  behave  with 
tranquillity  and  indifference,  is  truly  great; 
whether  peafant  or  courtier,  he  deferves 
admiration,  and  fhould  be  held  up  for  our 
imitation  and  refpect. 

While  the  flighteft  inconveniencies  of 
the  great  are  magnified  into  calamities ; 
while  tragedy  mouths  out  their  fufferings 
in  all  the  ltrains  of  eloquence;  the  miferies 
of  the  poor  are  entirely  difregarded  ;  and 
yet  fome  of  the  lower  ranks  of  people  un- 
dergo more  real  hardfhips  in  one  day,  than 
thole  of  a  more  exalted  ftation  furFer  in 
their  whole  lives.  It  is  inconceivable  what 
difficulties  the  meaneft  of  our  common 
failors  and  foldiers  endure  without  mur- 
muring or  regret ;  without  pafiionately  de- 
claiming againft  Providence,  or  calling 
thei  ]  fellows  to  be  gazers  on  their  intrepi- 
dity. Every  day  is  to  them  a  day  of  mifery, 
and  yet  they  entertain  their  hard  fate  with-. 
out  repining. 

Writh  what  indignation  do  I  hear  an 
Ovid,  a  Cicero,  or  a  Rabutin,  complain 
of  their  misfortunes  and  hardfhips,  whofe 
greaterl  calamity  was  that  of  being  unable 
to  viiit  a  certain  fpot  of  earth;  to  which 
they  had  foolifhly  attached  an  idea  of hap- 
pinefs  !  Their  diltrelTes  were  pleafures, 
compared  to  what  many  of  the  adventur- 
ing poor  every  day  endure  without  mur- 
muring. They  ate,  drank,  and  flept ;  they 
had  Haves  to  attend  them  ;  and  were  fure 
of  fubfiftence  for  life  :  while  many  of  their 
fellow-creatures  are  obliged  to  wander 
without  a  friend  to  comfort  or  alfiit  them, 
and  even  without  lhelter  from  the  feverity 
of  the  feafon. 

1  have  been  led  into  thefe  reflections 
from  accidentally  meeting,  fome  days  ago, 
a  poor  fellow,  whom  1  knew  when  a  boy, 

drefled 


BOOK   IV.     NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,    &c. 


807 


dye  Med  in  a  failor's  jacket,  and  begging  at 
one  of  the  outlets  of  the  town  with  a  wooden 
leg.  I  knew  him  to  have  been  honeil  and 
iuduftrious  when  in  the  country,  and  was 
curious  to  learn  what  had  reduced  him  to 
his  prefent  fituation.  Wherefore,  after 
having  given  him  what  I  thought  proper, 
I  defired  to  know  the  hiftory  of  his  life 
and  misfortunes,  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  was  reduced  to  his  prefent  diitrefs. 
The  difabled  foldier,  for  fuch  he  was, 
though  dreffed  in  a  failor's  habit,  fcratch- 
ing  his  head,  and  leaning  on  his  crutch, 
put  himfelf  into  an  attitude  to  comply  with 
my  requeft,  and  gave  me  his  hiilory  as  fol- 
lows: 

"  As  for  my  misfortunes,  mailer,  I  can't 
"  pretend  to  have  gone  through  any  mora 
*'  than  other  folks ;  for,  except  the  lofs  of 
"  my  limo,  and  my  being  obliged  to  beg, 
"  I  don't  know  any  reafon,  thank  Heaven, 
"  that  1  have  to  complain:  there  is  Bill 
"  Tibbs,  of  our  regiment,  he  has  loft 
"  both  his  legs,  and  an  eye  to  boot;  but, 
"  thank  Heaven,  it  is  not  fo  bad  with  me 
41  yet. 

"  I  was  born  in  Shropshire ;  my  father 
"  was  a  labourer,  and  died  when  I  was  five 
"  years  old;  fo  I  was  put  upon  the  parilh. 
"  As  he  had  been  a  wandering  fort  of  a 
"  man,  the  parilhioners  were  not  able  to 
"  tell  to  what  parifh  1  belonged,  or  where 
"  I  was  born,  fo  they  fent  me  to  another 
"  parifh,  and  thatparilh  fent  me  to  a  third. 
"  I  thought  in  my  heart,  they  kept  fend- 
"  ing  me  about  fo  long,  that  they  would 
**■  not  let  me  be  born  in  any  parifh  at  all ; 
"  but  at  laft,  however,  they  fixed  me.  I 
*'  had  fome  difpofition  to  be  a  fcholar,  and 
"  was  relblved,  at  leaft,  to  know  my -let- 
"  ters;  but  the  mailer  of  the  workfloufe 
**  put  me  to  bufmefs  as  foon  as  I  was  able 
''  to  handle  a  mallet ;  and  here  I  lived  an 
"  eafy  kind  of  life  for  five  years.  I  only 
"  wrought  ten  hours  in  the  dav,  and  had 
"  my  meat  and  drink  provided  for  my  la- 
f'  hour.  It  is  true,  I  was  not  fufrered  to 
"  ftir  out  of  the  houfe,  for  fear,  as  they  faid, 
"  1  fhould  run  away ;  but  what  of  that,  I 
"  had  the  liberty  of  the  whole  houfe,  and 
"  the  yard  before  the  door,  and  that  was 
**  enough  for  me.  I  was  then  bound  out 
"  to  a  farmer,  where  I  was  up  both  early 
"  and  late;  but  I  ate  and  drank  well,  and 
"  liked  my  bufmefs  well  enough,  till  he 
'*  died,  when  I  was  obliged  to  provide  for 
"  myfelf ;  fo  I  was  refolved  to  go  leek  my 
*'  fortune. 

*  In  this  manner  I  went  from  town  to 


"  town,  worked  when  I  could  get  employ- 
"  ment,  and  ftarved  when  I  could  get  none  : 
"  when  happening  one  day  to  go  through 
"  a  field  belonging  to  a  jultice  of  peace,  I 
"  fpy'd  a  hare  crofiing  the  path  juil  before 
"  me  ;  and  I  believe  the  devil  put  it  in  my 
"  head  to  fling  my  ilick  at  it : — well,  what 
"  will  you  have  on't?  I  killed  the  hare, 
"  and  was  bringing  it  away,  when  the  juf- 
"  tice  himfelf  met  me;  he  called  me  a 
"  poacher  and  a  villain  ;  and,  collaring  me, 
"  defired  I  would  give  an  account  of  my* 
"  felf.  I  fell  upon  my  knees,  begged  his 
"■  wcrfhip's  pardon,  and  began  to  give  a 
"  full  account  of  all  that  I  knew  of  my 
"  breed,  feed,  and  generation  ;  but,  though 
"  I  gave  a  very  true  account,  the  juilice 
"  faid  I  could  give  no  account ;  fo  I  was 
"  indicted  at  feffions,  found  guilty  of  be- 
"  ing  poor,  and  fent  up  to  London  to 
"  Newgate,  in  order  to  be  tranfported  as 
"  a  vagabond. 

"  People  may  fay  this  and  that  of  being 
'-*  in  jail,  but,  for  my  part,  I  found  New- 
"  gate  as  agreeable  a  place  as  ever  I  was 
«  in  in  all  my  life.  I  had  my  belly-full  to 
"  eat  and  drink,  and  did  no  work  at  all. 
"  This  kind  of  life  was  too  good  to  laft 
"  for  ever;  (o  I  was  taken  out  of  prilbn, 
"  after  five  months,  put  on  board  a  ihip, 
"  and  fent  off",  with  two  hundred  more,  to 
"  the  plantations.  We  had  but  an  indif- 
"  ferent  paffage,  for,  being  all  confined  in 
"  the  hold,  more  than  a  hundred  of  our 
"  people  died  for  want  of  fweet  air;  and 
««  thole  that  remained  were  lickly  enough, 
"  God  knows.  When  we  came-afhore,  we 
"  were  fold  to  the  planters,  and  I  was 
<»  bound  for  feven  years  more.  As  I  was 
"  no  fcholar,  for  I  did  not  know  my  let- 
"  ters,  I  was  obliged  to  work  among  the 
"  negroes ;  and  1  ferved  out  my  time,  as 
«*  in  duty  bound  to  do. 

"  When  my  time  was  expired,  I  worked 
"  my  pafiage  home,  and  glad  1  was  to  fee 
"  Old  England  again,  becaufe  I  loved  my 
"  country.  I  was  afraid,  however,  that  I 
««  lhould  be  indifted  for  a  vagabond  once 
"  more,  fo  I  did  not  much  care  to  go  down 
«  into  the  country,  but  kept  about  the 
"  town,  and  did  little  jobs  when  I  could  get 
"  them. 

"  I  was  very  happy  in  this  manner  for 
"  fome  time, tiiloneevening,coming  home 
"  from  work,  two  men  knocked  me  dow  n, 
"  and  then  defired  me  to  Hand.  They  be- 
"  lono-ed  to  a  prefs-gang :  I  was  carried 
"  before  the  juilice,  and,  as  I  could  give 
"  no  account  of  myfelf,  I  had  my  choice 
3  F  4  "  left, 


8oS 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


left,  whether  to  go  on  board  a  man  of 
war,  or  lift  for  a  foldier :  I  chofe  the  lat- 
ter; and,  in  this  poft  of  a  gentleman,  I 
ferved  two  campaigns  in  Flanders,  was 
at  the  battles  of  Val  and  Fontenoy,  and 
received  but  one  wound,  through  the 
breaft  here;  but  the  doctor  of  our  regi- 
ment foon  made  me  well  again. 
"  When  the  peace  came  on  I  was  dif- 
charged;  and,  as  I  could  not  work,  be- 
caule  my  wound  was  fometimes  trouble- 
fome,  I  lifted  for  a  landman  in  the  Eaft 
India  company's  fervice.  I  have  fought 
the  French  in  fix  pitched  battles;  and  I 
verily  believe  that,  if  I  could  read  or 
write,  our  captain  would  have  made  me 
a  corporal.  But  it  was  not  my  good 
fortune  to  have  any  promotion,  for  I 
foon  fell  fick,  and  fo  got  leave  to  return 
home  again  with  forty  pounds  in  my 
pocket.  This  was  at  the  beginning  of 
the  prefent  war,  and  I  hoped  to  be  fet 
en  fhore,  and  to  have  the  pleafure  cf 
{pending  my  money  ;  but  the  govern- 
ment wanted  men,  and  fo  I  was  preffed 
for  a  failor  before  ever  I  could  let  foot 
on  fhore. 

"  The  boatfwain  found  me,  as  he  faid, 
an  obdinate  fellow :  he  fwore  he  knew 
that  I  underftood  my  bufinefs  well,  but 
that  J  Ihammed  Abraham,  to  be  idle: 
but,  God  knows,  I  knew  nothing  of  fea- 
bufinefs,  and  he  beat  me  without  con- 
fidering  what  he  was  about.  I  had  ftill, 
however,  my  forty  pounds,  and  that 
was  fome  comfort  to  me  under  every 
beating ;  and  the  money  I  might  have 
had  to  this  day,  but  that  our  {hip 
was  taken  by  the  French,  and  fo  I  loft 
all. 

"  Our  crew  was  carried  into  Breft,  and 
many  of  them  died,  becaufe  they  were 
not  ufed  to  live  in  a  jail;  but,  for  mv 
part,  it  was  nothing  to  me,  for  I  was 
feafoned.  One  night,  as  I  was  afieep  on 
the  bed  of  boards,  with  a  warm  blanket 
about  me,  for  I  always  loved  to  lie  well, 
I  was  awakened  by  the  boatfwain,  who 
had  a  dark  lanthorn  in  his  hand  :  '  Jack,' 
fays  he  to  me,  *  will  you  knock  out  the 
French  centries'  brains  ?'  <  I  don't  care,' 
fays  I,  thriving  to  keep  myfelf awake, « if 
I  lend  a  hand.'  «  Then  follow  me,'  fays 
he,  <  and  I  hope  we  {half  do  bufinefs.' 
So  up  I  got,  and  tied  my  blanket,  which 
was  all  thecloaths  I  had,  about  my  mid- 
dle, and  went  with  him  to  fight  the 
Frenchmen.   I  hate  the  French,  becaufe 


"  they  are   all  flaves,  and  wear  wooden 
"  {hoes. 

"  Though  we  had  no  arms,  one  EngliJh- 
"  man  is  able  to  beat  five  French  at  any 
"  time;  fo  we  went  down  to  the  door, 
"  where  both  the  centries  were  ported,  and, 
"  rufhing  upon  them,  feized  their  arms  in 
"  a  moment,  and  knocked  them  down. 
"  From  thence  nine  of  us  ran  together  to 
"  the  quay,  and  feizing  the  firft  boat  we 
"  met,  go*  out  of  the  harbour,  and  put  to 
"  fea.  We  had  not  been  here  three  days 
•*  before  we  were  taken  up  by  the  Dorfet 
"  privateer,  who  were  glad  of  fo  many 
"  good  hands,  and  we  confented  to  run  our 
"  chance.  However,  we  had  not  as  much 
"  luck  as  we  expedted.  In  three  days  we 
"  fell  in  with  the  Pompadour  privateer, 
"  of  forty  guns,  while  we  had  but  twen- 
"  ty-three;  fo  to  it  we  went,  yard-arm 
"  and  yard-arm.  The  fight  lafted  for 
"  three  hours,  and  J  verily  believe  we 
"  mould  have  taken  the  Frenchman,  had 
"  we  but  had  fome  more  men  left  be, 
"  hind;  but,  unfortunately,  we  loit  all  our 
"  men  juit  as  we  were  going  to  get  the 
**  vidtcry. 

"  I  was  once  more  in  the  power  of  the 
"  French,  and  1  believe  it  would  have  gone 
"  hard  with  me  had  I  been  brought  back 
"  to  Breft  ;  \>ut,  by  good  fortune,  we  were 
«*  retaken  by  the  Viper.  I  had  almoft  for-; 
"  got  to  tell  you  that,  in  that  engagement, 
"  I  was  wounded  in  two  places  ;  1  loft  four 
"  fingers  off  the  left  hand,  and  my  leg  was 
"  lhot  off.  If  I  had  had  the  good  fortune 
"  to  have  loft  my  leg  and  ufe  of  my  hand 
"  on  board  a  king's  fhip,  and  not  a-board 
"  a  privateer,  I  fhould  have  been  entitled 
"  to  cloathing  and  maintenance  during  the 
"  reft  of  my  life  !  but  that  was  not  my 
"  chance:  one  man  is  born  with  a  fi-lver 
"  fpoon  in  his  mouth,  and  another  with  a 
"  wooden  ladle.  However,  blcfil-d  be  God, 
"  I  enjoy  good  health,  and  will  for  ever 
"  love  liberty  and  Old  England.  Liberty, 
"  property,  and  Old  England  for  ever, 
"  huzza  1" 

Thus  faying,  he  limped  off,  leaving  me 
in  admiration  at  his  intrepidity  and  con- 
tent; nor  could  I  avoid  acknowledging, 
that  an  habitual  acquaintance  with  rmfery 
ferves  better  than  philofophy  to  teach  us  to 
defpife  it.  Goldfmith. 

§    12.     A  Dialogue  between  Ulysses  and 
C  i  R  C  E,  in  C I  R.  C  E 's  JJland. 

Circe.     You  will  go  then,  Ulyfles  ;  but 

why 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIV 

why  will  vou  go  r  I  defire  you  to  fpeak 
the  thoughts  of  your  heart.  Speak  with- 
out referve. — What  carries  you  from 
me? 

Uhjjh.  Pardon,  goddefs,  the  weaknefs 
of  human  nature.  My  heart  will  figh 
for  my  country.  It  is  a  tendernefs  which 
all  my  attachment  to  you  cannot  over- 
come. 

Circa.  This  is  not  all.  I  perceive  you 
are  afraid,  to  declare  your  whole  mind:  but 
what  do  you  fear?  my  terrors  are  gone. 
The  proudeft  goddefs  on  earth,  when  (he 
has  favoured  a  mortal  as  I  have  favoured 
you,  has  laid  her  divinity  and  power  at  his 
feet. 

Ulyjfes.  It  may  be  fo,  while  there  dill 
remains  in  her  heart  the  fondnefs  of 
love,  or  in  her  mind  the  fear  of  flume. 
But  you,  Circe,  are  above  thofe  vulgar 
fenfations. 

Circe.  I  underftand  your  caution,  it  be- 
longs to  your  character;  and,  therefore,  to 
take  all  diffidence  from  you,  I  fwear  by 
Styx,  I  will  do  no  harm  to  you  or  your 
friends  for  any  thing  which  you  fay,  though 
it  fhould  pffend  me  ever  fo  much,  but  will 
fend  you  away  with  all  marks  of  my 
friendship.  Tell  me  now,  truly,  what 
pleafurcs  you  hope  to  enjey  in  the  barren 
ifland  of  Ithaca,  which  can  compenfate  for 
thofe  you  leave  in  this  paradife,  exempt 
from  all  cares,  and  overflowing  with  all 
delights  ? 

Uly£cs.  The  pleafures  of  virtue  ;  the  fu- 
preme  happinefs  of  doing  good.  Here  I 
do  nothing  :  my  mind  is  in  a  palfy;  its  fa- 
culties are  benumbed.  I  long  to  return 
into  aftion  again,  that  I  may  employ  thofe 
talents  and  virtues  which  I  have  cultivated 
from  the  earlier!  days  of  my  youth.  Toils 
and  cares  fright  net  me  :  they  are  the  ex- 
ercife  of  my  foul ;  they  keep  it  in  health 
and  in  vigour.  Give  me  again  the  fields 
of  Troy,  rather  than  thofe  vacant  groves ; 
there  I  could  reap  the  bright  harvefl  of 
glory ;  here  I  am  hid  from  the  eyes  of 
mankind,  and  begin  to  appear  contemptible 
in  my  own.  Tne  image  of  my  former  felf 
haunts  and  fee.ms  to  upbraid  me  wherever 
I  go:  I  meet  it  under  the  gloom  of  every 
fhade;  it  even  intrudes  itfelf  into  your 
prefence,  and  chides  me  from  your  arms. 
O  goddefs !  unlefs  you  have  power  to 
lay  that  troublefome  fpirit,  unlefs  you 
can  make  me  forget  myfelf,  I  cannot  be 
happy  here,  I  fhall  every  day  be  more 
wretched. 

Circe.  May  not  a  wife  and  good  man 


ES,   DIALOGUES,    &c.  809 

who  has  fpent  all  his  youth  in  adive  life 
and  honourable  danger,  when  he  begins 
to  decline,  have  leave  to  retire,  and  en- 
joy the  reft  of  his  days  in  quiet  and  plea- 
furer 

Ulyjjh,  No  retreat  can  be  honourable  to 
a  wife  and  good  man,  but  in  company  with 
the  Mufes ;  I  am  deprived  of  that  facred 
fociety  here.  The  Mufes  will  not  inhabit 
the  abodes  of  voluptuoufhefs  and  fenfual 
pleafure.  How  can  I  fludy,  how  can  I 
think,  while  fo  many  beads  (and  the  word 
beafts  I  know  are  men  turned  into  beads) 
are  howling,  or  roaring,  or  grunting  about 
me  ? 

Circe.  There  is  fomething  in  this;  but 
this  is  not  all:  you  fupprefs  the  drongeft 
reafon  that  draws  you  to  Ithaca.  There 
is  another  image,  befides  that  of  your  for- 
mer felf,  which  appears  to  you  in  all  parts 
of  this  ifland,  which  follows  your  walks, 
which  interpofes  itfelf  between  you  and 
me,  and  chides  you  from  my  arms :  it  is 
Penelope,  Ulyffcs:  I  know  it  is. — >Do  not 
pretend  to  deny  it:  you  figh  for  her  in  my 
bofom  itfelf. — And  yet  ihe  is  not  an  im- 
mortal —  She  is  not,  as  I  am,  endowed  with 
the  gift  of  unfading  youth:  feveral  years 
have  pad  flnce  her's  has  been  faded.  I 
think,  without  vanity,  that  fhe  was  never 
fo  handfome  as  I.     But  what  is  lhe  now? 

UlyJ/es.  You  have  told  me  yourfelf,  in  a 
former  converfation,  when  I  enquired  of 
you  about  her,  that  fhe  is  true  to  my  bed, 
and  as  fond  of  me  now,  after  twenty  years 
abfence,  as  when  I  left  her  to  go  to  Troy. 
I  left  her  in  the  bloom  of  her  youth  and 
her  beauty.  How  much  mud  her  con- 
ftancy  have  been  tried  fince  that  time ! 
how  meritorious  is  her  fidelity!  Shall  I 
reward  her  with  fallhood !  fhall  I  for- 
get her  who  cannot  forget  me  ?  who  has 
nothing  fo  dear  to  her  as  my  remem- 
brance r 

Circe.  Her  love  is  preferved  by  the  con- 
tinual hope  of  your  fpeedy  return,  Take 
that  hope  from  her  :  let  your  companions 
return,  and  let  her  know  that  you  have 
fixed  your  abode  here  with  me  ;  that  you 
have  fixed  it  for  ever :  let  her  know  that 
fhe  is  free  to  difpofe  of  her  heart  and  her 
hand  as  fhe  pleafes.  Send  my  picture  to 
her;  bid  her  compare  it  with  her  own 
face. — If  all  this  does  not  cure  her  of  the 
remains  of  her  paflion,  if  you  do  not  hear 
of  her  marrying  Eurymachus  in  a  twelve- 
monih,  I  underitand  nothing  of  woman- 
kind. 

Ulyjes.  O  cruel  goddefs !  why  will  you 

fores 


SIO 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


force  mc  to  tell  you  thofe  truths  I  wifh  to 
conceal?  If  by  fuch  unjuft,  fuch  barbarous 
ofage,  I  could  lofe  her  heart,  it  would  break 
mine.  How  fhould  I  endure  the  torment  of 
thinking  that  I  had  wronged  fuch  a  wife  ? 
what  could  make  me  amends  for  her  not 
being  mine,  for  her  being  another's?  Do 
not  frown,  Circe  ;  I  own,  (fince  you  will 
have  me  fpcak)  I  own  you  could  not:  with 
all  your  pride  of  immortal  beauty,  with  all 
your  magical  charms  to  affift  thofe  of  na- 
ture, you  are  not  fuch  a  powerful  charmer 
as  me.  You  feel  defire,  and  you  give  it; 
bot  you  never  felt  love,  nor  can  you  infpire 
it.  How  can  I  love  one  who  would  have 
degraded  me  into  abeaft  ?  Penelope  raifed 
me  into  a  hero:  her  love  enobled,  invi- 
gorated, exalted  my  mind.  She  bid  me  go 
to  the  fiege  of  Troy,  though  the  parting 
•with  me  was  worfe  than  death  to  herfelf: 
lhe  bid  me  expofe  myfelf  there  to  all  perils 
among  the  foremoft  heroes  of  Greece, 
though  her  poor  heart  trembled  to  think 
of  the  lead  I  fhould  meet,  and  would  have 
given  all  its  own  blood  to  favea  drop  of 
mine.  Then  there  was  fuch  a  conformity 
in  all  our  inclinations!  when  Minerva 
taught  me  the  leffons  of  wifdom,  fhe  loved 
to  be  prefent;  fhe  heard,  fhe  retained  the 
moral  initrucuons,  the  fublime  truths  of 
nature,  fhe  gave  them  back  to  me,  foften- 
ed  and  fweetened  with  the  peculiar  graces 
of  her  own  mind.  When  we  unbent  our 
thoughts  with  the  charms  of  poetry,  when 
we  read  together  the  poems  of  Orpheus, 
Mufieus,  and  Linus,  with  what  tafte  did  fhe 
mark  every  excellence  in  them!  My  feel- 
ings were  dull,  compared  to  her's.  She 
feemed  herfelf  to  be  the  Mufe  who  had  in- 
fpired  thofe  verfes,  and  had  tuned  their 
lyres  to  infufe  into  the  hearts  of  mankind 
the  love  of  wifdom  and  virtue,  and  the  fear 
of  the  gods.  How  beneficent  was  (he,  how 
good  to  my  people  !  what  care  did  lhe  take 
to  inflruct  them  in  the  finer  and  more  ele- 
gant arts;  to  relieve  the  neceffities  of  the 
nek  and  the  aged:  to  fuperintend  the  edu- 
cation of  children;  to  do  my  fubjects 
every  good  office  of  kind  intercefhon ;  to 
Jay  before  me  their  wants;  to  affift  their 
petitions  :  to  mediate  for  thofe  who  were 
objects  of  mercy;  to  fue  for  thofe  who 
defcrved  the  favours  of  the  crown  !  And 
fhall  1  banifh  myfelf  forever  from  fuch  a 
cor.fo,  t?  fhall  I  give  up  her  fociety  for  the 
brutal  joys  of  a  fenfual  life,  keeping  indeed 
the  form  of  a  man,  but  having  loft  the  hu- 
man foul,  or  at  lead  all  its  noble  and  god- 


like powers?  Oh,  Circe,  forgive  me;  I 
cannot  bear  the  thought. 

Circe.  Be  gone — do  not  imagine  I  afk 
you  to  ftay.  The  daughter  of  the  Sun  is 
not  fo  mean-fpirited  as  to  folicit  a  mortal 
to  fhare  her  happinefs  with  her.  It  is  a 
ha.ppinefs  which  I  find  you  cannot  enjoy. 
I  pity  vou  and  defpife  you.  That  which 
you  feem  to  value  io  much  I  have  no  notion 
of.  All  you  have  faid  feems  to  me  a  jargon 
of  fentiments  fitter  for  a  filly  woman  than 
for  a  great  man.  Go,  read,  and  fpin  too, 
if  you  pleafe,  with  your  wife.  I  forbid 
you  to  remain  another  day  in  my  ifland. 
You  fhall  have  a  fair  wind  to  carry  you 
from  it.  After  that,  may  every  ftorm  that 
Neptune  can  raife  purfue  and  overwhelm 
you!    lie  gone,  I  fay;  quit  my  fight. 

VlyJJ'es.  Great  goddefs,  I  obey — but 
remember  your  oath. 

§    13.       Lcve  and  'Joy,  a  Tale. 

In  the  happy  period  of  the  golden  age, 
when  all  the  celeftial  inhabitants  defcend- 
ed  to  the  earth,  and  converfed  familiarly 
with  mortals,  among  the  moft  cherifhed  of 
the  heavenly  powers  were  twins,  the  ofF- 
fpring  of  Jupiter,  Love  and  Joy.  Where 
they  appeared  the  flowers  fprung  up  be- 
neath their  feet,  the  fun  ihone  with  a 
blighter  radiance,  and  all  nature  feerned 
embelli  flied  by  their  prefence.  They  were 
infeparable  companions,  and  their  growing 
attachment  was  favoured  by  Jupiter,  who 
had  decreed  that  a  lading  union  fhould  be 
folemnized  between  them  fo  foon  as  they 
were  arrived  at  maturer  years:  but  in  the 
mean  time  the  fons  of  men  deviated  from 
their  native  innocence  ?  vice  and  ruin  over- 
ran the  earth  with  giant  ftrides ;  and  Aitrea, 
with  her  train  of  celeftial  vifitants,  forfook 
their  polluted  abodes :  Love  alone  remain- 
ed, having  been  ftolen  away  by  Hope,  who 
was  his  nurfe,  and  conveyed  by  her  to  the 
forefts  of  Arcadia,  where  he  was  brought 
up  among  the  fhepherds.  But  Jupiter  af- 
figned  him  a  different  partner,  and  com- 
manded him  to  efpoufe  Sorrow,  the  daugh- 
ter of  Ate:  he  complied  with  reluctance; 
for  her  features  were  harih  and  dilagree- 
able;  her  eyes  funk,  her  forehead  contract- 
ed into  perpetual  wrinkles,  and  her  tem- 
ples were  covered  with  a  wreath  of  cyprefs 
and  wormwood.  From  this  union  fprung 
a  virgin,  in  whom  might  be  traced  a  ftrong 
rcfemblance  to  both  her  parents;  but  the 
fullen  and  unamiable  features  of  her  mo- 
ther were  fo  mixed  and  blended  with  the 

fweetriefi 


BOOK  IV.  NARRATIVES,  DIALOGUES,  &c. 


Sn 


fweetnefs  of  her  father,  that  her  counte- 
nance, though  mournful,  was  highly  pleaf- 
ing.  The  maids  and  fhepherds  of  the 
neighbouring  plains  gathered  round,  and 
called  her  Pity.  A  red-breaft  was  ob- 
ferved  to  build  in  the  cabin  where  fhe  was 
born;  and  while  (he  was  yet  an  infant,  a 
dove  purfued  by  a  hawk  flew  into  her 
bofom.  This  nymph  had  a  dejected  ap- 
pearance, but  fo  foft  and  gentle  a  mien, 
that  fhe  was  beloved  to  a  degree  of  en- 
thufiafm.  Her  voice  was  low  and  plain- 
tive, but  inexpreflibly  Tweet :  and  fhe  loved 
to  lie  for  hours  together  on  the  banks  of 
fome  wild  and  melancholy  ftream,  finging 
to  her  lute.  She  taught  men  to  weep,  for 
fhe  took  a  ftrange  delight  in  tears;  and 
often,  when  the  virgins  of  the  hamlet  were 
affembled  at  their  evening  fports,  ihe  would 
flea!  in  amongft  them,  and  captivate  their 
hearts  by  her  tales,  full  of  a  charming  fad- 
nefs.  She  wore  on  her  head  a  garland 
compofed  of  her  father's  myrtles  twilled 
with  her  mother's  cyprefs. 

One  day,  as  fhe  fat  mufing  by  the  wa- 
ters of  Helicon,  her  tears  by  chance  fell  in- 
to the  fountain  ;  and  ever  fince  the  Mufes' 
fpring  has  retained  a  flrong  tafte  of  the  in- 
fufiori.  Pity  was  commanded  by  Jupiter 
to  follow  the  fteps  of  her  mother  through 
the  world,  dropping  balm  into  the  wounds 
fhe  made,  and  binding  up  the  hearts  ihe 
had  broken.  She  follows  with  her  hair 
loofe,  her  bofom  bare  and  throbbing,  her 
garments  torn  by  the  briars,  and  her  feet 
bleeding  with  the  roughnefs  of  the  path. 
The  nymph  is  mortal,  for  her  mother  is 
fo ;  and  when  fhe  has  fulfilled  her  deitined 
courfe.  upon  the  earth,  they  fhall  both  ex- 
pire together,  and  Love  be  again  united 
to  Joy,  his  immortal  and  long-betrothed 
bride.  Aikin's  Mi/cell. 

§  14  Scene  betvceen  Colcnel  Rivers  and 
Sir  PI  a  R  R  v  ;  in  which  the  Colonel,  from 
Principles  of  Honour,  rcfufes  to  give  his 
Daughter  to  Sir  Harry. 

Sir.  Har.  Colonel,  your  moil  obedient : 
I  am  come  upon  the  old  bufinefs ;  for,  un- 
lefs  I  am  allowed  to  entertain  hopes  of 
Mils  Rivers,  I  fhall  be,  the  moil  miferable 
of  all  human  beings. 

Riv.  Sir  Harry,  I  have  already  told 
you  by  letter,  and  1  now  tell  you  perfonal- 
ly,   1  cannot  liilen  to  your  propofals. 

Sir  Har.     No,  Sir  ! 

Riv.  No,  Sir :  I  have  promifed  my 
daughter  to  Mr.  Sidney.  £)o  you  know 
that.  Sir  I 


Sir  Har.  I  do  :  but  what  then  ?  En- 
gagements of  this  kind,  you  know 

Riv,  So  then,  you  do  know  I  have  pro- 
mifed her  to  Mr.  Sidney? 

Sir  Har.  I  do — But  I  alfo  know  that 
matters  are  not  finally  fettled  between  Mr. 
Sidney  and  you;  and  I  moreover  know, 
that  his  fortune  is  by  no  means  equal  to 
mine ;  therefore 

Riv.  Sir  Harry,  let  me  afk  you  one 
queilion  before  you  make  your  confe- 
quence. 

Sir  Har.  A  thoufand,  if  you  pleafe, 
Sir. 

Riv.  Why  then,  Sir,  let  me  afk  you, 
what  you  have  ever  obferved  in  me,  or  my 
conduct,  that  you  defire  me  fo  familiarly 
to  break  my  word?  I  thought,  Sir,  you 
confide  red  me  as  a  man  of  honour  ? 

Sir  Har.  And  fo  I  do,  Sir — a  man  of 
the  r.iceft  honour. 

Ri-v.  And  yet,  Sir,  you  afk  me  to  vio- 
late the  fanctity  of  my  word;  and  tell 
me  directly,  that  it  is  my  intereft  to  be  a 
rafcal  ! 

Sir  Har.  I  really  don't  underftandyou, 
Colonel :  I  thought,  when  I  was  talking 
to  you,  I  was  talking  to  a  man  who  knew 
the  world ;  and  as  you  have  not  yet 
figned 

Riv.  Why,  this,  is  mending  matters 
with  a  witnefs !  And  fo  you  think,  be- 
caufe  I  am  not  legally  bound,  I  am  under 
no  neceility  of  keeping  my  word  1  Sir  Har- 
ry, laws  were  never  made  for  men  of  ho- 
nour :  they  want  no  bond  but  the  rectitude 
of  their  own  fentiments ;  and  laws  are 
of  no  ufe  but  to  bind  the  villains  of  fo- 
ciety. 

Sir  Har.  Well !  but  my  dear  Colonel, 
if  you  have  no  regard  for  me,  fhew  fome 
little  regard  for  your  daughter. 

Riv.  I  fhew  the  greatefl  regard  for  my 
daughter,  by  giving  her  to  a  man  of  ho- 
nour; and  I  rnuft  not  be  infuited  with  any 
farther  repetition  of  your  propofals. 

Sir  Har.  Info-It  you,  Colonel  !  Is  the 
offer  of  my  alliance  an  infult !  Is  my  readi- 
neh  to  make  what  iottlements  you  think 
prope 


Riv.  Sir  Harry,  I  mould  confider  the 
offer  of  a  kingdom  an  infult,  if  it  were  to 
be  purchafed  by  the  violation  of  my  word. 
Befides,  though  my  daughter  ihall  never 
go  a  beggar  to  the  arms  of  her  hufband,  I 
would  rather  fee  her  happy  than  rich ;  and 
if  flie  has  enough  to  provide  handfomelv 
for  a  young  family,  and  fomething  to  fpare 
for  the  exigencies  of  a  worthy  friend,  I  fhall 

think 


112 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


think  her  as  affluent  as  if  She  were  miitrefs 
of  Mexico. 

Sir  Hat:  Well,  Colonel,  I  have  done  ; 
but  I  believe — - — 

R:i>.  Well,  Sir  Harry,  and  as  our  con- 
ference is  done,  we  will,  if  you  pleafe,  re- 
tire to  the  ladies.  I  fnall  be  always  glad 
of  your  acquaintance,  though  I  cannot  re- 
ceive vou  as  a  Son- in- law;  for  a  union  of 
intereft  I  look  upon  as  a  union  of  disho- 
nour, and  confider  a  marriage  for  money 
at  bell  but  a  legal  prostitution. 

§    15.      On  Dignity  of  Manners. 

There  is  a  certain  dignity  of  manners 
absolutely  neceffary,  to  make  even  the  moil; 
valuable  character  either  reSpected  or  re- 
Spectable. 

Horfe-play,  romping,  frequent  and  loud 
fits  of  laughter,  jokes,  waggery,  and  in- 
discriminate familiarity,  will  fink  both  me- 
rit and  knowledge  into  a  degree  of  con- 
tempt. They  compofe  at  mod  a  merry 
fellow  ;  and  a  merry  fellow  was  never  yet 
a  refpectable  man.  Indiscriminate  famili- 
arity either  pffends  your  Superiors,  or  elie 
dubs  you  their  dependent  and  led  captain. 
It  gives  your  inferiors  juft,  but  trouble- 
fome  and  improper  claims  of  equality.  A 
joker  is  near  akin  to  a  buffoon,  and  ^ei- 
ther of  them  is  the  lead  related  to  wit. 
Whoever  is  admitted  or  fought  for,  in 
company,  upon  any  other  account  than 
that  of  his  merit  and  manners,  is  never 
reSpected  there,  but  only  made  ufe  of.  We 
will  have  fuch  a-one,  for  he  Sings  prettily ; 
we  will  invite  fuch-a-one  to  a  ball,  for  he 
dances  well;  we  will  have  fuch-a-one  at 
(upper,  for  he  is  always  joking  and  laugh- 
ing; we  will  aft:  another,  becauSe  he  plays 
deep  at  all  games,  or  becaufe  he  can  drink 
a  "reat  deal.  Thefe  are  all  vilifying  dif- 
tinchons,  mortifying  preferences,  and  ex- 
clude ali  ideas  of  efteem  and  regard. 
Whoever  is  had  (as  it  is  called)  in  com- 
pany, for  the  fake  of  any  one  thing  Singly, 
is  Singly  that  thing,  and  will  never  be  con- 
fute red  in  any  other  light;  cenfequently 
never  refpe&ed,  let  hi*  merits  be  what  they 
will. 

This  dignity  of  manners,  which  I  re- 
commend fo  much  to  you,  is  not  only  as 
different  from  pride,  as  true  courage  is 
from  hindering,  or  true  wit  from  joking, 
but  is  abfolutely  inccnSiilent  with  it;  for 
nothing  vilifies  and  degrades  more  than 
p;ide.  The  pretcnfions  of  the  proud  man 
are  oftener  treated  with  Sneer  and  con- 
tempt, than  with  indignation;  as  we  offer 


ridiculoufly  too  little  to  a  tradeSman,  who 
afks  ridiculoufly  too  much  for  his  goods ; 
but  we  do  not  haggle  with  one  who  only 
afks  a  juft  and  reafonable  price. 

Abject  flattery  and  indiscriminate  affent- 
ation  degrade,  as  much  as  indiscriminate 
contradiction  and  noiSy  debate  diSguft.  But 
a  modeSt  affertion  of  one's  own  opinion,  and 
a  cornplaifant  acquieScence  in  other  peo- 
ple's, preferve  dignity. 

Vulgar,  low  expreSilons,  aukward  mo- 
tions and  addreSs,  vilify,  as  they  imply 
either  a  very  low"  turn  of  mind,  or  low 
education,  and  low  company. 

Frivolous  curiofity  about  trifles,  and  a 
laborious  attention  to  little  objects,  which 
neither  require  nor  deferve  a  moment's 
thought,  lower  a  man  ;  who  from  thence 
is  thought  (and  not  unjuftly)  incapable  of 
greater  matters.  Cardinal  de  Retz,  very. 
fagacioufly,  marked  out  Cardinal  Chigi 
for  a  little  mind,  from  the  moment  he 
told  him  he  had  wrote  three  years  with 
the  fame  pen,  and  that  it  was  an  excellent 
good  one  Still. 

A  ceriain  degree  of  exterior  ferioufnefs, 
in  looks  and  motions  gives  dignity,  with- 
out excluding  wit  and  decent  cheerfulneSs, 
which  are  always  Serious  themSelves.  A 
conicant  Smirk  upon  the  face,  and  a  whif- 
fling activity  of  the  body,  are  Strong  indi- 
cations of  futility,  Whoever  is  in  a  hurry,, 
Shews  that  the  tiling  he  is  about  is  too  big 
for  him — hufte  and  hurry  are  very  different 
things. 

I  have  only  mentioned  Some  of  thofe 
tilings  which  may,  and  do,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  world,- lower  and  link  characters,  in- 
other  refpects  valuable  enough ;  but  I  have 
taken  ho  notice  of  thofe  that  affeit  and 
Sink  the  moral  characters :  they  are  Suffi- 
ciently  obvious.  A  man  who  has  patiently 
been  kicked,  may  as  well  pretend  to  cou- 
rage, as  a  man  blafted  by  vices  and  crimes* 
to  dignity  of  any  kind.  But  an  exterior 
decency  and  dignity  of  manners,  will  even 
keep  fuch  a  man  longer  from  finking,  than 
otherwife  he  would  be:  of  fuch  conlequence 
is  the  to  tr;£7ro>,  or  decorum,  even  though 
affected  and  put  on.  Lord  Chefterfielji^ 

§  16.  On  Vulgarity. 
A  vulgar,  ordinary  way  of  thinking,  act- 
ing, or  Speaking,  implies  a  a  low  education 
and  a  habit  of  low  company.  Young  peo- 
ple contract  it  at  School,  or  among  Servants, 
with  whom  they  are  too  often  uSed  to  con- 
verSe  ;  but,  after  they  frequent  good  com- 
pany, they  muft  want  attention  and  obterva- 

tion 


SOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    Sec 


813 


tion  very  much,  if  they  do  not  lay  it  quite 
ailde ;  and,  indeed,  if  they  do  not,  good 
company  will  be  very  apt  to  lay  them  afide. 
The  various  kinds  of  vulgarisms  are  infi- 
nite ;  1  cannot  pretend  to  point  them  out 
to  you  ;  but  I  will  give  fome  famples,  by 
which  you  may  guefs  at  the  reft. 

A  vulgar  man  is  captious  and  jealous ; 
eager  and  impetuous  about  trifles :  he  fuf- 
pecls  himfelf  to  be  flighted  ;  thinks  every 
thing  that  is  faid  meant  at  him ;  if  the 
company  happens  to  laugh,  he  is  perfuaded 
they  laugh  at  him ;  he  grows  angry  and 
tefty,  fays  fomething  very  impertinent,  and 
draws  himfelf  into  afcrape,  by  fhewing 
what  he  calls  a  proper  fpirit,  and  afferting 
himfelf.  A  man  of  fafhion  does  not  fup- 
pofe  himfelf  to  be  either  the  fcle  or  prin- 
cipal object  of  the  thoughts,  looks,  or 
words  of  the  company  ;  and  never  fufpedis 
that  he  is  either  flighted  or  laughed  at, 
unlefs  he  is  confeious  that  he  deferves  it. 
And  if  (which  very  feldom  happens)  the 
company  is  abfurd  or  ill-bred  enough  to 
do  either,  he  does  not  care  two-pence,  un- 
lefs  the  infult  be  fo  grofs  and  plain  as  to 
require  fatisfaclion  of  another  kind.  As 
he  is  above  trifles,  he  is  never  vehement 
and  eager  about  them;  and  wherever 
they  are  concerned,  rather  acquiefces  than 
wrangles.  A  vulgar  man's  converfation 
always  favours  flrongly  of  the  lownefs  of 
his  education  and  company :  it  turns 
chiefly  upon  his  domeilic  affairs,  his  fer- 
vants,  the  excellent  order  he  keeps  in  his 
own  family,  and  the  little  anecdotes  of  the 
neighbourhood;  all  which  he  relates  with 
emphafis,  as  intereiling  matters. — He  is  a 
man-goffip. 

Vulgarifm  in  language  is  the  next,  and 
diftinpuiihins:  charadleriilic  of  bad  com- 
pany,  and  a  bad  education.  A  man  of 
falhion  avoids  nothing  with  more  care  than 
this.  Proverbial  exprefilons  and  trite  fay- 
ings  are  the  flowers  of  the  rhetoric  of  a. 
vulgar  man.  Would  he  fay,  that  men  dif- 
fer in  their  taftes ;  he  both  fupports  and 
adorns  that  opinion,  by  the  good  old  fay- 
ing, as  he  refpe&fully  calls  it,  that  "what 
"  is  one  man's  meat  is  another  man's 
*  poifon."  If  any  body  attempts  being 
fmart,  as  he  call  it,  upon  him;  he  gives 
them  tit  for  tat,  aye,  that  he  does.  He 
has  always  fome  favourite  word  for  the 
time  being ;  which,  for  the  fake  of  ufing 
often,  he  commonly  abufes.  Such  as, 
'vajlly  angry,  <vajlly  kind,  <vajlly  handfome, 
and  va/I.y  ugly.  Even  his  pronunciation 
of  proper  words  carries  the  mark  of  the 


beafr  along  with  it.  He  calls  the  earth 
y earth;  he  is  obleiged,  not  obliged  to  you. 
He  goes  to  awards,  and  not  towards  fuch  a 
place.  He  fometimes  affects  hard  words, 
by  way  of  ornament,  which  he  always 
mangles.  A  man  of  fafhion  never  has  re- 
courfe  to  proverbs  and  vulgar  aphorifms; 
ufes  neither  favourite  words  nor  hard 
words ;  but  takes  great  care  to  fpeak 
very  correctly  aud  grammatically,  and  to 
pronounce  properly;  that  is,  according  to 
the  ufage  of  the  bell  companies. 

An  awkward  addrefs,  ungraceful  atti- 
tudes and  aftions,  and  a  certain  left-hand- 
ednefs  (if  I  may  ufe  that  word)  loudly 
proclaim  low  education  and  low  company; 
for  it  is  impoffible  to  fuppofe,  that  a  man 
can  have  frequented  good  company,  with- 
out having  catched  fomething,  at  leaf!,  of 
their  air  and  motions.  A  new-raifed  man 
is  diitinguifhed  in  a  regimemt.by  his  awk- 
wardnefs ;  but  he  mult  be  impenetrably 
dull,  if,  in  a  month  or  two's  time,  he  can- 
not perform  at  Jeafr.  the  common  manual 
exercife,  and  look  like  a  foldier.  The 
very  accoutrements  of  a  man  of  fafhion 
are  grievous  incumbrances  to  a  vulgar 
man.  He  is  at  a  lofs  what  to  do  with  his 
hat,  when  it  is  not  upon  his  head;  his 
cane  (if  unfortunately  he  wears  one)  is  at 
perpetual  war  with  every  cup  of  tea  or 
coffee  he  drinks  ;  deflroys  them  firft,  and 
then  accompanies  them  in  their  fall.  His 
fvvord  is  formidable  only  to  his  own  legs, 
which  would  poffibly  carry  him  fall  enough 
out  of  the  way  of  any  fword  but  his  own. 
His  cloaths  fit  him  fo  ill,  and  conftrain 
him  fo  much,  that  he  feems  rather  their 
prifoner  than  their  proprietor.  He  pre- 
fents  himfelf  in  company  like  a  criminal 
in  a  court  of  juflice  ;  his  very  air  condemns 
him;  and  people  of  fafhion  will  no  more 
connect  themfelves  with  the  one,  than  peo- 
ple of  character  will  with  the  other.  This 
.  repulfe  drives  and  finks  him  into  low  com- 
pany ;  a  gulph  from  whence  no  man,  after 
a  certain  age,  ever  emerged. 

Lord  ChcJlerfM. 

§    17.      On  Good-breeding, 

A  friend  of  yours  and  mine  has  very 
juftly  defined  good-breeding  to  be,  "  the 
refult  of  much  good  fenfe,  fome  good- 
nature, and  a  little  felf-denial  for  the  fake 
of  others,  and  with  a  view  to  obtain  the 
fame  indulgence  from  them."  Taking- 
this  for  granted  (as  I  think  it  cannot  be 
difputed)  it  is  ailonifhing  to  me,  that  any 
body,  who  has  good  fenie  and  good-na- 
ture, 


SiV 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


ture,  can  efTentially  fail  in  good-breeding, 
As  to  the  modes  of  it,  indeed,  they  vary 
according  to  perfons,  places,  and  circum- 
ftances ;  and  are  only  to  be  acquired  by 
obfervation  and  experience  ;  but  the  fub- 
flance  of  it  is  every  where  and  eternally 
the  fame.  Good  manners  are,  to  parti- 
cular focieties,  what  good  morals  are  to 
fociety  in  general,  their  cement  and  their 
fecurity.  And  as  laws  are  enacted  to  en- 
force good  morals,  or  at  leaf!  to  prevent 
the  ill  effects  of  bad  ones;  fo  there  are 
certain  rules  of  civility,  univerfally  im- 
plied and  received,  to  enforce  good  man- 
ners, and  punifh  bad  ones.  And,  indeed, 
there  feems  to  me  to  be  lefs  difference  both 
between  the  crimes  and  punifhments,  than 
at  firit  one  would  imagine.  The  immoral 
man,  who  invades  another's  property,  is 
juftly  hanged  for  it;  and  the  ill-bred  man 
who,  by  his  ill-manners,  invades  and  dis- 
turbs the  quiet  and  comforts  of  private 
life,  is  by  common  content  as  juftly  banifh- 
ed  fociety.  Mutual  complaifances,  atten- 
tions, and  facrinces  of  little  convenien- 
cies,  are  as  natural  an  implied  compact 
between  civilized  people,  as  protection  and 
obedience  are  between  kings  and  fubjects ; 
whoever,  in  either  cafe,  violates  that  com- 
pact,, juftly  forfeits  all  advantages  arifing 
from  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  really  think, 
that,  next  to  the  confcioufncfs  of  doing  a 
good  action,  that  of  doing  a  civil  one  is 
the  molt  pleafing:  and  the  epithet  which 
I  ihould  covet  the  moft,  next  to  that  of 
Ariftides,  would  be  that  of  well-bred. 
Thus  much  for  good-breeding  in  general  ; 
I  will  now  coniider  fome  of  the  various 
modes  and  degrees  of  it, 

Very  few,  fcarcely  any,  are  wanting  in 
the  refpect  which  they  fhould  fhew  to  thofj 
whom  they  acknowledge  to  be  infinitely 
their  fuperiors  ;  fuch  as  crowned  heads, 
princes,  and  public  perfons  of  diftinguifhed 
and  eminent  pofrs.  It  is  the  manner  of 
ihewing  that  refpect  which  is  different. 
The  man  of  fafhion,  and  of  the  world,  ex- 
preffes  it  in  its  fullelt  extent ;  but  naturally, 
eafily,  and  without  concern :  whereas  a 
man,  who  is  not  ufed  to  keep  good  com- 
pany, expreffes  it  awkwardly ;  one  fees 
that  he  is  not  ufed  to  it,  and  that  it  colls 
him  a  great  deal :  but  I  never  faw  the 
worft-bred  man  living  gnilry  of  lolling, 
whiffling,  fcratching  his  head,  and  fuch- 
like  indecencies,  in  companies  that  he  re- 
jected. In  fuch  companies,  therefore, 
tne  only  point  to  be  attended  to  is,  to 
ibe.v  thai  ivfprvt  which  every  body  mean- 


to  mew,  in  an  eafy,  unembarrafTed,  an3 
graceful  manner,  This  is  what  obferva- 
tion and  experience  mult  teach  you. 

In  mixed  companies,  whoever  is  admit- 
ted to  make  part  of  them,  is,  for  the  time 
at  leaft,  fuppofed  to  be  upon  a  footing  of 
equality  with  the  reft;  and,  confequently, 
as  there  is  no  one  principal  object  of  awe 
and  refpect,  people  are  apt  to  take  a 
greater  latitude  in  their  behaviour,  and 
to  be  lefs  upon  their  guard;  and  fo  they 
may,  provided  it  be  within  certain  bounds, 
which  are  upon  no  occafion  to  be  tranf- 
greffed.  But,  upon  thefe  occafions,  though 
no  one  is  entitled  to  diltinguifhed  marks  of 
refpect,  every  one  claims,  and  very  juftly, 
eve  ry  mark  of  civility  and  good-breeding. 
Eale  is  allowed,  but  carelefihefs  and  neg- 
ligence are  ftrictly  forbidden,  If  a  man 
accofts  you,  and  talks  to  you  ever  fo  dully 
or  frivoloufly;  it  is  worfe  than  rudenefs, 
it  is  brutality,  to  fhew  him,  by  a  manifeft 
inattention  to  what  he  fays,  that  you  think 
him  a  fool  or  a  blockhead,  and  not  worth 
hearing  It  is  much  more  fo  with  regard 
to  women ;  who,  of  whatever  rank  they 
are,  are  entitled,  in  confideration  of  their 
lex,  not  onlv  to  an  attentive,  but  an  offici- 
ous good-breeding  from  men.  Their 
little  wants,  likings,  diflikes,  preferences, 
antipathies,  and  fancies,  muftbe  officioufly 
attended  to,  and,  if  poffible,  gueffed  at  and 
anticipated,  by  a  well-bred  man.  You 
muit  never  ufurp  to  yourfelf  thofe  conve- 
niencies  and  gratifications  which  are  of 
common  right ;  fuch  as  the  belt  places,  the 
belt  diflies,  &c.  but,  on  the  contrary,  al- 
ways decline  them  yourfelf,  and  offer 
them  to  others;  who,  in  their  turns,  will 
offer  them  to  you :  fo  that  upon  the 
whole,  vou  will,  in  your  turn,  enjoy  your 
fhare  of  the  common  right.  It  would  be 
endlefs  for  me  to  enumerate  all  the  parti- 
cular inllances  in  which  a  well-bred  man 
lhews  his  good-breeding  in  ^ood  com- 
pany ;  and  it  would  be  injurious  to  you 
to  luppofe,  that  your  own  good  fenfe  will 
not  point  them  cut  to  you  ;  and  then  your 
own  good-nature  will  recommend,  and 
your  felf-intercft  enforce  the  practice. 

There  is  a  third  fort  of  good-breeding, 
in  which  people  are  the  molt  apt  to  fail, 
from  a  very  miftaken  notion  that  they 
cannot  fail  at  all.  I  mean,  with  regard  to 
one's  moft  familiar  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, or  thofe  who  really  are  our  inferiors ; 
and  there,  undoubtedly,  a  greater  degree 
of  eafe  is  not  only  allowed,  but  proper,  and 
contributes  much  to  the  comforts  of  a  pri- 
?  vate, 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,  &c. 


8'5 


vate,  focial  life.  But  eafe  and  freedom 
have  their  bounds,  which  mud  by  no  means 
be  violated.  A  certain  degree  of  neg- 
ligence and  careleffnefs  becomes  injuri- 
ous and  infulting,  from  the  real  or  fup- 
pofed  inferiority  of  the  perfons ;  and  that 
delightful  liberty  of  converfation  among 
a  few  friends,  is  foon  deltroyed,  as  liberty 
often  has  been,  by  being  carried  to  licen- 
tioufnefs.  But  example  explains  things 
bell:,  and  I  will  put  a  pretty  ftrong  cafe: 
-"—Suppofe  you  and  me  alone  together; 
I  believe  you  will  allow  that  I  have  as 
good  a  right  to  unlimited  freedom  in  your 
company,  as  either  you  or  I  can  pofiibly 
have  in  any  other ;  and  I  am  apt  to  be- 
lieve too,  that  you  would  indulge  me  in 
that  freedom,  as  far  as  any  body  would. 
But,  notwithstanding  this,  do  you  imagine 
that  I  mould  think  there  was  no  bounds 
to  that  freedom  ?  I  allure  you,  1  fhould 
not  think  fo;  and  I  take  myfelf  to  be  as 
much  tied  down  by  a  certain  degree  of 
good  manners  to  you,  as  by  other  degrees 
©f  them  to  other  people.  The  molt  fa- 
miliar and  intimate  habitudes,  connec- 
tions, and  friendfhips,  require  a  degree  of 
good-breeding,  both  to  preferve  and  ce- 
ment them.  The  belt  of  us  have  our  bad 
fides;  and  it  is  as  imprudent  as  it  is  ill- 
bred,  to  exhibit  them.  I  mall  not  ufe 
ceremony  with  you ;  it  would  be  inif- 
placed  between  us  :  but  I  lhall  certainly 
obferve  that  degree  of  good -breeding  with 
you,  which  is,  in  the  firrf.  place,  decent, 
and  which,  I  am  fure,  is  abibiutelv  necef- 
fary  to  make  us  like  one  another's  com- 
pany long.  Lord  CbeJhrficU. 

§  18.  A  Dialogue  betwixt  Mercury, 
an  EngliJIi  Duellijl,  and  a  North- Ameri- 
can Savage. 

Duellijl.  Mercury,  Charon's  boat  is  on 
the  other  fide  of  the  water;  allow  me, 
before  it  returns,  to  have  fome  converfa- 
tion with  the  North-American  Savage. 
whom  you  brought  hither  at  the  fame 
time  as  you  conducted  me  to  the  (hades. 
I  never  fav/  one  of  that  fpecies  before, 
and  am  curious  to  know  what  the  animal 
is.  He  looks  very  grim — Pray,  Sir,  what 
is  your  name?  I  unde.ftand  you  fpeak 
Englifh. 

Savage.  Yes,  I  learned  it  in  my  child- 
hood, having  been  bred  up  for  fome  years 
in  the  town  of  New-York :  but  before  I 
was  a  man  I  returned  to  my  countrymen, 
the  valiant  Mohawks j   and  being  cheated 


by  one  of  yours  in  the  fale  of  fome  rum, 
I  never  cared  to  have  any  thing  to  dd 
with  them  afterwards.  Yet  I  took  up  the 
hatchet  for  them  with  the  reft  of  my  tribe: 
in  the  war  againft  France,  and  was  killed 
while  I  was  out  upon  a  fcalping  party. 
But  I  died  very  well  fatisfied  :  for  my 
friends  were  victorious,  and  before  I  was 
fhot  I  had  fcalped  feven  men  and  five 
women  and  children.  In  a  former  war  I 
had  done  ftill  greater  exploits.  My  name 
is  The  Bloody  Bear:  it  was  given  me  to 
exprefs  my  fiercenefs  and  valour. 

Duellijl.  Bloody  Bear,  I  refpcdt  you, 
and  am  much  your  humble  fervant.  My 
name  is  Tom  Pufhwell,  very  well  known 
at  Arthur's.  I  am  2  gentleman  by  my 
birth,  and  by  profefiion  a  gamefter,  and 
man  of  honour.  I  have  killed  men  in 
fair  fighting,  in  honourable  fmgle  combat, 
but  do  not  underftand  cutting  the  throats 
of"  women  and  children. 

Savage.  Sir,  that  is  our  way  of  making 
war.  Every  nation  has  its  own  cultoms. 
But  by  the  grimnefs  of  your  countenance, 
and  that  hole  in  your  breaff,  I  prefume 
you  were  killed,  as  I  was  myfelf,  in  fome 
fcalping  party.  How  happened  it  that 
your  enemy  did  not  take  off  your  fcalp  ? 

Duetiijl.  Sir,  I  was  killed  in  a  duel. 
A  friend  of  mine  had  lent  me  fome  mo- 
ney ;  after  two  or  three  years,  being  in 
great  want  himfeif,  he  afked  me  to  pay 
him  ;  I  thought  his  demand  an  affront  to 
my  ,  honour,  and  fent  him  a  challenge. 
We  met  in  Hyde-Park  ;  the  fellow  could 
not  fence :  I  was  the  adroitell  fwordfnian 
in  England.  I  gave  him  three  or  four 
wounds ;  but  at  laft  he  ran  upon  me  with 
fuch  impetuofity,  that  he  put  me  out  of 
my  play,  and  I  could  not  prevent  him 
from  whipping  me  through  the  lungs.  I 
died  the  next  day,  as  a  man  of  honour 
fhould,  without  any  fniveling  figns  of  re- 
pentance :  and  he  will  follow  me  foon,  for 
his  furgecn  has  declared  his  wounds  to  be 
mortal.  It  is  faid  that  his  wife  is  dead  of 
her  fright,  and  that  his  family  of  feven 
children  will  be  undone  by  his  death.  So 
lam  well  revenged;  and  that  hi  a  com- 
fort.  For  my  part,  I  had  no  wife. — I 
always  hated  marriage:  my  whore  will 
take  good  care  of  herfelf,  and  my  chil- 
dren are  provided  for  at  the  Foundling 
Ilofpital. 

Savage.  Mercury,  I  won't  go  in  a  boat 
with  that  fellow.  He  has  murdered  his 
countryman  ;  he  has  murdered  his  friend. 
I  fav,  1  won't  go  in  a  boat  w  ilh  that  fellow. 

I  will 


?i6 


:  LEG ANT    EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE 
I  can  fwim 


I  will  fwim  over  the  rive 
like  a  duck. 

Mercury.  Swim  over  the  Styx  !  it  mult 
not  be  done;  it  is  again'l  the  laws  of  Plu- 
to's empire.  You  inufl  go  in  the  boat,  and 
be  quiet. 

Savage.  Do  not  tell  me  of  laws :  I  am. 
a  Savage :  I  value  no  laws.  Talk  of  laws 
to  the  Englishman  :  there  are  laws  in  his 
country,  and  yet  you  fee  he  did  not  regard 
them.  For  they  could  never  allow  him  to 
kill  his  fellow- fubject  in  time  of  peace,  be- 
caufe  he  afked  him  to  pay  a  debt.  I  know 
that  the  Englilh  are  a  barbarous  nation  ; 
but  they  cannot  be  fo  brutal  as  to  make 
fuch  things  lawful. 

Mercury.  You  reafon  well  again  ft  him. 
Bu*-  how  comes  it  that  you  are  fo  offended 
with  murder:  you,  who  have  maffacred 
women  in  their  lleep,  and  children  in  their 
cradles  ? 

Savage.  I  killed  none  but  my  enemies; 
I  never  killed  my  own  countrymen :  I  never 
killed  my  friend.  Here,  take  my  blanket, 
and  let  it  come  over  in  the  boit;  but  fee 
that  the  murderer  does  not  fit  upon  it,  or 
touch  it;  if  he  does  I  v/ill  burn  it  in  the 
fire  i  iee  yonder.  Farewell.* — I  am  refolved 
to  fwim  over  the  water. 

Mercury.  By  this  touch  of  my  wand  I 
take  all  thy  ftrength  from  thee  - — Swim 
now  if  thou  canft. 

Savage.  This  is  a  very  potent  enchan- 
ter.  Reltore    ma  my  ftrength,    and  I 

will  obey  thee. 

Mercury.  I  reflore  it ;  but  be  orderly, 
and  do  as  I  bid  yon,  otherwife  worJe  will 
befal  you. 

Duellift.  Mercury,  leave  him  to  me.  I 
will  tutor  him  for  you.  Sirrah,  Savage, 
doit  thou  pretend  to  be  afhamed  of  my 
company?  Do'l  thou  know  that  1  have 
kept  the  belt  company  in  England  ? 

Savage.  I  know  thou  art  a  fcoundrel. 
— Not  pay  thy  debts!  kill  thy  friend,  who 
lent  thee  money,  for  aflcing  thee  for  it! 
Get  out  of  my  fight.  I  will  drive  thee  into 
Styx. 

Mercury.  Stop — I  command  thee.  No 
violence. — Talk  to  him  calmly. 

Savage.  I  mull  obey  thee. — Well,  Sir, 
let  me  know  what  merit  you  had  to  intro- 
duce you  into  good  company  r  What  could 
you  do  ? 

Duellift.  Sir,  I  gamed,  as  I  told  you. — 
Belides,  1  kept  a  good  table.  —  I  eat  as  well 
as  any  man  in  England  or  France. 

Savage.     Eat !     Did   you  ever-  eat  the 


chine  of  a  Frenchman,  or  his  leg,  cr  his 
fhculder?  there  is  line  eating!  I  have  eat 
twenty. — My  table  was  always  well  ferved 
My  wife  was  the  belt  cook  for  drefling  of 
man's  fiefh  in  all  North  America.  You 
will  not  pretend  to  compare  your  eating 
with  mine. 

Duel/ft.     I  danced  very  finely. 

Savage.  I  will  dance  with  thee  for  thy 
ears. — I  can  dance  all  day  long.  .1  can 
dance  the  war-dance  with  more  fpirit  and 
vigour  than  any  man  of  my  nation :  let  us 
fee  thee  begin  it.  How  thou  ftandeltlike 
a  port!  Has  Mercury  ftruck  thee  with  his 
enfeebling  rod  ?  or  art  thou  afhamed  to  let 
us  fee  how  awkward  thou  art?  If  he  would 
permit  me,  I  would  teach  thee  to  dance  in 
a  way  that  thou  hall  not  yet  learnt.  I  would 
make  thee  caper  and  leap  like  a  buck. 
But  whatelfe  canft  thou  do,  thou  br.ip-pine 
rafcal?  °       * 

Duellift.  Oh,  heavens !  mull  I  bear 
this?  what  can  I  do  with  this  fellow?  I 
have  neither  fword  nor  pillol;  and  his  fhade 
feems  to  be  twice  as  llrong  as  mine. 

Mercury.  You  mull  anfwer  his  qvief- 
tions.  It  was  your  own  delire  to  have  a 
converfation  with  him.  He  is  not  well- 
bred;  but  he  will  tell  you  fome  truths 
which  you  mult  hear  in  this  place.  It  would 
have  been  well  for  you  if  you  had  heard 
them  above.  He  alked  you  what  you  could 
do  befides  eating  and  dancing. 

Duellift.     I  fung  very  agreeably. 

Savage.  Let  me  hear  you  fing  your 
death-  fong,  or  the  war-whoop.  I  challenge 
you  to  fing.— the  fellow  is  mute.— Mer- 
cury, this  is  a  liar. — He  tells  us  nothing 
but  lies.     Let  me  pull  out  his  tongue. 

Duellift.  The  lie  given  me  ! — and,  alas ! 
I  dare  not  refent  it.  Oh,  what  a  difgrace 
to  the  family  of  the  Pufhwells !  this  indeed 
is  damnation. 

Mercury.  Here  Charon,  take  thefe  two 
favages  to  your  care.  liow  far  the  barba- 
rifm  of  the  Mohawk  will  excufe  his  horrid 
ads,  I  leave  Minos  to  judge  ;  but  the  Eng- 
lilhman,  what  excufe  can  he  plead?  The 
ciiltom  of  duelling  ?  A  bad  excufe  at  the 
bell !  but  in  his  cafe  cannot  avail.  The 
fpirit  that  made  him  draw  h's  fword  in  this 
combat  againft  his  friend  is  not  that  of  ho- 
nour; it  is  the  fpirit  of  the  furies,  of  Aleclo 
herfelf.  To  her  he  mult  go,  for  fiie  hath 
long  dwult  in  his  mercilefs  bofom. 

Savage.  If  he  is  to  be  punilhed,  turn 
him  over  to  me.  1  underltand  the  art  of 
tormenting.     Sirrah,  I  begin  with  this  kick 

on 


BOOK    IV.    NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,    &c.         817 


on  your  breech.  Get  you  into  the  boat, 
or  I'll  give  you  another.  I  am  impatient 
to  have  you  condemned. 

Due 'lift.     Oh,  my  honour,  my  honour, 
to  what  infamy  art  thou  fallen  ! 

Dialogues  of  the  Dead. 


§    19.     BayesV  Rules  for  Co7nbofuion. 

Smith.     How,  Sir;  helps  for  wit ! 

Bayes.  Ay,  Sir,  that's  my  pofuion :  and 
I  do  here  aver,  that  no  man  the  fun  e'er 
fhone  upon,  has  parts  fufiicient  to  furnifh 
out  a  ftage,  except  it  were  by  the  help  of 
thefe  my  rules. 

Smith.    What  are  thofe  rules,  I  pray  ? 

Bayes.  Why,  Sir,  my  firft  rule  is  the 
rule  of  tranfverfion,  or  rcgula  duplex,  chang- 
ing verfe  into  profe,  and  proie  into  verfe, 
alternately,  as  you  pleafe. 

Smith.  Well,  but  how  is  this  done  by 
rule,  Sir? 

Bayes.  Why  thus,  Sir;  nothing  fo  eafy, 
when  underftood.  I  take  a  book  in  my 
hand,  either  at  home  or  elfewhere  (for 
that's  all  one) ;  if  there  be  any  wit  in't 
(as  there  is  no  book  but  has  fome)  I  tranf- 
verfe  it;  that  is,  if  it  be  profe,  put  it  into 
verfe  (but  that  takes  up  fome  time)  ;  and 
if  it  be  verfe  put  it  into  profe. 

Smith.  Methinks,  Mr.  Bayes,  that  put- 
ting verfe  into  profe,  fhou!d  be  called 
tranfprofing. . 

Bayes.  By  my  troth,  Sir,  it  is  a  very 
good  notion,  and  hereafter  it  mall  be  fo. 

Smith.  Well,  Sir,  and  what  d'ye  do 
with  it  then  ? 

Bayes.  Make  it  my  own :  'tis  fo  chang- 
ed, that  no  man  can  know  it. — My  next 
rule  is  the  rule  of  concord,  by  way  of 
table-book.     Pray  obferve. 

Smith.     I  hear  you,  Sir:  go  on. 

Bayes.  As  thus :  I  come  into  a  coffee- 
houie,  or  fome  other  place  where  witty 
men  refort ;  I  make  as  if  I  minded  no- 
thing (do  ye  mark?)  but  as  foon  as  any 
one  fpeaks — pop,  1  flap  it  down,  and  make 
that  too  my  own. 

Smith.  But,  Mr.  Bayes,  are  you  not 
fometimes  in  danger  of  their  making  you 
reftore  by  force,  what  you  have  gotten 
thus  by  art? 

Bayes.  No,  Sir,  the  world's  unmindful ; 
they  never  take  notice  of  thefe  things. 

Smith.  But  pray,  Mr.  Bayes,  among 
all  your  other  rules,  have  you  no  one  rule 
for  invention  ? 

Bayej.  Yes,  Sir,  that's  my  third  rule: 
that  I  have  here  in  my  pocket. 


Smith.  What  rule  can  that  be,  I  won- 
der ? 

Bayes.  Why,  Sir,  when  I  have  any 
thing  to  invent,  I  never  trouble  my  head 
about  it,  as  other  men  do,  but  prefently 
turn  over  my  book  of  Drama  common- 
places, and  there  I  have,  at  one  view,  all 
that  Perflus,  Montaigne,  Seneca's  trage- 
dies, Horace,  Juvenal,  Claudian,  Pliny, 
Plutarch's  Lives,  and  the  reft,  have  ever 
thought  upon  this  fubjedl;  and  fo,  in  a 
trice,  by  leaving  out  a  few  words,  or  put- 
ting in  others  of  my  own— the  bufmefs  is 
done. 

Smith.  Indeed,  Mr.  Bayes,  this  is  as 
fure  and  compendious  a  way  of  wit  as  ever 
I  heard  of. 

Bayes.  Sir,  if  you  make  the  leaft  fcru- 
ple  of  the  efficacy  of  thefe  my  rules,  do 
but  come  to  the  play-houfe,  and  you  fhall 
judge  of  them  by  the  effects. — But  now, 
pray,  Sir,  may  I  afk  how  do  you  do  when 
you  write? 

Smith.  Faith,  Sir,  for  the  moft  part,  I 
am  in  pretty  good  health. 

Bayes.  Ay,  but  I  mean,  what  do  you 
do  when  you  write  ? 

Smith.  I  take  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and 
fit  down. 

Bayes.  Now  I  write  {landing;  that's 
one  thing :  and  then  another  thing  is— 
with  what  do  you  prepare  yourfelf? 

Smith.  Prepare  myfelf !  What  the  de- 
vil does  the  fool  mean  ? 

Bayes.  Why  I'll  tell  you  now  what  I 
do : — If  I  am  to  write  familiar  things,  as 
fonnets  to  Armida,  and  the  like,  I  make 
ufe  of  ftew'd  prunes  only ;  but  when  I  have 
a  grand  defign  in  hand,  I  ever  take  phy- 
fic,  and  let  blood :  for  when  you  would 
have  pure  fwiftnefs  of  thought,  and  fiery 
flights  of  fancy,  you  mud  have  a  care  of 
the  penfive  part. — In  fine  you  muft  purge 
the  belly. 

Smith.  By  my  troth,  Sir,  this  is  a  moft 
admirable  receipt  for  writing. 

Bayes.  Aye,  'tis  my  fecret;  and,  in 
good  earned,  I  think  one  of  the  bell:  I 
have. 

Smith.  In  good  faith,  Sir,  and  that  may 
very  well  be. 

Bayes.  Maybe,  Sir!  I'm, fure  on't. 
Expert 0  crede  Roberto.  But  I  muft  give  you 
this  caution  by  the  way — be  fure  you  never 
take  fnufF  when  you  write. 

Smith.    Why  lb,  Sir? 

Bayes.    Why,  it  fpoiled  me  once  one 

of  the  fparkifneft  plays   in  all  England, 

But  a  friend  of  mine,  at  Grefnam-college, 

q  G  has 


8i8 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


has  promifed  to  help  me  to  fome  fpirit  of 
brains — and  that  ihall  do  my  bufineis. 

§   20.     The  Art  of  P leafing. 

The  defire  of  being  pleafed  is  univerfal : 
the  defire  of  pleafing  mould  be  fo  too.  It 
is  included  in  that  great  and  fundamental 
principle  of  morality,  of  doing  to  others 
what  one  wifhes  they  fhould  do  to  us. 
There  are  indeed  fome  moral  duties  of  a 
much  higher  nature,  but  none  of  a  more 
amiable;  and  I  do  not  hefitate  to  place  it 
at  the  head  of  the  minor  virtues. 

The  manner  of  conferring  favours  or 
benefits  is,  as  to  pleafing,  almoft  as  im- 
portant as  the  matter  itfelf.  Take  care, 
then,  never  to  throw  away  the  obligations, 
which  perhaps  you  may  have  it  in  your 
power  to  confer  upon  others,  by  an  air  of 
infolent  protection,  or  by  a  cold  and  com- 
fortlefs  manner,  which  itifles  them  in  their 
birth.  Humanity  inclines,  religion  re- 
quires, and  our  moral  duties  oblige  us,  as 
far  as  we  are  able,  to  relieve  the  diitrelfes 
and  miferies  of  our  fellow-creatures:  but 
this  is  not  all ;  for  a  true  heart-felt  bene- 
volence and  tendernefs  will  prompt  us  to 
contribute  what  we  can  to  their  eafe,  their 
amufement,  and  their  pleafure,  as  far  as 
innocently  we  may.  Let  us  then  not  only 
fcatter  benefits,  but  even  ftrew  flowers  for 
our  fellow-travellers,  in  the  rugged  ways 
of  this  wretched  world. 

There  are  fome,  and  but  too  many  in 
this  country  particularly,  who,  without  the 
leali  vifible  taint  of  ill-nature  or  malevo- 
lence, feem  to  be  totally  indifferent,  and 
do  not  fhew  the  lead  dejire  to  pleafe;  as, 
on  the  other  hand,  they  never  defignedly 
offend.  Whether  this  proeeds  from  a  la- 
zy, negligent,  and  liitlefs  difpofition,  from 
a  gloomy  and  melancholic  nature,  from  i'l 
health,  low  fpirits,  or  from  a  fecret  and 
fulhn  pride,  arifmg  from  the  concioufnefs 
of  their  boafted  liberty  and  independency, 
is  hard  to  determine,  confidering  the  va- 
rious movements  of  the  human  heart,  and 
the  wonderful  errors  of  the  human  head. 
But,  be  the  caufe  what  it  will,  that  neutra- 
lity, which  is  the  effect  of  it,  makes  thefe 
people,  as  neutralities  do,  defpicable,  and 
mere  blanks  in  fociety.  They  would  furely 
be  roufed  from  their  indifference,  if  they 
would  feriouily  coafider  the  infinite  utility 
t;f  pleafing. 

The  perfon  who   manifefts   a  cocftant 

<lofir<?  to  pleafe,  places  his,  perhaps,  fmall 

1'f  <:!:  of  merit  at  great  intereft.    What  vaft 

j.iurns,  then,  mu'.t  real  merit,  when  thos 

5 


adorned,  neceflarily  bring  in  !  A  prudent 
ufurer  would  with  tranfport  place  his  laft 
flrilling  at  fuch  intereft,  and  upon  fo  folid  a 
fecurity. 

The  man  who  is  amiable,  will  make  al- 
moft as  many  friends  as  he  does  acquaint- 
ances'. I  mean  in  the  current  acceptation 
of  the  word,  but  not  fuch  fentimental 
friends,  as  Pylades  or  Oreftes,  Nyfus  and 
Euryalus,  &c.  but  he  will  make  people  in 
general  wifh  him  well,  and  inclined  to  ferve 
him  in  any  thing  not  inconfiftent  with  their 
own  intereft. 

Civility  is  the  eftential  article  towards 
pleafing,  and  is  the  refult  of  good-nature 
and  of  good  fenfe;  but  good-breeding  is 
the  decoration,  the  luftre  of  civility,  and 
only  to  be  acquired  by  a  minute  attention 
to,  and  experience  of  good  company.  A 
good-natured  ploughman  or  fox-hunter, 
may  be  intentionally  as  civil  as  the  politeft 
courtier;  but  their  manner  often  degrades 
and  vilifies  the  matter ;  whereas,  in  good- 
breeding,  the  manner  always  adorns  and 
dignifies  the  matter  to  fuch  a  degree,  that 
I  have  often  known  it  give  currency  to 
bafe  coin. 

Civility  is  often  attended  by  a  ceremo- 
nioufnefs,  which  good-breeding  corrects, 
but  will  not  quite  abolifh.  A  certain  de- 
gree of  ceremony  is  a  necefiary  out-work 
of  manners,  as  well  as  of  religion  :  it  keeps 
the  forward  and  petulant  at  a  proper  dif- 
tance,  and  is  a  very  fmall  reftraint  to  the 
fenlible,  and  to  the  well-bred  part  of  the 
world.  Chejlerfiela. 

§  21.  A  Dialogue  between  Y Li  hy  the  Elder 
and  Pliny  the  Younger. 

Pliny  the  Elder.  The  account  that  you 
give  me,  nephew,  of  your  behaviour  amidft 
the  terrors  and  perils  that  accompanied  the 
firft  eruption  of  Vefuvius,  does  not  pleafe 
me  much.  There  was  more  of  vanity  in 
it  than  true  magnanimity.  Nothing  is  great 
that  is  unnatural  and  affected.  When  the 
earth  fhook  beneath  you,  when  the  heavens 
were  obfeured  with  fulphureous  clouds,  full 
of  afhes  and  cinders  thrown  up  from  the 
bowels  of  the  new-formed  volcano,  when 
all  nature  feemed  on  the  brink  of  defiruc- 
tion,  to  be  reading  Livy,  and  making  ex- 
tracts, as  if  all  had  been  fafe  and  quiet 
about  you,  was  an  abfurd  affectation. — To 
meet  danger  with  courage  is  the  part  of  a 
man,  but  to  be  iafer.iible  of  it,  is  brutal  ftu- 
pidity;  and  to  pretend  infenfibility  where 
it  cannot  exift,is  ridiculous  filfenefs.  When 
you  afterwards  refufed  to  leave  your  aged 

mother, 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,    &c. 


819 


mother,  and  fave  younelf  without  her  by 
flight,  you  indeed  adted  nobly.  It  was 
alfo  becoming  a  Roman  to  keep  up  her  fpi- 
rits,  amidft  all  the  horrors  of  that  dreadful 
fcene,  by  (hewing  yourfelf  undiimayed  and 
courageous.  But  the  merit  and  glory  of 
this  part  of  your  conduct  is  funk  by  the 
other,  which  gives  an  air  of  oltentation  and 
vanity  to  the  whole. 

Pliny  the  Younger.  That  vulgar  yunds 
fhould  fuppofe  my  attention  to  my  ltudies 
in  fuch  a  conjuncture  unnatural  and  affect- 
ed, I  fhould  not  much  wonder:  but  that  you 
would  blame  it  as  fuch,  I  did  not  expedt ; 
you,  who  approached  ftill  nearer  than  I  to 
tne  fiery  florm,  and  died  by  the  fuffocating 
heat  of  the  vapour. 

Pliny  the  Elder.     I  died,  as  a  good  and 
brave  man  ought  to  die,  in  doing  my  du- 
ty.    Let  me  recall  to  your  memory  all  the 
particulars,  and  then  you  fhall  judge  your- 
felf on  the  difference  of  your  conduct  and 
mine.      f  was  the  prajfect  of  the  Roman 
fleet,  which  then  lay  at  Mifenum.     Upon 
the  firfl  account  I    received  of  the  very 
unufual  cloud  that  appeared  in  the  air,  I 
ordered  a  veffel  to  carry  me  out  to  fome 
diftancc  from  the  fhore,  that  1  might  the 
better  obferve  the  phenomenon,  and  try  to 
difcover  its  nature  and  caufe.    This  I  did 
as  a  philofopher,  and  it  was  a  curiofity  pro- 
per and  natural  to  a  fearching,  inquifitive 
mind.     I  offered  to  take  you  with  me,  and 
furely  you  fhould  have  dcfired  to  go  ;»  for 
Livy  might  have  been  read  at   any  other 
time,  and  fuch  fpedtacles  are  not  frequent : 
but  you  remained  fixed  and  chained  down 
to  your  book  with  a  pedantic  attachment. 
When  I  came  out  from  my  houfe,  I  found 
all  the  people  forfaking  their  dwellings, 
and  flying  to  the  fea,  as  the  fafell  retreat. 
To  affiil  them,  and  all  others  who  dwelt  on 
the  coaft,  I  immediately  ordered  the  fleet 
to  put  out,  and  failed  with  it  round  the 
whole  bay  of  Naples,  fleering  particularly 
to  thofe  parts  of  the  fhore  where  the  dan- 
ger was  greateft,  and  from  whence  the  in- 
habitants were  endeavouring  to  efcape  with 
the  moil'  trepidation.      Thus  I  fpent  the 
whole  day,  and  preferved  by  my  care  fome 
thousands  of  lives;  noting,  at   the   fame 
tune,  with  a  Heady  compofure  and  freedom 
of  mind,  the  feveral  forms  and  phenomena 
of  the  eruption.    Towards  night,  as  we 
approached  to  the  foot  of  Vefuvius, all  the 
gallies  were  covered  with  aihes  and  em- 
bers, which  grew  hotter  and  hotter ;  then 
Ihowers  of  pumice-flones,  and  burnt  and 
Woken-  pyrites,  began  ts  fall  on-eur  head*  s 


and  we  were  flopped  by  the  obflacles  which 
the.  ruins   of  the  mountain  had  fuddenly 
formed  by  falling  into  the  fea,  and  almolt 
filling  it  up  on  that  part  of  the  cpaft.     I 
then  commanded  my  pilot  to  fleer  to  the 
villa  of  my  friend  Pomponianus,  which  you 
know  was   fkuated  in  the  inmoil  recefs  of 
the  bay.    The  wind  was  very  favourable 
to  carry  me  thither,  but  would  not  allow 
him  to  put  off  from  the  fhore,  as  he  wifhed 
to  have   done.    We  were  therefore  con- 
ftrained    to    pafs  the  night  in  his  houfe. 
They  watched,  and  I  flept,  until  the  heaps 
of  pumice-flones,  which  fell  from  the  clouds, 
that  had  now  been  impelled  to  that  fide  of 
the  bay,  rofe  fo  high  in  the  area  of  the 
apartment  I  lay  in,  that  I  could  not  have 
got  out  had  I  llaid  any  longer;  and  the 
earthquakes  were  fo  violent,  as  to  threaten 
every  moment  the  fall  of  the  houie  :  we 
therefore  thought  it  more  fafe  to  go  into 
the  open  air,  guarding  our  heads  as  well 
as  we  could  with  pillows  tied  upon  them. 
The  wind  continuing  aiverle,  and  the  fea 
very  rough;  we  remained  on  the  fhore,  un- 
til a  fulphureous  and  fiery  vapour  oppreffed 
my  weak  lungs,  and  ended  my  life. — In 
all  this  I  hope  that  I  acted  as  the  duty  of 
my  ilation  required,  and  with  true  magna- 
nimity.   But  on  this  occafion,  and  in  many 
other  parts  of  your  life,  I  mull  fay,  my  dear 
nephew,  that  there  was  a  vanity  mixed  with 
your  virtue,  which  hurt  and  difgraced  it. 
Without  that,  you  would  have  been  one  of 
theworthiefl  men  thatRome  has  produced; 
for  none  ever  excelled  you  in  the  integrity 
of  your  heart  and  greatnefs  of  your  fenti- 
ments.     Why  would  you  lofe  the  fubuance 
of  glory  by  feeking  the  fhadow  ?     Your 
eloquence  had  the  fame  fault  as  your  man- 
ners: it  was  too  affected.    You  profeifed 
to  make  Cicero  your  guide  and  your  pat- 
tern: but  when  one  reads  his  panegyric 
upon  Julius  Crefar,  in  his  oration  for  Mar- 
cell  us,  and  yours   upon  Trajan;  the  firfl 
feems  the  language  of  nature  and  truth, 
railed  and  dignified  with  all  the  majefty  of 
the  molt  fublime  eloquence;  the  latter  ap- 
pears the  fludied  harangue  of  a  florid  rhe- 
torician, more  defirous  to  fhine  and  fet  off 
his  own  wit,  than  to  extol  the  great  man  he 
was  praifmg. 

Pli/iy  the  Younger.  I  have  too  high  a 
fefpedt  for  you,  uncle,  to  queilion  your 
judgment  either  of  my  life  or  my  writings ; 
they  might  both  have  been  better,  if  1  had 
not  been  too  folicitous  to  render  them  per- 
fect. But  his  not  for  me  to  fay  much  on 
that  fubjedt:  permit  me  ihe;efo;e  to  re* 
j  Q;  van 


8  la 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


turn  to  the  fubjeft  on  which  we  began  our 
converfation.  What  a  direful  calamity 
was  the  eruption  of  Vefuvius,  which  ycu 
have  now  been  defcribing !  Do  not  you 
remember  the  beauty  of  that  charming 
coaft,  and  of  the  mountain  itfelf,  before  it 
was  broken  and  torn  with  the  violence  of 
thoie  Hidden  fires  that  forced  their  way 
through  it,  and  carried  deiblation  and  ruin 
over  all  the  neighbouring  country?  The 
foot  of  it  was  covered  with  corn-fields  and 
rich  meadows,  interfperfed  with  fine  villas 
and  magnificent  towns;  the  iidesof  it  were 
clothed  with  the  beft  vines  in  Italy,  pro- 
ducing the  richeit  and  nobleft  wines.  How 
quick,  how  unexpected,  how  dreadful  the 
change  !  all  was  at  once  overwhelmed  with 
afhes,  and  cinders,  and  fiery  torrents,  pre- 
fenting  to  the  eye  the  molt  difmal  fcene  of 
horror  and  deftruction ! 

Pliny  the  Elder.  You  paint  it  very  tru- 
ly.— But  has  it  never  occurred  to  your 
mind  that  this  change  is  an  emblem  of 
that  which  mull  happen  to  every  rich, 
luxurious  Hate?  While  the  inhabitants  of 
it  are  funk  in  voluptuoufnefs,  while  all  is 
fmiling  around  them,  and  they  think  that 
no  evil,  no  danger  .is  nigh,  the  feeds  of 
deftru&ion  are  fermenting  within ;  and, 
breaking  out  on  a  fudden,  lay  v/afte  all 
their  opulence,  all  their  delights;  till  they 
are  left  a  fad  monument  of  divine  wrath, 
and  of  the  fatal  effects  of  internal  corrup- 
tion. Dialogues  of  the  Dead. 

§   22.     Humorous  Scene  at  an  Inn  between 
Boniface  and  Aim  well. 

Bon.    This  way,  this  way,  Sir. 

Jiim.     You're  my  landlord,  1  fupoole? 

Bon.  Yes,  Sir,  I'm  old  Will  Boniface  ; 
pretty  well  known  upon  this  road,  as  the 
faying  is. 

Aim.     O,  Mr.  Boniface,  vour  fervant. 

Bon.  O,  Sir— What  will  your  honour 
pieafe  to  drink,  as  the  faying  is  ? 

Aim.  I  have  heard  your  town  of  Litch- 
field much  famed  for  ale;  1  think  I'll  talte 
that. 

Bon.  Sir,  I  have  now  in  my  cellar,  ten 
tun  of  the  beft  ale  in  Staffordfhire :  'tis 
fmooth  as  oil,  fweet  as  milk,  clear  as  am- 
ber, and  ftrong  as  brandy;  and  will  be  jail 
fourteen  years  old  the  fifth  day  of  next 
March,  old  ftyle. 

Aim.  You're  very  exact,  I  find,  in  the 
age  of  your  ale. 

Bon.  As  punctual,  Sir,  as  I  am  in  the 
age  of  my  children":  I'll  fnew  you  fuch 
ah. — Herr,Tapfterj  broach  number  1706,, 


as  the  faying  is. — Sir,  you  (hall  tafte  my 
anno  domini. — I  have  lived  in  Litchfield, 
man  and  boy,  above  eight-and-fifty  years, 
and,  I  believe,  have  not  confumed  eight- 
and-nfty  ounces  of  meat. 

Aim.  At  a  meal,  you  mean,  if  one  may 
guefs  by  your  bulk. 

Bon.  Nor  in  my  life,  Sir;  I  have  fad 
purely  upon  ale:  I  have  eat  my  ale,  drank 
my  ale,  and  I  always  flcep  upon  my  ale. 

Enter  Tapftcr  with  a  Tankard. 

Now,  Sir,  you  fhatl  fee Your  worfhip's 

health:  [Drinks'] — Ha!  delicious,  delici- 
ous ! — Fancy  it  Burgandy,  only  fancy  it— 
and  'tis  worth  ten  (hillings  a  quart. 

Aim.   [Drinks']  'Tis  confounded  ftrong. 

Bon.  Strong  1  it  nmft  be  fo,  or  how 
would  we  be  ftrong  that  drink  it  ? 

Aim.  And  have  you  lived  fo  long  upon 
this  ale,  landlord  ? 

Bon.  Eight-and-fifty  years,  upon  my 
credit,  Sir  :  but  it  kill'd  my  wife,  poor 
woman  !  as  the  faying  is. 

Aim.     How  came  that  to  pafs  ? 

Bon.  I  don't  know  how,  Sir — fnewoiild 
not  let  the  ale  take  its  natural  courfe,  Sir: 
(he  was  for  qualifying  it  every  now  and 
then  with  a  dram,  as  the  faying  is;  and  an 
honeft  gentleman  that  came  this  way  from 
Ireland,  made  her  a  prefent  of  a  dozen 
bottles  of  ufquebaugh — but  the  poor  wo- 
man was  never  well  after — but,  however,  I 
was  obliged  to  the  gentleman,  you  know. 

Aim.  Why, was  it  the  ufquebaugh  that 
killed  her? 

Bon.  My  lady  Bountiful  faid  fo— She, 
good  lady,  did  what  could  be  done :  fhe 
cured  her  of  three  tympanies:  but  the  fourth 
carried  her  off:  but  Ihe's  happy,  and  I'm 
contented,  as  the  faying  is. 

Aim.  Who's  that  lady  Bountiful  you 
mentioned  ? 

Bon.  Ods  my  life,  Sir,  we'll  drink  her 
health:  [Drinks.] — My  lady  Bountiful  i* 
one  of  the  beft  of  women.  Her  laft  huf- 
band,  Sir  Charles  Bountiful,  left  her  worth 
a  thoufand  pounds  a  year;  and,  I  believe, 
fhe  lays  out  one-half  on't  in  charitable  ufes 
for  the  good  of  her  neighbours. 

Aim.     Has  the  lady  any  children  ? 

Bon.  Ye,s,  Sir,  fhe  has  a  daughter  by 
Sir  Charles ;  the  fineft  woman  in  all  our 
county,  and  the  greateft  fortune.  She  has 
a  fon  too,  by  her  firft  hufband,  'fquire  Sul- 
len,  who  married  a  fine  lady  from  London 
t'other  day:  if  you  pieafe,  Sir,  we'll  drink 
his  health.     [Drinks.] 

Aim.    What  fort  of  a  man  is  he  ? 

geij,    Why,  Sir,  the  man's  well  enough ; 

lays 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,  DIALOGUES,   &c 


821 


fays  little,  dunks  lefs,  and  does  nothing  at 
all,  faith :  but  he's  a  man  of  great  eiiate, 
and  values  nobody. 

Aim.     A  fportfman,  I  fujppofe  ? 

B011.  Yes,  he's  a  man  of  pleafurej  he 
plays  at  whift,  and  irnokes  his  pipe  cight- 
and-forty  hours  together  fometimes. 

Aim.  A  iine  fportfman,  truly  ! — -and 
married,  you  fay  ? 

Bon.  Ay;  and  to  a  curious  woman,  Sir. 
~—  Bat  he's  my  landlord,  and  fo  a  man,  you 

know,  would  not Sir,  my  humble  fer- 

vice  to  you.  [Drinh.'j — Tho'  i  value  not 
a  farthing  what  he  can  do  to  me ,  I  pay 
him  his  rent  at  quarter-day ;  I  have  a 
good    running    trade ;    I    have    but   one 

daughter,  and  I  can  give  her but  no 

matter  for  that.    . 

Aim.  You're  very  happy,  Mr.  Boni- 
face :  pray,  what  other  company  have  you 
in  town? 

Bon.  A  power  of  line  ladies ;  and  then 
we  have  the  French  officers. 

Aim.  O,  that's  right,  you  have  a  good 
many  of  thofe  gentlemen:  pray  how  do 
you  like  their  company  ? 

Bon.  So  well,  as  the  faying  is,  that  I 
could  wilh  we  had  as  many  more  of  'em. 
They're  full  of  money,  and  pay  double  for 
every  thing  they  have.  They  know,  Sir, 
that  we  paid  good  round  taxes  for  the 
taking  of  'ern;  and  fo  they  are  willing  to 
reithburfe  us  2.  little :  one  of  'em  lodges 
in  my  houfe.  [Bell  rings.~\ — I  beg  your 
worship's  pardon — I'd  wait  on  you  in  half 
a  minute.  , 

§   23.     Endeavour  to  pleafe,  and  you  can 
fcarcely  fail  to  pleafe. 

The  means  of  plea-fing  vary  according 
to  time,  place,  and  perlbn;  but  the  general 
rule  is  the  trite  one.  Endeavour  to  pleafe, 
and  you  will  infallibly  pleafe  to  a  certain 
degree:  conflantly  (hew  a  defire  to  pleafe, 
and  you  will  engage  people's  felf-love  in 
your  interefl;  a  moil  powerful  advocate. 
This,  as  indeed  almoit  every  thing  elfe,  de- 
pends on  attention. 

Be  therefore  attentive  to  the  moll  tri- 
fling thing  that  pafles  where  you  are ;  have, 
as  the  vulgar  phrafe  is,  your  eyes  and  your 
ears  always  about  you.  It  is  a  very  fool- 
iih,  though  a  very  common  faying,  "  I 
"  really  did  not  mind  it,"  or, "  I  was  think- 
"  ing  of  quits  another  thing  at  that  time." 
The  proper  anfwer  to  fuch  ingenious  ex- 
cufes,  and  which  admits  of  no  reply,  is, 
Why  did  you  not  mind  it?  you  was  pre- 
fent  when  it  was  faid  or  done.    Oh  !  but 


you  may  fay,  you  was  thinkiug  of  quite 
another  thing:  if  fo,  why  was  you  not  ia 
quite  another  place  proper  for  that  impor- 
tant other  thing,  which  you  fay  you  was 
thinking  of?  But  you  will  fay  perhaps, 
that  the  company  was  fo  filly,  that  it  did 
not  deferve  your  attention :  that,  I  am  fure, 
is  the  laying  of  a  filly  man;  for  a  man  of 
fenfe  knows  that  there  is  no  "company  fo 
filly,  that  fome  ufe  may  not  be  made  of  it 
by  attention. 

Let  your  addrefs,  when  you  firfl  come 
into  company,  be  modeft,  but  without  the 
leail  balhfulnefs  or  fheepilhnefs ;  Heady, 
without  impudence;  and  unembarraffed, 
as  if  you  were  in  your  own  room.  This  is 
a  difficult  point  to  hit,  and  therefore  de- 
fences great  attention;  nothing  but  a  long 
ufage  in  the  world,  and  in  the  bell  company, 
can  poffibly  give  it. 

A  young  man,  without  knowledge  of  the 
world,  when  he  firfl  goes  into  a  faihionable 
company,  where  moil  are  his  fuperiors,  is 
commonly  cither  annihilated  by  balhful- 
nefs, or,  if  he  roufes  and  lafhes  himfelf  up 
to  what  he  only  thinks  a  modeft  affurance, 
he  runs  into  impudence  and  abfurdity,  and 
confequently  offends  inftead  of  pleafing. 
Have  always,  as  much  as  you  can,  that 
gentlenefs  of  manners,  which  never  fails  to 
make  favourable  imprefiions,  provided  it  be 
equally  free  from  an  infipid  fmile,  or  a  pert 
fmirk. 

Carefully  avoid  an  argumentative  and 
difputative  turn,  which  too  many  people 
have,  and  fome  even  value  themfelves 
upon,  in  company ;  and,  when  your  opinion 
differs  from  others,  maintain  it  only  with 
modeily,  calmnefs,  and  gentlenefs;  but 
never  be  eager,  loud,  or  clamorous;  and, 
when  yOu  find  your  antagonift  beginning 
to  grow  warm,  put  an  end  to  the  difpute  by 
fome  genteel  aVoke  of  humour.  For,  take 
it  for  granted,  if  the  two  beil  friends  in  the 
world  difpute  with  eagernefs  upon  the  moil 
trifling  fubjeft  imaginable,  they  will,  for 
the  time,  find  a  momentary  alienation  from 
each  other.  Difputes  upon  any  fubje&are 
a  fort  of  trial  of  the  underilanding,  and 
muil  end  in  the  mortification  of  one  or 
other  of  the  difputants.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  am  far  from  meaning  that  you 
fhould  give  an  univerfal  aflent  to  all  that 
you  hear  faid  in  company;  fuch  an  aflent 
would  be  mean,  and  in  fome  cafes  crimi- 
nal ;  but  blame  with  indulgence,  and  cor- 
rect with  gentlenefs. 

Always  look  people  in  the  face  when  you 

fpeak  to  them;  the  not  doing  it  is  thought 

3  G  3  to 


S22 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


to  imply  confcious  guilt;  beiides  that,  you 
lofe  the  advantage  of  obferving  by  their 
countenances,  what  impreffion  your  dif- 
courfe  makes  upon  them.  In  order  to 
know  people's  real  fentiments,  I  truft  much 
more  to  my  eyes  than  to  my  ears;  for  they 
can  lav  whatever  they  have  a  mind  I  fhould 
hear;  but  they  can  feldom  help  looking 
what  they  have  no  intention  that  I  fhould 
know. 

If  you  have  not  command  enough  over 
yourieif  to  conquei  your  humours,  as  I 
am  lure  every  rational  creature  may  have, 
never  go  into  company  while  the  fit  of  ill- 
humour  is  upon  you.  lnitead  of  company's 
diverting  you  in  thofe  moments,  you  will 
difpleafe,  and  probably  fhock  them;  and 
you  will  part  wcrfe  friends  than  you  met : 
but  whenever  you  find  in  yourfelf  a  dif- 
pofkion  to  iullennefs,  contradiction,  or  tef- 
tinefs,  it  will  be  in  vain  to  feek  for  a  cure 
abroad.  Stay  at  home;  let  your  humour 
ferment  and  work  itfelf  off.  Cheerfulnefs 
and  good-hurncur  are  of  all  qualifications 
the  mcft  amiable  in  company  ;  for,  though 
they  do  not  neceiTarily  imply  good-nature 
and  good-breeding,  they  reprefent  them, 
at  leaif,  very  well,  and  that  is  all  that  is  re- 
quired in  mixt  company. 

I  have  indeed  known  fome  very  ill-na- 
tured people,  who  were  very  good-humour- 
ed in  company  ;.  but  I  never  knew  any  one 
generally  ill-humoured  in  company,  who 
was  not  eilentally  ill-natured.  When  there 
is  no  malevolence  in  the  heart,  there  is  al- 
ways a  cl.eerfulnefs  and  eafe  in  the  coun- 
tenance and  manners.  By  good-humour 
and  cheerfulnefs,  I  am  far  from  meaning 
noii'y  miah  and  loud  peals  of  laughter, 
which  are  the  diilinguifhingcharaclerillics 
of  the  vulgar  and  of  the  ill-bred,  whole 
mirth  is  a  kind  of  ftorm.  Obferve  it,  the 
vulgar  often  laugh, but  never  fmile ;  where- 
as well-bred  people  often  fmile,  but  fel- 
dom laugh.  A  witty  thing  never  excited 
kughter;  it  pleafes  only  the  mind,  and 
ncvir  diilorts  the  countenance :  a  glaring 
abfurdity,  a  blunder,  afilly  accident,  and 
thole  things  that  are  generally  called  co- 
mical, msy  excite  a  laugh,  though  never 
a  loud  nor  a  long  one,  among  well  bred 
people. 

Sudden  paflion  is  called  (hort-lived  mad- 
icfs:  it  is  a  madnefs  indeed,  but  the  fits 
of  it  return  fo  often  in  choleric  people,  that 
it  may  well  be  called  a  continual  madnefs. 
biiould  you  h'ippen  to  be  of  this  unfor- 
tunate difpofition,  make  it  your  corrftant 
ftudy  to  lubdue,  or,  at  Icail,  to  check  it; 


when  you  find  your  choler  rifing,  refolve 
neither  to  fpeak  to,  nor  anfwer  the  perfon 
who  excites  it;  but  flay  till  you  find  it 
fubfiding,  and  then  fpeak  deliberately. 
Endeavour  to  be  cool  and  fteady  upon  all 
occafions;  the  advantages  of  fuch  a  fteady 
calmnefs  are  innumerable,  and  would  be 
too  tedious  to  relate.  It  may  be  acquired 
by  care  and  refleclion ;  if  it  could  not,  that 
reafon  which  diitinguifhes  men  from  brutes 
would  be  given  us  to  very  little  purpofe: 
as  a  proof  of  this,  I  never  faw,  and  fcarcely 
ever  heard  of  a  Quaker  in  a  palTion.  In 
truth,  there  is  in  that  fec\  a  decorum  and 
decency,  and  an  amiable  fimplicity,  that  I 
know  in  no  other.  Chejierfidd. 

§   24.     A  Dialogue   between  M.  APICIU9 

tftti/DART  ENE  UF. 

Darteneuf.  Alas !  poor  Apiciusr — I  pity 
thee  much,  for  not  having  lived  in  my  age 
and  my  country.  How  many  good  dimes 
have  1  eat  in  England,  that  were  unknown 
at  Rome  in  thy  days ! 

Apicius.  Keep  your  pity  for  yourfelf.- — 
how  many  good  diihes  have  1  eat  in  Rome, 
the  knowledge  of  which  has  been  loll  in 
thefe  latter  degenerate  days!  the  fat  paps 
of  a  fow,  the  livers  of  fcari,  the  brains  of 
phenicopters,  and  the  tripotanum,  which 
confiited  of  three  forts  of  fifh  for  which  you 
have  no  names,  the  lupus  marinus,  themyxo, 
and  the  murasnus. 

Darteneuf.  I  thought  the  murama  had 
been  our  lamprey,  We  have  excellent  ones 
in  the  Severn. 

Apicius.  No:— -the  murama  was  a  falt- 
water  fifh,  and  kept  in  ponds  into  which 
the  fea  was  admitted. 

Darteneuf.  Why  then  I  dare  fay  our 
lampreys  are  better.  Did  you  ever  eat  any 
of  them  potted  or  viewed? 

Apicius.  I  was  never  in  Britain.  Your 
country  then  was  too  barbarous  for  me  to 
go  thither.  I  fhould  have  been  afraid  that 
the  Britons  would  have  eat  me. 

Darteneuf.  I  am  forry  for  you,  very 
forty:  for  if  you  never  were  in  Britain, 
you  never  eat  the  belt  oyfters  in  the  whole 
world. 

Apicius.  Pardon  me,  Sir,  your  Sand- 
wich oyiters  were  brought  to  Rome  in  my 
time. 

Darteneuf.  They  could  not  be  frefh  : 
they  were  good  for  nothing  there  : — You  , 
fhould  have  come  to  Sandwich  to  eat  them : 
it  is  a  fhame  for  you  that  you  did  not. — 
An  epicure  talk  of  danger  when  he  is  in 
fearch  of  a  duinty  !  did  not  Leander  fwim 

over 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,   Sec, 


Si- 


over  the  Hellefpont  to  get  to  his  miftrefs? 
and  what  is  a  wench  to  a  barrel  of  excel- 
lent oyfters  ? 

Apicius.  Nay — I  am  Aire  you  cannot 
blame  me  for  any  want  of  alertnefs  in  feek- 
ing  fine  fifties.  I  failed  to  the  coaft  of  Af- 
ric,  from  Minturnaj  in  Campania,  only  to 
taile  of  one  fpecies,  which  I  heard  was 
larger  there  than  it  was  on  our  coail,  and 
finding  that  I  had  received  a  falfe  infor- 
mation, I  returned  again  without  deigning 
to  land. 

Darteneuf.  There  was  fome  fenfe  in  that: 
but  why  did  you  not  alfo  make  a  voyage  to 
Sandwich  ?  Had  you  tailed  thofe  oylters 
in  their  perfection,  you  would  never  have 
come  back  :  you  would  have  eat  till  you 
burft. 

Apicius.  I  wifri  I  had : — It  would  have 
been  better  than  poifoning  myielf,  as  I  did, 
becaufe,  when  1  came  to  make  up  my  ac- 
counts, I  found  I  had  not  much  above  the 
poor  fum  of  fuurfcore  thoufand  pounds  left, 
which  would  not  afford  me  a  table  to  keep 
me  from  flarving. 

Darteneuf.  A  fum  of  fourfcore  thoufand 
pounds  not  keep  you  from  flarving  !  would 
1  had  had  it !  I  ihould  not  have  fpent  it  in 
twenty  years,  though  I  had  kept  the  bell 
table  in  London,  fuppoung  I  bad  made  no 
other  expence. 

Apicius.  Alas,  poor  man  !  this  fhews 
that  you  Englifh  have  no  idea  of  the  lux- 
ury that  reigned  in  our  tables.  Before  [ 
died,  I  had  ipent  in  my  kitchen  807,  291  / 
13*.  4<£ 

Darteneuf.  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it : 
there  is  an  error  in  the  account. 

Apicius.  Why,  the  eitablifhment  of 
Lucullus  for  his  fuppers  in  the  Apollo,  I 
mean  for  every  fupper  he  eat  in  the  room 
which  he  called  by  that  name,  was  5000 
drachms,  which  is  in  your  money  1614/. 
lis.  8  d. 

Darteneuf.  Would  I  had  fupped  with' 
him  there  !  But  is  there  no  blunder  in 
thefe  calculations  ? 

Apicius.  Afk  your  learned  men  that.— I 
count  as  they  tell  me.— But  perhaps  you 
may  think  that  thefe  feails  were  only  made 
by  great  men,  like  Lucullus,  who  had  plun- 
dered all  Afia  to  help  him  in  his  houie- 
keeping.  What  will  you  fay  when  I  tell 
you,  that  the  player  ./Efopus  had  one  difh 
that  cofl  him  6000  ieflertia,  that  is,  4843  /. 
iqs.  Englilh. 

Darteneuf.  What  will  I  fay  !  why,  that 
I  pity  poor  Cibber  and  Booth ;  and  that,  if 
I  had  known  this  when  I  was  alive,  I  ihould 


have  hanged  myfelf  for  vexation  that  I  did 
not  live  in  thofe  days. 

Apicius.  Well  you  might,  well  you  might. 
— You  do  not  know  what  eating  is.  You 
never  could  know  it.  Nothing  lefs  than 
the  wealth  of  the  Roman  empire  is  fufti- 
cient  to  enable  a  man  to  keep  a  good  ta- 
ble. Our  players  were  richer  by  far  than 
your  princes. 

Darteneuf.  Oh  that  I  had  but  lived  in 
the  blefTed  reign  of  Caligula,  or  of  Vitel- 
lius,  or  of  Hehogabalus,  and  had  been  ad- 
mitted to  the  honour  of  dining  with  their 
flaves ! 

Apicius.  Aye,  there  you  touch  me.— I 
am  miserable  that  I  died  before  their  good 
times.  They  carried  the  glories  of  their 
table  much  farther  than  the  bell  eaters  of 
the  age  that  Hived  in.  Vitellius  fpent  in 
eating  and  drinking,  within  one  year,  what 
would  amount  in  your  money  to  above  fe- 
ven  millions  two  hundred  thoufand  pounds. 
He  told  me  fo  himfelf  in  a  conversation  I 
had  with  him  not  long  ago.  And  the  others 
you  mentioned  did  not  fall  fhortofhis  royal 
magnificence. 

Darteneuf.  Thefe  indeed  were  great 
princes.     But  what  affefts  me  moll  is  the 

difh  of  that  player,  that  d d  fellow 

v£ibpu3.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  his 
having  lived  fo  much  better  than  I.  Pray, 
of  what  ingredients  might  the  difh  he  paid 
fo  much  for  confiit  ? 

Apicius.  Chiefly  o"f  finging  birds.  It 
was  that  which  fo  greatly  enhanced  the 
price. 

Darteneuf.  Of  finging  birds !  choak 
him  ! — I  never  eat  b';t  one,  which  I  flole 
from  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance,  and  all 
London  was  in  an  uproar  about  it,  as  if  I 
had  iiokm  and  roailed  a  child.  But,  upon 
recollection,  I  begin  to  doubt  whether  I 
have  fo  much  reafon  to  envy  vEfopus ;  for 
the  finging  bird  which  I  eat  was  no  better 
in  its  taile  than  a  fat  lark  or  a  thrum :  it 
was  not  fo  good  as  a  whearear  or  becafigue ; 
and  therefore  I  fufpeel  that  all  the  luxury 
you  have  bragged  of  was  nothing  but:  va- 
nity and  fooliih  expence.  It  was  like  that 
of  the  fon  of 'jEfopus,  who  diflb!v:jd  pearls 
in  vinegar,  and  drunk  them  at  fupper.     I 

will  bed d,  if  a  haunch  of  veni'.on,  and 

my  favourite  ham-pye,  were  not  much 
better  dimes  than  any  at  the  table  of  Vi- 
tellius himfelf.  I  do  not  find  that  you  had 
ever  any  good  foups,  without  which  no 
man  of  taile  can  poffibly  dine.  The  rab- 
bits in  Italy  are  not  fit  to  eat;  and  what 
is  better  than  the  wing  of  one  of  our  Eng- 


+ 


liih 


824. 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


liih  wild  rabbits  ?,  I  have  been  told  that 
you  had  no  turkies.  The  mutton  in  Italy 
is  very  ill-flavoured ;  and  as  for  your  boars 
roafted  whole,  I  defpife  them ;  they  were 
only  fit  to  be  ferved  up  to  the  mob  at  a 
corporation  feail,  or  election  dinner.  A 
fmall  barbecued  hog  is  worth  a  hundred 
of  them  ;  and  a  good  collar  of  Shrewfbury 
brawn  is  a  much  better  dim. 

Apkius.  If  you  had  fome  kinds  of  meat 
that  we  wanted,  yet  our  cookery  mull  have 
been  greatly  fuperior  to  yours.  Our  cooks 
were  fo  excellent,  that  they  could  give  to 
hog's  fleih  the  tafte  of  all  other  meats. 

Dartcncvf.   I  Ihould  not  have  liked  their 

<3 d  imitations.     You  might  as  eafdy 

have  impofed  on  a  good  connojifeur  the 
copy  of  a  fine  picture  for  the  original. 
Our  cooks,  on  the  contrary,  give  to  all 
other  meats  a  rich  flavour  of  bacon,  with- 
out deftroying  that  which  makes  the  di- 
llindtion  of  one  from  another.  I  have  not 
the  leaft  doubt  that  our  eflence  of  hams  is 
a  much  better  fauce  than  any  that  ever 
was  ufed  by  the  ancients.  We  have  a 
hundred  ragouts,  the  compofition  of  which 
exceeds  all  defcription.  Had  yours  been 
as  good,  you  could  not  have  lolled,  as  vou 
did,  upon  couches,  while  you  were  eating  ; 
they  would  have  made  you  fit  up  and  attend 
to  your  bufinefs.  Then  you  had  a  cullom 
of  hearing  things  read  to  you  while  you 
were  at  fupper.  This  fhevv's  you  were  not 
fo  well  entertained  as  we  are  with  our  meat. 
For  my  own  part,  when  I  was  at  table,  I 
could  mind  nothing  elfe :  I  neither  heard, 
faw,  nor  fpoke :  I  only  fmelt  and  tailed. 
But  the  worft  of  all  is,  that  you  had  no 
wine  fit  to  be  named  with  good  claret  or 
Burgundy,  or  Champagne,  or  old  hock,  or 
Tokay.  You  boailed  much  of  your  Fa- 
lernam;  but  I  have  tailed  the  Lachrymal 
Chriili,  and  other  wines  that  grow  upon 
the  fame  coafi,  not  one  of  which  would  I 
drink  above  a  glafs  or  two  of  if  you  would 
give  me  the  kingdom  of  Naples.  You 
boiled  your  wines,  and  mixed  water  with 
them,  which  Shews  that  in  themfelves  they 
were  not  fit  to  drink. 

Apkius.  I  am  afraid  you  beat  us  in 
wines,  not  to  mention  your  cyder,  perry, 
and  beer,  of  all  which  I  have  heard  great 
fame  from  fome  Engliih  with  whom  I  have 
talked  ;  and  their  report  has  been  confirm- 
ed by  the  teftimony  of  their  neighbours 
who  have  travelled  into  England.  Won- 
derful things  have  been  alfo  faid  to  me  of 
a  liquor  called  punch. 

Vartensuf,    Aye—to  have  died  without 


tailing  that  is  unhappy  indeed  !  There  is 
rum-punch  and  arrack-punch ;  it  is  hard 
to  fay  which  is  belt:  but  Jupiter  would 
have  given  his  neftar  for  either  of  them, 
upon  my  word  and  honour. 

Apicius.  The  thought  of  it  puts  me  into 
a  fever  with  thiril.  From  whence  do  you 
get  your  arrack  and  your  rum  ? 

Darieneuf.  Why,  from  the  Eafl  and 
Weft  Indies,  which  you  knew  nothing  of. 
That  is  enough  to  decide  the  difpute.  Your 
trade  to  the  Fail  Indies  was  very  far  fhort 
of  what  we  carry  on,  and  the  Weil  Indies 
were  not  difcovered.  What  a  new  world 
of  good  things  for  eating  and  drinking  has 
Columbus  opened  to  us! -Think  of  that, 
and  defpair. 

Apicius.  I  cannot  indeed  but  lament  my 
ill  fate,  that  America  was  not  found  before 
I  was  born.  It  tortures  me  when  1  hear  of 
chocolate,  pine-apples,  and  twenty  other 
fine  meats  or  fine  fruits  produced  there, 
which  I  have  never  tailed.  What  an  ad- 
vantage it  is  to  you,  that  all  your  fweet- 
meats,  tarts,  cakes,  and  other  delicacies  of 
that  nature,  are  fweetened  with  fugar  in- 
llead  of  honey,  which  we  were  obliged  to 
make  ufe  of  for  want  of  that  plant  !  but 
what  grieves  me  moil  is,  that  I  never  eat 
a  turtle;  they  tell  me  that  it  is  abfolutely 
the  belt  of  all  foods. 

Darteneuf.  Yes,  I  have  heard  the  Ame- 
ricans fay  lb: — but  I  never  eat  any;  for, 
in  my  time,  they  were  not  brought  over  to 
England, 

Apicius.  Never  eat  any  turtle !  how 
didit  thou  dare  to  accufe  me  of  not  going 
to  Sandwich  to  eat  oyilers,  and  didil  not 
thyfelf  take  a  trip  to  America  to  riot  on 
turtles?  but  know, wretched  man,  that  I  am 
informed  they  are  now  as  plentiful  in  Eng- 
land as  fturgeon.  There  are  turtle-boats 
that  go  regularly  to  London  and  Briftol 
from  the  Weft  Indies.  I  have  juft  feen  a 
fat  alderman,  who  died  in  London  laft 
week  of  a  furfeit  he  got  at  a  turtle  feaft  in 
that  city. 

Darteneuf.  What  does  he  fay?  Does 
he  tell  you  that  turtle  is  better  than  veni- 
fon? 

Apkius.  He  fays  there  was  a  haunch  of 
venifon  untouched,  while  every  mouth  was 
employed  on  the  turtle ;  that  he  ate  till  he 
fell  afleep  in  his  chair  ;  and,  that  the  food 
was  fo  wholefome  he  fhould  not  have  died, 
if  he  had  not  unluckily  caflght  cold  in  his 
fleep,  which  flopped  his  perfpiration,  and 
hurt  his  digeftion. 

Darteneuf,  Alas !  how  imperfect  is  hu- 

man 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,  DIALOGUES,   &c.        82s 


man  felicity !  I  lived  in  an  age  when  the 
pleafure  of  eating  was  thought  to  be  car- 
ried to  its  higheft  perfection  in  England 
and  France;  and  yet  a  turtle  feaft  is  a  no- 
velty to  me !  Would  it  be  impoffible,  do 
you  think,  to  obtain  leave  from  Pluto  of 
going  back  for  one  day,  juft  to  taile  of  that 
food  ?  I  would  promife  to  kill  myfelf  by 
the  'quantity  I  would  eat  before  the  next 
morning. 

Apicius.  You  have  forgot,  Sir,  that  you 
have  no  body:  that  which  you  had  has 
been  rotten  a  great  while  ago;  and  you 
can  never  return  to  the  earth  with  ano- 
ther, unlefs  Pythagoras  carries  you  thither 
to  animate  that  of  a  hog.  But  comfort 
yourfelf,  that,  as  you  have  ate  dainties 
which  I  never  tailed,  fo  the  next  genera- 
tion will  eat  fome  unknown  to  the  prefent. 
New  difcoveries  will  be  made,  and  new 
delicacies  brought  from  other  parts  of  the 
world.  We  mult  both  be  philofophers. 
We  mull  be  thankful  for  the  good  things 
we  have  had,  and  not  grudge  others  bet- 
ter, if  they  fall  to  their  ihare.  Confider 
that,  after  all,  we  could  but  have  eat  as 
much  as  our  llomachs  would  hold,  and  that 
we  did  every  day  of  our  lives. — But  fee, 
who  comes  hither  ?  1  think  it  is  Mercury. 

Mercury.  Gentlemen,  I  muil  tell  you 
that  I  have  flood  near  you  invilible,  and 
heard  your  dilcourfe  ;  a  privilege  which  we 
deities  ufe  when  we  pleafe.  Attend  there- 
fore to  a  difcovery  which  I  (hall  make  to 
you,  relating  to  the  fubjedl  upon  which  you 
were  talking.  I  know  two  men,  one  of 
whom  lived  in  ancient,  and  the  other  in 
modern  times,  that  had  more  pleafure  in 
eating  than  either  of  you  ever  had  in  your 
lives. 

Apicius.  One  of  thefe,  I  prefume,  was 
a  Sybarite,  and  the  other  a  French  gentle- 
man fettled  in  the  Well  Indies. 

Mercury.  No;  one  was  a  Spartan  fol- 
dier,  and  the  other  an  Englilh  farmer. — I 
fee  you  both  look  ailoniihed ;  but  what  I 
tell  you  is  truth.  The  foldier  never  ate 
his  black  broth  till  the  exercifes,  to  which 
by  their  difcipline  the  Spartan  troops  were 
obliged,  had  got  him  fuch  an  appetite,  that 
he  could  have  gnawed  a  bone  like  a  dog. 
The  farmer  was  out  at  the  tail  of  his 
plough,  or  fome  other  wholefome  labour, 
from  morning  till  night;  and  when  he 
came  home  his  wife  drefled  him  a  piece  of 
good  beef,  or  a  fine  barn-door  fowl  and  a 
pudding,  for  his  dinner,  which  he  ate  much 
more  ravenoufly,  and  confequently  with  a 
great  deal  more  relifh  and  pleafure,  than 


you  did  your  tripotanum  or  your  ham-  pye. 
Your  llomachs  were  always  fo  overcharged, 
that  I  queition  if  ever  you  felt  real  hunger, 
or  eat  one  meal  in  twenty  years  without 
forcing  your  appetites,  which  makes  all 
things  iniipid.  I  tell  you  therefore  again, 
that  the  foldier  and  the  farmer  had  much 
more  of  the  joy  of  eating  than  you. 

Darteneuf.  This  is  more  mortifying 
than  not  to  have  ihared  a  turtle  feaft.  I 
fear  indeed  we  have  been  in  quite  a  wrong 
fyftem,  and  never  had  any  true  notions  of 
pleaiure. 

Apicius.  It  is  a  fad  thing  not  to  know 
what  good  living  is  before  one  is  dead.  I 
wiih,  Mercury,  you  had  taught  me  your 
art  of  cookery  in  my  life-time,  or  held 
your  tongue  about  it  here. 

Dialagues  of  the  Dead, 

§   25.     Scene  jeitveen  I A  c  0  and  C  A  s  s  1  o, 
in  nxibicb  Cassio  regrets  his  Folly  in  get- 
ting  drunk. 

lago.  What !  are  you  hurt,  Lieute*. 
nant  ? 

Caf.     Pall  all  furgery. 

Iago.     Marry,  Heav'n  forbid ! 

Caf.  Reputation,  reputation,  reputa- 
tion !  Oh  I  have  loft  my  reputation !  I 
have  loll  the  immortal  part  of  myfelf,  and 
what  remains  is  beitial.  My  reputation  ! 
Iago,  my  reputation ■ 

Iago.  As  I  am  an  honeft  man,  I  thought 
yoa  had  received  fome  bodily  wound :  there 
is  more  fenfe  in  that,  than  in  reputation. 
Reputation  is  an  idle  and  moil  falfe  impo- 
fition  :  oft  got  without  merit,  and  loft  with- 
out deferving.  What,  man  ! — there  are 
ways  to  recover  the  general  again.  Sue 
to  him,  and  he's  your's. 

Caf.  I  will  rather  fue  to  be  defpis'd. 
Drunk  !  and  fquabble  !  fwagger  I 
fwear !  and  difcourfe  fullian  with  one's 
own  ihadow  !  Oh  thou  invincible  fpirit  of 
vyine  !  if  thou  haft  no  name  to  be  known 
by,  let  us  call  thee  Devil. 

Iago.  What  was  he  that  you  follow'd 
with  your  fword  ?  what  had  he  done  to 
you? 

Caf.     I  know  not, 

Iago.     Is't  poffible  ? 

Caf  I  remember  a  mafs  of  things,  but 
nothing  diftinftly;  a  quarrel,  but  nothing 
wherefore.  Oh,  that  men  Ihould  put  an 
enemy  in  their  mouths  to  Ileal  away  their 
brains  !  that  we  fhould  with  joy,  pleafance, 
revel,  and  applaufe,  transform  ourfelves 
into  beafts  1 

Iago* 


Si6 


Uegant  extracts  in   prose. 


Iago.  Why.  but  you  a-e  tow  well  e- 
Jiough  :  how  came  you  thus  recovered  ? 

Caf  It  has  pleafed  the  devil  Drunken- 
nefs  to  give  place  to  the  devil  Wrath  ;  one 
imperfednefs  fhews  me  another,  to  make 
me  frankly  defpife  myfelf. 

Iago.  Come,  you  are  too  fevere  a  mo- 
raler.  As  the  time,  the  place,  and  the 
condition  of  this  country  ftands,  I  could 
heartily  wifh  this  had  not  befallen  ;  but 
fince  it  is  as  it  is,  mend  it  for  your  own 
good. 

Caf.     I  will  afk  him  for  my  place  again 

—he  {hall  tell  me  I  am  a  drunkard  ! 

Had  I  as  many  mouths  as  Hydra,  fuch  an 
anfwer  would  flop  them  all.  To  be  now  a 
fenfible  man,  by  and  by  a  fool,  and  pre- 

fently  a  beaft  ! Every  inordinate  cup  is 

unblefs'd,  and  the  ingredient  is  a  devil. 

Iago.  Come,  come,  good  wine  is  a  good 
familiar  creature,  if  it  be  well  us'd  ;*  ex- 
claim no  more  againft  it.  And,  good  Lieu- 
tenant, I  think  you  think  I  love  you. 

Caf  I  have  well  approv'd  it,  Sir. — I 
drunk  ! 

Iago.  You,  or  any  man  living,  may  be 
drunk  at  fome  time,  man.  I  tell  you  what 
you  {hall  do.  Our  general's  wife  is  now 
the  general.  Confefs  yourfelf  freely  to 
her  ;  importune  her  help,  to  put  you  in 
your  place  again.  She  is  of  fo  free,  fo 
kind,  fo  apt,  fo  bleffed  a  difpofnion,  fhe 
holds  it  a  vice  in  her  goodnefs  not  to  do 
more  than  fhe  is  requeiled.  This  broken 
joint  between  you  and  her  hufband,  entreat 
her  to  fplinterj  and,  my  fortunes  againll 
any  lay  worth  naming,  this  crack -of  your 
love  {hall  grow  ftronger  than  it  was  be- 
fore. 

Caf.    You  advife  me  well. 

Iago.  I  proteft,  in  the  lincerity  of  love 
and  honeft  kindnefs. 

Caf.  I  think  it  freely;  and,  betimes  in 
the  morning,  I  will  befeech  the  virtuous 
Dt-fdemona  to  undertake  for  me. 

Iago.  You  are  in  the  right.  Good  night, 
Lieutenant:  I  muff,  to  the  watch. 

Caf.    Goodnight,  honeft  Iago. 

Shaluijcare. 

%  zG.  A  Dialogue  between  Mercury 
and  a  modem  jme  Lady. 

Mrs.  Modijb.  Indeed,  Mr.  Ivlercurv,  I 
cannot  have  the  pleafure  of  waiting  upon 
you  now.  I  am  engaged,  absolutely  en- 
gaged. 

Mercury,  I  know  you  have  an  amiable 
affectionate  hufband,  and  feveralfine  chil- 


dren :  but  you  need  not  be  told,  that  nei- 
ther conjugal  attachments,  maternal  affec- 
tions, nor  even  the  care  of  a  kingdom's 
welfare  or  a  nation's  glory,  can  excufe  a 
perfon  who  has  received  a  fummons  to  the 
realms  of  death.  If  the  grim  meffenger 
was  not  as  peremptory  as  unwelcome, 
Charon  would  not  get  a  pafienger  (except 
now  and  then  an  hypochondriacal  Englifh* 
man)  once  in  a  century.  You  mutt  be  con- 
tent to  leave  your  hufband  and  family,  and 
pafs  the  Styx. 

Mrs.  Modijb.  I  did  not  mean  to  infill 
on  any  engagement  with  my  hufband  and 
children  ;  I  never  thought  myfelf  engaged 
to  them.  I  had  no  engagements  but  luch 
as  were  common  to  women  of  my  rank. 
Look  on  my  chimney-piece,  and  you  will 
lee  I  was  engaged  to  the  play  on  Mondays, 
balls  on  Tuefdays,  the  opera  on  Saturdays> 
and  to  card  affemblies  the  reft  of  the  week, 
for  two  moaths  to  come;  and  it  would  be 
the  rudeft  thing  in  the  world  not  to  keep 
my  appointments.  If  you  will  flay  for  me 
till  the  furnmer  feafon,  I  will  wait  on  you 
with  all  my  heart.  Perhaps  the  Elyfian 
fields  may  be  lefs  deteftable  than  the  coun- 
try in  our  world.  Pray,  have  you  a  fine 
Vauxhall  and  Ranelagh  ?  I  think  I  fhould 
notdiflike  drinking  the  Lethe  waters,  when 
you  have  a  full  feafon. 

Mercury.  Surely  you  could  not  like  to 
drink  the  waters  of  oblivion,  who  have 
made  pleafure  the  bufinefs,  end,  and  aim 
of  your  life  !  It  is  good  to  drown  cares: 
but  who  would  wafh  away  the  remembrance 
of  a  life  of  gaiety  and  pleafure  ? 

Mrs.  Modijb.  Diverfion  was  indeed  the 
bufinefs  of  my  life;  but  as  to  pleafure,  I 
have  enjoyed  none  lince  the  novelty  of  my 
amufements  was  gone  off.  Can  one  be 
pleafed  with  feeing  the  fame  thing  over 
and  over  again  ?  Late  hours  and  fatigue 
gave  me  the  vapours,  fpoiled  the  natural 
chearfulnefs  of  my  temper,  and  even  in 
3'outh  wore  away  my  youthful  vivacity. 
~  Mercury.  If  this  way  of  life  did  not 
give  you  pleafure,  why  did  you  continue  in 
it  i  I  iuppcfe  you  did  not  think  it  was 
very  meritorious  ? 

Mrs.  Modijb.  I  was  too  much  engaged 
to  think  at  all:  fo  far  indeed  my  manner 
of  life  was  agreeable  enough.  My  friends 
always  told  me  diverfions  were  neceilary, 
and  my  doftor  affured  me  diffipation  was 
good  for  my  fpirits ;  my  hufband  infilled 
that  it  was  not ;  and  you  know  that  one 
loves  to  oblige  one's  friends,  comply  with 
one's  defter,  and  contradict  one's  hufband  ; 

and 


BOOK   IV.     NARRATIV 

and  befides,  I  was  ambitious  to  be  thought 
au  bon  ton  * . 

Mercury.  Bon  ton!  what's  that,  Ma- 
dam ?  Pray  define  it. 

Mrs.  Modijh.  Oh,  Sir,  excufe  me ;  it 
is  one  of  the  privileges  of  the  bon  ton  never 
to  define  or  be  defined.  It  is  the  child 
and  the  parent  of  jargon.  It  is — I  can 
never  tell  you  what  it  is;  but  I  will  try  to 
tell  you  what  it  is  not.  In  converfation  it 
is  not  wit;  in  manners  it  is  not  politenefs; 
in  behaviour  it  is  not  addrefs;  but  it  is  a 
little  like  them  all.  It  can  only  belong  to 
people  of  a  certain  rank,  who  live  in  a  cer- 
tain manner,  with  certain  perlbns  who  have 
not  certain  virtues,  and  who  have  certain 
vices,  and  who  inhabit  a  certain  part  of 
the  town.  Like  a  place  by  courtefy,  it 
gets  an  higher  rank  than  the  perfon  can 
claim,  but  which  thofe  who  have  a  legal 
title  to  precedency  dare  not  difpute,  for  fear 
of  being  thoughtnot  to  underftand  the  rules 
of  politenefs.  Now,  Sir,  I  have  told  you 
as  much  as  I  know  of  it,  though  I  have  ad- 
mired and  aimed  at  it  all  my  life. 

Mercury.  Then,  Madam,  you  have  wafted 
your  time,  faded  your  beauty,  and  de- 
ftroyed  your  health,  for  the  laudable  pur- 
pofes  of  contradicting  your  hufband,  and 
being  this  fomething  and  this  nothing  cal- 
led the  bon  ten  P 

Mrs.  Modijh.  What  would  you  have  had 
me  do? 

Mercury.  I  will  follow  your  mode  of 
inftruifting:  I  will  tell  you  what  I  would 
not  have  had  you  do.  I  would  not  have 
had  you  facrifice  your  time,  your  reafon, 
and  your  duties  to  fafliion  and  folly.  I 
would  not  have  had  you  negleiSt  your  huf- 
band's  happinefs,  and  your  children's  edu- 
cation. 

Mrs.  Modijh.  As  to  my  daughters'  edu- 
cation I  fpared  no  expence :  they  had  a 
dancing-mafter,  mufic-mafter,  and  draw- 
ing-mafter,  and  a  French  governefs  to 
teach  them  behaviour  and  the  French  lan- 
guage. 

Mercury.  So  their  religion,  fentiments, 
and  manners,  were  to  be  learnt  from  a 
dancing-mailer,  mufic-mafter,  and  a  cham- 
ber-maid !  perhaps  they  might  prepare 
them  to  catch  the  bon  ton.  Your  daughters 
mull  have  been  fo  educated  as  to  fit  them 
to  be  wives  without  conjugal  affection,  and 
mothers  without  maternal  care.  I  am  forry 
for  the  fort  of  life  they  are  commencing, 

*  Du  bon  ton  is  a  cant  phiafe  in  the  modern 
French-  language,  for  the  fnfhionable  air  of  con- 
versation and  manners. 


ES,    DIALOGUES,    Arc.         S27 

and  for  that  which  you  have  jull  concluded. 
Minos  is  a  four  old  gentleman, without  the 
leaft  fmattering  of  the  bon  ton ;  and  I  am 
in  a  fright  for  you.  The  belt  thing  lean 
advife  you  is,  to  do  in  this  world  as  you  did 
in  the  other,  keep  happinefs  in  your  view, 
but  never  take  the  road  that  leads  to  it. 
Remain  on  this  fide  Styx;  wander  about 
without  end  or  aim;  look  into  the  Eiyfian 
fields,  but  never  attempt  to  enter  into  them, 
left  Minos  fhould  pufh  you  into  Tartarus : 
for  duties  negle&ed  may  bring  on  a  fen- 
tence  not  much  lefs  fevere  than  crimes 
committed.  Dialogues  of  the  Dead. 

§  27.  Scene  bet-ween  the  Jews  Sh  ylock 
and  Tubal  ;  in  which  the  latter  alter- 
nately torments  and  pie  of es  the  former,  by 
giving  him  an  Account  of  the  Extravagance 
cf  his  Daughter  Jessica,  and  the  Misfor- 
tunes of  A  N  T  0  N  I O. 

Shy.  How  now,  Tubal  ?  What  news 
from  Genoa?  haft  thou  heard  of  my 
daughter  ? 

Tub.  I  often  came  where  I  did  hear  of 
her,  but  cannot  find  her. 

Shy.  Why  there,  there,  there  !  a  dia- 
mond gone  that  coft  me  two  thoufand  du- 
cats in  Francfort !  The  curfe  never  fell 
upon  our  nation  till  now;  I  never  felt  it 
till  now.  Two  thoufand  ducats  in  that, 
and  other  precious,  precious  jewels  !  I 
would  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot, 
and  the  jewels  in  her  ear  !  O  would  ihe 
were  heais'd  at  my  foot,  and  the  ducats  in 
her  coffin!  No  news  of  them  ;  and  I  know 
not  what  fpent  in  the  fearch :  lofs  upon 
lofs  !  the  thief  gone  with  fo  much,  and  fo 
much  to  find  the  thief;  and  no  fatisfaftion, 
no  revenge ;  no  ill  luck  ilining  but  what 
lights  on  my  fhoulders  ;  no  fighs,  but  o' 
my  breathing;  no  tears,  but  o'  my  fhed- 
ding  ! 

Tub.  Yes,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too; 
Antonio,  as  I  heard  in  Genoa 

Shy.  What,  what,  what  ?  ill  luck,  ill 
luck  ? 

Tub.  Hath  an  argofie  caft  away,  com- 
ing from  Tripolis. 

Shy.  Thank  God  !  thank  God  !  is  it 
true  ?  is  it  true  ? 

Tub.  I  fpoke  with  fome  of  the  failers 
that  efcaped  i'.ie  wreck. 

Shy.  I  thank  thee,  good  Tubal  ;  good 
news,  good  news  ! 

Tub.  Your  daughter  fpent  in  Genoa,, 
as  I  heard,  in  one  night,  fcurfcore  da- 
cats. 

Sir, 


S2S 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Shy.  Thou  ftick'ft  a  dagger  in  me  ;  I 
mall  never  fee  my  gold  again :  fourfcore 
ducats  at  a  fitting  !  fourfcore  ducats  i 

Tub.  There  came"  divers  of  Antonio's 
creditors  in  my  company  to  Venice,  that 
fvvear  he  cannot  but  break. 

Shy.  I  am  glad  of  it:  I'll  plague  him, 
I'll  torture  him  :   1  am  glad  of  it. 

'Tub.  One  of  them  lhevved  me  a  ring 
that  he  had  of  your  daughter  for  a  mon- 
key. 

Shy.  Out  upon  her  !  thou  torturer!  me, 
Tubal !  it  was  my  ruby,  I  had  it  oi  Leah 
when  I  was  a  batchelor ;  I  would  not  have 
given  it  for  a  wildernefs  of  monkies. 

Tub.    But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

Shy.  Nay,  that's  true,  that's  very  true  : 
go  fee  me  an  officer,  befpeak  him  a  fort- 
night before.  I  will  have  the  heart  of 
him,  if  he  forfeit ;  for  were  he  out  of 
Venice,  I  can  make  what  merchandize  I 
will.  Go,  go,  Tubal,  and  meet  me  at 
our  fynagogue;  go,  good  Tubal ;  at  our 
fynagogue,  Tubal.  Skakcjpcare. 

§   28.     Humour  cus    Scene    bel-zvcen     Prince 

Henry  and  Fat.staff,  in  nubich  the 

Prince     detefcs    F  a  l  st  a  f  f  's    mo/i/irous 

Lies. 

P.  Henry.  "Welcome,  Jack  ! — Where 
hail  thcu  been  ? 

Fal.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  fay, 
and  a  vengeance  too,  many  and  amen  ! 
Give  me  a  cup  of  lack,  boy  : — -ere  1  lead 
this  life  long,  I'll  few  nether  locks  and 
mend  them,  and  foot  them  too.  A  plague 
of  all  cowards  !  give  me  a  cup  of  fack, 
rogue.  Is  there  no  virtue  extant?  [He 
drinks."\ — You  rcgue,  here's  lime  in  this 
fack  too.  There  is  nothing  but  roguery 
to  be  found  in  villainous  man;  yet  a  cow- 
ard is  worfe  than  a  cup  of  fack  with  lime  in 
it.  A  villainous  coward  !— Go  thy  ways, 
old  Jack  ;  die  when  thou  wilt,  if  manhood, 
good  manhood,  be  not  forgot  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth,  then  am  I  a  ihotten  her- 
ring. There  live  not  three  good  men  un- 
hang'd  in  England,  and  one  of  them  is  fat, 
and  grows  old,  Heaven  help  the  while  !  A 
bad  world  !  I  fay — A  plague  of  all  cow- 
ards !   I  fay  ftill. 

P.  Henry.  How  now,  Woolfack  !  what 
mutter  you  ? 

Fal.  A  king's  fon  !  If  I  do  not  beat 
thee  out  of  thy  kingdom  with  a  dagger  cf 
lath,  and  drive  all  thy  fubjedls  afore  thee 
like  a  flock  of  wild  geeie,  I'll  never  wear 
hair  on  my  face  more  !  You  Prince  of 
Wales ! 


P.  Henry.     Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Fal.  Are  you  not  a  coward  ?  anfwer 
me  that. 

P.  Henry.  Ye  fat  paunch,  an'  ye  call 
me  coward,  I'll  nab  thee. 

Fal.  I  call  thee  coward!  I'll  fee  thee 
hang'd  ere  I'll  call  thee  coward ;  but  I 
would  give  a  thoufand  pound  I  could  run 
as  fait  as  thoucanil.  You  are  {trait  enough 
in  the  moulders ;  you  care  not  who  lees 
your  back.  Call  you  that  backing  of  your 
friends?-  a  plague  upon  fuch  backing! 
give  me  them  that  will  face  me — give  me 
a  cup  of  fack:  I  am  a  rogue  if  I  drank 
to-day. 

P.  Henry.  O  villain  !  thy  lips  are  fcarce 
wip'd  ilnce  thou  drank'it  laft. 

Fal.  All's  one  for  that.  [He  drinks.] 
A  plague  of  all  cowards  !  ftiil,  fay  I. 

P.  Henry.     What's  the  matter  ? 

Fal.  What's  the  matter  !  here  be  four 
of  us  have  ta'en  a  thoufand  pound  this 
morning. 

P.  Henry.  Where  is  it,  Jack  ?  where 
is  it  ? 

Fal.  Where  is  it !  taken  from  us,  it  is : 
a  hundred  upon  four  of  us. 

P.  Henry.     What  !   a  hundred,  man  ? 

Fal.  I  am  a  rogue  if  I  were  not  at  half- 
fword  with  a  dozen  of  them  two  hours  to- 
gether. I  have  efcaped  by  miracle.  I  am 
eight  times  thruft  through  the  doublet,  four 
through  the  hole',  my  buckler  cut  through 
and  through,  my  fvvordhack'd  like  a  hand- 
faw,  ecce  lignum  I  I  never  dealt  better  fince 
I  was  a  man  :  all  would  not  do:  A  plague 
of  all  cowards  ! 

P.  Henry.  What,  fought  you  with  them 
all? 

Fal.  All !  I  know  not  what  ye  call  all ; 
but  if  I  fought  not  with  fifty  of  them,  I  am 
a  bunch  of  radifh  ;  if  there  were  not  two  or 
three  and  fifty  upon  poor  old  Jack,  then  I 
am  no  two-legg'd  creature. 

P.  Henry.  Pray  Heav'n  you  have  not 
murder'd  fome  of  them  ! 

Fal.  Nay,  that's  pall  praying  for.  I 
have  pepper'd  two  of  them ;  two,  I  am 
fure,  I  have  paid  ;  two  rogues  in  buckram 
fuits.  I  tell  thee  what,  Hal,  if  I  tell  thee  a 
lie,  fpit  in  my  face,  call  me  horfe.  Thou 
knowell  my  old  ward  :  here  I  lay,  and  thus 
I  bore  my  point ;  four  rogues  in  buckram 
let  drive  at  me. 

P.  Henry.  What,  four  !  thou  faidft  but 
two  even  now. 

Fal.  Four,  Hal,  I  told  thee  four.— 
Thefe  four  came  all  a  front,  and  mainly 
thruft  at  me ;  I  made  no  more  ado,  but 

took 


BOOK    IV.    NAkRATI 

took  all  their  feven  points  in  my  target, 
thus. 

P.  Henry.  Seven  !  why  they  were  but 
four  even  now. 

Fal.     In  buckram  ? 

P.  Henry.     Ay,  four,  in  buckram  fuits. 

Fal.  Seven  by  thefe  hilts,  or  I  am  a 
villain  elfe.     Doft  thou  hear  me,  Hal  ? 

P.  Henry.    Ay,  and  mark  thee  too,  Jack. 

Fal.  Do  fo,  for  it  is  worth  the  liftening  to. 
Thefe  nine  in  buckram,  that  I  told  thee  of — 

P.  Henry.     So,  two  more  already. 

Fal.  Their  points  being  broken,  began 
to  give  me  ground  ;  but  I  follow'd  me 
dole,  came  in  foot  and  hand,  and,  with  a 
thought — feven  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 

P.  Henry.  O  mcnflrous !  eleven  buck- 
ram men  grown  out  of  two. 

Fal.  But  as  the  devil  would  have  it, 
three  mifbegotten  knaves,  in  Kendal-green, 
came  at  my  back,  and  let  drive  at  me; 
(for  it  was  fo  dark,  Hal,  that  thou  couldft 
not  fee  they  hand.) 

P.  Henry.  Thefe  lies  are  like  the  father 
that  begets  them,  grofs  as  a  mountain,  open, 
palpable.  Why,  thou  clay-brained  guts, 
*thou  knotty-pated  fool,  thou  obfcenegreafy 
tallow-catch — 

Fal.  What,  art  thou  mad  ?  art  thou 
mad  ?  is  not  the  truth  the  truth  ? 

P.  Henry.  Why,  how  couldft  thou  know 
thefe  men  in  Kendal-green,  when,  it  was  fo 
dark  thou  couldft  not  fee  thy  hand?  Come; 
tell  us  your  reafon :  what  fay 'ft  thcu  to  this  ? 
Come,  your  reafon,  Jack,  your  reafon. 

Fal.  What  upon  compulfion  ! — No: 
were  I  at  the  ftrappado,  or  all  the  racks  in 
the  world,  I  would  not  tell  you  on  compul- 
fion !  Give  you  a  reafon  on  compulfion  ! 
If  reafons  were  as  plenty  as  blackberries, 
I  would  give  no  man  a  reafon  upon  com- 
pulfion. 

P.  Henry.  I'll  be  no  longer  guilty  of 
this  fin.  This  fanguine  coward,  this  bed- 
prefler,  this  horfe-back-breaker,  this  huge 
hill  of  flefh— 

Fal.  Away,  you  ftarveling,  you  elf-fkin, 
you  dry'd  neat's  tongue,  you  flock-nib. ! 
O,  for  breath  to  utter  !  what  is  like. thee? 
you  taylor's  yard,  you fheath,  you  bow-cafe, 
you  vile  ftanding  tuck— 

P.  Henry.  Well,  breathe  a  while,  and 
then  to't  again  ;  and  when  thou  haft  tir'd 
thyfelf  in  Safe  comparifons,  hear  me  fpeak 
but  this : — Poins  and  I  faw  you  four  fet  on 
four;  you  bouncithem,  and  were  mailers 
of  their  wealth  :  mark  now,  how  a  plain 
tale  (hall  put  you  down.  Then  did  we  two 
fet  on  you  four,  and  with  a  word  out-fac'd 
you  from  your  prize,  and  have  it  j  yea,  and 
H 


VES,    DIALOGUES,    &c.        Szg 

can  ihew  it  you  here  in  the  houfe.  And, 
Falftaff,  you  carry'd  your  guts  away  as 
nimbly,  with  as  quick  dexterity,  and  roar'd 
for  mercy,  and  ftill  ran  and  roar'd,  as  ever 
I  heard  bull-calf.  What  a  flave  art  thou, 
to  hack  thy  fword  as  thou  haft  done,  and 
then  fay  it  was  in  fight !  What  trick,  what 
device,  what  ftarting-hole  canft  thou  now 
find  out,  to  hide  thee  from  this  open  and 
aDparenc  ihame  ? 
1  Fal.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  '.—D'ye  think  1 
did  not  know  you  ? — By  the  Lord,  I  knew 
you  as  well  as  he  that  made  you.  Why, 
hear  ye  my  mailer,  was  it  for  me  to  kill  the 
heir-apparent  ?  ihould  I  turn  upon  the  true 
prince  ?  why,  thou  knoweft  I  am  as  valiant 
as  Hercules ;  but  beware  inftinft ;  the  lion 
will  not  touch  the  true  prince ;  inftincl  is  a 
great  matter.  I  was  a  coward  on  inftincl, 
I  grant  you  :  and  I  (hall  think  the  better  of 
myfclf  and  thee  during  my  life;  I  for  a 
valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prinoe. 
But  I  am  glad  you  have  the  money.  Let 
us  clap  to  the  dcors;  watch  to-night,  pray 
to-morrow.  What,  ftiall  we  be  merry  f 
fhall  we  have  a  play  extempore  ? 

P.  Henry.  Content  ! — and  the  argu- 
ment (hall  be,  thy  running  away. 

Fal.  Ah ! — no  more  of  that,  Hal,  if 
thou  loveft  me.  Sbake/peare. 

§  29.  Scene  in  <vjbicb  Moody  give; 
M  a  n  L  Y  an  Account  of  the  Journey  ts 
L  0  N   DON. 

Manly.     Honeft  John  ! — 

Mcody:  Meafter  Manly  !  I  am  glad  I 
ha'  fun  ye. — Well,  and  how  d'ye  do,  Mea- 
fter? 

Manly.  I  am  glad  to  fee  you  in  Lon- 
don, I  hope  all  the  good  family  are  welL 

Moody.  Thanks  be  prais'd,  your  honour, 
they  are  all  in  pretty  good  heart;  thoP  we 
have  had  a  power  of  croffes  upo'  the  road. 

Manly.  What  has  been  the  matter,  J  ohn  ? 

Moody,  Why,  we  came  up  in  fuch  a 
hurry,  you  mun  think,  that  our  tackle  was 
not  fo  tight  as  it  fhculd  be. 

Manly.  Come,  tell  us  all — Pray,  how 
do  they  travel  ? 

Moody.  Why,  i'the  awld  coach,  Mea- 
fter ;  and  'caufe  my  Lady  loves  to  do  things 
handfome,  to  be  fure,  fne  would  have  a 
couple  of  cart-horfes  clapt  to  the  four  old 
geldings,  that  neighbours  might  fee  flie 
went  up  to  London  in  her  coach  and  fix ; 
and  fo  Giles  Joulter,  the  ploughman,  rides 
poftilion. 

Manly.  And  when  do  you  expecl  them 
here,  John  ? 

Moody,    Why,  we  were  in  hopes  to  ha* 

come 


830 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


come  yefterday,  an'  it  had  no'  been  that 
th'awld  weazle-belly  horfe  tired  :  and  then 
we  were  fo  cruelly  loaden,  that  the  two  fore- 
wheels  came  craih  dawn  at  once,  in  Wag- 
gon-rut-lane, and  there  we  loft  four  hours 
'fore  we  could  fet  things  to  rights  again. 

Manly.  So  they  bring  all  their  baggage 
with  the  coach,  then  ? 

Moody  Ay,  ay,  and  good  ftore  on't 
there  is — Why,  my  lady's  gear  alone  were 
as  much  as  filled  four  portmantel  trunks, 
befides  the  great  deal  box  that  heavy  Ralph 
and  the  monkey  fit  upon  behind. 

Manly.  Ha,  ha,  ha! — And,  pray,  how 
many  are  they  within  the  coach  ? 

Moody.  Why  there's  my  lady  and  his 
worfhip,  and  the  younk  'fquoire,  and  Mils 
Jenny,  and  the  fat  lap-dog,  and  my  lady's 
maid  Mrs.  Handy,  and  Doll  Tripe  the 
cook,  that's  all — only  Doll  puked  a  little 
with  riding  backward  ;  fo  they  hoifted  her 
into  the  coach-box,  and  then  her  ftomach 
was  eafy. 

Manly.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
Moody.  Then  )ou  raun  think,  Mealier, 
there  was  fome  ilovage  for  the  belly,  as 
well  as  th'  back  too ;  children  are  apt  to 
be  fimiih'd  upo'  the  road  ;  fo  we  had  fuch 
cargoes  of  plumb  cake,  and  balkets  of 
tongues,  and  bifcuits,  and  cheefe,  and  cold 
boil'd  beef — and  then,  in  cafe  of  ficknefs, 
bottles  of  cherry- brandy,  plague -water, 
fack,  tent,  and  ilrong  beer  fo  plenty,  as 
m  :de  th'  awld  coach  crack  again.  Mercy 
upon  them  !  and  fend  them  all  well  to 
town,  I  fay. 

Ma?dy.  Ay,  and  well  out  on't  again,  John. 
Moody.  Mealier!  you're  a  wife  mon; 
and,  for  that  matter,  fo  am  I — Whoam's 
whoam,  I  fay  :  I  am  fure  we  ha'  got  but 
little  good  e'er  fin'  we  turn'd  our  backs 
on't.  Nothing  but  mifchief!  fome  de- 
vil's trick  or  other  plagued  us  aw  th' 
day  lung.  Crack,  t;oes  one  thing  !  bawnce, 
goes  another  !  Woa  !  fays  Roger — Then, 
fowfe  !  we  are  all  fet  fait  in  a  flough. 
Whaw  !  cries  Mifs  :  Scream  !  go  the 
maids;  and  bawl  jufl  as  thof  they  were 
fluck.  And  fo,  mercy  on  us  !  this  was  the 
trade  from  morning  to  night. 
Manly.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
Moody.  But  I  mun  hie  me  whoam  ;  the 
coach  v\  ill  be  coming  every  hour  naw. 

Manly.     Well,  honeit  John 

Moody.  Dear Mealier  Manly  !  thegood- 
ncfj  of  goodnefs  blefs  and  preferve  you  ! 


DireShns  for    the  Management  of 
Wit. 


S  io 

If  you- have  wit  (which  I  am  not  fure 


that  I  wifh  you,  unlefs  you  have  at  the 
fame  time  at  leaft  an  equal  portion  of 
judgment  to  keep  it  in  good  order)  wear 
it,  like  your  fword,  in  the  fcabbard,  and  do 
not  blandifh  it  to  the  terror  of  the  whole 
company.  Wit  is  a  fhining  quality,  that 
every  body  admires ;  moil:  people  aim  at 
it,  all  people  fear  it,  and  few  love  it,  unlefs 
in  themfelves : — a  man  mud  have  a  good 
fhare  of  wit  himfelf,  to  endure  a  great  fhare 
in  another.  When  wit  exerts  itfelf  in  fatire, 
it  is  a  moil  malignant  diilemper :  wit,  it  is 
true,  may  be  ihewn  in  fatire,  but  fatire 
does  not  conftitute  wit,  as  many  imagine. 
A  man  of  wit  ought  to  find  a  thoufand 
better  occafions  of  lhewing  it. 

Abftain,  therefore,  moil  carefully  from 
fatire  ;  which,  though  it  fall  on  no  particu- 
lar perfon  in  company,  and  momentarily, 
from  the  malignancy  of  the  human  heart, 
pleafes  all ;  yet,  upon  reflection,  it  fright- 
ens all  too.  Every  one  thinks  it  may  be 
his  turn  next;  and  will  hate  you  for  what 
he  finds  you  could  fay  of  him,  more  than 
be  obliged  to  you  for  what  you  do  not  fav. 
Fear  and  hatred  are  next-door  neigh- 
bours :  the  more  wit  you  have,  the  more 
good-nature  and  politenefs  you  mull  ihew, 
to  induce  people  to  pardon  your  fuperiori- 
ty ;  for  that  is  no  eafy  matter. 

.Appear  to  have  rather  lefs  than  more 
wit  than  you  really  have.  A  wife  man 
will  live  at  leaf!  as  much  within  his  wit  as 
his  income.  Content  yourfelf  with  good 
fenfe  and  reafon,  which  at  the  long  run 
are  ever  fure  to  pleafe  every  body  who  has 
either  ;  if  wit  comes  into  the  bargain,  wel- 
come it,  but  never  invite  it.  Bear  this  truth 
always  in  your  mind,  that  you  may  be  ad- 
mired for  your  wit,  if  you  have  any  ;  but 
that  nothing  but  good  ienfe  and  good  qua- 
lities can  make  you  be  beloved.  Thefe  are 
fubftantial  every  day's  wear  ;  whereas  wit 
is  a  holiday-fuit,  which  people  put  on 
chiefly  to  be  flared  at. 

There  is  a  fpecies  of  minor  wit,  which 
is  much  ufed,  and  much  more  abufed ;  I 
mean  raillery.  It  is  a  moil  mifchievous 
and  dangerous  weapon,  when  in  unikilful 
and  cl unify  hands ;  and  it  is  much  fafcr 
to  let  it  quite  alone  than  to  play  with  it ; 
and  yet  almoil  every  body  do  play  with  it, 
though  they  fee  daily  the  quarrels  and 
heart-burnings  that  it  occafions. 

The  injuftice  of  a  bad  man  is  fooncr 
forgiven  than  the  infults  of  a  witty  one; 
the  former  only  hurts  one's  libei  ty  and  pro- 
perty ;  but  the  latter  hurts  and  mortifies 
that  iecret  pride  which  no  human  breafl  is 
free  from,    1  will  allow,  that  there  is  a 

foft 


BOOK    IV.      NARRATIVES,  DIALOGUES,   &c. 


«3« 


fort  of  raillery  which  may  not  only  be  in- 
offenfive,  but  even  flattering ;  as  when,  by 
a  genteel  irony,  you  accufe  people  of  thofe 
imperfections  which  they  are  moft  notori- 
oufly  free  from,  and  consequently  infinuate 
that  they  poflefs  the  contrary  virtues.  You 
may  fafely  call  Ariftides  a  knave,  or  a 
very  handfome  woman  an  ugly  one.  Take 
care,  however,  that  neither  the  man's  cha- 
racter nor  the  lady's  beauty  be  in  the  leaft 
doubtful.  But  this  fort  of  raillery  requires 
a  very  light  and  Heady  hand  to  adminifter 
it.  A  little  too  ftrong,  it  may  be  miftaken 
into  an  offence  ;  and  a  little  too  fmooth,  it 
may  be  thought  a  fneer,  which  is  a  moft 
odious  thing. 

There  is  another  fort,  I  will  not  call  it 
wit,  but  merriment  and  buffoonery,  which 
is  mimicry.  The  moft  fuccefsful  mimic 
in  the  world  is  always  the  moft  abfurd  fel- 
low, and  an  ape  is  infinitely  his  fuperior. 
His  profeflion  is  to  imitate  and  ridicule 
thofe  natural  defects  and  deformities  for 
which  no  man  is  in  the  leaft  accountable, 
and  in  the  imitation  of  which  he  makes 
himfelf,  for  the  time,  as  difagreeable  and 
fhocking  as  thofe  he  mimics.  But  I  will 
fay  no  more  of  thefe  creatures,  who  only 
amufe  the  loweft  rabble  of  mankind. 

There  is  another  fort  of  human  animals, 
called  wags,  whofe  profeflion  is  to  make 
the  company  laugh  immoderately;  and  who 
always  fucceed,  provided  the  company  con- 
fift  of  fools ;  but  who  are  equally  difap- 
pointed  in  finding  that  they  never  can  alter 
a  mufcle  in  the  face  of  a  man  of  fenfe, 
This  is  a  moft  contemptible  character,  and 
never  efteemed,  even  by  thofe  who  are  filly 
enough  to  be  diverted  by  them. 

Be  content  for  yourfglf  with  found  good 
fenfe  and  good  manners,  and  let  wit  be 
thrown  into  the  bargain,  where  it  is  proper 
and  inoffenfiv.e.  Good  fenfe  will  make 
you  efteemed ;  good  manners  will  make 
you  beloved;  and  wit  will  giye  a  luftre  to 
both,  Cbcftcrfidd. 

§   32.     Egotifm  to  be  a-voided. 

The  egotifm  is  the  moft  ufual  and  fa- 
vourite figure  of  moft  people's  rhetoric, 
and  which  I  hope  you  will  never  adopt, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  rcoft  fcrupuloufly 
avoid.  Nothing  is  more  difagreeable  or 
jrkfome  to  the  company,  than  to  .hear  a 
man  either  praifing  or  condemning  him- 
felf; for  both  proceed  from  the  fame  mo- 
tive, vanity.  I  would  allow  no  .man  to 
fpeak  of  himfelf  unlefs  in  a  court  of  juf- 
rice,  in  his  own  defence,,  or  as  a  witnefs. 


Shall  a  man  fpeak  in  his  own  praife  ?  No: 
the  hero  of  his  own  little  tale  always  puz- 
zles and  difgufts  the  company;  who  do 
not  know  what  to  fay,  or  how  to  look. 
Shall  he  blame  himfelf?  No :  vanity  is  as 
much  the  motive  of  his  condemnation  35 
of  his  panegyric. 

I  have  known  many  people  take  fhams 
to  themfelves,  and,  with  a  modeft  contri- 
tion, confefs  themfelves  guilty  of  moft  of 
the  cardinal  virtues.  They  have  fuch  a 
weaknefs  in  their  nature,  that  they  cannot 
help  being  too  much  moved  with  the  mif- 
fortunes  and  miferies  of  their  fellow-crea- 
tures ;  which  they  feel  perhaps  more,  but 
at  leaft  as  much  as  they  do  their  own 
Their  generofity,  they  are  feniible,  is  im^ 
prudence;  for  they  are  apt  to  carry  it  too 
far,  from  the  weak,  the  irrefiftible  benefit 
cence  of  their  nature.  They  are  pofiibly 
too  jealous  of  their  honour,  too  irafcible 
when  they  think  it  is  touched ;  and  this 
proceeds  from  their  unhappy  warm  eon- 
ft itution,  which  makes  them  too  fenfible 
upon  that  point;  and  fo  pofiibly  with  re- 
flect to  all  the  virtues.  A  poor  trick,  and 
a  wretched  inftance  of  human  vanity,  and 
what  defeats  its  own  purpofe. 

Do  you  be  (are  never  to  fpeak  of  your* 
felf,  for  yourfelf,  nor  againft  yo.irfelf ;  but 
let  your  character  fpeak  for  you  :  whatever 
that  fays  will  be  believed ;  but  whatever 
you  fay  of  it  will,  not  be  believed,  and  onlv 
make  you  odious  and  ridiculous. 

I  know  that  you  are  generous  and  be- 
nevolent in  your  nature  ;  but  that,  though 
the  principal  point,  is  not  quite  enough; 
you  muft  feem  fo  too.  I  do  not  mean 
oftentatioufly ;  but  do  not  be  afhamed.,  as 
many  young  fellows  are,  of  owning  the 
laudable  fentiments  of  good-nature  and; 
humanity,  which  you  really  feci.  I  ivx^e 
known  many  yourg  men,  who  defired  to 
be  reckoned  men  of  fpint,  affect,  a  hard- 
nefs  and  unfeelingnefs  which  in  reality 
they  never  had;  their  converiation  is  in 
the  decifive  and  menacing  tone,  mixed 
■  with  horrid  and  filly  oaths ;  and  all  this  to 
be  thought  men  of  fpirit.  Aftonifhing 
error  this  !  which  neceflarily  reduces  them 
to  this  dilemma  :  If  they  really  mean  what 
they  fay,  they  are  brutes;  and  if  they  do 
not,  they  are  fools  for  faying  k.  This, 
however,  is  a  common  character  among 
yourigmen;  carefully  avoid  this  contagion, 
and  content  yourfelf  with  being  calmly 
and  mildly  refolute  and  fteady,  when  you 
are  thoroughly  convinced  you  are  in  th^ 
right  j  for  this  is  tr^e-.fpirjt, 

Obfetv? 


Sj2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Obferve  the  a-propos  in  every  thing  you 
fay  or  do.  In  converfing  with  thofe  who 
are  much  your  fuperiors,  however  eafy  and 
familiar  you  may  and  ought  to  be  with 
them,  preferve  the  re'peft  that  is  due  to 
them.  Converfe  with  your  equals  with  an 
eafy  familiarity,  and,  at  the  fame  time, 
great  civility  and  decency  :  but  too  much 
amiliarity,  according  to  the  old  faying, 
often  breeds  contempt,  and  fometimes 
quarrels.  I  know  nothing  more  difficult 
in  common  behaviour,  than  to  fix  due 
bounds  to  familiarity :  too  little  implies  an 
unfociable  formality ;  too  much  deflroys 
friendly  and  focial  intercourfe.  The  belt, 
rule  I  can  give  you  to  manage  familiarity 
is,  never  to  be  more  familiar  with  any 
body  than  you  would  be  willing,  and  even 
wifh,  that  he  mould  be  with  you.  On  the 
other  hand,  avoid  that  uncomfortable  re- 
ferve  and  coldnefs  which  is  generally  the 
fhield  of  cunning  or  the  protection  of  dul- 
nefs.  To  your  inferiors  you  mould  ufe  a 
hearty  benevolence  in  your  words  and  ac- 
tions, inftead  of  a  refined  politenefs,  which 
would  be  apt  to  make  them  fufpect  that 
you  rather  laughed  at  them. 

Carefully  avoid  all  affectation  either  of 
body  or  of  mind.  It  is  a  very  true  and  a 
very  trite  obfervation,  That  no  man  is  ri- 
diculous for  being  what  he  really  is,  but 
for  affecting  to  be  what  he  is  not.  No 
man  is  awkward  by  nature,  but  by  af- 
fecting to  be  genteel.  I  have  known 
many  a  man  of  common  fenfe  pais  gene- 
rally for  a  fool,  becaufe  he  affected  a  de- 
gree of  wit  that  nature  had  denied  him. 
A  plowman  is  by  no  means  awkward  in 
the  exercife  of  his  trade,  but  would  be 
exceedingly  ridiculous,  if  he  attempted  the 
air  and  graces  of  a  man  of  fafliion.  You 
learned  to  dance ;  but  it  was  not  for  the 
fake  of  dancing;  it  was  to  bring  your  air 
and  motions  back  to  what  they  would  na- 
turally have  been,  if  they  had  had  fair  play, 
and  had  not  been  warped  in  vouth  bv  bad 
examples,  and  awkward  imitations  of  other 
boys. 

Nature  may  be  cultivated  and  improved 
both  as  to  the  body  and  the  mind  ;  but  it 
is  not  to  be  extinguished  by  art;  and  all 
endeavours  of  that  kind  are  abfurd,  and  an 
inexpreffible  fund  for  ridicule.  Your  body 
and  mind  mull  be  at  eafe  to  be  agreeable; 
but  affectation  is  a  particular  reftraint,  un- 
der which  no  man  can  be  genteel  in  his 
carriage  or  pleafmg  in  his  converfation. 
Do  you  think  your  motions  would  be  eafy 
or  graceful,  if  you  wore  the  cloaths  of  an- 


other man  much  flenderer  or  taller  th?.n 
yourfelf?  Certainly  not:  it  is  the  fame  thing 
with  the  mind,  if  you  affect  a  character 
that  does  not  fit  you,  and  that  nature  ne- 
ver intended  for  you. 

In  fine,  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  general 
rule,  that  a  man  who  defpairs  of  pleafing 
will  never  pleafe;  a  man  that  is  fure  that 
he  fhall  always  pleafe  wherever  he  goes,  is 
a  coxcomb;  but  the  man  who  hopes  and 
endeavours  to  pleafe,  will  moft  infallibly 
pleafe.  Chejlerfield* 

§32.     Extracl 'from  Lord Boli  ngbr.oke'.t 

Letters. 

My  Lord,  1736. 

You  have  engaged  me  on  a  fubject 
which  interrupts  the  feries  of  thofe  letters 
1  was  writing  to  you  ;  but  it  is  one  which, 
I  confefs,  I  have  very  much  at  heart.  I 
fhall  therefore  explain  myfelf  fully,  nor 
blufh  to  reafon  on  principles  that  are  out 
offafhicn  among  men  who  intend  nothing 
by  ferving  the  public,  but  to  feed  their 
avarice,  their  vanity,  and  their  luxury, 
without  the  fenfe  of  any  duty  they  owe  to 
God  or  man. 

It  feems  to  me,  that  in  order  to  maintain 
the  moral  fyftem  of  the  world  at  a  certain 
point,  far  below  that  of  ideal  perfection, 
(for  we  aie  made  capable  of  conceiving 
what  we  are  incapable  of  attaining)  but 
however  fufrkient,  upon  the  whole,  to 
conituute  a  flate  eafy  and  happy,  or  at  the 
u-orft  tolerable;  1  fay,  it  feems  so  me,  that 
the  Author  of  nature  has  thought  fit  to 
mingle  from  time  to  time  among  the  fo- 
cies  of  men,  a  few,  and  but  a  few,  of  thefe 
on  v  horn  he  is  gracioufly  pleated  to  bellow 
a  larger  proportion  of  the  ethereal  fpirit 
than  is  given  in  the  ordinary  courfe  of  bis 
providence  to  the  fons  of  men.  Thefe  are 
they  who  engrofs  almoft  the  whole  reafon 
of  the  fpecies,  who  are  born  to  inilruct,  to 
guide,  and  to  preferve,  who  are  defigned 
to  be  the  tutors  and  the  guardians  of  hu- 
man kind.  When  they  prove  fuch,  they 
exhibit  to  us  examples  of  the  higheft  vir- 
tue and  the  trueit  piety  ;  and  they  deferve 
to  have  their  feftivals  kept,  inltead  of  that 
pack  of  anchorites  and  enthufiafts,  with 
whofc  names  the  Calendar  is  crowded  and 
difgraced.  When  thefe  men  apply  their 
talents  to  other  purpofes,  when  they  ftrive 
to  be  great,  and  defpife  being  good,  they 
commit  a  moft  facrilegious  breach  of  trull ; 
they  pervert  the  means,  they  defeat,  as  far 
as  lies  ia  them,  the  defigns  of  Providence, 
and  difturb,  in  fome  fort,  the  fyftem  of  In- 
finite 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES, 


finite  Wifdom.  To  mifapply  thcfe  talents 
is  the  mod  di flu  fed,  and  therefore  the 
greatef!  ofcriir.es  in  its  nature  and  conse- 
quences; but  to  keep  them  unexerted  and 
un  mployed,  is  a  crime  too.  Look, about 
you,  my  Lord,' from  the  palace  to  the  cot- 
tage, you  will  find  that  the  bulk  of  man- 
kind is  made  to  breathe  the  air  of  this  at- 
mofphere,  to  roam  about  this  globe,  and 
to  confume,  like  the  courtiers  of  Alcinous, 
the  fruits  of  the  earth.  Nos  numerus  fumus 
\3  fruges  confumere  nati.  When  they  have 
trod  this  infipid  round  a  certain  number 
of  years,  and  left  others  to  do  the- fame 
after  them,  they  have  lived  ;  and  if  they 
have  performed,  in  feme  tolerable  degree, 
the  ordinary  moral  duties  of  life,  they  have 
done  all  they  were  born  to  do.  Look 
about  you  again,  my  Lord,  nay,  look  into 
your  own  breaft,  and  you  will  find  that 
there  are  fuperior  fpirits,  men  who  fhew, 
even  from  their  infancy,  though  it  be  not 
always  perceived  by  others,  perhaps  not 
always  felt  by  themfelves,  that  they  were 
born  for  fornething  more,  and  better. 
Thefe  are  the  men  to  whom  the  part  I 
mentioned  is  affigned  ;  their  talents  denote 
their  general  designation,  and  the  oppor- 
tunities of  conforming  themfelves  to  it, 
that  arife  in  the  courfe  of  things,  or  that 
are  prefented  to  them  by  any  circum fiances 
of  rank  and  fituation  in  the  fociety  to  which 
they  belong,  denote  tiie  particular  voca- 
tion  which  it  is  not  lawful  for  them  to  re- 
fill, nor  even  to  neglect.  The  duration  of 
the  lives  of  fuch  men  as  thefe  is  to  be  de- 
termined, Ithmkjby  the  length  and  import- 
ance of  the  parts  they  act,  not  by  the  num- 
ber of  years  that  pals  between  their  com- 
ing into  the  world  and  their  going  outofit. 
Whether  the  piece  be  of  three  or  five  acts, 
the  part  may  be  long ;  and  he  who  fuf- 
tains  it  through  the  whole,  may  be  faid  to 
die  in  the  fulnefs  of  years ;  whilft  he  who 
declines  it  fooner,  may  be  faid  not  to  live 
out  half  his  days. 

§   33.     The  Birth  »/Martikus  Scrib- 

LERUS. 

Nor  was  the  birth  of  this  great  man 
unattended  with  prodigies :  he  himfelf  has 
often  told  me,  that  on  the  night  before 
he  was  born,  Mrs.  Scriblerus  dream'd  fhe 
was  brought  to  bed  of  a  huge  ink-horn, 
out  of  which  iffued  feveral  large  dreams 
of  ink,  as  it  had  been  a  fountain.  This 
dream  was  by  her  hu'fband  thought  to  fig- 
nify,  that  the  child  fhould  prove  a  very 
voluminous  writer.     Likewife  a  crab-tree, 


that  had  been  hitherto  barren,  appeared 
'on  a  fudden  laden  with  a  v,.'.fx.  quantity  of 
crabs  :  this  fign  alio  the  old  gentleman 
imagined  to  be  a  prognollic  of  the  acute- 
nefs  of  his  wit.  A  great  fwarm  of  wafps 
played  round  his  cradle  without  hurting 
him,  but  were  very  troublefome  to  all  in 
the  room  befides.  This  feemed  a  certain 
prefage  of  the  effects  of  his  fatire.  A 
dunghill  was  feen  within  the  fp:;ce  of  one 
night  to  be  covered  all  over  with  mum- 
rooms  :  this  fome  interpreted  to  promife 
the  infant  great  fertility  of  fancy,  but  no 
long  duration  to  his  works;  but  the  father 
was  of  another  opinion. 

Hut  what  was  of  ail  mofl  wonderful, 
was  a  thing  that  feemed  a  monftrous  fowl, 
which  juir.  then  dropped  through  the  fky- 
ligi.t,  near  his  wife's  apartment.  It  had 
a  large  body,  two  little  dilproportioned 
wings,  a  prodigious  tail,  but  no  head.  As 
its  colour  was  white,  he  took  it  at  firfl: 
fight  for  a  fwan,  and  was  concluding  his 
fon  would  be  a  poet;  but  on  a  nearer  view, 
he  perceived  it  to  be  fpeckled  with  black, 
in  the  form  of  letters ;  and  that  it  was  in- 
deed a  paper-kite  which  had  broke  its 
leafh  by  the  impetuoiity  of  the  wind.  His 
back  wa^s  armed  with  the  art  military,  his 
belly  was  filled  with  phyfic,  his  wings 
were  the  wings  of  Quarles  and  Wither;, 
the  feveral  nodes  of  his  voluminous  tail 
were  diverfified  with  feveral  branches  of 
fcience ;  where  the  Doctor  beheld  with 
great  joy  a  knot  of  logic,  a  knot  of  mcta- 
phyilc,  a  knot  of  cafuiifry,  a  knot  of  po- 
lemical divinity,  and  a  knot  of  common 
law,  with  a  lanthorn  of  Jacob  Behmen. 

There  went  a  report  in  the  family,  that 
as  foon  as  he  was  born,  he  uttered  the 
voice  of  nine  feveral  animals :  he  cried 
like  a  calf,  bleated  like  a  fheep,  chattered 
like  a  magpye,  grunted  like  a  hog,  neighed 
-like  a  foal,  croaked  like  a  raven,  mewed 
like  .a  cat,  gabbled  like  a  goofe,  and  bray- 
ed like  an  afs ;  and  the  next  morning  he 
was  found  playing  in  his  bed  with  two 
owls  which  came  down  the  chimney.  His 
father  was  greatly  rejoiced  at  all  thefe 
figns,  which  betokened  the  variety  of  his 
eloquence,  and  the  extent  of  his  Laming; 
but  he  was  more  particularly  pleafed  with 
the  laft,  as  it  nearly  refembled  what  hap- 
pened at  the  birth  of  Homer. 

The  Do£lor  and  his  Shield. 

■   The  day  of  the  chriftening  being  come, 

and  the  houfe  filled  with  goflips,  the  levity 

of  whofe  converfation  fuited  but  ill  with 

i  H  the 


?34  ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 

the  gravity  of  Dr.  Cornelius,  he  care  about    the  child  :  he  took  it  in  his  arms,  and  pro- 
how  to  pafs  this  day  more  agreeable  to  his     c^cded  : 


character  ;  that  is  to  fay,  not  without  fome 
profitable  conference,  nor  wholly  without 
obfervance  of  fome  ancient  cuflom. 

He  remembered  to  have  read  in  Theo- 
critus, that  the  cradle   of  Hercules  was  a 


Behold  then  my  child, but  firft  behold 
the  Ihield :  behold  this  ruft, — or  rather 
let  me  call  it  this  precious  asrugo  ; — be- 
hold this  beautiful  varnifh  of  time, — this 
venerable  verdure  of  fo  many  ages  !"- 


fhield :  and  being  poiTeffed  of  an  antique  In  fpeaking  thefe  words,  he  flowly  lifted 

buckler,  which  he  held  as  a  moll  ineftima-  up  the  mantle  which  covered  it  inch  by 

ble  relick,  he  determined  to  have  the  in-  inch  ;  but  at  every  inch  he  uncovered,  his 

fant  laid    therein,    and    in    that    manner  cheeks  grew  paler,  his  hand  trembled,  his 

brought  into  the  lludy,  to  be  fhewn  to  cer-  nerves  failed,  till  on  fight  of  the  whole  the 

tain  learned  men  of  his  acquaintance.  tremor  became   univerfal :  the  fhield  and 

The  regard  he  had  for  this  fhield  had  the  infant  both  dropped  to  the  ground,  and 

caufed  him  formerly  to  compile  a  differta-  he  had  only  ftrength  enough  to  cry  out, 

tion  concerning  it,  proving  from  the  feve-  "  O  God  !  my  fhield,  my  fhield  1" 
ral  properties,  and  particularly  the  colour         The  truth  was,    the    maid   (extremely 

of  the  ruft,  the  exaci  chronology  thereof.  concerned  for  the  reputation   of  her  own 

With  this  treatife,  and  a  moderate  fup-  cleanlinefs,  and  her  young  mailer's  ho- 
per,  he  propofeel  to  entertain  his  gaefts  ;  nour)  had  fcoured  it  as  clean  as  her  hand- 
though  he  had  alio  another  defign,  to  have  irons. 

their  affiftance  in  the  calculation  of  his  fon's        Cornelius   funk    back  on    a  chair,  the 

nativity,  gueils  flood  aftonifhed,  the  infant  fqualled, 

He  therefore  took  the  buckler  out  of  a  the  maid  ran  in,  fnatched  it  up  again  in  her 

cafe  (in  which  he  always  kept   it,  leil  it  arms,  flew  into  her  miflrefs's  room,  and 

might  contract  any  modern   ruft)  and  en-  told  what  had  happened.     Down  flairs  in 


truited  it  to  his  houfe-maid,  with  others, 
that  when  the  company  was  come,  fhe 
fhouid  lay  the  child  carefully  in  it,  co- 
vered with  a  mantle  of  blue  fattin. 

The  guefls  were  no  fooner  feated,  but 


an  inftant  hurried  all  the  goffips,  where 
they  found  the  Dodlor  in  a  trance  :  Hun- 
gary-water, hartfhorn,  and  the  confufed 
noife  of  fhrill  voices,  at  length  awakened 
him  :  when,  opening  his  eyes,  he  faw  the 


they  entered  into  a  warm  debate  about  the-   fhield  in  the  hands  of  the  houfe-maid.  "  O 


Triclinium,  and  the  manner  of  Decubitus, 
cf  the  ancients,  which  Cornelius  broke  off 
in  this  manner : 

"  This  day,  my  friends,  I  purpofe  to 
"  exhibit  my  ion  before  you  ;  a  child  not 
"  wholly  unworthy  of  infpeclion,  as  he  is 
"  descended  from  a  race  of  virtuofi.  Let 
"  the  phyfiognomill  examine  his  features ; 
"  let  the  chirographifts  behold  his  palm  ; 
"  but,  above  all,  let  us  confult  for  the  cal- 
"  culation  cf  his  nativity.  To  this  end, 
"  as  the  child  is  not  vulgar,  I  will  not  pre- 
"  fent  him  unto  you  in  a  vulgar  manner. 
"  He  (nail be  cradled  in  ir.y  ancient  fhield, 
"  fo  famous  through  the  univerfities  of 
"  Europe.  You  all  know  how  I  purchafed 
"  that  invaluable  piece  of  antiquity,  at  the 
"  great  (though  indeed  inadequate)  ex- 
*'  pence  of  all  the  plate  of  our  family,  how 
«*  happily  1  carried  it  off,  and  how  trium- 
*'  phantly  I  tranfported  it  hither,  to  the 
"  iriexpreili  ble  grief  of  all  Germany.  Hap- 
py   in  every  circumilance,  but  that  it 


woman  !  woman  1"  he  cried,  (and  fnatched 

it  violently  from  her)  "  was  it  to  thy  ig- 

"  norance  that  this  relick  owes  its  ruin  ? 

"  Where,  where  is  the  beautiful  crufl  that 

"  covered  thee  fo  long  ?  where  thofe  traces 

"  of  time,  and  fingers  as  it  were  of  anti- 

"  quityi1  Wh. re  all  thofe  beautiful  obfen- 

«'  rities,  the  caufe  of  much  delightful  dif- 

««  putation,  where  doubt  and  curiofity  went 

<■•  hand  in  hand,  and  eternally  exercifed 

«  the  fpeculations  of  the  learned  ?    And 

"   this  the  rude  touchof  an  ignorant  woman 

"  hath  done   away  !    The  curious  promi- 

"  nence  at  the  belly  of  that  figure,  which 

"  fome,  taking  for  the  cufpis  of  a  fword, 

"  denominated  a  Roman  foldier;  others, 

"  accounting  the  injignia<viriliai  pronounce 

<c  to  be  one  of  the  Dii  Termini ;  behold  fhe 

"  hath  cleaned  it  in  like  fhameful  fort,  and 

«  fnewn  to  be  the  head  of  a  nail.     O  my 

"  fhield  !  my  fhield  !  well  may  I  fay  with 

"  Horace,  Non  bene  relida  parmula." 

The  goihps,  not  at  all  inquiring  into  the 


«  broke  the  heart  of  the  great  Melchior     caufe  of  his  forrow,  only  afked  if  the  child 

"  Infipidus!"  had  no  hurt?  and  cried,  "  Come,  come, 

Here  he  flopped  his  fpeech,  upon  fight     "  all  is  well ;  what  has  the  woman  done 

oi  the  maid,  who  entered  the  room,  with    "  but  her  duty?  a  tight  cleanly  wench,  I 

"  warrant 


BOOK  IV.    NARR  ATIV 

"  warrant  her :  what  a  ftir  a  man  makes' 
«  about  a  bafon,  that  an  hour  ago,  before 
«*  her  labour  was  beilowed  upon  it,  acoun- 
**  try  barber  would  not  have  hung  at  his 
"  mop-door?"  "A  bafon!  (cried  ano- 
"  ther)  no  fuch  matter  ;  'tis  nothing  but  a 
"  paultry  old  fconce,  with  the  nozzle  broke 
'*  off."  The  learned  gentlemen,  who  till 
now  had  Hood  fpeechlefs,  hereupon  lock- 
ing narrowly  on  the  fhield,  declared  their 
affent  to  this  latter  opinion,  and  derived 
Cornelius  to  be  comforted;  affuringhim  it 
was  a  fconce,  and  no  other.  But  this,  in- 
flead  of  comforting,  threw  the  doftor  into 
fuch  a  violent  fit  of  paflion,  that  he  was 
carried  off  groaning  and  fpeechlefs  to  bed  ; 
where,  being  quite  fpenS,  he  fell  into  a  kind 
of  (lumber. 

The  Nutrition  c/Scriblerus. 
Cornelius  now  began  to  regulate  the 
fu&ion  of  his  child;  feldom  did  there  pafs 
a  day  without  dilputes  between  him  and 
the  mother,  or  the  nurfe,  concerning  the 
nature  of  aliment.  The  poor  woman  never 
dined  but  he  denied  her  fome  diih  or  other, 
which  he  judged  prejudicial  to  her  milk. 
One  day  me  had  a  longing  defire  to  a  piece 
of  beef;  and  as  me  ftretched  her  hand  to- 
wards it,  the  old  gentleman  drew  it  away, 
and  fpoke  to  this  effect :  "  Hadft  thou  read 
"  the  ancients,  O  nurfe,  thou  would'ftpre- 
"  fer  the  welfare  of  the  infant  which  thou 
**  nourifhefl,  to  the  indulging  of  an  irre- 
"  gular  and  voracious  appetite.  Beef,  it 
*'  is  true,  may  confer  a  robuitnefs  on  the 
"  limbs  of  my  fon,  but  will  hebetate  and 
"  clog  his  intellectuals."  While  he  fpoke 
this  the  nurfe  looked  upon  him  with  much 
anger,  and  now  and  then  call  a  wifhful  eye 
upon  the  beef. — "  Paffion  (continued  the 
*;  dcdlor,  ftill  holding  the  diih)  throws  the 
*'  mind  into  too  violent  a  fermentation  :  it 
"  is  a  kind  of  fever  of  the  foul ;  or,  as  Ho- 
**  race  expreffes  it,  a  fhort  madnefs.  Con- 
**  fider,  woman,  that  this  day's  fuc~lion  of 
€i  my  fon  may  caufe  him  to  imbibe  many 
"  ungovernable  pailions,  and  in  a  manner 
"  fpoil  him  for  the  temper  of  a  philofo- 
"  pher.  Romulus,  by  fucking  a  wolf,  be- 
"  came  of  a  fierce  and  favage  clifpofition  : 
"  and  were  I  to  breed  fome  Ottoman  em- 
"  peror,  or  founder  of  a  military  common- 
"  wealth,  perhaps  I  might  indulge  thee  in 
"  this  carnivorous  appetite."— What !  im- 
ferrupted  the  nurfe,  beef  fpoil  the  Under- 
standing! that's  fine  indeed — how  then 
could  our  parfon  preach  as  he  does  upon 
beef,  and  pudding  too,  if  you  go  to  that? 


ES,    DIALOGUES,    Sec.         2$$ 

Don't  tell  me  of  your  ancients,  had   not 
you  aimoil  killed  the  poor  babe,  with  a  difh 
of  da;monial  black    broth  ? — "   Lacedse- 
"  monian  black  broth,   thou  \vould;lt  fay 
"   (replied  Cornelius)  ;  but  I  cannot  allow 
"  the  forfeit  to  have  been  occafioned  by 
"  that  diet,  fmce  it  was  recommended  by 
"  the  divine  Lycurgus.     No,  nurfe,  thou 
"  mufi  certainly  have  eaten  fome  meats 
"  of  ill  digeftion  the  day  before;  and  that 
"  was  the  real  caufe  of  his  diforder.    Con- 
"  fider,  woman,    the    different    tempera- 
"  mentsof  different  nations :  What  makes 
"  the  Englifh  phlegmatic  and  melancholy, 
"  but  beef?     What  renders  the  Wehh  ib 
"■  hot  and  choleric,  but  cheefe  and  leeks  ? 
"  The  French  derive  their  levity  from  the 
"  foups,  frogs,  and  mufnrooms.     I  would 
•*  not  let  my  fon  dine  like  an  Italian,  left, 
"  like  an  Italian,  he  fhould  be  jealous  and 
"  revengeful.     The  warm  and  folid  diet 
"  of  Spain  may  be  more  beneficial,  as  it 
"  might  endow  him  with  a  profound  gra- 
"  vity ;  but,  at  the  fame  time,  he  might 
"  fuck  in  with  their  food  their  intolerable 
«  vice   of  pride.      Therefore,    nurfe,  in 
«  fhort,  I  hold  it  requifite  to  deny  you,  at 
"  prefent,  not  only  b^ef,  but  likewiie  what- 
«  foever  any  of  thofe  nations  eat."     Dur- 
ing this  fpeech,  the  nurfe  remained  pouting 
and  marking  her  plate  with  the  knife,  nor 
would  ihe   touch  a  bit  during  the  whole 
dinner.    This  the  old  gentleman  cbferving, 
ordered  that  the  child,  to  avoid  the  rifque 
of  imbibing  ill  humours,  mould  be  kept 
from  her  breaft  all  that  day,  and  be  fed 
with  butter  mixed  with  honey,  according 
to  a  prefcription  he  had  met  with  fome- 
where  in  Eultathius  upon  Komer.     This 
indeed  gave  the  child  a   great  loofenefs, 
'  but  he  was  not  concerned  at  it,  in  the  opi- 
nion that  whatever  harm  it  might  do  his 
body,  would  be  amply  recornpenfed  by  the 
improvements  of  his  underflandirig.     But 
from  thenceforth  he  infilled  every  day  upon 
a  particular  diet    to  be  obferyed  by  the 
nurfe  ;  under  which,  having  been  long  un- 
eafy,  fhe  at  iail  parted  from  the  family,  on 
his  ordering  her  for  dinner  the  paps  of  a 
fow  with  pig;  taking  it  as  the  highefl  in- 
dignity, and  a  direct  infult  upon  her  fex 
and  calling. 

Play-Things. 

Here  follow  the  inflrudlions  of  Cornelius 
Scriblerus  concerning  the  plays  and  play- 
things to  be  ufed  by  his  fon  Martin. 

"-'Play  was  invented  by  the  Lydians.as 

"  a   remedy  againft  hunger.      Sophocles 

3  H  2  "  &y« 


S:6 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


"  fays  of  Palam-edes,  that  lie  invented  dice  " 

"  to  fcrve  iorr.etimes  inftead  of  a  dinner.  " 
"  It  is  therefore  wifely  contrived  by  na- 

"  ture,  that  children,    as    they  have  the  " 

*;  keeneft  appetites,  are  melt   addicted  to  « 

'•'  plays.     From  the  fame  caufe,  and  from  " 

"  the  unprejudiced  and  incorrupt  fimpli-  " 

"  city  of  their  minds,  it  proceeds,  that  the  " 
"  plays  of  the  ancient  children  are  pre- 

"  ici'ved  more  entire  than  any  other  of  their  " 

"  cuftoms.    In  this  matter  I  would  recom-  '-' 

"  mend  to  all  who  have  any  concern  in  my  " 

"  fon's  education,  that  they  deviate  not  in  <• 

"  die  leaft  from  the  primitive  and  fimple  " 

"  antiquity.  -  " 

"  To  fpeak  fir  ft  of  the  whittle,  as  it  is 

"  the  firfc  of  all  play- things.      I  will  have  " 

"  it  exaftly  to  correfpond  with  the  ancient  " 
"  fidula,  and  accordingly  to  be  compofed 

*'  fci'tcm  paribus  disjuncJa  cicutis.  " 

"  I  heartily  wifh  a  diligent  fearch  may  " 

*'  be  made  after  the  true  crepitaculum  or  " 

"  rattle  of  the  ancients,  for  that  (as  Archi-  " 

"   tas  Tarentinus  was  of  opinion)  kept  the  " 

"  children   from    breaking  earthen-ware.  " 

46   The   China  cups  in  thefe  days  are  not  " 
"  at  all  the  fafer  for   the   modern  rattles ; 
"  which  is  an  evident  proof  how  far  their 
"  crepitacula  exceeded  ours. 

'«  I  would  not  have  Martin  as  yet  to 
"  fcourge  a  top,  till  I  am  better  informed 
"  whether  the  trochus,  which  was  recom- 


"  mended  by  Cato,  be  really  our  prefent 
"  tops,  or  rather  the  hoop  which  the  boys 
"  drive  with  a  flick.  Neither  crofs  and 
"  pile,  nor  ducks  and  drakes,  are  quite  fo 
"  ancient  as  handy-dandy,  though  Macro- 
"  bius  and  St.  Auguftine  take  notice  of  the 
"  firft,  and  Minmius  Fcelix  defcribes  the 
"  latter ;  but  handy-dandy  is  mentioned 
*'  by  Ariflotie,  Plato,  and  Ariftophanes. 

"  The  play  which  the  Italians  call  cinque, 
u  and  the  French  moitrre,  is  extremely  an- 
"  cient;  it  was  played  at  by  Hymen  arid 
"  Cupid  at  the  marriage  of  Pfyche,  and 
"  termed  by  the  Latins  digitis  jiiicare, 

"  Julius  Pollux  defcribes  the  omilla  or 
"  chuck-farthing:  though  fomc  will  have 
"  our  modern  chuck-farthing  to  be  nearer 
"  the  aphetinda  of  the  ancients.  He  alfo 
"  mentions  the  bafilinda,  or  King  I  am ; 
"  and  mynda,  or  hoopers-hide. 

"  But  the  chytrindra,  defcribed  by  the 
*'  fame  author,  is  certainly  not  our  hot- 
"  cockles;  for  that  was  by  pinching,  and 
'.'  not  by  flriking ;  though  there  are  good 
"  authors  who  ariirm  the  rathapigifrnus  to 
"  be  yet  nearer  the  modern  hoc-cockles. 
"  My  fon  Martin  may  ufe  either  of  them 


indifferently,    they  being    equally    an- 
tique. 

"  Building  of  houfes,  and  riding  upon 

flicks,  have  been  ufed  by  children  of  ail 

ages,  Edif.care  cafas,  equitare  in  ar undine 

hnga.     Yet  I  much  doubt  whether  the 

riding  upon  flicks  did  not  come  into  ufe 

after  the  age  of  the  centaurs. 

"  There  is  one  play  which  fhews  the 

gravity  of  ancient  education,  called  the 

acinetinda,  in  which  children  contended 

"  who  could  longefic  Hand  ftill.    .This  we 

'*  have  Suffered  to  perilh  entirely;  and,  if 

"  1  might  be  allowed  to  guefs,  it  was  cer- 

"  t'ainly  loll  among  the  French. 

"  I  will  permit  my  fon  to  play  at  apodi- 
"  dafcinda,  which  can  be  no  other  than 
"  our  pufs  in  a  corner. 

"  j  ulius  Pollux,  in  his  ninth  bock,  fpeaks 
"  of  the  melolonthe,  or  the  kite;  but  I 
"  queftion  whether  the  kite  of  antiquity 
"  was  the  fame  with  ours :  and  though  the 
"  CpTvyz-<o'7riu,  or  quail- fighting,  is  what  is 
"  moll  taken  notice,  they  had  doubtleis 
"  cock-matches  aifo,  as  is  evident  from 
"  certain  ancient  gems  and  relievos. 

"  In  a  word,  let  my  fon  Martin  difport 
"  himfelf  at  any  game  truly  antique,  ex- 
"  cept  one,  which  was  invented  by  a  peo- 
"  pie  among  the  Thracians,  who  hung  up 
"  one  of  their  companions  in  a  rope,  and 
"  gave  him  a  knife  to  cut  himfelf  down .; 
"  which  if  he  fid  led  in,  he  was  fuSered  to 
"  hang  till  he  was  dead  ;  and  tins  was  only 
"  reckoned  a  fort  of  joke.  I  am  utterly. 
"  againil  this,  as  barbarous  and  cruel. 

"  I  cannot  conclude,  without  taking  no- 
"  tice  of  the  beauty  of  the  G.eek  names, 
"  whole  etymologies  acquaint  us  with  the 
"  nature  of  the  ipcrts ;  and  how  infinitely, 
"  both  in  fenfe  and  found,  they  excei  cur 
"  barbarous  names  of  plays.'' 

Notwithstanding  the  foregoing  injunc- 
tions of  Dr.  Cornelius,  he  yet  condefcended 
to  allow  the  child  the  ufe  of  fome  few  mo- 
dern play-things ;  fuch  as  might  prove  of 
any  benefit  to  his  mind,  by  iniiiiling  an 
early  notion  of  the  feiences.  For  example, 
he  found  that  marbles  taught  him  percuf? 
fion,  and  the  laws  of  motion  ;  nut-crackers, 
the  ufe  of  the  lever;  fwmgifig  on  the  ends 
cf  a  board,  the  balance  ;  bottle- fere ws,  the 
vice  ;  whirligigs,  the  axis  and  pentrochia; 
bird-cage.s~the  puily;  and  tops  the  cen- 
trifugal motion. 

Others  of  Ids  fpovts  were  farther  earned 
to  improve  his  lender  foul  even  in  virtue 
and  morality.     We  Shall  onlyinllance  one 
of  the    molt  ufeful  and  inilreftivc,  bob- 
cherry, 


BOOK  IV.     NARRATIVES,     DIALOGUES  &c. 


*37 


cherry,  which  teaches  at  once  two  noble 
virtues,  patience  and  conftancy ;  the  firft 
in  adhering  to  the  purfuit  of  one  end,  the 
latter  in  bearing  a  disappointment. 

Befides  all  thefe,  he  taught  him,  as  a 
diverfion,  an  odd  and  fecret  manner  of 
ilealing,  according  to  the  cuilom  of  the 
Lacedemonians  ;  wherein  he  fucceeded  fo 
well,  that  he  practiied  it  to  the  day  of  his 
death. 

MUSIC. 
The  bare  mention  of  mufic  threw  Cor- 
nelius into  a  paffion.  "  How  can  you  dig- 
*'  nify  (quoth  he)  this  modern  fiddling 
"  with  the  name  of  mafic  ?  Will  any  of 
"  your  beft  hautboys  encounter  a  wolf 
"  now -a -days  with  no  other  arms  but  their 
*•  inftruments,  a-s  did  that  ancient  piper 
t*  Pithocaris  ?  Hare  ever  wild  boars,  eie- 
*'  phants,  deer,  dolphins,  whales,  or  tur- 
"  bots,  fhew'd  the  lead  emotion  at  the 
"  moft  elaborate  ftrains  of  your  modern 
**■  fcrapers ;  all  which  have  been,  as  it  were, 
*'  tamed  and  humanized  by  ancient  mufi- 
"  cians  ?  Docs  not  vElian  tell  us  how  the 
"  Lybian  mares  were  excited  to  horfing 
"  by  mufic?  (which  ought  in  truth  to  be 
"  a  caution  to  model!  women  againft  frc- 
"  quenting  operas :  and  confider,  brother, 
*■  you  are  brought  to  this  dilemma,  either 
"  to  give  up  the  virtue  of  the  ladies,  or 
•*  the  power  of  your  mulic, )  Whence  pro- 
"  cceds  the  degeneracy  of  our  morals  ?  Is 
"  it  not  from  the  lofs  of  anancient  mufic, 
**  by  which  (fays  Ariilotle)  they  taught 
"  all  the  virtues  r  elfe  might  we  turn  New- 
"  gate  into  a  college  of  Dorian  muficians, 
"  who  ihculd  teacii  moral  virtues  to  thofe 
"  people.  Whence  comes  it  that  our  pre - 
*'  lent  difeafes  are  fo  ftubborn  ?  whence  is 
"  it  that  I  daily  deplore  my  fciatical  pains  ? 
"  Alafs  !  becaufe  we  have  loft  their  true 
"  cure,  by  the  melody  of  the  pipe.  All 
"  this  was  well  known  to  the  ancients,  as 
**  Theophraftus  afiures  us  (whence  Gadius 
"  calls  it  loco,  dolentia  decant  are ) ,  only  in- 
"  deed  fome  fmall  remains  of  this  fkill  are 
*'  preferved  in  the  cure  of  the  tarantula. 
"  Did  not  Pithagoras  ftop  a  company  of 
"  drunken  bullies  from  .ftorming  a  civil 
"  houfe,  by  changing  the  drain  of  the  pipe 
"  to  the  fober  fpondsus  ?  and  yet  your 
"  modern  muficians  want  art  to  defend 
"  their  windows  from  common  nickers. 
«•  It  is  well  known,  that  when  the  Lace- 
"  daemonian  mob  were  up,  they  common- 
**  iy  lent  for  a  Lefbian  mufician  to  appeafe 
**  them,  and  they  immediately  grew  calm 


"  as  foon  as  they  heard  Terpander  fing: 
"  yet  I  don't  believe  that  the  pope's  whole 
"  band  of  mufic,  though  the  beft  of  this 
"  age,  could  keep  his  holinefs's  image 
"  from  being  burnt  on  the  fifth  of  Novem- 
"  ber."  "Nor  would  Terpander  himfi If 
"  (replied  Albertus)  at  Billingfgate,  nor 
"  Timotheusat  Hockley  in  the  Hole,  have 
"  any  manner  of  effect  :  nor  both  of  them 
"  together  bring  Horneck  to  common  ci- 
"  vllity."  "  That's  a  grofs  miftake"  (find 
Cornelius  very  warmly)  ;  "and,  to  prove 
"  it  fo,  I  have  here  a  fmall  lyra  of  my 
"  own,  framed,  ftrung,  and  tuned,  after 
"  the  ancient  manner.  I  can  play  fome 
"  fragments  of  Lefbian  tunes,  and  I  vvifn 
"  I  were  to  try  them  upon  the  moll:  paf- 

"  fionate  creatures  alive." "  You'iie- 

"  ver  had  a  better  opportunity  (fays  Al- 
4<  bertus)',  foryonderare  two  apple-women 
**  fcolding,  and  juil  ready  to  uncoif  one 
u  another."  With  that  Cornelius,  undref- 
fed  as  he  was,  jumps  out  into  his  balcony, 
his  lyra  in  hand,  in  his  flippers,  with  his 
breaches  hanging  down  to  his  ancles,  a 
flocking  upon  his  head,  and  waiitcoat  of 
murrey-coloured  fattin  upon  his  body:  Fie 
touched  his  lyra  with  a  very  unufual  fort 
of  an  harpegiatura,  nor  were  his.  hopes 
fruftrated.  The  cad  equipage,  the  uncouth. 
inftrument,  the  ftrangehefs  of  the  man,  and 
of  the  mufic,  drew  the  ears  and  eyes  of  the 
whole  mob  that  were  got  about  the  two  fe- 
male champions,  and  at  la  ft  of  the  comba- 
tants themfelves.  They  all  approached  the 
balcony,  in  as  clofe  attention  as  Orpheus's 
firft  audience  of  cattle,  or  that  of  an  Italian 
opera,  when  fome  favourite  air  is  juft  a- 
wakened.  This  fud  den  efFecl  of  his  mufic 
encouraged  him  mightily  ;  and  it  was  ob- 
ferved  he  never  touched  his  lyre  in  fuch  a 
truly  chromatic  and  enharmonic  manner. 
as  upon  that  occafion.  The  mob  laughed, 
fung,  jumped.,  danced,  and  ufed  many  odd 
geftures ;  all  which  he  judged  to  be  caufed 
by  the  various  ftrains  and  modulations. 
"  Mark  (quoth  he)  in  this,  the  power  of 
"  the  Ionian  ;  in  that  you  fee  the  effect  of 
"  the  iEolian."  But  in  a  little  time  they 
began  to  grow  riotous,  and  threw  ftones: 
Cornelius  then  withdrew,  but  with  the 
greateft  air  of  triumph  in  the  world-.  "Bro- 
"  ther  (laid  he)  do  you  obferve  I  have 
"  mixed,  unawares,  too  much  of  the  Pbry- 
"  gian  ;  I  might  change  k  to  the  Lvdian, 
'•  and  fofcen  tiieir  riotous  tempers:  But  it 
"  is  enough:  learn  from  this  {ample  to 
"  ipeak  with  veneration  of  ancient  mufic. 
"  If  this  lyre  in  my  un&ilful  hands  can 
3H3  "  perforin 


S;S 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


"  perform  fuck  wonders,  what  muff,  it  net 
"  have  done  in  thofe  of  a  Timotheus  or  a 
"  Terpar.dcr  ?"  Having  faid  this,  he  re- 
tired with  the  utmoft  exultation  in  himfelf, 
and  contempt  of  his  brother ;  and,  it  is  faid, 
behaved  that  night  with  fuch  unufual 
haughtinefs  to  his  family,  that  they  ail  had 
reaion  to  wiih  for  fome  ancient  Tibicen  to 
calm  his  temper. 

LOGIC. 

Martin's  under  landing  was  fo  totally 
immerfed  in  fenfible  objects,  that  he  de- 
manded examples,  from  material  things,  of 
the  abftracted  ideas  of  logic :  as  for  Crambe, 
he  contented  himfelf  with  the  words ;  and 
when  he  could  but  form  fome  conceit  upon 
them,  was  fully  fatisfied.  Thus  Crambe 
would  tell  his  inftructor,  that  all  men  were 
not  lingular ;  that  individuality  could  hard- 
ly be  predicated  of  any  man,  for  it  was 
commonly  faid,  that  a  man  is  not  the  fame 
he  was ;  that  madmen  are  befide  them- 
felves,  ani  drunken  men  come  to  them- 
felves;  which  mews,  that  few  men  have 
that  moft  valuable  logical  endowment,  in- 
dividuality. Cornelius  told  Martin  that  a 
moulder  of  mutton  was  an  individual, which 
Crambe  denied,  for  he  had  feen  it  cut  into 
commons.  That's  true  (quoth  the  tutor), 
but  you  never  faw  it  cut  into  fhoulders  of 
mutton:  H  it  could  (quoth  Crambe)  it 
would  be  the  moft  lovely  individual  of  the 
imiverfity.  When  he  was  told,  a  fubftance 
was  that  which  was  fubject  to  accidents ; 
then  loldiers  (quoth  Crambe)  are  the  molt 
fubftantial  people  in  the  world.  Neither 
would  he  allow  it  to  be  a  good  definition 
of  accident,  that  it  could  be  prefent  orab- 
fent  without  the  deftruction  of  the  fubject ; 
fince  there  are  a  great  many  accidents  that 
deftrpy  the  fubject,as  burning  does  a  houfe, 
and  death  a  man.  But,  as  to  that,  Corne- 
lius informed  him,  that  there  was  a  natural 
death,  and  a  logical  death;  that  though  a 
man,  after  his  natural  death,  was  not  capa- 
bk  of  the  leaft  parifh- office,  yet  he  might 
ftill  beep  his  ftall  among tl  the  logical  pre- 
dicaments. 

Cornelius  was  forced  to  give  Martin  fen- 
fible images.  Thus,  calling  up  the  coach- 
man, he  afked  him  what  he  had  feen  in  the 
bear-garden?  The  man  anfwered,  he  faw 
two  men  fight  a  prize  :  one  was  a  fair  man, 
a  ferjeant  in  the  guards ;  the  other  black, 
a  butcher:  the  ferjeant  had  red  breeches, 
the  butcher  blue  :  they  fought  upon  a  ftage 
about  four  o'clock,  and  the  ferjeant  wound- 
ed the  butcher  in  the  leg.    "  Mark  (quoth 


"  Cornelius)  how  the  fellow  runs  through 
"  the  predicaments.  Men,  jubjlaiitia  ; 
"  two,  quant  it  as  ;  fair  and  black,  qualitas  ; 
"  fearjeant  and  butcher,  relatio  ;  wounded 
"  the  other,  aclio  ct  pajfio  ;  fighting,  Jitus ; 
"  ftage,  vbi ;  two  o'clock,  quando;  blue 
"  and  red  breeches,  habitus"  At  the 
fame  time  he  warned  Martin,  that  what 
he  now  learned  as  a  logician,  he  muft  for- 
get as  a  natural  philofopher;  that  though 
he  now  taught  them  that  accidents  inhered 
in  the  fubject,  they  would  find  in  time  there 
was  no  fuch  thing;  and  that  colour,  tafle, 
fmell,  heat,  and  cold, were  not  in  the  things, 
but  only  phantafms  of  our  brains.  He  was 
forced  to  let  them  into  this  fecret,  for  Mar- 
tin could  not  conceive  how  a  habit  of  danc- 
ing inhered  in  a  d an cing-m after,  when  he 
did  not  dance;  nay,  he  would  demand  the 
characteriftics  of  relations.  Crambe  ufed 
to  help  him  out,  by  telling  him,  a  cuckold, 
a  lofing  garnefter,  a  man  that  had  not  dined, 
a  young  heir  that  wes  kept  fnort  by  his  fa- 
ther, might  be  all  known  by  their  counte- 
nance ;  that,  in  this  laft  cafe,  the  paternity 
and  filiation  leave  very  fenfible  impreffions 
in  the  relatum  and cerrelatum.  The  great- 
eft  difficulty  was  when  they  came  to  th  •■ 
tenth  predicament ;  Crambe  affirmed  that 
his  habitus  was  more  a  fubfiar.ee  than  he 
was ;  for  his  clothes  could  better  fubfifit 
without  him,  than  he  without  his  clothes. 

The  Seat  of  the  Scul, 

In  this  defign  of  Martin  to  inveftigate 
the  difeafes  of  the  mind,  he  thought  no- 
thing "fo  neceffary  as  an  enquiry  after  the 
feat  of  the  foul ;  in  which  at  firft,  he  la- 
boured under  great  uncertanties.  Some- 
times he  was  of  opinion  that  it  lodged  in 
the  brain,  fometimes  in  the  ftomach,  and 
fometimes  in  the  heart.  Afterwards  he 
thought  itabfurd  to  confine  that  fovereign 
lady  to  one  apartment ;  which  made  him 
infer,  that  fhe  fhifted  it  according  to  the  fe- 
veral  functions  of  life  :  The  brain  was  her 
ftudy ,  the  heart  her  ftate-room,  and  the  fto- 
mach her  kitchen.  But,  as  he  faw  feveral 
offices  of  life  went  on  at  the  fame  time,  he 
was  forced  to  give  up  this  hypothefis  alfo. 
He  now  conjectured  it  was  more  for  the 
dignity  of  the  foul  to  perform  feveral  ope- 
rations by.  her  little  minifters,  the  animal 
fpirits ;  from  whence  it  was  natural  to  con- 
clude, that  fhe  refides  in  different  parts,  ac- 
cording to  different  inclinations,  fexes,ages, 
and  profeffions.  Thus,  in  epicures  he  fear- 
ed her  in  the  mouth  of  the  ftomach  ;  phi- 
lofophcrs  have  her  in  the  brain,  foldiers  in 

their 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


839 


their  heart,  women  in  their  tongues,  fidlers 
in  their  fingers,  and  rope-dancers  in  their 
toes.  At  length  he  grew  fond  of  the  glan- 
dula  pinealis,  differing  many  fubje&s  to 
find  out  the  different  figure  of  this  gland, 
from  whence  he  might  difcover  the  caufe 
of  the  different  tempers  in  mankind.  He 
fupported  that  in  factious  and  reftlefs-fpi- 
rited  people,  he  ihould  find  it  (harp  and 
pointed,  allowing  no  room  for  the  foul  to 
repofe  herfelf;  that  in  quiet  tempers  it  was 
flat,  fmooth,  and  foft,  affording  to  the  foul, 
as  it  were,  an  eafy  cuihion.  He  was  con- 
firmed in  this  by  obferving,  that  calves  and 
philofophers,  tygers  and  ftatefmen,  foxes 
and  {harpers,  peacocks  and  fops,  cock- 
fparrows  and  coquettes,  monkeys  and 
players,  courtiers  and  fpaniels,  moles  and 
mifers,  exactly  referable  one  another  in  the 
conformation  of  the  pineal  gland.  He  did 
not  doubt  likewife  to  find  the  fame  refem- 
blance  in  highwaymen  and  conquerors:  In 
order  to  fatisfy  himfelf  in  which,  it  was, 
that  he  purchafed  the  body  of  one  of  the 
firft  fpecies  (as  hath  been  before  related) 
at  Tyburn,  hoping  in  time  to  have  the  hap- 
pineis  of  ore  of  the  latter  too  under  his 
anatomical  knife. 

The  Sad  a  Quality. 

This  is  eafily  anfwered  by  a  familiar  in- 
ftance.  In  every  jack  there  is  a  meat- 
roafting  quality,  which  neither  refides  in 
the  fly,  nor  in  the  weight,  nor  in  any  par- 
ticular wheel  in  the  jack,  but  is  the  refult 
of  the  whole  compofition  :  fo,  in  an  ani- 
mal, the  felf-confcioufnefs  is  not  a  real 
quality  inherent  in  one  being,  (any  more 
than  meat-ioaftingin  a  jack)  but  the  refult 
of  feveral  modes  or  qualities  in  the  fame 
fubjecT:.  As  the  fly,  the  wheels,  the  chain, 
the  weight,  the  cords,  &c.  make  one  jack, 
fo  the  leveral  parts  of  the  body  make  one 
animal.  As  perception  or  confcioufnefs  is 
faid  to  be  inherent  in  this  animal,  fo  is 
meat-roafling  faid  to  be  inherent  in  the 
jack.  As  fenfation,  reafoning,  volition, 
memory,  &c.  are  the  feveral  modes  of 
thinking ;  fo  roafting  of  beef,  roafling  of 
mutton,  roafting  of  pullets,  geek,  turkeys, 
&c.  are  the  feveral  modes  of  meat-roafl- 
ing. And  as  the  general  quality  of  meat- 
roafling,  with  its  ieveral  modifications,  as 
to  beef,  mutton,  pullet?,  &c.  does  not  in- 
here in  any  one  part  of  the  jack  ;  fo  nei- 
ther does  confcioufnefs,  with  its  feveral 
modes  of  fenfation,  intellection,  volition, 
&c.  inhere  in  any  one,  but  is  the  refult 


from  the  mechanical   compofition  of  the 
whole  animal.  Pope. 

,    §34.     Di-verjity  of  Gcniufes. 

I  fhall  range  thefe  confined  and  lefs  co- 
pious geniufes  under  proper  clafles,  and 
(the  better  to  give  their  pictures  to  the 
reader)  under  the  names  of  animals  cffome 
fort  or  other;  whereby  he  will  be  enabled, 
at  the  firft  fight  of  fuch  as  fhall  daily  come 
forth,  to  know  to  what  kind  to  refer,  and 
with  what  authors  to  compare  them. 

1.  The  Flying  Fifhes:  Thefe  are  writers 
who  now  and  then  rife  upon  their  fins,  and 
fly  out  of  the  profound  ;  but  their  wings 
are  focn  dry,  and  they  drop  down  to  the 
bottom.     G.S.  A.H.   C.  G. 

2.  The  Swallows  are  authors  that  are 
eternally  fkimming  and  fluttering  up  and 
down;  but  all  their  agility  is  employed  to 
catch  flies.     L.T.   W.  P.    Lord  H. 

3.  The  Oflriches  are  fuch,  whofe  heavi- 
nefs  rarely  permits  them  to  raife  themfelves 
from  the  ground ;  their  wings  are  of  no 
ufe  to  lift  them  up,  and  their  motion  is  be- 
tween flying  and  walking;  but  then  they 
run  very  fait.  D.  F.  L.E.  The  Hon. 
E.H. 

4.  The  Parrots  are  they  that  repeat 
another's  words,  in  fuch  a  hoarfe  odd 
voice,  as  makes  them  feem  their  own. 
W.  B.     W.H.     C.  C.      The    Reverend 

D.  D. 

5.  The  DiJappers  are  authors  that  keep 
themfelves  long  cut  of  fight,  under  water, 
and  come  up  now  and  then  where  you  leafl 
expected  them.  L.  W.  G.D.Efq.  The. 
Hon.  Sir  W.  Y. 

6.  The  Porpoifes  are  unwieldy  and  big ; 
they  put  all  their  numbers  into  a  great  tur- 
moil and  tempeft  :  but  whenever  they  ap- 
pear in  plain  light  (which  is  feldom)  they 
are  only  fhapeleis  and  ugly  monflers.  I.  D, 
C.G.   I.  O. 

7.  The  Frogs  are  fuch  as  can  neither 
walk  nor  fly,  but  can  leap  and  bound  to  ad- 
miration: they  live  generally  in  the  bottom 
of  a  ditch,  and  make  a  great  noife  when- 
ever they  thrufl  their  heads  above  water. 

E.  W.    L.M.  Efq.     T.D.Gent. 

8.  The  Eels  are  obfeure  authors,  that 
wrap  themfelves  up  in  their  own  mud,  but 
are  mighty  nimble  and  pert.  L.  W. 
L.  T.     P.  M.     General  C. 

9.  The  Tortoifes  are  flow  and  chill,  and, 
like  paftoral  writers,  delight  much  in  gar- 
dens :  they  have  for  the  moft  part  a  fine 
embroidered  (hell,  and   underneath  it,  a 

3  H  4  neavy 


840 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


heavy  lump.     A.  P.  W 
Right  Hon.  E.  ofS. 


E.     The  men  at  clubs ;  the   ellipfis,  or  fpcech  by 
half  words,  of  miniutr-    and.  politicians ; 
:hief  charafteriftics    of  the  a;  ofiopefis,  cf  courtiers;  the   iitotes, 
the  Bathe:- :   and  in  each  of  theie  kinds  we  and  diminution,  of  ladies,  whisperers,  and 
have  the  comfort  to  be  blcfl'ed  with   fun-  backbiters;  and  the  anadiploiis,  of  corn- 
dry  and  manifold  choice  fpitits  in  this  our  mon  criers  and  hawkers,  who,  by  redoubling 
ifland.  the  fame  words,  perfuade  people  to  buy 
a'r'   aj                    e  t^cn'  oy^ers,  green  haftings,  or  new  bal- 
^  1  he  ^ffancenmt  of  the  Bathos.  iads>  Epithets  may  be  found  in  great  plenty 
Thus  have  I  (my  dear  countrymen)  with  at  Biilingfgate,  farcafm  and  irony  learned 
incredible  pains  and  di'Iigence,  difcovered  upon  the  water,  and  the  epiphoncina   or 
the 1  hidden  fcurces  of  the  Bathos,  or,  as   I  exclamation    frequently    from  'the    bear- 
may  fay,  broke  open  the  abyffes  of  this  garden,  and  as  frequently  frcm  the  '  blear 
great  deep.     And  having  now  eftablifhed  him'  of  the  Houfe  of  Commons, 
good  and  vvholefome  laws,  what  remains  Now  each  man  applying  his  whole  time 
but  that  ail  true  moderns,  with  their  utmoft  and  genius  upon  his  particular  figure,  would 
might,  do  proceed  to  put  the  fame  in  exe-  doubtlefs  attain  to  perfection  :  and  when 
cutiori  ?  In  order  whereto.  I  think  1  fhall,  each  became  incorporated  and  fworn  into 
in  the  fecond  place,  highly  deferve  of  my  the  feciety  (as  hath  been  propofed)  a  poet 
country,  by  propofing  fuch  a  icheme,  as  or  orator  would  have  no  more  to  do  but  to 


may  facilitate  this  great  end 

As  our  number  is  co'nfefledly  far  fupe- 
rior  to  that  of  the  enemy,  there  feems 
nothing  wanting  but  unanimity  among  our- 
felves.    It  is  therefore  humbly  offered,  that 


fend  to  the  particular  traders  in  each  kind  ; 
to  the  metaphorift  for  his  allegories,  to  the 
fimile-maker  for  his  companions,  to  the 
ironiil  for  his  farcafms,  to  the  apophtheg- 
matift  for  his  fentences,  &c. ;    whereby  a 


all  and  every  individual  of  the  Bathos  do  dedication  or  fpeech  would  becompofedin 
enter  into  a  fi»m  aficciation,  and  inccrpo-  a  moment,  the  fuperior  artift  having  no- 
rate  into  one  regular  body ;  whereof  every     thing  to   do  but  to  put  together  all   the 


member,  even  the  meaneit,  will  fome-way 
contribute  to  the  fupport  of  the  whole;  in 
like  manner  as  the  weakeft  reeds,  when 
joined  in  one  bundle,  become  infrangible. 
To  which  end  our  art  ought  to  be  put  upon 
the  fame  foot  with  other  arts  of  this  age. 
The  van  improvement  of  modern  manu 


materials. 

I  therefore  propofe  that  there  be  con- 
trived, with  all  convenient  difpatch,  at  the 
public  expence,  a  rhetorical  chef!  of  draw- 
ers; confirming  of  three  ilories ;  the  higher! 
for  the  deliberative,  the  midd'e  for  the  de- 
monstrative, and  theloweftfor  the  judicial. 


fa&ures  arifeth  from  their  being  divided     Theie  ihali  be  fubdivided  into  loci  or  places, 


into  feveral  branches,  and  parcelled  out  to 
feveral  trades  :  for  inftance,  in  clock  mak- 
ing, one  artiil  makes  the  balance,  another 
the  fpring,  another  the  crown-wheels,  a 
fourth  the  cafe,  and  the  principal  work- man 
puts  all  together*:  to  this  ceconomy  we  owe 
the  perfection  of  our  modern  watches;  and 
doubtlefs  we  alfo  might  that  of  cur  modern 


being  repofitoriesfor  matter  and  argument 
in  the  feveral  kinds  of  oration  or  writing; 
and  every  drawer  mail  again  be  fubdivided 
into  cells,  refemlding  thole  of  cabinets  for 
rarities.  The  apartment  for  peace  or  war, 
and  that  of  the  liberty  of  the  prefs,  may  in 
a  very  few  cays  be  filled  with  feveral  ar- 


guments perfectly  new;   and  the  vitupera- 

poetry  and  rhetoric,  were  the  feveral  parts  five  partition  will  as  cafily  be  replenished 

branched  out  in  the  like  manner.  with  a  moft  choice  collection,  entirely  of 

Nothing  is  more  evident,  than  that  di-  the  growth  and  manufacture  of  the  prefer  f 

vers   perfons,   no  other  way   remarkable,  age.     Every  compofer  will  foon  be taught 

have  each  a  (1 1  cng  di  fpefition  'to  the  forma-  the  ufe  of  this  cabinet,  and  how  to  man:  ge 

tion    of  feme    particular  trope  or  figure,  all  the  regifiers  of  it,  which  will  he  drawn 

Ariilotle  faith,  that  the  hyperbole  is  an  or-  cut  much  in   the  manner  of  thole  in  an 


narhent  fit  for  young  men  of  quality  ;  ac- 
cordingly we  find  in  ihofe  gentlemen  a 
wonderful  propensity  towards  it,  whkh  is 
marvelloufly  improved  Ly  travelling:   fol- 


ergan. 

The  keys  cf  it  muil  be  kept  in  honeft 
hand;,  by  fiome  reverend  prelate,  cr  valiant. 
officer,  of  unquestionable  loyalty  and  affec- 


oiers  alfo  and  feamen  are  very  happy  in  the  tion  to  every  preient  eilablifiimer.t  in  church 
fame  figure.  The  pcriphrafis  or  circum-  and  ftate ;  which  will  mfficiently  guard 
locution  is  the  peculiar  talent  of  country  againft  any  mifchief  which  might  other- 
farmer;  ;  the  proverb  and  apologue  of  old  wile  be  apprehended  from  it. 


B  O  O  K  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


841 


And  being  lodged  in  fuch  hands,  it  may 
be  at  difcretion  let  out  by  the  day,  to  fe- 
veral  great  orators  in  both  houfes  ;  from 
whence  it  is  to  be  hoped  much  profit  and 
gain  will  accrue  to  our  fociety. 

Dedicatic7'.s  and  Panegyrics. 
Now  of  what  necefiity  the  foregoing 
project  may  prove,  will  appear  from  this 
fmg'.e  confederation,  that  nothing  is  of 
equal  confequence  to  the  fucceTs  of  our 
works  as  fpced  and  difpatch.  Great  pity 
it  is,  that  folid  brains  are  not,  like  other 
folid  bodies,  conftantly  endowed  with  a  ve- 
locity in  finking  proportionable  to  their 
heavinefs  :  for  it  is  with  the  flowers  of  the 
Bathos  as  with  thofe  of  nature,  which,  if 
the  careful  gardener  brings  not  haitily  to 
market  in  the  morning,  mull  unprofitably 
periih  and  wither  before  night.  And  of 
all  cur  productions  none  is  io  fliort-lived 
as  the  dedication  and  panegyric,  which  are 
often  but  the  praife  of  a  day,  and  become 
by  the  next  utterly  ufelefs, improper,  inde- 
cent, and  falfe.  This  is  the  more  to  be  la- 
mented, inafmuch  as  thefe  two  are  the  forts 
whereon  in  a  manner  depends  that  profit, 
which  muft  ftill  be  remembered  to  be  the 
main  end  of  our  writers  and  fpeakers. 

We  fhali  therefore  employ  this  chapter 
in  {hewing  the  quickeft  method  of  com- 
posing them  :  after  which  we  will  teach  a 
ihort  way  to  epic  poetry.  And  thefe  being 
confeffedly  the  wcpks  'of  mofc  importance 
and  difficulty,  it  is  prefumed  we  may  leave 
the  reft  to  each  author's  own  learning  or 
practice. 

Firit  of  Panegyric.  Every,  man  is  ho- 
nourable1, who  is  Io  by  law,  cuitom,  or  title. 
The  public  are  better  judges  of  what  is  ho- 
nourable than  private  men.  The  virtues 
of  great  men,  like  thofe  of  plants,  are  in- 
herent in  them,  whether  they  are  exerted 
or  not ;  and  the  more  ftrongly  inherent,  the 
lefs  they  are  exerted ;  as  a  man  is  the 
more  rich,  the  lefs  he  fperids.  All  great 
miniflers,  without  either  private  or  cecono- 
rr.ical  virtue,  are  virtuous  by  their  polls, 
liberal  and  generous  upon  the  public  mo- 
ney, provident  upon  public  fupplies,  juft 
by  paying  public  intereit,  courageous  and 
magnanimous  by  the  fleets  and  armies,  - 
magnificent  upon  the  public  expences,  and 
prudent  by  public  fuccefs.  They  have  by 
their  office  a  right  to  a  fnare  of  the  public 
flock  of  virtues  ;  befides,  they  are  by  pre- 
scription immemorial  inverted  in  all  the  ce- 
iebrated  virtues  of  their  predeceifors  in  the 


fame  ftations,  efpecial'y  thofe  of  their  own 
anceflors. 

As  to  what  are  commonly  called  the  co- 
lours of  honourable  and  difhonourable,  they 
are  various  in  different  countries  :  in  this, 
they  are  blue,  green,  and  red. 

But,  forafmuch  as  the  duty  we  owe  to  the 
public  doth  often  require  that  we  mould  put 
fbme  things  in  a  itrong  light,  and  throw  a 
fliade  over  others,  I  fhall  explain  the  method 
of  turning  a  vicious  man  into  a  hero. 

The  firiiand  chief  rule  is  the  golden  rule 
of  transformation ;  which  confilts  in  con- 
verting vices  into  their  bordering  virtues. 
A  man  who  is  a  fpendthrift,  and  will  not 
pay  a  juft  debt,  may  have  his  injuftice 
transformed  into  liberality ;  cowardice  may 
be  metamorphofed  into  prudence;  intem- 
perance into  good  nature  and  good-fellow- 
fliip  ;  corruption  into  patricrtifni;  and  lewd- 
nefs  into  tendcrnefs  and  facility. 

The  fecond  is  the  rule  of  contraries,  ft 
is  certain  the  lefs  a  man  is  endued  with  any 
virtue,  the  more  need  he  has  to  have  it 
plentifully  beltowed,  efpecially  thofe  good 
qualities  of  which  the  world  generally 
believes  he  has  none  at  all :  for  who  will 
thank  a  man  forgiving  him  that  which  he 
has? 

The  reverfe  of  thefe  precepts  will  ferve 
for  fatire;  wherein  we  are  ever  to  remark. 
that  whofo  lofeth  his  place,  or  becomes  out 
of  favour  with  the  government,  hath  for- 
feited his  fhare  in  public  praife  and  honour. 
1  herefore  the  truly  public-fpirited  writer 
ought  in  duty  to  ftrip  him  whom  the  go- 
vernment hath  fh'ipped;  which  is  the  real 
poetical  juftice  of  this  age.  For  a  full  col- 
lection of  topics  and  epithets  to  be  ufed  in 
the  praife  and  difpraife  of  rniniiterial  and 
unminifterial  perfons,  I  refej  to  our  rheto- 
rical cabinet;  concluding  with  an  carneft 
exhortation  to  all  my  brethren,  to  obferve 
the  precepts  here  laid  down ;  the  neglect  of 
which  has  colt  fome  of  them  their  ears  in 
a  pillory. 

A  Recipe  to  make  an  Epic  Poem. 
An  epic  poem,  the  critics  agree^  is  the 
greatelt  woik  human  nature  is  capable  of. 
They  have  already  laid  down  many  me- 
chanical rules  for  compactions  of  this  fort, 
but  at  the  fame  time  they  cut  off  almoit  all 
undertakers  from  the  pofiibility  of  ever  per- 
forming them ;  for  the  fir  ft  qualification 
they  unanimouily  require  in  a  poet,  is  a 
genius.  I  (hall  here  endeavour  (for  the 
benefit    of  my  countrymen)   to   make  it 

manifefbj 


8 12 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


roamfofl,  that  epic  poems  may  be  made 
without  a  genius,  nay,  without  learning  or 
much  reading.  This  mud  neceflarily  be 
of  great  ufe  zo  all  thofe  who  confefs  they 
never  read,  and  of  whom  the  world  is  con- 
vinced they  never  learn.  Moliereobferves 
of  making  a  dinner,  that  any  man  can  do 
it  with  money ;  and  if  a  profeffed  cook 
cannot  do  without  it,  he  has  his  art  for  no- 
thing :  the  fame  may  be  faid  of  making  a 
poem :  it  is  eaftly  brought  about  by  him 
that  has  a  genius,  but  the  Mil  lies  in  doing 
it  without  one.  In  purfuance  of  this  end, 
I  fhali  prefent  the  reader  with  a  plain  and 
fore  recipe,  by  which  any  author  in  the 
Bathos  may  be  qualified  for  this  grand  per- 
formance. 

To  make  an  Epic  Poem. 

For  the  Fable.  Take  out  of  any  old  poem, 
hiitory-book,  romance,  or  legend  (for  in- 
flance,  Geoffry  of  Monmouth,  or  Don  Be- 
lianis  of  Greece)  thofe  parts  of  flory  which 
afford  moil  fcope  for  long  defcriptions :  put 
thefe  pieces  together,  and  throw  all  the  ad- 
ventures you  fancy  into  one  tale.  Then 
take  a  hero,  whom  you  may  chufe  for  the 
found  of  his  name,  and  put  him  in  the  midft 
of  thefe  adventures :  there  let  him  work  for 
twelve  books ;  at  the  end  of  which  you  may 
take  him  out,  ready  prepared  to  conqueror 
to  marry ;  it  being  neceffary  that  the  con- 
cluilon  of  an  epic  poem  be  fortunate. 

1 ' o  make  an  Epijbde.  Take  any  remain- 
ing adventure  of  your  former  collection,  in 
which  yen  could  no  way  involve  your  hero ; 
or  aoy  unfortunate  accident  that  was  too 
good  to  be  thrown  away  ;  and  it  will  be  of 
ufe,  applied  to  any  other  perfon,  who  may 
be  loit  and  evaporate  in  the  courfe  of  the 
work,  without  the  leaf!  damage  to  thecom- 
pofition, 

For  the  Moral  and  Allegory.  Thefe  you 
may  extrael  out  of  the  fable  afterwards, 
at  your  leifure :  be  fure  you  ftrain  them 
fufhcien'Iy. 

For  the  Manners.  For  thofe  of  the  hero, 
take  all  the  bell  qualities  you  can  find  in 
the  rnoft  celebrated  heroes  of  antiquity:  if 
they  will  ret  be  reduced  to  a  confiilency, 
lay  thern  all  on  a  heap  upon  him.  But  be 
fure  they  are  qualities  which  your  patron 
would  be  thought  to  have ;  and  to  prevent 
any  miilake  which  the  world  may  be  fub- 
ject  to,  feleci  from  the  alphabet  thofe  ca- 
pital letters  that  compofe  his  name,  andfet 
them  at  the  head  of  a  dedication  or  poem. 
However,  do  not  obferve  the  exact  quan- 
tity of  thefe  virtues,  it  not  being  determined 


whether  or  no  it  be  neceffary  for  the  hero 
of  a  poem  to  be  an  honefi  man.  For  the 
under-characlers,  gather  them  from  Homer 
and  Virgil,  and  change  the  names  as  oc- 
cahon  ferves. 

For  the  Machines.  Take  of  deities,  male 
and  female,  as  many  as  you  can  ufe  :  fepa- 
rare  them  into  two  equal  parts,  and  keep 
Jupiter  in  the  middle  :  let  Juno  put  him  in 
a  ferment,  and  Venus  mollify  him.  Re- 
member on  all  occafions  to  make  ufe  of 
volatile  Mercury.  If  you  have  need  of  de- 
vils, draw  them  out  of  Miiton's  Paradife, 
and  extract  your  fpirits  from  Taffo.  The 
ufe  of  thefe  machines  is  evident :  fince  no 
epic  poem  can  poffibly  fubfifl.  without  them, 
the  wifeft  way  is  to  referve  them  for  your 
greateft  neceffities.  When  you  cannot  ex- 
tricate your  hero  bv  any  human  means,  or 
yourfelf  by  your  own  wit,  feek  relief  from 
heaven,  and  the  gods  will  do  your  bufinefs 
very  readily.  This  is  according  to  the  di- 
rect prefcription  of  Horace,  in  his  Art  of 
Poetry: 

Nee  dens  interfit,  nifi  dignus  yindice  nodus 
Incident. — 

That  is  to  fay,  "  A  poet  mould  never  call 
"  upon  the  gods  for  their  afliilance,  but 
"  when  he  is  in  great  perplexity." 

For  the  Defcriptions.  For  a  tempeil. 
Take  Eurus,  Zephyr,  Aufler,  and  Boreas, 
and  call  them  together  in  one  verfe :  add 
to  thefe  of  rain,  lightning,  and  thunder(the 
loudeit  you  can)  quantum fufficit;  mix  your 
clouds  and  billows  well  together  till  they 
foam,  and  thicken  your  defcription  here 
and  there  with  a  quickfand.  Brew  your 
temper!  well  in  your  head,  before  you  fet 
it  a-blowing. 

For  a  battle.  Pick  a  large  quantity  of 
images  and  defcriptions  from  Homer's 
Iliad,  with  a  fpice  or  two  of  Virgil ;  and 
if  there  remain  any  overplus,  you  may  lay 
thern  by  for  a  fkirmiih.  Seafon  it  well 
with  fimiles,  and  it  will  make  an  excellent 
battle. 

For  a  burning  town.  If  fuch  a  defcrip- 
tion beneceilary  (becaufe  it  is  certain  there 
is  one  in  Virgil)  old  Troy  is  ready  burnt 
to  your  hands  :  but  if  you  fear  that  woald 
be  thought  borrowed,  a  chapter  or  two  of 
the  Theory  of  the  Conflagration,  well  cir- 
cumftanced  and  done  into  verfe,  will  be  a 
good  fuccedaneum. 

As  for  fimilies  and  metaphors,  they  may 
be  found  all  over  the  creation ;  the  moil: 
ignorant  may  gather  them  :  but  the  diffi- 
culty 


BOOK   IV.     NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


*4: 


culty  is  in  applying  them.    For  this  advife 
with  your  bookfeller.  Pope. 

§35.      The  Duty  of  a  Clerk. 

No  fooner  was  I  defied  into  my  office, 
but  1  laid  afide  the  powdered  gallantries 
of  my  youth,  and  became  a  new  man.  I 
considered  myfelf  as  in  fome  wife  of  eccle- 
fiaftical  dignity;  fince  by  wearing  a  band, 
which  is  no  fmall  part  of  the  ornament 
of  our  clergy,  I  might  not  unworthily  be 
deemed,  as  it  were,  a  fhred  of  the  linen 
veftment  of  Aaron. 

Thou  may'ft  conceive,  O  reader,  with 
what  concern  I  perceived  the  eyes  of  the 
congregation  fixed  upon  me,  when  I  fir  ft 
took  my  place  at  the  feet  of  the  prieft. 
When  I  railed  the  pfalm,  how  did  my 
voice  quaver  for  fear!  and  when  I  arrayed 
the  moulders  of  the  minifter  with  the  fur- 
plice,  how  did  my  joints  tremble  under  me! 
I  faid  within  myfelf,  "  Remember,  Paul, 
"  thou  ftandeft  before  men  of  high  wor- 
"  fhip;  the  wife  Mr.  Juftice  Freeman, the 
"  grave  Mr.  Juftice  Tonfon,  the  good 
"  Lady  Jones,  and  the  two  virtuous  gen- 
"  tlewomen  her  daughters;  nay,  the  great 
"  Sir  Thomas  Truby,  Knight  and  Baro- 
"  net,  and  my  young  mafter  the  Efquire, 
"  who  fliall  one  day  be  lord  of  this  ma- 
"  nor."  Notwithftanding  which,  it  was 
my  good  hap  to  acquit  myfelf  to  the 
good  liking  of  the  whole  congregation  ; 
but  the  Lord  forbid  I  fliould  glory  there- 


I  was  determined  to  reform  the  mani- 
fold corruptions  and  abufes  which  had  crept 
into  the  church. 

Firft,  I  was  efpecially  fevere  in  whip- 
ping forth  dogs  from  the  temple,  allexcept- 
ing  the  lap-dog  of  the  good  widow  How- 
ard, a  fober  dog  which  yelped  not,  ncr 
was  there  offence  in  his  mouth. 

Secondly,  I  did  even  proceed  to  morofe- 
nefs,  though  fore  againft  my  heart,  unto 
poor  babes,  in  tearing  from  them  the  haif- 
eaten  apples  which  they  privily  munched 
at  church.  But  verily  it  pitied  me ;  for  I 
remember  the  days  of  my  youth. 

Thirdly,  With  the  fweat  of  my  own 
hands  I  did  make  plain  and  fmcoth  the 
dogs- ears  throughout  our  great  Bible. 

Fourthly,  The  pews  and  benches,  which 
were  formerly  fwept  but  once  in  three  years, 
I  caufed  every  Saturday  to  be  fwept  with  a 
befom,  and  trimmed. 

Fifthly,  and  laftly,  I  caufed  the  furplice 
to  be  neatly  darned,  wafhed,  and  laid  in 


frefh  lavendar  (yea,  and  fometlmes  to  be 
fprinkled  withroie-water)  ;  and  J  had  great 
laud  and  praife  from  all  the  neighbouring 
clergy,  forafmuch  as  no  pariili  kept  the 

minifter  in  cleaner  linen. 

#         #  #         #         # 

Shoes  did  I  make  (and,  if  intreated, 
mend)  with  good  approbation.  Faces 
alfo  did  I  fhave;  and  I  clipped  the  hair. 
Chirurgery  alfo  I  pra&ifed  in  the  worming 
of  dogs ;  but  to  bleed  adventured  I  not, 
except  the  poor.  Upon  this  my  two-fold 
profefHon,  there  paffed  among  men  a  merry 
tale,  delegable  enough  to  be  rehearfed: 
Hew  that,  being  overtaken  with  liquor  one 
Saturday  evening,  I  lhaved  the  prieft  with 
Spanifh  blacking  for  fhoes  inftead  ofawafli- 
ball,  and  with  lamp-black  powdered  his 
perriwig.  But  thefe  were  fayings  of  men 
delighting  in  their  own  conceits  more  than, 
in  the  truth  :  for  it  is  well  known,  that 
great  was  my  care  and  fkill  in  thefe  my 
crafts ;  yea,  I  once  had  the  honour  of  trim- 
ming Sir  Thomas  himfelf,  without  fetch- 
ing blood.  Furthermore,  I  was  fought 
unto  to  geld  the  Lady  Frances  her  fpaniel, 
which  was  wont  to  go  aftray  :  he  was  called 
Toby,  that  is  to  fay,  Tobias.  And,  thirdly, 
I  was  entrufted  with  a  gorgeous  pair  of 
fhoes  of  the  faid  lady,  to  let  an  heel-piece 
thereon  ;  and  I  received  fuch  praife  there- 
fore, that  it  was  faid  aU  over  the  parifh,  I 
fhould  be  recommended  unto,  the  king  to 
mend  fhoes  for  his  majefty :  whom  God 
preferve!  Amen.  Ibid. 

§  36.  Cruelty  10  Animals. 
Montaigne  thinks  it  fome  reflection  up- 
on human  nature  itfelf,  that  few  people 
take  delight  in  feeing  beafts  care's  or  play 
together,  but  almoft  every  one  is  plcafed 
to  fee  them  lacerate  and  worry  one  another. 
1  am  forry  this  temper  is  become  almoft  a 
diftinguifhing  character  of  our  own  nation, 
from  the  obfervation  which  is  made  by  fo- 
reigners of  our  beloved  paftimes,  bear- 
baiting,  cock-fighting,  and  the  like.  We 
fhould  find  it  hard  to  vindicate  the  deftroy- 
ing  of  any  thing  that  has  life,  merely  out 
of  wantennefs :  yet  in  this  principle  our 
children  are  bred  up;  and  one  cf  the  firft 
pleafures  we  allow  them,  is  the  licence  of 
inflicting  pain  upon  poor  animals  :  almoft 
as  foon  as  we  are  fenfible  what  life  is  our- 
felves,  we  make  it  our  fport  to  take  it  from 
other  creatures.  I  cannot  but  believe  a 
very  good  ufe  might  be  made  of  the  fancy 
which  children  have  for  bids  and  infects. 
Mr.  Locke  takes  notice  of  a  mother  who 

permitted 


844 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


permitted  them  to  her  children,  but  re- 
warded or  punifhed  them  as  they  treated 
them  well  or  ill.  This  was  no  other  than 
entering  them  betimes  into  a  daily  exercife 
of  humanity,  and  improving  their  very  di- 
verfion  to  a  virtus. 

I  fancy,  too,  forne  advantage  might  be 
taken  of"  the  common  notion,  that  'tis  omi- 
nous or  unlucky  to  deftroy  forne  forts  of 
birds,  as  {wallows  and  martins.  This  opi- 
nion might  poffibly  arifefrom  the  confidence 
thei'e  birds  feem  to  put  in  us  by  building 
under  our  roofs ;  fo  that  this  is  a  kind  of  vio- 
lation of  the  laws  of  hofpitality  to  murder 
theirs.  As  for  Robin  red-breafts  in  par- 
ticular, it  is  not  improbable  they  owe  their 
fecurity  to  the  old  ballad  of  "  The  children 
in  the  wood."  However  it  be,,  i  don't  know, 
I  fay,  why  this  prejudice,  well  improved 
and  carried  as  far  as  it  would  go,  might 
not  be  made  to  conduce  to  the  prefervation 
of  many  innocent  creatures,  which  are  now 
expofed  to  all  the  wantonnefs  of  an  igno- 
rant barbarity. 

There  are  other  animals  that  have  the 
misfortune,  for  no  manner  of  reafon,  to  be 
treated  as  common  enemies,  wherever 
found.  The  conceit  that  a  cat  has  nine 
lives  has  coil  at  lead  nine  lives  in  ten  of  the 
whole  race  of  them  :  fcarce  a  boy  in  the 
ftreets  but  has  in  this  point  outdone.  Her- 
cules himfelf,  who  was  famous  for  killing 
a  monfter  that  had  but  three  lives.  Whe- 
ther the  unaccountable  animofity  againfl 
this  ufeful  domeflic  may  be  any  caufe  of 
the  general  perfecution  of  owls  (who  are  a 
fort  of  fathered  cats)  or  whether  it  be 
only  an  unreafonable  pique  the  moderns 
have  taken  to  a  ferious  countenance,  I  fhall 
not  determine: though  I  am  inclined  to  be- 
lieve the  former;  fince  I  obferve  the  fole 
reafon  ailedged  for  the  deilruction  of 
frogs  is  becaufe  they  are  like  toads.  Yet, 
amidfl  all  the  misfortunes  of  thefe  un- 
friended creatures,  'tis  forne  happinefs 
that  we  have  not  yet  taken  a  fancy  to  eat 
them  :  for  ihou'.d  our  countrymen  refine 
upon  the  French  never  fo  little,  'tis  not 
to  be  conceived  to  what  unheard-of  tor- 
ments, owls,  cats,  and  frogs  may  be  yet 
referved. 

When  we  grow  up  to  men,  we  have  an- 
other fuccefiion  of  fanguinary  fports  ;  in 
particular,  hunting.  I  dare  not  attack  a 
diverfion  which  has  fuch  authority  and  cuf- 
tom  to  fupport  it ;  but  mult  have  leave  to 
be  of  opinion,  that  the  agitation  of  that  . 
exercife,  with  the  example  and  number'of 
the  chafers,  net  a  little  contributes  to  refill 


thofe  checks,  which  compafiion  would  na- 
turally fuggeil  in  behalf  of  the  animal 
purfued.  Nor  fhall  I  fay,  with  Monfieur 
Flcury,  that  this  fport  is  a.  remain  of  the 
Gothic  barbarity ;  but  I  mull  animadvert 
upon  a  certain  cuflom  yet  in  ufe  with  us, 
and  barbarous  enough  to  be  derived  from 
the  Goths,  or  even  the  Scythians :  I  mean 
that  lavage  compliment  our  huntfmen  pafs 
upon  ladies  of  quality,  who  are  prefent  at 
the  death  of  a  flag,  when  they  put  the 
knife  in  their  hands  to  cut  the  throat  of 
a  helplefs,  trembling,  and  weeping  crea- 
ture. 

Quefluque  emeritus, 
Atqu;  imploranti  firoilis.  ■ 

But   if  our  fports  are  deftru&ive,  our 

gluttony  is  more  fo,  and  in  a  mere  inhu- 
man manner.  Lobiiers  roafted  alive,  pigs 
whipped  to  death-,  fowls  fewed  up,  are  tef- 
timonies  of  our  outrageous  luxury.  Thofe 
who  (as  Seneca  expreffes  it)  divide  their 
lives  betwixt  an  anxious  confeience,  and  a 
naufeated  ftomach,  have  a  jufl:  reward  of 
their  gluttony  in  the  difeafes  it  brings  with 
it :  for  human  lavages,  like  other  wild 
beafts,  find  j  In  in  the  provi- 

fipns  of  life,  and  are  allured  by  their  ap- 
petite to  their  deftru&ion.  I  know  nothing: 
more  {hocking,  or  horrid,  than  the  prorpc£t 
of  one  cftheir  kitchens  covered  with  blood, 
and  filled  with  the  csiss  of  the  creatures 
expiring  in  tortures,  it  gives  one  an  image 
of  a  giant's  den  in  a  romance,  beilrewed 
with  the  fcattered  heads  and  mangled 
limbs  of  thofe  who  were  {lain  by  his  cru- 
elty. Pope. 

§  37.  Pajloral  Ccmed}>. 
I  have  not  attempted  any  thing  of  a 
pafloral  comedy,  becaufe  I  think  the  talle 
of  our  age  will  not  reliih  a  poem  of  that 
fort.  People  feek  for  what  they  call  wit, 
on  all  fubjecls,  and  in  all  places ;  not  con- 
fidering  that  nature  loves  truth  fo  well,  that 
it  hardly  ever  admits  of  flourifhing.  Con- 
ceit is  to  nature  what  paint  is  to  beauty; 
it  is  not  only  needlefs,  but  impairs  what  it 
would  improve.  There  is  a  certain  ma- 
jefly  in  fimpiicity,  which  is  far  above  all 
the  quaintnefs  of  wit:  infomuch  that  the 
critics  have  excluded  wit  from  the  loftieil 
poetry,  as  well  as  the  loweft,  and  forbid  it 
to  the  epic  no  lefs  than  the  pafloral.  I 
fnould  certainly  difpleafe  all  thofe  who  are 
charmed  with  Guarini  and  Eonarelli,  and 
imitate  Taffo  not  only  in  the  fimpiicity  of 
his  thoughts,  but  in  that  of  the  fable  too. 

If 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


845 


If  furprifing  difcoveries  mould  have  place 
in  the  ftory  of  a  paftoral  comedy,  I  believe 
it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  probability 
to  make  them  the  effects  o*  chance  than  of 
defign;  intrigue  not  being  very  coniiftent 
with  that  innocence,  which  ought  to  con- 
stitute a  fhepherd's  character.  There  is 
nothing  in  all  the  Aminta  (as  I  remember) 
but  happens  by  mere  accident;  unleis  it 
be  the  meeting  of  Aminta  with  Sylvia  at 
the  fountain,  which  is  the  contrivance  of 
Daphne;  and  even  that  is  the  mint  fimp'e 
in  the  world :  the  contrary  is  obfervable 
in  Pallor  Fido,  where  Qori/ea  is  fo  perfect 
a  mlftrefs  of  intrigue,  that  the  plot  could 
not  have  been  brought  to  pafs  without  her. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  the  paftoral  comedy 
has  another  difadvantage,  as  to  the  man- 
ners:  its  general  defign  is  to  make  us  in 
love  with  the  innocence  of  a  rural  life,  fo 
that  to  introduce  ihepherds  of  a  vicious 
character,  mult  in  fome  mealure  debale  it; 
and  hence  it  may  come  to  pafs,  that  even 
the  virtuous  characters  will  not  Ihine  fo 
much,  for  want  of  being  oppofed  to  their 
contraries.  Pope, 

§  33-    Digs. 

Plutarch,  relating  how  the  Athenians 
were  obliged  to. abandon  Athens  in  the 
time  of  Themiftocles,  fteps  back  again  out 
of  the  way  of  his  hiftory,  purely  to  defcribe 
the  lamentable  cries  and  bowlings  of  the 
poor  dogs  they  left  behind.  He  makes 
mention  of  one,  that  followed  his  mafter 
acrofs  the  fea  to  Salamis,  where  he  died, 
and  was  honoured  with  a  tomb  by  the 
Athenians,  who  gave  the  name  of  The 
Dog's  Grave  to  that  part  of  the  bland 
where  he  was  buried.  This  refpeft  to  a 
dog,  in  the  nioft  polite  people  in  the  world, 
is  very  obfervable.  A  modern  inftance  of 
gratitude  to  a  dog  (though  we  have  but 
few  fuch)  is,  that  the  chief  order  of  Den- 
mark (now  injurioufiy  called  the  order  of 
the  Elephant)  was  instituted  in  memory  of 
the  fidelity  of  a  dog,  named  Wild-brat,  to 
one  of  their  kings,  who  had  been  deferred 
by  his  Subjects:  he  gave  his,ord:r  this 
motto,  or  to  this  effect  (which  fill  remains) 
<"  Wild-brat  was  faithful."  Sir  William 
Trumbull  has  told  me  a  ftory,  which  he 
heard  from  one  that  was  prefent:  King 
Charles  I.  being  with  forne  of  his  court 
during  his  trouble?,  a  diicourfe  arofe  what 
fffrt  of  dogs  deferved  pre-eminence,  and  it 
being  on  ail  hands  agreed  to  belong  either 
to  the  fparuel  or  greyhound,  the  king 
gave  his  opinion  on  the  part  of  the  .grey- 


hound becaufe  (faidhe)  it  has  all  the  good- 
nature of  the  other  without  the  fawning. 
A  good  piece  of  fatire  upon  his  courtiers, 
with  which  !  will  conclude  my  difcourfe  of 
dogs.  Call  me  a  cynic,  or  what  you  pleafe, 
in  revenge  for  all  this  impertinence,  I  will 
be  contented  ;  provided  you  will  but  be- 
ll, v.*  me,  when  I  fay  a  bold  word  for  a 
Chriftian,  that,  of  all  dogs,  you  will  find 
none  more  faithful  than,     Yours,  &c. 

Ibid. 

§  39.     Lady  Mary  TVortley  Montague. 

The  more  I  examine  my  own  mind,  the 
more  romantic  I  find  myfelf.  Methinks 
it  is  a  noble  fpirit  of  contradiction  to  fata 
and  fortune,  not  to  give  up  thofe  that  are 
matched  from  us:  but  to  follow  them  the 
more,  the  farther  they  are  removed  from 
the  fenfe  of  it.  Sure,  flattery  never  tra- 
velled fo  far  as  three  thoufand  miles;  it 
is  now  only  for  truth,  which  overtakes  all 
things,  to  reach  you  at  this  diltance.  'Tis 
a  generous  piece  of  popery,  that  purfues 
even  thofe  who  are  to  be  eternally  abfent 
into  another  world':  whether  you  think  is 
right  or  wrong,  you'll  own  the  very  ex- 
travagance a  fort  of  piety.  I  can't  be  fa- 
tished. with  ftrewing  flowers  over  you,  and 
barely  honouring  you  as  a  thing  loft ;  but 
mult  confider  yea  as  a  glorious  though  re- 
mote being,  and  be  fending  add.effes  after 
you.  Ycu  have  carried  away  fo  much  of 
me,  that  what  remains  is  dai'y  languiihing 
and  dying  over  my  acquaintance  here;  and, 
I  believe,  in  three  or  four  months  more  I 
fhall  think  Aurat 'Bazar  as  good  a  place  as 
Covent-garden.  You  may  imagine  this 
is  raillery  ;  but  I  am  really  fo  far  gone,  as 
to  take  pleafure  in  reveries  of  this  kind. 
Let  them  fay  I  am  romantic;  fo  is  every 
one  faid  to  be,,  that  either  admires  a  fine 
thing,  or  does  one.  On  my  confeience,  as 
the  wGrld  goes,  'tis  hardly  worth  any  bo- 
dy's while  to  do  one  for  the  honour  of  it; 
glory,  the  only  pay  of  generous  actions,  is 
now  as  ill  paid  as  other  juft  debts;  and 
neither  Mrs.  Macftrland,  for  immolating 
her  lover,  nor  you,  for  conftancy  to  your 
lord,  mu.t  ever  hope  to  be  compared  to 
Lucre tia  or  Portia. 

I  write  this  in  fome  anger ;  for  having, 
fince  you  went,  frequented  thofe  people 
moll,  who  feemed  molt  in  your  favour,  I 
heard  nothing  that  concerned  you  talked 
of  fo  often,  as  that  you  went  away  in  a 
black  full-bottomed  wig;  which  I  did  but 
affert  to  be  a  bob,  and  v.j.s  anfwered, "  Love 
is  blind."  1  am  perfuaded  your  wig  had 
8  'never 


8j.6 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


sever  fuffered  this  criticifm,  but  on  the 
fcore  of  your  head,  and  the  two  eyes  that 
axe  in  it. 

Pray,  when  you  write  to  me,  talk  of 
yourfelf ;  there  is  nothing  I  fo  much  defire, 
to  hear  of:  talk  a  great  deal  of  yourfelf; 
that  flie  who  I  always  thought  talked  the 
belt,  may  fpeak  upon  the  belt  fubject.  The 
fhrines  andreliques  you  tell  me  of,  no  way 
engage  my  curiofity ;  I  had  ten  times  ra- 
ther go  en  pilgrimage  to  fee  one  fuch  face 
as  yours,  than  both  St.  John  Baptift's  heads. 
I  wilh  (fince  you  are  grown  fo  covetous  of 
golden  things)  you  had  not  only  all  the  fine 
ftatues  you  talk  of,  but  even  the  golden 
image  which  Nebuchadnezzar  fet  up,  pro- 
vided you  were  to  travel  no  farther  than 
you  could  carry  it, 

The  court  of  Vienna  is  very  edifying. 
The  ladies,  with  reipeel  to  their  hufbands, 
feem  to  underfland  that  text  literally,  that 
commands  to  bear  one  another'^  burdens: 
but,  I  fancy,  many  a  man  there  is  like  IfTa- 
char,  an  afs  between  two  burdens.  I  mail 
look  upon  you  no  more  as  a  Chrifdan,when 
you  pais  from  that  charitable  court  to  the 
land  of  jealoufy.  I  expect  to  hear  an  exact: 
account  how,  and  at  what  places,  you  leave 
one  of  the  thirty-nine  articles  after  an- 
other, as  you  approach  to  the  land  of  in- 
fidelity. Pray  how  far  are  you  got  already  ? 
Amidtt  the  pomp  of  a  high  mafs,  and  the 
ravifhing  thrills  of  a  Sunday  opera,  what  did 
you  think  of  the  doctrine  and  difcipline  of 
the  church  of  England?  Had  you  from 
your  heart  a  reverence  for  Sternhold  and 
Hopkins  ?  How  did  your  Chriilian  virtues 
hold  out  in  fo  long  a  voyage?  You  have, 
it  feems  (without  palling  the  bounds  of 
Chriftendom)  out-travelled  the  fin  of  for- 
nication ;  in  a  little  time  you'll  lock  upon 
fomc  others  with  more  patience  than  the  la- 
dies here  are  capable  of.  I  reckon,  you'll 
time  it  fo  well  as  to  make  your  religion  Iaft 
to  the  verge  of  Chriftendom,  that  you  may 
difcharge  your  chaplain  (as  humanity  re- 
quires) in  a  place  where  he  may  find  fome 
bu  fine  is. 

I  doubt  not  but  I  {hall  be  told  (when  I 
ccme  to  follow  you  through  thefe  coun- 
tries) in  how  piettv  a  manner  you  accom- 
modated yourfelf  to  the  cufrcms  of  the  true 
Muifulmen.  They  will  tell  me  at  what 
town  you  pra£tifed  to  fit  on  the  fopha,  at 
what  village  you  learned  to  fold  a  turban, 
where  you  was  bathed  and  anointed,  and 
where  you  parted  with  your  black  fail- 
fcoitom.  How  happy  mult  it  be  for  a  gay 
young  woman,  to  live  in  a  country  where 


it  is  a  part  of  religious  worfhip  to  be  giJ- 
dy-headed !  I  fhall  hear  at  Belgrade  how 
the  good  bafliaw  received  you  with  tears 
of  joy,  how  he  was  charmed  with  your 
agreeable  manner  of  pronouncing  the. 
words  Allah  and  Muhamed;  and  how  ear- 
neltly  you  joined  with  him  in  exhorting 
your  friend  to  embrace  that  religion.  But 
I  think  his  objection  was  a  juft  one;  that  it 
was  attended  with  fome  circumltances  un- 
der which  he  could  not  properly  reprefent 
his  Britannic  majefty. 

Laftly,  I  ihall  hear  how,  the  firft  night 
you  lay  at  Pcra,  you  had  a  vifion  of  Ma- 
homet's paradife,  and  happily  awaked 
without  a  foul;  from  which  bleffed  mo- 
ment the  beautiful  body  was  left  at  full 
liberty  to  perform  all  the  agreeable  func- 
tions it  was  made  for. 

I  fee  I  have  done  in  this  letter,  as  I  of- 
ten have  done  in  your  company;  talked 
myfelf  into  a  gcod  humour,  when  I  begun 
in  an  ill  one:  the  pleafure  of  addrefling  to 
you  makes  me  run  on ;  and  'tis  in  your 
power  to  fhorten  this  letter  as  much  as  you 
pleafe,  by  giving  over  when  you  pleaie  : 
fo  I'll  make  it  no  longer  by  apologies. 

Pope, 

§  40.     Tbs  Manners  of  a  Bookfeller. 

To  the  Earl  of  Burlington. 

My  Lord, 

If  your  mare  could  fpeak,  fhe  would 
give  an  account  of  what  extraordinary 
company  fhe  had  on  the  road;  which  fince 
fhe  cannot  do,  I  will. 

It  was  the  enterprifing  Mr.  Lintot,  fhe 
redoubtable  rival  of  Mr.  Tonfon,  who, 
mounted  on  a  flone-horfe  (no  difagreeable 
companion  to  your  lordfhip's  mare)  over- 
took me  in  Windfor-foreft.  He  faid,  he 
heard  I  defigned  for  Oxford,  the  feat  of 
the  Mufes }  and  would,  as  my  bookfeller, 
by  all  means  accompany  me  thither. 

1  afked  him  where  he  got  his  horfe  ? 
He  anfwered,  he  got  it  of  his  publifher; 
"  For  that  rogue,  my  printer  (faid  he) 
"  disappointed  me  :  I  hoped  to  put  him  in 
"  gcod  humour  by  a  treat  at  the  tavern, 
"  of  a  brown  fricaffee  of  rabbits,  which 
"  coft  two  (hillings,  with  two  quarts  of 
"  wine,  befides  my  converfation.  I  thought 
"  myfelf  cock-fare  of  his  horfe,  which  he 
"  readily  promifed  me,  but  faid  that  Mr. 
"  Tonfon  had  juft  fuch  another  defign  of 
"  g°big  to  Cambridge,  expecting  there 
"  the  copy  of  a  new  kind  of  Horace  from 
«  Dr.  — '--,  and  if  Mr.  Tonfon  went,  he 

"  was 


BOOK    IV.  'NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,    &c. 


S47 


"  was  pre-engaged  to  attend  him,  being 
"  to  have  the  printing  of  the  faid  copy. 

"  So,  in  fhort,  I  borrowed  this  itone- 
«'  horfe  of  my  publisher,  which  he  had  of 
"  Mr.  Oldmixon  for  a  debt;  he  lent  me, 
"  too,  the  pretty  boy  you  fee  after  me  : 
''*  he  was  a  fmutty  dog  yefterday,  and  colt 
*'  me  near  two  hours  to  warn  the  ink  01F 
*'  his  face  :  but  the  devil  is  a  fair-condi- 
««  tioned  devil,  and  very  forward  in  his 
"  catechife :  if  you  have  any  more  bags, 
"  he  fhall  carry  them." 

I  thought  Mr.  Lintot's  civility  not  to 
be  neglected ;  (o  gave  the  boy  a  fmall  bag, 
containing  three  fhirts,  and  an  Elzevir  Vir- 
gil ;  and  mounting  in  an  inftant,  proceeded 
on  the  road,  with  my  man  before,  my  cour- 
teous ftationer  befide,  and  the  aforefaid 
devil  behind. 

Mr.  Lintot  began  in  this  manner  :— 
"  Now,  damn  them  !  what  if  they  fhould 
"  put  it  in  the  news-paper  how  you  and  I 
"  went  together  to  Oxford  ?  what  would 
"  I  care?  If  I  fhould  go  down  into  Suf- 
"  fex,  they  would  fay  I  was  gone  to  the 
"  fpeaker:  but  what  of  that?  If  my  fon 
"  were  but  big  enough  to  go  on  with  the 
"  bufinefs,  by  G — d  I  would  keep  as  good 
"  company  as  old  Jacob." 

Hereupon  I  enquired  of  his  fon.  "  The 
"  lad  (fays  he)  has  fine  parts,  but  is  fome- 
"  what  fickly;  much  as  you  are — I  fpare 
"  for  nothing  in  his  education  at  Weftmin- 
*«  fter.  Pray  don't  you  think  Weftmirifter 
"  to  be  the  bell  fchool  in  England?  Moit 
"  of  the  late  miniftry  came  out  of  it,  fo  did 
"  many  of  this  miniitry  ;  I  hope  the  boy 
"  will  make  his  fortune." 

Don't  you  defign  to  let  him  pafs  a  year 
at  Oxford;  "To  whatpurpofe?  (faid  he) 
"  the  universities  do  but  make  pedants, 
"  and  I  intend  to  breed  him  a  man  of  bufi- 
**  nefs." 

As  Mr.  Lintot  was  talking,  I  obferved 
he  fat  uneafy  on  his  faddle,  for  which  I 
expreffed  fome  folicitude.  Nothing,  fays 
he,  I  can  bear  it  well  enough;  but  fince 
we  have  the  day  before  us,  rnethinks  it 
would  be  very  pieafant  for  you  to  reft  a- 
while  under  the  woods.  When  we  were 
alighted,  "  See  here,  what  a  mighty  pretty 
*'  kind  of  Horace  I  have  in  my  pocket  i 
"  what  if  you  amufed  yourfelf  in  turning 
"  an  ode,  till  we  mount  again?  Lord  !  if 
*'  you  pleafed,  what  a  clever  rnifcellany 
"  might  you  make  at  your  leifure  hours!" 
Perhaps  1  may,  faid  I,  if  we  ride  on;  the 
motion  is  an  aid  to  my  fancy ;  a  round 
trot  very  much  awakeas  my  fpirits;  then 


jog  on  apace,  and  I'll  think  as  hard  as  I 
can. 

Silence  enfued  for  a  full  hour :  after  which 
Mr.  Lintot  lugg'd  the  reins,  ftopp'd  lhort, 
and  broke  out,  "  Well,  Sir,  how  far  have 
"  you  gone?"  I  anfwercd  Seven  miles. 
"  Z — ds !  Sir,"  faid  Lintot,  «  I  thought 
"  you  had  done  feven  ftanzas.  Oldfworth, 
"  in  a  ramble  round  Wimbleton  hill,  would 
"  tranflate  a  whole  ode  in  half  this  time. 
«  I'll  fay  that  for  Oldfworth  (though  I  loft 
"  by  his  Timothy's)  he  tranflates  an  ode  of 
"  Horace  the  quitkeft  of  any  man  in  Eng- 
"  land.  I  remember  Dr.  King  would  write 
"  verfes  in  a  tavern  three  hours  after  he 
"  could  not  fpeak :  and  there's  Sir  Richard, 
"  in  that  rumbling  old  chariot  cf  his,  be- 
"  tween  Fleet-ditch  and  St.  Giles's  pound 
"  fhall  make  you  half  a  job." 

Pray,  Mr.  Lintot  (faid  I)  now  you  talk 
of  tranflators,  what  is  your  method  of  ma- 
naging them?  "  Sir,  (replied  he)  thofe  are 
"  the  faddeft  pack  of  rogues  in  the  world ; 
'•  in  a  hungry  fit,  they'll  fwear  they  under- 
"  ftand  all  the  languages  in  the  univerfe : 
"  I  have  known  one  of  them  take  down  a 
"  Greek  book  upon  my  counter,  and  cry, 
"  Ay,  this  is  Hebrew,  1  mult  read  it  from 
"  the  latter  end.  By  G — d,  I  can  never 
"  be  Aire  in  thefe  fellows ;  for  I  neither 
"  underltand  Greek,  Latin,  French,  nor 
"  Italian  myfelf.  But  this  is  my  way;  I 
"  agree  with  them  for  ten  {hillings  per 
"  fneet,  with  a  provifb,  that  I  will  have 
"  their  doings  corrected  by  whom  I  pleafe : 
"  {o  by  one  or  other  they  are  led  at  hit 
"  to  the  true  i'cnfe  of  an  author;  my  judg- 
"  ment  giving  the  negative  to  all  my 
"  tranflators."  But  how  are  you  fecure 
thofe-ccrre&ors  may  not  impofe  upon  you? 
"  Why,  I  get  any  civil  gentleman  (efpe- 
"  cially  any  Scotchman)  that  comes  intj 
"  my  mop,  to  read  the  original  to  me  in 
"  Englifh;  by  this  I  know  whether  my 
"  tfanflator  be  deficient,  and  whether  my 
"  corrector  merits  his  money  or  not. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  happened  tome  laft 

"  month:    I  bargained  with  S- for  a 

"  new  verfion  cf"  Lucretius,  to  publifh 
"  againlt  Tonfon's :  agreeing  to  pay  the 
"  author  fo  many  (hillings  at  his  producing 
"  (o  many  lines.  He  made  a  great  pro- 
tl  grefs  in  a  very  fliort  time,  and  1  gave  it 
"  to  the  corrector  to  compare  with  the 
"  Latin;  but  he  went  directly  to  Creech's 
"  translation,  and  found  it  the  fame,  word 
"  for  word,  all  but  the  firfi  page.  Now, 
"  what  d'ye  think  I  did  ?  I  arreted  the 
"  tranflator  for  a  cheat;  nay,  and  I  ftop- 

U  ..  J. 


8^3 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN     PROSE. 


"  ped  the  correclor's  pay  too,  upon  this 
"  proof,  that  he  had  mads  ufe  of  Creech 
"  inftead  of  the  original." 

Pray  tell  me  next  how  you  deal  with 
the  critics  i  "  Sir  (faid  he)  nothing  more 
"  eafy.  I  can  filence  the  moft  formidable 
"  of  then: :  the  rich  ones  with  a  fheet  a- 
"  piece  of  the  blotted  manufcript.  which 
"  coils  me  nothing;  they'll  go  about  with 
"  it  to  their  acquaintance,  and  fay  they 
"  had  it  from  the  author,  who  fubmitted 
"  to  their  correction :  this  has  given  fome 
"  of  them  fuch  an  air,  ,that  in  time  they 
"  come  to  be  confulted  with,  and  dedi- 
"  cated  to,  as  the  top  critics  of  the  town. 
"  — As  for  the  poor  critics,  I'll  give  you 
"  one  inllanee  of  my  management,  by 
"  which  ycumayguefs  at  the  reft.  A  lean 
"  man,  that  looked  like  a  very  good  fcho- 
*'  lar,  came  to  me  t'other  day;  he  turned 
"  over  your  Homer,  ihook  his  head,  fnrug- 
"  ged  up  his  fhoulders,  and  pilhed  at  every 
"  line  of  it:  One  would  wonder  (fays  he) 
"  at  the  flrange  prefumption  of  fome  men; 
"  Homer  is  no  fuch  eafy  tafk,  that  every 
"  (tripling,  every  verfificr — He  was  going 
<c  on,  when  my  wife  called  to  dinner — Sir, 
"  faid  I,  will  you  pleafe  to  eat  a  niece  of 
"  beef  with  me?  Mr.  Lintot  (faid  he) 
i*  I  am  f;  rry  yen  fhould  be  at  the  expence 
"  of  this  great  book;  I  am  really  con- 
"  cerned  on  your  account — :ir,  I  am  much 
"  obliged  to  you:  if  you  can  dine  upon  a 
"  piece  of  beef,  together  with  a  flice  of 
"  pudding — Mr.  Lintot,  I  do  not  fay  but 
"  Mr.  Pope,  if  he  would  but  condefcer.d 
**  to  advife  with  men  of  learning — Sir,  the 
'*  pudding  is  upon  the  table,  if  you  pleafe 

"  to  go  in -My  critic  complies,  he  comes 

"  to  a  tafte  of  your  poetry ;  and  tells  me, 
*'  in  the  fame  breath,  that  your  book  is 
"  commendable,  and  the  pudding  excel- 
"  lent. 

"  Now,  Sir,  (concluded  Mr.  Lintot)  in 
"  return  to  the  franknefs  I  have  (hewn, 
**  pray  tell  me,  Is  it  the  opinion  of  your 
"  friends  at  court  that  my  Lord  Lanfdown 
"  will  be  brought  to  the  bar  or  not:"  I 
told  him,  I  heard  he  would  not ;  and  I 
hoped  it,  my  lord  being  one  1  ha  J  parti- 
cular obligations  to.  "  That  may  he  (re- 
"  plied  Mr.  Lintot) ;  but,  by  G — d,  if  he 
"  is  not,  I  mall  lofe  the  printing  of  a  very 
"  good  trial." 

Thefe,  my  lord,  are  a  few  traits  by 
which  you  may  ciifcern  the  genius  of  Mr. 
Lintot;  which  I  have  chofen  for  the  iub- 
ject  of  a  letter.     I  dropt  him  as  foon  as  I 


got  to  Oxford,  and  paid  a  vifit  to  my  lord 
Carleton  at  Middleton. 

The  cenverfations  I  enjoy  here  are  not 
to  be  prejudiced  by  my  pen,  and  the  plea- 
sures from  them  only  to  be  equalled  when 
I  meet  your  iordfhip.  I  hope  in  a  few 
days  to  caft  myfelf  from  your  horfe  at 
your  feet.  Pope. 

§   41.      Defcription  of  a  Country  Scat. 

To  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

In  arifwer  to  a  letter  in  which  he   inclofed 

the  defcription    of  Buckingham-houfe, 

written  by  him  to  the  D.  of  Sh. 

Pliny  was  one  of  thofe  few  authors  who 
had  a  warm  houfe  over  his  head,,  nay,  twrj 
houfes ;  as -appears  by  two  of  his  epiibes-. 
I  believe,  if  any  of  his  contemporary  au- 
thors durft  have  informed  the  public  where 
they  lodged,  we  fhould  have  found  the 
garrets  of  Rome  as  well  inhabited  as  thofe 
of  Fleet-ilreet ;  but  'tis  dangerous  to  let 
creditors  into  fuch  afecret;  therefor:  we 
may  prefume  that  then,  as  well  as  now  a- 
days,  nobody  knew  where  they  lived  but 
their  bookfellers. 

It  feems,  that  when  Virgil  came  to 
Rome,  he  had  no  lodging  at  all;  he  firft 
introduced  himfelf  to  Auguftus  by  an 
epigram,  beginning  NoBe  pluii  iota — an 
obfervation  which  probably  he  had  not 
made,  unlefs  he  had  lain  all  night  in  the 
ftreet. 

Where  Juvenal  lived,  we  cannot afHrm; 
but  in  one  of  his  fatires  he  complains  of 
the  excefiive  price  of  lodgings ;  neither  do 
I  believe  he  would  have  talked  fo  feelingly 
of  Codrus's  bed,  if  there  had  been  room 
for  a  bed-fellow  in  it. 

I  believe,  with  all  the  oftentation  of 
Pliny,  he  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
changed  both  his  houfes  for  your  grace's 
one  ;  which  is  a  country-houfe  in  the  furri- 
mer,  and  a  town-houfe  in  the  winter,  and 
muft  be  owned  to  be  the  propereft  habita- 
tion for  a  wife  man,  who  fees  all  the  world 
change  every  feafon  without  ever  chang- 
ing himfelf. 

1  ha".  .'  been  reading  the  defcription  of 
Pliny's  houfe  with  an  eye  to  yours  ;  but 
will  bear  no  comparifon,  will 
try  if  it  can  be  matched  by  the  large 
country-feat  I  inhabit  at  prefent,  and  fee 
what  figure  it  may  make  by  the  help  of  a 
flu. id  d:fc;iotion. 

You  muft  expect  nothing  regular  in  my 
defcription,  any  more  than  in  the  houfe; 
the  whole  vaft  edifice  is  lo  disjointed,  and 

the 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,   DIALOGUES,   &c. 


849 


the  feveral  parts  of  it  fo  detached  one  from 
the  other,  and  yet  fo  joining  again,  one 
cannot  tell  hosv,  that,  in  one  of  my  poetical 
fits,  I  imagined  it  had  been  a  village  in 
Amphion's  time  ;  where  the  cottages,  hav- 
ing taken  a  country-dance  together,  had 
been  all  out,  and  ftood  fione-flill  with  a- 
mazement  ever  fincc. 

You  mult  excufe  me,  if  J  fay  nothing  of 
the  front ;  indeed  I  don't  know  which  it 
is.  A  ftranger  would  be  grievoufly  dif- 
appointed,  who  endeavoured  to  get  into 
the  houfe  the  right  way.  One  would  rea- 
fonably  expedl,  after  the  entry  through 
the  porch,  to  be  let  into  the  hall:  alas,  no- 
thing lefs !  you  find  yourfelf  in  the  houfe 
of  office.  From  the  parlour  you  think  to 
ftep  into  the  drawing-room;  but,  upon 
opening  the  iron-nailed  door,  you  are  con- 
i  vinced,  by  a  flight  of  birds  about  your  ears, 
and  a  cloud  of  dud  in  your  eyes,  that  it  is 
the  plgeon-houfe.  If  you  come  into  the 
chapel,  you  find  its  altars,  like  thofe  of  the 
ancient's,  continually  fmoaking;  but  it  is 
with  the  fleams  of  the  adjoining  kitchen. 

The  great  hall  within    is  high  and  fpa- 
cious,  flanked  on  one  fide  with  a  very  long 
table,  a  true  image  of  ancient  hofpitality: 
the   walls  are   ail  over  ornamented  with 
monflrous  horns  of  animals,  about  twenty 
broken  pikes,  ten  or  a  dozen  blunderbufies, 
and  a  ruily  match-lock  mufquet  or  two, 
which  we  were  informed  had  ferved  in  the 
civil  wars.     Here  is  one  vail  arched  win- 
dow, beautifully  darkened  with  divers  'fcut- 
cheons  of  painted  glafs ;  one  mining  pane 
in  particular  bears  date  1 2S6,  which  alone 
preferves  the  memory  of  a  knight,  whole 
iron  armour  is    long  fince  periihed  with 
ruft,  and  whofe  alabafter  nofe  is  moulder- 
ed from  his  monument.  The  face  of  dame 
Eleanor,  in  another  piece,  owes  more  to 
that  fingle  pane  than  to  all  the  glafies  me 
ever  confuked  in  her  life.     After  this,  v.  ho 
can  fay  that  glafs  is  frail,  when   it  is  not 
half  fo  frail  as  human  beauty,  or  glory  ! 
and  yet  I  can't  but  figh  to  think  that  the 
Jnoft  authentic  record  of  fo  ancient  a  fa- 
mily mould  lie  at  the  mercy   of  every  in- 
fant who  flings  a  flone.     In  former  days 
there    have    dined    in   this    hall   gartered 
knights,    and  courtly  dames,  attended  by 
ufiiers,  fewers,  and  fenefchals ;  and  yet  it 
was  but  lail  night  that  an  owl  flew  hither, 
and  miltook  it  for  a  barn. 

This  hall  Jets  you  (up  and  down)  over 
a  very  high  threikold  into  the  great  par- 
tour.  Its  contents  are  a  broken-belly'd 
vir^iaah  a  couple  of  crippled  velvet  chairs, 


with  two  or  thre»  mildewed  pictures  of 
mouldy  anceflors,  who  look  as  difmaHy  as 
if  they  came  frelh  from  hell,  with  aHTtheir 
brimiloue  about  them  :  thefe  are  carefully 
fet  at  the  farther  corner  ;  for  the  windows 
being  every  where  broken,  make  it  fo  con- 
venient a  place  to  dry  poppies  and  muf- 
tard-feed,  that  the  rQom  is  appropriated 
to  that  ufe. 

Next  this  parlour,  as  I  {aid  before,  lies 
the  pigeon-houfe ;  by  the  fide  of  which 
runs  an  entry,  which  lets  you  on  one  hand 
and  t'other  into  a  bed-chamber,  a  buttery 
and  a  fmall  hole  called  the  chaplain's  ilu- 
dy  :  then  follow  a  brewhoufe,  a  little  green 
and  gilt  parlour,  and  the  great  flairs,  under 
which  is  the  dairy  :  a  little  farther,  on  the 
right,  the  fervants  hall ;  and  by  the  fide  of 
it,  up  fix  fteps,  the  old  lady's  clolet  for  her 
private  devotions ;  which  has  a  lattice  into 
the  hall,  intended  (as  we  imagine)  that  at 
the  fame  time  as  (he  pray'd  {he  might  have 
an  ,eye  on  the  men  and  maids.  There  are 
upon  the  ground-floor,  in  all,  twenty-fix 
apartments;  among  which  I  mull  not  for- 
get a  chamber  which  has  in  it  a  large  an- 
tiquity of  timber,  that  feems  to  have  been 
either  a  bedilead,  or  a  cyder-prefs. 

The  kitchen  is  built  in  form  of  a  rotun- 
da, being  one  vaft  vault  to  the  top  of  the 
houfe;  where  one  aperture  ferves  to  let  out 
the  fmoke,  and  let  in  the  light.  By  the 
blacknefs  of  the  walls,  the  circular  fires, 
vail  cauldrons,  yawning  mouths  of  ovens 
and  furnaces,  you  would  think  it  either  the 
forge  of  Vulcan,  the  cave  of  Polypheme, 
or  the  temple  of  Moloch.  The  horror  of 
this  place  has  made  fuch  an  impreflion  on 
the  country-people,  that  they  believe  the 
witches  keep  their  Sabbath  here,  and  that 
once  a  year  the  devil  treats  them  with  in- 
fernal venifon,  a  roafted  tiger  fluffed  with 
ten-penny  nails. 

Above  ilairs  we  have  a  number  of 
rooms;  you  never  pafs  out  of  one  into 
another,  but  by  the  afcent  or  defcent  of 
two  or  three  Hairs.  Our  beft  room  is  very- 
long  and  low,  of  the  exa&  proportion  of 
a  banbox.  In  moil  of  thefe  rooms  there 
are  hangings  of  the  fineft  work  in  the 
world,  that  is  to  fay,  thofe  which  Arachne 
fpins  from  her  own  bowels.  Were  it  not 
for  this  only  furniture,  the  whole  would  be 
a  miferable  fcene  of  naked  walls,  flaw'd 
ceilings,  broken  windows,  and  rufly  locks. 
The  roof  is  fo  decayed,  that  after  a  fa- 
vourable fhower  we  may  expeft  a  crop  of 
muihrooms  between  the  chinks  of  our 
floors.  All  the  doors  are  as  little  ar\d  low 
,  j  as 


8p 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


as  thofe  to  the  cabins  of  packet-boats. 
Tide  rooms  have,  for  many  years,  had 
no  other  inhabitants  than  certain  rats, 
whofe  very  age  renders  them  worthy  of 
this  feat,  for  the  very  rats  of  this  venerable 
houfe  are  grey;  fince  thefe  have  not  yet • 
quitted  it,  we  hope  at  leaft  that  this  an- 
cient manfion  may  not  fall  during  the 
fmall  remnant  thefe  poor  animals  have  to 
live,  who  are  now  too  infirm  to  remove  to 
another.  There  is  yet  a  fmall  fubfiltence 
left  them  in  the  few  remaining  bocks  of 
the  library. 

We  had  never  feen  half  what  [  had  de- 
fcrlbed,  but  for  a  ftarch'd  grey-headed 
fteward,  who  is  as  much  an  antiquity  as 
any  in  this  place,  and  looks  like  an  eld 
family  picture  walked  out  of  its  frame. 
He  entertained  us  as  we  paffed  from  room 
to  room  with  feveral  relations  of  the  fami- 
ly ;  but  his  obfervations  were  particularly 
curious  when  he  came  to  the  cellar:  he 
informed  us  where  flood  the  triple  rows  of 
butts  of  fack,  and  where  were  ranged  the 
bottles  of  tent,  for  toafts  in  a  morning; 
he  pointed  to  the  ftands  that  fuppoited  the 
iron-hooped  hogfheads  of  ftrong  beer; 
then  ftepping  to  a  corner,  he  lugged  out 
the  tattered ,  fragments  of  an  unframed 
picture:  <c  This  (fays  he,  with  tears)  was 
"  poor  Sir  Thomas !  once  mailer  of  all 
"  this  drink.  He  had  two  fons,  poor  younp- 
"  matters  1  who  never  arrived  to  the  age  of 
"  his  beer;  they  both  fell  ill  in  this  very 
"  room,  and  never  went  out  on  their  own 
"  legs."  He  could  not  pais  by  aheap  of 
broken  bottles  without  taking  up  a  piece, 
to  fhew  us  the  arms  of  the  family  upon  it. 
He  then  led  us  up  the  tower  by  drrk  wind- 
ing ftone  flaps,  which  landed  us  into  feve- 
ral little  rooms  one  above  another.  One 
of  thefe  was  nailed  up,  and  our  guide 
whifpered  to  us  as  a  fecret  the  occafion  of 
it :  it  feems  the  courfe  of  this  noble  blood 
Was  a. little  interrupted,  about  two  centuries 
ago,  by  a  freak  of  the  lady  Frances,  who 
was  here  taken  in  the  fact  with  a  neigh- 
bouring prior;  ever  fince  which  the  room 
has  been  nailed  up,  and  branded  with  the 
name  of  the  Adultery-Chamber.  The 
ghoft  of  lady  Frances  is  fuppofed  to  walk 
there,  and  fome  prying  maids  of  the  family 
report  that  they  have  feen  a  lady  in  a  far- 
dingale  through  the  key-hole:  but  this 
matter  is  burnt  up,  and  the  fervants  are 
forbid  to  talk  ©fit. 

I  muft  needs  have  tired  you  with  this 
long  description  :  but  what  engaged  me  in 
*t,  ys^aa  a  ger.rrous  principle  to  preferve  the 


memory  of  that,  which  itfelf  muft  foon  fall 
into  dull,  nay,  perhaps  part  of  it,  before 
this  letter  reaches  your  hands. 

_  Indeed  we  owe  this  old  houfe  the  fame 
kind  of  gratitude  that  we  <lo  to  an  old 
friend,  who  harbours  us  in  his  declining 
condition,  nay  even  in  his  la  It  extremities. 
How  fit  is  this  retreat  for  uninterrupted 
fhidy,  where  no  one  that  pa.,es  by  can 
dream  there  is  an  inhabitant,  and  even 
thofe  who  would  dine  with  us  dare  not  flay 
under  our  roof!  Any  one  that  fees  it, 
will  own  I  could  not  have  chofen  a  more 
likely  place  to  converfe  with  the  dead  in. 
I  had  been  mad  indeed  if  I  had  left  your 
grace  for  any  one  but  Homer.  Eut  when 
1  return  to  the  living,  1  fhall  have  the  fenie 
to  endeavour  to  converfe  with  the  belt  of 
them,  and  (hall  therefore,  as  foon  as  pota- 
ble, tell  you  in  perfon  how  much  I  am, 
&C  Pope. 

§  42.      Apology  for  his  religious  Tenzts. 

My  Lord, 

I  am  truly  obliged  by  your  kind  condo- 
lence on  my  father's  death,  and  the  defire 
you  exprefs  mat  I  fhould  improve  this  in- 
cident to  my  advantage.  I  know  your 
lordfliip's  friendfhipto  me  h  fo  extenfive, 
that  you  include  in  that  wiih  both  my  fpi- 
ritual  and  my  temporal  advantage  ;  and  it 
is  what  I  owe  to  that  friendfhip,  to  open 
my  mind  linrefervedly  to  vou  on  this  head. 
It  is  true  I  have  loft  a  parent;  for  whom 
no  gains  I  could  make  would  be  any  e  jai- 
valent.  But  that  was  hot  my  only  tie  ;  I 
thank  God  another  flill  remains  (and  long 
may  it  remain)  of  the  fame  tender  nature; 
Genitrix  rjl  mihi — and  excufe  me  if  I  lay 
with  Euryalus, 

Nenueam  lachrymas  perfcrre  parentis. 

A  rigid  divine  may  call  it  a  carnal  tie,  but 
fure  it  is  a  virtuous  one  :  at  lealt  1  am 
more  certain  that  it  is  a  iu&y  of  nature  to 
preferve  a  good  parent's  life -and  happi- 
nefs,  than  I  am  of  any  fpcculative  point 
whatever. 

Jgnnrnm  ruijus  quoc'.cunque  pencil 
Hanc  ego,  nunc,  iintjuam  } 

For  fiie,  my  lord,  would  think  this  fepara- 
tion  more  grievous  than  any  other  ;  and  I, 
for  my  part,  know  as  little  as  poor  Eurya- 
lus did,  of  the  fuccefs  of  fuch  an  adven- 
ture (for  an  adventure  it  is,  and  no  fmall 
one,  in  fpite  of  the  molt  pofitive  divinity). 
Whether  the  change  would  be  to  my  fpi- 
ritttal  advantage,  God  only  knows  y  this  I 

know. 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,     &c. 


851 


know,  that  I  mean  as  well  in  the  religion 
I  now  profefs,  as  1  can  poffibly  ever  do  in 
another.  Can  a  man  who  thinks  fo,  juflify 
a  change,  even  if  he  thought  both  equally 
good?  To  Inch  an  one,  the  part  of  join- 
ing with  any  one  body  of  Chriftians  might 
perhaps  be  eafy ;  but  I  think  it  would  not 
be  fo,  to  renounce  the  other. 

Your  lordfhip  has  formerly  advifed  me 
to  read  the  belt  controverhes  between  the 
churches.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  fecret?  I  did 
fo  at  fourteen  years  old,  (for  I  loved  read- 
ing, and  my  father  had  no  other  books) ; 
there  was  a  collection  of  all  that  had  been 
written  on  both  fides  in  the  reign'  of  kin"- 
James  the  Second;  I  wanned  my  head 
with  them,  and  the  confequence  was,  that 
I  found  myfelf  a  papift  and  a  proteitant  by 
turns-,  according  to  the  lail  book  I  read. 
I  am  afraid  molt  feckers  are  in  the  fame 
cafe  ;  and  when  they  flop,  they  are  not  {o 
properly  converted,  as  outwitted.  You 
fee  how  little  glory  you  would  gain  by  my 
'ronverfion.  And,  after  all,  I  verily  be- 
lieve your  lordfhip  and  I  are  both  of  the 
fame  religion,  if  we  were  thoroughly  un- 
derltood  by  one  another ;  and  that  all  ho- 
'  tieft  and  reafonable  Chriftians  would  be 
fo,  if  they  did  but  talk  enough  together 
ievery  day;  and  had  nothing  to  do  toge- 
ther, but  to  ferve  God,  and  live  in  peace 
With  their  neighbour. 

As  to  the  temporal  fide  of  the  quefHon, 
I  can  have  no  difp'ute  with  you  ;  it  is  cer- 
tain, all  the  beneficial  circum  fiances  of  life, 
&~nd  all  the  fhining    ones,   lie  on  the  part 
you  Would  invite  me  to.     But    if  I  could 
tning  myfelf  to  fancy,   what   I  think  you 
do  but  fancy,  that   I  have  any  talents  for 
a6Kve  life,  I  want  health  for  it;  and  be- 
sides it  is  a  real  truth,  I  have  lefs  inclina- 
tion   (if  poflible)    than  ability.     Contem- 
plative life  is  not  only  my  fcene,  but  it  is 
my  habit  too.      I  begun  my  life,  where 
mo  ft  people  end  theirs,    with    a  difrelifh 
t)f   ail    that    the  world  calls  ambitiOa:  I 
don't    know    why    "tis   called    fo,    for  to 
me  it  always    feemed   to  be  rather  ftoop- 
ing    than    climbing.      I'll    tell    you    my 
politic  and  religious   fentiments  in  a  few 
words.     In   my  politics,  I  think  no  fur- 
ther than  how  to  preferve  the   peace  of 
rhy  life,  in  any  government  under  which 
I  live;1  nor  in  my  religion,  than  to  pre- 
ferve the  peace  of  my  confclence,  in  any 
church  with  which  I  communicate.    I  hope 
alt  churches  and  all  governments  are  fo  far 
of  God,  as  they  are  rightly  uhderftood, 
and  rightly  adminiftered ;  and  where  they 


are,  or  may  be  wrong,  I  leave  it  to  God 
alone  to  mend  or  reform  them ;  which, 
whenever  he  does,  it  rhuft  be  by  greater 
instruments  tr/ari  I  am.  I  am  not  a  papift, 
for  I  renounce  the  temporal  invafions  of 
the  papal  power,  and  deteit  their  arrogated 
authority  over  princes  and  Hates.  I  am 
a  catholic  in  the  itrideft  fenfe  of  the  word. 
If  I  was  born  under  an  abfolute  prince,  I 
would  be  a  quiet  fubjeel:  but  I  thank 
God  I  was  not.  I  have  a  due  fenfe  of  the 
excellence  of  the  Britifh  conftitution.  In 
a  word,  the  things  I  have  always  wifhed, 
to  fee,  are  not  a  Roman  catholic,  or  a 
French  catholic,  or  a  Spanifh  catholic,  but 
a  true  catholic:  and-nota  king  of  Whigs, 
or  a  king  of  Toues,  but  a  king  of  Eng- 
land. Which  God  of  his  mercy  grant  his 
prcfent  majefly  may  be,  and  all  future 
majefiies.  You  fee,  sn/  lord,  I  end  like  a 
preacher:  this  is  fermo  ad  clgrum,  not  ad 
populum.  Believe  me,  with  infinite  obliga- 
tion and  fincerc  thanks,  ever  your,  Sec. 

Pope. 


§   43.     Deft  zee  againft-a  noble   Lord's  Re~ 
jfeBiovs. 
There   was    another  reafon  why  I  was 
fuent  as  to  that  paper— -I    took  it  for  a 
lady's  (on  the  printer's  word  in  the  title- 
page)    and   thought  it  too  prefuming,  as 
well  as  indecent,  to  contend  with  one  of 
that  fex  in  altercation  :  for  I  never  was  fo 
mean  a  creature  as  to  commit  my  anger 
againft  a  lady  to  paper,  though  but  in  a 
private  letter.     But'foon  after,  her  denial 
of  it  was  brought  to  me  by  a  noble  pcrfon, 
of  real  honour  and  truth.     Your  lordfhip 
indeed  faid  ycu  had  it   from  a    lady,  and 
the  lady  faid  it  was  your  lordfnip's ;  feme 
thought  the  beautiful  by-blow  had  two  fa. 
thtrs^or  (if  one  of  them.wili  hardly  be  al- 
lowed a  man)  two  mothers ;  indeed  I  think 
both  fexes  had  afhare  in  it,  but  which  was 
uppermoft,  I  know  not ;  I  pretend  not  to 
determine  the  exift  method  of  this  witty 
fornication  :  and,  if  I  call  it  yours,  my  lord, 
'tis   only  becaufe,    whoever    go',,  it,  you 
brought  it  forth. 

Here,  my  lord,  allow  me  to  obferve  the 
different  proceeding  cf  the  ignoble  poet, 
and  his  noble  enemies.  What  he  has  wi  it* 
ten  of  Fanny,  Adonis,  Sappho,  or  who  you 
will,  he  owned,  he  publifhed,  he_  fet  his 
name  to:  what  they  have  publifhed  cf 
him,  they  have  denied  to  have  written  ; 
and  what  they  have  written  of  him,  they 
have  denied  to  have  publifhed.  One  of 
thefe  was  the  cafe  in  the  pair  libel,  and  the 


I   2 


other 


852  ELEGANT    EXTR 

other  in  the  prefent ;  for,  though  the  pa- 
rent has  owned  it  to  a  few  choice  friends, 
k  is  fuch  as  he  has  been  obliged  to  de- 
nv,  in  the  mofl  particular  terms,  to  the 
great  perfon  whole  opinion  concerned  him 
mo  ft. 

Yet,  my  lord,  this  epiitle  was  a  piece 
not  written  in  haiie,  or  in  a  paiiion,  but 
many  months  after  all  pretended  provo- 
cation;  when  you  was  at  full  ieifure  at 
Hampton- Court,  and  I  the  object  ilngled, 
like  a  deer  out  of  feaforr,  for  fo  ill-timed 
and  ill-placed  a  diversion--  It  was  a  deli- 
berate work,  directed  to  a  reverend  peribn, 
of  the  moil*  fe.ioas  and  facred  charafter, 
with  whom  you  are  known  to  cultivate  a 
#fi&'.c©rrefpop.dence,  and  to  whom,  it  will 
not  be  doubted,  but  you  open  your  fecret 
j'entiments,  aivb  deliver  your  real  judgment 
of  men  and  things.  This,  I  lay,  my  lord,  - 
with  (hbmiflion,  could  not  but  awaken  all 
my  reflection  and  attention.  Your  lord- 
fhip's  opinion' of  me  as  a,  poet,  I  cannot 
help;  it  is  yours,  my   lord,  and  that  wore- 

.  enough  to  mortify  a  poor   man  ;  but  it  is  * 
not   yours  alone,   you    mult   be  content  to 
fhare   it  with  the  gentlemen  of  the  Dun-  -: 
ciad,  and'.(it  may  be)  with  -many;  more  in-' 
nocent  and  ingenious  gentlemen.  .  li  'our 

. lord.hip  defrroys  my  poetical  character, 
they  will  claim  their  part  in  the -glory; 

,  but,  give  me  leave  to  fay.  if  my  moral 
eharafter  be  ruined,  it  mail  be  wholly  tke 
work  of  your  lordthip;  and;  will  be' hard 
even  fur  you  to-do,  unlefs  I  my  fell"  co- 
operate. 

How  can.you  talk  (my  moft  worthy  lord)' 
Of  all  Pope's  works  as  fo  many  libels,  af- 
firm, that  he  has  no  invention  but  in  defa- 
mation, and  charge  him  with  fellino-  an- 
other man's  labours  printed  with  his  own 
name?  Fye,  my  lord,  you  forget  vourlclf. 
He  printed  not  his  name  before  a  line  of 
the  perfon's  you  mention ;  that  perform 
himfelf  has  told  you  and  all  the  world,  in 
the  book  itfelf,  what  part  he  had  in  it,  as 
may  be  feen  at  the  concluuor.  of  his  notes 
to  the^Odyifey.  J- can  only  fuppofe  your- 
lordihip  (net  having  at  that  time  forgot 
your  Greek)  defpifed  to  look  upon  the 
tranilation;  and  ever  fince  entertained  too 
mean  an  opinion  of  the  translator  to  call  an 
eye  upon  it.  Befides,  my  lord,  when  yoa 
faid  lie  fold  another  man's  works,  you 
ought  in  juftice  to  have  added  that  he 
bought  them,  which  very  much  alters  the 
cafe.  What  he  gave  him  was  five  hundi  ed 
pounds:  his  receipt  can  bo  produced  to 
your  lordihip.     I  dare  not  affirm  lie  was  as 


A  C  T'S     I  N    PR  O  S'-E. 

well  paid  as  fome  writers  (much  his  inte- 
riors) have  been  fin ce ;  but  your  lordihip 
will  reflect  that  I  ant  no  man  of  quality, 
either  to  buy  or  fell  feribbling  fo  high  :  and 
that  I  have  neither  place,  pennon,,  nor 
power  to  reward  for  fecret  fervices;  It 
cannot  be,  that  one  of  your  rank  can  have 
the  least  envy  to  fuch  an  author  as  I  am  ;. 
but,  were  that  poflible,  it  were  much  better 
gratified  by  employing'-not  yotv  own,  but 
fome  of  thofe  low  and  ignoble  pens  to  do- 
you  this  mean  ofiicc.  I  dare  engage  you'll 
have  theirs  for  lefs  than  I  gave  Mr.  Broom, - 
if  your  friends  have  not  railed  the  market,  ' 
Let  them  drive  the  bargain  for  you,  my. 
lord;  and  you  may  depend  on  feeing,  every 
day  in  the  v.eek,  as  many  (and  now  and. 
then  as  pretty)  verfes,  as  thefe  of  your 
lordihip. 

And  would  it  not  be  full-  as  well,  that 
my  poor  peribn  mould  be  abufed.  by  them, 
as  by  one  of  your  rank  and  quality?  Can- 
not Curl  do  the  fame?  nay,  has  he  not 
done  it  before  your  leidlhip,  in  the  fame 
kind  of  language,  and  almoit  the  fame 
words  ?- 1  cannot  but  think,  the  worthy  and 
'dbcreet  clergyman  himfelf  will  agree,,  it  is 
improper,  nay,  unchristian,  to  cxpofe  the 
pcrfopal  defects  of  our  brother;  that  both 
fuch  perfect  forms-  as  yours,  and  fuch  un- 
fortunate ones  as  'mine,  proceed,  from  the 
hand  of  the  fame  Maker,  who  fafhioneth- 
his  veffels  as  he  pleafeth;  and  that  it  h 
not  frcm  their  fhape  we  can  tell  whether 
they  -.\ere  made  for  honour  or  dishonour.- 
In  a  word,  he  would  teach  you  charity  to 
your  greateft  enemies;  of  which  number,- 
my  lord,  I  cannot  be  reckoned,  fince,. 
though  a  poet,  I  was  never  your  flat- 
terer'. 

Next,  my  lord,  as'  to  the  obfaurity  of 
iir/    birth   (a  reflection,  copied  alfo  from 
Mr.  Curl  and   his  brethren)  I  am   forry 
ro  be  obliged  to  fuch  a  preemption  as  to 
riartfe  my  family  in  the  fame  leaf  with  your   , 
lordfiiip's:   outlay  rather  had  the  honour,.  \ 
in  one  inilance,  to  referable  you,  ior  he  * 
was  a  younger  brother.     He, did   not  iir- 
deed  think  it  a  happinefs  to  bury  his  elder  J 
brother,  though  he  had  one,  who  wantc  d 
fame  of  thofe" good   qualities  which  yours  I 
poilefc.     How  fincerely  glad  could  I  be,  j 
to  pay  to  that  young  nobleman's  .memory  I 
the  debt  I   owed  to 'his  friendship,  -whofe  j 
early   death  deprived  your  family  of   as  a 
much  wit  and  honour  as  he  left  behind  him  1 
in  any  branch  of  it  I    But  as  to  my  father,  J 
I  could  affure  you-,  my  lord*  tJa*  he  was  no  \ 
mechanic  (neither  a  hatter,   nor,   whfchJ 
->.  J/si-oht 


BO0K    ilV.     NARRATIV 

might  pleafe  your  lordfhip  yet  better,  a 
cooler)  but  in  truth,  of  a  very  tolerable 
family  :  and  my  mother  of  an  ancient  one, 
as  well  born  and  educated  as  that  lady, 
■whom  yeur  lordfhip  made  .choice  of  to  be 
the  mother  of  your  own  children ;  whofe 
merit,  beauty,and  vivacity  (if  tranlmitted 
<to  your  poheritv)  will  be  a  better  prefent 
than  even  the  noble  blood  they  derive  only 
-from  you  :  a  mother,  on  whom  I  was /ne- 
ver obliged  fo  far  to  reflect,  as  to  fay,  flic 
•fpoiled  me;  and  a  father,  who  never  found 
"Jumlelf  obliged  to  fay  of  me,  that  he  dif- 
approved  my  conduct.  In  a  word,  my 
lord,  I  think  il  enough,  that  my  parents, 
.fuch  as  they  we  e,  never  coll  me  a  blu:h  ; 
•  and  that  their  fon,  fuch  as  he  is,  never  colt 
them  a  tear. 

I  have  pnrpofely  omitted  to  confider 
year  lordfhip's  criticifrns  on  my  poetry., 
As  they  are  exactly  the  fame  with  thofe  of 
the  forementioned  authors,  I  apprehend 
they  would  juftly  charge  me  with  partiali- 
ty, if  I  gave  to  you  what  belongs  to  them ; 
or  paid  more  diitinction  to  the  lame  things 
when  they  are  in  your  mouth,  than  when 
they  were  in  theirs.  It  will  be  ihewing 
"both  them  and  you  (my  lord)  a  more  par- 
ticular refpect,  to  obferve  ho.v  much  they 
are  honoured  by  your  imitation  of  them, 
which  indeed  is  carried  through  your  whole 
-epillle.  I  have  read  fomewhere  at  fchool 
(though  .1  make  it  no  vanity  is  have  for- 
got where-)  that  Tully  naturalized  a  few 
phrafes  at  the  iniiance  of  fome  of  his 
'friends.  Your  lordfhip  has  done  more  in 
honour  of  thefe  gentlemen;  you  have  au- 
thorized not  only  their  affsrtjons,  but  their 
ftyle.  For  example,  A  flow  that  wants 
fkill  to  reltrain  its  ardour, — a  dictionary 
that  give  us  nothing  at  its  own  expence. 
—  As  luxuriant  branches  bear  but  little 
fruit,  fo  wit  unprun'd  is  but  raw  fruit — 
While  you  rehearfe  ignorance,  you  dill 
iknow  enough  to  do  it  in  verfe— Wits  are 
•but  glittering  ignorance.— The  account  of 
-how  we  pafs  our  time — and,  The  weight 

*m  Sir  R.  W 's  brain.     You  cm  ever 

•receive  from  no  head  more  than  fuch  a  head 
'/as  no  head)  has  to  give:  your  lordfhip 
would  have  laid  never  receive  in  dead  of 
ever,  and  any  head  inilead  of  ho  head,  JJ  itt 
all  this  is  perfectly  new,  and  has  greatly 
enriched  our  language.  Pope, 

§    44.    The  Death  of  Mr.  Gay. 

It  is  not  a  time  to  complain  that  you 
^have  not  anfwered  my  two  letters  (in  the 
lail  of  which  1  was  impatient  under  feme 


E  S,    DIALOGUES,     &c.  853 

fears)  :  it  is  not  now  indeed  a  time  to  think 
of  myfelf,  when  one  of  the  neareil  and 
longed  ties  I  have  ever  had  is  broken  all 
on  a  fudden,  by  the  unexpected  death  of 
poor  Mr.  Gay.  An  inflammatory  fever 
hurried  him  out  of  this  lite  in  three  "days. 
dde  died  laft  night  at  nine  o'clock,  not  de- 
prived cf  his  ienfes  entirely  a:  laft,  and 
polTefling  them  perfectly  till  within  live 
hours.  He  alTced  for  you  a  few  hours  be- 
fore, when  in  acute  torment  by  the  inflam- 
mation in  hi  bowels  and'fereaft.  JHis  ef- 
fects are  in  the  Duke  ofQueenfbury's  cuf- 
tody.  His  fillers,  we  fuppo.e,  will  be  his 
heirs,  who  are  two  widows ;  as  yet  it  is 
net  knewn  whether  or  no  he  left  a  will. — 
Good  God  !  how  often  are  we  to  die  be- 
fore we  go  qaite  off  this  ftage  ?  In  every 
friend  we  lofe  a  part  of  ourfelves,  and  the 
bell  part.  God  keep  thofe  we  have  left  ! 
Tew  are  worth  praying  for,  and  one's  felf 
.the  leail  of  all. 

J  fhall  never  fee  you  now,  I  believe;  one 
of  your  principal  calls  to  England  is  at  an 
end.  Indeed  he  was  the  moll  amiable  by 
ftr,  his  qualities  were  the  gentled ;  but  I 
love  you  as  welL  and  as  -.firmly.  Would  to 
God  the  man  we  have  loll  had  not  been  fo 
'  amiable  nor  (o  good !  but  that's  a  wilh 
for  our  cwn  fakes,  not  for  his.  Sure,  if 
innocence  and  integrity  can  deferve  hap- 
pinefs,  it  mull  be  his.  Adieu  !  I  can  add 
nothing  to  what  you  will  feel,  and  diminish 
nothing  from  it.  Ibid. 

§    45.     'Envy. 

Envy  is  aimed  the  only  vice  which 
is  practicable  at.  all  times,  and  in  every 
place:  the  only  pailion  which  can  never 
lie  quiet  for  want  of  irritation;  its  ef- 
fects, therefore,  are  every  where  difco- 
verablc,  and  its  attempts  always  to  be 
dreaded. 

It  is  impoffible  to  mention  a  name,  which 
any  advantageous  diitiaclion  has  made 
eminent,  but  fome  latent  animofity  will 
burit  out.  The  wealthy  trader,  however 
he  may  a  bit  raft  hirrrielf  from  public  af- 
fairs, will  never  want  thofe  who  hint  with 
Siivlock,  that  fnips  are  but  boards,  and 
that  no  man  can  properly  be  termed  rich 
who.'  fortune  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds. 
The  beauty  adorned  only  with  the  unam- 
bitious graces  of  innocence  and  modwty, 
provokes,  whenever  me  appears,  athoufand 
murmurs  of  detraction,  and  whifpers  oi 
faipicion.  ,  The  genius,  even  when  he 
endeavours  only  to  entertain  with  pleai- 
ing  images  of  nature,  or  instruct  by  un- 

i  J  3  conteftcd 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS   IN    F  II  O  S  B. 


854 

conteited  principles  of  fcienee,  yet  fuffers 
perfecution  from  innumerable  critics,  whole 
acrimony  is  excited  merely  by  the  pain  of 
feeing  others  pleafed,  of  hearing  applaufes 
Which  another  enjoys. 

The  frequency  of  envy  makes  it  fo  fa- 
miliar, that  it  efeapes  our  notice  ;  nor  do 
we  often  reflect  upon  its  turpitude  or  ma- 
lignity, till  we  happen  to  feel  its  influence. 
When  he  that  has  given  no  provocation  to 
malice,  but  by  attempting  to  excel  in  fome 
ufeful  art,  finds  himfelf  purfued  by  multi- 
tudes whom  he  never  faw  with  implaca- 
bility of  perfonal  refentment;  when  he 
perceives  clamour  and  malice  let  loofe 
upon  him  as  a  public  enemy,  and  incited 
by  every  ftratagera  of  defamation ;  when 
he  hears  the  misfortunes  of  his  family,  or 
the  follies  of  his  youth,  expofed  to  the 
world;  and  every  failure  of  conduct,  or 
defect  of  nature,  aggravated  and  ridiculed  ; 
he  then  learns  to  abhor  thofe  artifices  at 
which  he  only  laughed  before,  and  discovers 
how  much  the  happinefs  of  life  would  be 
advanced  by  the  eradication  of  envy  from 
the  human  heart. 

Envy  is,  indeed,  a  ftubborn  weed  of 
the  mind,  and  feldom  yields  to  the  culture 
of  philofophy.  There  are,  however,  con- 
iiderationf,  which,  if  carefully  implanted, 
and  diligently  propagated,  might  in  time 
overpower  and  reprefs  it,  fince  no  one 
am  nurfe  it  for  the  fake  of  pleafurc,  as 
its  effects  are  only  fhame,  anguiih,  and  per- 
turbation. 

It  is,  above  all  other  vices,  inconfiftcnt 
With  the  character  of  a  fecial  being,  be- 
cause it  facrifices  truth  and  kindnefs  to  very 
weak  temptations.  He  that  plunders  a 
wealthy  neighbour,  gains  as  much  as  he 
takes  away,  and  impioves  his  own  condi- 
tion, in  the  fame  proportion  as  lie  impairs 
another's;  bat  he  that  blails  a  flouriihing 
reputation,  rnuft  be  content  with  a  fmaU 
dividend  of  additional  fame,  f©  final!  as  can 
afford  very  little  coniblation  to  balance  the 
guilt  by  which  it  is  obtained. 

I  have  hitherto  avoided  mentioning  that 
dangerous  and  empirical  morality,  which 
.  cures  one  vice  by  means  of  another.  But 
envy  is  fo  bafe  and  deteitable,  (0  vile  in  its 
original,  and  fo  pernicious  in  its  e*ecls, 
that  the  predominance  of  almoll  any  other 
quality  is  to  be  dented.  .  It  is  one  of  thofe 
lawlefs  enemies  of  fociety,  again  ft  which 
poifoned  arrows  may  honeiliy  be  ufed. 
Let  it  therefore  be  conitaritly  1  remem- 
bered, that  whoever  envies  another,  con- 
FelTes  his  fuperiority,  and  let  thofe  be  re- 


formed by  their  pride,  who  have  loft  their 
virtue. 

It  is  no  flight  aggravation  of  the  in- 
juries which  envy  incites,  that  they  are 
committed  againft  thofe  who  have  given 
no  intentional  provocation ;  and  that  the 
fufferer  is  marked  out  for  ruin,  not  be- 
caufe  he  has  failed  in  any  duty,  but  be- 
caufe  he  has  dared  to  do  more  than  was 
required. 

Almoft  every  other  crime  is  praclifed  by 
the  help  of  fome  quality  which  might  have 
produced  elteem  or  love,  if  it  had  been  well 
employed ;  but  envy  is  a  more  unmixed 
and  genuine  evil;  it  purfues  a  hateful  end 
by  defpicable  means,  and  defircs  not  fo 
much  its  own  happinefs  as  another's  mi. 
fery.  To  avoid  depravity  like  this,  it  is 
not  neceflary  that  any  one  ihould  afpire 
to  heroifm  or  fanctity  ;  but  only,  that  he 
fhould  refolve  not  to  quit  the  rank  which 
nature  afligns,  and  with  to  maintain  the 
dignity  of  a  human  being. 

Rambler. 

Review    of  his 


§   46. 


EricuRus,   a 

Cbaradcr. 


I  believe  you  will  find,  my  dear  Hamil- 
ton, that  Ariftotle  is  Hill  to  be  preferred  to 
Epicurus.  The  fanner  made  fome  ufeful 
experiments  and  difcoveries,  and  was  en- 
gaged in  a  real  purluit  of  knowledge,  al- 
though his  manner  is  much  perplexed. 
The  latter  was  full  of  vanity-and  ambition. 
He  was  an  iinpoftor,  and  only  aimed  at  de- 
ceiving. He  feemed  not  to  believe  the 
principles  which  he  has  aiTerted.  He  com- 
mitted the  government  of  all  things  to 
chance.  ■■  His  natural  philofophy  is  abfurd. 
His  moral  philofophy  wants  its  proper  bafls, 
the  fear  of  God,  Monfieur  Bayle,  one  of 
his  warmer!:  advocates,  is  of  this  laft  opi- 
nion, where  he  fays,  On  ne  fauroit  pas  dire 
afe%  de  bien  de  V  honnetete  ds  fes  maeurs,  ni 
affez  de  trial  de  'fes  opinions  jar  la  religion. 
His  general  maxim,  That  happinefs  con- 
fided in  pleafure,  was  too  much  unguarded, 
and  mufl  lay  a  foundation  of  a  moll  de- 
ltruclive  praclice  :  although,  from  his  tem- 
per and  conllitution,  he  made  his  life  Suffi- 
ciently pleafurable  to  himfelf,  and  agree- 
able to  the  rules  of  true  philofophy.  His 
fortune  exempted  him  from  care  and  foli- 
citude  ;  his  valetudinarian  habit  of  body 
from  intemperance.  He  palled  the  greater! 
part  of  his  time  in  his  garden,  where  he 
enjoyed  all  the  elegant  amufements  of  life. 
There  he  fludied.  There  he  taught  his 
philofophy.  This  particular  happy  fitua- 
.  .  tion 


BOOK'  IV.  'NARRATIVES,  .  DIALOGUES,     &e,        8^5 


ti©n  greatly  contributed  to  that  tranquillity 
of"  mind,  and  indolence  of  body,  which  he 
made  his  chief  ends.  He  had  not,  how- 
ever, refolution  fuflicient  to  meet  the  gra- 
dual approaches  of  death,  and  wanted  that 
conflancy  which  Sir  William  Temple 
aicribes  to  liim  :  for  in  his  hit  moments, 
when  he  found  that  his  condition  was  def- 
perate,  he  took  fuck  large  draughts  of 
wine,  that  he  was  abfolutely  intoxicated 
and  deprived  of  his  fenfes ;  fb  that  he  died 
more  like  a  bacchanal,  than  a  philopher. 

Orrery's  Life  of  Swift. 

§   47.     Example,  its  Prevalence. 

Is  it  not  Pliny,  my  lord,  who  fays,  that 
the  gentled,  he  mould  have  added  the 
moll  effectual,  way  of  commanding  is  by 
example?  Mitius  jubetur  exemplo.  The 
harlheft  orders  are  foftened  by  example, 
and  tyranny  itfelf  becomes  perfuafive. 
What  pity  it  is  that  fo  few  princes  have 
learned  this  way  of  commanding  !  Cut 
again ;  the  force  of  example  is  not  con- 
fined to  thofe  alone  that  pals  immediately 
under  our  fight :  the  examples  that  me- 
mory fuggefts  have  the  fame  effect  in  their 
degree,  and  an  habit  of  recalling  them  will 
foon  produce  the  habit  of  imitating  them. 
In  the  fame  epiftle  from  whence  I  cited  a 
paflage  jufl  now,  Seneca  fays,  that  Cleaft- 
thes  had  never  become  fo  perfect  a  copy  of 
Zeno,  if  he  had  not  palled  his  life  with 
him;  that  Plato,  Ariftotle,  and  the  other 
phi'ofophers  of  that  fchool,  profited  more 
by  the  example  than  by  the  difcourfes  of 
Socrates.  (But  here  by  the  way  Seneca 
miilook  ;  Socrafes  died  two  years  accord- 
ing to  fome,  and  four  years  according  to 
others,  before  the  birth  of  Arillotle :  and 
his  miftake  might  come  from  the  inaccu- 
racy of  thofe  who  collected  for  him  ;  as 
Krafmus  cbferves,  after  Quintilian,  in  his 
judgment  on  Seneca.)  But  be  this,  which 
was  fcarce  worth  a  parentheiis,  as  it  will, 
h*  adds,  that  Mctrodorus,  Hermachus,  and 
Polyxenus,  men  of  great  note,  were  formed 
by  living  under  the  fame  roof  with  Epicu- 
rus QOt  by  frequenting  his  fchool.  Thefe 
are  inllances  of  the  force  of  immediate  ex- 
ample. But  your  lordfhip  knows,  citizens 
of  Rome  placed  the  images  of  their  ancef- 
tors  in  the  veflibules  of  their  houfes ;  fo 
that  whenever  they  went  in  or  out,  thefe 
venerable  buftoes  met  their  eyes,  and  re- 
called the  glorious  actions  of  the  dead,  to 
fire  the  living,  to  excite  them  to  imitate 
and  even  emulate  their  great  forefathers. 
The  fuccefs  anfwered  the  defiffn.      The 


virtue  of  one  generation  was  transfufed, 
by  the  magic  of  example,  into  feveral : 
and  a  fpirit  of  heroiim  was  maintained 
through  many  ages  of  that  common-f 
wealth. 

Dangerous,  when  copied  without  ^Judgment. 

Peter  of  Medicis  had  involved  himfelf 
in  great  difficulties,  when  thofe  wars  and 
calamities  began  which  Lewis  Sforza  full 
drew  on  and  emailed  on  Italy,  by  flat- 
tering the  ambition  of  Charles  the  Eighth, 
in  order  to  gratify  his  own,  and  calling  the 
French  into  that  country.  Peter  owed  his 
diftrefs  to  his  folly  in  departing  from  the 
general  tenor  of  conduct  his  father  Lau- 
rence had  held,  and  hoped  to  relieve  him- 
felf by  imitating  his  father's  example  in 
one  particular  inflance.  At  a  time  when 
the  wars  \\  ith  the  Pope  and  king  of  Naples 
had  reduced  Laurence  to  circumilances  of 
great  danger,  he  took  the  refolution  of  go-, 
ing  to  Ferdinand,  and  of  treating  inperfon 
with  that  prince.  The  refolution  appears 
in  hillory  imprudent  and  aknofl  defperate  : 
were  we  informed  of  the  fecret  reafons  on 
which  this  great  man  acted,  it  would  ap- 
pear very  poihbly  a  wife  and  fafe  meafure. 
It  fucceeded,  and  Laurence  brought  back 
with  him  public  peace  and  private  fecurity. 
When  the  French  troops  entered  the  do- 
minions of  Florence,  Peter  was  [truck  with 
a  panic  terror,  went  to  Charles  the  Eighth, 
put  the  port  of  Leghorn,  the  fortrefles  of 
Pifa,  and  all  the  keys  of  the  country  into 
this  prince's  hands  :  whereby  he  difarmed 
the  Florentine  commonwealth,  and  ruined 
himfelf.  He  was  deprived  of  his  autho- 
rity, and  driven  out  of  the  city,  by  the  jufl 
indignation  of  the  magiitrates  and  people  ; 
and  in  the  treaty  which  they  made  after- 
wards with  the  king  of  France,  it  was  fti- 
pulated  that  he  fliould  not  remain  within 
an  hundred  miles  of  the  flate,  nor  his  bro- 
thers within  the  fame  diilance  of  the  city 
of  Florence.  On  this  occafion  Guicciar- 
din  obferves,  how  dangerous  it  is  to  govern 
ourfelves  by  particular  examples ;  fince  to 
have  the  fame  fuccefs,  we"  mull  have  the 
fame  prudence,  and  the  fame  fortune ;  and 
fince  the  example  mull  not  only  anfwer  the 
cafe  before  us  in  general,  but  in  every 
minute  circumilance.  Bolingbroke. 

§  48.     Exile  only  an  imaginary  Evil. 
To  live  deprived  of  one's  country  is  in- 
tolerable.    Is  it  fo  ?  How   comes   it   then 
to  pafs  that  fuch  numbers  of  men  live  out 
of  their  countries  by  choice  ?  Cbferve  how 
3U  *• 


S56  ELEGANT    EXTR 

theftreetscfLor.donandofParis  are  crowd- 
ed. Call  over  thofe  millions  by  name,  and 
aft  them  one  by  one,  of  what  country  they 
are :  how  many  will  you  find,  who  from 
different  parts  of  the  earth  come  to  inhabit 
thcfi  great  cities,  which  afford  the  largeft 
oppon unities  and  the  largeft  encourage- 
ment to  virtue  and  vice  ?  Some  are  drawn 
by  ambition,  and  fome  are  fent  by  duty ; 
many  relort  thither  to  improve  their  minds, 
and  many  to  improve  their  fortunes ;  others 
bring  their  beauty,  and  others  their  elo- 
quence to  market.  Remove  from  hence, 
and  go  to  the  utmoft  extremities  of  the 
Eafl  or  Weft:  vifit  the  barbarous  nations 
of  Africa,  or  the  inhofpitable  regions  of 
the  North;  you  will  find  no  climate  lo  bad, 
no  country  fo  lavage,  as  not  to  have  fome 
people  who  come  from  abroad,  and  inhabit 
thoie  by  choice. 

Among  numberlefs  extravaganceswhich 
pafs  through  the  minds  of  men,  we  may 
juttly  reckon  for  one  that  notion  of  a  fecret 
afkclion,  independent  of  our  reafon,  and 
Superior  to  our  reafon,  which  we  are  fup- 
pofedto  have  for  our  country  ;  as  if  there 
y/exe  feme  phyiical  virtue  in  every  fpot  of 
ground,  which  neceffariiy  produced  this  ef- 
fect in  every  one  born  upon  it. 

Amor  patrix  ratione  valentior  omni. 

This_  notion  may  have  contributed  to  the 
fecurity  and  grandeur  of  Mates.  It  has 
therefore  been  not  imartfully  cultivated, 
and  the  prejudice  of  education  has  been 
with  care  put  on  its  fide.  Men  have  come 
in  this  cafe,  as  in  many  other?,  from  be- 
lieving that  it  ought  to  be  fo,  to  perfuade 
others,  and  even  to  believe  themfelves  that 
it  is  fo. 

Cannot  hurt  a  refle  fling  man. 
Whatever  is  beft  is  fafeft;  lies  out  of  the 
reach  of  human  power;  can  neither  be 
given  nor  taken  away.  Such  is  this  great 
a.nd  beautiful  work  of  nature,  the  world. 
Such  is  the  mind  of  man,  which  contem- 
plates and  admires  the  world,  whereof  it 
makes  the  noblelt  part.  Thefe  are  inse- 
parably ours,  and  as  long  as  we  remain  -in 
one,  we  mail  enjoy  the  other.  Let  us 
march  therefore  intrepidly  wherever  we 
are  led  by  the  courfe  of  human  accidents 
Wherever  they  lead  us,  on  what  c'oaft  {q. 
ever  we  are  thrown  by  them,  we  mall  not 
Jind  ourfelves  abfolutelv  ftrangers.  We 
.hall  meet  with  men  and  women,  creatures 
of  the  feme  figure,  endowed  with  the  fame 


ACTS    IN    PROSE. 

faculties,  and  born  under  the  fame  laws  of 
nature. 

We  lhall  fee  the  fame  virtues  and  vices, 
flowing  from  the  fame  principle*,  but  varied, 
in  a  thoufand  different  and  contrary  modes, 
according  to  that  infinite  variety  of  laws 
and  cuftoms  which  is  eftablifhed  for  the 
fame  universal  end,  the  preservation  of  fo- 
ciety.  We  lhall  feel  the'fame  revolution 
of  feafons,  and  the  fame  fun  and  moon  will 
guide  the  courfe  of  our  year.  The  fame 
azure  vault,  befpangled  with  Mars,  will  be 
every  where  fpread  over  our  heads.  There 
is  no  part  of  the  world  from  whence  we  may 
not  admire  thofe  planets  which  roll,  like 
ours,  in  different  orbits  round  the  fame  cen- 
tral fun ;  from  whence  we  may  not  difcover 
an  object,  ftill  more  ftupendous,  that  army 
of  fixed  Mars  hung  up  in  the  immenfe  fpace 
of  the  univerfe  ;  innumerable  funs,  whofe 
beams  enlighten  and  cherifh  the  unknown 
worlds  which  roll  around  them  :  and  whilft 
I  am  ravilhed  by  fuch  contemplations  as 
thefe,  whilft  my  foul  is  thus  raifed  up  to 
heaven,  it  imports  me  little  what  ground  I 
tread  upon. 

Bohngbroke. 

§   49.     The  Lcve  of  Fame. 

I  can  by  no  means  agree  with  you  in, 
thinking  that  the  love  ot  fame  is  a  paflion, 
which  either  reafen  or  religion  condemns. 
I  confefs,  indeed,  there  are  fome  who.  have 
reprefented  it  as  inconhftent  with  both ; 
and  I  remember,  in  particular,  the  excellent 
author  of  The  Relic-ion  of  Nature  deli- 
neated, has  treated  it  as  highly  irrational 
and  abfurd.  As  the  pafiage  falls  in  foi 
thoroughly  with  your  own  turn  of  thought, 
you  will  have  no  objeftion,  I  imagine,  to 
my  quoting  it  at  large  ;  ami  I  give  it  you, 
at  the  fame  time,  as  a  very  great  authority 
on  ycur  fide.  "  in  reality,"  fays  that  writer, 
"  the  man  is  not  known  ever  the  more 
"  to  pofterity,  becaufe  his  name  is  tranl- 
"  mittedto  them:  He  doth  notlive becaufe 
"  his  name  does.  When  it  is  faid,  Julius 
"  Ccefar  febdued  Gauhconquered  Pompey, 
"  &c.  it  is  the  fame  thing  as  to  fay,  the 
**  conqueror  of  Pompey  was  Julius  Casfar, 
"  i.  e.  Ca:far  and  the  conqueror  of  Pompey 
"  is  the  fame  thing;  Csefar  is  as  much 
"  known  by  one  defignation  as  by  the 
"  other.  The  amount  then  is  only  this : 
"  that  the  conqueror  of  Pompey  conquer- 
"  ed  Pompey;  or  rather,  fmce  Pompey  is 
"  as  little  known  now  as  Ciefar,  fome  body 
"  conquered  ibmebody.  Such  a  poor  bufi- 
"  rtefs  h  this  boafted  immortality  !     and 

"  fuch 


BOOK  IV.      NARRATIVES,  DIALOGUES,    &c. 


857 


tf  fuchis  the  thing  called  glory  among;  us  ! 
*'  To  difcerning  men  this  fame  is  mere  air, 
V  and  what  they  defpife,  if  not  thun." 

But  furely  "'twere  to  confider  too  cu- 
*c  rioufly,"  as  Horatio  fays  to  Hamlet, 
*e  to  coniider  thus."  For  though  fame 
with  pofterity  fhould  be,  in  the  ft  rift 
analyfis  of  it,  no  other  than  what  it  is  here 
defcribed,  a  mere  uninterefting  proportion, 
amounting  to  nothing  more  than  that  fome- 
bcdy  afted  mentorioufly ;  yet  it  would  not 
neceffarily  follow,  that  true  philofophy 
would  baniih  the  defire  of  it  from  the  hu- 
man breaft.  For  this  paflion  may  be  (as 
moil  certainly  it  is)  wifely  implanted  in  our 
jfpecies,  notwithftanding  the  correfponding 
objeft  fhould  in  reality  be  very  different 
from  what  it  appears  in  imagination.  Do 
not  many  of  our  molt  refined  and  even 
contemplative  pleafuresowe  their  exiftence 
to  our  miftak.es  ?  It  is  but  extending  (1 
will  not  fay,  improving)  fomeof  our  fenfes 
to  a  higher  degree  of  acutenefs  than  we 
now  poffefs  them,  to  make  the  faireft  views 
of  nature,  or  the  nobleft  productions  of  art, 
appear  horrid  and  deformed.  To  fee 
things  as  they  truly  and  in  themndves  are, 
would  not  always,  perhaps,  be  of  advan- 
tage to  us  in  the  intellectual  world,  any 
more  than  in  the  natural.  But,  after  all, 
who  fhall  certainly  aifure  us,  that  the  plea- 
fure  of  virtuous  fame  dies  with  its  poffefior, 
and  reaches  not  to  a  farther  fcene  of  ex- 
iftence ?  There  is  nothing,  it  fhould  feem, 
either  abfurd  or  unphilofophical  in  fuppof- 
ing  it  poffible  at  leaft,  that  the  praifes  of 
the  good  and  the  judicious,  that  fweeteft 
mufic  to  an  honeft  ear  in  this  world,  may 
be  echoed  back  to  the  marffions  of  the 
next ;  that  the  poet's  defcription  of  fame 
may  be  literally  true,  and  though  fhe  walks 
upon  earth,  fke  may  yet  lift  her  head  into 
heaven. 

But  can  it  be  reafonable  to  extinguish  a 
paffion  which  nature  has  univerially  lighted 
up  in  the  human  breaft,  and  which  we  con- 
ftantly  find  to  burn  withmoft  ftrength  and 
brightnefs  in  the  nobleft  and  beft  formed 
bofomsr  Accordingly  revelation  is  fo  far 
from  endeavouring  (as  you  fuppofe)  to 
eradicate  the  feed  which  nature  hath  thus 
deeply  planted,  that  fh.e  rather  feems,on 
the  contrary,  to  cherifh  and  forward  its 
.  growth.  To  be  exalted  with  honour,  and 
to  be  had  in  everlajling  remcmhrar.ee,  are  in 
the  number  of  thole  encouragements  which 
the  Jewifh  difpenfation  offered  to  the  vir- 
tuous ;  as  the  perfon  from  whom  the  facred 
author  of  the  Chriftian  fyftem  received  kii 


birth,  is  herfelf  reprefented  as  rejoicing  that 
all  gmerations  jhould  call  her  hlejjed. 

To  be  convinced  of  the  great  advantage 
cf  cheriihing  this  high  regard  to  pofterity, 
this  noble  defire  of  an  after-life  in  the 
breath  of  others,  one  need  only  look  back 
upon  the  hiftory  of  the  ancient  Greeks  and 
Romans.  What  other  principle  was  it, 
which  produced  that  exalted  ftrain  of  vir- 
tue in  thofe  days,  that  may  well  ferve  as  a 
model  to  thefe  ?  Was  it  not  the  confentiens 
laus  honor  um,  the  incorrupta  "jox  bene  jtuii- 
cantum  (as  Tully  calls  it)  the  concurrent 
approbation  of  the  good,  the  uncorrupted 
applaufe  of  the  wife,  that  animated  their 
moft  generous  purfuits  ? 

To  confeis  the  truth,  1  have  been  ever 
inclined  to  think  it  a  very  dangerous  at- 
tempt, to  endeavour  to  leffen  the  motives 
of  right  conduct,  or  to  raife  any  fufpicion 
concerning  their  folidity.  The  tempers 
and  difpofitions  of  mankind  arefo  extreme- 
ly different,  that  it  feems  neceffary  they 
fhould  be  called  into  action  by  a  variety  of 
incitements.  Thus,  while  fome  are  wil- 
ling to  wed  virtue  for  her  perfonal  charms, 
others  are  engaged  to  take  her  for  the  fake 
of  her  expefted  dowry  :  and  fince  her  fol- 
lowers and  admirers  have  {0  little  hopes 
from  her  in  prefent,  it  were  pity,  me- 
thinks,  to  reaion  them  out  of  any  ima- 
gined advantage  in  reverfion. 

Fitzoftorne's  Letters. 

§  50.     Fnthufafm. 

Though  I  rejoice  in  the  hope  of  feeing 
enthufiafm  expelled  from  her  religious  do- 
minions, let  me  intreat  you  to  leave  her  in 
the  undifturbed  enjoyment  of  her  civil  pof- 
feffions.  To  own  the  truth,  I  look  upon 
enthufiafm,  in  all  other  points  but  that  of 
religion,  to  be  a  very  neceffary  turn  of 
mind ;  as  indeed  it  is  a  vein  which  nature 
feems  to  have  marked  with  more  or  lefs 
ftrength  in  the  tempers  of  moft  men.  No 
matter  what  the  objeft  is,  whether  bufinefy, 
pleafures,  or  the  fine  arts ;  whoever  pur- 
fues  them  to  any  purpofe  muft  do  fo  ccn 
amore  :  and  inamoratos,  you  know,  of  ever v 
kind,  are  all  enthufiafts.  There  is  indeed 
a  certain  heightening  faculty  which  uni- 
verfally  prevails  through  our  fpecies ;  and 
wc  are  all  of  us,  perhaps,  in  our  feveral  fa- 
vourite purfuits,  pretty  much  in  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  renowned  knight  of 
La  Mancha,  when  he  attacked  the  bar- 
be;  's  brazen  bafon,  for  Mambiirto's  golden 
helmet. 

What  is  Tully's  aliquid  itHmenfiem  >;:- 
finitytmane ', 


S  5  S 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN     PROSL 


f,ntfumque,  which  he  profefies  toafpire  after 
in  oratory,  but  a  piece  cf  true  rhetorical 
Quixotifm  ?  Yet  never,  I  will  venture  to 
affirm,  would  he  have  glowed  with  fo  much 
eloquence,  had  he  been  warmed  with  lefs 
eiithufiafm.  I  am  perfuaded  indeed,  that 
nothing  great  or  glorious  was  ever  per- 
formed, where  this  qualitv  had  not  a  p;in- 
cipal  concern  ;  and  as  our  paflions  add  vi- 
gour to  our  aclion?,  enthufiafm  gives  fpirit 
to  our  pailions.  I  might  add  too,  that  it 
even  opens  and  enlarges  our  capacities. 
Accordingly  I  have  been  informed,  that 
one  of  the  great  lights  of  the  prefent  age 
never  fits  down  to  ltudy,  till  he  has  raifed 
)iis  imagination  by  the  power  of  nrufic. 
For  this  purpofe  he  has  a  band  of  initru- 
ments  placed  near  his  library,  which  play 
'till  he  finds  himfelf  elevated  to  a  proper 
hsight;  upon  which  he  gives  a  fignal,  and 
they  inftantly  ceafe. 

But  thofe  high  conceits  which  are  fug- 
gefted  by  enthufiafm,  contribute  nut  only 
to  the  pleafure  and  perfection  of  the  fine 
arts,  but  to  molt  other  effects  of  our  action 
and  induitry.  To  itrike  this  fpirit  there- 
fore out  of  the  human  conftitution,  to  re- 
duce things  to  their  precife  philofophical 
itandard,  would  be  to  check  fome  of  the 
main  wheels  of  fociety,  and  to  fix  half  the 
world  in  an  uielefs  apathy.  For  if  enthu- 
fiafm did  not  add  an  imaginary  value  to 
moS:  of  the  objects  of  our  purfuit ;  if  fancy 
did  net  give  them  their  brighten:  colours, 
they  would  generally,  perhaps,  wear  an 
appearance  too  contemptible  to  excite  de- 
fire: 

Weary'tl  wo  fhouid  lie  down  in  death, 
This  cheat  of  life  would  take  no  more, 

If  you  t:ioup;!it  fame  an  empty  breath, 

I  Phillis  but  a  nerjur'd  whore.       Prior. 

In  a  word,  this  enthufiafm  for  which  I  am 
pleading,  is  a  beneficent  enchantrefs,  who 
never  exert?  her  magic  but  to  cur  advan- 
tage, and  only  deals  about  her  friendly 
Ipells  in  order  to  raife  imaginary  beauties, 
or  to  improve  re;l  ones.  The  worn;  that 
can  be  faid  of  her  is,  that  fhe  is  a  kind  de- 
ceiver, and  an  obliging  flatterer. 

F il z.ofoc-fnc' s  Lett. 

§  51.  Frcr.-thinking,the  ■various  Jbufes  com- 
mitted by  the  Fulgar  in  tins  Point. 

The  publication  of  lord  Bolingbroke's 
pofthumous  works  has  given  new  liie  and 
fpirit  to  free-thinking.  We  feem  at  prefent 
to  be  endeavouring  to  unlearn  our  cate- 
chifm,  with  all  that  we  have  been  taught 


about  religion,  in  order  to  model  our  faith 
to  the  fafhion  of  his  lordfhip's  fyftem.  We 
have  now  nothing  to  do,  but  to  throw  awa  y 
our  bibles,  turn  the  churches  into  theatres, 
and  rejoice  that  an  a£t  of  parliament  now 
in  force  gives  us  an  opportunity  of  getting 
rid  of  the  clergy  by  tranfportation.  I  was 
in  hopes  the  extraordinary  price  of  thefe 
volumes  would  have  confined  their  influ- 
ence to  perfons  of  quality.  As  they  are 
placed  above  extreme  indigence  ar.d  abfo- 
lute  want  of  bread,  their  loofe  notions  would 
have  carried  them  no  farther  than  cheating 
at  cards,  or  perhaps  plundering  their  coun- 
try :  but  if  thefe  opinions  fpread  among 
the  vulgar,  we  fhall  be  knocked  down  at 
noon- day  in  our  ftreets,  and  nothing  will 
to  forward  but  robberies  and  murders. 

The  mitances  I  have  lately  feen  of  free- 
thinking  in  the  lower  part  of  the  world, 
make  me  tear,  they  are  going  to  be  as 
faihionable  and  as  wicked  as  their  betters. 
I  went  the  other  night  to  the  Robin  Hood, 
where  it  is  ufual  for  the  advocates  againlt 
religion  to  afiemble,  and  openly  avow  their 
infidelity.  One  of  the  queitions  for  the 
night  was,  "  Whether  lord  Boiingbroke 
had  not  done  greater  fervice  to  mankind 
bv  his  writings,  than  the  apoltles  or  evan- 
gelifts :"  As  this  fociety  is  chiefly  com- 
pofed  of  lawyers  clerks,  petty  tradefmen, 
and  the  lowed:  mechanics,  I  was  at  firfl  fur- 
prized  at  fuch  amazing  erudition  among 
them.  Toland,  Tindal,  Collins,  Chubb, 
and  Mandeville,  they  feemed  to  have  got 
by  heart.  A  ihoe-maker  harangued  his 
five  minutes  upon  the  excellence  of  the 
tenets  maintained  by  lord  Boiingbroke  : 
but  i  foon  found  that  his  reading  had  not 
been  extended  beyond  the  Idea  of  a  Patriot 
King,  which  he  had  miitaken  for  a  glorious 
fyftem  of  free-thinking.  I  coald  not  help 
fmiling  at  another  of  the  company,  who 
took  pains  to  (hew  his  difbelief  of  the  gof- 
pel,  by  unfainting  the  apoltles,  and  calling 
them  by  no  other  title  than  plain  Paul  or 
plain  Peter.  The  proceeding;  of  this  fo- 
ciety have  indeed  alrnoft  induced  me  to 
with  that  (like  the  Roman  Catholics)  they 
were  not  permitted  to  read  the  bible,  rather 
than  they  fhould  read  it  only  to  abufe  it. 

I  have  frequently  heard  many  wife 
tradefmen  fettling  the  moit  important  ar- 
ticles of  our  faith  over  a  pint  of  beer.  A 
baker  took  occafion  from  Canning's  affair 
to  maintain,  in  oppofition  to  the  fcriptures, 
that  man  might  live  by  bread  alone,  at 
lead  that  woman  might;  "for  elfe,"  faid 
he,  "  how  could  the  girl  have  been  fup- 

"  ported 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES.  DIALOGUES,    &c.  $59 


««  ported  for  a  whole  month  by  a  few  hard 
*'  crufts  ?*'     In  ani'vver  10  this,  a  barbsr- 
furgcon  fat  forth  the  improbability  of  that 
ftory  ;  and  thence  inferred,  that  it  was  irh- 
poffible  for  our  Saviour  to  have  failed  forty 
days  in  the  vvildernei's.     1   lately   heard  a 
midfiiipman  (wear  that  the  bible  was  all  a 
lie  :  for  he  had  failed  round  the  world  with 
lord  Anion,  and  if  there  had  been  any  Red 
Sea,  he  mull  have  met  with  it.     I  know  a 
bricklayer,  who  while  he  was  working  by 
line  and  rule,  and  carefully  laying  one  brick 
upon  another,  would  argue  with  a  fellow- 
labourer  that  the  world  was  made  by  chance  ; 
and  a  cook,  who  thought  more  of  his  trade 
than  his  bible,  in  a  diipute  concerning  the 
miracles,  made  a  pleafant  miftake  about 
the  nature  of  the  firft,  and  gravely  afked 
his  antagonift  what  he  thought  of  the  fup- 
per  at  Cana. 

This  affectation  of  free-thinking  among 
the  lower  clafis  of  people,  is  at  prelent  hap- 
pily confined  to  the  men.     On  Sundays, 
whi  e  the  hulbahds  are  toping  at  the  ale- 
houfe,  the  good  women  their  wives  think 
it -their  duty  to- go  to  church,  fay  their 
prayers,  bring  home  the  text,  and  hear  the 
children  their  catechifm.     But  our  polite 
ladies  are,  I  fear,  in  their  lives  and  conver- 
fations,  little    better    than    free-thinkers. 
Going  to  chu:ch,  fince  it  is  now  no  longer 
the  fashion  to  carry  on  intrigues  there,  is 
almoit  wholly  laid  afide  :  And  I  verily  be- 
lieve, that  nothing  but  another  earthquake 
can  hll  the  churches  with  people  of  quality. 
The  fair  fex  in  general  are  too  thoughtlefs 
to  concern  themfelves  in  deep  enquiries  into 
matter*  of  religion.     It  is  fuincient,  that 
t aey  are  taught  to  believe  themfelves  an- 
gels.    It  would  therefore  be  an  ill  compli- 
ment, while  we  talk  of  the  heaven  they 
bsfidw,  to  perfuade  them  into  the  Maho- 
metan notion,    that  they  have  no  fouls : 
though  perhaps  our  fine  gentlemen  may 
imagine,  that  by  convincing  a  lady  that 
fhe  has  no  foul,  (he  will  be  lei's  fcrupulous 
about  the  difpofal  of  her  body. 

The  ridiculous  notions  maintained  by 
free-thinkers  in  their  writings,  fcarce  de- 
ferve  a  ferious  refutation  ;  and  perhaps  the 
beil  method  of  anfwering  them  would  be 
to  felect.  from  their  works  all  the  abfurd 
and  impracticable  notions  which  they  fo 
ftirhy  maintain  in  order  to  evade  the  belief 
of  the  Chrhlian  religion.  I  flia.ll  here 
throw  together  a  few  of  their  principal  te- 
nets,"Tmder  the  contradictory  title  of 

The  Unbeliever's  Creed. 
I  believe  that  there  is  no  God,  but  that 


matter  is  God,  and  God  is  matter;  and 
that  it  is  no  matter  whether  there  is  any 
God  or  no. 

I  believe  alio,  that  the  world  was  rot 
made;  that  the  world  made  itfelf ;  that  it 
had  no  beginning ;  that  it  will  lalt  for  ever, 
world  without  end. 

I  believe  that  a  man  is  a  beau,  that  the 
foul  is  the  body,  and  the  body  is  the  foul ; 
and  that  after  death  there  is  neither  body- 
no  r  foul. 

I  believe  that  there  is  no  religion ;  that 
natural  religion  is  the  only  religion  ;  and 
that  all  religion  is  unnatural. 

1  believe  not  in  Mofes ;  I  believe  in  the 
firft  philofophy  ;  I  believe  not  the  evange- 
liils ;  I  believe  in  Chubb,  Collins,  Toland, 
Tindal,  Morgan,  Mandeville,  Woolfton, 
Hobbes,  Shaftefbury  ;  I  believe  in  lord  Eo- 
lingbroke ;  I  believe  not  St.  Paul. 

I  believe  not  revelation  ;  I  believe  in 
tradition  ;  I  believe  in  the  talmud ;  I  be- 
lieve in  the  alcoran  ;  I  believe  not  the  bi- 
ble; I  believe  in  Socrates;  I  believe  in 
Confucius  ;  I  believe  in  Sanconiathon  ;  I 
believe  in  Mahomet;  I  believe  not  ia 
Chrift. 

Laftly,  I  believe  in  all  unbelief. 

Connoijfeifr. 

§  52.     Fortune  not  to  be  trifled. 

The  fudden  invafion  of  an  enemy  over- 
throws fuch  as  are  not  on  their  guard ;  but 
they  who  forefee   the  war,    and  prepare 
themfelves  for  it  before  it  breaks  out,  ftand 
without  diihculty  the  firft  and  the  fierceft 
onfet.  I  learned  this  important  leflbn  long 
ago,    and   never  trufted  to  fortune    even 
while  fhe  feemed  to  be  at  peace  with  me. 
The   riches,  the  honours,  the  reputation, 
and  all  the  advantages  which  her  treache- 
rous indulgence  poured  upon  me,  I  placed 
fo  that  fhe  might  fnatch  them  away  with- 
out giving  me  any  difturbancc     1  kept  a 
great  interval  between  me  and  them.    She 
took  them,  but  fhe  could  not  tear  them 
from  me.  No  man  fuffers  by  bad  fortune, 
but  he  who  has  been  deceived  by  good. 
If  we  grow  fond  of  her  gifts,  fancy  that 
they  belong  to  us,  and  are  perpetually  to 
remain  with  us ;  if  we  lean  upon  them,  and 
expect,  to  be  confidered  for  them  ;  we  fhali 
fink  into  all  the  bitternefs  of  grief,  as  foon 
as  thefc  falfe  and  tranfitory  benefits  pafs 
away,    as  foon   as  our  vain  and  childifb 
minds,  unfraught  with  folid  pleafures,  be- 
come   deftkute    even  of  thofe  which  are 
imaginary.     But,  if  we  do  not  fuffer  our- 
felves   to  be  tranfported  with  profperity, 
neither  fhall  we  be  reduced  by  adverfity. 

Our 


3§3 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


Our  fouls  will  be  proof  againft  the  clangers 
of  both  thefe  ftates  :  and  having  explored 
our  ftrength,  we  ffoaVI  be  fure  ©fit-;  for  in 
She  midit  cf  felicity,  we  fhali  have  tried 
.how  we  can  bear  misfortune. 

ILr  E-z-ils  di/armed  by  Patience. 

Banifhment,  with  all  its  train  of  evils, 
is  fo  far  from  being  the  caufe  of  contempt, 
that  he  who  bears  up  with  an  undaunted 
j'pirit  againft  them,  while  fo  many  are  de- 
jected by  them,  creels  on  his  very  misfor- 
tune a  trophy  to  his  honour:  for  fuch  is 
the  frame  and  temper  of  our  minds,  that 
nothing  flukes  us  with  greater  admiration 
than  a  man  intrepid  in  the  midft  of  mif- 
fortunes.  Of  all  ignominies,  an  ignomi- 
jjious  death  mull  be  allowed  to  be  the 
greatcft ;  and  yet  where  is  the  blafphcmcr 
who  will  prefume  to  defame  the-  death  of 
Socrates  !  This  faint  entered  the  prifon 
with  the  fame  countenance  with  which  he 
reduced  thirty  tyrants,  and  he  took  off  ig- 
nominy from  the  place  ;  for  how  could  it 
be  deemed  a  prifon  when  Socrates  was 
there  ?  Ariftides  was  led  to  execution  in 
the  fame  city ;  all  thofe  who  met  the  fad 
proceffion,  caft  their  eyes  to  the  ground, 
and  with  throbbing  hearts  bewailed,  not 
the  innocent  man,  but  Juftice  herfelf,  who 
was  in  him  condemned.  Yet  there  was  a 
wretch  found,  for  monfters  are  fometimes 
produced  in  contradiction  to  the  ordinary 
rules  of  nature,  who  fpit  in  his  face  as  he 
parted  along.  Ariilides  wiped  his  check, 
fmiied,  turned  to  the  magiilrate,  and  faid, 
"  Admoniih  this  man  not  to  be  fo  nafty  for 
*'  the  future." 

Ignominy  then  can  take  no  hold  on  vir- 
tue ;  for  virtue  is  in  every  condition  the 
fame,  and  challenges  the  fame  refpecl.  We 
applaud  the  world  when  me  proipers;  and 
when  fhe  fails  into  adverhty  we  applaud 
her.  Like  the  temples  of  the  gods,  fhe  is 
venerable  even  in  her  ruins.  After  this, 
tnuft  it  not  appear  a  degree  of  madnefs  to 
defer  one  moment  acquiring  the  only  arms 
capable  of  defending  us  againft  attacks, 
which  at  every  moment  we  are  cxpofed  to  ? 
Our  being  miferable,  cr  not  miferable, 
when  we  tall  into  misfortunes,  depends  on 
the  manner  in  which  we  have  enjoyed  prof- 
perity.  Boiiugbrckc. 

§  53.  Delicacy  ccnfiitutiotw.lt  and  often 

danger  ens. 

Some  people  are  fubjeft  to  a  certain  de- 
licacy of  paffion,  which  makes  them  ex- 
tremely fenfible  to  all  the  accidents  of  life, 


and  gives  them  a  lively  joy  upon  every 
profperous  event,  as  well  as  a  piercing 
grief,  when  they  meet  with  croiTes  and  ad- 
verfity.  Favours  and  good  offices  eafily 
engage  their  friendlhip,  while  the  finalleft 
injury  provokes  their  refentment.  Any 
honour  or  mark  of  distinction  elevates  them 
above  meafure;  but  they  are  as  fenfibly 
touched  with  contempt.  People  of  this 
character  have,  no  doubt,  much  more  live- 
ly enjoyments,  as  well  as  more  pungent 
forrows,  than  men  of  cool  and  fedate  tem- 
pers :  but  I  believe,  when  every  thing  is 
balanced,  there  is  no  one,  who  would  not 
rathe*  chufe  to  be  of  the  latter  character, 
were  he  entirely  mailer  of  his  own  difpo- 
fition.  Good  or  i'l  fortune  is  very  little 
at  our  own  difpofal :  and,  when  a  perfon 
who  has  this  fenfibility  cf  temper  meets 
with  any  misfortune,  his  forrow  or  refent- 
ment takes  entire  poffeffion  of  him,  and 
deprives  him  of  all  relifh  in  the  common 
occurrences  of  life ;  the  right  enjoyment 
cf  which  forms  the  greatell  part  of  our 
happinefs.  Great  pleafures  are  much  lefs 
frequent  than  great  pains;  fo  that  a  fenfi- 
ble  temper  cannot  meet  with  fewer  trials 
in  the  former  way  than  in  the  latter :  not 
to  mention,  that  men  of  fuch  lively  paffions 
are  apt  to  be  tranfported  beyond  all  bounds 
of  prudence  and  difcretion,  and  to  take 
falfe  fceps  in  the  conduct  of  life,  which  are 
often  irretrievable. 

Delicacy  of^Tejle  deferable. 

There  is  a  delicacy  of  talle  obfervable 
in  fome  men,  which  very  much  rcfembles 
this  delicacy  of  paffion,  and  produces  the 
fame  fenfibility  to  beauty  and  deformity  of 
every  kind,  as  that  does  to  profperity  and 
adverhty,  obligations  and  injuries.  When 
you  preient  a  poem  or  a  picture  to  a  man 
poffeffed  of  this  talent,  the  delicacy  of  his 
feelings  makes  him  to  be  touched  very  fen- 
fibly with  every  part  of  it  ;  nor  are  the 
rnallerly  ftrokes  perceived  with  more  ex- 
quifitc  relifh  and  fatisfiction,  than  the  neg- 
ligencies  or  abfurdities  with  dilguft  and 
uneafincis.  A  polite  and  judicious  conver- 
fation  affords  him  the  iiigheft  entertain- 
ment ;  rudenefs  or  impertinence  is  as  great 
a  punifhment  to  him.  In  ihert,  delicacy 
of  tille  has  the  fame  effect  as  delicacy  of 
paffion  :  it  enlarges  the  fphere  both  of  dur 
h.fppmefs  and  mifery,  and  makes  usienfi- 
hls  to  pains  as  well  as  pleafures  which  ef- 
cape  the  reft  of  mankind. 

I  believe,  however,  there  is  no  one,  who 
will  not  agree  with  me,  that,  nctwithftand* 

i  n  2" 


BOOS    IV.     NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


! 


fffg  this  refemblance,  a  delicacy  of  tafte  is 
as  much  to  be  defired  and  cultivated  as  a 
delicacv  of  pafiion  is  to  be  lamented,  and 
to  be  remedied  if  poffibie.  The  good  or 
ill  accidents  of  life  are  very  little  at  our 
difpefal ;  but  we  are  pretty  much  mailers 
what  Books  we  fliall  read,  what  diversions 
we  malt  partake  of,  and  what  company  we 
fliall  keep.  Philofophers  have  endeavour- 
ed to  render  happinefs  entirely  indepen- 
dent of  every  thing  external  that  is  im-' 
poilible  to  be  attained  :  but  every  wife  man 
will  endeavour  to  place  his  happinefs  on 
fach  objects  as  depend  moll1  upon  himfelf; 
and  that  is  not  to  be  attained  fo  much  by 
any  other  means,  as  by  this  delicacy  of  fen- 
timent.  When  a  man  is  poffeffed  of  that 
talent,  he  is  more  happy  "by  what,  pleafcs 
his  tafte,  than  by  what  gratifies  his  appe- 
tites ;  and  receives  more  enjoyment  from  a 
poem  o,r  a  piece  of  rcafoning,  than  the  molt 
expenhve  luxury  can  afford. 

That  it  teaches  us  to  feleil  our  Company, 

Delicacy  of  talle  is  favourable  to  love 
and  friendship,  by  confining  our  choice  to 
f 


with  him  into  a  folid  friend  (hi  p ;  and  tike 
ardours  of  a  youthful  appetite  into  an  ele- 
gant paffion.  *£fume'sEJhp 

§  54.  DetraSlicn  a  detcjiahlc  Vice, 
It  has  been  remarked,  that  men  are  ge- 
nerally kind  in  proportion  as  they  are  hap  - 
py ;  and  it  is  faid,  even  of  the  devil,  that 
he  is  good-humoured  when  he  is  pleated. 
Every  act,  therefore,  by  which  another  is 
injured,  from  whatever  motive,  contracts 
more  guilt  and  expreffes  grea-tes  Eaali«*ai- 
ty,  if  it  is  committed  in  thofe  feafons  which 
are  let  apart  to  pleafarttry  and  good-hu- 
mour, arid  brightened  with  ehjijymeiits,  pe-.» 
culiar  to  rationaland  focial  beings. 

Detraction  is  among  thofe  yices  which 
the  moll  languid  virtue  has  fufficient  force 
to  prevent ;  becaufe  by  detraction  that  is 
not  gained  which  is  taken  away.  "  He 
who  filches  from  me  my  good  name,"  fays 
Shakefpeare,"  enriches  not  himfelf,  but 
makes  me  poor  indeed."  As  nothing 
therefore  degrades  human  nature  more 
than  detraction,  nothing  more  cSigraees 
converfation.    The  detractor,  as  he  is  tlv.- 


few  people,  and  making  us  indifferent  to  loweft  moral  character,  reflects  greater  dif  - 
she  company  and  converfation  of  the  great-  honour  upon  his  company,  than  the  hang- 
ed part  of  men.  You  will  very  feldom  man  ;  and  he  whofe  difpolition  is  a  fcaruh! 
find  that  mere  men  of  the  world,  whatever  to  his  fpecies,  mould  be  more  dilio-entlv 
flrong  fenfe  they  may  be  endowed  with, 
are  very  nice  in  diftinguiihing  of  charac- 


ters, or  in  marking  thofe  infenfible  diffe- 
rences and  gradations  which  make  one  man 
preferable  to  another.  Any  one  that  has 
competent  fenfe,  is  fufficient  for  their  en- 
tertainment: they  talk  to  him  of  fheirplea- 
fures  and  affairs  with  the  fame  franknefs 
as  they  would,  to  any  other;  and  finding 
many  who  are  fit  to  fupply  his  place,  they 
never  feel  any  vacancy  or  want  in  his  ab- 


avoided,  than  he  who  is  fcandalous  onlv 
by  his  offence. 

But  for  this  practice,  however  vile,  fame 
have  dared  to  apologize,  by  contending  the 
report,  by  which  they  injured  an  abfens 
character, was  true  :  this,  however,  amount;; 
to  no  more  than  that  they  have  not  com- 
plicated malice  with  falihood,  and  thattkere 
is  feme  difference  between  detraction  and 
flander.  To  relate  all  the  ill  that  is  true 
of  the  beft  man  in  the  world,  would   pro- 


fence.    But,  to  make  ufe  of  the  allufion  of    bablv  render  him  the  object  of  fufpicion 


a  famous  French  author,  the  judgment  maj 
be  compared  to  a  clock  or  watch,  where 
the  moil  ordinary  machine  is  fufficient  to 
tell  the  hours ;  but  the  moil  elaborate  and 
artificial  can  only  point  the  minutes  and 
feconds,  and  dillinguiih  the  fmalleft  diffe- 
rences of  time.  One  who  has  well  digefted 
his  knowledge  both  of  books  and  men,  has 
little  enjoyment  but  in  the  company  of  a 
few  felecl  companions.  He  feels  too  fen- 
fibly  how  much  all  the  reft  of  mankind  fall 
ftiort  of,  the  notions  which  he  has  entertain- 
ed ;  and  his  affections  being  thus  confined 
within  a  narrow  circle,  no  wonder  he  car- 
ries them  faither  than  if  they  were  more 
general  and  undiftinguiihed.  The  gaiety 
acd  frolic  of  a  bottle  -companion  improves 


nd  diftriift  ;  and  was  this  practice  univer- 
fal,  mutual  confidence  and  eiteem,  the  com- 
forts of  fociety,  and  the  endearments  of 
friendfhip,  would  be  at  an  end. 

There  is  fomething  ur.fpeakably  more 
hateful  in  thole  fpecies  of  villainy  by  which 
the  law  is  evaded,  than  thofe  by  which  it  is 
violated. and  defiled.  Courage  has  iome- 
times  preserved  rapacity  from  abhorrence, 
as  beauty  has  been  thought  to  apok»e,ige 
for  proSitution  ;  but  the  injuffice  of  cow- 
ardice is  univerfaily  abhorred,  and,  like  the 
lewdnefs  of  deformity,  has  no  advoea-te, 
ThuVhateful  are  the  wretches  who  &etracl 
with  caution,  and  while  they  perpetrate  the 
wrong,  are  felicitous  to  avoid  the  rep;.  ...  '. 
They  do  not  lay,  that  Cidoe  forfeited  jfn 

honour 


Uz 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


konour  toLyfander;  but  they  fay,  thatfuch 
a  report  has  been  fpread,  they  know  not 
Low  true.  Thofe  who  propagate  thefe  re- 
ports, frequently  invent  them  ;  and  it  is  no 
breach  of  charity  to  fuppofe  this  to  be  al- 
ways die  cafe  ;  becaufe  no  man  who  fprcads 
detraction  would  have  fcrupled  to  produce 
it:  and  he  who  fhould  diffufe  poiion  in  a 
brook,  would  fcarce  be  acquitted  of  a  ma- 
licious defign,  though  he  mould  alledge, 
that  he  received  it  of  another  who  is  doing. 
the  fame  elfewhere. 

Whatever  is  incompatiblewith  the  higheft 
dignity  of  our  nature,  fhould  indeed  be  ex- 
cluded from  our  converfation  :  as  compa- 
nions, not  only  that  which  we  owe  to  our- 
fclves  but  to  others,  is  required  of  us;  and 
thev  who  can  indulge  any  vice  in  the  pre- 
tence of  each  other,  are  become  obdurate  in 
guilt,  and  infeniible  to  infamy.     Rambler. 

§    CC.      Learning  fooulcl  be  fometimes  applied 
to  cultivate  our  Morals* 

Envy,  curiofity,  and  our  fenfe  of  the 
imperfection  of  our  prefent  (late,  inclines 
irs  always  to  eftimate  the  advantages  which 
are  in  the  poffeffion  of  others  above  their 
real  value.  Every  one  muft  have  remarked 
what  powers  and  prerogatives  the  vulgar' 
imagine  to  be  conferred  by  learning.  A 
man  of  fcience  is  expected  to  excel  the  un- 
lettered and  unenlightened,  even  on  occa- 
sions where  literature  is  of  no  uie,  and 
among  weak  minds  lofes  part  of  his  rever- 
ence by  discovering  no  fuperiority  in  thofe 
parts  of  life,  in  which  all  are  unavoidably 
equal;  as  when  a  monarch  makes  a  pro- 
grefs  to  the  remoter  provinces,  the  ruf- 
ticksarefaid  fometimes  to  wonder  that  they 
find  him  of  the  fame  fize  with  themfelyes. 

Thefe  demands  of  prejudice  and  foil}" 
can  never  be  fatisfied,  and  therefore  many 
of  the  imputations  which  learning  fuifers 
from  difappointed  ignorance,  are  without 
reproach.  Yet  it  cannot  be  denied,  that 
there  are  fome  failures  to  which  men  of 
ftudy  are  peculiarly  expofecl.  Every  con- 
dition hasitsdifadvantages.  The  circle  of 
knowledge  is  too  wide  for  the  moft  active 
and  diligent  intellect,  and  while  fcience  is 
purfued  with  ardour,  other  accorr.pliih- 
ments  of  equal  ufe  are  necefiaril  y  neglected ; 
as  a  fmall  garrifon  mull  leave  one  part  oi 
an  extenfive  fortrefs  naked,  when  an  alarm 
calls  them  to  another. 

The  learned,  however,  might  generally 
fupport  their  dignity  with  more  fuccefs,  if 
they  fuffered  not  themfelvcs  to  be  mined 
by  fuperfiuous  attainments  of  qualification 


which  few  can  underftand  or  value,  and  by 
fkiil  which  they  may  fink  into  the  grj.\c 
without  any  corrfpicuous  opportunities  of 
exerting.  Raphael,  in  return  to  Adam's 
enquiries  into  the  ceuries  of  the  fears  and 
the  revolutions  of  heaven,  counfels  him  to 
withdraw  his  mind  from  idle  fpcculations, 
and,  inftead  of  watching  motions  which  he  '. 
has  no  power  to  regulate,  to  employ  his 
faculties  upon  nearer  and  more  intereftin^ 
objects,  the  furvey  of  his  own  lif.j,  the  fub- 
jectioti  of  his  pafTions,  the  knowledge  of 
duties  which  muft  daily  be  performed,  and 
the  detection  of  dangers  which  mult  daily 
be  incurred. 

This  angelic  counfel  every  man  of  letters 
lliould  always  have  before  him.  He  that 
devotes  himfelf  wholly  to  retired  ftudy, 
naturally  finks  from  omifnon  to  forgeiful- 
nefs  of  fecial  duties,  and  from  which  he 
muft  be  fometimes  awakened,  and  recalled 
to  the  general  condition  of  mankind. 

Ibid, 

Its  Progrefs. 

It  had  been  -obferved  by  the  ancients', 
That  all  the  arts  and  fciences  arofe  among 
free  nation;;  and  that  the  Perfians  and 
Egyptians,  notwithstanding  all  their  eafe, 
opulence,  and  luxury,  made  but  faint  ef- 
forts toward:-  thofe  finer  pleafures,  which 
were  carried  to  fuch  perfection  by  the 
Greeks,  anaidft  continual  wars,  attended 
with  poverty,  and  the  greateft  fimplicity  of 
life  and  manners.  It  had  alfo  been  ob- 
ferved, that  as  foon  as  the  Greeks  lot  their 
liberty,  though  they  encreafed  mightily  in 
riciicc-,,  by  the  means  ct  the  conquefts  of 
Alexander;  yet  the  arts,  from  that  moment, 
declined  among  them,  and  have  never  fince 
been  able  to  raiie  their  head  in  that  climate. 
Learning  was  tranfplanted  to  Rome,  the 
only  free  nation  at  that  time  in  the  univerfe  ; 
and  having  met  with  fo  favourable  a  foil,  it 
made  prodigious fhoots  for  above  a  century ; 
till  the  decay  of  liberty  produced  alfo  a 
decay  of  letters,  and  fpread  a  total  bar- 
barian over  the  world.  From  thefe  tv.'o 
experiments,  of  which  each  was  double  in 
its  kind,  and  Shewed  the  fall  of  learning  in 
deipotic  governments,  as  well' as  its  rife 
in  popular  ones,  Longinus  thought  himfelf 
fafficiently  juftified  in  aliening,  that  the  arts 
and  fciences  could  never  nourifh  but  in  a 
free  government;  and  in  this  opinion  he  has 
been  followed  by  feveral  eminent  writers  in 
our  country, who  either  confined  their  view 
merely  to  ancient  facts,  or  entertained  too 
great  a  partiality  in  favour  of  that  form  of 

government 


BOOK    IV.      NARRATIV 

government  which  is  eftablilhed  amongit 
us. 

But  what  would  thefe  writers  have  faid  to 
the  ir.ftances  of  modern  Rome  and  Flo- 
rence ?  Of  which  the  former  carried  to 
perfection  all  the  finer  arts  of  fculpture, 
painting,  and  mufic,  as  well  as  poetry, 
though  they  groaned  under  flavery,  and 
under  the  flavery  of  priefts:  while  the  latter 
made  the  greateit  progrefs  in  the  arts 
and  fciences,  after  they  began  to  lofe  their 
liberty  by  the  ufurpations  of  the  family  of 
Medicisi  Ariofto/FafTb,  Galila:o,  no  more 
than  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo,  were 
not  horn  in  republics.  And  though  the 
Lombard  fchocl  was  famous  as  well  as  the 
Roman,  yet  the  Venetians  have  had  the 
fmalleit  fhare  in  its  honours,  and  feem  ra- 
ther inferior  to  the  Italians  in  their  genius 
for  the  arts  and  fciences.  Rubens  eftab- 
liihed  his  ichool  at  Antwerp,  not  at  Amfter- 
eiam  ;  Drefden,  not  Hamburgh,  is  the  cen- 
tre of  politenefs  in  Germany. 

But  the  rxoft  eminent  inftance  of  the 
ffourifhing  itate  of  learning  in  defpotic  go- 
vernments, is  that  of  France,  which  fcarce 
ever  enjoyed  an  efhiblifhed  liberty,  and  yet 
has  -carried  the  arts  and  fciences  as  near 
perfection  as  any  other  nation.  The  En- 
glim  are,  perhaps;  better  philofophers ; 
the  Italians  better  painters  and  muficians ; 
the  Romans  were  better  orators ;  but  the 
French  are  the  only  people,  except  the 
Greeks,  who  have  been  at  once  philofo- 
phers, poets,  orators,  hiftorians,  painters,  • 
architects,  fculptors,  and  muficians.  With 
regard  lo  the  ftage,  they  have  excelled  even 
the  Greeks,  who  have  far  excelled  the  En- 
glifli :  and  in  common  life  they  have  in  a 
great  meafure  perfected  that  art,  the  moft 
ufeful  and  agreeable  of  any,  I art  de  <vi-vre, 
the  art  of  fociety  and  converfation. 

If  we  confider  the  ftate  of  fciences  and 
polite  arts  in  our  country,  Horace's  obfer- 
vation  with  regard  to  the  Romans,  may,  in 
a  great  meafure,  be  applied  to  the  Britifh, 

Sed  in  Ionium  tamen  revnm 
Manferunt,  hodieque  mnnent  yeftigia  rnvis. 

The  elegance  and  propriety  of  iii!e  have 
been  very  much  neglected  among  us.  We  - 
have  no  dictionary  of  our  language,  and' 
fcarce  a  tolerable  grammar.  The  firft  po- 
lite profe  we  have,  was  wrote  by  a  man  who 
is  fti!l  alive.  As  to  Sprat,  Locke,  and  even 
Temple,  they  knew  too  little  of  the  rules 
of  art  to  be  efteemed  very  elegant  writers. 
The  profe  of  Bacon,  Harrington,  and  Mil- 
ton, is  altogether  ftitF and  pedantic ;  though 
their  fevlc  be  excellent.  Men  in  this  coun- 


ES,  DIALOGUES,   &c.  863 

try,  have  been  fo  much  occupied  in  the 
great  difputes  of  religion,  politics,  and  phi- 
lofophy,  that  they  had  no  relifh  for  the  mi- 
nute obfervations  of  grammar  and  criticifm. 
And  though  this  turn  of  thinking  muft  have 
conftderably  improved  our  fenfe  and  our 
talent  of  reafoning  beyond  thofe  of  other 
nations,  it  muft  be  confeft,  that  even  in 
thofe  fciences  above  mentioned,  we  have 
not  any  ftandard  book  which  we  can  tranf- 
mit  to  pofterity  :  and  the  utmoft  we  have 
to  boaft  of,  are  a  few  eflays  towards  a  more 
juft  philofophy :  which,  indeed,  prcmife 
very  much,  but  have  not,  as  yet,  reached 
any  degree  of  perfection. 

Vf clefs  without  Tafle. 

A  man  may  knoyv  exactly  all  the  circles 
and  ellipfes  of  the  Copernican  fyftem,  and 
all  the  irregular  fpirals  of  the  Ptolemaic, 
without  perceiving  that  the  former  is  more 
beautiful  than  the  latter.  Euclid  has  verv 
fully  explained  every  quality  of  the  circle, 
but  has  not,  in  any  propofition,  faid  a  word 
of  its  beauty.  Tbereafon  is  evident.  Beau- 
ty is  not  a  quality  of  the  circle.  It  lies  not 
in  any  part  of  the  line,  whofe  parts  are  all 
equally  diftant  from  a  common  centre.  It 
is  only  the  effect  which  that  figure  operates 
upon  the  mind,  whofe  particular  fabric  or 
ftrudture  renders  it  fufceptible  of  fuch  fen- 
timents.  In  vain  would  you  look  for  it 
in  the  circle,  or  feek  it,  either  by  your 
fenfes,  or  by  mathematical  reafenings,  ia 
all  the  properties  of  that  figure. 

The  mathematician,  who  took  no  other 
pleafure  in  reading  Virgil  but  that  of  ex- 
amining ^neas'svoyage  by  the  map,  might 
nr.derftand  pcrfe&y  the  meaning  of  every 
Latin  word  employed  by  that  divine  au- 
thor, and  confequently  might  have  a  dif- 
tinct  idea  of  the  whole  narration  ;  he  would 
even  have  a  more  difiinct  idea  of  it,  than 
they  could  have  who  li3-d  not  ftudied  fo  ex- 
actly the  geography  of  the  poem.  He  knew, 
therefore,  every  thing  in  the  poem.  But 
he  was  ignorant  of  its  beauty;  becaufe  the 
beauty,  properly  fpeaking,  lies  not  in  the 
poem,  but  the  fentiment  or  tafte  of  the 
reader.  And  where  a  man  has  no  fuch  de- 
licacy of  temper  as  to  make  him  feel  this 
fentiment,  he  mult  be  ignorant  of  the  beauty, 
though  pofTefied  of  the  fcience  and  under- 
flanding  of  an  angel.         Hume's  EJfajs., 

Its  QlJiruElions. 

So  many  hindrances  may  obftruct  the 
acquifition  of  knowledge,  that  there  is  littles 
reafon  for  wondering  that  it  is  in  a  few 

hands, 


8% 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


hands.  To  the  greater  part  of  mankind 
the  duties  of  life  are  inconfilrer.t  with  much 
ftudy,  and  the  hours  winch  they  would 
fpend  upon  letters  muft.be  itolen  from  their 
occupations  and  their  families.  Many  fuf- 
fer  themfelves  to  be  lured  by  more  fp rightly 
and  luxurious  pleafures  from  the  ihades  of 
contemplation,  where  they  find  feldom  more 
than  a  calm  delight,  fuch  as,  though  greater 
than  all  others,  it' its  certainty  and  its  dura- 
tion be  reckoned  with  its  power  of  gratifi- 
cation, is  yet  eafily  quitted  for  fome  extem- 
porary joy,  which  the  prefent  moment 
offers,  and  another  perhaps  will  put  out  of 
reach. 

It  is  the  great  excellence  of  learning  that 
it  borrows  very  little  from  time  or  place; 
it  is  not  confined  to  feafon  or  to  climate,  to 
cities  or  to  the  country,  but  may  be  culti- 
vated and  enjoyed  where  no  other  pleafure 
can  be  obtained.  But  this  quality,  which 
constitutes  much  of  its  value,  is  one  occafion 
of  neglect;  what  may  be  done  at  all  times 
with  equal  propriety,  is  deferred  from  day 
to  day,  till  the  mind  is  gradually  reconciled 
totheomlflion,  and  the  attention  is  turned  to 
other  objects.  Thus  habitual  idlenefs  gains 
too  much  power  to  be  conquered,  and  the 
foul  fnrinks  from  the  idea  of  intellectual 
labour  and  intenfenels  of  meditation. 

That  thofe  who  profefs  to  advance  learn- 
ing fometimes  obllruct  it,  cannotbe  denied; 
the  continual  multiplication  of  books  not 
only  diftracts  choice,  but  difappoints  en- 
quiry. To  him  that  has  moderately  itored 
his  mind  with  images,  few  writers  afford 
any  novelty  ;  or  what  little  they  have  to  add 
to  the  common  (lock  of  learning  is  fo  bu- 
ried in  the  mafs  of  general  notions,  that,  like 
filver  mingled  with  the  ore  of  lead,  it  is  too 
little  to  pay  for  the  labour  of  feparation  ; 
and  he  that  has  often  been  deceived  by  the 
promife  of  a  title,  at  laft  grows  weary  of 
examining,  and  is  tempted  to  confider  all 
as  equally  fallacious.  Idler. 

§   56.     Mankind,  a  Portrait  of. 

Vanity  bids  all  her  fons  to  be  generous 

and    brave, and  her  daughters  to  be 

chafte  and  courteous. But  why  do  we 

want  her  inftructions? Afk  the  come- 
dian, who  is  taught  a  part  he  feels  not. 

Is  it  that  the  principles  of  religion  want 
ftrength,  or  that  the  real  paflion  for  what  is 
good  and  worthy  will  not  carry  us  high 

enough?- God!  thou  knoweft  they  carry 

us  too  high— —we  want  not  to  be— —  but 
tojesm — 


Look  out  of  your  door, — take  notice  of 
that  man  ;  fee  what  difquieting,  intriguing, 
and  fhifting,  he  is  content  to  go  through, 
merely  to  be  thought  a  man  of  plain-deal- 
ing : three  grains  of  honelcy  would fave 

him  all  this  trouble  :■■  .alas  !  he  has 

them  not. 

Behold  a  fecond,  under  a  fhew  of  piety 
hiding  the  impurities  of  a  debauched  life  : 
■ — —he  is  jull  entering  the  houfe  of  God  : 

would  he  was  more  pure — or  lefs 

pious  ! — but  then  he  could  not  gain  his 
point. 

Obferve  a  third  going  almofi:  in  the  fame 
track,with  what  an  inflexible  fanftity  of  de- 
portment he  fuilains  himfelfas  he  advances ! 
■ — every  line  in  his  face  writes  abftinence  ; 
— —every  llride  looks  like  a  check  upon 
his  dcfires :  fee,  I  befeech.you,  how  he  is 
cloak'd  up  with  fermons,  prayers,  and  fa- 
craments  ;  and  fo  bemuffled  with  the  exter- 
nals of  religion,  that  he  has  not  a  hand  to 
fparefbr  a  worldly  purpofe  ; — he  has  ar- 
mour at  leaib—  Why  does  he  put  it  on  ?  Is 
there  no  ferving  God  without  all  this  ? 
Mail  the  garb  of  religion  be  extended  fo 
wide  to  the  danger  of  it's  rending?  Yes, 
truly,  or  it  will  not  hide  the  fecret  ■  ■ 
and,  What  is  that  ? 

That  the  faint  has  no  religion  at 

all. 

But   here   comes  Generosity; 

giving — not  to  a  decayed  artift — but  to  the 
arts  and  fciences  themfelves. — See, — he 
builds  not  a  chamber  in  the  ivall  apart  for  the 
prophets ;  but  whole  fchools  and  colleges  for 
thofe  who  come  after.    Lord  !   how  they 

will  magnify  his  name  ! 'tis  in  capitals 

already ;  the  firit — the  higheft,  in  the  gilded 
rent-roll  of  every  hofpital  and  afylum — — 

One  honeft  tear  fhed  in  private  over  the 
unfortunate,  is  worth  it  all. 

What  a  problematic  fet  of  creatures  does 
fimulation  make  us  !  Who  would  divine 
that  all  the  anxiety  and  concern  fo  viable 
in  the  airs  of  one  half  of  that  great  affem- 
bly  ihould  arife  from  nothing  elfe,  but  that 
the  other  half  of  it  may  think  them  to  be 
men  of  confequence,  penetration,  parts,  and 
conduct  ? — What  a  noife  amongft  the 
claimants  about  it  ?  Behold  humility,  out 
of  mere  pride — and  honefty  almoft  out  of 
knavery  : — Chaftity,  never  once  in  harm's 

way  ; and  courage,  like  a  Spanilh  fol- 

dier  upon  an  Italian  ftage— a  bladder  full 
of  wind. — 

Hark  1  that,  the  found  of  that 

trompet, — —let  not  my  foldier  run,- 
'tis  fome  good  Chrillian  giving  alms.     O 

PITY, 


BOOK    IV.    NAUR AT IV 

3>ity,  thou  gendeft  of  human  paflions  ! 
foft  and  tender  are  thy  notes,  and  ill  accord 
-they  with  fo  loud  an  inftrument. 

Sterne's  Sermons. 

:§   57.     Manors .;  their  Origin,  Nature,  and 
Services. 

Manors  are  in  fubftance,  as  ancient  as 
the  Saxon  conftitution,  though  perhaps  dif- 
fering a  little,  in  fome  immaterial  circum- 
ftances,  from  thofe  that  exift  at  this  day  : 
julias  was  obfervedcf  feuds,  that  they  were 
partly  known  to  our  anceftors.  even  before 
the  Norman  conquer!.  A  manor,  manerium, 
a  manendo,  becaufe  the  ufual  relidence  of 
the  owner,  feems  to  have  been  a  diftricl:  of 
ground  held  by  lords  or  great  perfonages; 
who  kept  in  their  own  hands  fo  much  land 
as  was  neceffary  for  the  ufe  of  their  fami- 
lies, which  were  called  terra  doviinicales,  or 
demeine  lands;  being  occupied  by  the  lord, 
or  dominus  manerii,  and  his  fervants.  The 
other  tenemental  lands  they  diftributed  a- 
niOng  their  tenants;  which,  from  the  differ- 
ent modes  of  tenure,  were  called  and  dii- 
tinguifhed  by  two  different  names.  Fir  ft, 
book  land,  or  charter  land,  which  was  held 
by  deed  under  certain  rents  and  free-fer- 
vices,  r.nd  in  effect  differed  nothing  from 
free  focage  lands ;  and  from  hence  have 
arifen  all  the  freehold  tenants  which  hold 
of  particular  manors,  and  owe  fuit  and  fcr-. 
vice  to  the  fame.-  l^he  other  fpecies  was 
called  folk  land,  which  was  held  by  no  af- 
furance  in  writing,  but  diftributed  among 
the  common  folk  or  people  at  the  pleafure 
of  the  lord,  and  refumed  at  his  difcretion; 
being  indeed  land  held  in  villenage,  which 
we  mail  prefently  defcribe  more  at  large. 
The  relidue  of  the  manor  being  unculti- 
vated, was  termed  the  lord's  wafte,  and 
ferved  for  public  roads,  and  for  common  of 
pa'iture  to  the  lord  and  his  tenants.  Manors 
were  formerly  called  baronies,  as  they  ftill 
are  lordihips :  and  each  lord  or  baron  was 
empowered  to  hold  a  domeftic  court,  palled 
the  court-baron,  for  redreffing  mi  ("demean- 
ors and  nuifances  within  the  manor,  and 
for  fettling  difputes  of  property  among  the 
tenants.  This  court  is  an  inseparable  in- 
gredient of  every  manor;  and  if  the  num- 
ber of  fuitors  mould  fo  fail,  as  not  to  leave 
fuiheient  to  make  a  jury  or  homage,  tint  is, 
two  tenants  at  the  Jeaft,  the  manor  itfelf  is 
loft. 

Before  the  ftatute  of  quia  empiores,  i3 
Edward  I.  the  king's  greater  barons,  who 
had  a1  large  extent  of  territory  held  under 
the  crown,  granted  cut  frequently  fuialler 


ES,    DIALOGUES,    he.        865 

manors  to  inferior  perfons  to  be  held  of 
themfelves;  which  do  therefore  now  con- 
tinue to  be  held  under  a  fuperior  lord,  who 
is  called  in  fuch  cafes  the  lord  paramount 
over  all  thefe  manors  :  and  his  feigniory  is 
frequently  termed  an  honour,  not  a  manor, 
efpecialiy  if  it  hath  belonged  to  an  ancient 
feodal  baron,  or  hath  been  at  any  time  ia 
the  hands  of  the  crown.  In  imitation 
whereof,  thefe  inferior  lords  began  to  carve 
out  and  grant  to  others  icill  more  minute 
eftates  to  be  held  as  of  themfelves,  and 
were  fo  proceeding  dowgwards  w  infinitum; 
till  the  fuperior  lords  obferved,  that  by  this 
method  of  fubinfeudation  they  loft  all  their 
feodal  profits,  of  wardfhips,  marriages,  and 
■efcheats,  which  fell  into  the  hands  of  thefe 
mefne  or  middle  lords,  who  were  the  imme- 
diate fuperiors  of  the  terrctentmt,  or  him  who 
occupied  the  land.  This  occafionel  the  fta- 
tute of  Wefbrn.  3.  or  quia  emptor  es,  1 8  Ed'w.  I, 
to  be  made;  which  directs,  that  upon  all 
fales  or  feoffments  of  land,  the  feoffee  fhall 
hold  the  fame,  not  of  his  immediate  feoffor, 
but  of  the  chief  lord  of  the  fee,  of  whom 
fuch  feoffor  himfelf  heldit.  And  from  hence 
it  is  held,  that  all  manors  exifting  at  this  day 
muft  have  exiited  by  immemorial  prefcrip- 
tjon ;  or  at  leaft  ever  fince  the  1 8th  Edw.  I. 
when  the  ftatute  -of  quia  emptorcs  was  made. 
For  no  new  manor  can  have  been  created 
fince  that  ftatute  :  becaufe  it  is  effcntial  to 
a  manor,  that  there  be  tenants  who  hold  of 
the  lord,  and  that  ftatute  enacts,  that  for  the 
future  no  fubjects  fliall  create  any  new  te- 
nants to  hold  of  himfelf. 

Now  with  regard  to  the  folk  la^d,  or  ef- 
tates  held  in  vi'lenage,  this  was  a  fpecies  of 
tenure  neither  ftricHy  feodal,  Norman,  or 
Saxon;  but  mixedandcompounded  of  them 
all:  and  which  alfo,  on  account  of  the  he- 
riots  that  attend  it,  may  feem  to  have  fome- 
what  Danifh  in  its  compofuion.  Under  the 
S4xon  government  there  were,  as  Sir  Wil- 
liam Temple  fpeaks,  a  foit  of  people  in  a 
condition  of  downright  fervitude,  ufed  and 
employed  in  the  moft  fervile  works,  and 
belonging",  both  they,  their  children,  and 
effects,  to  the  lord  of  the  foil,  like  the  reft 
of  the  cattle  or  flock  upon  it.  Thefe  feem 
to  have  been  thofe  who  held  what  was  called 
the  folk  land,  from  which  they  were  remov- 
able at  the  lord's  pleafure.  On  the  arrival 
of  the  Normans  here,  it  feems  not  impro- 
bable, that  they,  who  were  ftrangers  to  any 
other  than  a  feodal  fcate,  might  give  fome 
fparks  of  enfranchifement  to  fuch  wretched 
perfons  as  fell  to  their  fhare,  by  admitting 
them,  as  well  as  others,  to  the  oavh  of  fealty ; 
3  K  which 


866 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS     IN    PROSE. 


which  conferred  a  right  of  prote&ion,  and 
raife  the  tenant  to  a  kind  of  cftate  fuperior 
to  downright  flavery,  but  inferior  to  every 
other  condition.  This  they  called  villenage, 
and  the  tenants  villeins,  either  from  the  word 
<vilis,  or  elfe,  as  Sir  Edward  Coke  tells  us, 
a  villa;  becaufe  they  lived  chiefly  in  villa- 


and  a  neife,  or  a  villein  and  a  free  woman,, 
the  ifiue  followed  the  condition  of  the  fa- 
ther, being  free  if  he  was  free,  and  villein 
if  he  was  villein;  contrary  to  the  maxim  of 
civil  law,  that  partus fequiter  <ventrem.  But 
no  baftard  could  be  born  a  villein,  becaufe; 
by  another  maxim  of  our  law  he  is  nullius 


ges,  and  were  employed  in  ruftic  works  of  Jilius ;  and  as  he  can  gain  nothing  by  inHe- 


themoftfo' did  kind:  like  the  Spartan  helotes, 
to  whom  alone  the  culture  of  the  lands  was 
configned ;  their  rugged  mailers,  like  our 
northern  anceftors,  efteeming  war  the  only 
honourable  employment  of  mankind. 

Thefe  villeins,  belonging  principally  to 
lords  of  manors,  were  either  villeins  regar- 
dant, that  i3,  annexed  to  the  manor  or  land ; 
or  elfe  they  were  in  grofs,  or  at  large,  that 
is,  annexed  to  the  perfon  of  the  lord,  and 
transferrable  by  deed  from  one  owner  to 
another.  They  could  not  leave  their  lord 
without  his  permiffion ;  but  if  they  ran 
away,  or  were  purloined  from  him,  might 
be  claimed  and  recovered  by  aclion,  like 
beafts  or  other  chattels.  They  held  indeed 
fmall  portions  of  land,  by  way  of  fuftaining 
themfelves  and  families ;  but  it  was  at  the 
mere  will  of  the  lord,  who  might  difpoflefs 
them  whenever  he  pleafed ;  and  it  was  upon 
villein  fervices,  that  is,  to  carry  out  dung, 
to  hedge  and  ditch  the  lord's  dememes,  and 


ritance,  it  were  hard  that  he  (hould  lofj  his 
natural  freedom  by  it.  The  law  however 
protected  the  perfons  of  villeins,  as  the 
king'sfubjedls, againft  atrocious  injuries  of 
the  lord :  for  he  might  not  kill  or  maim  his 
villein;  though  he  might  beat  hirn  with  im- 
punity, fince  the  villein  had  no  aclion  or  re- 
medy at  law  againft  his  lo;d,  but  in  cafe  of 
the  murder  of  his  anceflor,  or  the  maim  of 
his  own  perfon.  Neifes  indeed  had  alfo  an 
appeal  of  rape,  in  cafe  the  lord  violated 
them  by  force. 

Villeins  might  be  enfranchifed  by  manu- 
miflion, which  is  either  exprefs  or  implied  : 
exprefs ;  as  where  a  man  granted  to  the 
villein  a  deed  of  manumiflion:  implied;  as 
where  a  man  bound  himfelf  in  a  bond  to  hi^ 
villein  for  a  fum  of  money,  granted  him  an 
annuity  by  deed,  or  gave  him  an  eftate  in, 
fee,  for  life  or  years:  for  this  was  dealing, 
with  his  villein  on  the  footing  of  a  freeman ;. 
it  was  in  fome  of  the  inftances  giving  him 


any  other  the  meaneft  offices ;  and  thefe  fer-     an  aclion  againft  his  lord, and  in  others  veft- 


vices  were  not  only  bafe,but  uncertain  both 
as  to  their  time  and  quantity.  A  villein,  in 
ihort,  was  in  much  the  fame  Hate  with  us, 
as  lord  Molefworth  defcribes  to  be  that  of 
the  boors  in  Denmark,  and  Stiernhook  at- 
tributes alfo  to  the  traals  or  fiaves  in  Swe- 
den; which  confirms  the  probability  pf  their 
being  in  fome  degree  monuments  of  the 
Daniih  tyranny.  A  villein  could  acquire 
no  property  either  in  lands  or  goods;  but, 
if  he  purchafed  either,  the  lord  might  enter 
upon  them,  ouft  the  villein,  and  fcize  them 
tohisownufe,un!cfs  he  contrived  to  dilpofe 
of  them  again  before  the  lord  had  feized 
them;  for  the  lord  had  then  loft  his  oppor- 
tunity-. 

In  many  places  alfo  a  fine  was  payable  to 
the  lord,  if  the  villein  prefumed  to  marry 
his  daughter  to  any  one  without  leave  from 
the  lord:  and,  by  the  common  law,  the  lord 
might  alfo  bring  an  aclion  againft  the  huf- 
band  for  damages  in  thus  purloining  his 
property.  For  the  children  of  villeins  were 
alfo  in  the  fame  Hate  of  bondage  with  their 
parents,  whence  they  were  called  in  Latin, 
nati<vi,  which  gave  rife  to  the  female  ap- 
pellation of  a  villein,  who  was  called  a  neife. 
In  cafe  of  a  marriage  between  a  freeman 


inganownerfhip  in  him  entirely  inconfiflent 
with  his  former  Hate  of  bondage.  So  alfo  if 
the  lord  brought  an  action  againlt  his  villein, 
this  enfranchifed  him ;  for,  as'thelord  might 
have  a  fhort  remedy  againft  this  villein,  by 
feizing  his  goods  (which  was  more  than 
equivalent  to  any  damages  he  could  recover), 
the  law,  which  is  always  ready  to  catch  at 
anything  in  favour  of  liberty,  prefumed,  that 
by  bringing  this  aclion  he  meant  to  fet  his. 
villein  on  the  fame  footing  with  himfelf,  and 
therefore  held  it  an  implied  -manumiflion. 
But  in  cafe  the  lord  indicled  him  for  felony, 
it  was  otherwife;  for  the  lord  could  not  in- 
flict a  capi  ta!  pur,  ifhment  on  his  villein,  with- 
out calling  in  the  afliftance  of  the  law. 

Villeins,  by  this  and  many  other  means, 
in  prccefs  of  time  gained  confiderable 
ground  on  their  lords ;  and  in  particular 
ftrengthened  the  tenure  of  their  eftates  to 
that  degree,  that  they  came  to  have  in 
them  an  intereft  in  many  places  full  as 
good,  in  others  better  than  their  lords. 
For  the  good-nature  and  benevolence  of 
many  lords  of  manors,  having,  time  out  of 
mud/  permitted  their  villeins  and  their 
children  to  enjoy  their  pofleflions  without 
interruption,  in  a  regular  courfe  of  delcent. 

the. 


E  O  O  K  IV.     NARRATIV 

the  common  law,  of  which  cuilom  is  the 
lift,  now  gave  them  title  to  prescribe  again;}. 
the  jords ;  and,  on  performance  of  the  fame 
Services,  t©  hold  their  lands,  in  fpite  of  any 
determination  of  the  lord's  will.  For, 
though  in  general  they  are  Hill  laid  to  hold 
their  eftates  at  the  will  of  the  lord,  yet  it  is 
fuch  a  will  as  is  agreeable  to  the  cuiiom  of 
the  manor ;  which  cuitoms  are  pr.-fcrved 
and  evidenced  by  the  rolls  of  the  feveral 
courts-baron  in  which  they  are  entered,  or 
kept  on  foot  by  the  confiant  immemorial 
ufao;e  of  the  feveral  manors  in  which  the 
lands  lie.  And,  as  fuch  tenants  had  no- 
thing to  fhe.v  for  their  eitates  but  thefe 
cuitoms,  and  admifiions  in  puiTuance  of 
them,  entered  on  thofe  rolls,  or  the  copies 
cf  fuch  entries  witr.efled  by  the  ileward, 
they  now  began  to  be  called  '  tenants  by 
copy  of  court  roll,'  and  their  tenure  itfe'F 
a  copyhold. 

Thus  copyhold  tenures,  as  Sir  Edward 
Coke  obferves,  although  very  meanly  de- 
scended, yet  come  of  an  ancient  houfe  ; 
for,  from  what  has  been  premifed,  it  ap- 
pears, that  copyholds  are  in  truth  no  other 
but  villeins,  who,  by  a  long  feries  of  im- 
memorial encroachments  on  the  lord,  have 
at  laft  eflabliflieda  cuilomary  right  to  thofe 
eitates,  which  before  were  held  absolutely 
at  the  lord's  will :  which  affords  a  very 
fubftantial  reafon  for  the  great  variety  of 
cuitoms  that  prevail  in  different  manors, 
with  regard  both  to  the  defcent  of  the 
eitates,  and  the  privileges  belonging  to  the 
tenants.  And  thefe  encroachments  grew 
to  be  fo  univerfal,  that  when  tenure  in  vil- 
lenage  was  abolilhed  (though  copyholds 
were  referved)  by  the  ftatute  of  Charles  II. 
there  was  hardly  a  pure  villein  left  in  the 
nation.  For  Sir  Thomas  Smith  testifies, 
that  in  all  his  time  (and  he  was  fecretary 
to  Edward  VI.)  he  never  knew  any  villein 
in  grofs  throughout  the  realm;  and  the 
few  villeins  regardant  that  were  then  re- 
maining were  fuch  only  as  had  belonged 
to  bifhops,  monasteries,  or  other  eccleSiaiti- 
cal  corporations,  in  the  preceding  times  of 
popery.  For  he  tells  us,  that  "  the  holy 
fathers,  monks, 'and  fiiars,  had,  in  their 
confeffions,  and  Specially  in  their  extreme 
and  deadly  Sicknefs,  convinced  the  laity 
how  dangerous  a  practice  it  was,  for  one 
Chriitian  man  to  hold  another  in  bondage : 
fo  that  temporal  men  by  little  and  little,  by 
reafon  of  that  terror  in  their  confciences, 
were  glad  to  manumit  all  their  villeins. 
But  the  faid  holy  fathers,  with  the  abbots 
jind  priors,  did  not  in  like  fort  by  theirs-; 


E  S,    DIALOGUES,    &c.        867 

for  they  alfo  had  a  fcruple  in  confcience  t° 
e/npovcriih  and  defpoil  the  church  fo  much, 
as  to  manumit  fuch  as  were  bond  to  their, 
churches,  or  to  the  manors  which  the  church 
had  gotten;  and  fo  kept  their  villeins  Still." 
By  thefe  feveral  means  the  generality  of 
villeins  in  the  kingdom  have  long  ago 
fprouted  up  into  copyholders:  their  perfons. 
being  enfanchiled  by  man urnifiion  or  long 
acquiefcence ;  but  their  eitates  in  iirii5t- 
nefs,  remaining  Subject  to  the  fame  fer- 
vile  conditions  and  forfeitures  as  before; 
though,  in  general,  the  villein  fervices  are 
ulually  commuted  for  a  fmall  pecuniary 
quit-rent. 

As  a  farther  confequence  of  what  has 
been  premifed,  we  may  collecl:  thefe  two 
main  principle1!,  which  are  held  to  be  the 
fupportcrs  of  a  copyhold  tenure,  and  with- 
out which  it  cannot  exift:  1.  That  the  lands 
be  parcel  of,  and  fituate  within,  that  ma- 
nor, under  which  it  is  held.  2  That  they 
have  been  derailed,  or  demifeable,  by  copy' 
of  court-roll  immemomlly.  For  imme- 
morial cuitom  is  the  law  of  all  tenures  by 
copy  :  fo  that  no  new  copyhold  can  Strictdy 
{peaking,  be  granted  at  this  day. 

In  fome  manors,  where  the  cuMorn  hath 
been  to  permit  the  heir  to  Succeed  the  an- 
cestor in  his  tenure,  the  eitates  are  Stiled 
copyholds  of  inheritance;  in  others,  where 
the  lords  have  been  more  vigilant  to  main- 
tain their  rights,  they  remain  copyholds 
for  life  only:  for  the  cuitom  of  the  manor 
has  in  both  cafes  fo  far  fuperfeded  the  will 
of  the  lord,  that,  provided  the  fervices  be 
performed  or  Stipulated  for  by  fealty,  he. 
cannot,  in  the  firft  inltance,  refufe  to  admit 
the  heir  of  his  tenant  upon  his  death;  nor, 
in  the  Second,  can  he  remove  his  prefent 
tenant  fo  long  as  he  lives,  though  he  holds 
nominally  by  the  precarious  tenure  of  his 
lord's  will. 

The  fruits  and  appendages  of  a  copy- 
hold tenure,  that  it  hath  in  common  with 
free  tenures,  are  fealty,  fervices,  (as  well 
in  rents  as  otherwife)  reliefs,  and  eScheats. 
The  two  latter  belong  only  to  copyholds  of 
inheritance  ;  the  former  to  thofe  for  life 
alfo.  But,  be  fides  thefe,  copyholds  have 
alfo  heriots,  wardfhip,  and  fines.  Heriots, 
which  I  think  are  agreed  to  be  a  Danifh 
cuitom,  are  a  render  of  the  bell  beaSt  or 
other  good  (as  the  cuitom  may  be)  to  the 
lord  on  the  death  of  the  tenant.  This  is 
plainly  a  relic  of  villein  tenure ;  there  be- 
ing originally  lefs  hardihip  in  it,  when  all 
the  goods  and  chattels  belonged  to  the 
lord,  and  he  might  have  Seized  them  evca 
3Kz 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


in  the  villein's  life-time.     Thefe  are  inci- 
dent  to  both    fpecies  of  copyhold ;    but 
wardship  and  fines  to  thofe  of  inheritance 
only.     Wardship,  in  copyhold  eflates,  par- 
takes both  of  that  in  chivalry  and  that  in 
focage.     Like  that  in  chivalry,  the  lord  is 
the   legal   guardian,    who   ufually  affigns 
fome  relation  of  the  infant  tenant  to  act  in 
his  (lead:  and  he,  like  guardian  in  Socage, 
is  accountable  to  his  ward  for  the  profits. 
Of  fines,  fome  are  in  the  nature  cf  primer 
feifins,  due  on  the  death  of  each  tenant, 
ethers  are  mere  fines  for  alienation  of  the 
lands;  in  feme  manors  only  one  of  thefe 
forts  can  be  demanded,  in  feme  both,  and 
in  others  neither.      They  are  Sometimes 
arbitrary  and  at  the  will  of  the  lord,  fome- 
times fixed  by  cuftom :    but,  even   when 
arbitrary,  the  courts  of  law,   in  favour  of 
the  liberty  of  copyholders,  have  tied  them 
down   to  be  reafonable   in  their  extent ; 
ctherwife  they  might  amount  to  a  difheri- 
fon  of  the  eitate.     No  fine  therefore  is  al- 
lowed to  be  taken  upon  defcents  and  aliena- 
tions (unlefs  in  particular  circumftances) 
of  more  than  two  years  improved  value  of 
the  ellate.     From  this  inftanoe   we  may 
judge  of  the  favourable  difpofition,  that 
the  law  of  England  (which  is  a  law  of  li- 
berty) hath  always  fhewn  to  this  fpecies  of 
tenants ;  by  removing,  as  far  as  poffible, 
every  real  badge  of  Slavery  from  them, 
however  fome  nominal  ones  may  continue. 
It  fuffered  cuftom  very  early'  to  get  the 
better  of  the  exprefs  terms  upon  which  they 
held  their  lands ;   by  declaring,  that  the 
will  of  the  lord  was  to  be  interpreted  by  the 
cuftom  of  the  manor:  and,  where  no  cuf- 
tom has  been  Suffered  to  grow  up  to  the 
prejudice  of  the  lord,  as  in  this  cafe  of  ar- 
bitrary fines,  the  law  icfelf  interpofes  in  an 
equitable  method,  and  will  not  fufFer  the 
lord  to  extend  his  power  fo  far  as  to  disin- 
herit the  tenant. 

BlacKjlcne  s  Commentaries. 

§  58.     Hard  Words  defended. 
_  Few  faults  of  ftyle,  whether  real  or  ima- 
ginary, excite  the  malignity  of  a  more  nu- 
merous clafs  of  readers,  than  the  ufe  of 
hard  words. 

If  an  author  be  fuppofed  to  involve  his 
thoughts  involuntary  obfeurity,  and  to  ob- 
struct, by  unneceffary  difficulties,  a  mind 
eager  in  purfuit  of  truth;  if  he  writes  not  to 
make  others  learned,  but  to  boaft  the  le'arn- 
^  ngwhich  he  pofFefTes  himfelf,  and  wifties  to 
beadmiredratherthan  understood,  hecoun- 
tfta&j  the  hrft  end  of  writing,  and  juftly 


fuffers  the  utmoft  feverity  of  cenfure,  or  the 
more  afflictive  feverity  of  neglect 

But  words  are  only  hard  to  thofe  who  do^ 
not  underftand  then  ;  and  the  critic  ought 
always  to  enquire,  whether  he  is  incom- 
moded by  the  fault  of  the  writer,  or  by 
his  own. 

Every  author  does  not  write  for  every 
reader ;  many  queftions  are  fuch  as  the  illi- 
terate part  of  mankind  can  have  neither 
in  te  re  ft  nor  pleafure  in  difcuffing,  and 
which  therefore  it  would  be  an  ufelefs  en- 
deavour to  levy  with  common  minds,  by 
tirefomc  circumlocutions  or  laborious  ex- 
planations; and  many  Subjects  of  general 
ufe  may  be  treated  in  a  different  manner, 
as  the  book  is  intended  for  the  learned  or 
the  ignorant.  Diftufion  and  explication 
are  neceSTary  to  the  instruction  of  thofe 
who,  being  neither  able  nor  accuftomed  to 
think  for  themSelves,  can  learn  only  what  is: 
exprefsly  taught ;  but  they  who  can  form 
parallels,  difcover  confequences,  and  mul- 
tiply conclusions,  are  belt  pleafed  with  in- 
volution of  argument  and  compression  of 
thought ;  they  delire  only  to  receive  the 
feeds  of  knowledge  which  they  may  branch 
out  by  their  own  power,  to  have  the  way 
to  truth  pointed  out  which  they  can  then 
follow  without  a  guide. 

The  Guardian  directs  one  of  his  pupils 
<'  to  think  with  the  wife,  but  Speak  with 
the  vulgar.  This  is  a  precept  fpecious 
enough,  but  not  always  practicable.  Dif- 
ference of  thoughts  will  produce  difference 
of  language,  He  that  thinks  with  more 
extent  than  another  will  want  words  of 
larger  meaning  ;  he  that  thinks  with  more 
fubtilty  will  feek  for  terms  of  more  nice 
discrimination ;  and  where  is  the  wonder, 
Since  words  are  but  the  images  of  things, 
that  he  who  never  knew  the  originals 
fhould  not  know  the  copies?' 

Yet  vanity  inclines  us  to  find  faults  any 
where  rather  than  in  ourfelves.  He  that 
reads  and  grows  wifer,  feldom  fufpedts  his 
own  deficiency ;  but  complains  cf  hard 
words  and  obfeure  Sentences,  and  afks  why 
books  are  written  which  cannot  be  under- 
stood. 

Among  the  hard  words"  which  are  no 
longer  to  be  ufed,  it  has  been  long  the  cuf- 
tom to  number  terms  of  art.  "  Everyman 
(fays  Swift)  is  more  able  to' explain  the 
fubj^ct  of  an  art  than  its  profeftbrs;  a  far- 
mer will  tell  you,  in  two  words,  that  he 
hns  broken  his  leg  ;  but  a  fufgeon,  after  a 
long  difcourfe,  Shall  leave  you  as  ignorant 
as  you  were  before."    This  could  only 

have 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,   &c.         869 


imvc  been  faid  but  by  fuch  an  exact  ob- 
server of  life,  in  gratification  of  malignity, 
or  in  orientation  ofaciuenefs.  Every  hour 
produees  inftances  of  the  neceflity  of  terms 
of  art.  Mankind  could  never  confpire  in 
uniform  affectation;  it  is  not  but  by  necef- 
fity  that  every  fcience  and  every  trade  has 
its  peculiar  language.  They  that  content 
themfelves  with  general  ideas  may  reft  in 
general  terms ;  but  thofe  whole  fludies  or 
employments  force  them  upon  clofer  in- 
fpection,  muft  have  names  for  particular 
parts,  and  words  by  which  they  may  ex- 
press various  modes  of  combination,  Tuch 
as  none  but  themfelves  have  occafion  to 
confider. 

Artiftsare  indeed fometimes ready  to  fup- 
pofe,  that  none  can  be  ftrangers  to  words 
to  which  themfelves  are  familiar,  talk  to 
an  incidental  enquirer  as  they  talk  to  one 
another,  and  make  their  knowledge  ridicu- 
lous by  injudicious  obtrufion.  An  art  can- 
not be  taught  but  by  its  proper  terms,  but 
it  is  not  always  neceifary  to  teach  the  art. 

That  the  vulgar  exprefs  their  thoughts 
clearly  is  far  from  true ;  and  what  pei  fpi- 
cuity  can  be  found  among  them  proceeds 
not  from  the  eaiinefs  of  their  language,  but 
the  fhallownefs  of  their  thoughts.  He  that 
fees  a  building  as  a  common  ipectator,  con- 
tents himfelf  with  relating  that  it  is  great 
or  little,  mean  or  fplendid,  lofty  or  low ;  all 
thefe  words  are  intelligible  and  common, 
but  they  convey  no  diftinct  or  limited  ideas; 
if  he  attempts,  without  the  terms  of  archi- 
tecture, to  delineate  the  parts,  or  enume- 
rate the  ornaments,  his  narration  at  once 
becomes  unintelligible.  The  terms,  in- 
deed, generally  dilpleafe,  becaufe  they  are 
underftood  by  few ;  but  they  are  little  un- 
derftoQd  only,  becaufe  few  that  look  upon 
an  edifice  examine  its  parts,  or  analyfe  its 
columns  into  their  members. 

The  (late  of  every  other  art  is  the  fame; 
ask  iscurforily  furveyed  or  accurately  exa- 
mined, different  forms  of  expreffion  become 
proper.  In  morality  it  is' one  thing  to  dif- 
cufs  the  niceties  of  the  cafuift,  and  another 
to  direct  the  practice  of  common  life.  In 
agriculture,  he  that  inftru&s  the  farmer  to 
plough  and  fow,  may  convey  his  notions 
without  the  words  which  he  wpuld  find  ne- 
eefikry  in  explaining  to  philosophers  the 
procefs  pf  vegetation  ;  and  if  he,  who  has 
nothing  to  do  but  to  be  hpneft  by  the  fhort- 
eft  way,  will  perplex  his  mind  with  fubtle 
Speculations  ;  or  if  he  whofe  talk  is  to  reap 
and.  thrafh,  will  not  be  contented  without 
«xamiaii)g  the  evolution  ef  fa  feed,  sad 


circulation  of  the  fap,  the  writers  whom 
either  lhall  confult  are  very  little  to  be 
blamed,  though  it  fhould  fometimes  hap- 
pen that  they  are  read  in  vain.       Idler. 

§  59.     Difcontent,  the  co?n?non  Lot  of  alt 
Mankind. 

Such  is  the  emptinefs  of  human  enjoy- 
ments, that  we  are  always  impatient  of  the 
prefent.  Attainment  is  followed  by  neg- 
left,  and  pofieffion  by  difguft;  and  the  ma- 
licious remark  of  the  Greek  epigrammatift 
on  marriage,  may  be  applied  to  every  other 
courfe  of  life,  that  its  two  days  of  happi- 
nefs  are  the  firft  and  the  Jail. 

Few  moments  are  more  pleafmg  than 
thofe  in  which  the  mind  is  concerting  mea- 
fures  for  a  new  undertaking.  From  the 
firft  hint  that  wakens  the  fancy  to  the  hour 
of  aclual  execution,  all  is  improvement  and 
progrefs,  triumph  and  felicity.  Every  hour 
brings  additions  to  the  original  fcheme, 
fuggefts  fome  new  expedient  to  fecure  fuc- 
cefs,  or  difcovers  confequential  advantages 
not  hitherto  forefeen.  While  preparations 
are  made  and  materials  accumulated,  day 
glides  after  day  through  elyfian  profpe&s, 
and  the  heart  dances  to  the  fong  of  hope. 

Such  is  the  pleafure  of  projecting,  that 
many  content  themfelves  with  a  fucceflion 
of  vilionary  fchemes,.2nd  wear  out  their  al* 
lotted  time  in  the  calm  amufement  of  con- 
triving what  they  never  attempt  or  hope 
to  execute. 

Others,  not  able  to  feaft  their  imagina- 
tion with  pure  ideas,  advance  fomewhat 
nearer  to  the  groflhefs  of  action,  with  great 
diligence  collect  whatever  is  requiiite  to 
their  defign,  and,  after  a  thoufand  re- 
fearches  and  confultations,  are  fnatched 
away  by  death,  as  they  ftand  in  procinttu. 
waiting  for  a  proper  opportunity  to  begin. 

If  there  were  no  other  end  of  life,  than 
to  find  fome  adequate  folace  for  every  day, 
I  know  not  whether  any  condition  could  be 
preferred  to  that  of  the  man  who  involve* 
himfelf  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  never  fufv 
fers  experience  to  fhow  him  the  vanity  of 
fpeculation  ;  for  no  fooner  are  notions  re*, 
duced  to  praftice,  than  tranquillity  and 
confidence  forfake  the  breaft ;  gyery  day 
brings  its  talk,  and  often  without  bringing 
abilities  to  perform  it ;  difficulties  embar- 
rafs,  uncertainty  perplexes,  oppofition  re- 
tards, cenfure  exafperates,  or  neglect  de- 
prefies.  We  proceed,  becaufe  we  have  be- 
gun.; we  complete  our  defign,  that  the  la- 
bour already  fpent  r*>ay  net  be  vain:  but 
19  expectation  gradually  4is$  away,  the 
3^3  £»/ 


87© 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PKOSE. 


gay  fmilc  of"  alacrity  difappears,  we  are 
neceffitated  to  implore  feverer  powers,  and 
trull  the  event  to  patience  and  confiV.iney. 

When  once  our  labour  has  begun,  the 
comfort  that  enables  us  to  endure  it  is  the 
profpect  of  its  end ;  for  though  in  every 
long  work  there  are  fome  joyous  intervals 
of  ielf-applaufc,  when  the  attention  is  re- 
created by  unexpected  facility,  and  the  ima- 
gination ibothed  by  incidental  excellencies 
not  comprifed  in  the  firit  plan,  yet  the  toil 
with  which  performance  ftruggles  after 
idea,  is  fo  irkfome  and  difgiifting,  and  fo 
frequent  is  the  neceifity  of  veiling  below 
that  perfection  which  we  imagined  within 
our  reach,  that  feldom  any  man  obtains 
more  from  his  endeavours  than  a  painful 
conviction  of  his  defecls,  and  a  continual 
refufcitation  of  de fires  which  he  feels  him- 
ielf  unable  to  gratify. 

So  certainly  is  wearinefs  and  vexation 
the  concomitant  of  our  undertakings,  that 
every  man,  in  whatever  lie  is  engaged, 
confoles  himfelf  with  the  hope  of  change. 
He  that  has  made  his  way  by  afiiduity  and 
vigilance  to  public  employment,  talks 
among  his  friends  of  nothing  but  the  de- 
light of  retirement :  he  whom  the  neccfiity 
of  folitary  application  fecludes  from  the 
world,  lillens  with  a  beating  heart  to  its 
diilant  noifes,  longs  to  mingle  with  living 
beings,  and  refolves,  when  he  can  regulate 
his  hours  by  his  own  choice,  to  take  his  fill 
of  merriment  and  diverlions,  or  to  difplay 
his  abilities  on  the  univerfal  theatre,  and 
enjoy  the  pleafure  of  dillinclion  and  ap- 
plaufe. 

Every  defire,  however  innocent  or  na- 
tural, grows  dangerous,  as  by  long  indul- 
gence it  becomes  afcendant  in  the  mind. 
When  we  have  been  much  accullomed  to 
confider  any  thing  as  capable  of  giving 
happinefs,  it  is  not  eafy  to  reltrain  our  ar- 
dour, or  to  forbear  fome  precipitation  in 
our  advances,  and  irregularity  in  oar  pur- 
fuits.  He  that  has  long  cultivated  the  tree, 
watched  the  fwelling  bud  and  opening 
bloflbm,  and  pleafed  himfelf  with  com- 
puting how  much  every  fun  and  fhower 
added  to  its  growth,  fcarcely  flays  till  the 
fruit  has  obtained  its  maturity,  but  defeats 
•his  own  cares  by  eagernefs  to  reward 
them.  .-When  we  have  diligently  laboured 
for  any  purpofe,  we  are  willing  to  believe 
that  we  have  attained  it ;  and  becaufe  we 
-have  already  done  much,  too  fuddenly  con- 
clude that  no  more  is  to  be  done. 

.  All  attraction,  is  encreaied  by  the  ap- 
proach' of  the  attracting  body.    We  never 


find  ourfelves  fo  defirous  to  finilh,  as  in 
the  latter  part  of  our  work,  or  fo  impa- 
tient of  delay,  as  when  we  know  that  de- 
lay cannot  be  long.  Part  of  this  unfea- 
fonable  importunity  of  difconter.t  may  be 
jultly  imputed  to  langour  and  wearinefs, 
which  muil  always  opprefs  us  more  as 
our  toil  has  been  longer  continued  ;  but 
the  greater  part  uiua'lly  proceeds  from 
frequent  contemplation  of  that  eafe  which 
we  now  confider  as  near  and  certain,  and 
which,  when  it  has  once  flattered  our 
hopes,  we  cannot  fuft'er  to  be  longer  with- 
held. Rambler. 

§  60.  Feodal  Syjfem,  Hiftoty  of  its  R!ji 
and  Progrefs. 
The  conltitution  of  feuds  had  its  origi- 
nal from  the  military  policy  of  the  Nor- 
thern or  Celtic  nations,  the  Goths,  the 
Hunns,  the  Franks,  the  Vandals,  and  the 
Lombards,  who,  all  migrating  from  the 
fame  ojjicina gentium,  as  Craig  very  juftly 
intitles  it,  poured  themfelves  in  vail  quan- 
tities into  all  the  regions  of  Europe,  at  the 
declcnfion  of  the  Roman  empire.  It  was 
brought  by  them  from  their  own  countries, 
and  continued  in  their  refpeclive  colonies 
as  the  molt  likely  means  to  fecure  their 
new  acquifitions  :  and,  to  that  end,  large 
diftricts  or  parcels  of  land  were  allotted  by 
the  conquering  general  to  the  fuperior  of- 
ficers of  the  army,  and  by  them  dealt  out 
again  in  fmaller  parcels  or  allotments  to 
the  inferior  officers  and  molt  delerving 
foldiers.  Thefe  allotments  were  called 
feoda,  feuds,  fiefs,  or  fees  ;  which  lair,  ap- 
pellation, in  the  northern  languages,  fignb- 
fies  a  conditional  ftipend  or  reward.  Re- 
wards or  fiipends  they  evidently  were: 
and  the  condition  annexed  to  them  was, 
that  the  poffeffor  ihould  do  fervice  faith- 
fully, both  at  home  and  in  the  wars,  to> 
him  by  whom  they  were  given ;  for  which 
purpofe  he  took  the  juramenttim  fidelitatis, 
or  oath  of  fealty  :  and  in  cafe  of  the  breach 
of  this  condition  and  oath,  by  not  performs 
ing  the  fiipulated  fervice,  or  by  deferting 
the  lord  in  battle,  the  lands  were  again  to 
revert  to  him  who  granted  them. 

Allotments  thus  acquired,  naturally  en- 
gaged fuch  as  accepted  them  to  defend 
them :  and,  as  they  all  fprang  from  the 
fame  right  of  conqueft,  ho  part  could  fub- 
fill  independent  of  the  whole ;  wherefore  all 
givers, ■•  as  well  as  receivers,  were  mutually 
bound  to  defend  each  other's  pofieflions. 
But,  as  that  could  not  effectually  be  done 
in  a  tumultuous,  irregular  way,  govern- 


ment 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


871 


meat,  and  to  that  purpofe  fubordination, 
was  necefiary.  Every  receiver  of  lands, 
or  feudatory,  was  therefore  bound,  when 
c'al'ed  upon  by  his  benefactor,  or  imme- 
diate lord  of  his  feud  or  fee,  to  do  all  in 
his  power  to  defend  him.  Such  benefaclor 
Or  lord  was  likewife  fubordinate  to  and 
under  the  command  of  his  immediate  be- 
nefaclor or  fuperior;  and  fo  upwards  to 
the  prince  or  general  himfelf.  And  the 
feveral  lords  were  alfo  reciprocally  bound, 
in  their  refpeclive  gradations,  to  protect, 
the  poileffions  they  had  given.  Thus  the 
feodal  connection  was  eitabliihed,  a  proper 
military  fubjeclion  was  naturally  intro- 
duced, and  an  army  of  feudatories  were 
always  ready  inliited,  and  mutually  pre- 
pared to  mutter,  not  oiily  in  defence  of 
each  man's  own  feveral  property,  but  alio 
in  defence  of  the  whole,  and  of  every  part 
of  this  their  newly-acquired  country  :  the 
prudence  of  which  confutation  was  foon 
iurhciently  vifible  in  the  ftrength  and  fpi- 
rit  with  which  they  maintained  their  con- 
quells. 

The  univerfality  and  early  ufe  of  this 
feodal  plan,  among  all  thofe  nations  which, 
in  complailance  to  the  Romans,  we  itill 
call  Barbarous,  may  appear  from  what  is 
recorded  of  the  Cimbri  and  Tutoncs,  na- 
tions of  the  fame  northern  original  as  thofe 
whom  we  have  been  defcribing,  at  their 
firit  irruption  into  Italy  about  a  century 
before  the  Chriitian  asra.  They  demand- 
ed of  the  Romans,  "  ut  martius  populus  ali- 
quid  Jib  i  terras  daret  qua/it  Jlipendium  :  c&te- 
i%um,  ut  ijelht,  manibus  atque  armis  fuis  ute- 
retur."  The  fenfe  of  which  may  be  thus 
rendered  :  M  they  defired  llipendary  lands 
(that  is,  feuds)  to  be  allowed  them,  to  be 
held  by  military  and  other  perfonal  fer- 
vices,  whenever  their  lords  fhould  call 
upon  them."  This  was  evidently  the  fame 
conititution,  that  difplayed  itfelf  more  fully 
about  feven  hundred  years  afterwards ; 
when  the  Salii,  Burgundians,  and  Franks, 
broke  in  upon  Gaul,  the  Vifigothson  Spain, 
and  the  Lombards  upon  Italy,  and  intro- 
duced with  themfelves  this  northern  plan 
of  polity,  ferving  at  once  to  diftribute,  and 
to  protecl,  the  territories  they  had  newly 
gained.  And  from  hence  it  is  probable, 
that  the  emperor  Alexander  Severus  took 
the  hint,  of  dividing  lands  conquered  from 
the  enemy,  among  his  generals  and  victo- 
rious foldiery,  on  condition  of  receiving 
military  fervice  from  them  and  their  heirs 
Jbr  ever. 


Scarce  had  thefe  northern   conquerors 
eftubliihed  themfelves  in  their  new  domi- 
nions, when  the  vvifdom  of  their  conftitu- 
tions,   as    well  as    their    perfonal  valour, 
alarmed  all  the  princes  of  Europe  ;  that 
is,  of  thofe  countries  which  had  formerly 
been  Roman  provinces,  but  had  revolted, 
or  were  deferted  by  their  old  mailers,  in 
the  general  wreck  of  the  empire.    Where- 
fore moll,  if  not  all,  of  them,  thought  it 
necefiary  to  enter  into  the  fame,  or  a  fimi- 
lar  plan  of  policy.     For  whereas,  before, 
the  pofteffions  of  their  fubjecls  were  per- 
fectly allodial  (that  is,  wholly  Independent, 
and  held  of  no  fuperior  at  all)  now  they 
parcelled   out   their  royal  territories,   or 
pcrfuaded   their  fubjecls  to  furrender  up 
and  retake  their  own  landed  property,  un- 
der the  like  feodal  obligation  of  military 
fealty.     Aad   thus,  in  the  compafs   of  a 
very  few  years,  the  feodal  conititution,  or 
the  dodtrine  of  tenure,  extended  itfelf  over 
all  the  weliern  world.     Which  alteration 
of  landed  property,  in  fo  very  material  a 
point,  neceiTarily  drew  after  it  an  altera- 
tion of  laws  and  cuftoms ;  fo  that  the  feo- 
dal laws  foon  drove  out  the  Roman,  which 
had  univerfally  obtained,  but  now  became 
for    many   centuries   loft   and   forgotten ; 
and  Italy  itfelf  (as  fome  of  the  civilians, 
with   more   fpleen   than  judgment,   have 
exprefTed  it)  belhiinas,  atque  ferinas,  imtna- 
nefque  Longobardcrmn  leges  accepit. 

But  this  feodal  polity,  which  was  thus 
by  degrees  eftablilhed  over  all  the  conti- 
nent of  Europe,  feems  not  to  have  been 
received  in  this  part  of  our  ifland,  at  leaft 
not  univerfally,  and  as  a  part  of  the  na- 
tional conititution,  till  the  reign  of  William 
the  Norman.  Not  but  that  it  is  reafon- 
able  to  believe,  from  abundant  traces  in 
our  hiitory  and  laws,  that  even  in  the  times 
of  the  Saxons,  who  were  a  fwarm  from 
what  Sir  William  Temple  calls  the  fame 
northern  hive,  fornething  fimilar  to  this 
was  in  ufe  :  yet  not  fo  extend vely,  nor  at- 
tended with'all  the  rigour,  that  was  after- 
wards imported  by  the  Normans.  For 
the  Saxons  were  firmly  fettled  in  this 
ifland,  at  leaft  as  early  as  the  year  600  : 
and  it  was  not  till  two  centuries  after,  that 
feuds  arrived  to  their  full  vigour  and  ma- 
turity, even  on  the  continent  of  Europe, 

This  introduction  however  of  the  feodal 
tenures  into  England,  by  king  William, 
does  ngt  feem  to  have  been  effecled  im- 
mediately after  the  conqueft,  nor  by  rhe 
mere  arbitrary  will  and  power  of  the  con- 
3  K  4  ^uerori 


Srz 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS 


IN     PROSE. 


queror ;  but  to  have  been  confented  to  by     very  year  the  king  was  attended 
the  great  council  of  the  nation  long  after     his  nobility  at  Sarum  ; 


his  title  was  cftabliihed.  Indeed,  from  the 
prodigious  (laughter  of  the  Englilh  no- 
bility atthe  battle  of  Mailings,  and  the 
iruitlefs  insurrections  of  thofe  who  furviv- 
ed,  fuch  numerous  forfeitures  had  accrued, 
that  he  was  able   to  reward  his  Norman 


where  all  the  prin- 
cipal landholders  fubmitted  their  lands  to* 
the  yoke  of  military  tenure,,  became  the 
king's  vailals,  and  did  homage  ifud  fealty 
to  his  perjfon.  This  feems  to  have  been 
the  a^ra  of  formally  introducing  the  feodal 
tenures  by   law ;  and  probably  the  very 


g>  ji  .  ,  ,  ■- ""•»      »>««uu   uy    i«w  ,    diiu,    uiuutvufy    uie    very 

followers  With  very   large  and   cxtenfive     law,  thus  made  at  the  council  of  Sarum, 
Tpoileihons :_  u  Inch  gave  a  handle  t.®  the 
monkifh  hiftorians,  and  fach  as  have  im- 
plicitly followed  them,  to  reprefent   him 
as  having,  by  the  right  of  the  fword,  feked 


on  all  the   lauds  of  England,  and   dealt 
them  cut  again  to  his  own  favourites.     A 


s  that  which  is  Rill  extant,  and  couched 
in  thefe  remarkable  words :  "fatuimusr 
ut  omnes  liber  i  homines  fevdere  15  facrame;Uo 
affirmant,  quod  intra  13  extra  un-i-verjitm  reg- 
num  Angl'ue  U'ilhdnio  regi  domino  Juo  f deles 

-  elje  -uolunt ;  terras  13  honor  es  illius  dmni  fide- 
auppontion,  grounded  unnn  i  mi'M-on  t-  r  ■  r  ■  ■  . 
i  <•  c  i  to  I  ^  mina<ien  htate  ubique  Jer-vare  cum  so,  ct  i  antra  immicos 
knle  of  the  word  conauefi^  which,  in  its  et  dienigeaas  defender*."  The  terms  of 
feodal  acceptation  hgmhes  no  more  than  this  law  fas  Sir  Martin  Wright  has  ob- 
«cTuifuu>n  ;  ana  this  hu  led  many  hally  ferved)  are  plainly  feodal:  for,  firft,  it  re- 
writers  into  a  ibange  hikoncal    miflake,  quires  the  oath  of  fealty,  which  made,  in 

and  one  which,  uoon  the  flio-htefl  r/imi  ■    «?i  '   r    r    „r  -l      c     rn  x. 

"  c^ami-     t-ae  lenie  oi   the  feudilis,  every  man  that 

took  it  a  tenant  or  vaflal;  and,  fecondly, 

the  tenants  obliged  themfclves  to  defend 

their  lords  territories  and  titles  againlt  all 

enemies  foreign  and  demeiiic.     But  what 

pats  the  matter  out  of  difpute,  is  ano:her 

law  of  the  fame   collection,  which  exadta 

the    performance   of  the  military   feodal 

fervices,  as  ordained  by  the  general  coun- 

Om/iL's  comites,  £j  haroncs,  c5*  milites? 


nation,  will  be  found  to  be  mail  untrue. 
However,  certain  it  is,  that  the  Normans 
now  began  to  gain  very  large  poffeffions 
in  England :  <vnd  their  regard  for  their 
feodal  law,  under  which  thev  had  long 
lived,  together  with  the  king's  recom- 
mendation of  this  policy  to  the  Engliih, 
as  the  belt  way  to  put  themfelves  on  a' 
mrhtary  footing,  and  thereby   to  prevent     , 

any  future  attempts  from   the  continent-      tj'r 

L,-'i        u  -1      i  -  »-oiuinent,     t5  Jer<vtentes,  C3  uniiierlt  Uben  homines,  to- 

were  probaoly  the  rea  ons   that  rrpv^W     <•  •      a  ■  .       '■-■;;      .^' 

1,,,,/ni'      ,i  Li-/i  7  preyaiiea     tins  re?m  noftri  pra\iiai,  habeant  <5   tcneani 

to  eftea  h,se  labhfhmenthere.  And  per-  fe  fjpsr  bL  Iannis  &?  in  ejuis,  ut  duct 
haps  we  may  oe  able  to  afcertain  the  time,  Vtfi-M  :  W  fi»t  Jimpcr  pZntti  &  hen, 
is  great  revolution  ,n  our  landed  pro-    paraii  ad 'JervitiumJlJn  infegrL  nobis  ex- 

plendum  C3  pjeragendum  cum  opus  fucrit  ;  fe~ 
cundwn  quod  nobis  detent  de  fezdis  cif  teug- 
ineniisfius  de  jure  facers  \  &  Jicut  Mis  jla- 
iuimus  per  commune  ccmilium  totius  regni 
nqftrt  pra-dicli. ' ' 

This  new  polity  therefore  feems  not  to 
have   been  imjpofed  by  the  conqueror,  but 
nationally  and  freely  adopted  by  the  ge- 
neral aflembly  of  the  whole  realm,  in  the' 
i»ere    fame   manner  as  other  nations   of  Europe 
juar  .red    upon     every    landholder,    and     had    before   adopted    it,    upon    the    lame 

Kljr'  thC  ?C°ph-  This  "^  F'»lPte  of  fclf-fecurity.  And,  in  parti- 
wi  1  f  nt0?e-:C'  V/Uh  the  erkv-  cuiar,  thev  had  the  recent  example  of  the 
ance,  ocwfconed.by  a  lorc-gn  force,  might     .French  nation  before  their  eyes,    which 

tttF^iZ1^  >C  k^-   rt^Web     had  gradually  furrendered  up  all  its  aiio- 
and  the  betser  mchne  the  nobility  to  Men 
to  his  propofals  for  putting  them  in  a 


perty,  with  a  tolerable  degree  of  exaclnefs. 
Eorwe  learn  from  the  Saxon  Chronicle, 
that  in  the  nineteenth  year  of -.king  WjL 
1/am's  reign,  an  invahon  was  apprehend- 
ed fpm  Denmark;  and  the  military  eoniii- 
tution  of  the  Saxons  being  then  laid  afide, 
and  .no  other  introduced  in  its  Head,  th' 
kingdom  was  wholly  dcfencelefs :  which 
occafioned  the  king  to  bring  over  a  ik'rfre 
army  of  Normans  and  Bretons,  who  w  ' 


dial  or  free  lands  into  the  king's  hands, 


tr, "    f\T  v  mmS  t!iem  ln  a  P°f"     "b°  reftorcd  then  to  the  owners  as  a  bene- 

mlV    C11Kl     I  ^'  ?  \°°n  aS  th°  d:U1-     M'"™  or  £ud' t0  be  held  t0' tbem  and  J'uch 
g  r  was  oi.  er,  the  king  lu-ld  a  great  conn-     of  their  heirs  as  they  -previoufty  nominated 


oi  to  enquire  into  the  Hate  of  the 
tne  immediate  cor.fequence  of  which  was- 
the  compuing  of  the  great  iurvcy  caked 
Aomefday-bpok,  which  was  nailli,d  in  the 
httxi  year;  and  in  the  latter  end  of  that 


ey  previoufly  npmi 
to  the  king:  and  thus,  by  degrees,  all  the 
allodial  eflates  of  France  were  converted 
into  feuds,  and  the  freemen  became  the 
vaflals  of  the  crown.  The  only  difference 
between  this  change  of  tenures  in  France, 

and 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,     &c.         873 


and  that  in  England,  was,  that  the  former 
was  effected  gradually,  by  the  confent  of 
private  perfons;  the  latter  was  done  at 
once,  all  over  England,  by  the  common 
confent  of  the  nation. 

In  confequence  of  this  change,  it  be- 
came a  fundamental  maxim  and  neceffary 
principle  (though  in  reality  a  mere  fiction) 
of  our  Englilh  tenures,  <'  that  the  king  is 
the  univerfal  lord  and  original  proprietor 
of  all  the  lands  in  his  kingdom;  and  that 
no  man  doth  or  can  poileSs  any  part  of  it, 
but   what  has  mediately  or   immediately 
been   derived  as  a  gift  from  him,  to  be 
held  upon  feodal  fervices."     For,  this  be- 
ing the  real  cafe  in  pure,  original,  proper 
feuds,  other  nations  who  adopted  this  fyf- 
tem  were  obliged  to  act  upon  the  fame 
fuppofition,  as  a  fubflruction  and  founda- 
tion of  their  new  polity,  though  the  fact 
was  indeed  far  otherwife.     And,  indeed, 
by  thus  confenting  to  the  introduction  of 
feodal  tenures,  our  Englilh  ancestors  pro- 
bably meant.no   more    than   to   put  the 
kingdom  in  a  State  of  defence  by  a  mili- 
tary fyftem ;  and  to  oblige  themlelves  (in 
refpedt  of  their    lands)   to    maintain    the 
king's  title  and  territories,  with  equal  vi- 
gour and  fealty,  as  if  they  had  received 
their    lands  from  his  bounty  upon   thefe 
exprefs  conditions,  as  pure,  proper,  bene- 
ficiary feudatories.     But,    whatever  their 
meaning   was,    the   Norman  interpreters, 
fkillcd  in  all  the  niceties  of  the  feodal  con- 
stitutions, and  well  understanding  the  im- 
port and  extent  of  the  feodal  terms,  gave 
a  very  different  construction  to  this  pro- 
ceeding ;  and  thereupon  took  a  handle  to 
introduce,  not  only  the  rigorous  doctrines 
which  prevailed  in  the  duchy  of  Norman- 
dy, but  alfo  fuch  fruits  and  dependencies, 
fuch  hardships  and  fervices,  as  were  never 
known  to  other  nations ;  as  if  the  English, 
had  in  fact,  as  well  as  theory,  owed  every 
thing  they  had  to  the  bounty  of  their  fo- 
vereign  lord. 

Our  ancestors,  therefore,  who  were  by 
no  means  beneficiaries,  but  had  barely 
confented  to  this  fiction  of  tenure  from  the 
crown,  as  the  bafisof  a  military  difcipline, 
with  reafon  looked  upon  thofe  deductions 
as  grievous  impofitions,  and  arbitrary  con- 
clusions from  principles  that,  as  to  them, 
had  no  foundation  in  truth.  However, 
this,  king,  and  his  fon  William  Rufus, 
kept  up  with  a  high  hand  all  the  rigours 
of. the. feodal  doctrines :  but  their  fucceilbr, 
Henry.  I.  iound  it  expedient,  when  he  Cet 
up  his  pretenfions  to.  the -crown,  K>  promAfe 


a  restitution  of  the  laws  of  king  Edward 
the Confeffor,  or  ancient  Saxon  fyilern;  and 
accordingly,  in  the  firlt  year  of  his  reign, 
granted  a  charter,  whereby  he  gave  up  the 
greater  grievances,  but  Still  referved   the 
fiction  of  feodal  tenure,  for  the  fame  mili- 
tary purpofes  which  engaged  his  father  to 
introduce  it.     But  this  charter  was  gradu- 
ally broke  through,  and  the  former  griev- 
ances were   revived  and   aggravated,  by 
himfelf  and  fucceeding  princes;  till,  in  the 
reign  of  king  John,  they  became  fo  intole- 
rable, that  they  occaiioned  his  barons,  or 
principal  feudatories,  to  rife  up  in  arms 
agadrjft  him :  which  at  length  produced  the 
famous  great  charter  at  Running-mead, 
which,  with  fome  alterations, was  confirmed 
by  his  fon  Henry  III.     And  though  its  im- 
munities (efpecially  as  altered  on  its  laft 
edition  by  his  fon)  are  very  greatly  Short 
of  thofe  granted  by  Henry  I.  it  was  juflly 
efleemed  at  the  time  a  vaSt  acquisition  to 
Engliih  liberty.     Indeed,  by  the  farther 
alteration  of  tenures,  that  has   fince  hap- 
pened, many  of  thefe  immunities  may  now 
appear,  to  a  common  obferver,  of  much 
lefs  confequence  than  they   really   were 
when  granted  :  but  this,  properly  consi- 
dered, will  (hew,  not  that  the  acquisitions 
under  John   were   fmall,   but  that  thofe 
under  Charles  were  greater.     And  from 
hence  alfo  arifes  another  inference;  that 
the  liberties  of  Englishmen  are  not  (as  fome 
arbitrary  writers  would  reprefent   them) 
mere   infringements  of  the  king's  prero- 
gative, extorted  from  our-  princes  by  tak- 
ing advantage  of  their  weaknefcj  but  a 
restoration  of  that  ancient  constitution,  of 
which  our  ancestors    had  been  defrauded 
by  the  art  and  finefle  of  the  Norman  law- 
yers, rather  than  deprived  by  the  force  of 
the  Norman  arms. 

Blackjione' 'j  Commentaries. 

§  61.     Of  Britijb  Juries. 

The  method  of  trials  by  juries,  is  gene- 
rally looked  upon  as  one  of  the  molt  ex- 
cellent branches  of  our  constitution.  In 
theory  it  certainly  appears  in  that  light. 
According  to  the  original  establishment, 
the  jurors  are  to  be  men  of  competent  for- 
tunes in- the  neighbourhood;  and  are  to 
be  fo  avowedly  indifferent  between  the 
parties  concerned,  that  no  reafonable  ex- 
ception can  be  made  to  them  on  either 
fide.  In  treafon,  the  perfon  accufed  kas  a 
right  to  challenge  five-and-thitty,  and  in 
felony,  twenty,  without  Shewing  caufe  of 
challenge.  Nothing  can  be-more  equitable. 

No 


*74 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PR3SE. 


No  prifoner  can  defire  a  fairer  field.  But 
the  misfortune  is,  that  our  juries  are  often 
compoied  of  men  of  mean  ellates  and  low 
underftandings,  and  many  difficult  points 
of  law  are  brought  before  them,  and  fub- 
mitted  to  their  verdict,  when  perhaps  they 
sre  not  capable  of  determining,  properly 
and  judicioufly,  fuch  nice  matters  of  jui- 
tice,  although  the  judges  of  the  court  ex- 
plain the  nature  of  the  cafe,  and  the  law 
which  arifes  upon  it.  But  if  they  are  not 
defective  in  knowledge,  they  are  fome- 
times,  I  fear,  from  their  ftation  and  indi- 
gence, liable  to  corruption.  This,  indeed, 
is  an  objection  more  to  the  privilege  lodged 
with  juries,  than  to  the  inititution  iti'&f. 
The  point  molt  liable  to  objection,  is  the 
power  which  any  one  or  more  of  the 
twelve  have,  to  ftarve  the  reft  into  a  com- 
pliance with  their  opinion ;  fo  that  the 
verdict  may  poffibly  be  given  by  ftrength 
ef  conititution,  not  by  conviction  of  con- 
science; and  wretches  hang  that  jurymen 
may  dine.  Orrery. 

§  62.     J itjl ice,  its  Nature  and  real  Import 
defined. 

Mankind,  in  general,  are  not  fufficiently 
acquainted  with  the  import  of  the  word 
jultice :  it  is  commonly  believed  to  confift 
only  in  a  performance  of  thofe  duties  to 
which  the  laws  of  fociety  can  oblige  us. 
This,  I  allow,  is  fometimes  the  import  of 
the  word,  and  in  this  fenfe  jultice  is  diltin- 
guifhed  from  equity ;  but  there  is  a  jultice 
itill  more  extenfive,  and  which  can  be  fhewn 
to  embrace  all  the  virtues  united. 

Jultice  may  be  defined,  that  virtue  which 
impels  us  to  give  to  every  perfon  what  is 
his  due.  In  this  extended  fenfe  of  the 
word,  it  comprehends  the  practice  of  every 
virtue  which  reafon  prefcribes,  or  fociety 
fliould  expect.  Our  duty  to  our  Maker, 
to  each  other,  and  to  ourfelves,  are  fully 
anfwered,  if  we  give  them  what  we  owe 
them-  Thus  jultice,  properly  fpeaking,  is 
the  only  virtue,  and  all  the  reft  have  their 
origin  in  it. 

The  qualities  of  candour,  fortitude,  cha- 
rity, and  generofity,  for  inflance,  are  not 
in  their  own  nature  virtues ;  and,  if  ever 
they  deferve  the  title,  it  is  owing  only  to 
jultice,  which  impels  and  directs  them. 
Without  fuch  a  moderator,  candour  might 
become  indifcretion,  fortitude  obllinacy, 
charity  imprudence,  and  generofity  mif- 
taken  profufion. 

A  difinterefted  action,  if  it  be  not  con- 
ducted by  j  uftice,  is,  at  belt,  indifferent  in 


its  nature,  and  not  unfrequently  even  turnf 
to  vice.  The  expences  of  frciety,  of  pre- 
lents,  of  entertainments,  and  the  other  helps 
to  chearfulnefi-,-  are  actions  merely  indiffer- 
ent, when  not  repugnant  to  a  better  me- 
thod of  difpofing  of  our  fuperfiuitiei  ;  but 
they  become  vicious,  when  they  obilruct  or 
exhault  our  abilities  from  a  more  virtuous 
difpofition  of  our  circumitances. 

True  generofity  is  a  duty  as  indifpenfa- 
bly  neceflary  as  thofe  impofed  on  us  by 
law.  It  is  a  rule  impofed  on  us  by  reafon, 
which  fhould  be  the  fovereign  law  of  a  ra- 
tional being.  But  this  generofity  does  not 
•  confiit  in  obeying  every  impulfe  of  huma- 
nity, in  following  blind  paffion  for  our 
guide,  and  impairing  our  circumitances  by 
prefent  benefactions,  fo  as  to  render  us  in- 
capable 01  future  ones. 

Gold/milb's  EJ'ayf. 

§  63.  Habit,  the  Difficulty  of  conquering. 
There  is  nothing  which  we  eltimnte  fo 
fallaciouily  as  the  force  of  our  own  refolu- 
tions,  nor  any  fallacy  which  we  fo  unwil- 
lingly and  tardily  detect.  He  that  has  re- 
folved  a  thoufand  times,  and  a  thoufand 
times  deferted  his  own  purpofe,  yet  fuffers 
no  abatement  of  his  confidence,  but  Itill 
believes  himfelf  his  own  mailer,  and  able, 
by  innate  vigour  of  ioul,  to  prefs  forward 
to  his  end,  through  all  the  obitructions  that 
inconveniences  or  delights  can  put  in  his 
way. 

That  this  miftake  fhould  prevail  for  a 
time  is  very  natural.  When  conviction  is 
prefent,  and  temptation  out  of  fight,  we  do 
not  eafily  conceive  how  any  reafonable  be- 
ing can  deviate  from  his  true  interelt. 
What  ought  to  be  done  while  it  yet  hangs 
only  in  fpeculation,  is  fo  plain  and  certain,' 
that  there  is  no  place  for  doubt ;  the  whole 
foul  yields  itfelf  to  the  predominance  of 
truth,  and  readily  determines  to  do  what, 
when  the  time  of  action  comes,  will  be  at 
lail  omitted. 

I  believe  molt  men  may  review  all  the 
lives  that  have  palled  within  their  obferva- 
tion,  without  remembering  one  efficacious 
refolution,  or  being  able  to  tell  a  fingle 
inltance  of  a  courfe  of  practice  fuddenly 
changed  in  confequence  of  a  change  of 
opinion,  or  an  eltablifhment  of  determina- 
tion. Many  indeed  alter  their  conduct, 
and  are  not  at  fifty  what  they  were  ac 
thirty,  but  they  commonly  varied  imper- 
ceptibly from  themfelves,  followed  the  train 
of  external  caufes,  and  rather  fuffered  re- 
formation than  made  it. 

It 


BOOK   IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,     &c.        8ft 


It  is  not  uncommon  to  charge  the  differ- 
ence between  promife  and  perfbtmance,  be- 
tween profeflion  and  reality,  upon  deep  de- 
fig  n  and  liudied  deceit ;  but  the  truth  is,  that 
tl  ere  is  very  little  hypocrify  in  the  world; 
w  e  do  not  io  often  endeavour  or  wilh  to 
impofe  on  others  as  ourfelves ;  we  re- 
folve  to  do  right,  we  hope  to  keep  our  reso- 
lutions, we  declare  them  to  confirm  our  own 
hope,  and  fix  our  own  inconitancy  by  call- 
ing witneffes  of  our  actions ;  but  at  lair, 
habit  prevails,  and  thofe  whom  we  invited 
at  our  triumph,  laugh  at  our  defeat. 

Cuftom  is  commonly  too  rtrong  for  the 
molt  refolute  refolver,  though  furniihedfor 
the  afiault  with  all  the  weapons  of  philofo- 
phy.  «*  He  that  endeavours  to  free  him- 
"  felf  from  an  ili  habit,"  lays  Bacon, 
"  mull  not  change  too  much  at  a  time, 
"  leit  he  fhculd  be  discouraged  by  diffi- 
"  culty  ;  nor  too  little,  for  then  he  will 
"  make  but  flow  advances."  This  is  a 
precept  which  may  be  applauded  in  a  book, 
but  will  fail  in  the  trial,  in  which  every 
change  will  be  found  too  great  or  too  little. 
Thoie  who  have  been  able  to  conquer  ha- 
bit, are  like  thoie  that  are  fabled  to  have 
returned  from  the  realms  of  Piuto  : 
Pauci,  quos  xquus  arhavtt 
Jupiter,  aique  aniens  evex/t  ad  scthera  virtus. 
They  are  fufficient  to  give  hope  but  not 
■fecurity,  to  animate  the  conteft  but  not  to 
piomiie  victory. 

.  Thofe  who  are  in  the  power  of  evil  ha- 
bits, muft  conquer  them  as  they  can,  and 
conquered  they  mult  be,  or  neither  wifdom 
nor  happinefs  can  be  attained;  but  thofe 
who  are  not  yet  iubject  to  their  influence, 
may,  by  timely  caution,  preferve  their  free- 
dom, they  may  effectually  refo'veto  efcape 
the  tyrant,  whom  they  will  very  vainly  re- 
iolve  to  conquer.  Idler. 

§  64.  Halfpenny,  its  Ad-ventures. 
"  Sir, 
"  I  ihall  not  pretend  to  conceal  from 
you  the  illegitimacy  of  my  .birth,  or  the 
bafenefs  of  my  extraction:  and  though  I 
feem  to  bear  the  venerable  marks  of  old 
age,  I  received  my  being  at  Birmingham 
not  fix  months  ago.  From  thence  I  was 
tranfported  with  many  of  my  brethren  of 
different  dates,  characters,  and  configura- 
tions, to  a  Jew  pedlar  in  Duke's-place, 
.v/ho  paid  for  us  in  fpecie  fcarce  a  fifth  part 
of  our  nominal  and  extrinfic  value.  We 
were  foon  after  feparately  diipofed  of;  at  a 
more  moderate  profit,  to  coffee-houfes, 
chop-houfes,    chandlers-lbops,    and    gin* 


{hops.  I  had  not  been  long  in  the  world 
before  an  ingenious  t'ranfmuter  of  metals 
laid  violent.-,  hands  on  me  ;  and  observing 
my  thin  ihape  and  flat  furface,  by  the  help 
of  a  little  quicksilver  exalted  me  into  a 
ihilling.  Ufe,  however,  loon  degraded 
me  again  to  my  native  low  ftation  ;  and  I 
unfortunately  fell  into  the  pofieilion  of  an 
urchin  juft  breeched,  who  received  me  as  a 
Chriftmas-box  of  his  godmother. 

"  A  love  of  money  is  ridiculously'  in- 
ftilled  into'  children  fo  early,  that  before 
they  can  poffibiy  comprehend  the  ufe  of  it, 
they  confider  it  as  of  great  value :  I  loft 
therefore  the  very  effence  of  my  being,  in 
the  cuitody  of  this  hopeful  difciple  of  ava- 
rice and  folly  ;  and  was  kept  only  to  be 
looked  at  and  admired :  but  a  bigger  boy- 
after  a  while  matched  me  from  him',  and. 
•xeleafed  me  from  my  confinement. 

"  I  now  underwent  various  hardihips 
among  his  play-fellows,  and  was  kicked 
about,  hurtled,  toiled  up,  and  chucked  into 
holes  ;  which  very  much  battered  and  im- 
paired me :  but  I  fuffered  moil:  by  the 
pegging  of  tops,  the  marks  of  which  I  have 
borne  about  me  to  this  day.  I  was  in  this 
Hate  the  unwitting  caufc  of  rapacity,  itiife, 
envy,  rancour,  malice,  and  revenge,  among 
the  little  apes  of  mankind ;  and  became 
the  object;  and  the  nurie  of  thofe  paifiens 
which  difgrace  human  nature,  while  I  ap- 
peared only  to  engage  children  in  innocent 
paftimes.  At  length  I  was  difmiiTea  from 
their  fervice,  by  a  throw  with  a  barrow- 
woman  for  an  orange. 

From  her  it  is  natural  to  conclude,  I 
polled  to  the  gin-ihop  ;  where,  indeed,  it 
is  probable  1  fhould  have  immediately 
gone,  if  her  hufband,  a  foot-foldier,  had 
not  wreited  me  from  her,  at  the  expence 
of  a  bloody  nofe,  black  eye,  fcratched  face, 
and  torn  regimentals.  By  him  I  was  car- 
ried to  the  Mall  in  St.  James's  Park,  where 
I  am  aihamed  to  tell  how  I  parted  from 
him — let  it  fufHce  that  I  was  foon  after  de- 
pofited  in  a  night-cellar. 

"  From  hence  I  got  into  the  coat-pocket 
of  a  blood,  and  remained  there  with  fe- 
veral  of  my  brethren  for  fome  days  unno- 
ticed. But  one  evening  as  he  was  reeling 
home  from  the  tavern,  he  jerked  a  whole 
handful  of  us  through  a  faih-window  into 
the  dining-room  of  a  tradefman,  who  he  re- 
membered had  been  fo  unmannerly  to  him 
the  day  before,  as"  to  defire  payment  of  his 
bill.  We  repofed  in  foft  eafe  on  a  fine 
Turkey  carpet  till  the  next  morning,  when 
the-  maid  fwept  us   up ;  and  fome  of  ua 

wef« 


t-jS 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


were  allotted  to  purchafe  tea,  fome  to  buy 
imift",  and.  I  myfelfwas  immediately  truck- 
ed away  at  the  door  for  the  Sweethearts 
Delight. 

"  it  is  not  my  defign  to  enumerate  every 
little  accident  that  has  befallen  me,  or  to 
dwell  upon  trivial  and  indifferent  circum- 
itances,  as  is  the  practice  of  thofe  im- 
portant egotifls,  who  write  narratives,  me- 
moirs, and  travels.  As  uielefs  to  commu- 
nity as  my  fingle  felf  may  appear  to  be, 
I  have  been  the  inltrument  of  much  good 
and  evil  in  the  intercourfe  of  mankind :  1 
have  contributed  no  fmall  fum  to  the  reve- 
nues cf  the  crown,  by  my  ihare  in  each 
news-paper ;  and  in  the  confumption  of 
tobacco,  fpirituous  liquors,  and  other  taxa- 
ble commodities.  If  I  have  encouraged 
.debauchery,  or  fupported  extravagance ;  1 
have  alio  rewarded  the  labours  of  induftry, 
and  relieved  the  necefTities  of  indigence. 
The  poor  acknowledge  me  as  their  con ltant 
friend ;  and  the  rich,  though  they  affect 
to  flight  me,  and  treat  me  with  contempt, 
are  often  reduced  by  their  follies  to  dil- 
trefies,  which  it  is  even  in  my  power  to 
relieve. 

"  The  prefent  exact  fcrutiny  into  our 
conftitution  has,  indeed,  very  much  ob- 
ftructed  and  embar'rafied  my  travels ;  tho' 
I  could  not  but  rejoice  in  my  condition  laft 
Tuefday,  as  I  was  debarred  having  any 
ihare  in  maiming,  bruifmg,  and  deftroying 
the  innocent  victims  of  vulgar  barbarity  : 
I  was  happy  in  being  confined  to  the  meek 
encounters  with  feathers  and  fluffed  lea- 
ther ;  a  childiih  fport,  rightly  calculated  to 
initiate  tender  minds  in  acts  of  cruelty,  ami 
prepare  them  for  the  cxercife  of  inhuma- 
nity on  helplefs  animals. 

"  I  fhall  conclude,  Sir,  with  informing 
yqu  by  what  means  I  came  to  you  in  the 
condition  you  fee.  A  choice  fpirit,  a  mem- 
ber  of  the  kill- care-club,  broke  a  link- 
•  boy's  pafe  with  me  lad  night,  as  a  reward 
for  lighting  him  acrqis  the  kennel;  the  lad 
wailed  half' his  tar  flambeau  in  looking  for 
me,  but  I  efeaped  his  fearch,  being  lodged 
fnugly  againit  apoft.  This  morning  a  pa- 
riih  girl  picked  me  up,  and  carried  me  with 
raptures  to  the  next  baker's  ihop  to  pur- 
chafe  a  roll.  The  mailer,  who  was  church- 
Warden,  examined  me  with  great  attention, 
and  then  gruffly  threatening  her  with  Bride- 
well for  putting  off  bad  money,  knocked  a 
nail  thrpugh  my  middle,  and  faftened  me 
to  the  counter:  but  the  moment  the  poor 
hungry  child  was  gone,  he  whjpt  me  up 
again,  and  fending  me  a\yay  with  others  in 


change  to  the  next  cuftomer,  gave  me  this 
opportunity  of  relating  my  adventures  to 
you."  Ad-venturer. 

§   6  J.     Hiftory,  our   natural  Fondnefs  for  it, 
and  its  true  Vje. 

The  love  of  hiitory  feems  infeparable 
from  human  nature,  becaufe  it  feems  infe- 
parable from  felf-love.  The  fame  princi- 
ple in  this  inftance  carries  us  forward  and 
backward,  to  future  and  to  pail  ages.  We 
imagine  that  the  things  which  affect  us, 
mult  affect  polterity  :  this  fentiment  runs 
through  mankind,  from  Caffardown  to  the 
parifh- clerk  in  Pope's  Mifcellany.  We 
are  fond  of  prefcrving,  as  far  as  it  is  in 
our  frail  power,  the  memory  of  our  owa 
adventures,  of  thefe  of  our  own  time,  and 
of  thofe  that  preceded  it.  Rude  heaps  of* 
ilones  have  been  raifed,  and  ruder  hymns 
have  been  compoied,  for  this  purpole,  by 
nations  who  had  not  yet  the  ufe  of  arts  and 
letters.  To  go  no  further  back,  the  tri- 
umphs of  Odin  were  celebrated  in  Runic 
fongs,  and  the  feats  of  our  Britifh  anceffors 
were  recorded  in  thofe  of  their  bards.  The 
lavages  of  America  have  the  fame  cuftom 
at  this  day  :  and  long  hiilorical  ballads  of 
their  hunting  and  wars  are  fung  at  all  their 
feilivals.  There  is  no  need  of  faying  how 
this  pafiion  grows  among  all  civilized  na- 
tions, in  proportion  to  the  means  of  grati- 
fying it:  but  let  us  obferve,  that  the  fame 
principle  of  nature  directs  us  as  ftrongly, 
and  more  generally  as  well  as  more  early, 
to  indulge  our  own  curiofity,  inilead  of 
preparing  to  gratify  that  of  others.  The 
child  hearkens  with  delight  to  the  tales  cf 
his  nurfe  ;  he  learns  to  read,  and  he  de- 
vours, with  eagernefs  fabulous  legends  and 
novels.  In  riper  years  he  applies  to  hiito* 
ry,  or  to  that  which  he  takes  for  hiitory,  to 
authorized  romance :  and  even  in  age,  the 
de lire  of  knowing  what  has  happened  to 
other  men,  yields  to  the  defire  alone  of  re- 
lating what  has  happened  to  curfelves. 
Thus  hiitory,  true  or  falfe,  fpeaks  to  our 
pailions  always.  What  pity  is  it,  that  even 
the  beit  fliould  fpeak  to  our  underitandings 
fo  ieldcm  S  That  it  does  fo,  we.  have  none 
to  blame  but  ourfelves.  Nature  has  done 
her  part.  She  has  opened  this  ftudy  to 
every  man  who  can  read  and  think :  and 
yvhat  fhe  has  made  the  mo'l  agreeable, 
reafon  cati  make  the  moil  ufefu!  applica-*' 
tion  of  to  our  minds.  But  if  we  confult  our 
reafon,  we  fhall  be  far  from  following  the 
examples  of  our  fellow-creatures,  in  this  'as 
in  rr.oii  other  cafe*,  who  are  lb  proud  of 

being 


BOOK    IV.    NARRATIV 

feeing  rational.  We  Shall  neither  read  to 
Tooth  our  indolence,  nor  to  gratify  our  va- 
nity :  as  little  (hall  we  content  ourfelves  to 
drudge  like  grammarians  and  critics,  that 
others  may  be  able  to  Study,  with  greater 
eafe  and  profit,  like  philofophers  and  itatef- 
men :  as  little  mall  we  affect  the  fiender 
merit  of  becoming  great  fcholars  at  the  ex- 
pence  of  groping  all  our  lives  in  the  dark 
mazes  of  antiquity. '  All  thefe  mistake  the 
true  drift  of  ftudy,  and  the  true  ufe  of  liif- 
tory.  Nature  gave  us  curiohty  to  excite 
the  induftry  of  our  minds;  but  (he  never 
intended  it  to  be  made  the  principal,  much 
lefs  the  fole,  object  of  their  application. 
The  true  and  proper  object  of  this  appli- 
cation^ a  conftant  improvement  in  private 
and  in  public  virtue.  An  application  to 
any  ftudy,  that  tends  neither  directly  nor 
indirectly  to  make  us  better  men,  and  bet- 
ter citizens,  is  at  belt  but  a  fpeciousand 
ingenious  fort  of  idlenefs,  to  ufe  an  ex- 
preffion  of  Tillotfon  :  and  the  knowledge 
we  acquire  is  a  creditable  kind  of  igno- 
rance, nothing  more.  This  creditable  kind 
of  ignorance  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  whole 
benefit  which  the  generality  of  men,  even 
of  the  moft.  learned,  reap  from  the  ltudy  of 
hiftory  :  and  yet  the  ftudy  of  history  Seems 
to  me,  of  all  other,  the  moft  properto  train 
us  up  to  private  and  public  virtue. 

We  need  but  to  call:  our  eyes  on  the 
world,  and  we  fhall  fee  the  daily  force  of 
example :  we  need  but  to  turn  them  inward, 
and  we  fhall  foon  difcover  why  example  has 
this  force.  Pauci  prudent  in,  fays  Tacitus, 
honejia  ab  detcrioribus,  utilia  ab  noxiis  difcer- 
imnt :  plures  allorum  event  is  decent  ur.  Such 
is  the  imperfection  of  human  understand- 
ing, fuch  the  frail  temper  of  our  minds, 
that  abstract  or  general  proportions,  though 
never  fo  true,  appear  obfeure  or  doubtful' 
to  us  very  often,  till  they  are  explained  by 
examples ;  and  that  the  wifeft  Iefibns  in 
favour  of  virtue  go  but  a  little  way  to  con- 
vince the  judgment  and  determine  the  will, 
unlefs  they  are  enforced  by  the  fame  means, 
and  we  are  obliged  to  apply  to  ourfelves 
that  we  fee  happen  to  other  men.  Inflec- 
tions by  precept  have  the  farther  disadvan- 
tage of  coming  on  the  authority  of  others, 
and  -frequently  require  a  long  deduction  of 
reafoning.  Homines  ampiius  oculis  qucm- 
paribus  credunt :  lengum  inter  efi  per  pracepta, 
breve  et  ejficax  per  exanpla.  The  reafon  of 
this  judgment,  which  J? quote  from  one' of 
Seneca's  epiltles,  in  confirmation  of  my' 
own  opinion,  relts  1  think  on  thig,  That 
when  examples  are  pointed  but  to  us,  there* 


ES,    DIALOGUES,    Sec.  877 

is  a  kind  of  appeal,  with  winch  we  are  flat- 
tered, made  to  our  fenfes,-  as  well  as  our 
understandings.  Thcinicruction  comes  then 
upon  our  own  authority  :  we  frame  the  pre- 
cept after  our  own  experience,  and  yield 
to  fact  when  we  refilt  fpeculation.  But  this" 
is  not  the  only  advantage  of  instruction  by 
example ;  for  example  appeals  not  to  cur 
understanding  alone,  but  to  our  paflions 
likevvife.  Example  affuages  thefe  or  ani- 
mates them;  fets  paffibn  Oil  the  fide  of 
judgment,  and  makes  the  whole  man  of 
a-piece,  which  is  more  thaii  the  ltrongefl 
reafoning  and  the  cleareft  demonstration 
can  do ;  and  thus  forming  habits  by  repeti- 
tions, example  fecurcs  the  obfervance  of 
thofe  precepts  which  example  infinuated. 

Bolir.^kroks, 

%  66.  Human  Nature,  its  Dignity. 
In  forming  our  notions  of  human  nature, 
we  are  very  apt  to  make  comparifon  be- 
twixt men  and' animals,  which  are  the  only 
creatures  endowed  with  thought,  that  fall 
under  our  fenfes.  Certainly  this  compari- 
fon is  very  favourable  to  mankind  ;  on  thcr 
one  hand,  we  fee  a  creature,  whole  thoughts 
are  not  limited  by  any  narrow  bounds  cither 
of  place  or  time,  who  carrieshis  refearches 
into  the  moft  distant  regions  of  this  globe, 
and  beyond  this  globe,  to  the  planets  and 
heavenly  bodies;  looks  backward  to  con.-' 
fider  the  firft  origin  of  the  human  race;  calls 
his  eyes  forwards  to  fee  the  influence  of  his 
actions  upon  pofterity,  and  the  judgments 
which  will  be  formed  of  his-  character  a 
thoufand  years  hence :  a  creature,  who 
traces  caufes  and  effects  to  great  lengths 
and  intricacy;  extracts  general  principles 
from  particular  appearances:  improves 
upon  his  difcoveries,  corrects  his  millakes, 
and  makes'  his  very  errors  profitable.  On 
the  other  hand,  we  are  prefented  with  a 
creature  the  very  reverfe  of  this;  limited 
in  its  obfervations  and  reafonings  to  a  few 
fenfible  objects  which  furround  it ;  without 
curioiity,  without  a  foreiight,  blindly  con- 
ducted by  inllinct,  and  arriving  in  a  very 
Short  time  at  its  utmoft  perfection,  beyond 
which  it  is  never,  able  to  advance  a  fingle 
ftep.  What  a  difference  is  there  betwixt 
thefe  creatures ;  and  how  exalted  a  notion 
muft  we  entertain  of  the  former,  in  com- 
parifon of  the  latter  !  Hume's  Effays. 

§'67'.     ¥0  Operations  of '  Hu?ncCn  Nature 
confiderea. 
We" are  c'ompofed  of  a   mind  and  of  a 
body,  imima\ely"r united;  and  mutual  y  af- 
fecting 


ELEGANT     EXTRACTS     IN     PROSE. 


fe ili ng  each  other.  Their  operations  in- 
deed are  entirely  different.  Whether  the 
immortal  fpirit  that  enlivens  this  machine, 
is  originally  of  a  Superior  nature  in  various 
bodies  (winch, I  own,  feems  moft  confiitent 
and  agreeable  to  the  fcale  and  order  of 
beings),  or  whether  the  difference  depends 
on  a  fymmctry,  or  peculiar  itructure  of  the 
organs  combined  with  it,  is  beyond  my 
reach  to  determine.  It  is  evidently  cer- 
tain, that  the  body  is  curioufly  formed  with 
proper  organs  to  delight,  and  fuch  as  are 
adapted  to  all  the  r.eceffary  ufes  of  life. 
The  fpirit  animates  the  whole;  it  guides 
the  natural  appetites,  and  confines  them 
within  juft  limits.  But  the  natural  force  of 
this  fpirit  is  often  immerfed  in  matter;  and 
the  mind  becomes  fubfervient  to  paflions,. 
which  it  ought  to  govern  and  direct.  Your 
frien  1  Horace,  although  cf  the  Epicurean 
doctrine,  acknowledges  this  truth,  where 
he  fays, 

Atque  affigit  homo  divlnse  particnlam  aura:. 

It  is  no  lefs  evident,  that  this  immortal 
fpirit  has  an  independent  power  of  acting, 
and,'  when  cultivated  in  a  proper  manner, 
feemi.Tgly  quits  the  corporeal  frame  within 
which  it  is  imprifoned,  and  foars  into  high- 
er, and  more  fpacious  regions ;  where,  with 
an  energy  which  I  had  almoft  (aid  was  di- 
vine, it  ranges  among  thofe  heavenly  bo- 
dies that  in  this  lower  world  are  fcarce 
viable  to  our  eyes ;  and  we  can  at  once 
explain  the  diitancc,  magnitude,  and  velo- 
city of  the  planets,  and  can  foretel,  even  to 
a  degree  of  minutenefs,  the  particular  time 
when  a  comet  will  return,  and  when  the 
fun  will  be  eclipfed  in  the  next  century. 
Thefe  powers  certainly  evince  the  dignity 
of  human  nature,  and  trie  furprifing  effects 
of  the  immaterial  fpirit  within  us,  which  in 
fo  confined  a  (rate  can  thus  difengage  itfelf 
from  the  fetters  of  matter.  It  is  from  this 
pre-eminence  of  the  foul  over  the  body, 
that  we  are  .enabled  to  view  the  exact  or- 
der and  curious  variety  of  different  beings ; 
to  confider  and  cultivate  the  natural  pro- 
ductions of  the  earth;  and  to  admire  and 
imitate  the  wile  benevolence  which  reigns 
throughout  the  fole  fyllemof  the  univerfe. 
It  is  from  hence  that  we  form  moral  laws 
for  our  conduct.  From  hence  we  delight 
in  copying  that  great  original,  who  in  his 
eifence  is  utterly  incomprehenfible,  but  in 
his  influence  is  powerfully  apparent  to  eve- 
ry degree  of  his  creation.  From  hence  too 
we  perceive  a  real  beauty  in  virtue,  and  a 
diftinction  between  good  and  evil.     Virtue 


acts  with  the  utmolt  generofity,  and  with 
no  view  to  her  own  advantage  /while  Vice, 
like  a  glutton,  feeds  herfelf  enormoufly, 
and  then  is  willing  to  difgorge  the  nau- 
feous  cffals  of  her  fealt.     '  Orrery. 

§    68.      O economy,  Want  of  it  no  Mark  of 
genii's. 

The  indigence  of  authors,  and  particu- 
larly of  poets,  has  long  been  the  object  of 
lamentation  and  ridicule,  of  companion  and 
contempt. 

It  has  been  obferved,  that  not  one  fa- 
vourite of  the  mufes  has  ever  been  able  to 
build  a  houfe  fmce  the  days  of  Amphion, 
whofe  art  it  would  be  fortunate  for  them  if 
they  poiTeffed;  and  that  the  greateft  pu- 
nifhment  that  can  poffibly  be  inflicted  on 
them,  is  to  oblige  them  to  fup  in  their  own 
lodgings, 

M'.Iks  ubi  reddunt  ova  crAumb.r% 

Where  pigeons  1  ly  their  eggs. 

Boileau' introduces  Damon,  whofe  writ- 
ings entertained  and  initructed  the  city 
and  the  court,  as  having  palled  the  fummer 
without  a  ihirt,  and  the  winter  without 
a  cloak;  and  rcfolving  at  laif.  to  forfake 
Paris, 


■  o'u  la  iltrtu  n  a  plus  ni  feu  ni  lieu, 


Where  fbjv'ring  worth  no  longer  finds  a  home, 

and  to  find  out  a  retreat  in  forr.e  diitant 
grotto, 

D'ou  jamaii  n\  V  ljuiflier,  ni  It  Scrcrcnt  n 'appi-ocbtf 

Safe,  where  no  critics  damn,  no  duns  moled. 

Poi-r. 

The  rich  comedian,  fays  Bruyere,  "  lol- 
ling in  his  gilt  chariot,  befpatters  the  face 
of  Corneille  walking  afoot :"  and  Juvenal 
remarks,  that  his  cotemporary  bards  ge- 
nerally qualified  themfelves  by  their  diet 
to  make  excellent  bullos  ;  that  they  were 
compelled  fometimes  to  hire  lodgings  at  a 
baker's,  in  order  to  warm  themfelves  for 
nothing ;  and  that  it  was  the  common  fate 
of  the  fraternity. 

Tallin  &  vinum  toto  lufcire  Dccentbri, 

■        — ■ to  pine, 

Look  pale,  and  all  December  tafte  up  wine. 

Drybe;;. 

Virgil  himfelf  is  itrongiy  fufpected  to 
have  lain  in  the  itreets,  or  on  fome  Roman 
bulk,  when  he  fpeaks  fo  feelingly  of  a  rainy 
and  tempefluous  night  in  his  well-known 
epigram. 

"  There  ought  to  beanhofpital  founded 
for  decayed  wits,"  faid  a  lively  French- 
reap. 


BdOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


279 


man,  "  and  it  might  be  called  the  Hofpital 
of  Incurables." 

Fe»v,  perhaps,  wander  among  the  laurels 
of  Parnaffus,  but  who  have  reafon  ardently 
to  wilh  and  to  exclaim  with  yEneas,  tho' 
without  that  hero's  good  fortune, 

Si  nunc  fe  nobis  ilk  aureus  arbors  ramu  r, 
OJl: ixUt  ueihO'e  in  t^into  ! 
O  !  in  this  ample  grove  could  I  beheld 
The  tree  that  blooms  wilh  vegetable  gold  ! 

P 1 1  T . 

The  patronage  of  Ltdius  and  Scipiodid 
tot  enable  Terence  to  rent  a  houfe.  Taffo, 
in  a  humorous  ionnet  addrefled  to  his  fa- 
vourite cat,  earneitly  entreats  her  to  lend 
him  the  light  of  her  eyes  during  his  mid- 
night fludies,  not  being  himfelf  able  to 
purchafe  a  candle  to  write  bv.  Dante,  the 
IJomer  of  Italy,  and  Camoens  of  Portugal, 
were  both  banilhed  and  imprifoned.  Cer- 
vantes, perhaps  the  jnoll  original  genius  the 
world  ever  beheld,  periihed  by  want  in  the 
ftreets  of  Madrid,  as  did  our  own  Spenfer 
at  Dublin.  And  a  writer  little  inferior  to 
the  Spaniard  in  the  exquifitenefs  of  his  hu- 
mour and  raillery,  I  mean  Erafmus,  after 
tedious  wanderings  of  many  years  from 
city  to  city,  and  frGm  patron  to  patron, 
p'raifed,  and  promifed,  and  deceived  by  all, 
obtained  no  lettlement  but  with  his  printer. 
"  At  laft,"  fays  he  in  one  of  his  epiftles, 
"  I  mould  have  been  advanced  to  a  cardi- 
nalfhip,  if  there  had  not  been  a  decree  in 
my  way,  by  which  thofe  are  excluded  from 
this  honour,  whofe  income  amounts  not  to 
three  thoufand  ducats." 

I  remember  to  have  read  a  fatire  in  La- 
tin profe,  entitled,  "  A  poet  hath  bought 
a  houfe."  The  poet  having  purchafed  a 
houfe,  the  matter  was  immediately  laid  be- 
fore the  pailiament  of  poets  afiembled  on 
that  important  occafion,as  a  thing  unheard - 
•f,  as  a  very  bad  precedent,  and  of  mof!  per- 
il iciouseonfequence ;  and  accordingly  a  ve- 
ry levere  fentence  was  pronounced  againft 
the  buyer.  When  the  members  came  to 
give  their  votes,  it  appeared  there  Was  not  a 
fingle  perfon  in  the  aifembly,who,  through 
the  favour  of  powerful  patrons,  or  their 
own  happy  genius,  was  worth  fo  much  as 
to  be  proprietor  of  a  houfe,  either  by  inhe- 
ritance or  purchafe:  all  of  them  neglecting 
their  private,  fortunes,  confeffed  and  boaft- 
ed  that  they  lived  in  lodgings.  The  poet 
was,  therefore,  ordered  to  fell  his  houfe  im- 
mediately, to  buy  wine  with  the  money  for 
their  entertainment,  in  order  to  make  fame 


expiation  for  his  enormous  crime,  and  to 
teach  him  to  live  unfettied,  and  without 
care,  like  a  true  poe:. 

Such  are  the  ridiculous,  and  fuch  the 
pitiable  ftories  related,  to  expofe  the  po- 
verty of  poets  in  dilferent  ages  and  nations ; 
but  which,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  are  ra- 
ther boundlefs  exaggerations  of  fatire  and 
fancy,  than  the  fober  refult  of  experience, 
and  the  determination  of  truth  and  judg- 
ment ;  for  the  general  pofition  may  be  con- 
tradicted by  numerous  examples ;  and  it 
may,  perhaps,  appear  on  reflection  and  ex- 
amination, that  the  art  is  not  char  eable 
with  the  faults  and  failings  of  its  particular 
profeflbrs;  that  it  has  no  peculiar  tendency 
to  make  them  either  rakes  or  fpendthrifts ; 
and  that  thofe  who  are  indigent  poets, 
would  have  been  indigent  merchants  and 
mechanics. 

The  neglect  of  ceconomy,  in  which  great 
geniufes  are  fuppofed  to  have  indulged 
themfclves,  has  unfortunately  given  fo 
much  authority  and  j unification  to  care- 
leifnefsand  extravagance,  that  many  a  mi- 
nute rhymer  has  fallen  into  difiipation  and 
drunkennefs,  becaufe  Butler  and  Otway 
lived  and  died  in  an  alehcufe.  As  a  cer- 
tain blockhead  wore  his  gown  on  one  moul- 
der, to  mimic  the  negligence  of  Sir  Thomas 
More,  fo  thefe  fervile  imitators  follow  their 
mailers  in  all  that  difgraced  them  ;  con- 
tract immoderate  debts,  becaufe  Dryden 
died  infolvent ;  and  neglect  to  change  their 
linen,  becaufe  Smith  was  a  floven.  "  If  I 
Ihould  happen  to  look  pale,"  fays  Horace, 
"  all  the  hackney  writers  in  Rome  would 
immediately  drinkcummin  to  gain  the  fame 
complexion."  And  I  myfelf  am  acquaint- 
ed with  a  witling,  who  ufes  a  glafs  only  be- 
caufe Pope  was  near-lighted. 

Adventurer. 

§  69.     Operas  ridiculed,  in  a  Pcrjian  Letter. 

The  firft  objects  of  a  Granger's  curio- 
fity  are  the  public  fpectacles,  I  was  car- 
ried laft  night  to  one  they  call  an  Opera, 
which  is  a  concert  of  mufic  b:  ought  from 
Italy,  and  in  every  refpect  foreign  to  this 
country.  It  was  performed  in  a  chamber 
as  magnificent  as  the  refplendent  palace  of 
our  emperor,  and  as  full  of  handlome  wo- 
men as  his  feraglio.  They  had  no  eunuchs 
among  them;  but  there  was  one  who  fung 
upon  the  ftage,  and,  by  the  luxuriou  ten- 
dernefs  of  his  airs,  leemed  fitter  to  make 
them  wanton,  than  keep  them  chafte. 

Inftead  of  the  habit  proper  to  fuch  crea- 
ture.-, 


tto 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE, 


turrs,  he  wore  a  fuit  of  armour,  and  called 
Jiimfelf  Julius  Crcfar. 

1  afked  who  Julius  Cajfar  was,  and  whe- 
ther he  had  beeii  famous  for  finging  ? 
They  told  me  he  was  a  warrior  that  had 
conquered  all  the  world,  and  debauched 
half  the  women  in  Rome. 

!  was  going  to  expreis  my  admiration 
at  feeing  him  lb  rep  relented,  when  I  heard 
two  ladies,  who  fat  nigh  me,  cry  out,  as  it 
were  in  ecllafy,  "  O  that  dear  creature ! 
I  am  dying  for  love  of  him." 

At  the  lame  time  I  heard  a  gentleman 
fay  aloud,  that  both  the  mufic  and  fmging 
were  deteftable. 

H  You  mult  not  mind  him,"  faid  my 
friend, "  he  is  of  the  other  party,  and  cornea 
here  only  as  a  fpy." 

'•  How  !  faid  I,  have  yon  parties  in  mu- 
fic?" "  Yes,"  replied  he,  "  it  is  a  rule 
with  us  to  judge  of  nothing  by  our  fenfes 
and  underiianding,  but  to  hear  and  lee, 
and  think,  only  as  we  chance  to  be  differ- 
ently engaged." 

"1  hope,"  faid  I,  "  that  a  frranger  may 
be  neutral  in  thefe  divifions;  and,  to  fay 
the  truth,  your  mufic  is  very  fir  from  in- 
flaming me  to  a  fpirit  of  faction;  it  is 
much  more  likely  to  lay  me  afieep.  Ours 
in  Periia  fets  us  all  a-dancing;  but  I  am 
cjuite  unmoved  with  this." 

"  Do  but  fancy  it  moving,"  returned 
my  friend,  *'  and  you  will  foon  be  moved 
as  much  as  others.  It  is  a  trick  you  may 
learn  when  you  will,  with  a  little  pains: 
we  have  moil  of  us  learnt  it  in  our  turns." 
Lord  Lyttbltoif, 

§  70.     Patience  recommended. 

The  darts  of  adverie  fortune  are  always 
levelled  at  our  heads.  Some  reach  us,  and 
fome  fly  to  wound  our  neighbours.  Let 
us  therefore  jmpofe  an  equal  temper  on 
pur  minds,  and  pay  without  murmuring  the 
tribute  which  we  owe  to  humanity.  The 
winter  brings  cold,  and  we  mufl.  freeze. 
The  fummer  returns  with  heat,  and  we 
muft  melt.  The  inclemency  -  of  the  air 
difordcrs  our  health,  and  we  mull  be  fick. 
Here  we  are  expofed  to  wild  beafrs,  and 
there  to  men  more  favage  than  the  beafts: 
and  if  we  eicape  the  inconveniences  and 
dangers  of  the  air  and  the  earth;  there  are 
perils  by  water  and  perils  by  fire.  This 
cilablifhed  courfe  of  things  it  is  not  in  our1 
power  to  change  ;  but  it  is  in  our  power 
to  affurre  fuch  a  greatnefs  of  mind  as  be- 
c  mes  wife  and  virtuous  men,  as  may  en- 
able us  to  encounter  the  accidents  of  life 


with  fortitude,  and  to  conform  ourfelve* 
to  the  order  of  Nature,  who  governs  her 
great  kingdom,  the  world,  by  continual 
mutations.  Let  us  fubmit  to  this  order  ; 
let  us  be  perfuaded  that  whatever  does 
happen  ought  to  happen,  and  never  be  fo 
foolifh  as  to  expostulate  with  nature.  The 
bell  refolution  we  can  take,  is  to  fuffer 
what  we  cannot  alter,  and  to  purfue  with- 
out repining  the  road  which  Providence, 
who  direct s  every  thing,  has  marked  to  us : 
for  it  is  enough  to  follow;  and  he  is  but 
a  bad  foldier  who  iighs,  and  marches  with 
reluctancy.  We  mull  receive  the  orders 
with  fpirit  and  chearfulnefs,  and  not  en- 
deavour  to  flink  out  of  the  poll  which  is 
affigned  us  in  this  beautiful  difpofition  of 
thing?,  whereof  even  fufferings  make  a 
necelfary  part.  Let  us  addrefs  ourfelves 
to  God  who  governs  all,  as  Cleanthes  did 
in  thofe  admirable  verfes, 
■  Parent  of  nature  1  Matter  of  th^  world  I 
Where'er  thy  providence  directs,  behold 
My  fteps  with  cheafful  refignation  turn  ; 
Fate  leads  the  willing,  drags  the  backward  on. 
Why  mould  I  grieve,  when    grieving  I  mult 

bear  ; 
Or  take  with  guilt,  what  guiklefs  I  might  (hare? 
Thus  let  us  fpeak,  and  thus  let  us  act. 
Refignation  to  the  will  of  God  is  true  mag- 
nanimity.    But  the  Aire  mark  of  a  pufil- 
lanimous   and   bafe    fpirit,  is  to  ftruggle 
againll,  to  cenfure  the  order  of  Providence, 
and,  inftead  of  mending  our  own  conduct, 
to  fet  up  for  correcting  that  of  our  Maker. 
Bolingbroke. 


§  71.  Patience  exemplified  in  the  Story  of- 
an  slj's. 

I  was  juft  receiving  the  dernier  compli-' 
merits  of  Moniieur  Le  Blanc,  for  a  plea- 

fant  voyage  down  the  Rhone when  I 

was  flopped  at  the  gate- 

'Twas  by  a  poor  afs,  who  had  jull 
turned  in  with  a  couple  of  large  panniers' 
upon  his  back,  to  collect  eleemofmary  tur- 
nip-tops and  cabbage-leaves;  and  flood 
dubious,  with  his  two  fore-feet  on  the  in- 
fide  of  the  threfhold,  and  with  his  two 
hinder  feet  towards  the  ilreet,as  not  know- 
ing very  well  whether  he  was  to  go  in  or 
no. 

Now,  'tis  an  animal  (be  in  what  hurry 

I  may)  I  cannot  bear  to   ftrjke there 

is  a  patient  endurance  of  fufferings,  wrote 
fo  unaffectedly  in  his  looks  and  carriage, 
which  pleads  fo  mightily  for  him,  that  it 
always  dif'arms  me;  and  to  that  degree, 
that  1  do  r,ot  like  to  fpeak  unkind  y  to 
hixnj  on  the  contrary,  meet  him  where  I 

wiU 


EOOK  IV.     NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,    &c. 


881 


will — whether  in  town  or  country — in  cart 
or  under  panniers— whether  in  liberty  or 

bondage 1  have  ever  fomething  civil 

to  Jay  to  him  on  my  part ;  and  as  one 
word  begets  another  (if  he  has  as  little  to 
do  as  I)- — I  generally  fall  into  converfa- 
tion  with  him ;  and  furely  never  is  my 
imagination  fo  bufy  as  in  framing  his  re- 
fponfes  from  the  etchings  of  his  counte- 
nance—  and  where  thofecirry  me  not  deep 

enough —-in  flying  from  my  own  heart 

into  his,  and  feeing  what  is  natural  for  an 
a's  to  thiiJc — as  well  as  a  man,  upon  the 
occafion.  In  truth,  it  is  the  only  creature 
of  all  the  claffes  of  beings  below  me,  with 
whom  I  can  do  this  :  for  parrots,  jack- 
daws, &c. 1   never  exchange  a  word 

with  them ;nor  with   the  apes,  &c.  for 

pretty  near  the  lame  reafon ;  they  aft  by 
rote,  as  the  others  fpeak  by  it,  and  equally 
make  me  filent :  nay,  my  dog  and  my  cat, 
though  I  Value  them  botli  ■  -  (and  for 
my  dog,  he  would  fpeak  if  he  could)  — 
yet,  fomehow  or  other*  they  neither  of 
them  poflefs  the  talents  for  convocation — 
I  can  make  nothing  of  a  difcourfe  with 
them,  beyond  the  proportion,  the  reply, 
and  rejoinder,  which  terminated  my  far 
ther's  and  my  mother's  converfations,  in 
his  beds  of  juftice— and  thofe  uttered — 
there's  an  end  of  the  dialogue 

But  with  an  afs,  I  can  commune  for 

ever. 

Come,  Honefty  !  faid  I— -  feeing  it  was 
impracticable  to  pals  betwixt  him  and  the 
gate— -art  thou  for  coming  in,  or  going 
out  ? 

The  afs  twifted  his  head  round  to  look 
up  the  ftre?t 

Well*— replied   I— *we'll  wait  a  minute 


about,  and  looked  wiftfully    the  oppoiite 

1  understand  thee  perfectly,  anfwered  I 
-—if  thou  takt'ft  a  wrong  Hep  in  this  affair, 

he  will  cudgel  thee  to  death— ■ Well  ! 

a  minute  is  but  a  minute,  and  if  it  faves  a 
fellow-creature  a  drubbing,  it  lhall  not  be 
let  down  as  ill -fpent. 

He  was  eating  the  Mem  of  an  artichoke 
as  this  difcourfe  went  on,  and  in  the  little 
peevilh  contentions  of  nature  betwixt  hun- 
ger and  unfavourinefs,  had  dropt  it  out  of 
his  mouth  half  a  dozen  times,  and  pick'd 
it  up  again — —God  help  thee,  Jack  !  faid 
I,  thou  halt  a  bitter  breakfaft  on't — and 
many  a  bitter  day's  labour — and  many  a 
bitter  blow,  1  fear,  for  its  wages — 'tis  all 


all    bitternefs  to    thee,    whatever    life  is 

to  others. And  now  thy  mouth,   if 

one  knew  the  truth  of  it,  is  as  bitter,  I 
dare  lay  as  foot— (for  he  had  cat  afide 
the  Item)  and  thou  halt  not  a  friend  per- 
haps in  all  this  world,  that  will  give  thee 

a  macaroon.- *-In  faying  this,  I  pulled 

out  a  paper  of  them,  which  I  hadjuit  pur- 
chafed,  and  gave  him  one-** and  at  this 
moment  that  I  am  telling  it,  my  heart 
fmites  me,  that  there  was  more  of  plea- 
fantry  in  the  conceit,  of  feeing  how  an  afs 
would  eat  a  macaroon than  of  benevo- 
lence in  giving  him  one,  which  prefided 
in  the  aft. 

When  the  afs  had  eaten  his  macaroon* 
I  prefs'd  him  to  come  in—the  poor  beafl 
was  heavy  loaded — his  legs  ieem'd  to 
tremble  under  him — he  hung  rather  back- 
wards, and,  as  I  pulied  at  his  baiter,  it; 
broke  fhort  in  my  hand— he  look'd  up 
penfiye  in  my  face— "Don't   thrafh   me 

with  it-— but  if  you  will,  you  may."— If 

I  do,  faid  I,  I'll  bed -d. 

M  he  word  was  but  one  half  of  it  pro- 
nounced, like  the  abbefs  of  Andouillets— 
(io  there  was  no  fin  in  it)— when  a  perfon 
coming  in,  let  fall  a  thundering  baltinado 
upon  the  poor  devil's  crupper,  which  put 
an  end  to  the  ceremony. 

Out  upon  it  ! 

cried    I but    the    interjeftion    was 

equivocal— *— and,  I  think,  wrong  placed 
too- — for  the  end  of  an  oiler,  which  had 
Itarted  out  from  the  contexture  of  the  als's 
pannier,  had  caught  hold  Of  my  breaches 
pocket  as  he  ruined  by  me,  and  rent  it  in 
the  molt  diiaitrous  dircftion  you  can  ima- 
gine— fo  that  the  Out  upon  it  !  in  my  opi- 
nion, mould  have  come  in  here.        Sterne. 


for  thy  driver. 

He  turned   his  head  thoughtful      *>' 


Players    in    a    Country    I'cwn    de- 
.     Jinked. 

The  players,  you  mult  know,  finding 
this  a  good  town,  had  taken  a  ieaie  the 
lalt  fummer  of  an  old  fynagdg'ae  ueierted 
by  the  Jews ;  but  the  m  tyor,  being  a  pref- 
byterian,  refufed  to  licenie  theii  exhibi- 
tions :  however,  when  they  were  in  tL. e  ut- 
nioit  defpair,  the  la  lies  of  the  place  joined 
in  a  petition  to  Mrs.  Mayoreis,  who  pre- 
vailed on  her  hulband  to  wink  at  their 
performances,  The  company  immediately 
opened  their  fynagogue  theatre  witn  Lhe 
Merchant  of  Venice  ;  and  finding  a  quac.c 
d ■■-  )r"s  zany,  a  droll  fellow,  they  decoyed 
him  into  their  (erv'ice ;  and  he  has  fince 
performed  the  part  of  the  Mock  Doctor 
with  univcrial  applauie.  Upon  his  revolt 
3L  the 


SS2 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


the  doctor  himfelf  found  it  abfolutely  ne- 
cefTary  to  enter  of  the  company;  and,  hav- 
ing a  talent  for  tragedy,  has  performed 
with  great  fuccefs  the  Apothecary  in  Ro- 
meo and  Juliet. 

The  performers  at  our  ruflic  theatre  are ' 
far  beyond  thofe  paltry  itrollers,  who  run 
about  the  country,  and  exhibit  in  a  barn 
or  a  cow-houfe  :  for  (as  their  bills  declare) 
they  are  a  company  of  Comedians  from 
the  Theatre  Royal ;  and  I  affure  you  they 
are  as  much  applauded  by  our  country 
critics,  as  any  of  your  capital  actors.  The 
ihops  of  our  tradefmen  have  been  almoit. 
defertcd,  and  a  croud  of"  weavers  and  hard- 
waremen  have  elbowed  each  other  two 
hours  before  the  opening  of  the  doors, 
when  the  bills  have  informed  us,  in  enor- 
mous red  letters,  that  the  part  of  George 
Barnwell    was    to   be    performed  by  Mr. 

,  at  the  particular  defire  of  fe.veral 

ladies  of  diitin&ion.  'Tis  true,  indeed, 
that  our  principal  actors  have  molt  of  them 
had  their  education  at  Covent-garden  or 
Drury  lane;  but  they  have  been  employed 
in  the  bufinefs  of  the  drama  in  a  degree 
but  juft  above  a  fcene-fhifter.  An  heroine, 
to  whom  your  managers  in  town  (in  envy 
to  her  rifing  merit)  fcarce  allotted  the 
humble  part  of  a  confidante,  now  blubbers 
out  Andromache  or  Belvidera:,  the  atten- 
dants on  a  monarch  ftrut  monarchs  them- 
felves,  mutes  find  their  voices,  and  mef- 
fage-bearers  rife  into  heroes.  The  humour 
of  our  befl  comedian  confifts  in  (hrugs  and 
grimaces ;  lie  jokes  in  a  wry  mouth,  and 
repartees  in  a  grin ;  in  fhort,  he  practifes 
on  Congreve  and  Vanbrugh  all  thole  dif- 
tortions  which  gained  him  fo  much  ap- 
plaufe  from  the  galleries,  in  the  drubs 
which  he  was  obliged  to  undergo  in  pan- 
tomimes. I  was  vaflly  diverted  at  feeing 
a  fellow  in  the  character  of  Sir  Harry 
Wildair,  whole  chief  action  was  a  conti- 
nual preffing  together  of  the  thumb  and 
fore-finger,  which,  had  he  lifted  them  to 
his  nofe,  I  fhould  have  thought  he  defign- 
ed  as  an  imitation  of  taking  fnufF:  but  I 
could  eafily  account  for  the  caufe  of  this 
fingle  gefture,  when  Idifcovered  that  Sir 
Harry  was  no  lefs  a  perfon  than  the  dex- 
terous Mr.  Clippit,  the  candle-fnuffer. 

You  would  laugh  to  fee  how  flrangely 
the  parts  of  a  play  are  call.  They  played 
Cato :  and  their  Marcia  was  fuch  an  old 
woman,  that  when  Juba  came  on  with  his 

• "Hail!  charming  maid!" 

the  fellow  could  not  help  laughing.     An- 
other night  I  was   furprized  to  hear  an 


eager  lover  talk  of  ruining  into  his  mif- 
trefs's  arms,  rioting  on  the  nectar  of  her* 
lips,  and  defiring  (in  the  tragedy  rap- 
ture) to  "hug  her  thus,  and  thus,  for 
ever ;"  though  he  ah'  ays  took  care  tov 
ftand  at  a  molt  ceremonious  diftance.  But 
I  was  afterwards  very  much  diverted  at 
the  caufe  of  this  extraordinary  refpect,- 
when  I  was  told  that  the  lady  laboured 
under  the  misfortune  of  an  ulcer  in  her 
leg,  which  occafioned  fuch  a  difagreeable 
flench,  that  the  performers  were  obliged 
to  keep  her  at  arms  length.  The  enter- 
tainment was  Lethe ;  and  the  part  of  the 
Frenchman  was  performed  by  a  South 
Briton ;  who,  as  he  could  not  pronounce  a 
word  of  the  French  language,  fupplied  its 
place  by  gabbling  in  his  native  Welfh. 

The  decorations,  or  (in  the  theatrical 
dialect)  the  property  of  our  company,  are 
as  extraordinary  as  the  performers.  O- 
thello  raves  about  in  a  checked  handker- 
chief; the  ghoft  in  Hamlet  italks  in  a  pof- 
tilion's  leathern-jacket  for  a  coat  of  mail; 
and  Cupid  enters  with  a  fiddle-cafe  flung 
over  his  fhoulders  for  a  quiver.  The  apo- 
thecary of  the  town  is  free  of  the  houfe, 
for  lending  them  a  peflle  and  mortar  ta 
ferve  as  the  bell  in  Venice  Preferved  :  and 
a  barber- furgeon  has  th:  fame  privilege, 
for  furnifhing  them  with  bafons  of  blood-' 
to  befmear  the  daggers  in  Macbeth.  Mac- 
beth himfelf  carries  a  rolling-pin  in  his 
hand  for  a  truncheon ;  and,  as  the  break- 
ing of  glaffes  would  be  very  expenfive,  he 
dafh.es  down  a  pewter  pint-pot  at  the  fight 
of  Banquo's  ghoft. 

A  fray  happened  here  the  other  night,- 
which  was  no  fmall  diverfion  t5  the  audi- 
ence. It  feems  there  had  been  a  great 
eonteft  between  two  of  thofe  mimic  heroes, 
which  was  the  fitted  to  play  Richard  the 
Third.  One  of  them  was  reckoned  to  have 
the  better  perfon,  as  he  was  very  rour.d- 
fhouldcred,  and  one  of  his  legs  was  fhorter 
than  the  other;  but  his  antagoniit  carried 
the  part,  becaufe  he  ilarted  befl  in  the  tent 
fcene.  However,  when  the  curtain  drew 
up,  they  both  rufhed  in  upon  the  ftage  at 
once;  and,  bawling  out  together, ■"  Now 
are  our  brows  bound  with  victorious 
wreaths,"  they  both  went  through  the 
whole  fpeech  without  flopping. 

ConnoiJJeur. 

§  73 •     Players  often  mijlake  one  Ejfeft  for 
another. 
The  French  have  diflinguifhed  the  ar- 
tifices made  ufe  of  on  the  iiage  to  deceive 

she- 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIV 

the  audience,  by  the  expreflion  of  Jeu  de 
Theatre,  which  we  may  tranilate,  "  the  jug- 
gle of  the  theatre,"  When  theie  little  arts 
are  exercifed  merely  to  affift  nature,  and  let 
her  off  to  the  bell  advantage,  none  can  be 
fo  critically  nice  as  to  object  to  them  ;  but 
when  tragedy  by  thefe  means  is  lifted  into 
rant,  and  comedy  diftorted  into  buffbonry ; 
though  the  deceit  may  fucceed  with  the 
multitude,  men  of  fenfe  will  always  be  of- 
fended at  it.  This  conduct,  whether  of 
the  poet  or  the  player,  refembles  in  fame 
fort  the  poor  contrivance  of  the  ancients, 
who  mounted  their  heroes  upon  ftilts,  and 
expreflei  the  manners  of  their  characters 
hy  the  gro'tefque  figures  of  their  malks. 

Ibid. 

§   74.      True  Pleafure  defined. 

We  are  arretted  with  delightful  fenfa- 
tions,  when  we  lee  the  inanimate  parts  of 
the  creation,  the  meadows,  flowers,  and 
trees,  in  a  flouriihing  ftate.  There  mult 
be  fome  rooted  melancholy  at  the  heart, 
when  all  nature  appears  fmiling  about  us, 
to  hinder  us  from  correfponding  with  the 
reft  of  the  creation,  and  joining  in  the 
univerfal  chorus  of  joy.  But  if  meadows 
and  trees  in  their  chearful  verdure,  if 
flowers  in  their  bloom,  and  ail  the  vege- 
table parts  of  the  creation  in  their  molt 
advantageous  drefs,  can  infpire  gladneis 
into  the  heart,  and  drive  away  all  fadnefs 
but  defpair;  to  fee  the  rational  creation 
happy  and  flouriihing,  ought  to  give  us  a 
pleafure  as  much  fuperior,  as  the  latter  is 
to  the  former  in  the  fcale  of  beings.  But 
the  pleafure  is  itill  heightened,  if  we  our- 
felves  have  been  inftrumental  in  contribut- 
ing to  the  happineis  of  our  fellow-crea- 
tures, if  we  have  helped  to  raife  a  heart 
drooping  beneath  the  weight  of  grief,  and 
revived  that  barren  and  dry  land,  where 
no  water  was,  with  refreming  fhowers  of 
love  and  kindnefs.  Seed's  Sermons. 

§  J  5.  Hq-w  Politenefs  is  manifcjled. 
To  correft  fuch  grofs  vices  as  lead  us  to 
commit  a  real  injury  to  others,  is  the  part 
of  morals,  and  the  objett  of  the  moft  ordi- 
nary education.  Where  that  is  not  attend- 
ed to,  in  fome  degree,  no  human  fqciety 
can  fubfift.  But  in  order  to  render  conver- 
fation  and  the  intercourie  of  minds  more 
eafy  and  agreeable,  good-manners  have 
been  invented,  and  have  carried  the  matter 
fomewhat  farther.  Wherever  nature  has 
given  the  mind  a  propenfity  to  any  vice,  or 
to  any  paffion  disagreeable  to  others,  re- 
fined breeding  has  taught' men  to  throw  the 


E S,   DIAL  O  GUES,    &c  % S3 

bias  on  the  oppofite  fide,  and  to  preferve, 
in  all  their  behaviour,  the  appearance  of 
fentiments  contrary  to  thole  which  they 
naturally  incline  to.  1  hus,  as  we  are  na- 
turally "proud  and  felfifh,  and  apt  to  afiume 
the  preference  above  others,  a  polite  man 
is  taught  to  behave  with  deference  tovvards 
thole  with  whom  he  con  verier,  and  to  yield 
up  the  iuperiority  to  them  in  all  the  com- 
mon incidents  of  fociety.  In  like  manner,' 
wherever  aperfon's  lituation  may  natural- 
ly beget  any  difagreeable  iuipicion  in  himy 
'tis  the  part  of  gu'od-manners  to  pi  event  it, 
by  a  itudied  dilplay  of  fentiments  directly 
contrary  to  thoie  of  which  he  is  ape  to  be 
jealous.  Thus  old  men  know  their  infir- 
mities, and  naturally  dread  contempt  ircm 
youth:  hence,  vved-educated  youth  re- 
double their  in  fiances  of  refpect  and  de- 
ference to  their  elders.  Strangers  and 
foreigners  are  without  protection:  hence, 
in  all  polite  countries,  they  receive  the 
highefi  civilities,  and  are  entitled  to  the 
firlt  place  in  every  company.  A  man  is 
lord  in  his"  own  family,  and  his  gueits  are, 
in  a  manner,  fubjett  to  his  authority :  'hence, 
he  is  always  the  loweft  perion  in  the  com- 
pany;  attentive  to  the  wants'  of  every  one ; 
and  giving  himfelf  all  the  trouble,  in  order 
to  pleafe,  which  may  net  betray  too  vifible 
an  affectation,  Or  impoie  too  much  con- 
ltraint  on  his  guefts.  Gallantry  is  nothing 
but  an  inftance  of  the  fame  generous  and 
refined  attention.  As  natu.e  has  given 
man  the  Iuperiority  above  woman,  by  en- 
dowing him  with  greater  Itrength  both  of 
mind  and  body,  'tis  his  part  to  alleviate 
that  fuperiorit-y,  as  much  as  pothole,  by  the 
generality  ofhis  behaviour,  and  by  a  itudied' 
deference  and  complaifance  for  all  her  in- 
clinations and  opinions.  Barbarous  nations 
difplay  this  fapersbrity,  by  reducing  tueir 
females  to  the  molt  abject  ilavery;  by  con- 
fining them,  by  beating  them,  by  felling 
them,  by  killing  them.  But  the  male  lex, 
among  a  polite  people,  difcover  their  au- 
thority in  a  more  generous,  though  not  a 
lefs  evident,  manner;  by  civility,  by  re- 
fpect, by  complaifance,  and,  in  a  word,  by 
gallantry.  In  good  company,  you  need" 
not  afkj  who  is  mafter  of  the  feaii  ?  The 
man  who  fits  in  the  loweft.  place,  and  who 
is  always  induitricus  in  helping  every  one, 
is  moft  certainly  the  perfon.  We  muft  ei- 
ther condemn  all  luch  inftances  ofgenero- 
fity,  as  foppifh  and  affected,  or  admit  of 
gallantry  among  the  reft.  The  ancient 
Mofcovites  wedded  their  wives  with  a  whip 
inftead  of  a  wedding-ring.  The  fame  peo- 
3L2  pie, 


SS4 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


pie,  in  their  own  houfes,  took  always 
the  precedency  above  foreigners,  even  fo- 
reign ambafTadors.  Thefe  two  inftances 
of  their  generofity  and  politenefs  are  much 
of  a-piece.  Hume's  EJJays. 

§   76.     The  Bujinefs  and  Qualifications  of  a 
Poet  defcribed. 

"  Wherever  I  went,  I  found  that  poetry 
was  confidered  as  the  higheft  learning,  and 
regarded  with  a  veneration  fomewhat  ap- 
proaching to  that  which  man  would  pay  to 
the  angelic  nature.  And  it  yet  fills  me 
with  wonder,  that,  in  almoft  all  countries, 
the  mod  ancient  poets  are  confidered  as 
the  beft:  whether  it  be  that  every  other 
kind  of  knowledge  is  an  acquiiition  gra- 
dual'y  attained,  and  poetry  is  a  gift  con- 
ferred at  once ;  or  that  the  firft  poetry  of 
every  nation  furprifed  them  as  a  novelty, 
and  retained  the  credit  by  con  lent  which 
it  received  by  accident  at  firft :  or  whe- 
ther, as  the  province  of  poetry  is  to  de- 
fcribe  nature  and  paffion,  which  are  always 
the  fame,  the  firft  writers  took  pofTefTion  of 
the  moft  ftriking  objects  for  defcription, 
and  the  moft  probable  occurrences  for  fic- 
tion, and  left  nothing  to  thofe  that  follow- 
ed them,  but  tranferiptions  of  the  fame 
events,  and  new  combinations  of  the  fame 
images.  Whatever  be  the  reafon,  it  is 
commonly  obferved,  that  the  early  writers 
are  in  pofleflion  of  nature,  and  their  follow- 
ers of  art :  that  the  firft  excel  in  ftrength 
and  invention,  and  the  latter  in  elegance 
and  refinement. 

"  I  was  dcfirous  to  add  my  name  to  this 
illuftrious  fraternity.  I  read  all  the  poets 
of  Perfia  and  Arabia,  and  was  able  to  re- 
peat by  memory  the  volumes  that  are  fuf- 
pended  in  the  mofque  of  Mecca.  But  I  foon 
found  that  no  man  was  ever  great  by  imi- 
tation. My  defire  of  excellence  impelled 
me  to  transfer  my  attention  to  nature  and 
to  life.  Nature  was  to  be  my  fubjeift,  and 
men  to  be  my  auditors  :  I  could  never  t'e- 
fcribe  what  1  had  not  feen  :  I  could  not 
hope  to  move  thofe  with  delight  or  tenor, 
whofe  interefts  and  opinions! did  not  un- 
derftand. 

«  Being  now  refolved  to  be  a  poet,  I 
faw  every  thing  with  a  new  purpoie ;  my 
fphere  of  attention  was  fuddenly  magnifi- 
ed :  no  kind  of  knowledge  was  to  be  over- 
looked. I  ranged  mountains  and  deferts 
for  images  and  refemblances,  and  pictured 
upon  my  mind  every  tree  of  the  foreft  and 
flower  of  the  valley.  I  obferved  with 
equal  care  the  crags  of  the  rock,  and  the 


pinnacles  of  the  palace.  Sometimes  I  wan- 
dered along  the  mazes  of  the  rivulet,  and 
fometimes  watched  the  changes  of  the 
futnmer  clouds.  To  a  poet  nothing  can 
be  ufelefs.  Whatever  is  beautiful,  and 
whatever  is  dreadful,  mult  be  familiar  to 
his  imagination :  he  muft  be  converfant 
with  all  tliat  is  awfully  vaft  or  elegantly 
little.  The  plants  of  the  garden,  the  ani- 
mals of  the  wood,  the  minerals  of  the  earth, 
and  meteors  of  the  flcy,  mull  all  concur  to 
ftore  his  mind  with  inexhauftible  variety  : 
for  every  idea  is  ufeful  for  the  enforce- 
ment or  decoration  of  moral  or  religious 
truth  :  and  he,  who  knows  moft  will  have 
moft  power  of  diverfifying  his  fcenes,  and 
of  gratifying  his  reader  with  remote  allu- 
fions  and  unexpected  inftruction. 

"  All  the  appearances  of  nature  I  was 
therefore  careful  to  ftudy,  and  every  coun- 
try which  I  have  furveyed  has  contributed 
fomething  to  my  poetical  powers." 

"  In  fo  wide  a  furvey,"  faid  the  prince, 
»f  you  muft  furely  have  left  much  unob- 
ferved.  I  have  lived,  till  now,  within  the 
circuit  of  thefe  mountains,  and  yet  cannot 
walk  abroad  without  the  fight  of  fome- 
thing which  I  never  beheld  before,  or 
never  heeded." 

'•  The  bufinefs  of  a  poet,"  faid  Imlac, 
"  is  to  examine,  not  the  individual,  but  the 
fpecies ;  to  remark  general  properties  and 
large  appearances :  he  does  not  number 
the  ftreaks  of  the  tulip,  or  defcribe  the  dif- 
ferent lhades  in  the  verdure  of  the  foreft. 
He  is  to  exhibit  in  his  portraits  of  nature 
fuch  prominent  and  ftriking  features,  as  re- 
cal  the  original  to  every  mind;  and  muft 
neglect  the  minuter  difcriminations,  which 
one  may  have  remarked,  and  another  have 
neglected,  for  thofe  characteriftics  which 
are  alike  obvious  to  vigilance  and  care- 
leflhefs. 

"  But  the  knowledge  of  nature  is  only 
half  the  talk  of  a  poet :  he  muft  be  ac- 
quainted likewife  with  all  the  modes  of  life. 
His  character  requires  that  he  ellimate  the 
happinefs  and  mifery  of  every  condition, 
obferve  the  power  of  all  the  paffions  in  ail 
their  combinations,  and  trace  the  changes 
of  the  human  mind  as  they  are  modified  by 
various  institutions,  and  accidental  in- 
fluences of  climate  or  cuftom,  from  the 
fprightlinefs  of  infancy  to  the  defpondence 
of  decrepitude.  He  muft  diveft  himfelf  of 
the  prejudices  of  his  age  or  country  ;  he 
muft  ctmiider  right  and  wrong  in  their  ab- 
ftract  and  invariable  date  ;  he  muft  difre- 
gard  prefent  laws  and  opinions,  and  rife  to 

general 


B  OOK  IV.    NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,  &c. 


885 


g.-neral  and  tranfcendental  truths,  which 
will  always  be  the  fame :  he  muft  there- 
fore content  himfelf  with  the  flow  pro- 
grefs  of  his  name  ;  contemn  the  applaufe 
of  his  own  time,  and  commit  his  claims  to 
the  jullice  of  pofterity.  He  muft  write  as 
the  interpreter  of  nature,  and  the  legiflator 
of  mankind,  and  confider  himfelf  as  pre- 
fulirq  over  the  thoughts  and  n  anners  of 
future  generations,  as  a  being  iuperior  to 
time  and  place. 

...  "  His  labour  is  not  yet  at  an  end :  he 
muft  know  many  languages  arid  many 
fciences;  and,  that  hbTftyle  may  be  wor- 
thy of  his  thoughts,  mult,  by  inccfiant  pric- 
tice,  familiarize  to  himfelf  every  delicacy 
of  fpeech  and  grace  of  harmony  " 

John/oil's  Ra^'elas. 

§   77.     Remarks  on  fome  of  the  bejl  Poets, 
both  ancient  and  modern. 

'Tis  manifeft,  that  fome  particular  ages 
have  been  more  happy  than  others,  in  tne 
production  of  great  men,  and  all  forts  of 
arts  and  fciences ;  as  that  of  Euripides, 
Sophocles,  Ariftophanes,  and  the  reft,  for 
ftage  poetry,  amongft  the  Greeks ;  that  of 
Auguitus  for  heroic,  lyric,  dramatic,  ele- 
giac, and  indeed  ail  forts  of  poetry,  in  the 
perfons  of  Virgil,  Horace,  Varius,  Ovid, 
and  many  others;  Specially  if  we  take 
into  that  century  the  latter  end  of  the 
commonwealth,  wherein  we  find  Varro, 
Lucretius,  and  Catullus :  and  at  the  fame 
time  lived  Cicero,  Salluft,  and  Cadar.  _  A 
famous  age  in  modern  times,  for  learning 
in  every  kind,  was  that  of  Lorenzo  de  Me- 
dici, and  his  fon  Leo  X.  wherein  painting 
was  revived,  poetry  flourifhed,  and  the 
Greek  language  was  reftored. 

Examples  in  all  thefe  are  obvious:  but 
what  1  would  infer  is  this,  That  in  fuch  an 
age,  'tis  pollib'.e  fome  great  genius  may 
arife  to  equal  any  of  the  ancients,  abating 
only  for  the  language ;  for  great  contem- 
poraries whet  and  cultivate  each  other j 
and  mutual  borrowing  and  commerce, 
makes  the  common  riches  of  learning,  as 
it  does  of  civil  government,. 

But  fuppofe  that  Homer  and  Virgil  were 
the  only  poets  of  their  fpecies,  and  that  na- 
ture was  fo  much  worn  out  in  producing 
them,  that  ihe  is  never  able  to  bear  the  like 
again  ;  yet  the  example  only  holds  in  he- 
roic poetry.  In  tragedy  and  fatire,  I  offer 
myfelf  to  maintain,  againft  fome  of  our 
modern  critics,  that  this  age  and  the  laft, 
particularly  in  England,  have  excelled  fhe 
ancients  in  betb.  tf-  efekinds. 


Thus  I  might  fafely  confine  myfelf  to 
my  native  country ;  but  if  I  would  only 
crofs  the  feas,  I  might  find  in  France  a  liv- 
ing Horace  and  a  Juvenal,  in  the  perfon 
of  the  admirable  Boileau,  whofe  numbers 
are  excellent,  whofe  expreflions  are  noble, 
whofe  thoughts  are  juft,  whofe  language  is 
pure',  whofe  fatire  is  pointed,  and  whofe 
fenfe  is  clofe.  What  he  borrows  from  the 
ancients,  he  repavs  with  ufury  of  his  own, 
in  coin  as  good,  and  almoft  as  univerfally 
valuable;  for,  fetting  prejudice  and  partia- 
lity apart,  though  he  is  our  enemy,  the 
ftamp  of  a  Louis,  the  patron  of  arts,  is  not 
much  inferior  to  the  medal  of  an  Auguftus 
Cefar.  Let  this  be  faid  without  entering 
into  the  imeiefts  of  factions  and  parties, 
and  relating  only  the  bounty  of  that  king 
to  men  of  learning  and  merit;  a  praife  fo 
juft,  that  even  we,  who  are  his  enemies, 
cannot  refufe  it  to  him. 

Now,  if  it  may  be  permitted  me  to  go 
back  again  to  the  confideration  of  epic 
poetry,  I  have  confefled  that  no  man  hi- 
therto has  reached,  or  fo  much  as  approach*- 
ed  to  the  excellencies  of  Homer  or  Virgil ; 
I  muft  farther  add,  that  Statius,  the  beft 
verlificator  next  Virgil,  knew  not  how  to 
defign  after  him,  though  he  had  the  model 
in  his  eyes ;  that  Lucan  is  wanting  both  in 
defign  and  fubjeft,  and  is  befides  too  full . 
of  heat  and  affedlion ;  that  among  the  mo- 
derns, Ariofto  neither  defigned  juftly,  nor 
obierved  any  unity  of  action,  or  qompafs  of 
time,  or  moderation  in  the  vaflnefs  of  his 
draught :  his  ftyle  is  luxurious,  without 
majefty  or  decency;  and  his  adventurers 
without  the  compafs  of  nature  and  poflibi- 
lity.  Taflb,  whofe  defign  was  regular, 
and  who  obierved  the  rules  of  unity  in  time 
and  place  more  clofely  than  Virgil,  yet  was 
not  fo  happy  in  his  action:  he  confeffes 
himfelf  to  have  been  too  lyrical,  that  is,  to 
have  written  beneath  the  dignity  of  heroic 
verfe,  in  his  epifodes  of  Sophronia,  Ermi- 
nia,  and  Armida ;  his  ftory  is  not  fo  pleafing 
as  Ariofto's ;  he  is  too  flatulent  fometimes, 
and  fometimes  too  dry;  many  times  un- 
equal, and  almoft  always  forced;  and  be- 
fides, is  full  of  conceptions,  points  of  epi- 
gram, and  witticifms ;  all  which  are  not  only 
below  the  dignity  of  heroic  verfe,  but  con- 
trary to  its  nature.  Virgil  and  Homer 
have  not  one  of  them:  and  thofe  who  are 
guilty  of  fo  boyifh  an  ambition  in  fo  grave 
a  fubjedl,  are  fo  far  from  being  confidered 
as  heroic  poets,  that  they  ought  to  be  turn- 
ed down  from  Homer  to  Anthologia,  from 
Virgil  to  Martial  and  Owen's  epigrams 
3  L  3 


and 


886 


ELEGANT    EXTRACTS    IN    PROSE. 


S-nd  f'om  Spenfer  to  Flecno,  that  is,  from 
the  top  to  the  bottom  of-  all  poetry.     But 
*o  return  to  Taffo ;  he  borrows  from  the 
invention  of  Boyardo,  and  in  his  alteration 
of  his  poem,  which  is  infinitely  the  worjt, 
imitates  Homer  fo  very  fervilely,  that  (for 
eitample)  he  gives  the  king  of  ferufaiem 
iifty  fons,  only  becaufe  Homer  had  bellow- 
ed the  like  number  on  king  Priam  j  he  kills 
the  youngeft  in  the  fame  manner,  and  has 
provided  his  hero  with  a  Patroclus,  under 
another  name,  only  to  bring  him  back  to 
.the  wars,  when  his  friend  was  killed-     The 
French  have   performed    nothing  in  this 
kind,  which  is  not  below  thofe  two  Italians;, 
and  fubject  to  a  thoufand  more  reflections, 
without  examining  their  St.  Louis,  their 
Pucelle,  or  their  A'aiique.     The  Englifh 
have  only  to  boaft  of  Spenfer  and  Milton, 
who  neither  of  them  wanted  either  genius 
or  learning  to  have  been  perfect  poets,  and 
yet  both  of  them  are  liable   to  many  cen- 
iures.     For  there   is  no  uniformity  in   the 
defign  of  Spenfer  ;    he  aims  at  the  accom- 
pliihment  of  no  one  action;  he  raifes  up  a 
hero  for  every  one  of  his  adventures,  and 
endows  each  of  them  with  fome  particular 
moral  virtue,  which  renders  them  all  equal, 
without  fu-bordination  or  preference.  Every 
one  is  moll  valiant  in  his  own  legend  ;  only 
we  muft  do  them -the  juftice   to  obferve, 
that  magnanimity,  which  is   the  character 
of  Prince  Arthur,  fhines  through  the  whole 
poem, and  fuccours  the  reft,  when  they  are 
in  diflrefs.     TJie  original  of  every  knighjt 
■was  then  living  in  the  court  of  queen  Eliza- 
beth ;  and  he  attributed  to  each  of  them 
that  virtue  which  he  thought  moil  confpi- 
cuous  in  them  :  an  ingenious  piece  of  flat- 
tery, though  it  turned  not  much  to  his  ac- 
count.    Had  he  lived  to  finifh  his  poem,  in 
the  fix  remaining  legends,  it  had  certainly 
been  more  ofa-pie.ee;  but  could  not  have 
been  peifect,  becaufe   the  model   was  not 
true.     But  Prince  Arthur,  or  his  chief  pa- 
tron, Sir  Philip  Sidney,  whom  Ke  intended 
to  make  happy  by  the  marriage  of  his  Glo- 
riana,  dying  before  him,  deprived  the  poet 
both  of  means  andfpiiit  to  accomolifh  his 
defign       For   the    reft,  his  obfoiete  lan- 
guage, and  ill  choice  of  his  ftanza,  are  faults 
but  of  the  fecond  magnitude  :  for,  notwith- 
standing the  fir  It,  he  is  ftill  intelligible,  at 
Lull  after  a  little  practice  ;  and  for  the  laft, 
he  is  the  more  to  be  admired,  that  labour- 
ing under  fuch  a  difficulty,  his  verfes  are 
fo  numerous,  fo  various,  and  fo  harmoni- 
ous that  only  Virgil,  whom  he  profefiedly 
imitated,  has  iurpaffed  him  anion?  the  Ro- 


mans, and   only  Mr.  Waller  among  the 
Englifh.  Dry  den. 

§   78.      Remarks  on  fome  of  the  beft  Englifh, 
dramatic  Pests. 

Shakefpeare  v/as  the  man  who,  of  all 
modern  and  perhaps  ancient  poets,  had  the 
largelt  and  moft  comprehenfive  foul.  AH 
the  images- of  nature  were  ftill  prefent  to 
him*  and  he  drew  them  not  laborioufly,  but 
luckily  :  v.  hen  he  defcribes  any  thing,  you  » 
more  than  fee  it,  you  feel  it  too.  Thofe 
who  accufe  him  to  have  wanted  learning, 
give  him  the  greater  commendation :  he 
was  naturally  learned;  he  needed  net  the 
fpectacles  of  books  to  read  nature ;  he 
looked  inwards,  and  found  her  there.  I 
cannot  fay  he  is  every  where-alike  ;  were 
he  fo,  I  fhould  do  him  injury  to  compare 
him  with  the  greateit  of  mankind.  He  is 
many  times  flat  and  infipid ;  his  comic 
wit  degenerating  into  clenches;  his  ferious, 
fvvellir.g  into  bombaft.  But  he  is  always 
great,  when  fome  great  occafion  is  prefent- 
ed  to  him  :  no  man  can  fay  he  ever  had  a 
fit  fubject  for  his  wit,  and  did  not  then  raife 
himfelf  as  high  above  the  reft  of  Poets, 
Quantum  lenta  folent  inter  virburna  cuprefli.  - 
The  confederation  of  this  made  Mr. 
Hales  of  Eaton  fay,  that  there  was  no  fub- 
ject of  which  any  poet  ever  writ,  but  he 
would  produce  it  much  better  treated  in 
Shakefpeare ;  and,  however  others  are  now 
generally  preferred  before  him,  yet  the 
age  wherein  he  lived,  which  had  contempo- 
raries with  him  Fletcher  and  Jonfon,  ne- 
ver equalled  them  to  him  in  their  efteem. 
And  in  the  lait  king's  court,  when  Ben's 
reputation  was  at  the  higheft,  Sir  John 
Suckling,  and  with  him  the  greater  part. of 
the  courtiers,  fet  our  Shakefpeare  far  above 
him. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  of  whom  I  am 
next  to  fpeak,  had,  with  the  advantage  of 
Shakefpeare's  wit,  which  was  their  prece- 
dent, great  natural  gifts,  improved  by 
ftudy ;  Beaumont  efpecially  being  fo  ac- 
curate a  judge  of  players,  that  Ben  Jonfon, 
while  he  lived,  fubmitted  all  his  writings 
to  his  cenfure,  and,  'tis  thought,  ufed  his 
judgment  in  correcting,  if  not  contriving, 
all  his  plots.  What  value  he  had  for  him, 
appears  by  the  verfes  he  writ  to  him,  and 
therefore  I  need  fpeak  no  farther  of  it. 
The  firft  play  which  brought  Fletcher  and 
him  in  efteem  was  their  Philafter ;  for  be- 
fore that,  they  had  written  two  or  three 
very  unfuccefsfully ;  and  the  like  is  re- 
ported 


BOOK  IV.    NARRATIV 

ported  of  Ben  Jonfon,  before  he  writ  Every 
3VIin  *Q  his  Humour.  Their  plots  were  ge- 
nerally more  regular  than  Shakefpeare's, 
efpeciaily  thofe  which  were  made  before 
Beaumont's  death;  and  they  underwood 
and  imitated  the  converfation  of  gentlemen 
(much  better,  whofe  wild  debaucheries,  and 
quicknefs  of  repartees,  no  poet  can  ever 
paint  as  they  have  done.  That  humour 
which  Ben  Jonfon  derived  from  particular 
perfons,  they  made  it  not  their  buiinefs  to 
defcribe :  they  reprefented  all  the  paffions 
very  lively,  but  above  all,  love.  I  am  apt 
to  believe  the  Englilh  language  in  them 
arrived  to  its  iiigheft  perfection :  what 
woids  have  been  taken  in  fince,  are  rather 
iuperfluous  than  neceilary.  Their  plays 
are  now  the  molt  pleafant  and  frequent  en- 
tertainments of  the  ftage;  two  of  theirs  be- 
ing acted  through  the  year  for  one  of 
Shakeipeare's  or  Jonfon's  :  the  reafon  is, 
becaule  there  is  a  certain  gaiety  in  their 
comedies,  and  patnos  in  their  more  ferious 
plays,  which  fuits  generally  with  all  men's 
humour.  Shakefpeare's  language  is  like- 
wile  a  little  obiolete.  and  Ben  Jonfon's 
wit  comes  fhortofthei  s. 

As  for  Jonfon,  to  whofe  character  I  am 
now  arrived,  if  we  look  upon  him  while  he 
was  himfelf  (for  his  laft  plays  were  but  his 
dotages),  I  think  him  the  moil  learned  and 
judicious  writer  which  any  theatre  everhad. 
He  was  a  moll  fevere  judge  of  himfelf  as 
well  as  others.  One  cannot  fay  he  wanted 
wit,  but  rather  that  he  was  frugal  of  it.  In 
his  works,  you  find  little  to  retrench  or  al- 
ter. Wit  and  language,  and  humour  alfo, 
in  feme  meafure,  we  had  before  him;  but 
fomething  of  art  was  wanting  to  the  drama 
till  he  came.  He  managed  his  ilrength  to 
more  advantage  than  any  who  preceded 
him.  You  feldom  find  him  making  love 
in  any  of  his  fcenes,  or  endeavouring  to 
move  the  pallions;  his  genius  was -coo  fullen 
and  faturnine  to  do  it  gracefully,  efpecially 
when  he  knew  he  came  after  thofe  who 
had  performed  both  to  fuch  an  height. 
Humour  was  his  proper  fphere,  and  in  that 
he  delighted  moil  to  reprefent  mechanic 
people.  He  was  deeply  converfant  in  the 
ancients,  both  Greek  and  Latin,  and  he 
borrowed  boldly  from  them :  there  is  not 
a  poet  or  hiftorian  among  the  Roman  au- 
thors of  thofe  times,  whom  he  has  not 
tranflated  in  Sejanus  and  Catiline.  But  he 
has  done  his  robberies  fo  openly,  that  one 
may  fee  he.  fears  not  to  he  taxed  by  any 
law.  He  invades  authors  like  a  monarch, 
aad  what  would  be  theft  ia.other.poets,.is 


ES,    DIALOGUES,    &c.  887 

only  victory  in  him.  With  the  fpoils  of 
thofe  writers  he  fo  reprefents  old  Rome  to 
us,  in  its  rites,  ceremonies,  and  cuftoms, 
that  if  one  of  their  poets  had  written  either 
of  his  tragedies,  we  had  feen  lefs  of  it 
than  in  him.  If  there  was  any  fault  in  his 
language,  'twas  that  he  weav'd  it  too  clofely 
and  laborioufly  in  his  ferious  plays :  per-* 
haps,  too,  he  did  a  little  too  much  Roma- 
nize our  tongue,  leaving  the  words  which 
he  tranflated  as  much  Latin  as  he  found 
them;  wherein,  though  he  learnedly  fol- 
lowed the  idiom  of  their  language,  he  did 
not  enough  comply  with  ours.  If  I  would 
compare  with  him  Shakefpeare,  I  mult  ac- 
knowledge him  the  more  correct  poet,  but 
Shakefpeare  the  greater  wit.  Shakefpeare 
was  the  Homer,  or  father  of  our  dramatic 
poets,  Jonfon  was  the  Virgil,  the  pattern 
of  elaborate  writing;  I  admire  him,  but  I 
love  Shakefpeare.  To  conclude  of  him  : 
as  he  has  given  us  the  molt  correct  plays, 
fo,  in  the  precepts  which  he  has  laid  down 
in  his  difcoveries,  we  have  as  many  and  as 
-profitable  rules  for  perfecting  the  flage  as 
any  wherewith  the  French  can  furnifh  us. 
Drydcns  EJftiys. 

§79.     The   Origin  and  Right   of  exclufi-ve 
Property  explained. 

There  is  nothing  which  fo  generally 
ftrikes  the  imagination  and  engages  the 
affections  of  mankind,  as  the  right  of  pro- 
perty ;  or  that  fole  and  defpotic  dominion 
which  one  man  claims  and  exercifes  over 
the  external  things  of  the  world,  in  a  totai 
exclulion  of  the  right  of  any.  other  indivi- 
dual in  the  univerfe.  And  yet  there  are 
very  few  that  will  give  themfelves  the 
trouble  to  confider  the  original  and  founda- 
tion of  this  right.  Pleafed  as  we  are  with 
the  poffeiTion,  we  feem  afraid  to  look  back 
to  the  means  by  which  it  was  acquired,  as 
if  fearful  of  fome  defect  in  our  title  ;  or  at 
belt  we  reft  fatisfied  with  the  deciiion  of 
the  laws  in  our  favour,  without  examining 
the  reafon  or  authority  upon  which  thole 
laws  have  been  built.  We  think  it  enough 
that  our  title  is  derived  by  the  grant  of  the 
former  proprietor,  by  defcen:  from  our 
anceltors,  or  by  the  lalt  will  and  teltament 
of  the  dying  owner;  not  caring  to  reded 
that  (accurately  and  itriftly  fpeaking)  there 
is  no  foundation  in  nature  or  in  natural  law, 
why  a  fet  of  •  ords  upon  parchment  mould 
convey  the  dominion  of  land;  why  the  ion 
ihould  have  a  right  to  exclude  his  feh- 
low-creatures  from  a  determinate  Ipot  of 
ground,  becaufe  his  father  had  done  fo  be- 
3  L  4  f°re 


sss 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


fore  him;  or  why  the  occupier  of  a  parti- 
cular field  or  of  a  jewel,  tvhen  lying  on  his 
death-bed,  and  no  longer  able  to  maintain 
poflcffion,  mould  be  entitled  to  tell  the  reft 
of  the  world,  which  of  them  ihould  enjoy 
it  after  him.  Thefe  enquiries,  i'  mult  be 
owned,  would  be  ufeleft;  and  even  trouble- 
some in  common  life.  It  is  well  if  the 
mafs  of  mankind  will  obey  the  laws  when 
made,  without  fcrutinizing  too  nicely  into 
the  reafons  of  making  them.  But,  when 
law  is  to  be  cenfidered  not  only  as  mat- 
ter cf  practice,  but  alfo  as  a  rational 
Science,  it  cannot  be  improper  or  ufelefs 
to  examine  more  deeply  the  rudiments 
and  grounds  of  thefe  positive  conftitutions 
of  foc;ery. 

In  the  b°ginning  of  the  world,  we  are 
Informed  by  holy  writ,  the  all- bountiful 
Creator  gave  to  man,  •«  dominion  over  all 
the  earth  ;  and  over  the  filh  of  the  fea,  and 
over  the  fowl  of  the  air,  and  over  every 
living  thing  that  rnoveih  upon  the  earth*." 
This  is  the  only  true  and  iolid  foundation 
of  man's  dominion  over  external  thing1;, 
whatever  airy  metaphyfieal  notions  may 
have  been  ftarted  by  fanciful  writers  upon 
this  fubje;'.  The  earth,  therefore,  and  all 
things  therein,  are  the  general  property  of 
all  mankind,  exclufive  of  ct'ier  beings,  from 
the  immediate  gift  of  the  Creator.  And, 
while  the  earth  continued  bare  of  inhabi- 
tants, it  is  reasonable  to  fuppofe  that  all 
was  in  common  among  them,  and  that 
pvery  one  took  from  tne  public  flock  to 
his  own  ufe  fuch  things  as  his  immediate 
neceluties  required. 

l'hele  general  notions  of  property  were 
then  fufheient  to  aniwer  all  the  purpofes  of 
human  life;  and  might  perhaps  ftiil  have 
aniwered  them,  had  it  been  poffible  for 
mankind  to  have  remained  in  a  llate  of 
primaeval  ftmplicity  :  as  may  be  collected 
from  the  manners  of  many  American  na- 
tions wnen  firft.  difi-overed  by  the  Europe- 
ans ;  and  from  the  ancient  method  of  liv- 
ing among  the  firft  Europeans  themfelves, 
if  we  may  credit  either  the  memorials  of 
them  preserved  in  the  golden  age  of  the 
poets,  or  the  uniform  accounts  given  by 
hiltorians  of  thofe  times  wherein  erant  omnia 
comrnunia  et  indfuifa  omnibus,  meluti  unum 
amitis  patrimomum  ejjet  f .  Not  that  this 
communion  of  goods  feems  ever  to  have 
been  applicable,  even  in  tho  earlieft  ages, 
to  aught  but  the  fubflance  of  the  thing ; 
iipr  could  be  extended  to  the  ufe  of  it.  For, 

*  Gen.  i.  28.         f  Juftin.  1.  43.  c.  1, 


by  the  law  of  nature  and  reafon,  he  who 
firft  began  to  ufe  it  acquired  therein  a  kind 
of  transient  property,  that  lalted  fo  long  as 
he  was  ufing  it,  and  no  longer  J  :  or,  to 
fpeak  with  greater  precifion,  the  right  of 
pofieffioH  continued  for  the  fame  time  only 
that  the  aft  of  pofieflion  lafted.  Thus  the 
ground  was  in  common,  and  no  part  of  it 
was  the  permanent  property  of  any  man  in 
particular:  yet  whgever  was  in  the  occu- 
pation of  any  determinate  fpot  of  it,  for 
reft,  for  fhade,  or  the  like,  acquired  for  the 
time  a  fort  of  ownership,  from  which  it 
wculd  have  been  unjuft,  and  contrary  to 
the  law  of  nature,  to  have  driven  him  by 
force;  buttle  inftant  that  he  quitted  the 
ufe  or  occupation  of  it,  another  might  feize 
it  without  injultice.  Thus  alfo  a  vine  or 
other  tree  might  be  faid  to  be  in  common, 
as  all  men  were  equally  entitled  to  its  pro- 
duce; and  yet  any  private  individual  might 
gain  the  fole  property  of  the  fruit,  which 
he  had  gathered  for  his  own  repa/l..  A 
doftrine  well  ijiuftrated  by  Cicero,  who 
compares  the  world  to  a  great  theatre,  which 
is  common  to  the  public,  and  yet  the  place 
which  any  man  has  taken  is  for  the  time 
his  oatj  || . 

But  when  mankind  increafed  in  number, 
craft,  and  ambition,  it  became  neceffary  to 
entertain  conceptions  of  more  permanent 
dominion :  and  to  appropriate  to  indivi- 
duals not  the  immediate  ufe  only,  but  the 
very  fubflance  of  the  thing  jto  be  ufed. 
Otherwife  innumerable  tumults  muft  have 
arifen,  and  the  good  order  of  the  world  been 
continually  broken  and  difturbed,  while  a 
variety  cf  perfons  were  ilrjving  who  Ihould, 
get  the  firft  occupation  of  the  fame  thing, 
or  difputing  which  of  them  had  aftually 
gained  it.  As  human  life  alfo  grew  more 
and  more  refined,  abundance  of  conveni- 
ences were  devifed  to  render  it  more  eafy, 
commodious,  and  agreeable ;  as,  habita-r 
tipns  for  fhelter  and  fafety,  and  raiment  for 
warmth  and  decency.  But  no  man  would 
be  at  the  trouble  to  provide  either,  fo  long 
as  he  had  only  an  uiufruftuary  property  in 
them,  which  was  to  cea!e  the  inftant  that 
he  quitted  poffeffion  ;— if,  as  foon  as  he 
walked  out  of  his  tent,  or  pulled  off  his 
garment,  the  next  ftranger  who  came  by 
would  have  a  right  to  inhabit  the  one,  and 
to  wear  the  other.     In  the  cafe  of  habita- 

J  Barbeyr.  Puff.  1.  4.  c.  4. 

II  Qnemadmodum  theatrum,  cum  commune,  fit 
rede,  tamen  did  poteft,  ejus  ette  eum  locum  quem 
quifejue  occupants    De  Fin.  1.  3.  c.  20. 

tion:> 


BOOK    IV 

tions,  in  particular,  it  was  natural  to  ob- 
serve, that  even  the  bi  ute  creation,  to  whom 
every  thing  elfe  was  in  common,  maintained 
akindof  permanent  propertyin  their  dwel- 
lings, efpecially  for  the  protection  of  th.ir 
young  ;  that  the  birds  of  the  air  had  nefts, 
and  the  beafts  of  th-  field  had  caverns,  the 
invafion  of  which  they  eftsemed  a  very 
flagrant  injuftice,  and  would  facrifice  their 
lives  to  preferve  them.  Hence  a  property 
was  foon  eftablifhed  in  every  man's  houle 
and  homeftall ;  which  feem  to  have  been 
originally  mere  temporary  huts  or  move- 
able cabins,  fuited  to  the  defign  of  Provi- 
dence for  more  fpeedily  peopling  the  earth, 
and  fuited  to  the  wandering  life  of  their 
owners,  before  any  extenfive  property  in 
the  foil  or  ground  was  eftablifhed.  And 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  but  that  moveables 
of  every  kind  became  fooner  appropriated 
than  the  permanent  fubftantial  foil ;  partly 
becaule.  they  were  more  fufceptible  of  a 
Jong  occupance,  which  might  be  continued 
for  months'  together  without  any  fenfible 
interruption,  and  at  length  by  ufage  ripen 
into  an  eftablifhed  right;  but  principally 
becaule  few  of  them  could  be  fit  for  ufe, 
till  improved  and  meliorated  by  the  bodily 
labour  of  the  occupant:  which  bodily  la- 
bour, beftowed  upon  any  fubjett  which 
before  lay  in  common  to  all  men,  is  uni- 
yerfally  allowed  to  give  the  faireft  and 
rnoft  reafonable  title  to  an  exclufive  pro- 
perty therein. 

The  article  of  food  was  a  more  imme- 
diate call,  and  therefore  a  more  early  con- 
fideration.  Such  as  were  not  contented 
with  the  fpontaneous  produft  of  the  earth, 
fought  for  a  more  folid  refreshment  in  the 
flefh  ©f  beafts,  which  they  obtained  by  hunt- 
ing. But  the  frequent  difappointments, 
incident  to  that  method  of  provifion,  in- 
duced them  to  gather  togetner  fuch  ani- 
mals as  were  of  a  more  tame  and  fequa- 
cious  nature ;  and  to  eftabliih  a  permanent 
property  in  their  flocks  and  herds,  in  or- 
der to  fuftain  themfelves  in  a  lefs  preca- 
rious manner,  partly  by  the  milk  of  the 
dams,  and  partly  by  the  flefh  of  the  young. 
The  fupport  of  thefe  their  cattle  made  the 
article  of  water  alfo  a  very  important  point. 
And  therefore  the  book  of  Genefis  (the 
inoft  venerable  monument  of  antiquity, 
confidered  merely  with  a  view  to  hiftory) 
will  furnifh  us  with  frequent  inftances  of 
violent  contentions  concerning  wells ;  the 
exclufive  property  of  which  appears  to  have 
been  eftablifhed  in  the  firft  digger  or  oc- 
cupant, even  in  fuch  places  where  the 


NARRATIVES,    DIALOGUES,   &c.  889 

ground  and  herbage  remained  yet  in 
common,  Thus  we  find  Abraham,  who 
was  but  a  fojourner,  afferting  his  right 
to  a  well  in  the  country  of  Abimelech, 
and  exacting  an  oath  for  his  iccurity, 
"  becaufe  he  had  digged  that  well  *.  " 
And  Ifaac,  about  ninety  years  afterwards, 
reclaimed  this  his  father's  property;  and, 
after  much  contention  with  the  Philiftines, 
was  fuffered  to  enjoy  it  in  peace  f . 

All  this  while  the  foij  and  pafture  of  the 
earth  remained  ftill  in  common  as  before, 
and  open  to  every  occupant:  except  per- 
haps in  the  neighbourhood  of  towns,  where 
the  neceflity  of  a  fole  and  exclufive  pio- 
perty  inlands  (for  the  fake  of  agriculture) 
was  earlier  felt,  and  therefore  more  rea- 
dily complied  with.  Otherwife,  when  the 
multitude  of  men  and  cuttle  had  conlumed 
every  convenience  on  one  fpot  of  ground, 
it  was  deemed  a  natural  right  to  feize  upon 
and  occupy  fuch  other  lands  as  would  more 
eafily  fupply  their  neceffities.  This  prac- 
tice is  ftiil  retained  among  the  wild  and 
uncultivated  nations  that  have  never  been 
formed  into  civil  ftates,  like  the  Tartars 
and  others  in  the  Enrt;  where  the  climate 
itfclf,  and  the  boundlefs  extent  of  their  ter- 
ritory, confpire  to  retain  them  ftill  in  the 
fame  favage  ftate  of  vagrant  liberty,  which 
was  univerfal  in  the  earlieft  ages,  and  which 
Tacitus  informs  us  continued  among  the 
Germans  till  the  decline  of  the  Roman  em- 
pire X'  We  have  alfo  a  ftriking  example 
of  the  fame  kind  in  the  hiftory  of  Abra- 
ham and  his  nephew  Lot  ||.  When  their 
joint  fubltance  became  fo  great,  that  paf- 
ture and  other  conveniences  grew  fcarce, 
the  natural  confequence  was,  that  a  ftrife 
arofe  between  th~ir  fervants;  {o  that  it 
was  no  longer  practicable  to  dwell  toge- 
ther. This  contention  Abraham  thus  en- 
deavoured to  compofe;  "  Let  there  be  no 
ftrife,  I  pray  thee,  between  thee  and  me.  Is 
not  the  whole  land  before  thee  ?  Separate 
thyfelf,  I  pray  thee,  from  me :  if  thou 
wilt  take  the  left  hand,  then  I  will  go  to 
the  right;  or  if  thou  depart  to  the  right 
hand,  then  I  will  go  to  the  left."  This 
plainly  implies  an  acknowledged  right  in 
either  to  occupy  whatever  ground  he  pleaf- 
ed,  that  was  not  pre-occupied  by  other 
tribes.  w  And  Lot  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and 
beheld  all  the  plain  of  Jordan,  that  it  was 


•  Gen.  xxi.  30.        f  Gen.  xxvi.  15, 18,  &c. 
J  Colunt  difcreti  et  diveifi ;  ut  fans,  ut  cam- 
pus, ut  nemus  piacuit.    Demur.  Germ.  16. 

|1  Gen.  xivi. 

we.l 


tg» 


ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  IN  PROSE. 


well  watered  every  where,  even  as  the 
garden  of  the  Lord.  Then  Lot  chofe 
him  ali  the  plain  of  Jordan,  and  journeyed 
eatl,  and  Abraham  dwelt  in  the  land  of 
Canaan." 

Upon  the  fame  principle  was  founded 
the  right  of  migration,  or  fending  colonies 
to  find  out  new  habitations,  when  the  mo- 
ther-country was  over-charged  with  inha- 
bitants; which  was  pradtifed  as  weil  by 
the  Phoenicians  an  1  Greeks,  as  the  Ger- 
mans, Scythians,  and  ether  northern  peo- 
ple. .And  io  long  as